WE'VE BEEN TRYING TO KEEP TO EARTH TIME, BUT THAT WORD "DAY" IS ABOUT AS USEFUL AS BALLS ON A CHECKER. THE CLOSER YOU GET TO VOY, THE SHORTER THE DAYS GET, DOWN TO ABOUT TWO HOURS. CLOSER THAN THAT, THE AIR'S TOO THIN AND THERE'S NO WATER TO SPEAK OF. AT A TEN-HOUR ORBIT, SAME THING, THERE'S NOTHING TO BREATHE. WE'VE BEEN KEEPING TO SHIP-TIME. TWENTY-FOUR HOURS CONSTITUTE A "SLEEP." A "DAY" IS ONE ORBIT AROUND VOY, WHEREVER YOU HAPPEN TO BE. GOLD'S ORBIT IS A "STANDARD DAY."

THE STATE TAKES ITS DATES FROM THE YEAR OF ITS FOUNDING. WE'VE DONE THE SAME, DATING SMOKE RING YEARS FROM FOUR YEARS AGO. OUR YEARS ARE HALF A ROTATION OF VOY AND ITS COMPANION SUN . . . HALF BECAUSE IT'S MORE CONVENIENT.

IF DISCIPLINE EVER DOES COME BACK FOR US, KENDY WILL HAVE TO LEARN A WHOLE NEW LANGUAGE.

-MICHELLE MICHAELS, COMMUNICATIONS

THE HUTS OF CITIZENS TREE WERE ENCLOSURES MADE BY weaving living spine branches into a kind of wicker-work. The Scientists' hut was larger than most, and more cluttered too.

The Scientists were the tribe's teachers and doctors. Any hut would have harpoons protruding from the walls and high ceiling; but here the wicker sprouted starstuff knives, pots of herbs and pastes, and tools for writing.

The hut was crowded. Lawri stepped carefully among five sleeping jungle giants.

She'd covered their wounds in undyed cloth. The strangers moaned and twisted in their sleep. The youngest girl, with her hair burned down to the scalp on one side of her head, was holding herself half in the air.

The noise from outside wasn't helping. Lawri bent to get through the doorway. "Could you hold it down!" she whisper-snarled. "These citizens don't need . . . oh. Clave . . . Chairman, I'm trying to give them some quiet. Can you take the talk to the commons?"

Clave and Anthon were intimidated into silence. Jeffer asked, "Can any of them answer questions?"

"They're asleep. They haven't said anything sensible."

Her husband merely nodded. Lawri went back in. Rustling sounds receded. For a moment she felt remorse. Jeffer would want to see the strangers as much as anyone.

When the burns healed, the strangers would be handsome, but in weird fashion. Only birds wore the gaudy colors of their scorched clothing. Their skin was dark; their lips and noses were broad; their hair was like black pillows.

The youngest girl stirred, thrashed, and opened her eyes. "Tide," she said wonderingly. The dark eyes focused. "Who're you?"

"I'm Lawri the Scientist. You're in Citizens Tree. You're safe now."

The girl twisted to see the others. "Wend?"

"One of you died."

The girl moaned.

"Can you tell me who you are and how you came here?"

"I'm Carlot," the girl said. Two tears were growing.

"We're Serjent House. Loggers. There was afire ... the whole tree caught fire. Wend got caught when the water tank let go." She shook her head; teardrop globules flew wide.