"Well, we saw Serjent House a few days ago. It was twenty degrees spinward of the Market and maybe fifteen klomters skyward. Doesn't look like anyone's disturbed it. Can you remember to tell him?"

"Stet. Tell me something else?"

"Sure."

Debby waved around her. "I'm surrounded by teeth. How can so many of you keep most of your teeth?"

Grag fished in his tunic and produced a stick like a third eating stick, carved in the same way, with a tuft of bristly vegetable matter at the end. "Scrape your teeth after you eat," he said, and grinned at the tree dwellers' dubious looks.

Another gourd of fringe tea came past. Rather was thirsty; but nobody was taking more than a mouthful, and he didn't either. He passed it to Grag, who drank deeply and sent it on.

"Why do they call you Half Hand?" Debby asked.

"My great-square grandfather was Half Hand. Stuff that moved the old CARM sprang a leak, froze his hand. Grandfather was Half Hand too. Got bit while he was Dark hunting. Now me. Soon or late, I lose it." The idea didn't seem to bother him. "Raym, sell me some walnutcushion?"

"Not this trip. Next time."

"I need it. Goes good with potatoes. Green beans too."

"Next time for sure," Raym promised.

Nurse Lockheed laughed and said, "He can't. He doesn't have a ship."

Carlot was shocked. "Raym? You lost your shipT'

Raym nodded without looking at her.

Half Hand quietly moved off toward the kitchen. Nurse reached out and lifted Raym's chin. "Tell them the story, Raym!"

It was the last thing Raym Wilby wanted. Some of the locals were looking embarrassed. Clave was quick enough

to catch it. "If it's story time, I'll tell you about the breakup of Dalton-Quinn Tree."

Raym's ship was forgotten as Clave talked.

Rather knew the tale too well. What he noticed was the rise in the noise level. Half Hand's was turning boisterous. Clave's words were just perceptibly slurred, as if he were sleepy; yet he was animated, frenetic, as he relived what had been the end of the world for him and for Rather's parents. Rather himself was feeling strange.

Half Hand was back. "Look out the window or go outside," he said. "See something."

"Water," Rather said clearly.

"What?"

"Water, not fringe tea. Does something to my head."

"Oh. Get you water, stet. M'shell! I'll fix it. Tree dwellers shouldn't drink too much fringe. Get to a window, boy. Thank me later."

The nearest window was crowded, but Rather managed to get his head into the grouping. He watched three kitchen women carry garbage barrels outside and fling their contents across the sky. Nothing happened for a time. Rather continued to watch. He felt as if he were dreaming. Fringe?

He dreamed that triunes abruptly converged from all directions, splitting into individuals as they came. Rather shouted: not a warning, just an incoherent yell.