A man in a white tunic was talking to men in blue or red ponchos that fit like oversized sacks. Presently the others all launched themselves along the bark toward the lowest of the column of huts.

"Who's that?" the Grad asked.

The Scientist's Apprentice disdained to answer. The pilot said, "That's Kiance the Scientist. Your new owner. No surprise there, he thinks he owns the whole tree."

Klance the Scientist was arguing with himself as he approached the carm. His white smock reached just below his hips; the ends of a citizen's loose poncho showed below. He was tall for a tree dweller, and lean but for a developing pot belly. Not a fighter, the Grad thought- forty-odd, with slack muscles. His hair was thick and white, his nose narrow and convexly curved. In a moment the Grad heard his voice speaking out of the air.

"Lawn." Sharp, with a peremptory snap in it.

The pilot tapped the yellow button and spread two fingertips apart over the resulting pattern of yellow lines (remember), beating Lawri to it. The carm's two doors swung out and in.

The Scientist was already in conversation as he entered. "They want to know when I can move the tree. Damn fools. They only just finished topping off the reservoir. If I moved it now the water would just float away. First we have to-" He stopped. His eyes flicked to the pilot's back (the pilot hadn't bothered to turn around), then to the Grad, then to Lawri. "Well?"

"He's the Scientist of a ruined tribe. He carried these." Lawn held up plastic boxes.

"Old science." His eyes turned greedy. "Tell me later," he said. "Pilot."

The Navy man's head turned.

"Was the carm damaged in any way? Was anything lost?"

"Certainly not. If you need a detailed report-"

"No, that will do. The rest of the Navy party is waiting for the elevator. I think you can still catch it."

The pilot nodded stiffly. He rose and launched himself toward the twin doors. He nearly brushed the Scientist, who held his ground, pulled himself through the doors and was gone.

The Scientist tapped at yellow lights. The window sprouted a display.

"Fuel tanks are damn near dry. We'll be filling them for weeks. Otherwise. . . looks all right. Lawn, from you I do want a detailed report, but tell me now if anything happened."

"He seemed to know what he was doing. I don't love the treefeeder, but he didn't bump any rocks. The foray team brought back these, and him."

The Scientist took the plastic objects Lawn handed him. "A reader!" he breathed. "You bring me treasure. What's your name?"

The Grad hesitated, then, "Jeffer."

"Jeffer, I'll wait for your story. We'll get you cleaned up first. All these years I've been waiting for the Navy to lose my carm, reader and all. I can't tell you what it means to have a spare."