"I'll not do it again," she said, "and I know you couldn't. Thealoneness is almost unbearable."

"Yes," he replied.

"They warmed us both alive last time. I came around first and told themto put you back to sleep. I was angry then, when I found out what you haddone. But I got over it quickly, so often did I wish you were there."

"We will stay together," said Jarry.

"Yes, always."

They took a flier from the cavern of sleep to the Worldchangeinstallation at Deadland, where they relieved the other attendants and movedthe new couch up to the third floor.

The air of Deadland, while sultry, could now be breathed for shortperiods of time, though a headache invariably followed such experiments. Theheat was still oppressive. The rock, once like an old Normform waving, hadlost its distinctive outline. The winds were no longer so severe.

On the fourth day, they found some animal tracks which seemed to belongto one of the larger predators. This cheered Sanza, but another, lateroccurrence produced only puzzlement.

One morning they went forth to walk in Deadland.

Less than a hundred paces from the installation, they came upon threeof the giant caterpillars, dead. They were stiff, as though dried out ratherthan frozen, and they were surrounded by rows of markings within the snow.The footprints which led to the scene and away from it were rough ofoutline, obscure.

"What does it mean?" she asked.

"I don't know, but I think we had better photograph this," said Jarry.

They did. When Jarry spoke to Station Eleven that afternoon, he learnedthat similar occurrences had occasionally been noted by attendants of otherinstallations. These were not too frequent, however.

"I don't understand," said Sanza.

"I don't want to," said Jarry.

It did not happen again during their tour of duty. Jarry entered itinto the log and wrote a report. Then they abandoned themselves tolovemaking, monitoring, and occasionally nights of drunkenness. Two hundredyears previously, a biochemist had devoted his tour of duty to experimentingwith compounds which would produce the same reactions in Catforms as thelegendary whiskey did in Normforms. He had been successful, had spent fourweeks on a colossal binge, neglected his duty and been relieved of it, wasthen retired to his coldbunk for the balance of the Wait. His basicallysimple formula had circulated, however, and Jarry and Sanza found awell-stocked bar in the storeroom and a hand-written manual explaining itsuse and a variety of drinks which might be compounded. The author of thedocument had expressed the hope that each tour of attendance might result inthe discovery of a new mixture, so that when he returned for his next cyclethe manual would have grown to a size proportionate to his desire. Jarry andSanza worked at it conscientiously, and satisfied the request with aSnowflower Punch which warmed their bellies and made their purring turn intogiggles, so that they discovered laughter also. They celebrated themillennium with an entire bowl of it, and Sanza insisted on calling all theother installations and giving them the formula, right then, on thegraveyard watch, so that everyone could share in their joy. It is quitepossible that everyone did, for the recipe was well-received. And always,even after that bowl was but a memory, they kept the laughter. Thus are thefirst simple lines of tradition sometimes sketched.

"The green birds are dying," said Sanza, putting aside a report she hadbeen reading.

"Oh?" said Jarry.

"Apparently they've done all the adapting they're able to," she toldhim.

"Pity," said Jarry.

"It seems less than a year since we came here. Actually, it's athousand."

"Time flies," said Jarry.

"I'm afraid," she said.

"Of what?"

"I don't know. Just afraid."

"Why?"

"Living the way we've been living, I guess. Leaving little pieces ofourselves in different centuries. Just a few months ago, as my memory works,this place was a desert. Now it's an ice field. Chasms open and close.Canyons appear and disappear. Rivers dry up and new ones spring forth.Everything seems so very transitory. Things look solid, but I'm gettingafraid to touch things now. They might go away. They might turn into smoke,and my hand will keep on reaching through the smoke andtouch--something...God, maybe. Or worse yet, maybe not. No one really knowswhat it will be like here when we've finished. We're traveling toward anunknown land and it's too late to go back. We're moving through a dream,heading toward an idea...Sometimes I miss my cell...and all the littlemachines that took care of me there. Maybe I can't adapt. Maybe I'mlike the green bird..."

"No, Sanza. You're not. We're real. No matter what happens out there,we will last. Everything is changing because we want it to change.We're stronger than the world, and we'll squeeze it and paint it and pokeholes in it until we've made it exactly the way we want it. Then we'll takeit and cover it with cities and children. You want to see God? Go look inthe mirror. God has pointed ears and green eyes. He is covered with softgray fur. When He raises His hand there is webbing between His fingers."

"It is good that you are strong, Jarry."

"Let's get out the power sled and go for a ride."

"All right."

Up and down, that day, they drove through Deadland, where the darkstones stood like clouds in another sky.

It was twelve and a half hundred years.

Now they could breathe without respirators, for a short time.

Now they could bear the temperature, for a short time.

Now all the green birds were dead.

Now a strange and troubling thing began.

The bipeds came by night, made markings on the snow, left dead animalsin the midst of them. This happened now with much more frequency than it hadin the past. They came long distances to do it, many of them with fur whichwas not their own upon their shoulders.

Jarry searched through the history files for all the reports on thecreatures.

"This one speaks of lights in the forest," he said. "Station Seven."

"What...?"

"Fire," he said. "What if they've discovered fire?"

"Then they're not really beasts!"

"But they were!"

"They wear clothing now. They make some sort of sacrifice to ourmachines. They're not beasts any longer."

"How could it have happened?"

"How do you think? We did it. Perhaps they would have remainedstupid--animals--if we had not come along and forced them to get smart inorder to go on living. We've accelerated their evolution. They had to adaptor die, and they adapted."

"D'you think it would have happened if we hadn't come along?" he asked.

"Maybe--some day. Maybe not, too."

Jarry moved to the window, stared out across Deadland.

"I have to find out," he said. "If they are intelligent, if theyare--human, like us," he said, then laughed, "then we must consider theirways."

"What do you propose?"

"Locate some of the creatures. See whether we can communicate withthem."

"Hasn't it been tried?"

"Yes."

"What were the results?"

"Mixed. Some claim they have considerable understanding. Others placethem far below the threshold where humanity begins."

"We may be doing a terrible thing," she said. "Creating men, thendestroying them. Once, when I was feeling low, you told me that we were thegods of this world, that ours was the power to shape and to break. Oursis the power to shape and break, but I don't feel especiallydivine. What can we do? They have come this far, but do you think they canbear the change that will take us the rest of the way? What if they are likethe green birds? What if they've adapted as fast and as far as they can andit is not sufficient? What would a god do?"