Lantil pushed at Allel's chest, his liver-spotted hand fluttering like a bird. "You should be ashamed to speak to her that way. Can't you see she's hurt?"

But Allel kept her gaze locked with her mother's.

Slowly Boyd grinned. "Won't give up, will you? Determined to prove me wrong. All right. On one condition."

"What?"

"Take me, too. I've done my job here; maybe I want to see the Shell people, too... ah..."

The pain silenced her. Lantil pulled his daughter's blood-spattered head against his chest.

Allel loosened her mother's grasp, and went to her pallet to start her plans. She lay with her face to the bark wall.

The whole village turned out for the launch. They nudged each other and pointed out panels on the balloon which they themselves had helped stitch, forgetting Boyd's five years of bullying.

Impeded by their harnesses, Boyd and Allel labored at the bellows-like fuel pumps. The great bark envelope filled slowly, throwing swollen shadows in the flat morning light. Allel eyed the low Sun warily. They'd timed their flight to avoid a collision -- fantastic though such a prospect seemed. But, she had reasoned doggedly, the Shell was behind the Sun. They were going to fly to the Shell. Therefore they could hit the Sun, and had to navigate to avoid it.

Her harness twitched twice, as if coming awake -- and then, with a surprising surge, lifted her. The ground tilted away. People gave a ragged cheer and children chased the balloon's shadow. Boyd roared and waved her good hand at them. Her crippled arm was lashed to the rigging. "We're off, daughter!" she bellowed.

The landscape opened out and swallowed up the huddled villagers. To the north the Atad river curved into view, and beyond the site of their old home Allel could see the glaciers prowling the horizon.

She felt she was floating into a great silent box. The balloon's throat occluded the Shell's upside-down clouds. She hoisted herself into the rigging to tend the burners, prizing the stubby wicks from the resin-soaked barrels of alcohol. Gritty sweat soaked her eyes. She'd insisted they both wear quilted coats despite Boyd's protests; she remembered the frozen ice-blue bird she'd found on Hafen's Hill on another summer day, five years ago.

And sure enough, not many minutes later the dampness at her neck chilled and dried. Her breath caught and soon grew labored. "Even the damn air has a Gap here," growled Boyd. "But you know, this harness isn't chafing so much as it did."

Allel, too, felt oddly light; she had a sensation of falling. But they rose smoothly into blue silence. Soon they were miles up; clouds dissolved as they passed into them. Their world collapsed to a Shell-like map, shutting them out; above and below became symmetrical and Allel's stomach lurched.

Their rate of ascent slowed. The breeze in the rigging grew softer. The craft lumbered, unstable.

"What now?" demanded Boyd uneasily. "Watch the burners."