Squirming self-consciously, Jindigar returned Shorwh's hug. Krinata watched, remembering how in moments of extreme distress Jindigar would turn to the young. Dushau cared for the young only during Renewal, the period of a century every thousand years when they took a mate and regained youth. Jindigar had insisted it would be another fifty years until he entered Renewal, but he admitted that he could allow it to happen anytime. He'd passed up an offer of a mating to bring them here, for in Renewal, the Oliat functions could not be practiced. Who could hate such a person?

Krinata's thoughts were interrupted as a flock of the colorful flyers crackled and rustled overhead, raining deadly excrement on their tarp. Moments later Jindigar said, "Come on, Frey, let's see if we can collect some dinner."

By the time they'd re-formed their caravan, Frey and Jindigar had returned from the forest with several dead animals strung on a stout branch. She shuddered and wondered if she could eat from the animals killed by bird excrement, a thought that never occurred to the Dushau, for they were evolved scavengers. But, roasted, the birds were quite good.

Krinata went to bed dwelling on the Loop, searching for its root inside her mind. She slept badly, waking with nothing to show for her effort but a fuzzy headache.

The next day, the Dushau and Storm went foraging and returned with a basketful of eggs. "We found a hive destroyed by an onnoolloo," explained Jindigar happily. "These eggs would've rotted before they could hatch."

Terab, the Holot female who'd been a space captain and shopkeeper but never a colonist asked, "Where did you get the fine basketwork? I could make a profit on those!"

"Made them," answered Storm. "Jindigar found the reeds in the top of a tree." That discovery alone, reflected Krinata, might save the group from extinction. Civilization couldn't be constructed without cheap, light containers. The next morning. Jindigar admonished them, "Your canteens hold the last of our water. We haven't made such good time as

I'd anticipated, so we'll make a dry camp tonight if we don't push today."

Jindigar's initial pace didn't slacken until noon, when they tackled a ridge of bare rock that almost forced the Lehiroh to break out their rigging equipment again. But they made it, and at the top of the ridge, they found themselves facing a cleft in a blank wall of rock. They rested, the sleds gathered in a double line on the strip of flat ground.

As Jindigar and the Lehiroh strode tirelessly back and forth, checking everything, Krinata snuggled into a puddle of sunlight nestled among boulders. Imp and Rita scampered headfirst down the side of her sled and licked Krinata's hands, snuffling in her pockets for crumbs. She tilted her face to the sun, almost falling asleep right there. Sleepless or nightmare-haunted nights were wearing on her, but that could be a good sign. If she stirred up her nonconscious mind enough, perhaps it would reveal where the Loop was rooted.

As she relaxed she noticed a roughness to the stone she was leaning against. Overcoming lethargy, she sat up to look. There, carved deep into the living rock, was a regular pattern of lines—rustlebird hives, onnoolloo, and small game they'd roasted. "Jindigar! Jindigar!"

Jindigar came on the run, followed by the four Lehiroh and Frey. She pointed, croaking. Jindigar climbed up to examine her find as people dragged themselves from their rest to see what had happened. Jindigar touched the carving and frowned at Frey. Krinata felt the duad coalescing, their unsteady, tenuous contact making a flutter in the pit of her stomach. She held her breath against it until Jindigar nodded. "We won't be bothered by rustlebirds and onnoolloo in the valley. But there's quicksand downstream, and prey and predators come here for water. Their life readings will mask ours if the Squadron—"

"Jindigar!" complained Krinata. "That—that was carved! You're reading it!"

"Yes." He frowned at Frey, whose eyes were closed.

"Who—or what—carved it?" demanded Krinata.

"The natives," he admitted gravely.

A murmur went up all around. Gibson spoke for everyone. "There are laws against colonizing a planet with intelligent natives, and with good reason."

"Of course," agreed Jindigar. He looked about at the weary, trail-stained band. Then, hunkering down, he gathered them around a thin patch of soil and drew with a stick.

"When I was here with Raichmat's Oliat, the highest evolved natives were proto-sentients at about the level of a Rashion. They were beginning to use chipped stone tools and to trade among hives. They had no agriculture and lived at the mercy of the elements, protected only by their hives."

He'd drawn a large domed structure, crosshatched with circles, entered by a tunnel. "They build their hives out of fieldstone mortared with a body-excrement that dissolves on exposure to onnoolloo urine. They're very thinly scattered, so we can avoid them. Their population was receding under attack of natural enemies and a changing climate. Either they'll rely more on intelligence or they'll become extinct.

"Raichmat's predicted they'd become victims of the Allegiancy's galactic expansion. This world has no exportables and isn't well located for trade. The ecology will fight offworld invasion ferociously." He looked to Krinata. "The Allegiancy would have grabbed this world for living space, destroyed the ecology, and created a world-city that depended on imports. You all know many such places."

They assented, and he continued, "The natives would have been either exterminated by the shifting ecology or exploited mercilessly by the local Duke."

Through the murmur of assent Terab asked, "An Oliat can foresee two millennia of politics?"

"Not an Oliat," corrected Jindigar. "A Historian. It was as clear to her as the sound of that waterfall is to us."

Only then did she notice the distant roar. "That must be a terrible talent, foreknowledge."

Jindigar nodded, contemplating his drawing. "Raichmat's wanted to protect the natives by founding a Dushau-dominant multicolony here under the laws of our King, not the local Duke. When we presented the plan to Dushaun, it was rejected. And there the matter has rested until now, when we need refuge." He looked up at them. "We must, of course, avoid all contact with the natives. If we find any more of these"—he indicated the carving—"we may have to alter our course to settle where there are no natives."

Krinata shivered in the shadow that had crept over her while Jindigar spoke. He'd told her the same story, only he'd left out the natives. What else wasn't he bothering to mention? And why?

Jindigar announced, rising, "We must make camp before dark. The moon won't rise until very late."

They broke up, arguing among themselves, but going about the business of starting the caravan moving. The two piols could not, however, be coaxed back onto the sled with the children. They frisked about, running ahead and dashing back to nip at heels, and then run ahead again, made eager by the smell of water. But, as thirsty as she was, all Krinata could think of as she trudged through the long, narrow gap, the sides of her sled scraping the walls, was whether she'd have come with Jindigar if she'd known of the natives.

She'd decided before she saw how Emperor Zinzik exploited the Rashions, helpless telepathic proto-sentients. She probably would not have come with Jindigar. He'd have put her off on some planet, and later she'd have been hunted down by the Emperor's Rashions and would have known in the moment of her death that she'd made a mistake. But was Jindigar manipulating me? Or is it that he only answers exactly the question asked? Is he like that among Dushau, or is that how he deals with ephemerals?

She felt her old distrust of Jindigar aroused. She'd agreed with Terab's description of Jindigar, yet how easy it was for her to look at him as a monster in disguise. Was this the rooting, place the Loop had found in her psyche? Her ruminations were interrupted when they came out into a slanting sunset light, at the head of a moraine. It took until dark to negotiate the sleds down the loose rock and shale, though the piols scampered ahead without difficulty. But then they were on a beautiful valley floor.