BRILLIANT AS IT WAS, THE NEUTRON STAR WAS TOO small to give much illumination. Yet the sky was never dark, even at crossyear, when the sun at nadir had to shine through the full thickness of the Smoke Ring's farther arc. One must seek darkness in a cloud or a jungle or a tree tuft, or in the unoccupied depths of the Clump.

Now the sun was dead east, somewhere behind the slowly roiling blotch that was their destination. It was gloomy in the shadow of the Clump. Masses near the white-fringed black mass seemed to blaze in contrast.

"We're better than halfway home," Booce said. "Debby, I've been looking for more pod plants. The last thing I ever wanted was to come home with a pod for my cabin, but we don't have time to build real cabins."

"The rocket's finished otherwise?"

"Yes."

"Good." Debby had been working hard. Her tunic was off and her pale skin glistened with sweat. "Now, how do we make it work?"

"Trade secret."

Debby regarded Booce angrily. "We built the treefeeding thing. You won't tell us how to make it go?"

"Classified, Debby."

"Will you tell us how to make it stop? In an emergency, if you and Carlot aren't in reach, how do I stop it from just burning up?"

"We'll get an extra pod and fill it with water to pour on the pipefire-"

"Very good! Now, suppose you and Carlot both fall off the tree and lose your wings and we've got to come after you. Suppose you left the rocket going. What do I want to do?"

Booce found her persistence disturbing. "Use the CARM, I suppose-"

"The CARM is gone."

"They're only refueling it."

"It could be gone again!"

"Then use your wings. Don't try to use the rocket. That's dangerous."

Debby glared and was silent. She was Booce's height and almost Booce's age, marked by a dangerous and exotic beauty. Pale-brown skin, pale straight hair, fiery blue eyes; a face all planes and angles, with a nose like an axe head. She was the type of woman who would remake a man, who would run his life for him. As Ryllin was. And Ryllin was far away . . . and ifBooce carried that thought further, Ryllin would know somehow, and Booce would regret it greatly. Booce looked at the sky to escape Debby's eyes.

He'd been watching the sky for days now. They were closing on the Clump. Matter would be thicker here, even this far in: more ponds, plant life, animals, predators, perhaps Navy craft or wandering happyfeet.

West of out, almost behind the log's remaining tuft, he found paired bright and dark dots: the pond and the CARM. No sign of pod plants. Would they have to cut wood from the out branch after all? Branchwood was better ... but it was hard work, and the cabins would be crude.