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p。 Given the little that I know； it seems best to take an attitude of wait…and…see。
We hoon are good at that。 But I can only imagine what poor Huck is going through； if they put her in a cell like this one。 A steel room with barely enough room to spin her wheels before hitting a wall； with the ceaseless drone of some weird kind of engine humming in the background。 She's got no patience and may have gone quite loco by now。
If Huck's still alive。
She seemed to be； when last I saw her； after our plummet into the Midden's icy depths was stopped by crashing into a sea monster's gaping mouth。 I recall seeing Huck sprawled on a metal surface； wheels spinning； kicking feebly with her pusher legs； while the floor and walls shook under a roaring wind that scraped my ears with incredible screeching pressure。
That pressure saved us； driving out the crushing mass of water before we drowned。 But at the time； all I could do was scream； wrapping my arms around my head while my back convulsed from the blow I'd taken； escaping from our broken Wuphon's Dream。
Vaguely； I was aware of someone else howling。 Ur…ronn huddled in a far corner； sliced and torn by slivers of her precious shattered window and further panicked by the drenching wetness。
Looking back； it seemed a miracle she was breathing at all； after the Dream broke up and harsh sea pounded in from all sides。 The force of that blow slammed me against the garuwood hull； while my friends spun away； heads over hooves and rims。
I had never before seen an urs try to swim。 It's not a pretty sight。
I remember thinking it would be my last sight； until that explosive cloud of bubbles poured in from a hundred wall slits； splitting the water with a foaming roar。 The bubbles frothed together； merging into that screeching wind； and we survivors flopped onto the splintered wreckage of our beautiful bathy； gasping and gagging into dark； oily puddles。
Of the four of us； only Pincer seemed to e through with any power of movement。 I seem to recall him clumsily trying to tend Ur…ronn's wounds； pinning her against a wall with his scarred carapace while fumbling with two claws； pulling shards of glass out of her hide。 Ur…ronn wasn't cooperating much。 She didn't seem coherent。 I couldn't blame her。
Then a door opened； opposite the clamshell mouth that bit through the Dream。 It was a smaller portal； barely offering clearance for two demons to emerge； one at a time。
They were horrible…looking； six…legged beasts； with horizontal bodies longer than a hoon is tall； flaring wide in back and bulging up front with huge； glassy bubble…eyes； black and mysterious。 They stamped into the chamber； awkwardly crushing both Uriel's depth gauge and Ur…ronn's pass underfoot； looking like waterbugs； whose spindly appendages met along a tubelike body that glistened and flexed with fleshy suppleness。 Smaller limbs； dangling in front； looked like mechanical tools。
All right； I'm describing a lot of stuff I couldn't have seen all that well at the time。 It was dark until the spider…things entered； except in the sharp glare of two beams cast from opposite walls。 Also； I was half conscious and in shock； so nothing I write can be taken as reliable testimony。
Especially my impressions of what came next。
Waving their own dazzling lanterns； the two shadowy forms began inspecting their catch； first pausing to illuminate and stare at Pincer and Ur…ronn； then poor Huck； wheeling vainly on her side； and finally me。 I tried to move and nearly fainted。 When I fought to speak or umble； I found my bruised throat sac would not take air。
Funny thing； I could swear the monsters talked to one another while they looked us over； something they never do now； when they enter my cell in teams to tend me。 It was an eerie； trilling； and ratcheting kind of speech； totally unlike GalTwo or any other Galactic language that I know。 And yet something about it felt familiar。 Each time their lights fell on another of us for the first time； I swear the beasts sounded surprised。
When they reached me； part of my terror was eased by the sudden appearance of Huphu。 Somewhere in my addled mind； I'd been worried about our mascot。 Abruptly； there she was； rearing in front of me； chattering defiance at the towering spider…things。
The creatures rocked back； amazement now so evident that I might have been watching them with perfectly tuned rewq。 One of the things crouched down and murmured hurriedly； excitedly； either talking excitedly about the little noor or right at her。 I couldn't tell which。
Can I trust that dreamlike impression？ At this point； as they say in some Earthling books； I was fading to vacuum； fast。 In retrospect； it seems an illusion。
One thing I know I fantasized。 Something that es back now more as notion than memory。 Yet the image clings； flickering the same way consciousness flickered； just before dimming out。
Without warning； a final figure crept into view； crawling from under a slab of our poor shattered bathy。 Half…flattened and deformed； Ziz regathered its conical shape while the two monsters staggered backward； as if they had seen something deadlier than a poison…skenk。 One of them swung a gleaming tube at the battered traeki partial and fired a searing bolt that blew a hole in the poor stack's middle ring； flinging it against the wall near Huck。
My overtaxed brain shut down about then。 （Or had it done so already？） Yet there is just one more vague； dreamlike impression that clings to me right now； like a shadow of a phantom of a ghost of stunned astonishment。
Somebody spoke； while the midget traeki oozed sap across the sodden floor。 Not in the trilling whistles the creatures used before。 Not in GalSeven or any other civilized tongue…but in Anglic。
〃My God…〃 it said； in tones of disbelief； and it struck me as a human female's voice； with a strange accent I never heard before。
〃My God…all these…and a Jophur too！〃
XXVIII。 THE BOOK OF THE SLOPE
Legends
It is said that we are all descended from unlucky races。
According to many of the tales told by the Six； there is endless war； persecution； suffering； and fanaticism amid the Five Galaxies。 But it this really were typical； that civilisation could not have lasted even a million years； let alone a billion or more。
If it were typical； places like Jijo would be teeming with countless sooner infestations； not just half a dozen。
If it were typical； worlds like Jijo would have been used up long ago。
Other accounts tell that the vast majority or star…faring races are relatively calm。 That they manage their interests； raise their clients； and tend their leased worlds with serene attentiveness to good manners and the ancient codes； while trodding the Upward Path toward whatever transcendence awaits them。 They see the abrasive antics or jealous； fanatical alliances as tasteless； immature…but why intervene when it is simpler and safer just to keep your head （or heads） down and mind your own business？ Clients lucky enough to be adopted into such moderate clans grow up peaceful and secure； except during those intervals…legendary times of Change…when upheaval overwhelms even the cautious and discreet。
Then it is the hardy that tend to thrive。
Those toughened by scrappy interactions in the back alleys of space。
Those alleys claim victims； though。 It is said that we Six count among the bleeding refugees who slunk away from lost causes and broken dreams； seeking a place to hide。 To heal。 To seek another path。
To search in quest of one last chance。
Sara
IT WAS A MUDDLE； ANY WAY YOU LOOKED AT IT。 The stun…bomb had driven the pack animals into hysterical flight； yanking free of their tethers to run wild through the maze of stony spires。 Someone would have to go search for them； but only after the wounded were tended with what skill Sara possessed。
Those humans who were blinded…perhaps temporarily…needed to be calmed； then fed by hand。 Later； the dead must be dragged to a flat spot where a pyre could be raised； to sear their corpses down to ineluctable dross…a neat； transportable pile to be gathered and sent to sea。
There was an added plication。 Several dead Urunthai had been carrying husbands or larvae。 Sara herded together the strongest that crawled out of pouches…those with any chance of surviving…into a makeshift pen where the diminutive males took charge of their offspring； chewing and regurgitating small bits of meat for the pasty； caterpillarlike； pre…infant urs。
In tales praising the glory of war； they never talk about the hard stuff that es after a battle。 Maybe people wouldn't fight as much if they knew they'd have to clean up the awful mess。
Kurt and Jomah finally got her to sit down around sunset； to eat and rest for a while。 By then the day had dimmed； and the campfire's glow flickered across two ranks of sullen captives…human and urrish…who stared at each other； sulky； half…blind； and petulant。 None seemed more melancholy than the former sage； the scholar…turned…prophet who had argued with Sara so confidently half a day before。 Dedinger glared calculatingly at Kurt； who cradled the pistol carefully； never letting any of the prisoners out of his sight。
Before sitting down； Sara first checked Prity's stitches； which still oozed enough to worry her。 It had been difficult sewing the wound； with the chimp understandably twitching and with Sara's eyes blurry from the stun…bomb。 After she had done all she could for her little assistant and friend； Sara looked around for the Stranger。 He had been a great help all afternoon； but she had not seen him in over an hour； and it was past time for his medicine。
Kurt said； 〃He went off thataway〃…indicating southward； into the rocks…〃to try catching some donkeys。 Don't worry。 That fellow seems to know how to take care of himself。〃
Sara quashed her initial reaction…to berate the exploser for letting the star…man head into an unfamiliar wilderness all alone。 The alien was a cripple； after all； and might get hurt or lost。
But then； she recalled； he was a strangely petent cripple。 Clever and skilled in ways that had little to do with words。 And for a man with such a peaceful demeanor； he fought very well。
With a shrug； Sara accepted what could not be changed and sat down to partake of the desert warriors' wafer bread and a jug of leathery…tasting water。
〃In the morning we must gather wood for a pyre； since we haven't any scavenger toruses for proper mulching；〃 she said between mouthfuls； speaking more loudly than normal； because everyone was still rather hard of hearing。 At best； it took a shout to carry over the steady ringing in her own ears。 〃And we should send someone for help。〃
〃I'll go；〃 Jomah volunteered。 〃I'm the only one who wasn't banged up in the battle。 I'm strong an' I've got a pass。 Uncle Kurt knows I won't get lost。 And I can move real fast。〃
The senior exploser looked unfortable。 His nephew was very young。 Still； after a moment's reflection； Kurt nodded。 〃It makes sense。 He can head…〃
〃Of course I am the one to send；〃 Ulgor interrupted； turning from tending the campfire。 〃I can run faster and farther than the child； and I know these hills well。〃
Sara choked。 〃Not a chance！ I can't believe we haven't tied you up yet with the others！ Let you go？ So you can hurry off and collect more of your fanatic friends？〃
Ulgor turned her narrow head to peer at Sara sideways。 〃As if those friends are not already on their way； dear daughter of Nelo？ UrKachu sent envoys ahead； don't forget。 Let us suffose that Kurt's nephew could reach the Glade without encountering a ligger； or a fack of khoovrahs。 If he heads north； I guarantee the first folks he encounters will ve UrKachu's allies； hurrying to join us。〃
Now it was Kurt's turn to interrupt； with a short； hard laugh。
〃And who says we're headin' north？〃 Both Ulgor and Sara looked at him。 〃What do you mean？ Obviously we have to。。。〃
Her voice trailed off as she saw the exploser smile。 e to think of it； Kurt never explicitly said the Glade was his destination。 She had assumed； quite naturally； that his urgent business lay there。 But he might have planned to leave our group at Crossroad