“I was not thinking,” Nia said. “I have spent too much time with strange people. This is not a story for a man.”

“Nia, you can’t stop now.”

“Yes, I can.”

I looked at the oracle. “Go.”

He frowned. “Do I have to?”

I made the gesture of affirmation.

He got up with obvious reluctance and moved to the edge of the clearing, sat down with his back to us and stared out at the dark.

I looked to Nia.

“There isn’t much more. The women all had peculiar children. Some were like groundbirds. Others were like bowhorns. One woman mated with a killer of the plain. I don’t know how she managed it. Her daughter was made entirely of teeth and claws.

“None of these children wanted to go into the village. They stayed on the plain and hunted one another. They did not learn the skills of people.

“At first the women were happy. ‘All our children are unusual. We have done something that has never been done before.’

“Then they noticed they had no one to help them. And the men in the village noticed the same thing. They went out, both men and women, and pleaded with the children. ‘Come off the plain. Learn the skills of people. We need smiths and weavers. We need herders and women who know how to do fine embroidery.’

“But the children did not listen. Instead they ran away. They became animals entirely.

“The People Whose Gift Is Folly had to turn to each other. They mated the proper way. The women had ordinary children. The men raised them. They were like their parents. Stupid, yes. Clumsy and foolish. But people.” She made the gesture that meant “it is done.”

“Come back,” I said to the oracle.

He returned. We sat quietly. Nia looked depressed, and the oracle looked sulky. I was feeling bothered.

What did the stories mean? Both were about the loss of children. Was that a problem here? Did they worry about miscarriages and damaged children as we did on Earth?

It did not seem likely. This planet was clean. These people had not filled their environment with toxins.

There was another explanation. The stories were about a people who did everything backward. Maybe the message was sociological, not biological. If you want healthy children, be ordinary.

A good message. Relevant and true. Look at me. Look at everyone on the ship. We were not ordinary. Most of us had no children. Those who did had parted with them 120 years ago.

My neck hurt. I rubbed it. “I’m going back down to the village. We need blankets, if we are going to stay the night, and something to keep water in. I have to tell Derek where I am.”

Nia made the gesture of agreement, then pointed. “The path begins there.”

I stood and stretched, made the gesture of acknowledgment and went in the direction she had indicated.

I lost the path in the darkness and had to scramble down over rocks. Branches caught my clothes. Thorns scratched me. I fell a couple of times. Finally I reached level ground; and the lights of the camp shone in front of me.

The main hall of my dome was empty. Voices came through a closed door: a pair of women talking. Farther down someone played a Chinese flute. The performance was live. I could tell by the mistakes.

I flicked on the light in my room and opened the closet under my bed. As I had hoped, it held a blanket.

“Where have you been?” asked Derek. He came in, closing the door after him. He had changed to blue jeans and a light blue cotton shirt. His beard was gone. The skin on his face was parti-colored: reddish brown above and white below. An odd sight. His blond hair was very short.

“You found a barber?”

He made the gesture that meant “it doesn’t matter” or “let’s talk about something else.” “I have been all over camp looking for you.”

“I was up on the bluff. I need your blanket.”

“Why?”

“Nia and the oracle have made a camp of their own. They don’t have anything to sleep on.”

“Why don’t they come down?”

“I didn’t ask. Maybe they feel the way I do. There are too many people here. Everything is too complicated.”

“You don’t know the half of it. I’ll get my blanket.” He left, returning in a couple of minutes. “What else do you need?”

“No pillows. It’s going to be hard enough getting the blankets up the bluff. And the natives don’t use pillows. I’m trying to decide if I want to stay with Nia.”

He tossed his blanket toward me. It unfolded in midair and fell in a heap.

“Damn you.”

“I’ll be back.”

I picked the blanket up and refolded it. Derek returned with another blanket, which he added to the pile. “Janos won’t need this.”

“You think not?”

“The dome is way too warm. I’ll go to the edge of camp with you. I don’t entirely like being inside.”

I remembered stories about Derek. He had a house in Berkeley full of artifacts and books. A lot of books. Most of them were made of paper. Some were new and came from specialty presses. Others were old and fragile.

He worked in the house. Guests stayed in it. If one of the guests was a lover of his, he stayed inside with her. But when he was alone, he slept in a lean-to in the backyard. The roof was a piece of canvas stretched over living bamboo. The floor was grass. He didn’t use a sleeping bag or any kind of mattress. In hot weather he slept on the grass. In cold weather—in the rain and fog of the northern California winter—he used a ragged blanket.

That was the story. I didn’t know if I believed it.

We left the dome and walked up into the darkness under the bluff. I carried the blankets.

“Okay.” He stopped. “This is far enough.” He looked back at the lights of camp. “Did you turn in your recorder?”

“Yes. Goddamn!”

“What?”

“Nia and the oracle were telling stories this evening. I forgot that I didn’t have a recorder on.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem for you. I know your reputation. If something interests you, you’ll remember it.”

“Huh,” I said. “I always like a backup.”

“That also is part of your reputation.” He touched my arm. “I have something to tell you.”

“What?”

“I had a talk with Eddie this evening. He came in after you wandered off with the oracle.”

“Yes?”

“He wants us to go upriver with Ivanova and him. He wants us to translate for them.”

“Eddie is going? A man?”

“That was part of the compromise. We are supposed to send representatives of each of the three factions. For intervention. Against intervention. And the compromise position.”

“Why?”

“To explain our problem to the natives. To give our problem to the natives and ask them for the solution. Since it’s their planet.” I thought I could hear sarcasm in Derek’s voice.

“That might make sense, though I’m not saying it does. But why are they sending a man?”

“Eddie is the chief advocate of nonintervention. And we are supposed to be honest with the natives. We have to explain to them—to show them—what we are like.”

“It’s crazy.”

“Uh-huh. And it isn’t what I want to talk about.” Derek paused. “He wants us to lie.”

“What?”

“He wants us to change what Ivanova says when she speaks to the natives. He wants us to make certain that the natives do not like her argument.”

“No! We’d be certain to be caught. The meeting will be recorded, and someone will check our translation. Maybe not right away, but soon.”

“I told him that. He said we could do it without being obvious. We could slant the words. Twist them just a little. Change the intonation.”

“I can’t believe this of Eddie. I’ve worked with him for years.”

“Do you think I’m lying?”

I looked at him, but saw almost nothing. “No,” I said at last. “What did you say to him?”

“I said the risk was too great, and all we’d gain would be a little time. Ivanova and her people aren’t going to pack up and go home. They want to be on this planet. They’ll go to the next village over and ask permission to land. We’d have to lie again.