"Look, I—"

             "Large spacings prevent food from accumulating and decaying. We use that design, as you can see, but also regrow a set every century to compensate for wear. If—"

             "You think I had time to think of that?''

             The man's raptly studious expression vanished as he blinked. "I merely hoped to enlist your aid."

             "You people run the world, not us."

             Soberly he said, "No longer."

             She dammed up the bitter torrent within her and said quietly, "Who were they?"

             "I don't know. They looked human."

             "They weren't like my people."

             "Of course not. You possess only those skills appropriate to tending the forests. These people had mastered warring technology that is ancient beyond measure."

             He gazed apprehensively at the sky, rubbing his shoulder as though he was stiff. She noticed that his light, loose-fitting jump suit was stained and torn.

             "You fought them?"

             "As we could. We were surprised and saw only flame, no people."

             Seeker spoke from beside them. "The lightning returned here, later, to burn the dead humans."

             Both humans were startled. Blinking, the man said, "You are remarkably silent."

             Seeker said, "A craft of ours. You found no humans unburned?"

             The man frowned. "Not yet."

             "I doubt you will," Seeker said. "They are thorough."

             Cley asked, "What did they do to your cities?"

             "Come." He gave the order without taking his eyes from the sky. His mouth echoed a quick flurry of emotion and he held a palm up to Seeker. "Fine ally, we gather now."

             This seemed enough for Seeker. The brass-bright craft tilted momentarily as the creature boarded. Cley went through the wide hatchway and into a simple, comfortable control cabin. The Supra sat down and the ship lifted with scarcely a murmur.

             "I am Alvin," he said, as though anyone would know who he was. His casual confidence told her more than the name, and she responded to his questions about the last few days with short, precise answers. She had rarely even seen a Supra and this one was not winning her over.

             But as they rose with smooth acceleration Cley gaped, not attempting to hide her surprise. Within moments she saw the lands where she had lived and labored reduced to a mere spot in a vastly larger canvas. She watched the mountains she had admired as a girl reduced to foot soldiers in an army that marched around the curve of the world. Her tribe had known well the green complexity of the forests, but she had not truly comprehended the extent of the Su-pras' works. Many thin brown rivers flowed through narrow canyons, giving the mountain range the look of a knobby spine from which many nerves trailed into the tan deserts beyond. Brilliant snowcaps crowned the tallest peaks, but these were not, she saw, the source of the countless rivers. Each muddy nerve began abruptly high in a canyon and was busily digging itself in deeper.

             Cley pointed and before she could ask Alvin said, "We feed them from tunnels. The great Millennium Lakes lie far underground here."

21

             This landsculpting was only a few centuries old, but already the moist wealth had reclaimed much of the planet's dry midcontinent.

             Alvin sat back, indolent as his ship performed a long turn to show her the expanses. She caught a brilliant spark of polished metal far away on the very curve of the planet.

             "Diaspar," Alvin said.

             "The legend," she whispered.

             "It is quite real," he said, running his eyes over the display screens that studied the space around them.

             "Did they go there, too?"

             "The attackers? No. I have no idea why not."

             "Does Diaspar's name come from 'despair'?"

             "What?" He sat bolt upright. "No, of course not. Who said it did?"

             "It was a joke we made," she said to unknit his eyebrows. "That you Supras had been walled up in there so long—"

             "Nonsense! We saved humanity, holding on while the desert encroached. We—"

             "And that green spot? Right beside Diaspar?"

             "That's Lys."

             "Lies? Someone telling lies?"

             "No! Look, I do not know what you Ur-humans do for amusement, but I do not find—"

             "I was merely recalling some primeval humor."

             Alvin shook his head. His eyes never left the screens and she realized he was looking for a sign that the attackers might return again. How they could vanish so readily and elude the Supras she could not fathom. But then, the Earth was large, and in these sprawling lands there were many places to hide.

             "When?"

             "More years ago than you could count if you did nothing else throughout your life."

             She stared. The display showed wispy lattices of streets beneath the shifting sands, the shadows of cities whose very names were lost. "So many . . ."

             "There were vast alternatives to Diaspar then. We did not seize them."

             "And now?"

             Alvin laughed. "Uncountable! Infinitude!"

             To her surprise Seeker spoke, reedy and melodious. "There are more breeds of infinitude than of finiteness."

             Alvin raised his eyebrows, startled. "You know of transfinites?"

             "You speak of mere mathematics. I refer to your species."

             Seeker had not spoken to Alvin since they entered the ship. She saw that the beast was not awed by this sleek, swift artifact. It sat perfectly at ease and nothing escaped its quick, bright eyes.

             Alvin pursed his lips. "Just so, sage. Did you know that your kind evolved to keep humans intellectually honest?"

             Cley could not read Seeker's expression as it said with a rippling intonation, "So humans think."

             Alvin looked disconcerted. "I ... I suppose we, too, have illusions."

             "Truth depends on sense organs," Seeker said with what Cley took to be a kindly tinge to its clipped words. Or was she imposing a human judgment on Seeker's slight crinklings around its slitted eyes, the sharpening of the peaks of its yellow ears?

             "We have records of the long discourses between your kind and mine," Alvin began. "I studied them."

             "A human library," Seeker said. "Not ours."

             Cley saw in Seeker's eyes a gulf, the darkness that would always hang between species. Across hundreds of millions of years words were mere signal flares held up against the encroaching night.

             "Yes," Alvin said soberly, "and that is what burns. We know what humans thought and did, but I am coming to see that much history passed outside human ken."

             "Much should."

             "But we will regain everything," Alvin said severely.