line and feels a tug in its belly and throws up. I think that's what must have happened. All I know is something smacks me in the face, and it's a dead turkey covered with goo, and I grab it-I hug it to me with all my heart and climb the line back into the tuft.'
Gavving was afraid to laugh.
'Then I tie off what's left of my leg. What's hanging loose, I had to cut off. Well, kid, did Harp ever tell you a story like that?'
'No. Treefodder, he'd love it! Oh.'
'He'd make me famous. I don't want to be fanious that way.'
Gavving chewed it over. 'Why tell me now?'
'I don't know. My turn,' Jiovan said suddenly. He filled his lungs and disappeared into the smoke.
Gavving felt burdened. Always he asked too many questions. He grinned guiltily, picturing Jiovan trying to throw a line with a turkey flapping at each end. But what if Jiovan regretted telling it?
He saw Clave appear from behind the curve of the tnmk.
Jiovan emerged, bringing smoke, and Gavving held his breath while it cleared. Jiovan coughed a little. 'It's been so long,' he said. 'Maybe it doesn't hurt as much. Maybe I just wanted to tell it. Maybe I had to.'
'They're coming back,' Gavving said. 'I wonder what's got them so excited?'
Clave bellowed, 'I will not go home without learning something about them!'
'I know quite a lot about them,' the Grad answered. 'We all lived in the far tuft once. The Quinns left after some kind of disagreement. Before that, it was Dalton-Quinn Tribe.'
'Then they're relatives.'
The argument had grown a little less chaotic, but only because half the troop was trailing back. It was no less vehement. Alfin shouted, 'You're not listening. They kicked us out! For all we know, they think they're still at war with us!'
The Grad said, 'Clave, the tribemarks are tended, and we aren't finding as many fan fungi lately, or the shelled things either. I'm thinking they keep this stretch of trunk clean. They must be still around. Our move is to get out of here!'
'You want to run from something you haven't even seen!'
'We saw the tribal insignia,' the Grad said. 'DQ. No takeout mark across the Q. Maybe they still call themselves Dalton-Quinn. What does that make us? Intruders on their tree? We've passed the median anyway, we're in their space. Clave, let's go home. Kill another nose-arm, pick some fan fungus and one of the shells, and go home with plenty of food.' Clave was shaking his head. 'The tribe won't have to go thirsty any more either! We bring water from the trunk—'
Clave waved it away. 'That water would get to the tuft anyway. No. I want to meet the Daltons. It's been hundreds of years, we don't know what they're like…maybe they know better tending methods for the earthlife, or ways to get water. Maybe they grow food we never heard of. Something. 'Day, Jiovan.'
''Day. What's going on?'
'We found a tribemark and it isn't ours. The question before the citizenry is, do we say hello before going home? Or do we just run?'
The Grad jumped in. 'Don't you see, we can't fight and we can't negotiate! We've got one good fighter, and two cripples and a boy and four women and a treemouth tender, and all of us thrown out of Quinn Tuft, we can't even make promises—'
Clave broke in. 'Alfin, you're for leaving too?'
'Jiovan?'
'What are we running from?'
'Maybe nothing. That mark wasn't tended for a long time. Treefodder, the drought could have killed them off! We could settle the far tuft—'
Merril broke in, though she was puffing from the climb. 'Oh no. if everyone died there…we won't want to… go anywhere near it. Sickness.'
'Are you for going back or going on?'
'I don't…back, I guess, but…let's get that…big fan fungus first. Wouldn't that impress the citizens! And smoke another nosearm…if we can. Far as that goes…we know there's meat to be hunted on the trunk. We should tell the Chairman that.'
'Jayan? Jinny?'
'She makes sense,' Jinny said, and Jayan nodded.
'Gavving?'
'No opinion.'
'Treefodder. Glory?'
'Go back,' Glory said. 'I haven't tasted foliage in days and days.'
Clave sighed. 'If I was sure I was right, we'd go on. Aaall right.' His voice became fuller, more resonant. 'We'll have enough to carry anyway, what with the giant fan and whatever meat we find. Citizens, we've done very well for ourselves and Quinn Tuft. We go home as heroes. Now, I don't want to lose anyone on the way down, so don't take the tide for granted! It'll get stronger with every klomter. Most of the way down we'll need lines for the meat and the fan fungus—'
Their goals had become Clave's own. Gavving noticed, and remembered.
The flashers had come back. Minya watched them at their mating dance. Two males strutted before. the same femhle with their wingcloaks spread wide, and the female's head snapped back and forth almost too fast to see. Decisions, decisions… 'Something's been worrying you, woman.'
Decisions. Was it any of Smitta's business? Minya made a swift decision: she had to talk to someone, or burst. 'I've started wondering if-if I'm right for the Triune Squad.'
Smitta showed shock. 'Really? You were eager enough to join eight years ago. What's changed?'
'I don't know.'
But she did, and suddenly Smitta did too. 'Don't talk to Sal about this. She wouldn't understand.'
'I was only fourteen.'
'You looked older…more mature. And maybe the loveliest recruit we ever got.'
Minya grimaced. 'Every man in the tuft wanted to make babies with me. I must have heard every possible way of saying that. I just didn't want to do that with anyone. Smitta, that's what the Triune Squad is for!'
'I know. What would I be without the Triune Squad? A woman born as a man, a man who wants to be a woman…”
'Do you ever want—' What was the right word? Not make babies, not for Smitta.
'I used to,' Smitta said. 'With Risher — he was a lot prettier once — and lately with Mik, the Huntmaster's boy.' Minya flinched. Maybe Smitta noticed. 'We give all that up when we join. You just have to hold it inside. You know that.'
'Does anyone ever…'
'What? Quit? Cheat? Alse jumped into the sky, a little after I joined, but nobody really knows why. That's the only way to quit. If you get caught cheating, I can name some would tear you apart. Sal's one.'
Tight lips and clenched teeth held back Minya's secret. Now Smitta did notice. 'Don't get caught cheating,' she repeated. 'Maybe you don't know how citizens feel about us. They tolerate us. We won't give the tribe babies, so we do the most dangerous jobs anyone can think of, and pay the debt that way. But you don't ask any ordinary man to, you know, help you be in both worlds.'
Minya nodded. Lips pressed together, teeth clenched: if only she had kept them that way when she was with Mik! Mik had been impossible to get rid of, eight years ago. How had he changed so much? Would he tell?
'Smitta—'
'Drop it, Sal's coming.'
Minya looked. There were four figures down there, four women rising on jets of sprayed gas and seeds; and they carried no water. Sal shouted something the wind snatched away.
'They're wasting jet pods,' Smitta observed.
They were closer now and in range to snag the bark. This time Minya heard Sal's joyful bellow.
