Chris looked at her hard but could see no hint that she was pulling his leg. He wasn't about to ask her. It was a big surprise that she was talking at all, and he was willing to listen to whatever she felt moved to say. Since leaving the Melody Shop, she had been quiet, exhausted all the time. Though he had seen ample evidence of her human failings, he was more than a little in awe of her.

"Nox is one of the most sterile places in Gaea," she went on "Not many creatures can live here. The water's too clean. There are abysses in there ten kilometers deep. Water gets pumped out and taken to the heat-exchanger fins, boiled, and distilled. When it comes back, it's crystal-clear. If there was light in here, it would be beautiful; you could see down for hundreds of meters."

"It's rather beautiful as it is," Chris ventured.

"Maybe you're right. Yes, I guess it is beautiful to look at. I don't much care for crossing it. Bad memories." She sighed, then pointed out over the water. "That cable in the middle attaches to an island called Minerva. I guess we have to call it an island; the cable is practically the whole thing. There's no real shoreline. Well be stopping off there for a short time."

"What are the other lights? The points."

"Submarines."

Upon arriving on the beach, the Titanides disencumbered themselves of their saddlebags and removed gleaming wedges of steel that proved to be the heads of axes. Moving into the forest with their knives, they soon fashioned handles and began felling trees by the dozen. Chris watched from a safe distance after offering to help and, as usual, getting a polite refusal.

The trees were remarkable. Each was fifteen meters high, straight, and fifty centimeters in diameter. They had no branches but at the tops were giant, gossamer fronds. Chris was reminded of darts sticking out of a board.

"Do the trees seem unusual?" Gaby had joined him while he watched.

"What are they called?"

"You've got me there. I've heard several names. None has stuck officially. I used to call them telephone poles, but that dated me too much. In the woods they're called cabin trees by people who're building cabins. By the sea they're raft trees. It's the same plant, either way. It's probably best to call 'em log trees."

Chris laughed. "Every tree is a log tree when it's cut down."

"But there's no tree that's so good at it as this one. It's an example of Gaea's cooperative side. She sometimes makes things almost too easy. Watch this."

She walked to the top frond of a fallen tree, took out her knife, and deftly severed it. Chris saw the thin tube was hollow. She put her knife into it and slashed upward. The smooth bark ripped and began to tear. It tore the entire length of the trunk, folded back, and bared a moist bole of yellow wood that might have been machined on a lathe.

"I'm impressed."

"That's not all. Valiha, can I borrow that a minute?" The Titanide gave Gaby her ax. Chris knelt while she examined the perfectly flat end revealed when the bark peeled away. There was a grid of lines on it. Gaby swung the ax against one of the lines. It made a solid thunk.

"I'm not as good at this as they are," Gaby muttered. She pulled the blade free and swung again. With a dry clatter the log partitioned itself into a dozen smooth planks. She set one foot on the stack, slung the ax on her shoulder, and grinned as she flexed the muscles of one arm like a scale-model lumberjack.

"I'm impressed."

"It weren't nothin'. Anyway, that's not the end of the amazing wonders. The bark can be turned into strips that are as strong as a steel band. You can use them to lace the logs into a raft. For the next couple revs the stumps will ooze epoxy glue. Only about one in twenty of the trees will fracture into planks. We'll use the regular boles for the bottom of the raft and the planks for decking. That way a stray jolt won't turn the whole thing into a big bundle of lumber. In about four or five revs the raft ought to be ready to launch. End of lecture."

"Not quite," Chris said. "You mentioned this being part of Gaea's cooperative side. Are these trees new things? I mean-"

"Like the Titanides are new? No, I don't think so. More likely they're very old. Older than Gaea. They're one of the species designed by the same folks who built Gaea's forebears, billions of years ago. They seemed to like things handy. So there's the plants that grow transistors and such on one end of the scale, and the basics like these trees and the smilers-which are hypercattle that you can harvest meat from without killing them. Either the designers planned for periods when civilization would fall, or they didn't like noisy factories."

Chris walked down the beach by himself, vaguely troubled. He knew he should be feeling grateful to be along with Cirocco and Gaby, learning all these things that should prove useful if he had to strike out on his own. Instead, he was struck by his own uselessness in the scheme of things. Everything seemed well under control. He couldn't cook, couldn't build a raft, row a canoe-he could not even keep up if called upon to walk. He was supposed to be seeking out adventure, finding a way to become a hero. Instead, he was along for the ride. He no longer truly believed they would encounter anything Gaby and the Titanides could not handle.

The beach sand was very fine. It sparkled, even in the darkness of Rhea. Walking near the trees was tiring, so he moved near the water's edge, where dampness had turned the sand into a firm surface. Nox was still for such a large body of water. Low waves undulated and crested in slow motion. The sound they made was more of a hiss than a roar. Foam lapped at his feet, then melted into the sand.

He had gone out with the intention of washing up. Two days of climbing rocks and riding muddy trails had left him gritty. When he could barely hear the sound of the Titanides' labors, he judged he had come far enough. He stumbled over something nearly invisible against the black sand. It was a pile of clothing.

"Did you bring any soap?"

He squinted toward the sound of the voice and saw a dark circle against the water. Robin raised herself from her squatting position, stood in water up to her waist. Concentric silver rings spread away from her.

"It just so happens that I did," Chris said, digging the soft round ball from his pocket. The Wi ... Cirocco said the water was cold."

"It's not too bad. Bring it out here, would you?" She sat again, until only her head showed.

Chris got out of his clothes and cautiously stepped into the water. It was chilly, but he had been in worse. The shore sloped gradually. There were no slimy creatures underfoot, or even any shells. It was smooth, uniform sand, suitable for the filling of hourglasses.

He swam the last few meters, then stood beside her and handed her the ball of soap. She began rubbing it over her upper body.

"Don't drop it," he cautioned. "We'd never find it again."

"I'll be careful. Where did you learn to do that?"

"What? You mean swim? I was so young I don't remember. Just about everyone I know can swim. Can't you?"

"Nobody I know can. Would you teach me?"

"Sure, if we have time."

"Thanks. Would you soap my back?" She handed him the ball.

The request surprised him, but he agreed readily enough. He used his hands perhaps a little more than he had to, and when she did not object, he kneaded her shoulders. There was firm muscle beneath the cold skin. She did the same for him, having to reach high to get his shoulders. He knew he had not even begun to understand her and wished that were not the case. With any other woman he would have felt at ease. He would have kissed her and let her decide what to do from there. He would have accepted her answer, yes or no. With Robin, he didn't feel he dared pose the question.