Into the Sunset

by Brian Raiter

Prologue

Jenk sat in the chair, nodding off. He was cold and tired, and feeling sleepy. He would undoubtedly be dozing already if he weren't so cold.

Part of him wanted to get up and put on warmer clothes. But the warm clothes were dirty. He had worn them for too long, and now they were sodden and repulsive. He would have to wash them as soon as he wasn't so tired. He should take a nap, and then wash his warm clothes. And then he could eat something. Then maybe he could be comfortable, for a while. At least until his clothes were dirty again. And until he was hungry again.

If only it weren't so cold.

Maybe he should try to plug that hole in the wall. He had noticed it the last time he was outside. It wasn't a big hole. It probably didn't go all the way through. Still, it might be letting some heat escape. Maybe that was why it was so cold in here. Jenk didn't really know how thick the walls had to be to keep the heat in. But it seemed a likely concern. It seemed possible, at least, that even a hole that small could be making it cold inside.

And plugging the hole certainly couldn't hurt in any case.

Only it would be a lot of work. He would have to get dressed and go outside. And he was still feeling tired and sleepy.

Jenk opened one eye and cast his gaze at the implacable wall. There was no sign that heat was being drawn towards a particular spot there, but there wouldn't be in any case. Jenk frowned, and suddenly felt a desire to be active. Even if it wasn't ultimately productive, it was better than just sitting here and waiting to fall asleep. And maybe not waking up afterwards.

Who knows? It had to happen some day.

Some inner resource, deep inside, latched onto this passing desire and gave him the energy to rise from the chair. To get dressed, to go outside.

Outside, Jenk fumbled blindly with his light, and finally found the switch and got it turned on. There was the hole, right where he remembered it. He put his face close to it. The hole was pretty small, but it seemed to be deeper than it was wide. Jenk angled the light this way and that, and saw vague reflections of the exposed metal inside the hole. So the metal inside the hole was still bright. That probably indicated that the hole was recent. Or maybe not: maybe it was just because the metal inside the hole wasn't covered in paint. Maybe the hole had always been there and Jenk had never noticed it before. Jenk cast his gaze along the wall's dark expanse. Maybe the wall was full of tiny holes like this and he just hadn't noticed any of them yet. Maybe that was why it was so cold. If so, plugging the one hole he had happened to notice wouldn't do any good at all. Instead of wasting his time on this tiny little hole in this wall, he should canvass all the walls, methodically, finding all the holes. Then when he knew how many there were, and how big, he could decide how best to deal with them.

Or maybe he should just go back inside and try to go to sleep, and stop trying to fix the holes. The holes had probably been there since before he arrived anyway.

Jenk sighed. He turned off the light and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness once more. Reaching into the bag tied around his waist, Jenk pulled out a hand welder and a small piece of metal, in the shape of an irregular trapezoid. He would fix the hole that was in front of him; at this point that was the easiest thing to do that didn't feel like surrender. Maybe some other time he would search for other holes in the walls. But not now. It was too dark and he was too tired.

Jenk fumbled with the piece of metal. Through the thick gloves he could feel the metal slip out from between his fingers. Jenk permitted himself a tiny sigh. He turned his light back on and pointed it upwards, moving it about until he caught a brief flash from the piece of metal, falling overhead. And now it was gone again, invisible against the black sky. A moment passed, and then another flash, this time no brighter than the stars. It looked to be heading towards the brightest one, in fact. Jenk turned off his light, but kept looking in that direction. His heart was pounding and his throat felt tight. He imagined that the little piece of metal was actually heading directly for Sol, and for a moment he wanted nothing more than to kick off from the wall and follow it, and let himself slowly drift through empty space for a thousand years, or more, before falling back to Earth.

Jenk lay in bed, slowly coming awake. Through the window came the dawn light and the smell of manure, the latter presumably from Carp tilling the fields across the way. Jenk opened one eye cautiously against the light and looked out the window. The sky was brilliantly blue, with woolly white clouds scudding near the horizon. Jenk inhaled deeply and rolled over onto his back. He mused how the smell of fresh manure was rather repulsive; and yet by the time it was ready to be used in the fields its scent became less pungent, and reminiscent of pleasanter things; and then later it was nothing less than fertile soil, and its smell bespoke of growing flora, the matter of life. Was it just a different set of associations with each scent? Or did the manure's changes of state directly cause the different reactions to its odors? Was the question even meaningful as it was posed, or did it rely on hidden assumptions to mask the lack of meaningful distinctions between the two possibilities?

The desire for a writing tablet, plus the pressure on Jenk's bladder, forced him out of bed. He stood and stretched, and fumbled for the chamberpot. After he had filled it, he carelessly emptied it out again via the window. He then retrieved the tablet where it lay on the room's rug, underneath the clothes he had worn yesterday. Jenk sniffed at them carefully, then more deeply, and finally decided that they could serve for another day as they were. Once dressed, he kneeled on the rug and, with the tablet in his lap, quickly wrote down his thoughts and questions about scent and manure. He then tossed the tablet onto the bed, and proceeded through his morning stretches.

Jenk felt the heat from the sun against his face as he closed his eyes and stretched his head forward, causing the cords in his neck to push past one another. The clay-colored hair on his head was well past his shoulders; he would need to cut it again soon. Jenk lay upon his back, staring up at the smoke-stained ceiling, and brought one knee up to his chest, then the other. Recent years had finally softened the hard lines around his face. His beard was well trimmed, as a result, and he could feel the hairs softening in the morning warmth. Jenk rolled over onto his hands and knees and tucked his head down under his chest.

An eight-year-old boy came into the bedroom, light hair in disarray, blue eyes wide, and breathing heavily. "Jenk, I have news!"

Jenk winced, but did not look up. Holding the position he was in, he said, "Boy, you need to announce yourself before running into a man's bedroom."

"But Jenk, the news."

"Is that you, Carp? Shouldn't you be spreading the fields?"

The boy frowned, and squatted down, trying to catch Jenk's eye. "It is Semp, wishing to speak with Jenk."

Jenk relaxed and curled back into a kneeling position on the rug, facing the boy. "Much better. I would say 'Enter' now, but you already have. So, what is ..."

Jenk was interrupted by the loud arrival of a young girl, of similar color, slightly shorter than Semp, and breathing just as hard. "It is Tond, and I wish to speak with Jenk!"

Semp pushed his right shoulder against Tond. "No! I got here first, Tond! He already invited me to speak!"

Tond did not wait for an invitation, however. Holding her balance, she said, "A visitor has come here!"

"Tond! Stop it!"

Jenk eyed the children in their struggle for another moment, then spoke. "Stop it at once. Both of you!"

The two children disentangled, but Semp did not subside. On the verge of tears, he shouted. "She shouldn't have spoken out of turn! It was my news!"

Jenk put on a deliberate scowl. "You have both behaved badly this morning, and no doubt your parents will be ashamed to hear of it."

Semp slowly subsided into a sullen quiet. Tond remained prim; apparently she felt that her success at being the first to deliver the news to Jenk was worth the price.

Jenk straightened his back, taking advantage of the gravity of the moment. "Semp." The boy looked up. "I did invite you to speak."

Semp took what comfort there was to be had in being recognized as the injured party, and straightened his back as well. "Jenk, a visitor is here, arrived yesterday evening. A foreigner."

"Of course she's a foreigner, Semp. If she wasn't a foreigner, she wouldn't be visiting; she'd be returning. Do you know where she's from?"

"The Bek clan, I think is what they're saying."

"Hm. Travelling alone? I presume it's a woman?"

"Yes, a woman, travelling alone."

"Not even a servant?"

Semp paused. "I don't know about that."

Tond piped up. "She came with two servants, I heard."

Semp frowned to himself but said nothing.

Tond took the silence as permission to continue. "Her clothes are brown, and her hair is all black, but it's really short. She came last night, and Korl and Bost gave her food and bed. She wants to talk to you, Jenk. That's why we came here so early to tell you. She says she came all this way to see you."

"Yes, Tond, thank you. Semp: is that the whole of your news?"

"Yes, Jenk. Only, I'm supposed to ask you when you would be willing to meet with her."

Jenk considered this for a moment. He looked out his window again, judging the angle of the shadows. Facing the children again, he said, "Tell her I can meet in the afternoon today." Jenk stood up and prepared to dismiss them, but Tond had already taken off. Semp was frowning again, clearly wishing to catch up with Tond but cognizant that he had not actually been dismissed yet. Jenk looked around his bedroom, then stepped out into the main room. "Come," he said. He led to boy over to an urn in the corner, and pulled out a few papery green fragments. He held them out and said, "Here. Some nut leaf, in exchange for your politeness."

At once the boy's expression became the smile of the justly rewarded. "Thank you, Jenk."

Jenk nodded. "Good morning, Semp."

"Good morning." Semp put a single piece of nut leaf in his mouth and ambled out of the room.

The clouds had burned off, leaving the intense blue expanse overhead uninterrupted but for the sun. Jenk walked back to his dwelling, soaked through in cool water that was heating up. He had bathed in his clothes after working in the field, and the rest of the middle daytime should be free for him to spend on his studies.

He walked through his doorway and even before his eyes had adjusted to the dimness, he saw that someone was lying down on his front rug. He halted, then turned and faced her, clasping his hands behind his back.

The woman stood up, in a single motion that was efficient but unhurried. She was dressed in a simple tunic and breeches that were a medium brown color, the color of dry earth. The simplicity of the cut and its lack of design would have suggested that they were work clothes, but Jenk knew that they were in fact a Bek uniform. Her hair was indeed cut short, and it gave her face a severity that would not be there otherwise. Her expression was the calm blandness of someone for whom controlling facial expression was second nature.

She adopted a comfortable pose and brought her hands forward, empty palms held up and out. In a quiet voice she said, "I am Shel-nyan-zin Dem-bek, called Shed."

Jenk belately brought his hands out and mirrored her gesture. "I am Jennekayamir, called Jenk." He left his hands in position after she had relaxed, and then added, "But I presume you already knew this." Jenk added to himself, And I would say 'Enter' at this point, but you already have.

Shed smiled. Jenk let his arms fall and clapsed his hands, in front this time. Shed nodded and said, "I am the first daughter of a Vice Commander of the Bek clan, and I have come to discuss with you some important matters."

Jenk maintained his calm expression, but replied, "I seem to recall that I said I would be available to meet in the afternoon."

"Yes, you did," replied Shed, meeting his gaze. "The afternoon is here."

Jenk tilted his head. "It may be past the sun's zenith, but a Mellay's afternoon begins after the midday meal."

Shed closed her eyes for a moment. "I see." Reopening her eyes, she continued, "And yet we have greeted each other."

Jenk nodded. "Yes, we have." Jenk looked around the room. "Would you care for some nut leaf?"

Shed inclined her head. "I have already taken my midmeal, in fact."

"Very well." Jenk reached into his urn, and placed several fragments under his tongue. Turning back to Shed, he said, "There is a grove of trees not too far over from here. It is comfortably warm yet shady," he added in a hopeful tone.

Shed stood still without moving for a moment, and then said, "Indeed?"

Jenk frowned briefly, but quickly smoothed his features. "Yes, indeed. Would you like to have our discussion there?"

Shed looked about. "Oh. Is there something wrong with this room?"

Jenk frowned again. "No, nothing wrong with it, as a dwelling room." He placed another piece of nut leaf under his tongue. "But the grove is more comfortable."

"No doubt," she said quietly. "But don't you think it seems a bit public?"

Jenk smiled, "Oh, I can assure you that no one will intrude upon us there. Most of the other scholars are working this afternoon. Besides, this place is too dark for a discussion." A thought seemed to arrive and seep across his features. "I presume this discussion is of a scholarly matter? A historical matter?"

"Quite so," confirmed Shed.

"Then what call is there for privacy?" Jenk affected an open-faced expression.

Shed said, smoothly. "To answer that question would be to begin the discussion here, and apparently this is disagreeable to you."

Jenk turned and let the remaining nut leaf fragments fall back into the urn. "Very well. Here is a new proposal. I am going to go eat. Since you have already entered my home, you may continue to wait here for me if you wish. After my meal I will be ready to discuss scholarly matters inside my home or wherever you feel comfortable." And with that he walked out of the dwelling, brushing his hands against each other, not looking at Shed even though he could feel her eyes on him as he went.

Jenk entered the dining hall in a pensive mood. It appeared that the meal had begun, and most people were already eating. Jenk obtained a plate and found an empty place to sit down. "Tarv," he said to the woman on his right, gesturing down the table, "can you pass me the bowl?"

"Jenk," Tarv said, a note of surprise in her voice even as she spoke through a full mouth. She swallowed, leaned forward and managed to hook a finger on the lip of the heavy clay pot of stew. She dragged it up the table to rest in front of Jenk. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm eating, of course. Did you expect me to be doing something else at midday, here in the dining hall, with a plate in my hand?" Jenk stood over the pot and sniffed. This particular stew was not his favorite. All the more reason to eat it and have it be done, Jenk told himself, and filled his plate.

"People were saying that the foreigner had gone to talk to you. Is it done so soon? What did she have to say?"

Jenk winced. He ignored Tarv until he had sat back down and taken a bite of the stew. At least it was still warm. He swallowed, and said, "She did come to talk with me. Even though I had meant for us to meet after the meal, but that was probably due to a simple misunderstanding. But yes, she did come to talk with me; indeed, she came right into my room, while I was in the field, to wait for me on my own rug. I returned still dripping water and found her inside my home."

Tarv raised her eyebrows. "Well," she said after a moment. "I guess it's true what they say, that the Bek are a pushy people."

Jenk sighed internally. Normally he would object to such casual characterizations of foreigners, particularly when the speaker had never met a subject member themselves. But this time he was too much in agreement to speak against it. He consoled himself with the fact that he had in fact met a Bek, and was in agreement with her characterization thanks to actual experience. Finally he said aloud, "In this case I would have to agree. Mind you, I was preparing to overlook these things as social missteps, and meet with her directly without eating. But then she wanted to discuss her business right there, in the room where she had been waiting for me."

"My goodness," said Tarv, appreciatively. "You don't suppose she's smitten with you, do you?"

Jenk shook his head wearily, a gesture that was denial and acknowledgement both.

Tarv continued in the same vein. "Doubtless, she has read your publications and fallen in love with you from afar, impressed with your intellectual daring, and the virile tenacity that you show as you hunt down obscure fragments of information. And now she is prepared to cross territory and woo you away from Mellay to her own Bek heart and hearth."

Jenk smiled appreciatively, and then held up a hand to prevent her from going any further. "She's thoughtless: that is what the problem is. She sees me dripping and hungry and thinks only, He's finally here to listen to me talk."

Tarv licked her fingers and said, "So, what happened? You are here now."

Jenk smiled ruefully. "I told her I was going to eat. And if she wanted to wait for me in my own room, that was her business."

"That is what you truly said?"

"If what she has to say is so important that she is compelled to enter my home when I am not there, then I should not try to talk to her when I have an empty stomach and cannot concentrate properly. Wouldn't you say?"

"But Jenk, you must be careful not to seem rude to this woman."

Jenk looked at Tarv, somewhat surprised. "She seems to care nothing about seeming rude to me. Should I show a Bek more consideration than she is willing to show me?"

"But it is as you yourself say: these things are probably due to misunderstandings, and little more. You don't honestly believe that she came all this way for the purpose of irritating you, Jenk."

Jenk shrugged sullenly. Of course he didn't believe that, but he hadn't quite yet reached the point where he was ready to stop complaining.

"Jenk, the whole clan is talking about little else except this Bek woman, and wondering why she has come here. She has told Korl nothing except that she has come to speak to you. This is not an everyday occurrence."

"I realize that."

"So realize also that the clan is watching you and your behavior. It may bring you some comfort to show this Bek woman your back for a time, but it will be a bitter comfort indeed if you deliver a real insult to Bek from Mellay as a result."

Jenk looked around the room, and noticed that a handful of people were staring at Tarv and himself, even as they were talking with their neighbors. The room was no more or less noisy than it ever was, but Jenk realized that Tarv was probably right, and most everyone was aware of his presence here at the midday table. And thus they were also aware that he had walked away from the Bek woman to eat.

"This is not a contest meet, Jenk, or a war summit. Nobody is expecting you to defend Mellay honor: They are expecting you to show diplomacy and intelligence."

Jenk knew at once that Tarv was right: his behavior had not been appropriate to the situation. The taste of stew in his mouth was bitter, and his stomach shifted uncomfortably. Jenk pushed his plate away. "Oh, goodness. I will go back to the Bek woman now, before she can take further offense. Find somebody to finish my food, will you?"

Tarv smiled as Jenk stood up from the table. "Remember, Jenk, she came to see you. You should be flattered."

"I hate flatterers, though. But yes. I take your point." And Jenk left the dining hall, noticing as he went the number of heads that turned to watch him go.

Shed was laying down upon the rug again, this time looking up at the rafters of the dwelling, when Jenk walked back in. Her face was as inscrutable as ever. He wondered briefly if he should announce himself, but decided that he was not going to ask permission to enter his own home. Finally he settled on simply saying, "Shed, it is Jenk." He did not wait for her to finish standing before continuing. "I am sorry for my rudeness. In our clan, you see, we do not hold scholarly discussion inside of our homes." Jenk paused briefly to find the right words, "Homes are for conversations of a personal nature, I suppose." Shed opened her mouth as if preparing to speak, so Jenk quickly continued. "Also, and somewhat related, we do not walk into someone's home without an invitation, particularly if we have not been introduced. I realize that the Bek clan does things differently, and you cannot know everything about a clan before visiting them, as much as you would like to. I should not have let these minor variations in formality influence my head and legs." Jenk clapsed his hands and waited for her response.

Shed waited, as if ensuring that Jenk's speech was finished, and said, "As I lay her waiting for your return, I thought to myself that you were a very poor diplomat, even for a man. But now I see that it is I who is the poor diplomat."

Jenk smiled. As an honest expression, it was clearly not quite sincere. But, as an earnest attempt at a friendly gesture, it was just as clearly very sincere. In an effort to reply in kind, he said, "It is good that neither of us are diplomats by trade, or else we would surely lead miserable lives."

Shed apparently took the joke as it was intended, and smiled in return. "So tell me, Jenk, where do Mellay scholars have their discussions when it rains?"

Jenk was surprised at the question, but assuming it was one of idle curiosity, he said, "Typically in one of the common buildings. Really, wherever we find each other. Of course, some people prefer to avoid such things during the rain, and instead work on solitary matters. Lemb, for example ..." Jenk's words trailed off as he noticed that Shed had raised a finger.

"Where do Mellay scholars have their discussions when they need privacy?"

Jenk frowned in consternation. "What sort of scholarly subject would call for privacy? I am a historian, and I assumed that our discussion was to be of historical matters. Surely history of all subject admits nothing of secrecy; for whatever is secret is lost to the historian."

Shed shook her head. "It is not necessarily so. I would say that the matter that I wish to discuss is not merely historical but also political. But to say that would be to enter further into the discussion, which you do not want to happen here. So again, I ask: Where can we talk in private?"

Jenk considered all of this for a while. Finally he pointed and said, "Let us go to the common building over here. It is a very nice day, and so we can be sure that no one else will be inside."

The common building was a wooden structure, large enough for twenty people to stand comfortably. The outside was decorated with a variety of abstract patterns, done with a few shades of brown and red.

As Jenk had predicted, nobody was inside. Jenk shut the door, shaking his head slightly. "It seems strange to be inside on a day like this." He pulled two squat chairs together and sat on one, facing the other.

Shed remained standing uncertainly. "In Bek, we do most of our serious business indoors." Finally she sat down, mirroring Jenk's posture.

Jenk chose not to pursue the subject further. "So. Let me now hear the subject of the reason for your visit."

Shed nodded. "The Bek clan is not known for its scholarly activities, as I am sure you already know." Jenk made a dismissive motion, as if to imply that he did not believe gossip about foreigners. Shed continued, "It is true, our interests are far more rooted in people than in things."

Jenk interrupted here. "I can assure you that, as a historian, I hardly think of anything except people."

"Living people, perhaps then. But never mind. My point is that although we are a political clan, we recognize that Mellay boasts many admirable accomplishments in the world of scholarship, and that such work, of which you are no small contributer, is worthy."

"Oh, you flatter me, but I am indeed a small contributer. Although I hope that that will not be true for the entirety of my life."

"Now I understand you study ancient history in particular."

Jenk nodded. "In particular, the Antehiemal Empires."

"And you are something of an expert in those empires' explorations of outer space."

"I have made a number of good contributions to that specific area. I am not sure that that makes me an expert."

"Do you recall the lengthy essay about the Sunset Station that you published last year?"

Jenk smiled. "I recall everything I've ever published."

Shed leaned forward. "That was no collaboration, was it? You wrote that yourself entirely, correct?"

Jenk thought this an odd question, but for diplomacy he merely nodded. "I have yet to collaborate on a publication. Our clan is not large, and there is little room for overlap between scholars."

Shed looked about the room again, as if checking for eavesdroppers. "In your essay, you stated that your information came largely from historical documents, which have been in your possession for some time."

Jenk maintained a neutral expression. "Yes. Though it's really just one document, extending over a dozen paper pages."

"I presume you still have these pages?"

Jenk put his hands on his knees, leaning forward to let his elbows stick out. "Now why do you ask me that? I mean to say, of course I still have them. Do you have any idea how rare it is to find something written on paper from that time period? Or to find so many paper pages from a single source, together, with almost no pages eroded past legibility? The document is absolutely priceless, at least to a scholar like me. Nothing on earth could convince me to part with it."

Shed lowered her gaze and raised her palms. "Jenk, I am not here to ask you to part with it. I assure you." She looked up again and met his gaze without blinking.

Jenk leaned back again and let his arms return to his lap. "But the document is the reason for your visit."

"The Sunset Station is the reason for my visit."

A moment of silence stretched out. Jenk finally raised a single finger in a pedantic gesture. "Your statement implies that the Sunset Station is a reason that can exist in a form other than the subject of my historical document. Is this correct?"

Shed paused, looking piercingly at Jenk, as if trying to decide if she was ready to trust him or not. But then her mouth twisted up into a grin. "Jenk, I mean to say that the Sunset Station itself still exists. It has survived to the present."

Jenk let his hand drop. Abruptly he stood up. He walked around to stand behind his chair, then raised one foot to rest upon it. He leaned his arms against his upraised knee. Shed looked at him, uncertain whether she was expected to stand as well.

Finally Jenk said, "What you are saying is extremely unlikely. The Sunset Station would now be over a dozen millennia old. I have only a little trouble believing that a bare structure has survived in some form, assuming that the station was in fact successfully built, for presumably there is little in outer space to cause its erosion. But that cannot be all that you mean to imply, can it? For you to sit here before me and say that you know the Station survives means that you must have what you believe is evidence of its survival. Which means that someone would have had to visit it, and then return to tell of it, which is hard to believe. The alternative explanation would mean that you have a machine for catching light-wave emissions, and have used it successfully; and furthermore the emission you caught bear evidence of their origin, and that that origin was the Sunset Station. All of which is perhaps more unlikely, especially when you consider that this immediately implies that the Sunset Station not only survives in structure, but also in function; that it is, in a word, operative, and has continued to be so across these many thousands of years."

Shed waited to verify that he was done with his rhetorical lecture. Then she stood up as well, her back perfectly straight, and her hands clapsed before her. She smiled openly now, and in an equally rhetorical voice she replied, "Scholar Jenk, your thoughts are direct and to the point. I do in fact claim that the latter is true. We have in fact received light-wave emissions, and we can show you that they must have come from the Sunset Station. But not only that: I furthermore have come to ask your assistance to make the former true. In short, I am inviting you to travel with me to the Sunset Station. To view it. To visit it. And, if at all possible, to rescue it."

Journal Entry

Living animals are like the end of an unravelling rope. We think of ourselves as solid objects, and relatively constant in shape. The changes that we can see in appearance occur gradually; it takes years to etch wrinkles into our skin; and decades before the heart loses its flexibility and misses a beat. But this solidity is an illusion, and one maintained by our own bodies without our realization, at what must be a fantastic expenditure of effort. For the truth is that our bodies are constantly falling apart, and at any moment you care to examine, worn-out bits and pieces are falling off. Our bodies are constantly reaching deep inside of themselves for more raw materials, from our food, to replace the missing pieces. We tend to think of our food as merely fuel, being taken in and burned slowly, as a banked fire, to provide heat which our body uses to set us into motion. We forget that our body is also constantly rifling through the ashes, looking for bits of this and that, to plug up holes in our various internal structures where something has had to be discarded. So the food that is constantly being chewed and swallowed is like the rope that is still entwined. The separate rope is then, I suppose, all of our waste products, feces and urine but also dried-up flakes of skin and hair and the radiated heat of our body's processes. We exist at the point of the unravelling, and only in that point. In a sense, we are nothing but the unravelling of our own bodies, and we are casting off the worn-out parts continually, without pause. Our bodies are engaged in a fearsome dance of maintenance.

Imagine lining up all of your meals of your entire life into a single line. What a very long line that would be. Then imagine you moving down the line, slowly but continuously, until you reached the end. That is a diagram of your life. Now imagine the line of waste and feces that would remain afterwards. Who among us could say, I am worth that line of decay, slashing across a landscape like a road of putrescence?

I in particular am constantly surrounded by a bubble of my own unravelling. The viria of course work feverishly to make as much new rope from my refuse as they can, of course. But it only slows the march; it doesn't stop it. In the meantime, I cannot help but think of all of my body's waste surrounding me. Like a bubble, or a layer of slimy haze I dare not wash off. The tiny creatures melt the slime in their forges and build from it what they can. Which I quickly unravel again.

I've been sitting in this chair for many hours now. Before I began writing, I was dozing, falling in and out of sleep. I kept imagining myself as a body. A brain, from which dangled the various organs on thin strings of nerves. It seemed it would be so easy for the strings to wear through, and then everything would fall off in a chaotic pile of parts, unable to retain the unimaginable organization that keeps the dance in motion.

I suppose I should not be surprised if my dreams are getting more vivid.

"Surely an entire clan could not be delusional."

"So we might think. But there are tales that it has happened before."

Jenk was outside in his grove of trees with Lemb. The sun was low in the sky by this time, and the shadows were growing long. But the air was warm, even in the shade, and Jenk was already feeling better. The common building had begun to feel stuffy to him, and made it hard for him to remain focussed, and he felt that he had not fully grasped Shed's unusual claims. Thus here he was, in his grove with Lemb, discussing the discussion. Jenk and Lemb were sitting on the trunk of an old tree, long since fallen. The trunk was shaggy with moss, making for a comfortable seat.

Lemb picked at the moss in front of him as he spoke. "So let us take this in steps. They have a machine that detects invisible light-wave emissions."

"Yes, and that in itself is plausible enough. I would guess that such machines are not hard to build, really, as long as you have all the raw materials."

"Indeed. There are numerous scholars who have studied such machines at one time or another. It is likely some fraction of them have managed to build one that works. So what is the next step?"

"Such a scholar would have given or sold his machine to members of the Bek clan, and showed them how to use it. Or else the scholar is Bek to begin with."

Lemb shook his head, widely, letting his heavy locks swing away from his skull. "You jump to conclusions. The scholar might have nothing to do with the Bek clan, but has simply shared his discoveries with them. Perhaps he has even written an essay in a publication we have not seen yet."

Jenk said, "Possibly." He shifted around on the trunk, then stood up. "But I don't think so. Shed seems very concerned with secrecy. She wants to keep track of who knows of her story of the Sunset Station and its presumed survival; and she wants to keep the number of these people small."

Lemb tilted his head. "Then, does she know that you're talking to me?"

Jenk waved his hand. "No. But she can hardly expect to share this information with only part of Mellay. What motivation could she offer us to withhold this knowledge from each other? Besides, her proposal requires the clan as a whole to come to decisions."

Lemb nodded and raised a finger. "But back to our analysis. I maintain that the next step is better phrased as this: Our presumed scholar, with a working listening machine, uses it and detects something that can be correlated with what is known about the Sunset Station."

Jenk sat down again. "All right, let that be the next step. Of course, your step quietly assumes that we have already accepted the idea that the Sunset Station could have survived all this time. But I am willing to ignore that for a moment."

Lemb nodded. "Very good. I think what is important here is that this seems to require that the overheard emission be somehow deciphered. At least partially deciphered, enough to convince the listener that it must have originated from the station that you described in your publication. But this strikes me as manifestly ridiculous."

Jenk looked up at the sunlight filtering through the leaves. "As it does me. Of course, the oldest light-wave emitters sometimes were made to use very simple encoding schemes. A scholar might hope to decipher the output of such an emitter. However, the Sunset Station clearly dates to the latest period of the Antehiemal Empires. In fact, I had been hesitant to presume that any part of the station was ever built; the documents I read could merely be a proposal for such a station."

"But you agree that a late-period station would be unlikely to be equipped with so primitive an emitter that it could be deciphered?"

"The historical record is pretty definite, I think. Everything we know of emitters from that period indicates that it would have used information mathematics as a foundation for enciphering their messages. Anything produced by a machine of that time period was only just indistinguishable from the noises of the sky."

"Is it not possible that they had no need of security for this station, and therefore chose not to use a complex cipher for their emissions?"

"Ciphers were not necessarily used for secrecy, Lemb. It was simply the fashion of the time."

Lemb nodded. There was a moment of silence. "Could an emission's source be identified without knowing what it was meant to contain? How about by their timing, or their frequency?"

Jenk considered. "Now that is a possibility. The document suggests that the Sunset Station would attempt communication on a fixed schedule." Jenk's eyes widened. "In fact, the station might have been built on the assumption that it would be empty most of the time. If so, it would make sense that the emissions described in the first part of the document would be occurring." He stood up and paced in a quick circle. "That might explain the seeming contradiction between the first two parts of the document! The first part is describing how the station behaves when no one is aboard to control it, and the second part would describe how the station works for those on board." Jenk looked at Lemb. "Lemb! This could be the key to understanding the first part."

Lemb held out his hands. "Hold, Jenk. Before you bury yourself in the document again, let us finish our analysis."

"The analysis isn't important, Lemb. Don't you see? If this hypothesis ultimately holds, then it lends significant credence to Shed's story. I would be much more likely to believe that Beks have identified emissions from the Sunset Station if it provides a clue towards understanding the document!"

"But Jenk, exploring your hypothesis will take time. What about Shed's invitation, to accompany her on her journey? When does she expect an answer?"

Jenk stood where he was and stared up at the leaves. "Well. I do not remember now. I think she has not pressed me for an answer just yet."

"It matters. If she is on her way now, or very soon, you will not have time to explore your hypothesis beforehand."

Jenk seemed to have forgotten his need to return to his document, and after a moment he sat back down. "I confess, Lemb, that I did not pay much attention to what she said about her journey. I thought it extremely foolish, and would not accompany her for any reason. Not even to protect her from herself: let Bek take care of Bek."

"I agree. Even if the station exists, I find it hard to believe that the Bek can visit it."

Jenk nodded. "Who wouldn't find it so? It tastes of madness. Were it not for her credentials, I would suspect that she lost her mind and was turned out of the clan to chase her fantasies alone."

Lemb frowned. "Indeed. In fact I am thinking that this is the most plausible explanation of all: that she has dreamed the whole thing. What credentials does she offer?"

Jenk smiled. "She brought a speech from the Bek Commander himself. He tells the same story, and also asks me to join her on the journey."

Lemb's expression remained. "Are you certain it is real? You have never heard the Bek Commander's voice before, have you?"

"Lemb, there is caution and there is fear. Have you ever seen a madwoman take time to properly assemble convincing evidence of her delusion?"

Lemb rubbed his temple slowly. "Well, might it not still be a fraud of some kind?"

Jenk thought about this, and finally said, "To what end?"

Lemb remained silent.

Jenk grimaced. "Perhaps you were thinking the Bek could hope to lure Mellay scholars away from home, one by one, and take them back to Bek home and force them to study for Bek glory."

Lemb displayed his palms and laughed quietly. "No, no, and again no. Very well. You force me to accept that, at the very least, Shed is who she says, and believes what she says, and wishes to do as she says. But it does not follow that she can do what she wishes."

"No, indeed, and that is why I had no desire to accept her invitation."

Lemb looked at his friend carefully. "Once again you speak as one who has recently changed his mind."

Jenk looked up at the sky, and then met his friend's gaze. "Think of it, Lemb. A space station built by an Antehiemal Empire. What if it's truly there? It seemed impossible at first, but this discussion has made me unsure. If it is truly there, then how could I stay here? If I truly believed that it existed, I would want to journey to it even without Shed's offer, even if I had to walk, alone."

"You cannot walk off of the Earth, Jenk."

"But that is just the crux: Shed is offering to take me there. She says she has the means."

"I concede that she believes she has the means. Do you believe it?"

"If we are travelling together, I would not be risking anything that she would not."

Lemb pulled at the moss in front of him. "It is easy to say that, here and now, sitting in a grove on a beautiful day." He left the rest of his thought unspoken.

Jenk raised a finger. "Imagine that Shed arrived here as she did, and told me the story that she did, that she believes that she has found an ancient space station, and that she has secured the means for two people to journey to it, and see for themselves if this marvel of bygone empires truly lives on, and did so in a way that made it all seem plausible; and then imagine that she offered thanks for our hospitality and went on her way. Would you expect me to wish her off on her way? Would you be surprised if I asked to accompany her? Or begged to?"

Lemb said nothing, but his mouth twisted into a sour expression.

Jenk shook his head. "Think of it, Lemb. I know more about this station that any being alive. If there is reason to believe her tale, then it is only right that I accompany her. How could I not?" Jenk said this as if it were the conclusion of a carefully reasoned debate, but the truth was that until he had spoken those words, he had not realized that he believed them.

Journal Entry

I suppose that it is my destiny to be here. What has happened hasn't really changed the fact that I was destined to come to this place. Was I destined to die in this place as well? I hope not, but maybe so. But even if not, it is hard to argue against my being here now.

If not me, then who? Not Shed, for all her loyalty. I could believe that dying here was better her destiny than mine, maybe. But then again, dying anywhere along the way would be just as appropriate for her. Anywhere at all, so long as it was in her duty. But it would have been a cruel destiny for me, to die before arriving in this place, along the way.

I am a historian. This is perhaps the way for a historian to die.

I suppose the question is: Would I have been happier had I not come? Had I remained at home, back on the planet surface. Had I never seen this place for myself. I look at it sometimes and think that the sight isn't worth crossing a river. I perhaps think that more often with each day that passes. But had I remained at home, I would never know. And I expect it's true that every night I would look up at the sky and wish that I had come.

Which is the better fate?

The rug in the center of the common building was muddy brown in color. Jenk sat upon it, legs tucked carefully underneath. In front of him sat three Mellay elders. Surrounding them was most of the clan, standing. Jenk looked around, briefly so as not to appear unfocussed. He saw Jemp in the audience, and wondered where Shed was right now. Was she with the grandparents that were too old to attend? That seemed unlikely. Jenk panicked briefly at the thought that Shed, unwatched, might be eavesdropping on this meeting. Or even here, invited, without nobody willing to miss it in order to keep her away. But the moment passed, and Jenk realized that the rest of the clan had even more motivation than he to keep Shed away. The elders were speaking quietly among themselves. Jenk kept his thoughts occupied by breathing deeply and thinking about his document. He had forbade himself from looking at it for the last few days, for fear that he would let scholarship distract him from the business at hand. There was much to be done and only a handful of days left now.

From the circle Jemp spoke up. "May we begin?"

Jenk did not look over at Jemp, but faced the elders directly. Arn, the elder seated between the other two, replied. "I suppose this is as good a time as any."

Hark frowned. Arn was the only male elder, and had a tendency to be impatient with ceremony, and people such as Jemp liked to take advantage of this tendency. Hark preferred to observe the rituals, but it was easier to be patient with rituals when said rituals have you seated instead of standing.

If any of this crossed Arn's attention, he did not show it. "Jenk. It is well and truly time for the clan to decide your question: whether or not you should leave home to travel along with a Bek on her journey." Arn paused. "A journey that she claims will take her, and you, to an ancient space station."

Hark frowned, as if resentful that an elder had been forced to say something so ridiculous in front of the entire clan. Jenk opened his mouth to speak, but then changed his mind and simply nodded.

Arn continued. "Your wish to accept her invitation stands? You have not changed your mind?"

Jenk said, "Yes." This single word seemed insufficient evidence of his conviction, so he continued. "My wish to accompany the Bek has not changed. If anything, it has grown more resolute."

Ern spoke up before Arn could reply, apparently feeling that attempting to respect ceremony any further would simply mean that Arn would do all the talking. "There are many reasons why such a journey would not be good for Mellay, are there not, Jenk? I suspect that this journey strikes you as being quite an adventure, but this may not turn out to be an adventure for the rest of the clan. Would it?"

Jenk knew better than to respond to the questions, and remained silent.

Ern looked out at the larger circle. "Let us now hear the reasons for Jenk refusing the invitation."

Jemp took a single step forward, into the circle. "The Bek's proposed journey strikes us all as bizarre. This woman apparently believes that she can fly higher than any bird and leave the planet as she chooses, as if she were living in ancient times. If Bek cannot do as they say, Jenk could find himself in grave danger, with no Mellay at hand to value his life and health over Bek."

Jenk thought: If Shed and I travel alone as she proposes, then she will have no one but me to value her life and health. But he knew that this would not be a convincing reply. Better to remain silent and wait his turn.

Tarv strode forward. "We do not know how long this journey will take, and if Jenk will still be of sound body when he returns. Jenk is not old yet. There are years of tending the fields he yet owes to Mellay. Even more than some others his age, for he has been permitted to tend his own fields of crumbling documents."

Jenk smiled briefly, despite himself. Even in a clan meeting, Tarv could not resist indulging in her imagery.

Jenk's smile vanished at once, however, when Lemb stepped silently forward. He moved to stand behind Jenk, and then said: "Jemp and Tarv have each, in their way, missed the true reason why Jenk should refuse this invitation. It is true, this proposed journey seems certain to be a dangerous one. And Jenk's youth is indeed a concern; but not for the fieldwork Jenk owes the clan, but rather for the scholarship he owes us all. Jenk is a good scholar, perhaps even a great scholar, and Mellay should not allow him to risk the future of his efforts on an improbable adventure."

Jenk burned inside. He had never heard such words of praise from anyone before, at least not from anyone whose opinion he valued, and certainly not from someone like Lemb. And now here they were, being used against him. He did not know how to feel. There was talking in the circle, but it seemed much too distant for Jenk to feel connected to.

Finally Arn broke the silence. "Jenk? Let us hear your reasons why the clan should accept this invitation."

Jenk stole a quick glance around the circle, and paused. Maybe someone would step forward on their own? Up until a minute ago, he had thought that Lemb might.

"I have a reason!" came a reedy voice. Jenk winced inwardly as he watched his wish backfire on him. Semp had wiggled past the adults and now stood in the circle. "He could be successful! Everyone talks about failure. But if the journey succeeds he will bring honor and glory to Mellay! If she goes without him, Bek will take all the honor and glory." Semp's voice dropped at the end as he realized that he was shouting. He straightened his back and fell silent. A few chuckles scattered around the circle.

Jenk avoided looking at Semp. He had intended to make that argument, of course, only in a much less juvenile fashion. Now that reason had been made for him. Jenk hoped that nobody here thought that he might have asked Semp to come forward.

Hark looked inscrutably at Jenk. "Do you have anything else for us?" Jenk heard some more laughter.

His real reason, of course, was not a reason he could put forth, for it was a personal reason, and benefited the clan nothing. Jenk thought, I have glimpsed a vision of myself, laying my hand upon history itself, walking into that which I have studied for years only through the densest fog of time. Having tasted of such a possibility, how could I not pursue it? How could I remain here and ever be content again?

It had to remain unspoken, but Jenk suspected that it was present nonetheless, in the minds of the elders if no one else. But was grave discontent coupled with a chance at glory reason enough to let him go?

Jenk breathed deeply once more, then stood up. He stepped backwards off of the rug and clapsed his hands. "I offer one more reason. Not from myself, but from those who cannot speak." The laughter and whipsers quickly ceased. "I have been abandoned by Tilt and Selt for five years now. Though I am still Mellay, my future has been beheaded. I am like an extra skin that Mellay could shuck and soon forget. No one has stepped forward and said, 'Jenk cannot leave because he is my husband.' There is no one who can say that. There is no one who can say, 'Jenk cannot leave because he is my father.' Though I may toil for Mellay for several more years before I myself am lost to the darkness, the truth is that losing anyone else here would bring more pain to Mellay than losing me. I say to you all here that I of all here am worth the risk of this journey."

The room was silent. Arn looked at him with piercing gray eyes. Jenk maintained his stance and kept his face blank.

They would have to let him go now.

Of course, it wasn't quite that simple. The meeting continued into the evening, and several people left before it was over. But the decision was ultimately reached, that Jenk should be permitted to take the journey.

The very next day, Hark visited him. He was at home, carefully looking over the document. It was now by far his most valuable possession. He did not seriously expect to learn many new secrets from reading through it in the seven days he had left, but he could hardly keep himself away from it all the same. Everything about it looked different, now that it was no longer only about the past. Now that it might also be about something that he could see for himself, maybe even touch.

Hark had entered without invitation. It was her right, but Jenk found it unfriendly nonetheless.

"Jenk. Are you preparing for your journey yet?"

Jenk stood up from the table. "In a way, I suppose I am."

Apparently the niceties were finished, for she said, "I hope you will not be surprised to hear that I still do not think you should go on this journey."

Jenk pointedly looked past her out of his window. "And yet, Hark, you agreed with the other elders that I should go."

"Not at all, Jenk. I agreed that we should let you choose for yourself. It was the right decision under the circumstances. But I do not think that you should choose to go."

"And yet, I am going." Now that he had the clan's permission, Jenk realized that he did not care if he had their blessing as well. It was true; the choice ought to be his.

"You stood there before us and presented your reason as striking some kind of balance of risk against benefit. The clan stood to lose so little from losing you, that it was worth the danger."

Jenk flinched at hearing it spoken so plainly, but he did not try to correct her description.

"But those were the words that came from your lips. Your real reason hardly escaped my attention."

"My real reason?" Jenk let his eyes wander away from her again.

"You asked us to let you go as an act of charity. To make up for having lost your family. It was shameless."

Jenk shrugged, unsure what to say in response. He had been asking for charity, in the final consideration. To leave his home would be to leave the haunt of his memories. Having lost his future, he felt condemned to think of nothing but the past. His scholarship had been much improved in the last few years because he had thrown himself into it, as a way to remain in the present. Now he could throw himself into his scholarship as few had ever done before.

He hadn't expected to fool Hark with his little speech, but then he hadn't really wanted to fool anybody. It was of course embarrassing, to ask for charity like that, in front of the entire clan. He knew that the very embarrassment of it also served to increase their pity.

Finally, Jenk said, "As you have already said, it was the right thing to do. If I have shamed you by asking for charity in front of the entire clan, well. I am sorry for that." He shrugged again. "But I suspect that you would not have extended the charity had I not asked for it. So it seems to me that you have yourself to blame as much as me."

Hark watched him without moving. Jenk clapsed his hands behind his back, but still she said nothing. He suppressed the urge to shrug his shoulders again, and met her gaze.

At last she said, "You haven't lost your whole family, you realize. You are still Mellay. This is your family."

Jenk sighed. "I do not mean to insult you, or anyone else. Yes, I was once part of your family, but you are not my family."

Hark finally looked away. "And if you do not return from this journey, then perhaps I shall stand before the clan next, and ask for charity."

"No."

"Perhaps I shall stand up without shame and say: I should be given what I ask for because there is no one left to call me mother."

Jenk felt his eyes water briefly. "It is not the same. I am many years past being your son."

"No," she said, suddenly louder. "It is not the same. But it is painful still. A mother should not live to see her son reach the end of his life first."

Jenk had no rebuttal for this. At length he quietly replied. "Well, that is your own fault for living so long."

A noise escaped Hark that was almost a chuckle. "Perhaps I should hope to die before you leave, then."

Jenk faced Hark resolutely. He stepped forward and took her hands. "Hark, this conversation is unworthy of both of us. You shall live many more years, and the clan shall be better for it. And when I return from my journey, I shall be honored as a scholar, and I shall cover Mellay in glory for generations."

Hark was unmoved. "Saying it doesn't make it so, Jenk."

"And yet saying otherwise doesn't help."

Hark permitted him to see a small smile. "Very well, then."

Journal Entry

It is hard not to think about the air in here. It is hard not to think about everything, really, but air is the one thing I cannot forget, even for a moment. I'm breathing constantly. The space feels hot, then cold. I don't think it's just me: some process is affecting the air temperature, and changes every few minutes.

I'm almost positive that there is some way to ask the station for information about the air. But I have no idea how to begin, and I'm not sure I could formulate a question that the ancient machines would understand, or if I would understand a response if I had one.

Fortunately, there is the pressure suit. Along the left arm are some circular displays. I didn't get a chance to learn what these things are, of course, but I've been examining them. And, I believe they are some relatively simple mechanisms that take measurements of the air. I'm pretty sure that one of them measures the air pressure, and another one measures the content of the air. I imagine that they are meant to be used when the suit is worn, and fully enclosed, measuring the air within. But I am guessing that their simple nature allows them to work when the suit is open, and then they measure the air both outside the suit and in.

It is good to have simple mechanisms, out here. A person should not have to rely on things that require electrical energy, all the time. Especially out here.

The displays suggest that the air pressure and content have certain values. I don't know what those values mean, but I examine them frequently. Many times a day, I think. It's hard to be sure, of course. There is no sunrise, no sunset. I measure days by my body's cycles of exhaustion. At times I watch the displays constantly. I don't know what the numbers mean, but I take a great deal of hope from the fact that the numbers have not varied much since my arrival. They move very slowly, but so far they continue to vary in the direction of their motion. Every so slowly, they wiggle. They orbit a fixed point, rather than slowly marching towards an ultimate destination. That seems to indicate that the air in the station is being maintained. How, I don't know. But some process is working to keep it breathable. Or at least the pressure is being maintained. And something about its content. I'm not sure what.

What is in air? Oxygen, naturally. And nitrogen. I believe nitrogen is essential, even though my body doesn't consume it. The body takes it in only to expel it once more, but still depends on its presence. I don't remember why. Air also contains water, but my body can probably survive a lessening of water in the air. Presumably it would dry out my eyes and nose, but it wouldn't kill me. Or would it? Would my body dehydrate itself in the process, continually bringing water to my exposed parts, only to see it wicked away? I honestly don't know. Mellay is not a dry place; I have no personal experience of such environments.

And then there is carbon dioxide. I don't believe my body requires any carbon dioxide in its air, but it is certainly present, all the same. Thanks to me. The viria do what they can to absorb my carbon dioxide, of course, but I imagine that I produce far too much for them to absorb alone. I don't honestly know how the station gets rid of the carbon dioxide in the air. Before I came here I would have assumed, had I thought about it much, that the station would have some simple colonies of protoplankton on board to keep the air oxygenated. But that is obviously not the correct answer: if it were, such colonies would have died off many years ago. So there must be some other process at work here.

Certainly the station boasts of more than one mechanism or process that has survived the millennia intact. Something must be maintaining the air's content, as it does in fact remain breathable. Presuming I have understood this suit's display, of course.

It's hard not to worry about the air.

"Jenk, we can't do this journey if you won't listen to me."

"I am listening, and you're telling me what I already know."

Shed scowled and threw down her axe. The blade landed against the fallen log next to Shed and bit into it with a solid thunk. Without looking at it, Shed walked away and said, "Very well. If you are already so knowledgeable, then you build the fire. Perhaps I can learn from you."

Jenk closed his eyes and sighed. He was too tired for this. His legs were beginning to ache, and there would soon be a blister on his left foot if he didn't get off of it soon. Jenk looked at Parn, the servant that had come with them on the journey, but she merely looked pointedly up at the sky and seemed determined not to become involved.

Jenk slowly walked over to the fallen log and sat down next to the axe. Its handle pointed almost straight up. Jenk thought about what he would need to do to collect the wood and get a proper fire going by himself. He didn't understand why Shed couldn't just have Parn help them do it. Wasn't that what people had servants for in the first place: menial tasks such as building a campfire? But Shed seemed to view firebuilding not as a chore but as an honor, an almost sacred task, and much too important to be left to the servants.

Jenk looked back to the east, in the direction they had come. The sky there had deepened in color, but the clouds were still a cheery white, and little more than wispy fluffs. They moved across the sky in a curving line that sure meant good weather for Mellay, and possibly Bek as well. Jenk turned his head to the west. The clouds were denser there, and thicker across the sky. Lit up by setting sun, Jenk could see that they lacked the innocuous clear whiteness of the eastern sky, and held within them a tinge of gray color. No doubt it would be raining on them before they were done. This was the rainy season, after all. The warm weather preceding Shed's arrival in Mellay had lulled him into forgetting that.

Jenk exhaled noisily, and looked back down at his travelling companion. This was only the third day of their journey together, and already they could barely tolerate each other.

Shed seemed to be irritated in particular because there she had been unable to find a pack animal in Mellay to bring along with them. Apparently in Bek horses were common and everybody owned a dozen of them. But Mellay had few uses for horses, and thus few horses. It was said that Pilt had been a lover of horses, several generations back, and had increased the horse population in Mellay during his lifetime. But horses were an expensive luxury, requiring a great deal of food and care. The few horses that existed in Mellay these days were kept by people who found them quite necessary, and they had no interest in bartering them to Shed, for any kind of promises.

As a result of this situation, Shed had insisted that they leave a day earlier than Jenk had planned for. And now she was frequently grumbling that they were not going to make good time, and they would be late, though she wouldn't say for what, only that it was all the fault of those backwards Mellay and their lack of good pack animals.

Last night Shed had suggested that Jenk build the fire. Jenk thought it had been a good enough fire. It had already fallen dark by the time it was going, to be perfectly honest, and then it hadn't quite lasted until morning; they had all woken up feeling a bit cold, although Jenk hadn't minded it too much. That was the price one paid for travelling on journeys: a little discomfort. Jenk had left behind his bed and table, his most comfortable clothes, and his little urn of nut leaf. Not to mention his friends and clan, of course, but Shed had left those things behind as well. But then, this whole journey had been her idea.

What had happened to all the warm weather, anyway? Jenk looked up at the sky, but saw nothing more than he had already. The sky must have known that they were starting on a long journey, and had picked that time to return to the season's normal cool wind and unpredictable rains.

So far the nights had been uncomfortable for Jenk. He was finding it hard to fall asleep on the ground, so exposed as they were to the world. What difference a few walls make to one's peace of mind. In theory, anything that might walk up to them out here in the night could also walk into his home while he slept. But not having the walls, and with the fire burning through the night, Jenk found himself lying in his bedding and expecting every night-hunting creature within sight to come wandering up to the fire and investigate. He would be fast asleep, and a hungry bear or a scavenger bird would creep up, drawn to him by the light and warmth, and whump! He'd be dead before he could scream. Of course, he also understood that the fire was actually quite effective at scaring away the night-hunting creatures. But that just seemed to easy to be true.

No, Jenk thought again: actually, this journey hadn't been Shed's idea at all. It had originally been her father's idea, as far as Jenk had managed to work out. Shed had told him about how it had come about, but there were subtleties to Bek internal politics and social structures that Jenk didn't understand, and had only the vaguest interest in learning, and as a result he hadn't been able to understand most of what she had said. But still, it had been Shed's father, the Vice Commander, who had learned of the light-wave emission that suggested the Sunset Station as its origin, and had decided that the Bek clan should attempt to locate the station. But even so: it was Shed's idea to volunteer herself to make the journey.

Or was it? Jenk was suddenly unsure. He looked over at Shed's form, no more than a silhouette as she faced away from him into the sunset. The ocean was to the west, though still too far away to be seen. Jenk had never seen the ocean, of course. He was the sort of historian that preferred to dig through ancient books instead of ancient ruins. It was only chance and fortune that had placed possession of the Sunset Station document in his hands over some other scholar's. Shed lowered herself gracefully to the ground, without looking away from the sky. It seemed unlikely, now that Jenk thought about it, that Shed had had the idea to volunteer to undergo this journey entirely without provocation. Her father probably told her of what he had learned before the rest of the clan. She saw an opportunity to be first, and had taken it. Perhaps her father had intentionally given her his confidence first, hoping she would volunteer. Possibly he had not even been subtle about his hopes; perhaps she had even felt pressured by his expectations to volunteer. And why stop there: perhaps he had offered her services to the clan directly, without even speaking with her first. That couldn't be described as volunteering, of course. But it was hard to say, with another clan. Such a thing would never happen in Mellay, of course, but that meant little to the Bek.

Jenk sighed, and shook his head. These sorts of thoughts were not particularly useful ones. He should not let himself think of the Bek in this fashion. Jenk knew as a historian that in the absence of knowledge it was easy to fabricate all sorts of ideas, convenient and self-gratifying ideas in particular.

Neither he nor Shed were diplomats, it was certainly true. But for both of their sakes they had better start learning something of the profession.

Jenk's mind wandered to the paper pages of his precious document, held snugly within the folds of the leathering carrying case in his pack. Lemb had presented the carrying case to him, the night before they had departed Mellay. It was beautifully made, and Lemb had gotten the dimensions exactly right. Jenk was tempted to take the case out and feel it. It was perhaps one of his nicest possessions, and he wished briefly that he was back in Mellay: if only for a few moments, or maybe long enough to eat a meal with his friends, and not have to worry about sleeping out in the open, or trying to be cordial to these stubborn and inflexible Bek.

Jenk stood up, and placed one hand lightly upon the handle of the axe. She was going to take him to see the Sunset Station, to let him touch it, perhaps even enter it, presuming that these things were still possible to do. In exchange for such a thing as this, he could afford to swallow a bit of his pride and let her lecture him on the systems and theory of building a fire.

"Shed, ahoy!" Jenk called.

Shed did not move for a moment. Jenk took in another deep breath, but then she shifted, and unfolded her frame until she was standing upright again. Pivoting on one foot, she turned to face his direction and clapsed her hands before her.

Jenk nodded gravely, and then called to her, "I'm finding it difficult to use the woodburn and the axe together, more so than I expected. Can you show me what I'm doing wrong?"

Shed must have noticed, of course, that the axe was exactly where she had thrown it. But she said nothing, and Jenk did not press the point.

Shed stared a moment longer, and then began walking back over to him. Jenk levered the axe out of the log, and then handed it to her.

Shed took the axe with a rueful expression. "It still amazes me that you have no axe of your own."

"I'm a scholar, Shed. I leave woodcutting to the young men. They enjoy doing it more than I can."

"It's not about enjoyment, Jenk." Shed pulled the stopper out of the hole in the bottom of the axe handle and held it out over the log. "It's about being able to take care of yourself and your clan. It's a useful skill, like being able to prepare your own food or wash your own clothes." A greasy and viscous fluid dripped out from the hole. Shed moved the handle to trace a white line across the log, then turned the axe back over again and replaced the stopper.

"Mellay prefer to do such mundane tasks all together, as a clan, so that a few may benefit the whole; and people like myself who are good at scholarship but poor at washing can exercise our best gifts instead of our worst. The clan benefits, and so do the individuals."

"Yet my point is that if your clan forced you to do your own washing anyway, despite your professed lack, you would find with time that you were not so poor at washing as you once were, or thought you were. That your little skill at washing may be more due to being able to say as much and leave it there, than to any innate ability or deficiency." Shed's words were sharp, though offered in a conversational tone of voice. And before Jenk had formed a response, she turned back to the log, and swung the axe in a circle that went up lazily but came back down with a faint whistle, ending with a loud thunk and a quiet exhalation from Shed. The axe had landed directly along the length of the white line.

Shed pulled the axe free from the log. "See there?" she asked, pointing with one finger without letting go of the axe handle. "See those wisps of smoke? That's how you know that you have waited just long enough for the woodburn to soak in." She swung the axe in another circle. "You want to work relatively quickly now. But carefully. You want each cut of the axe to drive the woodburn down deeper in. If you go too slowly, the woodburn will be gone before you've cut through to the other side. But if you try to go too fast, your cuts won't land true and the woodburn will still go to waste."

Jenk said nothing, but stepped back a safe distance, and watched her. She had all but forgotten that he was there now, caught up in the task before her. He let her earlier comments remain unanswered, at least for now. It was the diplomatic thing to do.

Jenk stared up at the stars. There was Jupiter. Jenk had little memory for constellations, but the planets he could always locate. Jenk shuffled around in his bedding. It was still warm from the fire. Mars appeared not to be in the sky tonight, however. Was it close to the sun right now? Jenk didn't know. Jenk closed his eyes briefly, to force them to adapt to the dark despite the proximity of the firelight, and thought of his father. He thought of going outside, after nightfall, to watch his father throwing a pot. His father claimed that night air gave his pottery a special texture, particularly when it was damp, and so he would occasionally make special items underneath a full moon. Jenk would come out, pulled instinctively to watch his father work in the silvery darkness. The smell of wet clay would be thick in his nose, and also thick upon his father's hands and fingers: in that light they would look like they belonged to an unfinished statue. When he would notice Jenk standing nearby, he would make the barest motion of his head as acknowledgement, nothing more. His attention would remain focussed on the task before him. But after a while, never breaking from his rhythm or looking away from the object he was working on, a question would come rumbling out of him. "Which one is Saturn, Jenk?" his father would ask him. As far back as Jenk could remember, his father would test him on the positions of the planets, long before Jenk knew the first thing about how to find the answer to such questions, and so would instead point randomly up at the sky. "Goodness, child!" his father would bark, pretending to be shocked. "What planet were you raised on that Saturn could be seen so far above the horizon?" And so Jenk would try again, and receive another rebuff and another bit of information, until he had managed to pick out the proper speck of light.

And now, as a result, he could identify all the planets any time the night sky was clear, recognizing them instinctively by their brightness and color and general position. It was a small thing to take pleasure in, and oddly comforting as well.

Jenk opened his eyes again, gazed up at the stars. "Saturn. There it is."

Shed raised her head slightly from her bedding. "Are you awake, Jenk?"

Jenk replied quietly, "I suppose I am."

"Did you speak?"

"No," Jenk said. "Or rather, not with the intention of being heard."

Shed stared at him a moment longer, then leaned back without further questions.

Jenk smiled to himself. If Shed could figure out when to leave him be, then perhaps they might learn to get along on this journey after all.

Journal Entry

The habitable area of the Sunset Station is a simple sphere, a hollow nestled inside the larger structure. It does not sit in the center of the station, as I originally assumed when back on Earth, but lies close to the edge of one side, like a bubble of air, blown by the architects and floating up until it rests against the surface tension. It is a place for a mere mortal to hide from the rest of the station's systems.

Naturally, the area where the living area most closely approaches the external boundary of the station is where the doorway is located. The door itself is not very large: it is less than four feet across. Clearly this entrance was not meant to be used for large supplies, machines, or the like, but just people.

The surface area of the bubble constantly alternates between acting as floor, wall, or ceiling. It struck me as haphazard when I first arrived, but now I am starting to see a sort of logic to its organization. An economical logic, to be sure. An area containing drawers, or the display, is a patch of wall. Such an area will be partially surrounded by handholds, and foot stirrups, so that someone needing access to these things can steady oneself first; or if you find yourself floating loose, without restraints, and heading towards a patch of wall, there will usually be something to grab and stop yourself before banging into something fragile. At first I thought these metal bars and loops, protruding shallowly everywhere, were some kind of lever or other controls, and I was quite confused when they proved to be extremely solid and unmoveable; but now that I have been here for some time their true purpose has become quite obvious.

There is not the least bit of dust in this place, as far as I can tell. That actually surprised me. I know that there is no dust in space, but I would have expected that the station's living area would have contained some dust, nonetheless. Does the station have some process, still at work, that periodically dusts the room? That seems very unlikely. I suppose that every object was dusted most thoroughly before it was allowed to be brought into the station, and every person as well. What is dust actually made of? Perhaps metal objects simply produce no dust, naturally. So no dust is ever generated in this place. Of course, I was not dusted before coming here. So now there probably is dust in the station.

It does seem that nearly everything is made of metal in here. Even the material of the bedding feels strange, not quite metallic but neither does it feel as if it were ever part of something alive. If only I could somehow return to Earth and bring the station with me, I could be a very powerful man just by salvaging all the metal.

The walls are all pale gray color, as if they were made of some kind of stone. The starkness of the color is actually rather striking, when you finally notice it. It is obviously done with paint, as there is not the merest hint of variation in hue throughout. Things such as the entrance hatch break it up, to be sure. The entrance hatch is a dark black. So it is not as if the entire space is one color, but still I find it somewhat unnerving: this utter perfection of controlled coloration. And to what end? To make the walls gray.

There are a handful of drawers in this place, built into it so that they are part of the walls instead of being separate structures. The faces of the drawers, incidentally, are exactly the same shade of pale gray as the walls. I find it very surprising, but not a single of them can be opened. I have tried at length, and with various techniques, but none of them give more than a hair's breadth. It seems too much to ask of belief, that so much of the station's mechanisms and processes are still intact after so many millennia, and yet all the drawers have become gummed up and will not open now. In fact, I am starting to suspect that the drawers are in fact locked into place, and I simply do not have knowledge of the mechanism to open them. Possibly they could not be opened at all directly, but were controlled by the station's processes, the same ones that controlled the more complex external mechanisms, such as the light-wave emitters and listeners. It seems ridiculous, when a simple latch would have done the job just as well. But it is true that the ancient empires liked to use complicated controls for simple tasks. And it is possible that there is some good reason for that which I simply am unaware of. Perhaps the station was capable of automatically closing the drawers when the entrance was accidentally opened, so as to prevent the contents from being blown around.

The drawers almost seem to be arranged in a curving line, almost a spiral, going from the entrance on one side of the bubble to the beds on the opposite side. The pattern is almost good enough to make me think that it was intentional. I have a hard time not tracing the line in my head when I lie on the bedding and stare across the bubble. But if the pattern was put there intentionally, then what is the reason for the irregularities? For that matter, why not arrange the drawers in a straight line, or a rectangular array, which would probably fit together more snugly and thus require less wall space. So the spiral line I see is probably unplanned, an accident of arrangement. Which suggests that there is some other pattern that I haven't yet seen, that dictates a reason for the placement of the drawers along the walls.

Besides the drawers, there is also the display. I do not know what its true purpose, but it very much reminds me of the ship's display. It is a large rectangular panel, quite flat and smooth. It is almost certainly made of some kind of metal: unlike the other display, it is quite reflective. When I lie on the bedding, if I move my head to just the right position, I can see in the display a tiny distorted reflection of one corner of the entrance hatch.

It surprises me that the bubble has nothing that extends from the edge towards the center more than a few feet. It seems a waste of space, to not put the central area to use. And why not at least have a pole along one diamater? Occasionally, when lying down in one of the beddings, I find myself looking up across the way at the door, and I find myself speculating if it would be possible to push off from the wall, with just the right amount of gentleness, so that you would come to rest in the middle of the bubble, just out of reach of any handhold. Held up on all sides by nothing but the surrounding air, you would quite possibly be stranded. Stranded again, really, since to be here at all is to be stranded once. It's hard to say if it could be done or not: the beds do stand well off from the floor, enough so that if you were in the exact center of the bubble you could probably get a foot hooked onto the bar around the bedding. If you managed to leave yourself a little farther away from the center, though, just enough to be out of reach of the bunk, I am fairly certain that you could do so and still be too far away from the other sides. But what I am unsure about is: would it be possible to move yourself with nothing to push against? I suspect that you actually could, in much the same way that one can swim underwater. By pushing in one direction with your limbs, you can send your torso moving in the other direction, with enough momentum that you can then bring in your limbs to reduce resistance against the medium. But it might be a slow process, and a taxing one. In any case I have no desire to attempt the experiment. I am profoundly stranded as it is; I have no desire to make myself any more abject. And yet I cannot prevent myself from thinking about it, every time I lay down on the bedding and stare up and across the space to the other side.

Perhaps it was designed this way for psychological comfort? This wasted space isn't really much, but it may have made this tiny bubble feel a little less constricting to those who were trapped in it for an extended stay. I have to confess that I would probably be more anxious if the bubble were more crowded. I take a certain animal comfort in the size, I think. Some basic instinct feels that there is room enough in here to out-maneuver a predator. To dodge death, when she finally does come for me.

The late morning sky was filled with clouds of many different varieties. Directly overhead where they walked were a school of small fluffy clouds that were so brightly white that they seemed to shine with their own light. The north sky was completely covered with a thick blanketing of clouds that shaded off into the light gray. To the south were long straight streamers of clouds, thin and moving quickly in the wind. Before long they would be completely dispersed. To the west, in the direction of their travel, however, the clouds were heavy and gray.

Shed stopped walking at the top of a gentle rise. She stood, legs slightly apart, in the center of the dusty road they were following and pointed up. Jenk came to a stop next to her and looked up at where she was pointing.

"Look at that. We're about to walk directly into the rain up ahead."

Jenk considered this, then said, "Not necessarily. The wind in the south is pretty strong; look there. It's possible that in the next hour or so those clouds will have been blown farther north, away from us."

Shed stared at the south sky critically. Her expression did not change.

Jenk watched the scudding clouds for another moment, and then said, "But that's only one possibility. It's of course also possible that those storm clouds will be directly over our heads when they finally overflow."

Shed looked over to the north sky for a moment, then back at the south sky. "You have a good eye, Jenk. There is a south wind. It's not strong, but it's there." She adjusted the strap on her shoulder. "Still, it's not strong enough to save us from the rain."

Jenk considered this, then nodded. She was probably right.

Shed turned back to look at her servant. "What do you think, Parn?"

Parn blinked slowly. "I say it's going to rain."

Jenk smiled to himself. He had yet to hear Parn disagree with Shed.

Shed looked back at Jenk. "What say we make camp, at least until those clouds blow over? I'm in no mood to try to make camp after the rain has started. If we set up over there, we can be comfortably under shelter while it's still dry out."

Jenk nodded. "Sounds fine with me. Let's get set up."

Shed dropped her backpack. "Parn, let's make the shelter."

The shelter turned out to be little more than a roof on poles. The roof was made of a light fabric that Jenk didn't recognize, which billowed in the wind and permitted a surprising amount of light through. As Parn lay out blankets for them to lie upon, Shed moved out from under the shelter and stared up at the sky. Jenk stood by, not sure what was expected of him just now. Finally he decided that he could go collect some kindling. But as he walked out from under the shelter, Shed noticed him and without looking down said, "Wait."

Jenk walked over to her. "Yes?"

"Look at how fast the clouds are moving now." Shed pointed to the southwest. "I think our rainstorm is going to be little more than a squall. I don't think we'll actually need to make full camp. We can just wait out the rain here, and then when the clouds have passed, we can pack up and proceed."

Jenk frowned. "It will be late in the day by then, won't it? We won't be able to get very far before it starts getting dark."

Shed looked at him briefly, then back at the shelter. "We rest during the rain. We'll be fresh and make good time in the light we have left."

Jenk looked at Shed, then shrugged and decided to say nothing. At least he didn't have to collect kindling now.

The three travellers made themselves comfortable underneath the shelter. Before long, the rain had started, and the ground around them was soaked. The fabric of the shelter was essentially flat, and so occasionally would become bowl-shaped as the water began collecting in one place. Shed held a large stick, and would poke at the fabric when this happened, causing a brief but heavy stream of water to fall out to one side.

Jenk watched her for a while and then said, "This roof of yours should have been made with a slope, to let the water run off."

Shed replied without looking at him. "It's supposed to have a gentle slope. I think Parn just didn't set it in the ground properly."

Jenk looked over at Parn. She was lying down, with her head propped up on her backpack. After watching her for a while, Jenk decided that she was indeed asleep. Jenk stood up and sat back down closer to Shed.

Shed looked at him questioningly. "What are you doing?"

"Shed, I would very much appreciate knowing a little bit more about this journey than you've told me so far."

Shed grimaced and turned her attention back to the roof.

"When I accepted your invitation to accompany you, I wasn't expecting to be kept in the dark the whole way. Now I can understand, to a certain degree, wanting to keep secrets from a servant, if you don't feel you can trust them. But I feel I ought to know more about what I'm walking into than I do now."

Without looking down, Shed nodded. "You are correct in that I am not entirely comformtable with Parn knowing more than she needs to."

"Do you always hold such mistrust for your own servants?"

"Parn is not really my servant. You think I am rich enough to make use of two servants in my everyday life? Jord is my servant, and her I trust to the end of my life."

"Well then, why did you not send Parn ahead instead of Jord?"

"I prefer to keep Parn where I can see her. And besides, sending Parn to Dryssa would have been very foolish. Jord is carrying very important messages relating to the specifics of our journey. There is a great deal of secret information in them, and we very much depend on those messages arriving safely."

"Secret information. Goodness. Why all these secrets, Shed? You Bek are like children telling stories on each other, with all these secrets, and I simply cannot understand the need for it. You believe that ..." Jenk noticed that he had raised his voice, and as a result Shed was now glaring at him. He made a conscious effort to remain quiet. "You believe that a space station from the Antehiemal Empires survives, and you believe you have the means to visit it. All right." Shed seemed to notice his use of the word "believe", which Jenk realized too late was not a very diplomatic thing to say; but he continued undeterred. "What possible value can there be in hiding this information from others? I could perhaps understand it if you were a scholar; then you might be fearful that someone else might publish this fact first, without crediting you, and receive the honor. But this is not really so likely in the field of history, though there have been some famous cases. But aside from all that, Bek cares nothing for scholarship. Goodness, do you even intend to publish anything about this journey when it is done?"

Shed looked at him. "That depends on what we find, I suppose. If fortune smiles on both of us, I believe that we may be able to strike a bargain, whereby Bek will allow you to publish instead, in exchange for your continued cooperation." She turned her attention back to the shelter.

Jenk narrowed his eyes. "So. As I have said, you care nothing about publishing. I've suspected all along that your motivations are political, of course, but I cannot begin to imagine what you hope to accomplish politically by visiting an ancient space station."

Shed continued to stare up at the fabric.

Jenk, frustrated with her lack of response, raised his voice again. "Do you think it can be used as a weapon against your neighbors? Is that it? If so I would like to be the first to tell you that you are badly mistaken!"

Parn suddenly sat up, and looked around. Shed, apparently satisfied with this sequence of events, stared pointedly upwards and said nothing.

The rain did in fact let up just after the middle of the afternoon. As Shed had suggested, they packed up as soon as the air was dry, and began to walk again. Jenk watched with interest as Shed and Parn folded the shelter. After removing the poles, they turned the fabric roof upside-down and shook it once, with force. The water still clinging to it fell off and pattered onto the grass. They then moved sideways a few steps, and laid the fabric back down on the dry patch of ground that it had sheltered, and there proceeded to fold it up into a rather small square, which Parn stored in her backpack.

The air now had the clarity that it does when a rain has washed it clean, and Jenk could hardly prevent himself from inhaling deeply as they set out along the road again. The air was filled with subtle scents, dirt and dampness and plant matter, and the slightly abrasive odor of distant pine trees. The dampness left them feeling cool, but the sun was fully emerged from the clouds, and the air held the promise of the warmth of late afternoon. No doubt they would be warm enough before they stopped for the night. The sky was already verging into a reddish color above the road before them, in preparation for a colorful sunset.

The land was relatively flat ahead, and the weather had dampened the road's character, leaving the dust looking more like clay and giving it a welcome firmness. Water had collected in various holes and depressions along the road, turning the clay further into mud, but these were fortunately far enough apart to not impede their progress significantly.

Jenk hung back a few steps as they walked along the road. The rest had left him feeling tired rather than refreshed, and he would have preferred to remain encamped where they were. Jenk stared along the road. Shed had stated that the road would take them to the Corlon clan by tomorrow. Hopefully they would be welcoming of travellers, and would be willing to provide warm food and comfortable beds for them. Mellay was always happy to have travellers spend a night or two, and there were a handful of extra beds throughout the clan. Some clans, however, were innately distrustful of outsiders; those clans would probably offer nothing more than directions back to the road.

"Shed," Jenk called.

Shed looked back over her left shoulder briefly. "What is it, Jenk?" She did not break her stride.

Jenk said, "Tell me about your shelter. It seems to be made of a special fabric. What is it?"

Shed threw another look at him, glaring this time. "If you wish to make chit-chat, then come astride so I don't have to waste breath yelling over my shoulder."

Jenk replied, "My left knee pains me slightly, thanks to an old injury with a billhook. Can you not fall back in order to speak with me?"

Without looking back, Shed came to a complete stop, falling back into her loping rhythm as soon as Jenk had reached her side. Her expression was impatient. "Try not to fall behind again. If you can keep up with me three paces behind, you can keep up with me at my side."

Jenk frowned, for Parn had also fallen back, matching her stride with Shed's. Jenk was not deterred, however. He pointed across Shed at Parn's backpack, pointing slightly ahead of where Parn was, saying, "The fabric of your shelter is not one I believe I have seen before." Sure enough, Shed unconsciously fell behind Parn a step, trying to match the position of her backpack with where Jenk pointed. "It is so thin, yet it resists absorbing rainwater almost completely. What is it?"

"It is wormwool, nothing more. The Lorthol clan have cultivated it for many generations, and they have learned weaving techniques that emphasize one or more of wormwool's innate qualities."

"Are you serious?" Jenk let his pace slip a little more. "I have only seen wormwool a few times, but it has always struck me as a very coarse fabric."

"Then you have only seen it in one of its incarnations. Wormwool is quite flexible as a textile, and in the right hands it can be spun extremely fine. I am surprised that you are unfamiliar with it like this. It is very popular in Bek for making clothes, and from what I can tell it rains even more frequently on Mellay than it does on us."

Jenk shrugged his shoulders with a broad roll, and let his pace slip yet again. "Well, it may very well be that it is popular in Mellay as well, and I have just never noticed. I have a tendency to spend much of my own time with my paper pages, and my publications, and I do not always pay attention to what people are wearing. But perhaps I shall have to find some wormwool myself before the days turn cold and wet again."

"Indeed. Now keep up with us." And Shed increased her stride to bring herself aligned with Parn once more.

Jenk shook his head. He was beginning to believe that Shed did not want to answer his questions at all, and was merely using Parn's presence as an excuse to avoid him. Of course, it might just be honest impatience on her part. Shed was clearly a person who spent much of her waking life feeling impatient.

Perhaps, if Corlon turned out to be hospitable, there would be an opportunity while they were there to speak to Shed alone. If so, he would demand that she answer his questions. If the opportunity did not arise, well then, he could always attempt a drastic measure, such as threaten to remain behind and not travel with her any further. But that would turn out to be an empty threat if she chose to call him out. Despite all the secrecy, the last thing Jenk wanted at this point was to stay behind.

There was a quiet sound, off to their right. Even Jenk, with his lack of experience in the wild, recognized the rustling sound as that of something moving through underbrush. At once Shed came to a stop, and held out her left hand, motioning for the others to halt as well. Parn looked at Shed inquisitively but said nothing. Jenk began to form a question, but by some native instinct Shed waved at him to remain silent before he had actually made a sound. Cowed, Jenk remained silent and still, and waited for something to happen.

After a long moment, the sound came again, slower and more cautious. Jenk suspected that it originated from a large copse of trees and bushes, not too far ahead of where they stood.

Shed's arm was still outstretched, presumably held there to continually remind them to be silent. Shed now looked over at Parn and waved the fingers on her left hand. What this meant was lost on Jenk, but Parn seemed to understand. With near-perfect silence, Parn carefully slipped her backpack off of her shoulders, and turned it so that one side was facing Shed. Shed reached into a pocket that Jenk hadn't seen before now, and withdrew a small gun.

Jenk's mouth fell open and he looked at Shed with widened eyes. It was an almost involuntary reaction, but Jenk took pride in the fact that he had gotten his message across to her without making any noise. Shed held up a warning finger at him, and then began stepping silently forward, moving towards the copse without leaveing the road.

Jenk hoped that she was merely going after a potentially dangerous animal. He couldn't shake the idea that the noise was from a person who had been following them, hoping to learn what Bek was up to with this journey, and now she was going to kill them in order to protect her secrets.

Jenk heard another rustle. Shed must have seen something as well, for she suddenly took aim and fired the weapon. There was a damp puffing sound as the arrow reached its target and liquefied, intermixed with another rustling noise. Shed waited another moment, but the silence resumed again. She turned back to the them briefly and indicated that they should stay there and remain quiet, and then she began moving quickly over to the copse.

After Shed was far enough away, Jenk murmured to Parn, "What do you think it is?" Please say an animal, Jenk thought.

Parn looked over at Jenk and stared at him for a long moment. He had not yet actually had a conversation with Parn, and now he had the impression that she preferred it that way. Finally she cast her gaze back towards Shed, who was now cautiously walking into the bushes surrounding the copse, and murmured in reply, "If she shot it, then it's dead."

Shed re-emerged from the copse and waved. She shouted, "It's safe! Come here and give me a hand!"

Parn re-shouldered her backpack and set off towards the copse. Jenk, feeling a bit disoriented, followed behind.

It did turn out to be an animal: a gray bear, in fact. "Look at it," Shed gloated. Her smile was broad. "Isn't it a fine specimen?"

Indeed it was, Jenk had to admit, except for the head, which was an ugly, muddy mess of red and gray. The arrow had struck the brain almost directly, apparently entering at the bear's right temple. Jenk shook his head to clear it of the image, and looked at Shed. "But I've never heard of gray bears attacking people. Do you honestly think we were in any danger from it?"

Shed closed her eyes, and for just a moment looked exasperated, as if Jenk were a foolish child. "I didn't kill it in defense, you fool. I killed it for food. Aren't gray bears considered a delicacy in Mellay?"

"I don't know. Maybe." Jenk thought he vaguely remembered hearing of people eating gray bear, but he was still a bit flustered and the memory was suspect. "But we have plenty of food for our travels, don't we? You can't be thinking about delicacies on a journey like this."

"Certainly not. But the bear's not for us, Jenk." Shed grinned with enjoyment of her own ingenuity. "This bear is going to be our barter for the Corlon clan's hospitality."

Journal Entry

I had another dream, again very vivid. I found myself sitting on the chair before the large display, and I reached out and touched it; suddenly, I felt confident that I already knew how to use it, as if the knowledge was already within me: it had always been there, and I had only now recognized it for what it was. This seemed impossible, upon further reflection, and I decided instead that I had somehow made contact with the spirit of someone else who had inhabited the Sunset Station, many millennia in the past, back when this structure was new, and now, in the time of a single eyeblink, this spirit had taught me all of the station's ways and means: perhaps even someone who had died here, leaving behind a marooned ghost, unable to ever leave. Perhaps there have been many such spirits shed in this place, and this place if ever there was one holds many dangers to the mortal body; and the ghosts have bled together over time, losing their individual characters to become a single essense, identified entirely as the spirit of the Sunset Station. Or is the death of humans in this place an unnecessary hypothesis? Perhaps a structure as old as this one is, and as complex and responsive, as weathered and enduring: perhaps even an inanimate object, when it has vested enough time in the world, shall eventually kindle some kind of living essense. Certainly it is hard not to feel that this very structure has a presence, not pilfered from the world of the living but entirely its own. Indeed the station stands here, outside of the world of the living, yet does not die. I should not be amazed to think that I am being kept sheltered by something that is somehow alive. It would help explain why I have survived this long: the station is caring for me, its only visitor after so many millennia of isolation. It would not know why it has been abandoned for so long: for it would know nothing of the Great Wintertime, of the fall of the civilizations that brought it to life and set it out here, to stand almost apart from time itself. These thoughts passed through my mind in but a moment, even though it seemed afterwards that I had been ruminating on them for days, and I finally decided to set such speculations aside, at least for now, for as interesting as they were, they had begun to exhaust me: and upon doing so, my attention was captured at once by the display before me. As I said, it was no longer a mystery to me, but a familiar thing, a place almost, a little world of its own, certainly a system in its own right, and almost as intelligent as any animal. Guided by my newfound instinct, I engaged it in a dialogue, though I cannot now define the medium we used to communicate. It felt something like the way I had always imagined Shed's mental sensing might feel, were I suddenly able to experience it. So much so, in fact, that the comparison nearly dispelled the moment, and reminded me that I was merely dreaming. But not quite yet, for I became distracted by everything that I was coming to understand. I saw that I could query it regarding its abilities, its activities, and its duties, among other things. I asked about its duty to listen for alien messages, naturally: the reply I received told me, somehow, that the station did indeed have the instructions, and the means, for carrying forth such duties, but they were not currently being followed; indeed, no duties at all had been carried out for a very long time, excepting of course basic maintenance and very recently the activation of the living quarters' systems. And this mere mention caused me to understand, almost as an aside, the state of the latter; and I knew, despite the part of me that would rather not have known, that these systems were in fact gravely crippled, and in particular the system's air was not considered to be acceptable by its own standards. Again, as I said, this knowledge was all given to me as if in an aside: undeterred from my original subject matter, I asked the entity embodying the display to please resume some of the duties that it had left unfinished, in particular to begin once again the listening for alien messages, as this was of much interest to me not only, but indeed all of humanity, no less today than it had been at its creation. I received directly a response of acknowledgement, although it was more of a sensation: something akin to having asked an intelligent youth to carry out a task, and receiving in reply nothing more than a quick nod, not because the youth is insolent and does not wish to cede an unearned feeling of superiority, but instead because nothing more is needed, and in fact the young mind is already distracted with deciding what part of the task should be tackled first. And indeed there seemed to be much activity, almost a sense of sound and motion, where before there had been nothing, but it was faint and distant: it was going on somewhere else, far away from the location before me, here where seemed to be the source of this confident acknowledgement of my request. Taking heart from such positive results, I now directed my full attention to the systems that maintained the living area, intent to see what could be done to improve their state, or if nothing could be done, then to learn what future I should be prepared for. But, alas, it was then that the dream lost its clarity, and with it its direction. I believe a series of unrelated images followed, though it was much less vivid and the memory is now tenuous. I have an idea that it was like opening a book at random and reading fragments of narrative, and closing the book before a complete sentence can be grasped: and then repeating this again and again, until my mind found its way out of the inchoate maze of images and found itself conscious again.

After I had gathered my wits together, and recalled the events of the dream, I could hardly stop myself from moving over to the display and touching it, as I had at the start of my dream: thinking that somehow my inner mind had truly unlocked the secret of manipulating the device, and had secreted this knowledge into my dreams in hopes of saving us both. Alas, this was but another dream: and a much less vivid one, for I found the display as inanimate and slablike as ever.

I find it difficult to confess just how painfully hopeless I felt afterwards. I had not intended to raise my hopes with the experiment, but apparently they had been raised already, without waiting for my permission. I wept, for a while, until I was able to choke back my tears with fears of imminent thirst. Some instinct set me to recording the event, and indeed I feel calmer now, and much in control of myself again. I am not sure why, but I suspect that I would have already perished, from fright if nothing else, were it not for this journal.

It was a tiring and nasty business, bringing the gray bear the rest of the way to Corlon. Parn spread out the fabric roof, and Shed and Jenk managed to roll the carcass onto it. Shed quickly treated the carcass so that it would keep for the next few days, and together they then dragged it the rest of the way to Corlon, two of them pulling the fabric at a time, taking turns frequently as their arms wearied. Jenk half hoped, with a grim perverseness, that it would rain again, forcing Shed to have to choose between her precious bear carcass and staying dry. But the sky remained clear, as Shed had predicted. That night they kept the fire burning bright, so as to discourage scavengers from investigating too closely. Jenk half expected Shed to demand that he sit up part of the night and keep watch, but either she trusted the fire to do its job, or she and Parn kept watch themselves. In any case, Jenk slept straight through the night and into the morning, and had to be woken up by the others. When they set out that morning, both of Jenk's arms were quite sore.

Jenk expected that dragging the carcass would slow them down so much that they would need to make camp again that night, but to his surprise, by afternoon middle they found themselves in sight of some large fields. Before long, several children of various ages had run up to them to find out who they were, and they managed to presume upon some of the older ones to help drag the carcass the rest of the way into Corlon proper. Being young, they were happy to assist, instinctively seeing the opportunity to show off the freshly grown-up strength in their limbs, and receive some reflected light from the magnaminous gift being given.

I expect we make quite a sight, Jenk thought as he and the others walked behind the dragging bear corpse. Two Beks, a Mellay, and a dead bear walk into the middle of Corlon. What's the punch line to this joke, he wondered. But there wasn't a punch line, he thought. No indeed, we're just a couple of travellers on our way to visit an Antehiemal station somewhere in outer space: will you put us up for the night?

But Shed had been right, of course. The people of Corlon were flattered that these travellers had arrived with such a gift in hand, and were more than happy to offer them good food and a place to sleep. Jenk, for his part, was tempted to forgo the former temporarily in favor of the latter: he wanted to go to bed now and stay there until his arms stopped feeling as if they were made of palmino branches. But he knew that one of the expectations of a visiting traveller was good stories in exchange for hospitality. The gift of bear meat would not replace that; indeed, the sight of them coming over the horizon dragging the carcass had probably only made them seem even more curious and interesting. So Jenk denied himself any thoughts of sleep, and instead comforted himself with a lingering bath, and a thorough cleaning of all of his clothes.

The Corlon bathhouse was nice, much larger than Mellay's, and the water was very warm, almost hot, with an earthy scent that Jenk found disturbing at first but came to appreciate by the end of the bath. The other people in the bathhouse were friendly but reserved. They seemed to think that Jenk would want to be left alone while bathing, and only spoke with him to the extent of showing him where to find a towel and such.

When he and his dress were as clean as they had ever been in Mellay, Jenk combed out his beard, which had grown out some and was beginning to look at bit scraggly, and then joined Shed, Parn and the Corlon clan in the dining hall. There was no gray bear in the meal, of course, since that would take several days to prepare properly. But the food was good, nonetheless. The meat was prepared simply, and not unlike how Mellay would have done, all of which suited Jenk fine.

"So you're a Mellay scholar? What do you study?" asked the older man on Jenk's right.

Jenk and Shed were sitting in the Corlon dining hall. The building had a low ceiling, which Jenk was surprised to find that he rather enjoyed, as it kept the smells of the food close. Jenk was sitting at the end of one table, with several Corlon people close by. Shed was sitting back by several people, and had been reserved throughout the meal. The Corlon had found her unwilling to offer information freely, and careful in how she answered their questions. Before long, they had turned to Jenk instead, who happily chatted with them about Mellay, and Corlon, and the relations between the two clans.

Jenk looked down at his dish, which was now almost empty. He allowed the last bit of meat to remain there, so that he could continue to savor the taste of Corlon's carrots in his mouth. What was the man's name? He had forgotten. There had been a wave of introductions at the start of the meal, and now the names all ran together. Carn? Cars? "I am a historian."

A young boy, one of the children who had helped drag the bear carcass, leaned forward. "A historian? Do you study the wars? Like the Corlon war with Dryssa?"

A woman behind the boy said quietly, "Lerl, don't interrupt."

Jenk smiled, recognizing the gleam of youthful exuberance. "No Lerl, nothing that recent, I'm afraid. I study ancient history, mostly the Antehiemal Empires, and in particular their explorations of space."

Shed glared silently at Jenk. Apparently Shed would have rather not have had that bit of detail shared. Still, how much lying did she want from him? Everyone here knew his real name. If one of them was a scholar and read some of his publications they would have learned as much. But he could see why she would have preferred him not to have introduced the subject into the conversation.

Lerl said appreciatively, "Wow. That sounds strange."

The older man on Jenk's right said, "An admirable field, and a fertile one too, I imagine. The ancients accomplished many wonders with their primitive capabilities that we cannot easily reproduce today. One has only to look at the ruins at Cha-uptuha to see that they were a people driven to leave their mark upon the face of the Earth."

"Indeed. We could learn a great deal from them, I feel, if only we knew more about them."

Lerl turned in his seat and said in a loud whisper, "Mother, what are the ruins at Cha-uptuha?"

"Not now, Lerl."

Jenk continued, "In my opinion, it is one of the greatest tragedies of the ice age that so much information about the Empires was lost."

"After dinner you can ask Carn about it."

The old man, presumably named Carn, had stood up was now reaching down the table for a heavy earthen pitcher. Jenk's water had been kept filled by the other diners during the course of the meal, so he had yet to see what was in the pitcher. Carn grunted as he lifted it up and placed it in front of him. He sat back down, and then tipped the pitcher, pouring a pale liquid into his cup. "Would you like to try some of our metheglin?"

Jenk replied, "What did you call it? Metheglin? I've never heard of it before. Is it a beer of some kind?"

Carn tipped the pitcher back to a standing position. He took Jenk's cup and looked into it, and then poured out onto the ground most of the water it held. "No, actually, it's a Corlon mead. It's made by our talented Bern. The Nalitaya line have long been accomplished beekeepers, and we are blessed that the most talented brewer of that line is alive today and at the height of her craft." Carn refilled Jenk's cup from the pitcher, then twirled the cup briefly before presenting it to Jenk once more. "Try it."

Jenk took a drink, and discovered to his surprise that it was not at all sweet, but tasted much like a dry wine. He swallowed, and tasted a strong undercurrent of nutmeg and cinnamon. His tongue curled around the last of the liquid, and realized that there was also a hint of something herbal. Could it be lavender? Jenk sniffed at the cup curiously, to see if he could catch a scent.

Carn laughed jovially. "You like it, don't you? This is no bitter grape juice, this drink. Our Bern is quite the artist."

Lerl was still watching the conversation closely. Jenk offered him a friendly smile. Lerl said, "So, is that where you two are going? Are you travelling to go investigate some historical ruins?"

Jenk's smile widened, as he realized that the boy had given him the perfect lie. He could keep the true nature of their journey a secret, while not risking being unable to answer a pointed question. He took another sip from his cup, a smaller one this time, so as to better savor the drink.

"Yes, young man. As a matter of fact, we are going to visit a site on the coast, south of here, where, if my research is correct, there used to be a place where the ancients built some of the parts for a structure that was put into space, called the Sunset Station."

Shed shot his a look that would have killed the conversation in the room, had anyone else seen it. Jenk quailed; apparently this lie was still too close to the truth for her comfort.

"Now that sounds interesting indeed. What was the purpose of this station?" asked Carn.

Jenk looked over at Shed, who was now staring at the food on her plate. But Jenk decided that as long as he only revealed information that had already published, she could hardly have any rational objections.

"Well, we still don't know everything that the ancients used it for," Jenk said, maintaining a casual tone. "That's one of the things we hope to find by visiting these ruins," he added, pleased with this bit of improvised detail. "But we do know that one of the things it did was to search through space for signals coming from other worlds."

Shed rolled her eyes up to the ceiling.

Lerl's eyes had gone wide. "Are you serious?"

"Oh, yes. The ancients were fascinated by the idea that aliens might be living on other planets, and sending conversations back and forth, from star to star. They were fascinated, and they couldn't stand the idea that they might be missing out on all that talk."

That got an appreciative laugh, as Jenk had hoped.

"Of course," put in Carn, "the only signals they knew how to search for were their own kind, I imagine."

"Most likely," admitted Jenk. "And that may be why they never found anything." Jenk speared the last bit of meat on his plate. "Of course, the station was also built to monitor conditions on the surface of the sun, as well as ..."

"Carn, is it?" Shed suddenly said, in a loud voice that made everyone jump.

Jenk felt sheepish. He hadn't meant to go into so much detail; it just came out.

"I was wondering if you could help us. We are in need of three or four good horses for our journey. Who in Corlon might be induced to part with such, either permanently or as a loan?"

Carn looked at her for a moment as if he didn't understand the question. Finally he said, "Oh, I don't know. I expect that Belk would have a spare animal." He scratched at his left ear. "I suppose it depends on what you're offering for them. If the price is good, lots of people would have an animal for sale."

Shed smiled brittlely. "I would like to think that an animal or two might be offered as a gesture of goodwill to Bek, and in exchange for continuing good relations between our clans."

Carn nodded absently, as if to a song that was playing in his head. "Indeed they might, but Corlon and Bek had a peace agreement not four generations ago. Isn't that right, or do I count the years wrong?"

Lerl piped up at once. "That's right. Four generations ago, I know, because my mother's mother's mother's father was there, and he was a witness to it."

Carn nodded to Lerl. "Thank you, Lerl. Four generations ago, then. Bek wasn't planning on forgetting about that agreement already, was it?"

Shed's smile had disappeared. Quietly, she said, "Bek does not forget its agreements."

Carn smiled. "That's what I thought. So I imagine you'd be pressed to buy a horse from anyone by offering something that they've already got? Don't you think?"

Shed simply stared at the old man, who after a moment returned his attention to his plate.

Jenk cleared his throat. "Thank you for the wonderful meal. But I'm so tired that I cannot keep my eyes open a moment longer, so you'll have to excuse me now."

In the end, Shed was able to obtain a single horse, and only as a loan, to be given back when they returned. Shed was frustrated with her lack of sway with these people, and as they left Corlon she opined volubly and at length on the lack of honor, pride, and general trustworthiness of people who were not Bek. Jenk suffered this in bad humor but remained silent, allowing Shed to dig herself in further and waiting for her to realize the degree of insult she was incidentally giving to Jenk. But she never did notice, and only dropped the subject when she finally wound down.

Parn, on the other hand, seemed to be preternaturally aware of everything that was passing between them, spoken and unspoken, and Jenk had little doubt that she was enjoying the spectacle.

Still, by loading their packs onto the horse, they were able to travel unencumbered, and Jenk thought that this not only allowed them to make better time, but also made the walking much more enjoyable. He began to take pleasure in all the natural scenery, and notice things such as unfamiliar variations in the birdsong.

Shed, however, remained frustrated and grumpy, and continually pushed the others to walk faster, and she pressed them to keep walking well into the evening before finally stopping and making camp. Clearly they had fallen behind some schedule that Shed was keeping, and clearly they were doomed to remain behind that schedule without a full complement of horses. And, it was equally clear, Shed was not going to believe that complaining and pushing everyone was not going to make up the missing time.

Finally, on the morning of the third day out from Corlon, they crossed the top of a rise, and up ahead they saw a long uphill slope, near the top of which was some fields and a small cluster of houses.

"Dryssa," said Shed. "At last."

Jenk looked at the rising path and groaned. "Let's rest before climbing up this hill."

Shed made a scornful noise. "You call this gentle slope a hill, Jenk? Come on." And she continued walking, faster than before.

Jenk seethed quietly to himself, and followed after her.

No children came out to meet them on the path this time. Perhaps they were elsewhere, though Jenk. He could see a few people at work in the fields, but they seemed uninterested in the approaching strangers. On the other hand, Shed probably wasn't a stranger here. If Jord has already come and delivered her messages, then perhaps they are even expected.

As the three travellers walked by the last copse of trees before reaching the fields of Dryssa, Shed said, "Hold," and came to a stop. Carefully she removed Jenk's pack from the horse's back and handed it to him, then she did the same with Parn's. Finally she removed her pack and set it on the road. She then led the unencumbered horse in a half-circle, so that it was facing the way they had come. She then let out a yell, and slapped the horse soundly on its rump. The horse moved off at an unconcerned lope back down the path.

Jenk frowned. "What are you doing?"

"Sending the horse back to Corlon, of course," Shed replied. "We agreed to return the horse to its owner; don't you remember?"

"But, what if it wanders off the path, or gets stolen?"

"Not my problem." Shed walked off to the copse of trees. "I'm going to relieve myself. Jenk, you'd be well advised to do the same. I'm not sure when you'll have an opportunity to do so again."

Journal Entry

Another vivid dream. It occurs to me at this point that I am dreaming more frequently as of late. I suppose this is a good thing: I should be resting as frequently as possible, husbanding my strength, stretching out my inner resources as one would a wintertime store of nut leaf. But I fear that it points to a more dolorous fact: that my body is weakened, and that my environment has not been at its best for some time already. There is still no clear change in the suit's display, though. I could take hope from that, but I fear it is far more likely that I simply have misunderstood their function.

This time I was called to the display, by the entity that lives within it. From where I lay on the bedding I sensed that something interesting was there, waiting for my attention. At once I pushed off, and slid directly over to the display. I reached out to it, and oh: what joy, what relief, when it responded to me as it had before! In the moment before I touched it, I was terrified that it might be dead and unresponsive. Of course I see now that the reason I harbored this fear was that this is precisely what did happen when I touched the display last, outside of my dream. But at the time I didn't think as to the cause of my fear: had I done so, I would surely have realized with all due force that I was only dreaming, and then this narrative would have been truncated. For better or not, though, I simply proceeded with my strange communication with the display. I learned that the station had identified a pattern in some signal, borne through space on invisible waves, and was now examining it further. It took me a moment to realize what was happening: the station had followed my recent request, to resume its duty of listening for messages originating from unknown sources. And now it had found something! At once excitement began frothing through my sore frame, causing me to forget my tired and ragged state. If it had taken so little time to identify an alien signal, why there must be many of them, occurring constantly! The empty-looking space just outside the bubble might actually be overflowing with conversation and dialogue, both strange and new. But this line of thought was then quashed when the display entity let me know that the signal had been identified as an "unstable pulsating star". Of course I had never heard of a star that pulsed, and wondered what this could mean. And at once I began receiving information, to the point of my question, and this information was imparted to me in a more precise manner than what I had before obtained from the display.

— Stars may appear constant and unchanging to you, but a star is really a rather unstable thing. The end of a star's life is frequently dramatic, if not violent. It is not uncommon for a dying star to explode, and when this happens the star's tightly packed core remains in its place. The explosion compresses the core to its highest possible degree, which almost always imparts upon the star a fierce rotation; and frequently the violence of the event leaves its internal structure off balance, causing it to emit a bright, focussed stream of energy in opposite directions. When both of these things happen, the spinning core sweeps out a beacon that to a distant observer appears to flicker at a rapid rate. This is a pulsating star.

"I see," I responded, although again I cannot clearly describe the medium of my response, for it was not with throat or tongue. "And this is the source of the signal?"

— Yes. The signal you were looking at is coming from a pulsating star that is particularly unstable, causing its rotation to undergo abrupt decelerations more frequently than most of its kind. This uncharacteristic nature is presumably why your station did not immediately recognize it for what it was.

"But, why do you denote yourself in that fashion?" I replied. "Do you not consider yourself to be the station, or at least part of the station? Why would refer to the station as mine?"

This query was met with a moment of silence, and in that moment I nearly wished I had not asked it. A prickly nervousness blossomed across my scalp, and down the back of my neck. I was fearful, I think, though what is was that I feared I cannot precisely say. But then I began receiving a inrushing of images and ideas to my mind, coming so quickly I could not hold onto any single one before it was washed away by the next. I cannot say how long this lasted: it seemed to go on for such a long time, and yet it was all so fast. But at some point in this downpour my mind realized that it was in no danger, and tension drained out of me, like rain dripping through the branches of a tree in winter. At that moment the images lost their clarity, and became like shapes that one imagines for oneself in the clouds. Eventually I realized that I was listening to nothing but my own mind once more.

I turned back to the display, and found it had once again turned lifeless and unresponsive. And once again, I found myself deeply upset at this. It is not just the loss of hope for my salvation, I realize now. It is the loss of what, while I am dreaming, seems to be a companion. I have not minded being alone; indeed for a significant portion of my life solitude is something I have sought out: but I know now that I do not want to die alone. In fact, I want not this more than I have ever not wanted something, ever in my life.

Shed walked with a rapid stride that Jenk found difficult to match without actually breaking into a lope. Parn followed, implacable as usual and seemingly unperturbed by the rapid pace. Shed seemed barely able to contain her own energy as they walked through the center of Dryssa, ignoring the people around her. Jenk noticed, though, that the people watched her pass by without much remark, and seemed quite content to be ignored. It seemed that they were about to walk straight through the clan's cluster of buildings and out the other side, but at last Shed approached a small house, standing at the end of a path.

At the entrance, Shed halted and called out, "It is Shel-nyan-zin Dem-bek, and I have arrived."

Jenk looked over Shed's shoulder and saw inside a man sitting alone at a small table, on which appeared to be a plate, now empty but stained with food, and a tablet. The man had dark short hair, similar to Shed's. When he stood up, Jenk saw that he was smartly dressed in a close-fitting red tunic and black breeches. On his feet were leather sandals, which Jenk found incongruous with the rest of his clothing.

"Shed," the man observed calmly. "You are late."

Shed strode into the room. "Yes, I'm aware of that." Jenk felt uneasy walking into the room without having received permission to enter or even made any sort of introduction, but he could also feel Parn waiting for him to proceed. So he stepped forward and stood next to Shed. As Parn came in, Shed waved at her. "Parn, please wait for us outside. We won't be long."

Parn registered the briefest expression of exasperation, then turned and walked back out again.

The man casually displayed his palms in Jenk's direction and said, "I am Parra."

Jenk brought his hands out and up. "I am Jennekayamir, called Jenk."

Parra had already lowered his hands. "Jenk is it? Fine." Parra faced Shed. "Well, what happened?"

"Let's not waste time with telling stories. What's the state of the beanstalk? Can we still reach it?"

"Well, the day before yesterday would really have been a better choice."

"I understand that, and I apologize."

"Though last week would have been truly ideal. The conditions were really as good as you could reasonably expect in late springtime. Plus the sky was rather clear, so the view was good as well. You know you can really see a long way just from the top of those cliffs."

"Parra, what about today?" Shed raised her voice to a near-shout.

"Yes, today. Well, I would really prefer to not recommend doing it today. But tomorrow could easily be impossible, so I don't see that we have much of a choice: today will have to do."

Shed raised her hands, held in the shape of claws. "Goodness, Parra. Are you saying that you think we can reach it today, or that you think we can't?"

"Well, what I mean is this."

"Stop! Be silent! Forget I asked the question." Shed briefly covered her eyes. "We're going today. There is no other choice. When would be the best time?"

"Well, I'd have to say that sooner is better, most definitely. Truly, if you could have been here in the morning, that would have been ..."

"Parra." Shed said in a voice that was suddenly quietly commanding.

Parra nodded and left his sentence unfinished.

"How soon can we be ready? What needs to happen first?"

"I suppose first of all we should send Folla down." Parra turned and faced the doorway leading to the inner room, and then simply stared at it. Nothing happened for a while. Jenk was considering whispering a question to Shed, when a damp shuffling sound suddenly came from the inner room. A moment later a creature emerged, looking something like a large frog, but having the body shape and structure of an armadillo. Jenk watched it with great curiosity as the creature waddled over to Parra and looked up at him. Parra in turn continued to stare at the creature, but said nothing. This tableau remained in place for some time, and then Parra suddenly pointed at Jenk, or possibly at something just behind Jenk. The creature seemed incapable of blinking, but a filmy membrane came down over its eyes, and it waddled out of the house.

Jenk couldn't help but ask, as soon as the creature was out of earshot, "Was that Folla?"

"Yes, that was Folla," replied Parra. "He'll be opening the vent for you."

"Is he ... what is Folla, exactly?"

Shed looked sideways at Jenk. "What do you mean?"

"Well, he looked rather like a frog."

Parra grinned. "He's a greenwog. They bear some relation to frogs, yes, but they're really quite clever. Now we should get the birds ready." Parra sighed and suddenly looked grave. "Neither one of you have done this before, have you?"

Shed looked annoyed. "No, of course not. When would we have done it before?"

"But you've ridden on gliders before?"

"Yes," said Shed, and seemed ready to leave it at that. But then she added, "I have."

"But not Jenk?" Parra looked over at Jenk. "Have you ever ridden a glider before?"

Jenk looked at Shed, but Shed was staring at Parra still. "I'm not sure I know what a glider is. So I expect the answer is no."

"Are you at all mindful?"

Jenk shook his head silently.

Shed spoke up. "I can be mindful for both of us, Parra. He'll be fine. We're going to do this."

Parra stared down at his toes and shook his head. "It would really have been better if you had come last week. We could have spent a day or two practicing then."

"Stop blowing air about it. The past is the past; I need you to think about the present."

Parra nodded, still looking down. "I understand, Shed."

"Your birds are very good birds, Parra. They're the best I've ever seen."

Parra smiled wanly at his toes. "They are truly wonderful."

"So have some faith in them. They can do this. I know they can. So do you. Let's stop wasting time here, and go get them."

Parra looked up, and fixed Jenk with a cheery expression. "She's right. You'll do this without a problem. Just pay attention to the birds, and follow their lead. You'll be fine. All right, let's go."

Parra walked out of the room. Shed looked at Jenk. "Let's go, Jenk."

Jenk took a deep breath, and followed Parra out the doorway.

The glider, to Jenk's surprise, actually looked more like a bat than a bird: a very, very large bat. The largest bird Jenk had ever seen before was an eagle, and although those he had only seen at a great distance, as they hovered over distant plains, he was nonetheless certain that the glider was quite a bit larger than an eagle, at least in wingspan. Its body was actually somewhat diminutive, or perhaps it just appeared so when its wings were outspread, as they were now.

Jenk stepped forward uncertainly. Parra and Shed had left, with everyone's packs, in order to make some kind of preparations for the next leg of the journey. They had left him and Parn here, in order for Jenk to spend some time getting acquainted with the glider. "Getting acquainted" were Parra's words. But the glider had a short beak which Jenk thought looked extremely hard and sharp, and he was not quite comfortable with the idea of getting any closer to the beast without someone nearby with experience.

He looked over at Parn, but she didn't seem to know anything more about gliders, or birds in general, than he did. He looked back at the glider. It seemed to be exposing its wings to the sun. The glider did not have a single feather on its body. Its skin was pale and leathery, and Jenk could see that it had very short, very fine hairs all over. The hairs were golden-colored and glinted softly in the sunlight.

The glider seemed to be focussed on basking in the sunlight, and paid no attention to either of the human beings. Jenk took some courage from this implicit display of trust, and took another step forward. The glider did not react.

"Ahoy, glider," Jenk said cautiously.

With unnerving speed, the glider lowered its head and leveled its gaze at Jenk. Its face held no expression, but Jenk couldn't prevent his imagination from seeing distate in its eyes. After a moment, the creature suddenly flexed its hind legs and fell forward. Claws at the midpoint of each wing, which Jenk had not noticed earlier, touched ground and became feet. With a litheness that Jenk found strange for a creature of its size, the glider trotted over to a nearby wooden barrel. Resting its wing's claws on the barrel's rim, the creature poked its head into the barrel. Sounds of chewing and tearing came from within, and when the wind shifted slightly Jenk caught the smell of fish.

After watching the glider eat for a moment, Jenk turned and saw Parn staring, not at the glider but at him. Jenk frowned, but Parn remained stoic as ever. So Jenk said, "Is something the matter?"

"You're going to ride that thing into the sky, and Shed's going to send me back home," she replied. "Is something the matter? Goodness. Not for me, no. I'd certainly not rather have it the other way around."

Jenk looked at the glider again, and then said, "I rather doubt that, actually. That creature may look strong, but I can't imagine that it could begin to get off the ground with a human being sitting on its back. Birds are very lightweight creatures for their size and strength, otherwise they couldn't fly."

Parn shook her head.

"Perhaps these gliders, in enough numbers, could lift us together, if we rode underneath them, in some sort of sling that was harnessed to them. Is that what what you meant by riding them?"

But Parn just muttered, "Have it your way. I'll be going home soon, and then you can ride that beast to the moon all you want."

Jenk considered Parn, and then said, "Does it bother you that Shed doesn't trust you?"

Parn looked at him sharply. "You think she doesn't trust me?"

Jenk was about to reply, but then became unsure of himself and said nothing. There was a moment of silence. Finally Jenk said, "Well, in any case, I trust you."

Parn continued. "It doesn't matter if she trusts me or not. She doesn't have to trust me for me to do my job." But then Parn walked away and found a seat on a nearby tree stump, at just enough of a distance from Jenk and the glider to preclude comfortable conversation.

Jenk turned back to the glider. It was still greedily consuming, and its neck seemed to have stretched in its effort to reach the fish. Jenk hugged himself, but the day was warm, and he let his arms drop to his sides.

Jenk looked around himself, and then noticed that the rise he had thought was just another hill ended abruptly. He realized that he must be looking at the edge of the cliff that the others had referred to. Having made that connection, it suddenly occurred to him that the constant sound he had noticed, of distant trees being blown in a breeze, was noticeably louder here. After checking that the glider was still busy with its eating, and Parn was still uninterested in talking, Jenk walked over to the rise.

The uphill slope was gentle at first, but then proved deceptive as he neared the edge. Right next to the top was a tree stump, slightly taller than himself, but much thinner. A tangle of rope and leather straps hung from a nail, and a long crossbar had been attached to the stump. Jenk looked at it for a moment, puzzling over its possible purpose, but then approached closely enough to look over the cliff's edge.

Down below was the water, too far for Jenk to easily estimate its distance. But the water continued outward from the side of the cliff, spreading out north and south and west, all the way to the very edge of the horizon. And, Jenk realized, continued on past the horizon, for a much longer way still. The water was a grayish blue, like the skin of a bluefruit under moonlight. Near the cliff the water was striated with raggedy lines of white froth, that slowly moved to the cliff wall, only to collide and shatter, fragmenting and churning and then disappearing under the next line of froth. This churning, Jenk now realized, was the source of the sound, now no longer whispery but more like the gentle snoring of a giant, mythological beast.

Jenk watched the waves for a while, but despite the single direction of motion, the water didn't seem to be getting any higher. Presumably there was an under-current of water, that brought the water back out away from the land.

Jenk looked out to the south, his eyes following the meandering line of cliff walls standing far out above the water. The sun appeared to be out over the water from here, and the fragmented surface of the water threw its reflection at Jenk in the form of dancing motes of light that were extremely bright, seemingly brighter than the sun itself. After a moment, Jenk's eyes were watering freely, and he looked away to the west again, his face cooling in a soft breeze. "Like calls to like," Jenk quoted, from a song that he had known once, many years ago, "and the water brings forth the water in me."

Journal Entry

I have been dozing fitfully ever since my last intake of food and water. A strange feature of having no gravity is that there is no particular position that is more conducive to sleep than another. I find myself falling asleep not only when in the bedding, but also when I am strapped into the chair, or even just floating with only a single hand grasping one of the holds.

I remember one time when I was walking with my father. I cannot now remember the circumstance; I assume it was something mundane. We were probably on our way to or from the fields. I wasn't old enough to be working in the fields at the time, but I would follow my father out, as children sometimes do. We would then get together and play games with each other, or sometimes just watch the adults work. My mother didn't like to work outside during in the warm days, so my father would do her share, and she would keep the home. Sometimes after following my father out to the field, I would take note of which part he was working in, then leave and pursue my own interests for a while. Eventually this would lead me back home again, where mother would have been preparing some treat. I was very fond of her apple cookies. She often seemed to know that I would be home again in the morning, even if I didn't know myself when I set out. She may have already been mindful of me at that time. She would give me an apple cookie for myself, and then another one which I would take back out to the fields to give to my father. These little treats always seemed to bring him much joy, and if he wasn't in the middle of a worksong at the time, he would show off his cookie to the nearest person and say, "Look at that. Now here's a son who truly loves his father."

Eventually, as is natural, the roles were reversed. By the time I was old enough to work a full turn in the fields, my father was sore and weary, and retired from fieldwork soon after. Occasionally he would appear in the midmorning with an apple cookie or some other treat for me: even though of course he had not followed me out to the fields in the morning and so had to walk around in order to find me. He didn't do this often, for which I was thankful. I think he truly savored the feeling of being on the other side of the gesture, but I found it a bit unpleasant to think of my father as being so old. And I discovered that eating a cookie in the middle of fieldwork was actually not very enjoyable, as it left me terribly thirsty for the rest of the morning. In any case, after I married Tilt and moved into her home, my father stopped looking for me in the fields. Which was only proper, but it is in a way too bad, for I never really noticed how much I had lost touch with him before he died.

But I digress. I mention my father at all because I remembered a time when we were walking together, and he said, "Son, see that bird up there in the tree? It's asleep. You can tell by the way it stands."

I looked around where he pointed until I finally saw the bird.

"But even though that bird is asleep, it's still perched. How do you think it does that? How does it manage to stand upright, on a narrow tree branch, while fast asleep?"

"I don't know, father."

"Can you imagine how hard it would be for you to fall asleep while standing up, and stay standing up? It would be hard even if you were just leaning against a tree trunk. Now imagine doing that while balanced on a stick."

"Is there some trick to it? Does the bird have something in its claw which holds it in place?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Then how does it do it? Tell me."

"I don't know either, son. All I can think is that when a bird sleeps, it doesn't feel anything like it does when we sleep." And with that he laughed, leaving me feeling very frustrated.

Throughout my life I have remembered that conversation, and wondered again about how birds sleep standing up. And now, it feels very strange to think that, by falling asleep without losing my grip on a handhold, I have done something fleetingly similar. Of course in my situation there was no challenge to remain balanced. So, perhaps birds do not feel gravity as we humans do, and this is what allows them to stay balanced while asleep. Perhaps for them it is a little like floating weightless. Maybe that attitude is what allows them to fly.

Or maybe it is fear. I suspect that what allows me to maintain my grip on a metallic rod while sleeping is due to my fear that I could wake up and find myself trapped in the middle of the bubble. Perhaps birds, despite their wings, are utterly terrified of falling, and this is what keeps them balanced on their branches.

I wish very much to be in contact with the display again. I worry that my thoughts are becoming sluggish with all this extra sleeping. Or rather that this sleeping is an early indication of damage to my mind, caused by bad air. I feel so much more alert when I am dreaming of the display. I think I would prefer not be sensible of my own demise, if it be inevitable. If nothing is to be done, then I would rather pass into darkness while peacefully dreaming and unaware.

"It's an impressive sight, isn't it?"

Jenk realized with a start that Shed was standing only a hand's breadth behind him. She too was looking out at the water, or possibly at the sky, which was clear overhead, but clouds could been seen in the west, making a hazy line out of the horizon, so that it was impossible to see exactly where the water ended and the sky began. Jenk realized that, finally, he was getting a bit cold. He stood up. "Where is my pack? I think I need a warmer tunic. I presume that we aren't going to be walking again for a little while?"

Shed nodded, then said, "Your pack is stored here for the time being. I'm afraid that we must travel light on this leg of our journey. All you can bring are some emergency supplies. We'll obtain more provisions when we reach the top of the beanstalk."

Jenk frowned through this. "Wait. You're saying I can't bring any of my clothes with me?"

"Nothing but what you're wearing."

"But I can't wear this for the rest of the journey."

"Don't worry, Jenk. It has already been arranged. When we get to the top, we'll obtain new clothing, and whatever equipment that we might need once we reach the station."

"But what about the document?"

Shed frowned at him. "What document?" Then her eyes widened. "Are you saying you brought the document all the way here? In your backpack?"

"Yes, I did," Jenk replied. "Of course I did."

"The one about Sunset Station?"

"Is there any other document you were thinking I would choose to bring on this journey?"

Shed looked dismayed. "But that's bizarre."

"What do you mean? We're going to the station; that document is the only description anywhere of the station's architecture, systems, and processes. Leaving that document behind is what would have been bizarre."

"But it's incredibly old, isn't it? And fragile? And it must be priceless, to you and me if nobody else. How could you risk bringing it along?"

"My friend Lemb sewed me a special carrying case for it, made of very soft leathering. It's just the thing for keeping old paper pages. Some historians claim that ancient documents actually become sturdier by being kept inside leathering cases. And Lemb is very talented with the needle."

Shed shook her head in amazement. "Not once, on this entire voyage, did it occur to me that you would bring the document with you. Why did you not simply make a copy of it and bring that?"

"Making a copy of a document that you do not completely know how to read yet is not as simple as you might assume. One has to ultimately approach it as an artist would when rendering a crowd full of faces. Every detail must be recorded, no matter how unimportant it looks to an uneducated eye. It would have taken me days to complete such a copying, and we did not have that much time." Jenk saw that Shed was unappreciative of the logic of his explanation, and shrugged.

Shed looked back out over the water. "Well, it can't be helped now. I will say right now that I don't really think your document is in any danger. Those these people are not Bek, I believe them to be greatly honest."

"Who are they, exactly?"

"They are members of the Dryssa clan."

Jenk replied coldly, "That I knew already."

"Well, that is enough. They are a good people, and if anything they are prouder and more loyal than we Bek. Dryssa and Bek have for many generations now maintained good relations, and for the sake of that they are assisting us. Without them there would be no journey."

Jenk was annoyed by this speech, but for the sake of diplomacy said only, "And so you feel we can trust them with our possessions."

Shed shrugged. "Curiosity may cause them to look through our packs, but they will not take anything."

"Do you really think I need to leave the document here?"

Shed met his gaze. "There is no question on the matter, Jenk. You cannot bring the document any further. We must travel light now, and the risk to the document's well-being is really too great."

"Risk to its well-being?" Jenk looked carefully at Shed. "What about the risk to my well-being?"

Shed looked out at the water again. "What risk do you mean?"

"Well, I am worried, Shed. Parra's words, and Parn's, would inspire nervousness in almost anyone. Am I truly expected to ride on the back of that giant bird?"

Shed chuckled. "It's hardly something to be frightened about, Jenk. On the contrary, it's quite exhilarating."

"To one such as yourself, perhaps."

"Jenk," Shed paused, and Jenk could see that she was annoyed. Her calm demeanor had hidden the fact that she was clearly very impatient with him, if not with everyone. "If you could walk through the forest, carrying the document on your back, and not feel fear, then you can do this."

Jenk looked away from Shed, feeling slightly ashamed.

"Riding a glider can be risky, but that is what it means to leave home and going on a journey."

The water was still that deep blue color, and he listened to the sound of it lashing against the cliff walls.

"I brought you along, Jenk, because I want your help when we reach the station," Shed continued. "I wouldn't have gone to this much trouble just to watch you fall into the water."

Jenk closed his eyes. "All right. Let's not discuss this further." Jenk turned his back on the water and looked around. Parn was no longer sitting on the stump. Parra still was not around. The glider had apparently finished eating some time ago. It was now lying down on the ground, legs curled up close to its belly and wings spread out as far as they could go, angled to catch the sun's heat. Each wing was easily longer than Jenk was tall.

Shed said, "Are there any very small items in your pack that you wish to bring with you, in your pocket, or around your wrist perhaps? A memento, or some such thing?"

Jenk shook his head. "No, I carry no such things. My mind remembers well enough without help."

Shed nodded. "Good, then. Prepare yourself, for it won't be much longer until we are airborne."

Jenk looked sideways at Shed. "Shed. Am I really supposed to believe that this glider, this bird as you call it," he said, pointing at the basking creature, "will still be able to fly when I am clinging to its back?"

Shed grinned. "No, not really. But we don't need them to fly. That's why we call them gliders instead of fliers."

The sun had moved past its zenith when Parra joined them at the edge of the cliff. Following Parra, like a tame animal, was a second glider, walking along on all fours. It looked to be slightly smaller than the first one, although Jenk realized that this may have been an illusion due to its wings being enfolded while it walked.

Parra said, "Our birds are ready by now, I think. We just have to wait for Folla's signal." Parra walked right up to the edge of the cliff. Without looking he reached out and grasped the wooden stump with one hand; thus tethered, he leaned well out into the air and looked straight down. After a moment he pulled himself back and said, "It might come very soon, depending on the circumstances. You two should prepare your birds."

Shed nodded. "Absolutely. Let's get ready." Shed looked pointedly over at the glider that had arrived with Parra, which was now sitting down on the grass, not far from its companion. After a moment, it rose to its feet and began walking carefully over to her.

Parra spoke up. "Shed, no! Do not be mindful of your glider until after you have left the ground. As long as you are on the ground, I am their master, and having instructions come from you will only risk confusing the birds. You could be endangering yourself by doing that."

Shed held out her hands and looked down. "I am sorry, Parra."

Parra stared at the glider, which had come to a stop, and was now surveying the humans dolefully. Without looking at Shed Parra replied, "Be sure that it doesn't happen again, and there will be no need for apologies."

The glider met Parra's gaze, and then began walking over to Shed once more.

Parra reached over to the tangle of straps and rope hanging from the stump, and separated the mass into two separate tangles. He handed one to Shed and one to Jenk. Jenk took his with curiosity, and finally realized that it was some kind of harness.

Jenk looked up at the others. Shed was already slipping her harness carefully over the glider's head. Parra was holding the beast by the shoulders. He said, "Am I expected to know how to put this on my glider?"

Parra shook his head quickly. "Just hold it for the moment please."

There were several straps and ties involved in attaching the harness. When they were done with Shed's glider, it shook itself all over, slowly, like the movement of a giant, shaggy dog, and then walked slowly and carefully over to the tree, and perched itself on the crossbeam. Shed got up on the crossbeam as well, standing next to the creature, one hand resting lightly on the thick leather strap going down the creature's back, and keeping another hand on the tree stump for balance.

Now Parra came over to Jenk and took the harness from him. "All right. See how they're prepared for flight, both human and bird? When they take off, Shed will just slide over to her left and throw her left leg over the glider's back. You just lean into it during the initial fall, and the bird and the harness will guide you into position. Once you're well situated, the glider will know what to do. You just remain as steady as you can. Don't try to move around once you're in place. The glider knows where to go and how to get there." Parra held out a strap from the rest of the harness.

Jenk took hold of the strap, and Parra pulled out what appeared to be the part that went over the head. He said carefully, "Are you sure about this? Maybe I should start out on the bird's back. What if I screw up during the mount, and fall off?"

Parra shook his head, "Oh, goodness, perhaps it's a good thing that you're not mindful after all. It wouldn't do the bird any good to hear you thinking like that. Now, bring that strap over here, next to the bird. Hold it up, above and behind the head. Higher. That's right." Parra began slipping the harness on. The glider stood perfectly still and quiet.

"My apologies, then. But don't you think it would be safer for me to not try to do the mount in that way?"

Parra sighed. "Well, it will confuse the poor bird some, but I suppose if you think you could be as clumsy as that, it might be safer indeed. It will only affect the take-off. You may have farther to climb up afterwards."

"It just seems like it would be less risky, given that this is my first time."

Parra took the strap from his hand, and pulled it down the glider's back. From under one of the glider's wings he held out a rope, which Jenk took hold of. "It's really a shame that you didn't come last week."

"Indeed," sighed Jenk.

When the harness was fully attached, the glider walked over to the tree, seemingly of its own volition, and sat down on the grass just behind Shed and the other glider. Shed looked over her shoulder carefully, and said, "Jenk. Come stand beside your glider, as I am doing. You may be inexperienced in riding gliders, but you don't need to remind your bird of that fact."

Jenk took his position to the right of the glider. After a moment of hesitation, he stretched out his left hand and rested in lightly on the harness strap.

Shed looked back at him, "Yes, that's the way. Very good. Once we're in the air, I'll be leading both of our gliders, so you don't have to try to guide it. Just let it do its job."

"Yes, I know," Jenk was irritated at the repetition. "I won't try to do anything. The glider knows what to do, and I don't."

Shed faced forward and nodded, apparently completely failing to notice the sarcastic tone. "Now here, Jenk. Put this in your pocket. And seal the pocket: make sure it won't fall out." Shed removed her hand from the harness, reached into a pocket, and removed a cloth bundle, about the size of a small orange. She held it out to Jenk.

Jenk took the bundle, slipped into his pocket and sealed it. "What is it?"

"You'll need it after the flight is done. It's for the next leg of our journey." Shed turned back and returned her hand to the glider's harness.

Parra came over to the tree stump. Once again he grasped it, and leaned out over the cliff's edge and looked straight down.

Jenk frowned. "What exactly is the next leg of our journey? You still haven't told me where we are going. You can't for a moment believe that these animals can fly all the way to the station."

Shed laughed aloud, a surprising sound; Jenk was unsure if he had ever heard it before. "Goodness, no. They're just taking us to the beanstalk."

"And the beanstalk is where?"

"Up there, of course. In the air. That's why we need the gliders."

Parra suddenly spoke up. "I see Folla."

Shed turned away from Jenk. "Are we ready? Is it time?"

There was a long pause. Finally, Parra said, "It is time."

"Excellent." Shed straightened her back, and now she grasped the harness strap firmly. Without turning around she said, "Jenk, watch me carefully."

Parra straightened up and looked over at the glider. Suddenly the creature lifted its forelimbs. Shed smoothly crouched down, and the glider spread its wings out overhead, to their fullest span. Shed removed her right hand from the trunk. The glider shuffled its rear legs once, twice; and then with only the merest crouching motion offered as a warning, it leapt off of the crossbar, and Shed with it. Immediately the two fell down and out of sight.

Jenk's glider stepped forward onto the vacated crossbar and perched. Jenk looked up at Parra, and without stopping for thought said, "You can not for a moment expect me to do that."

Parra gave Jenk a serious look and extended a hand. "Don't get scared. The timing is going to go hard if you delay too much at this point."

"But they just fell."

Parra's expression did not waver. "Step up here, and you can see for yourself that they did not merely fall."

The glider was sitting on the crossbar with its head tilted to the left and slightly back. Jenk could see one of its eyes, which seemed to be staring directly at him with a doleful expression. Jenk meekly stepped onto the crossbar, and placing a firm hand on the trunk, leaned carefully forward and looked down.

All the way down, not far from the cliff wall, Jenk could see a small green speck floating on the water. It moved through the water gracefully, and Jenk realized that this must be Folla. Looking out farther, Jenk finally saw Shed, sitting erect on her glider's back. The creature was hardly moving its giant wings, but instead sliced through the air in a lazy arc.

Parra was pointing at parts of the harness. "Now, after you have mounted the glider and are confident of your balance, take hold of this rope with your right hand, and then move your left hand to this loop here. You'll find it easier to sit upright after you've done that. But don't try to steer the bird. Just follow its lead."

Jenk cringed, and felt his face turning red. Despite his shame he said, "But I didn't see her mount the bird. I still don't know if I can do it."

"And you won't know until you make the effort. Don't be a child, Jenk." Despite his words, Parra's voice and expression remained level, and Jenk realized he was probably being mindful of the glider even as they were talking. Parra looked down at the water for a moment, then pointed a finger. "Look there."

Jenk looked down and saw a place where, not too far out from the cliff walls, that two or three large bubbles were breaking the water's surface.

"The time has come to act, Jenk," said Parra. "Take tight hold of your glider's harness. Now!"

Jenk obeyed, and as he did so a wave of fear crawled out of his belly and shot through his limbs, and a moment of dizziness came over him. The glider suddenly raised its forelimbs, and Jenk heard the leathery whisper of wings unfolding over his head. He wanted to tell Parra to stop and wait for his dizziness to pass, but he had trouble catching his breath. Parra wasn't looking at him; he was focusing on the glider. And then, Jenk felt his left arm being yanked, and he lost his balance and fell off the crossbar.

Journal Entry

I am beginning to understand the display entity better now, I think. I have experience being called to the display a few more times, and each time it turned out to be of no consequence, another signal that the station found anomalous at first, but which turned out to be known objects, presumably other strange creations of the unstable stars, as I suppose I should now think of them.

So what I thought were calls for my attention are actually calls for the attention of the entity within the display. Calls by whom? Presumably another entity, located within some other part of the station, and in all probability inaccessible to me. It does not matter. A station such as this, large and complex, ancient and longevous, must have many such entities within it, like infestations of rats in an old building.

But since I did have access to the display, I wished to make use of the time. I did not do what I should have done, I suppose, which was to inquire after the mechanism that maintains the air's breathability. Perhaps I was avoiding what would almost certainly be a depressing subject, but I think in part the reason for my oversight is simply that I do not feel quite so afraid, or fearful, or hopeless, when I am engaged in dialogue with this strange creature that I think of as living inside the display. It is not merely due to relief from the loneliness, either, I think; the loneliness does not bother me so much, when I can avoid actively contemplating my demise. When I am communicating like this I simply feel healthier. Perhaps it is simply that, when I am dreaming, I do not include my bodily pains and injuries in the dream.

Whatever the reason, I gave no thought to the air, but instead tried to learn more about how the search for alien signals was done. My original intention was simply to find out what sorts of calls for attention that I should not ignore, but I found myself becoming heavily engrossed in a description of the classifications of noise patterns, a classification which turns on some concepts similar to concepts I learned in information mathematics, as part of my studies of historical science.

I began by asking, "The very term 'noise pattern' seems to be a contradiction. Isn't noise the disruption of pattern?"

— The term reflects the application. A signal is received, and the listener does not know how to decipher it, or even if the signal embodies a message in the first place. Thus the signal is noise, as far as the listener is concerned. But if the listener can analyze the signal, then the noise can be sifted for patterns. If patterns are found, they can provide a hint as to what kind of message it might contain."

"Would that possibly show how the signal's message might be deciphered?"

— Perhaps, depending on the pattern and the application.

"So what kind of patterns does the station look for?"

— At one extreme of course is the total absence of pattern. In this case you have "true noise". A technical definition of patternless noise is that being in possession of any amount of the first part of the signal does not help one to predict the next part of the signal. When this is not true, when knowing some part of a signal increases your success as predicting what follows, then it can be said that the noise contains pattern.

"I imagine that 'true noise' describes nearly all of the signals that the station hears."

— It surely constitutes a large part of it, but perhaps not as much as you seem to suggest. There are many processes in the universe that produce patterned noise.

"Like the pulsing stars?"

— Yes, like the pulsing stars. They are an example of one of the simplest forms of patterned noise, what is called the "wandering pattern". The noise has a direct pattern that changes over time in a limited fashion. The idea of the wandering pattern is that each part relates only to the part that comes before it. The technical definition is that someone who knows the first part of the signal can predict what will follow just as successfully as someone who only knows that most recent piece of the first part.

"Because a pulsing star always pulses at the same speed?"

— A pulsing star occasionally changes its frequency, actually, as its various surfaces interact. The frequency changes occur randomly in time, but the change in frequency is always a small amount. Because knowing how long it has been since the last frequency change does not help one to predict the next one, for this reason the pulsing star's signal embodies the wandering pattern. If all the signal you have from the star is the time of its last two pulses, you can predict the next piece of its signal just as well as someone who has been listening since it first began to pulse.

"So you're saying that the station hears a lot of patterned noises that fit the wandering pattern as well?"

— Yes, and many variations on this. There are all sort of complex processes that produce far-reaching signals in the universe. The more complex the process, the more complexity is possible in the noise patterns it produces. And this is the important fact to understand: the more complex a pattern, the more it will look like true noise.

"Like patternlessness? How can that be so?"

— When the pattern complexity is sufficiently high, then the more of the first part of the signal you have, the better you can predict the second part. Lacking any amount of the first part reduces your ability to make predictions about the second part. When a signal has this much interdependency, the number of factors that must be considered in order to make each prediction becomes potentially unlimited. If you cannot make even a partial prediction, because the amount of information you would have to consider has become intractable, then patterned noise becomes indistinguishable from patternless noise.

"Are signals with that sort of complexity to be found in the universe?"

— Ultimately, such signals are really not distinguishable from true noise. So, yes. In fact, one could say that everything you consider to be true noise is really just noise patterns of maximal complexity.

"Oh."

— What is interesting is what lies between these two extremes, between the minimal and maximal pattern complexity.

"Why? What does lie there?"

— In here is almost every signal generated by living processes. Life, particularly intelligent life, seems to abhor the truly random and the excessively redundant with equal force. Life prefers to produce, and hear, a blended amount of the two. Pattern and predictability are necessary, but must be occasionally supplanted by the unexpected, or else the signal will be discarded and ignored. Languages are based upon rules, but then its speakers are compelled to embroider the rules with exceptions, because otherwise the language would not be interesting. Even though these exceptions will become the cause of occasional difficulty in communication, perhaps even the root of some tragic events.

"That's a very interesting idea, at least to me, thinking as a historian. It would be interesting to go back and examine various languages throughout history with this idea in mind."

— In short, this state of balance between pattern and noise is the how most thoughtful communication appears, before you are able to understand it. It is much less frequently seen in the nonliving world, and therefore it makes an ideal tool for the process of sifting incoming signals for one that might have had an intelligent or conscious origin.

I found this discussion utterly fascinating, relating as it did to my scholarship, enough so that I felt the need to immediately compose this entry in my journal afterwards, to record the information before I had time to forget it. While I was engrossed in the discussion, I thought nothing of my predicament, or what quality the air currently held, nor did I wonder how much longer the water would continue to be available, or when the food would run out. All I thought about was patterns in noise. I cannot begin to properly relate in mere words what a blessing this is to me, in my current position.

Before I left the display, I made sure that I would be clearly notified if the station ever identified such a pattern-dominated signal. The entity within seemed to understand me perfectly, and I feel confident that if I receive any further calls for my attention, it will be with due cause.

It is unfortunate, I suppose, that I walked away from my connection with the display voluntarily, even casually. I should have remained until the connection was severed, as in the past, when I don't know when or even if I will be able to establish it again. I suppose this, but I don't really feel concerned. I am coming to feel confident that my dreams will continue to lead me back to this place.

The air was rushing around him upwards, as hard as any windstorm Jenk had experienced. Strangely, Jenk felt that his mind was no longer panicking: instead it was suddenly calm, and viewed his situation with dispassion; but the panic had not evaporated but simply migrated, out from his mind and into the limbs his body. He tried to pull himself to the left, and swing his left leg over where he assumed the glider's body would be, but his movements were jerky and oversized, and his attempts to correct them were equally so, such that he wound up making several rapid, spastic motions. He could feel his mind automatically reacting, trying quietly to regain fine motor control of his limbs, but the reaction to this seemed to be that they froze in place. At this point Jenk was not even worrying about dying, but could only think about the pain. How much would it hurt to hit the water from such a great height? The wind was very fast, and Jenk found that he had been instinctively holding his breath because of it.

Jenk suddenly felt a punch in the general region of his groin, and his legs were forced apart even further. Involuntarily Jenk let out his breath, and for a moment he was unable to inhale. The uprising wind was tapering off, which was good, but also his stomach felt like it was going to crawl up his throat and out of his mouth. His mind, still seeming to work with quiet efficiency, noted that his face was very close to the back of the glider's head. The skin here was covered in a webwork of very fine wrinkles, which Jenk found almost hypnotic to stare at. His throat was beginning to hurt. A huge shudder seemed to originate at his heart and expand outwards through his torso, like a drum being struck, and suddenly he was gasping in two huge lungfuls of air. Jenk realized that his right hand had already grasped the rope that Parra had pointed out. Had it done that just now, or had it gone there as soon as he was on the glider, and he hadn't noticed? He looked around until he saw the loop for his left hand. But his left hand, he realized, had such a grip on its strap, and when he tried to unclench his fingers, they felt as if they had melted together. Working slowly, seemingly one finger at a time, Jenk managed to loosen his hold, until it was loose enough that his left arm lashed out, seemingly of its own accord and fueled by panic, and grabbed hold of the loop. Jenk's stomach shifted in place, and seemed to settle back into its proper position, and Jenk suddenly realized that he had been pointing downhill, so to speak: his head had been lower than his backside; but he had only realized it now, when he was now laying flat and parallel to the surface of the water below. He carefully focussed his attention on his thoughts, and then to his various limbs, each one in turn, until he felt confident that his mind and his limbs had once again fused together into a single entity. Thus encouraged, Jenk slowly moved into an upright sitting position.

The surface of the water was definitely closer now, but not nearly as close as Jenk had been expecting. The glider seemed not a bit concerned about what Jenk was doing, or even if he was still on its back or not. Jenk reminded himself that he was overreacting to the expressionlessness of their faces. He checked to make sure that the rope in his right hand was not pulled taut, so that the glider would not feel that he was trying to steer it.

The glider banked to the left, and suddenly Jenk was pulling on the rope, trying to keep his balance. To his mixed relief and fear, the glider did not straighten out of its bank, but continued to turn. Did the glider understand well that it was to ignore his steering? Or did the glider know that to not turn in this direction could be suicidal? Jenk couldn't see what the creature was moving towards, but then the creature's body suddenly angled upwards, enough so that Jenk felt his backside slip a tiny amount downhill, towards the creature's tail. Jenk quickly tightened his knees against the creature's sides, and he suddenly found places in the harness where his knees could brace against some straps. Feeling slightly more in control of his balance, Jenk looked up again and saw the face of the cliff not far to his left. He realized that the glider had instinctively sought out the updrafts along the cliff wall, presumably to regain some of its altitude.

Jenk looked out to the right, searching for Shed. Where was she? Presumably Jenk should be heading in her direction. The glider knew that, didn't it? Jenk's eye was caught by a small circle of foam on the water. A rapid sequence of large bubbles broke the surface as he watched, churning an even larger circle into white.

"Is that where we're supposed to go?" Jenk said, or tried to say; but the air was rushing past his face now with great strength, and he wasn't sure that he himself could hear his voice, much less the glider. But a moment later the glider seemed to think that they had gained enough altitude, and banked away from the cliffs. Jenk held on tightly to the loop, and managed to avoid slipping in his mount. When the glider's body was level again, Jenk saw that they were indeed heading directly towards the circle of foam. The water convulsed as another bubble broke the surface, and a short moment later Jenk heard a noise like a watery slap. Jenk reflected that, except for lightning and thunder, he had never experienced such a discrepancy between hearing a noise and seeing its source. Had he had more experience with viewing loud events from great distances, he might have had a clearer idea how far away they were. He still didn't know what it was, though, or why they wanted to go to it.

A bit of motion caught his eye, situated ahead and above, and he looked up to see Shed on her glider. They were moving in what appeared to be a tight circle. Shed was almost as far above Jenk as Jenk was above the water now. Indeed, Jenk realized that the water surface was very much closer than it was when they had first banked away from the cliff wall. They were almost to the white circle on the water, but then what?

The water erupted at that point, as a huge gout of empty air, centered on the circle of foam. There was an damp, explosive sound that came with it, and Jenk felt himself spattered with thousands of tiny droplets of cold, salty water. It was like suddenly finding yourself in a cold sweat all over your body. But then the glider was directly above the fountain of air, and Jenk felt slapped by a wall of hot, sulfurous gas. There was another explosive sound, much louder this time, and Jenk braced for another blow from the uprushing heat, but the blow was surprisingly gentle. Jenk opened his eyes, for they had involuntarily shut in the hot fumes, and saw that they were rapidly rising, riding on the air. Jenk looked about and saw that the glider's wings had belled upwards; the membrane of the wings had stretched out through some means that Jenk could only guess at. They were turning in a tight circle, remaining in the center of the hot air emanating from below the water. As Jenk watched, the glider pumped its wings up and down a few times. On each downstroke tiny slits appeared in the wings, only to vanish again on the upstroke.

Jenk looked up. Shed was almost directly overhead, and noticeably closer than she had been. She appeared to be lying down close to her glider's body. After a moment, Jenk tried doing the same, and found that he was suddenly able to relax some of the muscles in his back. The glider's body protected him from the rushing heat, and for a moment his face felt unprotected in the cold air. The glider was still turning in its tight circle, but the angle was steady, and for the first time during the ride Jenk felt almost comfortable.

"You just keep doing what you need to do," Jenk murmured to the glider. "I'll just lie here and stay out of your way." If the glider heard him, it gave no indication.

Jenk forced himself to relax, as much as he could without risking his balance, and waited. His mind seemed empty of all activity, and he found himself thinking of nothing, but calmly and constantly monitoring his situation: the motion of the air, his balance, the shifting of the glider's angle, and the flexion of its muscles beneath the tough skin of its back.

The glider slowly angled to one side, and it took Jenk a moment to realize that it was actually straightening out from the angle it had been maintaining. Jenk adjusted his balance and then cautiously raised his head again. He looked down and gasped: the water, the cliffs, everything was far below, much farther than Jenk would have guessed possible. Indeed, the water no longer looked like water, but instead resembled a wrinkled and almost metallic surface, and Jenk knew instinctively that falling onto it from this height would be instantly fatal. He quickly shifted his gaze to the horizon, and saw still nothing but water below it. The horizon was hazier than it had been on the ground, but even so Jenk realized that he could now discern its curve, gently convex. As he stared at it, he felt that he could see the clouds define a gently concave curve as well, like bits of foam lying on the surface of an immense bowl.

Instinct forced him to look away before vertigo stole his balance and sent him falling headlong from his perch. He then noticed a large shape ahead and slightly below them, appearing to hang in the air without motion or support. It was a dark brown color, and looked like a misshapen ball, squashed slightly flat along two sides, and top and bottom. Motion alerted him to Shed's presence, near the shape and almost level with Jenk. Now her glider was moving in a lazy circle around the shape, a short distance above it. Jenk saw Shed let go of her rope long enough to wave at him. Jenk was tempted to do the same, but then his glider banked and his balance shifted, and he decided to maintain his hold.

He was getting much closer now, when suddenly Shed's glider dived out from under her. Jenk gasped as Shed swung outward, away from the glider, only to leave her standing on the top of the shape. Jenk could see now that the shape was actually the size of a small house. Shed came out of her slight crouch and turned to him and waved. The glider was now falling straight down through the air, as if it had suddenly turned to stone. Shed put her hands next to her mouth and shouted at him. Though the air was whistling past his ears, he thought he heard her saw, "Now you do it!"

"No," Jenk said quietly, though whether this statement was directed to Shed, his glider, or his own limbs he couldn't quite say. "No, you can't be serious."

The glider banked sharply, circling the shape and dropping altitude. Jenk could now see, only barely, that a thin line, like a black thread, emanated from the top of the structure and continued upwards. He tried to see where it went to, but only a short distance up it was invisible again. Jenk could see nothing overhead but clouds.

"Pay attention!" came Shed's voice again. Jenk looked down. The glider banked sharply, and was now clearly heading directly for the roof of the structure, almost directly to where Shed was standing. Jenk felt his hands involuntarily tighten around the harness. The glider angled itself downwards and slowed, bringing its wings in closer to its body. Jenk wanted desperately to shout at the glider, to say no, he wasn't ready, nobody had told him that he was going to be expected to do this, but then Shed and the roof was directly in front of him, and suddenly the glider angled its wings straight down, away from his legs, and fell away. Some sensible part of Jenk's mind forced his fingers to unclench, and immediately the harness was no longer there. The glider was no longer there; there was only the patch of roof next to Shed, who had extended her arms out to cross his trajectory. Suddenly his ankles jarred as his feet hit the roof. Jenk realized that the roof was covered in sandpaper, or something much like it, for he didn't slide at all, but immediately fell forward. Shed tried to break his fall without actually being in front of him, but even so his hands scraped along the surface of the roof and he felt the skin at the heel of his palms abrade.

"Jenk, your execution was terrible. But it was your first time, so I'll make allowances."

Jenk said nothing. He was still trying to get his breath back.

"Come on. Stand up." Shed pushed on his shoulders, and with some reluctance Jenk got his feet underneath him once more. "Spread your legs more. You don't want to lose your balance if the west wind picks up."

Shed peered into his face. "Your color is a little pale, but otherwise fine. You don't look sick or anything. Good. Let me see your hands."

Jenk brought up his hands. "Shed, what are we standing on?"

Shed was staring at his palms. "You broke the skin here." She reached into a pocket and shuffled the contents. "To be expected. Let me just treat it, to be safe. We are standing at the bottom of the beanstalk; specifically, this is the crawler." Shed's hand re-emerged holding a small squeeze bottle, and squirted out a milky translucent fluid, that stung as she covered Jenk's skinned heels with it. "Now we should get inside the crawler. It's not safe to dawdle out here. The wind can be quite strong, this high off the ground."

Jenk looked down at the crawler, and now he noticed black lines forming a rectangle, next to where Shed was standing. "Is that the entrance, then?"

"It is indeed; very observant of you." Shed lowered herself down to a crouch in a fluid motion that kept her balance steady. She reached into a deep pocket and pulled out a stick of ebony, sanded down to a near-perfect cylinder. This she inserted into a hole that Jenk had not seen before near the outline of the rectangle. She looked sideways up at Jenk and said, "Please stand behind me."

With some misgivings, Jenk walked around to her back. It was less than two steps from where he stood to the edge. He looked out into the distance, but the gliders were nowhere he could see. He turned his attention back to Shed.

"Spread your legs, keep your balance low, and brace yourself. Just in case." Without waiting for a reply, Shed leaned back on the stick, obviously straining.

There was a long moment in which nothing seemed to be happening; then, there was a sharp crack, like the initial sound of a tree falling as the half-dead wood of the trunk starts to splinter. The rectangular hatch flew open; the ebony stick was launched out of its hole, and hit Jenk's right knee. Shed fell backward but otherwise kept her footing. The stick hit the surface, and rolled neatly off to the right and over the edge. One of Shed's hands came down upon Jenk's left foot, but otherwise she managed to avoid hitting him. Jenk nearly fell over backwards anyway, just from surprise, but he managed to compose himself by the time she turned around and looked up at him.

"Sorry about your foot. Are you all right?"

Jenk rubbed his knee, but decided it wasn't worth saying anything, and simply nodded sullenly.

Shed stood up carefully, and then looked about. "Where did the baton go? Did it fall into the hatch?"

Jenk straightened up and pointed to the edge.

Shed made a strangled exhalation, and, to Jenk's surprise, stamped a foot. "That's aggravating. I didn't want to lose that."

Jenk found himself feeling very little sympathy. "Better the baton than me," he said.

Shed looked at him, and for a brief moment was clearly annoyed. But then her face cleared, and once again she was engrossed in the task before them. "All right, let's get inside. There are four compartments down below, do you see? You and I need to be in separate compartments, and they need to be opposite each other. If we get into adjacent rooms, the crawler won't be able to keep its balance." Shed examined the compartments for a moment, then said, "If I take the north one, then you can take the south one. I think the south one is a better fit for someone your size." Shed looked up at him. "Do you follow me?"

Jenk shrugged. "Yes."

Shed crouched down next to the hatchway, and with her hands on the roof she swung herself down inside, sliding against something Jenk couldn't see. There was a thump and a small vibration as she landed on her feet.

Jenk tried to imitate her motion, but couldn't quite figure out how she had placed her hands. In the end he wound up sitting down, with his legs dangling into the hatchway, and then slowly straightened out his body, slipping forward and being careful to guide himself into the southern compartment. The rough texture of the roof prevented him from sliding down until his body was almost perfectly straight; then he abruptly slid downward. The lip of the hatchway scraped along his back and head as he went. A floor crashed into his feet, and his knees buckled and he was in a tight heap, on the floor of a room which was no larger than a bed stood up on one end.

"Not very graceful, Jenk," came Shed's voice.

Jenk pulled himself up to a rough standing position by bracing his hands on opposite walls. He looked around, but Shed could not be seen. "This room is more casket than compartment."

"If you think that's small, you should see this one." Shed's voice moved upwards and Jenk heard motion. He looked up and could just see Shed's arm reaching up from her compartment and out through the hatchway. The hand groped around blindly for a moment, and then it pulled the hatch shut.

"Shed, am I supposed to do anything in here?"

"Make yourself as comfortable as you can. That's the first and most important thing." Behind Shed's voice, Jenk could hear strange, whispery sounds from the direction of the ceiling, tiny noises that seemed to echo over and over again. "Once you've done that, take out that bundle I gave you. You didn't drop it?"

Jenk felt around in his pocket, and drew forth the large ball of cloth. "Yes, I still have it." He began to unwrap the cloth.

"Good, good. So open it up now. Inside there should be a squeeze bag and another little bundle."

Jenk pulled away the last bit of cloth, and found the two items as Shed had described. The squeeze bag was the size of a small flat stone. Just the right shape for skipping across a lake, thought Jenk. The second bundle was damp, and cold to the touch.

Shed spoke again, and this time her words were slurred, as if she was speaking through a mouth full of pebbles. "Unwrap the second bundle very carefully. Inside of it are some buds from a cold air plant. You don't want to touch the plant, as it's very cold. And once enough of it is exposed, its petals will start to melt. So unwrap it just enough to start that going, then set it down right away, so you don't freeze your fingers."

Jenk began to unwrap it, but the cloth was so cold and damp that he began to feel nervous handling it. He quickly set it down on the floor, and then nudged it clumsily with the toe of his boot until he could see some pale pink buds in the center.

"Then, take the squeeze bag and put it in your mouth." As Jenk did so, she continued, "Squeeze it gently inside your mouth. Don't bite on it. When the juice leaks out, try to collect it in a pool underneath your tongue."

Jenk did so. The juice was bitter, and Jenk had to keep himself from swallowing it to get it out of his mouth. Speaking carefully around the bag, he said, "How long do I have to keep this in my mouth?"

"Until you wake up."

"Wake up?" Jenk frowned. "This juice is going to put me to sleep?"

"Yes, we need to be asleep for the climb. It's a long way to go, and the less we move around the better. Also, I'm told that our bodies adjust to the changes better during sleep."

"What changes?"

"The atmospheric changes. Now remain quiet. Save your breath. And try to relax."

Jenk leaned his head back against the wall. The whispery echoes filled the silence. Jenk frowned as the room seemed to shift slightly. Were they moving? It was hard to tell. The bitter juice collected at the bottom of his cheeks, and Jenk flexed his mouth to bring it under his tongue. He focussed his attention on his sense of balance, and after a long moment became convinced that they were in fact moving upwards, though quite slowly. Jenk wished that he could look out to the land and water down below, but there were no windows, and in any case he had closed his eyes some time ago. He thought about opening them, and looking around the compartment, in case there was a small crack through which he might be able to look out, but his eyes felt dry and he didn't want to open his eyelids just yet. He should wait until his eyes felt better, Jenk thought, and then he would look for cracks.

And then Jenk's thoughts swirled apart, and soon after that he was fast asleep.

Journal Entry

Why did I do this. Oh, by all that is good, why did I ever come to this darkened place? What made me think that I should, or needed to, or that it was somehow right? I was such a fool.

I should have turned back. I should have turned back at the vine. I should have known better at that point. The risks were no longer worth the game.

If only I could leave somehow. If only I could throw myself off of this station and fall to earth. Even if I died in the landing, at least I would die on my own world. Even if I landed in the midst of a foreign clan, or in one of the eastern city-states, or even in the desert or the ocean. Even if I landed away from home, at least I would be on my home world. Maybe someone would find my body and have it sent back home. Hark could weep over it, instead of staring up at the sky and wondering.

I need to start thinking about how I should die. I need to weigh my options. It is hard, after so much time of trying to preserve myself, to now be thinking about how to kill myself quickly and with certainty. But if I don't begin, I will surely die slowly and in pain, though admittedly with no less certainly.

I have not dreamed again for a long time, it seems. A day? I have no sense of time in here. I wish this wretched station were not so alien and unforgiving. A little thing, such as brightening the lights and then darkening them to match the days on Earth, might go a long way towards stabilizing my intellect and emotions.

I wish I were dead. I find myself thinking this, now and then. Eventually I will mean it with all seriousness and gravity, and then it will be time to act.

Oh, I am in an abject state. Has anyone ever been in such miserable circumstances as this? So utterly helpless, so far away from life and everything that sustains it, that the distance is literally beyond imagining?

But now I am being overly dramatic. No doubt many people in ancient times died in outer space. I am hardly the first. Perhaps I am not even the first person to die in this station. There may have been many such people, in fact, and now nobody knows their names or even that they existed. Not even me, the world's only expert on this accursed structure.

One of the results of having devoted my life to the study of history is this: I cannot maintain, for any length of time, illusions about being remembered well beyond my life. I know, first hand, how little information survives the passage of time. I am currently set to die in a fashion most remarkable, and if word of the circumstances of my end does find its way back to Mellay, they shall surely remember it, and me, for many generations. But after that? This station will probably still be functioning by the time thought of me fades from the Mellay clan. Indeed, without any dirt to receive the body I will leave behind, my bones will probably outlast my memory. A dire, dark thought, and now I cannot stop thinking on it.

Oh, why did I have to come here?

Jenk was sitting down in the dining hall. His plate was filled with a stew, and he was eating it quickly. Each mouthful was hot, almost but not quite enough to burn his tongue, and it was delicious. He had to close his eyes and savor the taste, it was so wonderful. He opened his eyes to look for the cook and tell them what a wonderful stew it was. Instead he saw that Tilt was sitting next to him. As if there had been no interruption, she asked, "And so what did you do then?"

Jenk shrugged. "Oh, I just did my best. They told me to jump, so I jumped."

"I can't believe you did that. I wouldn't have jumped off of a cliff, no matter how many people told me to do it."

"Well, beloved, it was different than that." He took another spoonful of stew. Again, it was hot and delicious. "Remember that woman had just done it, and she was now flying around in the air." Jenk twirled his spoon around to illustrate Shed flying around on her glider. Some droplets of stew flew off when he did this, and spattered Tilt and some other people nearby. Nobody seemed to notice, however, so Jenk pretended nothing had happened and returned the spoon to his plate.

Tilt looked at him sideways, the way she did when she thought he was being difficult. "Were they really flying?"

"Well, in truth they glided. That's not the same as flying, I suppose, although I imagine that it feels much the same as flying."

Jenk had been staring at the ceiling. He looked over at Tilt, and saw that she was now staring at a tablet in her hand. "Tilt?" he said carefully. Or rather, he tried to say her name, but his mouth was full. Jenk looked down at his plate and realized that what he had been eating was not stew at all, but a large flank cut of gray bear. His mouth was full of tough, chewy meat, and he wanted desperately to spit it out, but that would be a terrible thing to do if the cook was present. He looked around and didn't see anyone who he thought was the cook tonight, but there were many people in the dining hall and he couldn't be sure. The dining hall was much larger than normal, and its roof was much lower than it should have been. Suddenly Tilt was directly before him, trying to forcefully kiss him. Fearful of her reaction when she found his mouth full of half-chewed meat, he struggled to avoid her.

"Jenk, relax. Jenk, it's Shed."

The dream evaporated with a violent suddenness, and Jenk became aware of the wall against his back, and hands holding his face by the jaw, and the flexible squeeze bag still inside his mouth. He felt dampness on the right side of his face and all along his beard. There was a soft light filtering through his eyelids.

"Jenk, hold still. Open your mouth and stop biting down. Relax."

Jenk relaxed and carefully opened his mouth. He briefly felt fingers on his tongue and the squeeze bag was removed. His tongue felt fuzzy, and stuck to the bottom of his mouth as if gummed there. The roof of his mouth was painfully dry, and he was hesitant to attempt a swallow. His eyes were still closed, and he wasn't really sure if he was ready to open them. There was a strange pressure on his ears, and the quality of the sounds around him told him that he was not in the cramped space of the crawler. As much as he wanted to know where he was now, he did not think he would like finding out how he had managed to get there from the crawler without awakening.

"Okay. Good. Just relax for a while. Now, I want you to try to avoid making sudden movements for now. Especially try to avoid turning your head too quickly: some people make themselves very sick when they do that in this place. Hopefully you won't turn out to be like that."

At the words "this place" Jenk flung open his eyes, almost involuntarily. He was lying down in a room, although the curve of the walls and ceiling made it look more like a large tunnel. They appeared to be made of stone. It was dark out, and the room was lit with a soft light of a strange blue-white color, coming from some lumpy object in one corner of the ceiling. Shed was leaning over him, looking directly down at him. No, wait. Jenk saw now that Shed was floating in the air, supine, parallel to him. He blinked and looked more closely, and suddenly he realized that in fact he was standing up, and Shed was not floating but simply standing next to him. The ceiling was in fact part of the wall; the room did not have a long tunnel shape, but rather a tall cylindrical shape, like a giant tree trunk. The only problem was, Jenk didn't feel as if there was a floor beneath his feet. He raised his head to look down; and at once the room became a tunnel again, and Shed was once more floating face-down in the air. His feet were in fact a good distance away from any sort of support, either at the soles or at the heels. Jenk realized that he was dangling over a pit, with something that grasped his shoulders being all that kept him from falling. And Shed, too, presumably. Jenk looked up to see what was above, and suddenly the world tilted sideways and nausea rose up from his stomach and clawed at his throat. His mouth was suddenly full of saliva. Jenk spat to clear his mouth: as he watched in amazement, the saliva flew from his mouth in a perfectly straight line and spattered on what he had first assumed was the ceiling.

Shed grimaced. "Yes, that's exactly what I want you to avoid doing. No sudden movements of your head. Are you going to vomit?"

Jenk looked around, nervously, but without moving his head. He found himself vaguely transfixed by the splash mark his spit had left on the ceiling. He tried not to imagine what kind of mark would be left if he vomited. Instead he focussed on Shed's face. Her eyes were squinting in frustration at dealing with him, but through her martial demeanor Jenk thought he could see real concern for his well-being. The thought was comforting, and in the next moment Jenk could feel his stomach muscles relaxing.

"No," he said, and his voice sounded vaguely distant to his ears.

"Okay. That's a relief. How do you feel otherwise?"

"Very confused."

"This isn't time for wordplay. How does your body feel, Jenk?"

Jenk considered. After a moment he said, "My body also feels confused, Shed. Which one of these walls is the ceiling? And what is holding me up?"

Shed permitted a small smile to appear. "There is no ceiling, not in this room. Roughly speaking, up is that way." Shed pointed behind herself. She then pointed towards Jenk. "And down is that way, but it's not a very strong up or down. Please, try not to think about the fact that you're floating for just a moment, and tell me if you have any pains, or unexpected aches."

Keeping his head still, Jenk took a deep breath and closed his eyes, listening to his body. Without opening his eyes, he said, "There is a bad taste in my mouth, and my legs feel like they may be asleep. I can't be certain."

Shed replied, "Nothing more than that?"

"And I'm starving. How long have we been asleep?"

"About a day. Unfortunately we can't eat for a while yet, so you'll have to hold out. Are you thirsty?"

Jenk opened his eyes; he almost shook his head in response, but managed to stop himself in time. "No, not really."

"Okay. Now, try flexing your limbs. Gently."

Jenk moved his arms about, and noticed that the motion seemed to cause his torso to momentarily drift to one side. It was a curious sensation, but he forgot it after he flexed his legs. "Oh goodness, my legs are sore. I feel as if I had been running all day."

"But they're just sore, right? Nothing more severe than that?"

"Not that I can feel right now. Of course under normal circumstances I would sit down and feel myself over, to check for bruises and such. Is it possible to even sit down here? I'm afraid to try it."

"You can do that later, once you've gotten used to this place, presuming that you actually do. We can't stay here for very long. They won't let us."

"Shed, please tell me: what is holding me up?"

"Well, your shoulders are strapped into a harness at the moment, and that is specifically what's holding you up right now. But I believe the answer to your real question, what is making you float in the air, is that there is almost no gravity here."

Jenk looked up through the window in the ceiling at the Earth.

It was as if all the water on the Earth had been carefully rolled up into a giant ball, agitated so as to induce thick curled lines of foam. But, of course, a closer examination revealed that the thick white lines were actually made up of clouds: dozens of clouds, travelling across the face of the world in giant, filigree flocks.

And the water was everywhere blue, a dark and serious blue, bluer than the sky could ever become. Jenk stared into that blue and realized that those basins of water were very, very deep.

"It's strange, but I don't see very much of the land."

Shed, floating next to him, reached out and pointed a finger. "There's some, right there. The light brown patch? It's too bad, many of the clouds are blocking the view of the land right now. But even on a good day for viewing, you would be surprised at how much more water there appears to be than earth."

Jenk said. "This is the third time today you've given me a privileged view of the world, and each time I have learned that the world is mostly covered in water."

Shed smiled. "That is truer than you could have guessed. Besides the basins, what you see from up here mostly is the clouds. And the clouds are just evaporated water. And if you look, right along the edge, there and there, you can see the ice around the poles. All water."

Jenk considered this in silence for a moment. Then he said, "It truly is disconcerting. Though it's a pretty sight; I don't deny that. But I would feel better if I could catch a glimpse of something I recognized."

Shed nodded. "It is strange, isn't it, how something familiar can look strange when seen from a distance, or from a different direction. And what is more familiar than our very own planet? But from here it looks like nothing you've ever seen before."

A silence fell between them, and stretched out. When Jenk spoke again, it was with a hint of his previous combative tone. "And you tell me we got here by climbing a rope?"

Shed remained implacable. "It's called a beanstalk. But yes. I think there's another window where you can see where the beanstalk is attached. The rope is huge up here, thicker than you; apparently it's only thin at the bottom."

"And 'here' is what? What is this place?"

Shed shrugged philosophically. She had been slowly floating away from Jenk during this conversation; now she held out a hand and pushed lightly against the wall, to keep from bumping into it. "This is the top of the beanstalk."

Jenk stared at her, clearly unsatisfied with this answer.

"It's the home of the Orbiters. I suppose they are the Orbiters clan, though I'm not sure they think of themselves as such."

"Ah, yes. The Orbiters." Jenk had seen some of them, very briefly, as Shed had led him to this viewing room. He had already felt quite clumsy, trying to move about in this gravity-free place. He was constantly launching himself off of walls at the wrong angle, and bounce around as he tried to get from one end of a room to the other. Then some Orbiters had passed by in the other direction. Jenk had stared at them openly; they had given him and Shed the merest look, and then quickly moved past them with a grace that Jenk had not guessed possible with their squat bodies. "Who are they, Shed? Where do they come from?"

"That I don't know. Dryssa may let us climb the beanstalk, but they haven't offered us much information about it."

Jenk looked out the window again. "Dryssa couldn't have built this themselves."

"No. My guess is that, either the Orbiters built it, or it's a relic from ancient times."

"It can't be a relic. It wouldn't have survived the ages. One can put things in orbit for a long time, but eventually they will fall down. Even the ancients couldn't avoid that."

"Did the ancients ever build a beanstalk?"

"Not that I know of." Jenk considered. "But it's pretty clear that there's a great deal we don't know about them. Now that I know that such a thing is possible, there's no reason to think that they didn't." Jenk considered some more.

Shed said, "Well, perhaps the ancients built a beanstalk that eventually fell down, but this place remained up here. And then the Orbiters just built their own beanstalk."

"Have you never tried to ask them?"

"This is my first time meeting them, too, Jenk."

Jenk frowned. "But you say that we were expected?"

"Yes, but the Dryssa arranged everything."

"How? By sending little messages on tablets up the beanstalk?"

Shed shook her head slowly. "As I mentioned, the Dryssa don't tell us much. Sorry I can't satisfy your curiosity there. Do you have any different questions, perhaps?"

Jenk stared at Shed. "Shed, I am full to bursting with questions. Who are the Orbiters, exactly?" Jenk looked around to make sure that no one else was in the room. "Are they aliens?" he asked quietly.

Shed looked doubtful. "No, I don't think so. I think they were bred from human stock. They certainly look like human variants."

Jenk muttered, "How do you know; have you ever seen what an alien looks like?" But Jenk saw that Shed's explanation was far more likely. The Orbiters he saw were indeed quite short, and wide, with grayish skin and broad mouths, but for all that they were clearly not too far from being human. Jenk might not have even thought they were noticeably odd, were it not for their eyes: their corneas were a pale color, unusual but not strange, but the whites were not white, but vividly pink, almost red. And their eyes were large, so Jenk had seen that the color was not just the result of being bloodshot, but was the sclera's true color. He quickly continued. "So who would have bred them then?"

Shed shrugged. "Maybe they bred themselves."

Jenk frowned. "Why would they do that?"

"Well, if this place was already here, then they may have bred themselves to inhabit it." Shed paused. "Some of my people have talked with Dryssa more than I, and they say that the Orbiters must live here: that if they came down to try to live with us, they would quickly die."

"From what?"

"I can't say. Perhaps the gravity would crush them? In any case, the problem is that this place, this home of theirs, isn't going to last."

"What do you mean? Is it going to fall down soon?"

"No, nothing like that. But it's going to run out of air." Now it was Shed's turn to look around, to make sure that they were alone. "This place is big, but it's nothing like the Earth. It's really not much more than a mammoth chunk of ice. There's a very special ivy plant, bred just for this place, and it runs through this entire chunk. The ivy drinks in the ice water, and the sunlight, and it produces all the air in this place. But I am told it can't live forever. Eventually it will have used up all the ice, or something else it needs, and the ivy will die."

Jenk finished, "And the Orbiters, having nowhere to go, will die too?"

"Actually, they say that the Orbiters plan to thin their numbers out, over time, and then stop, just before the end."

Jenk winced. "Stop? As in, voluntarily become extinct?"

Shed nodded. "And I think that's why they don't want us to stay here long. We're breathing their air and drinking their water, which brings them just a tiny bit closer to the end."

"These are clearly a morbid people. But very well. We'll say our thanks and leave them be. But where do we go from here, and how?"

Shed smiled. "The Orbiters are going to give us a ship to use. This ship is going to take us on the last leg of our journey, Jenk. We're almost to the Sunset Station."

Journal Entry

I have had another dream involving the display. It has been a blessing to me, and at the same time disturbing in a way that I can hardly hope to put into words. Yet I feel the need to record it, more than anything else that I have recorded yet.

It is strange, but when I attempt to establish a connection through the display, I am never surprised when it works. I am occasionally surprised when it does not, when I am not dreaming, and badly so; but this experience does not transfer to the dreams: when I am dreaming, I touch the display without the merest thought that I might encounter nothing but a cold and perfectly smooth surface. And I never do. It is a perfect example of the strange nature of one's thinking within dreams; it seems convinced that the world works according to a strange logic, little informed by the logic of anything real. But of course it is right, and the dream world does follow this logic, because one's thinking and one's dream world are one and the same.

This time, as soon as I knew I was in contact with the entity behind the display, I girded my nerves and inquired into the nature of the station's air. I learned that the air's nitrogen and oxygen are within healthy limits, but the carbon dioxide is twice normal and the water content is very low, almost zero. There is also an elevated amount of argon, methane, and other quasi-organic gases, but I get the impression that these are not serious concerns, at least not given the far more serious concern of the carbon dioxide. Presumably this is due to my viria getting old and starting to die off. I attempted to query the station as to its own processes for making air breathable, to find out if they were not working or merely dormant. Unfortunately I failed to get a clear answer on this. I am not sure why the display could not understand me, as this station obviously must have had a process for maintaining the air. I console myself with the fact that so much else about this station seemed to work automatically, that it is hardly likely that the air would not be maintained automatically as well. Thus the process is probably not working, or working very poorly, and there is almost certainly nothing I can do to fix it.

Having just recorded this, though, a third possibility occurs to me, one that seems almost too obvious to even mention: the display failed to understand my question simply because it is not real, but only a creation of my dreaming mind. This should probably be considered the simplest explanation, yet it is also quite unsatisfactory. Still, it is good that I remind myself that dreams often do not make sense. I have been holding my dreams in this place to a higher standard than I normally would, perhaps because I have come to rely on them for the comfort they have been bringing me.

But to return to my interaction with the display. After some time spent in frustration with the question of the air, I asked after the signal monitoring. I was not actually expecting anything, since I had not felt that the display had attempted to alert me or otherwise call for my attention. But, despite all this, there was in fact record of a newly discovered signal, which the station had singled out as being unusual.

I asked to know more about the signal in question, and was very surprised to see that the station had already analyzed it in the fashion I had learned of, and had found it to have a very high degree of balance between pattern and noise. The station had estimated that the signal had an information content of zero point five. Of course, I had no idea what that meant, exactly, but the fact that the previous signal had not even warranted an estimate of its information content, I found this very interesting, and I could feel the excitement in my belly.

"This is wonderful! It seems that the station has found exactly the thing that it has sought: a message from another star, sent out on waves of invisible light. Even if no human being ever deciphers it, the very fact of its existence is important enough. Oh, if only there was some way that I could tell the rest of humanity about it. It is unbearable to think that news of this message should die with me!"

In my excitement I must have spoken aloud, for I received an answer, in much the same voice as before:

— You have found a signal with a pattern suggesting thoughtful design? Tell me, from what star does it appear to originate?

I replied, "I do not know that. Indeed, I do not know any way of learning that information without asking you. Do you mean to tell me you do not where this signal came from?"

— I know nothing of your signal other than what you have told me.

Once again I felt my scalp prickle in fear. Girding my spine, I said, "How can that be, unless you are not part of the station? How can you say that you have found a signal for me in one moment, and then say that you know nothing of it in the next?"

I said these words with strength and a note of challenge, as if I expected to be attacked in the next moment. In truth I do not know what I was expecting, that I thought would be inspired to lash out upon being unmasked. I suppose I had forgotten that I was dealing only with disembodied voices, which could do me no direct harm. And in a dream, no less, but that was obviously not something I realized at the time. All these thoughts went through my mind several times in the following moments, for there was no answer for some time. But at last the voice replied:

— There is some confusion here. I believe you have mistaken me as being of the medium through which we are communicating. But I am not a part of your mechanism, or of your station, or even of your world. I am of a consciousness that was created by many different living beings long ago, to which many other living beings have contributed throughout time.

I considered this for a moment in stunned silence. Finally I said, "So you are claiming that you are not even of human origin."

— Yes, precisely. You are communicating with me with the assistance of the mechanisms of your station that you talk to. But I am not part of those mechanisms.

"But how is what you describe even possible? If you are not human, you must be at a vast distance. How can we be chatting back and forth as if you were sitting next to me?" A moment of silence, which I further interrupted. "For that matter, how is it that you can speak my language as well as any native?"

— I fear that answering those questions, to any degree that would satisfy you, would take a long time, probably far more time than you have available to you.

"Really? Then you understand my situation?"

— Not entirely, but enough. Your story is hardly new to living beings, regardless of where they originated.

The prickly sensations that had been blooming across my scalp ran down the back of my neck, and from their down my spine and spread across the skin of my back. "Have you been listening to my communications with the display?"

— Perhaps I have. I do not entirely understand what you mean by "the display", but since you have all but admitted that you thought I was nothing but part of this display, I believe it's fair to say that you have been talking to me without realizing what you were doing.

I considered this. "Well, I suppose there is nothing bad about that. I have no secrets to hide. It is too late for that now."

— Very well. So, can you tell me what star you believe sent out the signal you have found?

I was momentarily confused by the change back to our previous subject, but then I remembered my earlier excitement. "I don't know how to identify the star to you. What information could I give you that you would understand?

— I don't know where you are located in space, so triangulating to its position is not possible. Given that, an accurate spectrum would be the best way.

I asked the display if it could produce a spectrum for the star. I am not sure exactly how this spectrum helped to identify one star out of countless others. Presumably spectra are like fingerprints. In any case, though I myself did not get a clear feeling for the star's identity, I did manage to receive some information from the display that must have been a spectrum, for the voice picked up on it at once.

— Yes, I am of course familiar with this star. I am afraid that the signal you received is probably not what you were hoping it would be.

"How so?"

— The largest planet circling this star is very large, and somewhat unstable. Deep within its atmosphere is a tiny population of life forms. These things are very small, perhaps even the smallest entities anywhere that are still considered living. Their existence is brief, by our standards. They form within dense pockets of the planet's atmosphere, where water collects along with large carbon-chain molecules. Once formed, they spend their brief lives falling into the planet's gravity well, to where the atmosphere begins to solidify. They consume almost nothing during the descent in which they live out their lives; the only energy they have to survive with is implanted inside them at the time of their "birth" up above.

"If they fall inward and never return, then those atomspheric pockets in which they form must eventually empty of raw materials."

— Indeed. There are many such pockets, but each individual one does not last very long. The raw material do eventually return, though: when enough of these tiny carcasses have accumulated in one place, they create a bubble of relatively low density, due to the fluid dynamics of the planet's lower atmosphere. This bubble eventually floats up into the middle atmosphere, where the change in gravity causes it, in ways we don't really understand, to begin manufacturing these tiny creatures, or if you like, "giving birth" to them.

"But so what does this have to do with my signal?"

— These creatures are the origin of your signal.

"I don't see how that can be. If these creatures are so fantastically primitive, how could they be sending out messages?"

— This is how they reproduce. We would not categorize these objects as being alive, based solely upon what I have told you so far, because there is no process by which they reproduce. We would probably think of them merely as a complex and unlikely weather phenomenon. But these creatures do reproduce, you see. When they reach the lower atmosphere, they are swept up in an electrical field that causes them to be sucked into the field's source and sundered into their component molecules. We are not really sure what that source is, but it is apparently of a delicate balance. For in this process, as each molecule of the former creature passes through the field source, it causes minor pertubations in the field, depending on the size and shape of the molecule. This influences, in turn, a much weaker but farther-reaching electrical field, and it is this field that generates the signal that your station has noticed. This second field affects the behavior of the pockets in the middle atmosphere, or rather it affects the behavior of something in those pockets. Again, we really don't understand the details. But the important thing is that the second field causes the same set of molecules to be brought together when the new creatures are born. And so this is their method of reproduction. The fact that the signal can be heard anywhere outside of the planet's atmosphere is an accidental by-product.

"You're telling me that this alien message is just these unlikely creature's genetic information, sent out as part of their reproducing?"

— Essentially, yes: that is the situation. And I hope you can see why I warned you that this signal might not be what you think. For it is indeed a signal bearing information, and indeed it is information coming from other living beings. But the living beings in question are unintelligent, and decidedly so; they are only barely alive.

"How do you know so much about these creatures?" It was a stupid question, but it was all I could think of at the moment. I knew nothing about the entity I was conversing with, so why should I think anything in particular was more or less likely to be within their capabilities?

— Long, careful observation. And indeed, much of what I have told you embodies a great deal of conjecture. No intelligent being we know of has actually seen these creatures, of course. And even if someone were to travel there, they would very likely find it very difficult merely to locate these creatures, given the environment of this planet's atmosphere, much less obtain one for examination. But we have been listening to the signals from this world for a long time, and the description I have given you is the best one we have that fits the known facts.

I was alternately flabbergasted and crushed with disappointment. Part of me was reeling just from trying to take in, and believe, everything I had been told by the voice today, but part of me was also mourning the loss of the signal I had found, the signal which for a brief, bright moment, had made me feel wondrous joy and hope.

Oh, it pains me to think of this now, but I should confess it at once. The irony in this situation: that I had been, for some time now, chatting amiably with a very old and presumably very powerful alien intelligence, all as part of my attempt to monitor outer space for alien message signals; at that time, the irony was entirely and utterly lost on me.

I remained before the display, saying nothing, for a long period of time after this conversation, turning over everything in my mind and trying to decide what to think of it all, and what to do next. I had a sense that I needed to do something, but I could not puzzle out what that thing should be. Finally, I concluded that I should do nothing until I had a better grasp on my thoughts and feelings, and I broke the connection with the display and kicked off from the wall, floating over to the bedding. I bumped my shin attempting to bring myself down onto the bedding, and the pain made it impossible to relax. This was probably fortunate, because I realized that what I should do next is record everything in my journal, before any detail should escape my memory. I had hoped that when I was done recording the events, I would know better what my thoughts were and what I should do. But I fear that I am just as confused as I was before.

Jenk soon realized that leaving The Hold, which is what the Orbiters called their home, was not just a matter of walking away. The ship that they were to use was situated on the opposite side of The Hold. Before they could go anywhere, though, they needed to eat. And Jenk was desperate for a bath, and a chance to clean his clothes. He didn't enjoy the idea of imposing upon these strange people, but Shed had insisted that they arrive here empty-handed.

To Jenk's surprise, the Orbiters proved to be quite accommodating. They remained aloof to an extreme degree: they spoke to Shed as little as possible, and only in whispers; to Jenk they said nothing, and generally avoided even meeting his gaze; and they seemed to always be in a hurry to remove themselves from any room the humans were in. Nonetheless the Orbiters finally provided them with a large meal, and despite Shed's description of their situation there was plenty to drink. The Orbiters escorted them to a private dining room, and Jenk was surprised to see that it contained no table or chairs, until he realized the uselessness of such things here. The food and even the drink was provided in bags, and almost immediately Jenk saw why they had cloistered them in their own room, as Jenk and Shed spent some time learning how to manipulate food without the assistance of gravity. Before the first part of the meal was over, the air was full of crumbs of food and small spheres of water, and the walls were noticeably spattered. But Jenk ate well, eventually. The meat was tough and almost fibrous on the outside, and strangely soft on the inside. Shed couldn't tell Jenk what it was, and seemed unsure herself if it was in fact meat. But it tasted like meat, and Jenk found it quite tasty, though likely hunger had dulled his discrimination. In addition to the meat were what Jenk originally took to be peas, though pale in color, but turned out to be tough chewy things, with a damp starchy flavor. The drink was simple, water with a light citrus flavor, and it seemed to improve the taste of whatever was eaten immediately afterwards.

The next surprise was that the Orbiters wanted them to remain where they were until the next day, and then leave for the ship in the morning. They were each offered their own tiny room in which to sleep. The beds were shaped like a pocket, somewhat reminescent of the food bags, but thin and very snug, so as to prevent a restless sleeper from floating out; and Jenk spent some time that night trying to get comfortable. Jenk found the Orbiter's insistent hospitality at odds with Shed's statement that they wanted them not to linger, whereupon Shed explained bluntly that the Orbiters wished to collect the contents of their chamberpots, so that some of the matter of their feast could be reclaimed. This led Jenk to wonder if there were, in fact, any animals in this place, or if all their food came from fields fertilized by the people themselves. But could they even have fields, inside of an icy rock with almost no direct sunlight? The light in this place was almost entirely artificial, provided by various attachments on the walls, such as the one he had originally noticed. Perhaps the ivy supplied all of their food somehow, Jenk thought, which reminded him of the strange texture of the meat. Jenk also found himself remembering the morning when he had laid in bed and been inspired by the scent of manure being spread on the fields. That morning lay only a scant few days in the past!

The Orbiters also provided them with new clothes, and packs, and a collection of tools, most of which Jenk had never seen before, and could only guess at the function. When he asked Shed for help, she simply showed him which one was the portable light, and how to turn it on and off. The rest, she told him, he probably wouldn't need to use. The tools appeared to be made almost entirely of metal. They would almost certainly be worth a great deal back on Earth. Jenk began to wonder if the Orbiters really were trapped up here, or if they just wanted to remain forgotten.

By the next morning, they had both apparently excreted enough to satisfy the Orbiters. Shed spoke at length with a whispering Orbiter to get directions to where the ship was docked, and then she and Jenk set out.

Movement through the tunnels of the Hold involved zigzagging. One would kick off against a wall, moving off in the desired direction but also sliding across to the other side of the tunnel. If done properly, one would be coming to a stop just as one was about to touch the opposite wall. It was like a ship tacking in the wind, Jenk thought. Most tunnels had circular ribbing well-spaced along the walls, to provide places to more easily gain forward motion.

Jenk had spent much of yesterday trying to avoid having to move about any more than necessary, feeling large and clumsy next to the Orbiter's compact gracefulness. But after he and Shed had been travelling for a few minutes he realized that he had, in fact, become much better at travelling through the air. He had no difficulty in keeping up with Shed. For the first time he found himself actually beginning to enjoy the sensation. The Hold seemed to made of nothing but tunnels, of varying width. They saw few Orbiters as they travelled. Were they being shunned by the Orbiters? Or had they been directed away from busy places? Perhaps this was simply their nighttime, and everyone was asleep.

Jenk was struck by how dull and gray everything was. Nowhere did he see evidence of decoration, or even much in the way of color. Did the Orbiters have no interest in aesthetics?

Shed maintained a steady rhythm. Though Jenk was keeping pace with her, he noticed that she never seemed to look back to ensure he was still there. If he fell behind, and said nothing, she would probably not notice until she had reached their destination.

"Shed."

Without turning around, she said, "Not so loud. We'll be passing through a lot of different places. They don't get a lot of visitors here, and I fear we could offend or scare them if we make too much noise."

Jenk breathed deeply, and modulated his volume. "How's this?"

"Much better indeed."

"Listen: I'm worried that we may not have the right tools for this job. I'm a historian, not an archaeologist. Assuming that the station is out there, and we can find it, I presume that you would next want to gain entrance to it. I certainly will. Now I have some notions of how I would gain entrance to an ancient building, but I know nothing about entering a space station. For that matter, will we even be able to leave the ship when we get there?"

Shed continued to keep her head forward. "Don't worry about such matters. I know you're not an archaeologist. Concerns such as getting inside the station are my responsibility."

"So these tools we have are all that we'll need?"

"It's not your concern. Your responsibility is to learn as much about the station as possible once we're there. Now, it may be that we won't be able to get inside at all. But if that happens, I'll still be expecting you to learn as much as you can about the place. You do have a task, Jenk, and one of my tasks is to see that you complete your task."

They travelled in silence for a while.

"Shed? Why have the Orbiters been so generous?"

"What do you mean?"

"You describe their situation as being rather dire. At the same time, they're providing us with food, drink, equipment, and even a ship of some kind. Why are they doing all this for you?"

"Oh, that's no concern. They're being paid, and well, for their assistance." They came to an intersection, and Shed made a sudden left turn by kicking against the wall on her right. Jenk followed. "The Orbiters have many needs, but few things to offer in return. They were glad for a chance to barter with us."

"And Dryssa? Did Bek also barter with them?"

"Dryssa and Bek have enjoyed good relations for several generations now."

Jenk turned this response over in his mind. "Are you saying that the Dryssa clan helped us get here out of charity?"

"No, of course not. I just mean to remind you that Dryssa and Bek already have established a practice of offering assistance to each other."

"And what kind of assistance," Jenk said carefully, "would Dryssa be wanting from Bek?"

Shed did not respond for a moment. "Save your breath, Jenk. We have a long way to travel yet."

"There's only one thing that Bek is really good at doing."

"I don't really see as how you have a right to demand an answer from me. Our business with Dryssa is just that: our business."

"My business is Mellay's well-being. Is Dryssa planning to expand eastward? Tell me!"

"Jenk, lower your voice."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Finally Jenk said, quietly. "You paid the Orbiters for their help, you say, and you have paid Dryssa for their help with promises of future help. But I have given you Mellay's help, and you will repay that by helping Dryssa squeeze us."

"You don't know that." It was a weak retort, and Shed's voice showed she knew it.

Jenk remained silent, hoping the truth of his words were eating at Shed. Then he said, "I want more from Bek than your petty offers of scholarly publications. Bek cares nothing for such things, and that is why you offer them so freely."

"An offer's value is in the buyer's eye, not the seller's." Shed said quickly.

"And publications have no value to me if Mellay is betrayed. So you will have to offer me something more."

Shed remained silent, as if willing the conversation away.

"I want a promise of protection from Bek, or else I go no further."

"That's an idle threat. You can't stay here."

"You think I wish to? I would return to Earth and Mellay directly."

"You don't have the means for surviving the trip down the beanstalk. You need my help, or you will never see home. Jenk, you're in no position to bargain with me."

Jenk felt a thrill of energy surge through him. Like a cornered wolf, his body was preparing for a fight. He imagined himself kicking forward, grabbing Shed by the shoulder, and throwing her against the wall, banging her head into the stone, repeatedly. Then he would be in a position to bargain.

But a flicker of light passed through Jenk's brain, and he saw at once that nothing good could come of such an approach. Even if Jenk could wrangle such promises from her, they would not be honored by the rest of Bek. And indeed, they would almost certainly bring down retribution, and if Dryssa had not been contemplating expanding eastward, they would then.

Jenk felt his blood cool, until it seemed to drain out of him completely. He stopped moving. "Shed," he called, and clapsed his hands before him.

Shed turned around then, and saw him there. She came to a stop, then moved tentatively closer.

"Shed, Mellay means more to me than all of history. If I can't do anything to protect Mellay, then I have no reason to continue. I will not lend assistance to Bek if Bek will betray us."

In the dim light Shed's face shifted, and Jenk knew that he had reached her sense of honor.

"Dryssa covets Mellay land. You cannot deny the truth of this, Shed. If Bek refuses to give Mellay a promise of protection, then Mellay is doomed. We are not Bek; we are not soldiers."

"Stop behaving so pathetically. Have you no shame?" Shed's voice was scornful, but her eyes were troubled.

Jenk persisted. "If Mellay is doomed, then so be me. I will lay down here and die."

"Jenk, this is unacceptable!" Shed caught herself. Her voice changed and she said, "Jenk, I'm just one woman. I cannot make decisions for all of Bek."

Jenk stared at her, examining her face. "Then promise me your protection, since that is all you can do. Promise me that you will do everything one woman can to convince Bek to treat Mellay fairly."

The dim, blue-white light made Shed's face look colorless, as if drained of life; as if it were the face of a marble statue.

Finally, Shed reached into her pocket. From it she pulled out an ornate ring, carved of jasper stone, and attached to the inside of her pocket by a chain. Shed fiddled with the clasp until it opened. She then removed the ring from the chain, and held it out to Jenk. "Here. This ring belongs to my father, and to his mother, and his mother's father. It is a token of his office. I offer it to you as a token of my promise. I will do everything one woman can to convince Bek not to turn against Mellay. You need not fear that I will deny this promise when we are on the ground again: you will have the ring to show to me, and to all of Bek, as proof of my words."

Jenk exhaled softly, not realizing until now that he had been holding his breath. He took the heavy ring from Shed, and carefully sealed it in his pocket. "Thank you, Shed." Despite himself Jenk felt somewhat ashamed of his tactics. "I know now that you speak fair and honest," he added, as an offering of renewed friendship.

Shed noddedly curtly. They remained silent for a moment. Then she turned and kicked off from the wall. "Let's continue on our way."

Jenk followed, feeling slightly rebuffed. After a moment he said in a casual tone, "I was about to say that, with this promise I would now be willing to follow you to the ends of the Earth; except, I already did that."

To his relief, he heard Shed laugh. It was a much pleasanter sound, now that she was not laughing at him.

Journal Entry

My most recent journal entries made me think more closely about why I have come to set so much importance to these episodes, where I believe myself in contact with other entities, when at the same time I considered them as being merely dreams. But I have just realized, while thinking more closely about the sequence of events, that these "dreams" only happen during my waking moments. I do not have these dreams when I am actually asleep, or at least none that I remember.

I am not sure what to think now, about the episodes, or much of anything. I suspect that it means that the air's contents, and therefore my mental functions, are in a worse state than I thought.

Or else I am just going mad, from sheer stress.

Truly I do not know what I should do now.

I think I should probably continue these journal entries, though. They are helping me to think clearly. Maybe if I try to record here what I am feeling now, it will help dispel my confusion.

Eventually Shed stopped in front of a noticeably thinner tunnel, and turned into it. The thin tunnel was very windy, and the walls were of a rougher texture. Jenk noticed that they carried a faint scent of plant matter, and wondered if it was the world-spanning ivy he was smelling.

The tunnel ended in a room, no larger than the ones Jenk had seen so far. There were no ships within it, nor anything resembling a ship. Jenk saw basic living quarters, very similar to the ones he and Shed had been offered. Nobody was home, though.

Shed looked at him, looked around, and said. "Well. I'm pretty sure this is the place. We'll wait and see if someone shows up."

Jenk looked around the room, but there didn't seem to be anything here that he could distract himself with. His instinct was to find a chair to sit down in, but this was foolish in a gravity-less environment.

After another moment, Shed said, "I'm going to go back out for a moment, just to make sure we came the right way, and see if I find anybody nearby."

"I'll come with you," Jenk said quickly.

"No, I want you to stay here in case someone arrives while I'm gone."

Jenk frowned, but Shed apparently didn't care how he felt about the idea. She pushed off to the entrance and vanished down the tunnel.

Jenk did his best to amuse himself by practicing moving about the room. Twice he bumped into a bureau in one corner; the first time he worried that he may have scrambled some ordered collection of tablets, and tried to avoid the corner subsequently. The second time he bumped it, he decided to retreat to a corner and wait.

Finally Shed returned, and with her came an Orbiter. Jenk wondered if Shed could tell the Orbiters apart from each other; to Jenk they all looked and dressed the same. The two of them were whispering rapidly, and when she saw Jenk she gave him a brief smile to let him know that all was well in hand.

They moved over to a rectangular hatch in one of the walls, which Jenk had noticed earlier and been very tempted to open and explore beyond. The Orbiter produced what appeared to be a small bag of keys, and after a moment of sorting through them, inserted one into an unseen aperature, turned, and then bracing himself against a tiny ledge on a nearby wall, pushed his shoulder heavily against the hatch. The hatch fell inwards by the tiniest amount. The Orbiter deftly turned the hatch and removed it from the hatchway, and then moved aside and gestured to Shed.

Shed said, "This way, Jenk," and floated through the hatchway.

Jenk carefully moved over to the hatchway and through it.

The hatchway led to a very cramped tunnel that was slightly longer than Jenk was tall. The tunnel then opened out into a room, significantly smaller than the one they had left. There were two pocket-shaped beds, attached to opposite walls, and on one of the remaining walls was a large rectangular panel. It was flat, and seemingly perfectly smooth. It appeared to be made of metal, but Jenk thought a metal panel that smooth would probably be more reflective.

Shed used the walls to turn herself so that she was sideways, taking advantage of the room's longest axis. Jenk, growing accustomed to such things, did likewise, and was happy to note that he did not feel any nausea as a result.

Shed spread her hands briefly and smiled. "This is our ship."

Jenk frowned, and looked about the room again. "This is a ship?"

"It's the only part that we can get to. The ship is actually pretty large, but most of it is airless and contains nothing but fuel."

"Airless?"

"Yes." Shed looked around. "What about it?"

Jenk looked worried. "The ship must contain a supply of air somewhere, as well as fuel. This room can't be the only air in here."

Shed shook her head. "That's right; I forgot to tell you about the viria."

"Viria?"

"Yes. Remember the squeeze bag you had in your mouth during the beanstalk climb? You must have realized that it contained more than just a sleeping drink. It also infected your lungs with a special form of viria that the Orbiters have bred. These viria will remain dormant until the supply of carbon dioxide in your breath goes up, and then they will start multiplying. The viria breathe carbon dioxide and turn it into oxygen." Shed frowned. "They're like plant microbes, except they don't need sunlight. They'll live in your body for about a season before they die out completely."

"I've never heard of viria before."

"You haven't?" Shed looked at him carefully. "People breed viria for all sorts of things. What kind of scholar are you anyway?"

Jenk bristled. "I'm a historian, not a biologist. Besides I'm still quite young for a scholar."

"Well, young scholar, the lesson for today is that you needn't worry about the air."

"What about food?"

Shed gestured to a large drawer set in the wall next to the far bed. "Food and other supplies are all stored in there. We have enough to keep us comfortable for six days, or somewhat longer uncomfortably if it becomes necessary."

"Six days?" Jenk counted to himself. "How long is the trip to the station from here?"

Shed frowned. "Actually, that's not entirely clear. Your document didn't indicate where the Sunset Station was ultimately located, and while we know its location in the sky, we don't really know the distance."

"But you're confident that six days of food will be enough?" Jenk prodded.

Shed shook her head. "Actually, you and I will be asleep while we're travelling."

Jenk groaned. "Not again."

"This will actually be a deeper sleep than the sleep you had in the crawler. It will be akin to hibernating. You're going to be pretty stiff when you wake up the first time."

"The first time?" Jenk asked, with obvious misgiving. The idea of being made to fall asleep made him nervous. All the same, he was hardly in a position to back down now.

"Yes, we'll also be hibernating on the way back. I'm sorry, Jenk; I know it's uncomfortable; but if we didn't do it this way we'd have no time to spend examining the station once we got there. The ship can only carry so much food. Besides, if we remained awake all the while we were travelling, we'd get terribly bored in this cramped space." Shed moved away, up to the metal panel, and rested her fingers upon it.

"What is that thing?"

"This is a display, to help me communicate with the ship."

Jenk looked up sharply. Shed's attention was focussed on the panel, and she did not notice the reaction she had inspired. Shed removed her hand from the panel but remained staring at it. "Did you say communicate?" Jenk asked.

A long moment passed in which Shed neither spoke nor moved. Finally she turned her attention back to the room, and began shuffling through her pocket. "What did you say?"

"So the ship is alive, then?"

"Yes, or rather part of it is. The majority of the ship is made of simple material, rock and metal."

"Is this another creature that the Orbiters bred?"

"I presume so: who else could have bred such a thing? It's really a shame that you're not mindful, Jenk. It would have made this part of the journey so much easier."

"You mean, with the gliders?"

Shed brought forth from her pocket a cloth bundle, and began to unwrap it carefully. "No, not really. You were probably better off not being able to confuse the gliders by giving contradictory directions. I was thinking of the ship. And the Orbiters: all the Orbiters are mindful."

That would perhaps explain why they never wanted to talk to him, Jenk thought.

"Does Mellay distrust mindfulness?" Shed continued. "I know some clans do, but I assumed that Mellay was not so backwards."

Jenk frowned and felt uncomfortable. "We do not distrust it, but it is not a frivolous thing. Nor is it without risk: people have died trying to become mindful, you know."

"Not when it's done correctly."

"Well, mistakes happen, even with the most skillful. Weren't you worried when you had the cranial injection?"

Shed shrugged. "I don't remember. It was a long time ago."

Jenk thought, How old were you at the time? Did your parents approve? But he decided to say nothing; it was not worth risking an argument. His mother had become mindful, of course; it was a requirement of becoming an elder. Jenk had always felt she had become less interested in people who were not mindful after that.

"You would also have been able to listen to this, if you were mindful." Shed had finished unwrapping her bundle. In her hand was a strange looking device. Jenk recognized the battery of light absorbers on the top. Their dark green color showed that they were carrying a full charge of energy. Below them, Jenk glimpsed metal tubes and unfamiliar blocky shapes.

"What is it?" Jenk finally asked.

"This is the light-wave listener. It is specifically attuned to the emissions from the Sunset Station. The ship will be using this device in order to locate the station."

Jenk considered the object, no bigger than a handbox. "That thing can hear the Sunset Station?"

"Yes, and with it so could you, if you were mindful."

"That little device is the sole evidence on which we have decided that the Sunset Station is alive and well?"

Shed looked at Jenk, then at the object in her hand. "In essense: yes."

Jenk slowly nodded. "To think that such a small thing could cause two people to be so moved, as to end up here."

Shed smiled. "But this is hardly the end, Jenk. This is still the beginning."

Shed spent some time over by the metal panel she called the display. Jenk quietly examined it over her shoulder a couple of times, but couldn't see anything in it. But it must have been different for Shed, for she remained staring fixedly at the panel, seeming not to notice anything else around her.

Finally she came up out of her trancelike pose. "This ship is a very sophisticated creature," she murmured. "The Orbiters must have breeding expertise far in advance of our own." She turned her head towards Jenk. "It's going to be almost evening for us by the time we can set out."

Jenk frowned. "Why is that? Aren't we ready to leave?"

"We are, but we have to wait that long until we're pointed in the right direction. We have to wait until the Earth brings us around to point to our destination, and then we jump off, like a slingshot. If we left now, we'd have to expend half of our ship's fuel just to head in the right direction."

Jenk looked around. "Well, let's not just sit around here until then. Let's go outside and stretch our legs. Maybe we can convince someone to feed us."

Shed grimaced. "Actually, the ship prefers that we go ahead and begin hibernating now. It will be easier if we're already asleep when the ship sets out."

Jenk looked at Shed with amazement. "We're going into hibernation because the ship prefers it that way?"

"Also," Shed quickly added, "if we go to sleep now, we will use up that much less of the Orbiter's food and air." She began rummaging through her pocket.

Jenk closed his eyes, and again reflected that, as of this morning, he had effectively promised to see this journey through. He opened his eyes. "This is the last leg of the journey. Right? I'm not going to lie here while this ship flies out into empty space, only to discover that in order to reach the station I have to run across a burning lake after you cram me full of more mysterious microbes?"

Shed stopped, two small squeeze bags in her hand. She considered Jenk for a moment. "In the beanstalk's crawler you didn't hesitate to put the bag in your mouth. You trusted me then."

Jenk considered this with some surprise. "True. I suppose I was too focussed on having survived the glider ride to worry about what was in a squeeze bag." Jenk took one of the bags from Shed and looked at it gloomily. "This is just for hibernation? It doesn't have any other purposes that you're going to reveal to me after it's already in my body?"

"No, nothing else," said Shed curtly. She maneuvered herself into one of the pocket beds. "Don't be childish, Jenk. Think about it: when you wake up, we'll be in full view of the Sunset Station." She placed her squeeze bag on her tongue and closed her eyes.

And so Jenk did likewise.

Journal Entry

My mother and father once took me, when I was young, on a day-long outing. It was a warm spring day, and my parents had both arranged to have no responsibilities that day. We ate a light meal early in the morning, packed up some simple foods, and went on a long walk away from Mellay in the forest to the north. We followed trails made by other people, and then later left them to follow trails made by wolves and deerbucks. We stumbled onto a copse of grapeberry bushes, and spent quite a bit of time picking grapeberries, which we brought back to the clan; they were used in the cooking to great effect for several meals. Eventually we found ourselves at the river, which was noticeably wider and faster out in the forest than where it passed by Mellay. My parents introduced me to skipping stones: teaching me to sort through the rocks for ones that were round and flat; showing me how to hold them with one index finger curled tightly around the edge; and then sending them off with a spin, not too high off the surface of the water, and perpendicular to the current. I was amazed that something solid and heavy could bounce off of water, and my parents spent some time explaining the idea of surface tension to me. I threw a great many rocks into the river that day, but I never got more than one or two of them to skip.

And whenever we stopped to sit down for more than a moment, I would spend some time digging for buried relics. By the time it was afternoon, and still nothing had come of my searches, I conceived of the idea of burying a possession of my own, and leaving clues of its presence for other people to find, preferably after enough years had passed to turn my everyday possession into a relic. I never got around to actually doing this, because my parents talked me out of it. But that does seem to me, now, to suggest that I was destined to become a historian: as a child I was already thinking about how objects could forge a connection across vast distances in time.

I don't remember now why my parents were against the idea of my burying something of my own. Perhaps I wanted to bury something valuable, or perhaps they simply worried that to this end I might end up wandering around the forest by myself, and get lost. In any case, I was annoyed at my parents for spoiling what I saw as an idea that would not merely be fun, but would also be significant: a simple gesture that could affect the life of someone who might not even have been born yet. So I was in a bad temper as we were walking alongside the river, following it upstream to get back to Mellay. My mother, attempting to mollify me with what she saw as a compromise gesture, introduced me to the idea of a message in a bottle.

She let me have one of her tablets, and a water-proof squeeze bag. I recorded on the tablet a message, short and very pompous, delivered in a lowered voice that at the time I thought made me sound more adult. I remember that I mentioned my name, and the names of my parents, and that the day was the first truly warm day of spring. I don't remember now if I mentioned what year it was, though I assume I must have, given the general direction of my thoughts. We put the tablet in the squeeze bag, and my mother showed me how to perfect the seal by hammering it with a flat rock. Then she threw the bag into the river, as hard as she could, and the current quickly carried it back out the way we came.

That was my first message in a bottle. I made several more in the following years, especially during my early adulthood. I was, I think, in love with the grand faith expressed by such a gesture. It was proof, offered up to the natural world for inspection, of my belief that the messages would someday find an audience, quite possibly even the proper audience: the one person, out of all the people of all future times, who needed to hear my message. Needed it in order to do what, I cannot exactly say. But I believed that finding one of them would make the receiver feel special, or matterful, or that they suddenly belonged to something much larger than their own clan and their own time. I believed that because I knew, with a certainty, that I would feel that way if I were to ever find a message in a bottle from somebody else, from out of the past.

I wonder now, though: did I ever think of the tablet itself, wondering if it felt lost and abandoned, sealed tightly in a tiny squeeze bag and set adrift on a fast-moving river? That river eventually joined with other rivers, becoming deeper and faster, until eventually it spilled out into the great basin in the west, where the water extends out to the horizon, and beyond; and there is not a single human being anywhere to find the message, ever.

Or what if someone did find the message, but it was so far away from where it began, that nobody there could understand it? Even if there was someone who understood my language, would they even know what Mellay referred to? Would they recognize our names as being names, or would they think they were words that they had just not heard before? Would some scholars spend months of their lives trying to come up with a translation for the names of my parents, and all because I failed to identify their names as such: because I failed to imagine that my recipient might not know everything I did about the world I lived in?

I think now that there is as much information in what a message assumes you know, as in what the messages tries to tell you. For example, if I wrote down all of the genetic information in my own cells and sent it out as a message to another star, it would be useless to anyone who heard it. The genetic information guides how our bodies build themselves, what specific proteins to use for each specific purpose, but the cell's processes that reveal the directions hidden within the genetic information are only partially reflected in the genetic information, like a reflection in a dusty mirror. And those processes are just as important, and they are vastly more intricate than the distilled bit of message that is frozen and stored in our genes.

A message is useless when taken too far from its source. Its meaning withers and dies without its context. I am coming to think that looking for messages from other stars is ultimately not a useful pursuit. Meaning should not be expected to survive out here.

Jenk was standing in a long green field, that extended out as far as he could see. Here are there were clumps of white flowers, but the clumps were slowly moving towards him.

"Jenk. Wake up."

The field faded away, and Jenk became aware of the pocket bed around him, and the hand on his shoulder, shaking him. Shed, of course. Jenk attempted to speak and a groan escaped instead.

"Jenk, wake up right now. This is serious."

Jenk's eyelids were gummed together. His mouth was very dry, but he managed to croak, "I can't open my eyes."

"Just open your mouth."

Jenk did so, and felt some water being squirted in. He managed not to choke, and swirled the water around his mouth before swallowing.

"Okay. Rest for a little while, then I need you to get out of bed."

Jenk gently flexed his leg muscles. They were sore, but not as badly as they had been after sleeping on the crawler. His shift was damp with cooled sweat. "What's the matter?"

"Not now. It can wait until you're ready," came the reply.

Jenk forced his eyes open. The light, dim as it was, made his temples throb. He closed them again.

After a moment he opened them again, and found it didn't hurt. He slid out of the bed, and bumped his head on the wall above. Jenk moved his limbs about gingerly, until he was sure he was in fact in control of all of them still. He held out his hand, and Shed passed him the water. Jenk took a long drink. He swallowed, and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shift. "Okay," he said, turning to Shed. He had never seen her look so determined. "What's the matter?"

"There's been an accident. We're not sure exactly what happened, but the result is that the fuel holds are leaking their contents."

"We?" said Jenk, confused. His thoughts were still moving slowly, and he felt browbeaten by Shed's martially efficient tone.

"The ship and I."

"You're on quite friendly terms with the thing. Does it have a name?"

"Jenk, listen to me!"

"I am listening."

"We've lost almost all of the fuel we had on board."

"So what does that mean? We have to turn around and go back now?"

"Jenk." Shed closed her eyes and breathed deeply. "No. That fuel was to be used for turning around and going back. We probably have just enough fuel to come to a dead stop."

Jenk winced. The logic of movement in space, he recalled, was strange, and not like movement in air, even in gravity-free air. He struggled to focus on Shed's words. "How far out are we from the Hold?"

"It's been four days since we left."

"If we stopped the ship, is there any chance the Orbiters would find us?"

"No. The Orbiters have no way to locate us, even if they were motivated to conduct a search. Jenk, the ship and I have already looked at the choices we have. I have a plan, and I'm asking you to just believe me when I tell you that it's our best option. I don't want to go through all of the possibilities with you; I've already done that with the ship."

Jenk found this speech immensely irritating, but reminding himself that she was under stress from the difficult circumstances, he said merely. "All right. Speak."

Shed took a deep breath. "There is a sort of lifeboat on the ship. Apparently it was only meant to be used for delivering cargo, but what is important is that it is big enough to fit you. It has a tiny amount of fuel, separate from the ship's supply. It's not enough to help us significantly, but the lifeboat is light enough that it will get you back to Earth. You'll go back into hibernation, so that you won't need much air or water during the trip. It will probably take longer than four days to get back."

Jenk squeezed his eyes shut, trying to take in everything she was telling him.

"We'll aim the lifeboat so that you should wind up in orbit around Earth, close to the height of The Hold. The Ships believes that the Orbitals will see the lifeboat, and they should come out to pick you up. It may take a few orbits before they can arrange it, though. But your hibernation should last long enough so that won't be a problem."

Jenk marshalled his thoughts. "Shed."

"It is risky, but it's the best we can do. Once you're back in The Hold, you'll be okay. The Orbitals will help you get back down the beanstalk, don't worry. That's all been arranged. And when you've made it to Dryssa you'll have your belongings. If you need it, Dryssa should be willing to aid you in getting back to Mellay."

"Shed."

"What?!"

Jenk paused, then decided not to comment on her shout. It would only make matters worse. "What about you?"

Shed shook her head. "From the beginning I have been prepared to die in the service of my clan, if necessary. That time has now come. And my situation isn't completely impossible. The ship should still be able to coast the rest of the way to the Sunset Station. It's possible that the station will have more air and water, maybe even some way to repair and refuel the ship."

"Shed, I can't just leave you here."

"You can, and you must. Only one of us can go back, Jenk. You have no choice."

Jenk rubbed his eyes. Was he really going to say this? He faced Shed and tried to compose a serious expression. "I can choose to send you back instead."

The silence in the ship stretched out. Jenk thought he could hear a faint hissing noise. Was that the sound of the leak, or just a normal sound that the ship made? Maybe it was just a sound in his ears.

"Jenk, I'm not going back. You are."

"Shed." Now that he had started, Jenk found it impossible to stop. "I'm not your servant, or some officer who answers to your orders. I'm your partner on this journey. And your life is just as important as mine." Except that it was probably worth more, Jenk thought, by any rational standard. Shed is a successful member of a successful clan. I'm a sad and moping widower.

"I have a duty that calls upon me to make sacrifices, Jenk. This is one of those sacrifices. You have pledged to no such duty."

Jenk considered this. She did have a point, it seemed. Why wasn't it convincing? Finally he said, "Like it or no, our journey has brung about a duty, from each of us to each other. We owe each other that much, now."

Shed now looked furious. "Now you're being sentimental. This is no time for your misplaced emotions."

Jenk remained implacable. As a scholar, he knew he could easily out-argue Shed. "You don't have the right to tell me my sense of duty is misplaced, any more than I can deny your sense of duty to Bek."

"Well then, by your own foolish logic, you've no right to tell me to stay behind either."

Jenk reached into his pocket. His hand emerged holding the ring of jasper stone. With quiet firmness he said, "I need you to return to your home, and argue for the protection of my people." He held out the ring.

Shed looked at his hand, then shook her head. "One purpose of my giving you the ring to hold, is so that I could keep my promise even if I did not return. Go home, Jenk, and tell Bek of my promise. When you show them that I gave you this ring, they will know that you speak the truth. And then they will have to honor my promise to you, out of respect for the dead."

Jenk looked at Shed for a long moment. The anger was gone from her, and she had assumed a pose of quiet certainty. He slowly realized that she had outmaneuvered him, after all. Slowly he lowered his hand, still holding the ring between thumb and forefinger.

Then, with a quick motion, he clapsed his hands behind his back. A moment later he held out two tight fists, palms down.

"Pick a hand."

Shed looked confused. "Why?"

"Your arguments are sound, Shed. I see now that there is no logical reason why either one of us should be sacrificed over the other. My respect for you demands that I protect your life and honor your sense of duty both. And your respect for me demands the same." Jenk paused here to let his words sink in. Shed seemed about to speak, so he quickly continued. "All these things being equal, we have no recourse but to ask fate to make the decision for us."

Shed closed her mouth and stared at him angrily.

"I have your ring in one hand; the other is empty. Pick a hand. The one who ends up with the ring shall bear it back to Earth."

Shed pierced him with her gaze, continuing to say nothing.

"This is fair, Shed," said Jenk evenly; and in that moment, he truly believed it.

Slowly, Shed's gaze dropped down to focus on his two outstretched fists. She stared at them for a long moment, as if trying to see through his hand. A bead of sweat accumulated on Jenk's left temple and trickled into his whiskers.

Shed extended a finger towards his right hand, and allowed her finger to come to rest on the back of his hand, just below the knuckles. And then she grasped the hand with sudden violence, turned it over, and forced the fingers open.

On his palm was the jasper stone ring, lying upon a dark red circle, showing where it had been pressed against the flesh.

Shed took the ring out of his hand and put it roughly back into her pocket. She looked back up at him and Jenk saw, to his surprise, that she had begun to cry.

Jenk floated in front of the display. Shed was gone. The makeshift lifeboat had truly been no larger than a casket, a comparison that Jenk found disturbingly inescapable. They had sealed her into it, and she and the ship had launched it. Jenk had felt it launch, a slight bump that passed through the ship, presumably shifting its own trajectory by some immeasurable amount.

Now he floated in front of the display, alone and with no idea what he should do next. He toyed with the idea of finding a knife and opening up his wrists. He knew that he should take the final squeeze bag and enter hibernation. According to Shed, the ship's trajectory was still heading for the Sunset Station, or for what they presumed was the Sunset Station. When they had arrived at the station, the ship would use its remaining fuel to try to come to a stop. Jenk would then have the option of trying to enter the station and seeing what resources were there to be had. Jenk was not expecting to be saved by the station. In fact, he wasn't sure that it wouldn't be better to just keep going, and let the ship crash directly into the station; in fact, let the ship use the remaining fuel to increase the force of the collision. If it was done right, he might die instantly, and that seemed to be the best he could ask for right now.

But the historian in Jenk couldn't bear the thought of such destruction. No, the Sunset Station was ultimately blameless. Let it remain, if it is truly there. Let some other historian find it, and publish, and win immortal fame. Jenk had little desire to see it himself now. All he wanted to see now was home. Earth. Mellay. His own bed. It struck him that he would never again have the chance to lie down in his own bed, and then it was his turn to cry.

The tears pooled across his eyes instead of falling down his cheeks. He tried to blink them away, and they became globs of salt water floating before his face. "Damn this place," he muttered.

"Human," came a loud voice.

Jenk gasped and his limbs contracted. The voice was rough and slurred, but the word was unmistakeable. "Who's there?"

"I am the ship," said the slurred voice.

Jenk looked around the compartment, but saw nothing out of place. He wound up staring at the display, since it seemed to be the only object in sight that was associated with the ship's mind. "You can talk?"

"Yes." The voice paused for a long moment, then continued, "I have a simple larynx. For emergencies. I have learned not much of your language. Just some. For emergencies."

"I see. Can you understand me well enough?"

"Yes. To hear is not hard. Not as hard as to speak."

"I suppose not." Jenk suddenly felt uncomfortable. Was he going to spend his last few minutes of life making uncomfortable conversation with a ship?

"Human, I tell you, the place is near."

"The place? The station?"

"Yes. The station is near."

"Well." Jenk thought about this. "I suppose it's more comforting to think that I came all this way for something that does indeed exist." Jenk thought some more. "I suppose."

"I will begin to slow down now. Careful."

Suddenly the wall with the display was moving towards Jenk. He held out his hands and managed to avoid getting hit. There was a loud rushing noise, and Jenk imagined it was how the water would have sounded if he had fallen off his glider. The wall continued to push against him, with more and more strength, until it was no longer a wall but the floor, and Jenk rolled along it, trying to find a comfortable position to lie down. Why couldn't it have been one of the walls with a bed? He felt himself get steadily heavier and heavier, as if he were slowly growing in size, or as if his bones were turning to granite.

"Ship! How much longer?"

"Please wait." was all the ship said, barely audible above the noise.

A long moment passed like this, and then the noise began to grow quiet, and Jenk felt the pressure on his body lessen. Suddenly it was silent again. Jenk shook himself, and he was once again floating next to a wall.

"We are drifting now. The station is near. You must go to it soon, or we will pass it."

Jenk looked at the ship's display. Not too long ago he hadn't cared if they reached the Sunset Station or not. But Jenk found the computer's decisive manner oddly infectious.

"If you go to the station now, you still have time to come back here. If the station will not help you."

"All right," he replied. "How do I do that?"

"There is a pressure suit in the drawer. You will put it on." Pause. "I can help you do this, if you need help."

"Wait a minute. What about you?" Jenk was surprised at his own thoughts, but it was hard not to think of someone who could talk as human. "I can't just leave you to drift off into empty space all alone." Could he? "Can I?"

"Do not fear for me," replied the ship at once. "I die in duty to The Hold. The Bek pay us well for my work. The Hold will be well. I die a hero."

Jenk stared at the display. It looked as if everyone but him had a clear sense of duty. Even the ship knew what it was doing.

A while later, he was dressed in a pressure suit and carrying the tools, the clothes, and the remaining food in a large bag. The ship led him into the exit tunnel, which required that Jenk close and seal the door behind him before he could open the outer hatch. This took several tries, as Jenk found that the door had to be completely sealed, and he was sweating into his suit by the time he had it tight enough that the hatch would permit itself to be opened. And then, in contrast, the hatch popped open with a violence that surprised Jenk, and Jenk found himself being pushed forward by the escaping air, and then Jenk was in outer space.

The Sunset Station loomed before him, significantly larger than the ship he had just exited. Jenk thought it might be the largest thing he had ever seen, that was built by humans anyway. As the ship had predicted, his trajectory out of the exit put the station directly in his path. Strapped to his left hand was a large magnet. Using this, Jenk was able to cling to the exterior surface of the station.

After several exhausting attempts, Jenk managed to work out how to move along the station's skin without losing the magnet or the bag. Jenk gave serious consideration to letting go of the magnet and pushing off in the direction of the ship, but he was terrified that he might get the trajectory slightly wrong, and then he would be drifting through empty space. Was there a tool in the bag that would allow him to kill himself quickly? He didn't know. So he continued to shuffle along the outside of the station.

And in this manner Jenk finally located the station's entrance.

Epilogue

— Jenk?

"I am here. How did you find me?"

— Jenk, why did you not let Shed take the sacrifice as she offered to do? You could have returned to Earth.

"Mellay needs her there, to protect them."

— But that is not your true reason.

"No, I suppose not. To be honest, I do not know why."

— Jenk, where are you?

"I am in the Sunset Station. I am in the bedding. I haven't gotten out of the bedding in a long time, now. Why do you ask? Can you see me?"

— Jenk, are you dying?

"I'm not sure. Maybe."

— How is your air?

"I suppose the reason I rejected Shed's offer is that I didn't think I could live out my life with that, carrying the weight of her sacrifice on my shoulders."

— But what of her shoulders?

"What do you mean?"

— Do you think she can live out her life, now?

"Oh. She's a soldier. She believes sacrifices are noble things. She'll find a way to live with it. And in any event, I'm dying; I don't have the strength to think about her problems. Besides, there's no telling if she actually made it back. For all I know she's dead, too."

— Actually, she's not dead. I've seen her.

"You can do that?"

— She was picked up by the Orbiters and returned to Earth.

"Well. Good to hear. I'm glad she made it home. It would have been sad if this journey had killed both of us."

— She has told Mellay of your sacrifice. Your people remember you as a hero now.

"A hero? What for? I did nothing heroic. In fact, my behavior was shameful on several occasions. I was a terrible coward. My only good deed was to gain a promise of protection, which I obtained by abject begging."

— It is the nature of heroism, Jenk, that it is bestowed as much as it is earned.

"You have a point, I suppose. But what a depressing thought."

— Do not be depressed by anything that is so characteristically human, Jenk. Not at this juncture.

"Very well," said Jenk, and so saying, resigned himself to his fate.