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outmatched in every respect.
    It would not be long before they came looking for survivors; for all they might be barbarians, they weren’t stupid.
    “Marie,” Reeve whispered. “We’ve got to find somewhere to hide.” He pulled her along, but slowly, to be as quiet as possible in the water. As they waded onward,the shouting dimmed. Ahead of them, the sun speared through the green maze, creating tunnels of light, wondrous even in this extremity. The glowing chartreuse of leaves, the flash of blue in the water, reflecting planetary sky … it was a wonderland. But one devoid of shelter.
    Their only hope was a hollowed-out stump, but none were big enough for two. They’d have to separate. He found a stump for Marie, ensconcing her in its crumbling interior and covering her with an insulated blanket from the pack. “Will you be all right?” he asked.
    She flashed a crooked grin. “Get lost.”
    Reaching into the pack, he pulled out a breather. “Use this.”
    Leaving Marie for now, he set out to find his own bivouac, taking care to remember where he’d left her, and finally choosing a hollow snag, plugging the entry hole with an armload of moss. Leaning against the spongy bark, he felt tiny somethings moving behind his back, but not even that could distract him from the sound of claver screams. He
hoped
they were claver screams. Hoped that Grame was dead. At last the cries tapered off and he fell into a stupefied sleep.
    At dusk he was awakened by shouts, and the sounds of clavers sloshing through the water nearby. Flickers of torches created shadows inside his burrow. Afraid to breathe and forced to remain motionless, he closed his eyes and listened to their boisterous calls and occasional maniacal screams. The search went on and on, for what seemed like hours, and ended finally, late that night.
    Huddled in his tree stump, frightened and cold but unable to digest the impact of his losses, Reeve Calder closed his eyes and let his mind spin. He listened to the background noise of his brain, and when it finally subsided, he was left with a silent darkness. Through that endless well floated Tina Valejo, her white spacesuit lit up on one side by the sun, her arms waving as though she could swim her way back home.
2
    Nerys slipped out of bed and padded to the doorway without looking back. Jory was asleep, had been for all the hours she’d lain beside him waiting for the moon to set. The only sound in the mud and wattle hogan was the growl of Nerys’ stomach. For supper they had sucked the marrow from rabbit bones, and Nerys had given her daughter most of her own portion. Anar must have strength to run tonight.
    She crept to Anar’s cot behind the curtain and gently touched her shoulder. In the dark, she felt Anar’s hand squeeze her own. She was awake, fully dressed, even wearing her boots. Good girl. At twelve, she was old enough to understand what they risked. From her shirt Nerys pulled out the letter and laid it on Anar’s pillow.
Jory, I will not forget you. I took only what is mine. Remember that if you catch us.—Nerys
.
    Outside, she grabbed the satchel she had hidden behind the hogan and laced on the boots she was carrying. She applied soot to her face and her daughter’s, then peered around the hogan for any glimpse of the night watch. Overhead, a rich crop of stars glittered against the black loam of the sky. For the hundredth time Nerys wondered why the sky remained black with so many lamps to brighten it. Such questions had answers, she knew, but they were not for clavers to know. As they watched and listened, Nerys’ stomach rumbled again, stiffening her courage for what they had to do. Then Nerys grasped Anar’s hand and together they darted across the lane and into the terra patch.
    The last of the vines crunched under their feet, brittle stems, all but barren, even in the lush days of the summer. Somewhere nearby a dog barked. Nerys froze in place, sweating.
    “It’s Pika’s mongrel,” Anar