The supervisor called, "Pedal, you copsiks!" and they did. More passengers were coming down. Over the squeal of the gears Horse said, "I flunked the obedience test. Sometimes I'm glad I didn't go."

Huh? "Go?"

"To another tree. That's where you go if you pass the tests. Heh, you are green, aren't you? Did you think your kids would stay as citizens if they passed the tests?"

"That's. . . yes." He hadn't been told that, he'd been allowed to assume it. "There are other trees? How many? Who lives in them?"

Horse chuckled. "You want to know everything at once? I think it's four bud trees now, settled by any copsik woman's kid who passes the tests. London Tree goes between them, trading for what they need. Any man's kid has the same chance as a citizen's, because nobody ever knows, see? I thought I wanted to go, once. But it's been thirty-five years.

"I did think I'd be picked for service in the out tuft. I should've been. I'm second-generation . . . and when they turned me down for that, I damn near lost my testes for swatting a supervisor. Jorg, there"-Horse indicated the man pedaling in front of him-"he did. Poor copsik. I don't know what the gentled ones do when the Holidays come."

Gavving still hadn't learned to shave without cutting himself. It was not his choice. All copsiks shaved. He had seen no man wearing a beard in London Tree, save one; and that one was Patry, a Navy officer. "Horse, is that why they make us shave? So the gentled ones won't be quite so obvious?"

"I never thought of that. Maybe."

"Horse . . . you must actually have seen the tree move."

Horse's laughter brought a supervisor's head around. He lowered his voice. "Did you think it was just a story? We move the tree about once a year! I've been on water details too, to feed the carm."

"What's it like?"

"It's like the tide goes slantwise. Going to the treemouth is like climbing a hill. You don't want any hunting parties out when it happens, and you have to tilt the cookpot. The whole trunk of the tree bendsalittle. . ."

"Lawn," said the Grad, "trouble."

Lawn glanced back. The pond clung to the bark, a flattened heinisphere. The Grad had run the hose into the water. Now the water was flowing up the outside of the hose, forming a collar.

"Don't worry about it. Just get to the bicycle and pedal," Lawn told him. "And don't call me that."

The Grad strapped himself to the saddle and started the pedals turning. The gears moved a pump. It was all starstufl metal, discolored with age. The collar of water shrank as water was sucked into the hose.