“I can see, if that’s what you mean.” Nenda was already at the hatch, calling to Kallik. “Look, I’m not willing to leave them with my ship, either. In fact, I’m not willing to leave the ship here at all. We’ll fly it around to the Umbilical. And we’ll leave J’merlia and Kallik to wait for us here.”

“Not quite that, I suggest.” Atvar H’sial was moving her legs to full extension, towering over Louis Nenda. “We do not want them to have access to the aircar, either.”

“Kallik won’t touch it if I tell her not to.” Nenda waited while the Cecropian stared at him. Even the pheromonal overtones were silent. “Oh, all right. I agree with you. We won’t leave them here. No risk is better than a small one — and I’m not too sure of your Lo’tfian. How do you want to handle it?”

“Very simple. We will give them a beacon and some supplies, and drop them off at a convenient point between here and the foot of the Umbilical. When we have done our work there we will home on them, pick them up, look at the site for the Awakening — and head for orbit before it gets too wild on the surface.”

“Suppose surface conditions get bad, right where we leave them? Perry swore they will, and I don’t think he was lying.”

“If things become bad too soon, that would be a pity.” Atvar H’sial stood with her head turned, as J’merlia and Kallik waited at the open hatch. Both the slaves were quivering with fear and tension. “But you can always find another Hymenopt. And although J’merlia has been an adequate servant — more than adequate; I would be sorry to lose his services — that may be the price… of a larger success.”

Darya Lang did the natural thing: she sat down and cried. But as House-uncle Matra had told her, long before, weeping solved no problems. After a few minutes she stopped.

At first she had been merely bewildered. Why would Atvar H’sial choose to drug her and maroon her in the middle of nowhere, in a region of Quake that they had chosen only because it seemed like a good place for a landing? She could think of no explanation for the Cecropian’s disappearance while she slept.

Darya was thousands of kilometers away from the Umbilical. She had only a vague idea of its direction. She had no way to travel except walking. The conclusion was simple: Atvar H’sial intended that she should be stranded on Quake, and die when Sumemrtide hit.

But in that case, why leave a supply of provisions? Why provide a mask and air filter, and a primitive water purifier? Most baffling of all, why leave behind a signal generator that could be used to broadcast a distress call?

Her confusion had been succeeded by misery; then by anger. It was a sequence of emotions that she would never have anticipated, back in the quiet days before she left Sentinel Gate. She had always thought of herself as a reasonable person, a scientist, a citizen of an orderly and logical universe. Rage was not a reasonable reaction; it clouded the thought processes. But her world had changed, and she had been forced to change with it. The intensity of her own emerging feelings amazed her. If she had to die, she would not do it without a struggle.

She squatted on the soft soil by the nearest lake and systematically inspected every item in the heap of materials. The purifier was a little flash-evaporation unit, one that would produce clean, drinkable water from the most bitter alkalines of any lake. At maximum production the unit would give two pints of water a day. The food in the heap was simple and bland, but it was self-heating, nutritious, and enough to last for weeks. The signal generator, so far as she could tell, was in perfect working order. And the waterproof quilted sheet that covered everything would provide insulation against heat, cold, or rain.

Conclusion: If she died, it would not be from hunger, thirst, or exposure.

That was small comfort. Death would be more immediate and much more violent. The air was hot and steadily becoming hotter. Every few minutes she could feel the earth stirring beneath her, like a sleeper unable to find a comfortable position. Worst of all, a stiffening breeze was carrying in a fine white powder that stung her eyes and gave everything an unpleasant metallic taste. The mask and air filter provided only partial protection.

She walked back to the edge of the lake and saw the ghostly reflection of Gargantua in the dark water. The planet grew more bright and bloated with every hour. It was still far from closest approach to Mandel, but looking up she could already see its three largest moons, moving around Gargantua in strangely perturbed orbits. She could almost feel the forces that Gargantua, Mandel, and Amaranth exerted on those satellites, pulling them in different directions. And the same gravitational forces were at work on Quake. The planet she stood on was enduring terrific stress. Its surface must be ready to disintegrate.

So why had Atvar H’sial left her, then fed her and given her protection, when Summertide would get her anyway?

There had to be an explanation of what had happened. She had to think.

She crouched down by the water, seeking a spot partly shielded from the blowing dust. If Atvar H’sial had wanted to kill her, the Cecropian could have done it very easily while she still slept. Instead she had been left alive. Why?

Because Atvar H’sial needed her alive. The Cecropian did not want her at the moment for whatever intrigue was being arranged, but Atvar H’sial needed her later. Maybe for something she knew about Quake, or about the Builders. But what? Nothing Darya could imagine.

Change the question. What did Atvar H’sial think Darya knew?

Darya could make no rational suggestion, but at the moment she did not need the answer. The new Darya insisted that reasons for actions were less important than actions themselves. The thing that mattered was that she had been left here in cold storage — or hot storage — for an indefinite period; someone, sometime, might be coming back for her. And if she did nothing, she would quickly die.

But it would not happen that way. She would not let it happen.

Darya stood up and surveyed her surroundings. She had been Atvar H’sial’s dupe once, arranging for the trip up the Umbilical. That was the last time.

The lake she was standing by was the highest of half a dozen connected bodies of water. Their sizes ranged from less than a hundred meters across to maybe four hundred. The outflow of the nearest pool, forty paces away from her, splashed down a little cataract of one or two meters’ height into the next lake in the sequence.

She searched the shoreline for some type of shelter. Judging from the weather, it would have to be something pretty substantial. The wind was strengthening, and fine sand was seeping into every open space — including her own open spaces; the sensation was not pleasant.

Where? Where to hide, where to find sanctuary? The determination to survive — she was going to live! — had been growing.

She brushed fine talc from her arms and body. Earthquakes might be a long-term danger, but at the moment the biggest threat was this intrusive, hard-blown powder. She must get away from it. And it was not clear that anywhere was safe.

What do the native animals do?

The question popped into her head as she was staring down at the lake shore, riddled with what seemed to be animal bore holes. Quake life-forms didn’t stay on the surface at this time of year. They went underground, or better yet underwater. She recalled the great herds of white-backed animals heading single-mindedly for the lakes.

Could she do the same thing? The bottom of an alkaline pond was not an enthralling prospect, but at least it would get her away from the dust.