“What do you want?” asked Agopian.

“The egg salad. Unless it’s on black bread.”

“Rye. Not great, but adequate. Do you want mineral water or beer? We also have the local water, distilled and free of everything that might do harm.”

“Mineral water.”

He brought the food out. The sandwich was wrapped in paper. The water was in a glass bottle. “Please return to recycling” was stamped on the side. There was a chip in the bottom.

I opened the bottle. The water fizzed. I drank a little, then unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite. It was delicious. I forced myself to eat slowly, stopping after each bite to drink the water, which had—very faintly—the taste of a citrus fruit.

“Derek?” said Agopian.

“Nothing for me.”

The crewman went back into the galley and came out with another bottle. This one was amber rather than clear. Most likely, it held beer. He sat down, opening the bottle. For a while after that, there was silence. I was eating. Derek looked tired, content to do nothing. Agopian drank his beer.

“Of course, there are benefits,” he said at last.

“What?” asked Derek.

“To going to the stars. When I was a kid, I had two ambitions. To take part in a revolution and to walk on another planet in the light of another sun. I’ve achieved one ambition, and depending on how you define revolution, I may achieve the other. Meeting these people—the natives here—is going to change our history.”

I finished the sandwich and licked my fingers, then made the gesture of agreement.

“What does that mean?” asked Agopian.

Derek said, “Yes. Okay. I agree with you.”

“Your English is excellent,” I said.

He nodded. “I was in Detroit for two years—more like three—studying at the School for Labor History.”

“You’re a historian? And you’re on the crew?”

“I have a degree in—what would be the right translation? Computer science? Computer theory? Notcomputer engineering. I know how to work with the machines and I know a lot about the way they interact with humans. I don’t really know what goes on inside them.

“I also have a degree in history and a certificate that says I am competent to astrogate.”

“He’s a political officer,” said Derek.

“There is no such position on the I.S.S. One.I am a member of the astrogation team.”

Derek made the gesture of polite lack of conviction.

“I can imagine what that means,” Agopian said. He glanced at me. “I was a political officer. Three years onboard the Alexandra Kollontai.It’s a freighter that goes between Transfer Station One and the L-5 colonies. I’d better use the past tense. It was a freighter. It must have been recycled by now.” He paused for a moment. He was thinking about the passage of time, something we all did on the expedition. “But I am not a political officer any longer.”

“He gives classes on Marxist theory,” said Derek. “And on the history of class struggle.”

“On my own time,” said Agopian. “No one is required to attend.”

“A lot of the crewmembers go.”

“Why shouldn’t they? It’s no crime to study the ideas of Karl Marx. Not in this century and on this ship.”

I tried to think of a way to change the subject. Nothing came immediately to mind. The boat began to rock. Agopian stood up and looked out a window. “We’re going around the north end of your island, Lixia. Across the current and maybe a little too close to the rapids. I like ships that go through space. These little things that travel on water make me nervous. But Ivanova is good.”

Eddie came in, ducking through the cabin doorway. It was too low for him and almost too narrow. “We’re going to look for Nia and the oracle.”

“Good,” said Derek.

Eddie shrugged. “I’m getting used to losing arguments. I feel like the old chiefs and medicine men who told the Europeans, ‘You’re making a mistake. You can’t treat the Earth like this.’ They were right. It only took two hundred years for everyone to see it.”

“He’s angry,” said Derek.

“Of course I am.” He went to the kitchen and got a bottle of mineral water. “We’re going to cross the river and go down the west side—slowly. We won’t reach camp till evening.” He opened the bottle and sat down, stretching out his legs. The mineral water was gone in two gulps. He set the bottle down.

I wanted no part of his anger or of whatever game Derek was playing with Agopian. My head itched. “I need a shower.”

“We have a portable shower,” Agopian said. “But we can’t set it up onboard the ship.”

“Boat,” said Derek.

I said, “Do you have a bathroom? And a sponge?”

“Across from the kitchen. You ought to find everything you need.”

I made the gesture of gratitude, got up, and went to the bathroom.

The toilet filled half of it. A cabinet was set into the opposite wall. I slid it open and—as promised—found everything I needed: soap in a bottle, a toothbrush, a comb, a pile of neatly folded coveralls, a sponge. The sponge was genuine and had once been alive, most likely on the ship.

The soap was peppermint. The label said it could be used on body, hair, teeth, and clothing, but should not be swallowed or otherwise eaten.

I stripped and washed all over—not easy to do in the tiny space. By the time I finished, there was water everywhere. I brushed my teeth and combed my wet hair, dried myself and the room, then smiled at my reflection. Not bad, though I looked a little thin and a little too pale. I needed makeup and a pair of earrings.

Ah, yes! And clothing. I put on coveralls, size small, blue, the color of peace and unity. It wasn’t my favorite color, but the only other option was olive drab.

That was it, except for lifting the basin back into the wall above the toilet, turning off the fan and going out to the main cabin. The three men glanced at me. Curious, to feel again the tension between men and women. “What do I do with my old clothes?”

“Do you want them back?” asked Agopian.

“Never.”

“There’s a recycling box in the kitchen. Put them there.”

I did and said, “I’m going out on deck. It’s too—” I hesitated.

“Close in here,” said Derek.

I made the gesture of agreement and opened the door.

It was still raining. An overhang protected the deck. Ivanova sat in a tall chair, which enabled her to see over the cabin roof. Her hands rested on the steering wheel. They were broad and blunt-fingered, strong-looking, even at rest. A wiping blade went across the window in front of her. Snick.Pause. Snick.

Ivanova glanced at me, nodded, then glanced at the crewwoman. “This is Li Lixia of the sociology team. Lixia, this is Tatiana Valikhanova.”

“Of the auxiliary transportation maintenance team,” the woman said.

We shook. I looked around. The boat had turned and was moving south. The western shore was on my right, low and gray, a mixture of forest and marsh. To my left were islands: clumps of trees, rising out of the water.

“Watch for smoke,” said Ivanova. “That is how we spotted you and Derek.”

“In this?” I asked.

“The weather is unfortunate.”

I made the gesture of acknowledgment.

The boat continued downriver. After a while Tatiana spoke in Russian. Ivanova turned the wheel. The boat turned toward a long island covered with bushes. There were white spots on the bushes, which became a flock of birds. They flew up as we approached. Tatiana scanned the island with binoculars. “Nothing,” she said in English. The boat turned again, out into the channel. The rain was getting heavier. Raindrops pocked the surface of the water, and the shore was barely visible.

“This is really bad,” I said.

“We’ll try again in two or three days,” Ivanova said. “We will be traveling this way. The nearest village is north of here on a tributary of this river.”

I stared at her. “You’re going to visit a village?”