The light of Mandel and Amaranth was muted here to a blue-green shadow. Small creatures flew at them. Julius Graves thought at first that they were insects or birds, but a query to Steven brought the information that they were pseudocoelenterates, more like flying jellyfish than any other Earth or Miranda form. The creatures chittered in panic and flew away from Graves into the gloom. He hurried on after Max Perry. Within a few meters the air temperature beneath the canopy had jumped another few degrees.

Perry was following the rocky watercourse, squeezing his way past sticky yellow trunks and upthrusting mushroom structures two meters high. Clouds of minute winged creatures burst from the overhead leaves and flew for his unprotected face and hands.

“They don’t bite,” Perry said over his shoulder. “Just keep going.”

Graves swatted at them anyway, trying to keep them out of his eyes. He wondered why Perry had not brought masks and respirators with them. In his concentration he was not looking where he was going, and he walked into the other man’s back.

“Found something?”

Perry shook his head and pointed down. Two steps ahead the streambed dropped into a vertical hole. Graves leaned recklessly forward and could see no sign of the bottom.

“Let’s hope they’re not down there.” Perry was already turning back. “Come on.”

“What if the other one dead-ends, too?” Graves was snapping his finger joints again.

“Bad news. We’ll need a new idea, but we won’t have time for one even if we think of it. We’ll have to worry about ourselves.”

Rather than climbing back up the rock face, he led the way to one side, working his way slowly around the foot of the outcropping to where a second runoff flowed. Away from the watercourse the lower-level vegetation grew more strongly. Tough bamboo spears jutted up to knee level, scoring their boots and cutting through the cloth of their trousers. Irritant sap from broken leaves created lines of stinging cuts along their calves. Perry swore, but did not lessen his pace.

In another twenty meters he stopped and pointed. “There’s the other runoff. And something has been this way quite a few times.” The gray-green sedges at the side of the streambed had been flattened and broken. Their crushed stems were coated with a brown layer of dried sap.

“Animals?” Graves leaned down to rub at his scraped shins and calves, which had begun to itch maddeningly.

“Maybe.” Perry lifted his foot and pressed down on an unbroken stem, gauging its strength. “But I doubt it. Whatever flattened these wasn’t far from human body weight. I’ve never heard of anything in the Pentacline that massed more than a quarter as much. At least this makes it easy to track.”

He began to walk down the stream side, following the line of broken vegetation. The verdurous gloom had deepened, but the path was easy to follow. It ran parallel to the dry watercourse and then inched over into it. Thirty meters farther on, the bottom of the path became veiled by a thicket of tough ferns.

Graves put his hand on Perry’s shoulder and moved on past him.

“If you’re right,” he said quietly, “then from this point on it’s my show. Let me go in front, and alone. I’ll call you when I want you.”

Perry stared for a moment, then allowed Graves to step ahead of him. In the past five minutes the other had changed. Every sign of instability had vanished from his face, leaving in its place strength, warmth, and compassion. It was the countenance of a different man — of a councilor.

Graves stepped cautiously along the streambed until he was no more than a couple of paces from the veil of ferns. He paused, listening, then after a few seconds nodded and turned to Perry. He winked grotesquely, parted the ferns, and stepped through into the dark interior of the thicket.

It was the Carmel twins, it had to be; they had been located, although Perry would have given high odds against it when he, Graves, and Rebka had left Opal. But what was Graves saying to them, hidden away in the darkness?

A few minutes in the Pentacline so close to Summertide felt like hours. The heat and humidity was horrible. Perry looked again and again at his watch, hardly able to believe that time was passing so slowly. Though it was full day, and Mandel must still be rising, his surroundings grew less and less visible. Was there a dust storm brewing far overhead in the atmosphere? Perry stared straight up, but he could see nothing through the thick multiple layers of vegetation. Underfoot, however, there was plenty of evidence of Quake’s activity. The root-tangled forest floor was in continuous, steady vibration.

Thirty-five hours to Summertide Maximum.

The clock kept running in Perry’s head, along with a question. They had promised to return J’merlia and Kallik to where they had found them. That promise had been made in good faith and without reservations. But could they allow such a thing to be done, knowing that Quake would soon be a death trap to everything except its own uniquely selected organisms?

Perry was startled by a sudden bright light in front of him. The curtain of ferns had been pulled aside, and Graves stood behind it gesturing him forward.

“Come on in. I want you to hear this and serve as an additional witness.”

Max Perry eased his way in through the bristly fronds of the ferns. Lit from the interior, the dark thicket was revealed to be less than it seemed. The ferns formed only an outer framing web, a convenient natural fence within which stood a flexible tent supported by pneumatic ribbing. Graves was holding a door panel open, and when Perry stepped through he was astonished by the size of the interior. The floor area was at least ten meters square. Even with the inward-sloping walls the living area was substantial. And the furnishings were amazingly complete, everything that was needed for normal pleasant living. Some form of cooling and humidity-control unit was operating, to hold the internal conditions at a comfortable level. And it was well hidden from any normal searcher. No wonder the twins preferred to stay here, rather than in the cramped quarters of the Summer Dreamboat.

The tent must also have been totally lightproof, or else the lights had only just been turned on. But Perry had time for only one look at the line of glowing cylinders around the walls, before his attention was drawn to the tent’s occupants.

Elena and Geni Carmel were sitting over by the far wall, side by side, their hands on their knees. They were dressed in russet jumpsuits and wore their auburn hair hanging low over their foreheads. Perry’s first impression — an overwhelming one — was of two identical people, with the same resemblance to Amy that had left him unable to breath when he had first seen their pictures back on Opal.

But in the flesh, under the bright lights of the tent, reason quickly asserted itself. If the twins looked like Amy, it was through their dress and hairstyle. Elena and Geni Carmel seemed weary and crushed, as far as one could be from Amy’s perky and invincible self-confidence. The tan that he had seen in the image cubes was long gone, replaced by a tired pallor.

And the twins were different, one from the other. Although their features might be structurally identical, their expressions were not. One was clearly the dominant twin — born a few minutes earlier, maybe, or a fraction bigger and heavier?

She was the one meeting Max Perry’s eyes. The other kept her gaze downcast, shooting only one shy and lightning glance at the new arrival from large, heavy-lidded eyes. Yet she seemed at ease with Graves, turning her face to him as he closed the tent’s panel and moved to sit opposite them.

He waved Perry to a seat by his side. “Elena” — he indicated the more self-confident twin — “and Geni have been through a very difficult time.” His voice was gentle, almost subdued. “My dears, I know it is a painful memory, but I want you to repeat to the commander what you just told me… and this time we will make a recording of it.”