The day came when Carlot called her father and pointed outward. "Isn't that a pod grove?"

Backlit by the sun, the cluster might almost have been a miniature tree grove hundreds of klomters out. "Small ... yes. Too far, though."

"Why?" Debby asked.

"Well, it'd take too long to ... I'd forgotten the CARM. Let's ask Jeffer."

Jeffer summoned up his windows-within-windows. "Sure, we can get there. Clave, want to take a trip?"

"Can we find our way back? The tree looks big when you're tied to it, but from six hundred klomters away-"

"Trust me."

Forty plants grew in a loose cluster, all much alike. From a fibrous cup that faced west, a long, limp leaf trailed eastward, waving sluggishly in the wind. A thick vine reached a hundred meters out from the boll, ending in a kind of collar. Each collar held a brown egg-shape.

"Those are jet pods," Debby realized suddenly. "We used to ride them in Carther States."

Booce directed Rather to one of the largest plants. Carlot and Debby hung back. Rather the Silver Man circled the pod, cautious in the face of a new thing: a fibrous brown egg as big as the common room in his father's hut. There was tide enough to pull the vine taut. Smaller pods grew in a spiral around the stem end, ranging from fistsized to man-sized. Replacements, he surmised, that would grow after the ripe one dropped away.

Satisfied, Rather wrapped his legs around the stem for leverage and swung his matchet.

The sound blasted his whole body. The sky spun round him. Tide was pulling him apart. His fingers and toes felt like they were inflating as spin pulled blood into them.

Against the tide that was pulling him rigid, Rather forced his legs vertical to his torso, pulled an arm against his chest, and fired the ankle jets. The spinning sky slowed. He aimed his feet against the spin and brought it to a stop.

Battered and deafened, he pulled his helmet open to hear what Booce was shouting at him.

"That one was ripe! Try another plant!"

Rather jetted toward the grove. Booce guided him from a distance. "No, that one's stunted. We want a big one."

"Aren't the big ones likely to be riper?"

"That's why we use armor! Try there-"

The pod exploded, blowing him west and away, while seeds sponged off the silver suit. The spin was less this time; the blow had been more direct. Rather opened his helmet. "I think I had more fun on the tree!"

"It's too wet here. The pods like to spread their seeds when there's water around. Try that one. Close your helmet!"

Rather seriously considered telling the alien merchant to go feed himself to the tree. But he was already moving toward a third vine. There isn't any other Silver Man, he thought. He swung viciously at the base of the pod. And what am I, if I'm not the Silver Man?