Minya nodded. She didn't want to talk. When a problem couldn't be solved and wouldn't go away, what could one do but run? She had run

as far as a human being could go. It was working: she felt at peace here,

halfway between infinities.

The tree seemed to run forever in both directions. The Dark Tuft, backlit by Voy and the sun, was a halo of green fluff with a black core. Outward, Dalton-Quinn Tuft was barely larger. A few drifting clouds, wisps of green forest, whorls of storm were all outward. Eastward was a point of bright light off-center in a dark rim: the same small pond that had been drifting tantalizingly closer for a score of days.

Maybe, maybe it would come. They didn't talk about it. Bad luck.

Between the drought and the recent political upsets, it had been too long since the Triune Squad had been free for treetending duty. They had been needed as police. One could hope that the executions had settled the troubles; but now the triads were finding parasites and patches of old-man's-hair everywhere on the trunk. Today they were burning virtually a field of the horrid stuff.

Motion caught Minya's eye, outward and windward. Blue-againstblue, hard to see, something big. The sun was nearly at nadir, glaring up. She held a hand beneath her eyes, and squinted, and presently said, "Triune."

Smitta snapped alert. "Interested in us? Sal!"

Sal sang out from behind the smoke cloud. "I see it."

Minya said, "They're interested. They're pretty close already."

Smitta had pulled herself against the trunk and was readying her weapons. "I fought a triune once. They're smarter than swordbirds. You can scare them off. Just remember, if we kill one, we'll have to kill all three."

The torpedo-shaped object was closer now. It was nearly the blue of the sky, slowly rotating. Six big eyes showed in turn around the circumference, and three great gauzy fins . . . one smaller than the other.

That would be the juvenile. Minya whispered, "What do we need?"

"Bows and arrows ready? Tether your arrow and scoop up some burning old-man's-hair on the point. Lucky we had a fire going. Know where your jet pods are, you may need them."

Minya could feel her heart pulsing in her throat. It was her second trip up the trunk . . . but Smitta and Sal had been up many times. They were tough and experienced. Sal was a burly, red-haired fortyyear-old who had joined the Triune Squad at age twelve. Smitta had been born a man; she was a woman by courtesy.

Stay clear of Smftta~ Minya told herself. Smitta was slow to anger, but under pressure something could snap in her mind. Then Smitta

fought like a berserker, even among her own, and the only way to at her was to pile on her.

Minya strung her hardwood bow and used an arrow point to dig a gob of burning fungus. Ready-?