“First, we’ll find out how far it is across the river,” said Arthur. Spring rains had swollen the river and it rushed along, high in its banks. The water was dark muddy brown, and limbs and branches sailed by Courane as he stared across at the western side.

  “How do we do that?” asked Courane.

  “Trigonometry.” Arthur’s voice was confident. He sat down in the yard, took a twig, and began drawing in the dust. “Look, Sandy.” He sketched a figure:

  “Call the point where we are now A,” said Arthur. “That place over there, just below the start of the new road, call that B. We want to find the distance AB. Now we raise a perpendicular to AB right here. Call the line AC. We have a right triangle ABC. So the length of AB, which is the distance we’re after, is equal to the length of AC divided by the tangent of angle a.”

  “Good,” said Courane, “I remember that. Then what is angle a equal to?”

  Arthur looked up and squinted a little. “Well, to tell you the truth,” he said slowly, “we won’t be able to tell. Angle a is on the other side of the river, and the perpendicular AC would have to be very, very long in order for us to measure the angle with any kind of accuracy. A tiny error in the measurement of the angle will give us a huge error in the width of the river.”

  “Oh.”

  “Let’s draw it another way, then.” He rubbed out his triangle and drew another figure. “If we build a high tower over there and another one over here, both the same height, then we can call the tops of the towers A and B, and the bottoms C and D. We have a rectangle then, ABCD. See? Then the diagonal from the top over there to the bottom over here is the hypotenuse of two right triangles, and we can measure this angle here and compute the width of the river.”

  “You want us to build two big stone towers?” “Well—”

  “Why don’t I just swim across the river with a string in my mouth, and you hold the other end on the bank, and we measure the string?”

  Arthur’s face clouded, but he said nothing.

  “I’m sorry, Arthur,” said Courane. “How accurate would the rectangle method be?” He had little hope.

  “Very accurate, depending on how accurately we measure the angle again, of course.”

  “Right. Arthur, what are you going to measure these angles with?”

  Arthur looked up into the sky and scratched his chin. “A protractor, I guess. It wouldn’t be too hard to make one. I’m sure it wouldn’t. Anybody could make one. You construct a right angle, and divide it in half, and divide it again… . Goldie could make one, for God’s sake.” “Goldie’s pretty sick, Arthur.”

  Arthur stared at Courane for a long, silent, sad moment. A tear broke from Arthur’s eye and spilled down his cheek. “Can’t you leave me alone, Sandy?” he said in a forlorn voice. “Can’t you just pretend? Can’t you just let me have my way? Just for once? I’m not hurting anybody, am I?” He stood up, looking down at his triangles in the dirt. He dropped the twig. “Sandy, you know I’m going to die soon. What the hell difference does it make? If I want to draw bridges, why can’t you just leave me the hell alone?”

  “Arthur, I—”

  The small man gave a wordless cry and jumped at Courane. Both men fell to the ground. Courane was astonished, but not afraid. Arthur flailed at him without effect, hammering mild blows at Courane’s chest and shoulders. Courane did not move. He closed his eyes, knowing that Arthur could not hurt him, and listened like Archimedes beside his circles for the approach of death.

  When he reached the other bank, Courane realized that both boats were now on the western side, and the people in the house were stranded without means of crossing the river. They’d have to build a third boat, or swim across, or have Arthur design his—

  Arthur was dead now. Courane shipped the oars and pulled the boat up alongside the other. Maybe he should row back again, towing the second boat, leave it on the colony’s side of the river, get back in the first boat and cross the water westward again. He sat thinking about the problem for a few minutes until he forgot the problem. Then he just sat, thinking. He gazed across the coffee-colored river at the far side. He hadn’t been across the river since he stopped work on the road; he had become a kind of liability to the work crew. He would drop his tools often and stare off into space, or wander away and create unnecessary worry for the others. When Ramón and Kee arrived from Earth, Shai told Courane that he could retire from the road work. Courane was glad.

  Now, sitting here under the low cloudy sky in the autumn coolness, he realized how unfamiliar the riverbank looked, the east bank near the house. He had never really examined it before from this viewpoint. He could see the roof of the house through the red-leaved trees.

  He wondered what everyone else was up to.

  After an hour, he wondered what he was up to as well.

  The day passed, and Courane was pleasantly entertained by the great river and the occasional broken things that sailed by toward an unknown destination. Once Courane saw a large white bird flapping helplessly in the middle of the channel, unable to swim, unable to fly, its long yellow beak opening and closing as if pleading for rescue. Not long after it passed out of sight around a bend, Courane had forgotten it.

  As evening approached, he stood up and stretched his aching muscles. It was getting even cooler. He put his hands in his pockets and walked toward the boats. He found a piece of paper and took it out. It was his map. “Oh, yes,” he said, remembering it all now. He left the boats and climbed the slope to the road.

  He stood looking out across the plain for a while, toward the west where the sun was dropping closer to the hills. That was where Rachel had gone, he thought, although he had no real proof that after she crossed the river she had followed the road. It just seemed very likely and, in his less than rigorous frame of mind, that was sufficient reason to ignore any other idea. He could not see her, of course, but it was probable that she was on the road somewhere between where he was standing now and the distant hills. She couldn’t have reached them yet. He started after her, enjoying the walk and the weather and the illusory feeling of freedom and self-sufficiency. He still gave no thought to how hungry he was going to be in the morning.

  It was another time when Courane couldn’t tell if he were asleep or living in the past, dreaming or remembering. Markie was very near death. Alohilani was in the final stages of the disease, and Sheldon was beginning to slip rapidly. At intervals, Courane would look up thoughtfully and catch Rachel gazing at him. That embarrassed him; he hurried to glance back at Lani sleeping fitfully in the bed beside him.

  The colonists kept a silent watch, hoping for nothing, waiting for nothing, just filling out the portion of time left to their friends. They felt that they ought to sit beside them. They felt it was their duty, made necessary by their love. They knew their friends would not agree with that, but they couldn’t abandon their vigil. They sat and waited and thought … and sometimes even prayed.

  Courane prayed, something he had done but two or three times as a child. On the previous occasions, he prayed to Santa Gaus a couple of times and, once at the age of thirteen, to Aphrodite. Aphrodite had been a complete washout, but Santa Gaus had come through at least once. Now, though, he was praying to God. He had never addressed God before in anything other than surprise or exasperation. “God,” he murmured, “please let her get well.”

  “God can’t do that,” whispered someone.

  Courane was startled that anyone had heard him. In his dream or his reverie, in the dim evening light he saw Molly sitting beside Markie. “God won’t do things like that,” she said.

  “Oh,” he said.

  “God isn’t a department store. You can’t let God take care of fixing things up for you. You can’t let a situation get worse and worse and then throw it in God’s lap.”

  “I guess not.”

  “No,” said Molly. She looked very tired. She had been showing signs of D fever herself for several weeks.

  “I just want her to get well,” said Courane.

  Molly’s expression grew softer. “I know, Sandy, we all do. But she won’t.”

  “I know.”

  There was a long silence. Courane heard the thump of snow as it slid heavily from the roof. “You have to be strong now,” said Molly. She shrugged. It was the best sentiment she had to offer.

  “I will,” said Courane hopelessly. “I’ll be strong enough. I’m praying to God for the strength. When God answers, then I’ll be strong.”

  “Who do you think God is, Sandy? The Easter bunny?”

  For a moment, Courane only stared. That was pretty much how he thought of God. “No, of course not,” he said. “I was only saying that I’ve recognized my failings and I’m desperate to do something about them. I admit my weakness. Now it’s all up to God.”

  “And what are you going to do until then?”

  He shrugged. “I told you. I can’t do anything.” He smiled with a great deal of embarrassment; his own words sounded pitiful to him.

  Molly’s expression indicated that her thoughts were suddenly in some other place and time. “My father used to tell me about the two men,” she said in a soft, hoarse voice. “They go into space, you see, in little tiny rocket-ships. One man in his ship isn’t sure that there’s enough fuel to get him home safely, so he decides to toss out everything that might be robbing fuel away from his safe landing. ‘Better safe than sorry,’ he says, and out it all goes, food, on-board computer, pressure suit, everything, floating into space. The second man says to himself, ‘Better safe than sorry, but I don’t know what I’m going to need and what I can afford to throw away. I shouldn’t just get rid of things I might need later. I will rely on God to let me know what to do.’”

  “I see,” said Courane. He didn’t have the faintest idea what Molly’s story meant.

  “The first man is going to regret his action one moment, and take pride in his detachment the next,” said Molly. “The second man admits his own helplessness and depends on God’s providence.”

  “I see,” said Courane. He started to ask Molly a question about her meaning, but her expression stopped him. She was looking across the room, at a dim shadowed part of the opposite wall. She did not move. She was having a memory lapse, and was completely oblivious to him now.

  “Rachel,” murmured Courane.

  “Sandy?” she said.

  “I’ve got to go downstairs.”

  “It’s all right. They won’t miss us. Goldie will be up here soon.”

  “I want to wake up, Rachel,” said Courane.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  On the twentieth of August, 124, fourteen people from the colony on Tau Ceti, Planet C, came to visit. There were seven women, five men, and two young children.

  “Do they seem strange to you?” asked Courane.

  Daan shrugged his shoulders. “Strange? I’ll bet we look strange to them too.”

  “No, that’s not what I mean. Look at them. They’re all very thin. Sort of starved looking, and very tall and angular.”

  “There’s probably a reason for that,” said Arthur.

  Fletcher looked at*him expectantly. “Well?” he asked at last.

  Arthur was surprised. “I just said there’s probably a reason. That doesn’t mean that I know what it is.”

  “They’re tall,” said Goldie. “And very narrow. And look at their hands! They’re huge. And their wrists. And elbows. Their joints are peculiar.”

  “Maybe they’re an odd family that’s chosen to live under strange conditions on another planet,” said Molly. “Probably. That’s probably all it is.”

  “We ought to welcome them,” said Daan, as they all watched the visitors walking toward them across the field.

  “Uh huh,” murmured Fletcher. No one moved.

  When the Tau Ceti people got within a few yards of the house, they stopped and waited. “Go on, Daan,” muttered Molly.

  Daan went down the steps and walked toward them. One of the tallest men extended a hand; Daan grasped it. “Welcome to Home,” said Daan.

  “Home,” said the man. “That’s what we call our world, too.” He turned around to tell the others who had come with him. They laughed briefly, showing large white teeth. They seemed in a festive mood, considering their situation.

  “Well,” said Daan, “I guess we’ll just make you comfortable now. It’s about lunchtime here, but that doesn’t mean it was afternoon when you folks left home.”

  “It was the middle of the night, to tell the truth,” said the Tau Cetan.

  “Right. Well, Arthur, Lani, Molly, and Kenny will help you with anything you need. We have rooms for you, you’ll have to double up.”

  “No problem,” said the tall man. “My name is J. T. That there is my wife Edna, our boy J. T., Jr., she’s holding. Next to her is Kwan, and Ali, and Bruno and Flanna, and Emalia. The little girl Emalia’s holding, that’s Farica. This is Yoshio, Jens and Juana, Akuba, and Tamara. We’re glad to be here. You have a lovely planet.” He looked up skeptically at the sky and around at the unsettling colors that marked the trees and plants near the house.

  “We’re sure you’ll be comfortable,” said Daan. “My name is Daan and this is—”

  “Do you think we could get some rest now?” asked one of the men—Courane had not caught his name in the rapid introduction.

  Daan looked disappointed. “Yes, of course,” he said lamely. He indicated the house with a quick wave, turned, and trusted that they would all follow him. He did not look back to see if he was right.

  Later that day it developed that the Tau Cetans had brought with them a quantity of a substance that seemed like potato salad, and a container of some pale blue liquid. “What should we do with this stuff?” asked Arthur.

  Kenny sniffed at the black potato salad and made a face. “I wouldn’t eat this,” he said.

  “We’ll smile politely and let them eat all of it,” said Courane.

  The table was too small, so the twenty-six people ate a picnic in the yard. Courane sat with a young woman named Kwan. “Our world is a lot different,” she said.

  “In what ways?” asked Courane.

  “It’s prettier. It seems … fresher than here. Our sky is bright and clean. The insects aren’t so aggressive. That is, most of the time they’re not.”

  “Ah. Is that why you’re here?”

  “In a way,” she said. “I don’t really understand it very well. I didn’t see anything wrong, but Ali says that’s the way it is. If we stayed long enough to see it, we’d never live through it.”

  “Through what?”

  Kwan just shrugged to indicate that she didn’t have any notion at all. “Ali, explain about the plague to— Sandy? Is that your name?” Courane nodded.

  Ali, like the others, was very gaunt. His fingers seemed unnaturally long and thin, and the knuckles in comparison were like walnuts. His larynx protruded like a greedy gulp stuck halfway down, and his cheekbones rose massively over sunken hollows that shadowed his face. His eyes, deep and black, watched steadily whomever he addressed. His deathlike appearance made Courane shudder.

  “Once every twelve years,” said Ali with a trace of accent, “there is a pestilence on Planet C, our Home. A natural enemy of some sort, invisible for more than a decade, rises from the ground and takes to the air, spreading hunger and death. Consequently our colony must evacuate during these times and wait out the evil, then go back to our ruined Home and begin anew. Ours is a history of horror and courage.” He seemed very proud and smug when he finished, as though the colonists from Tau Ceti had many special things to be satisfied about.

  “How many of you have lived through this before?” asked Sheldon.

  J. T. looked around at the others, then shrugged and shook his head.

  “The longest any of us have been on the planet is about three years,” said one of the women.

  “Hm,” said Kenny.

  “Try some of this sandsquash,” said Arthur. He was upset that so much talking was going on and so little eating.

  “We’ve heard about the past plagues, though,” said Ali.

  Kenny ate some smudgeon. “Where?” he asked casually.

  “From TECT, of course,” said J. T. Kenny only smiled more broadly.

  “Well, I for one would like to thank you all for your hospitality,” said one of the Tau Cetan men. “We know how disturbing this is in the middle of the summer, for farming folk like you. We’re much the same way, so we can appreciate what we’re putting you through.”

  Arthur waved a hand. “Not at all. Maybe you can do the same for us someday.”

  “Sure,” said Edna. “We’d be happy to.”

  “Try some pivo,” said Kwan, pouring some of the pale blue beer for Courane.

  Kenny put his hand on Courane’s arm. “I wouldn’t drink that, Sandy,” he said.

  Courane tasted just a little with the tip of his tongue. He winced. “My God, is that stuff bitter,” he said.

  J. T raised his cup. “We like it,” he said. He drank it all down.

  “Would you like some of the salad we brought with us?” asked one of the other women.

  “No, thanks very much,” said Fletcher.

  “Another time,” said Courane. “I’ve had plenty to eat.”

  The two men looked at each other. Fletcher raised an eyebrow. Not that there could be anything unwholesome about the food from Tau Ceti, but Courane was getting a bad feeling from those people. He didn’t know what it meant, but evidently Fletcher was picking it up as well.

  “So,” said Molly, “how long do you think you’ll be with us?”

  “Not long,” said J. T. “A few days, a couple of weeks. A month at the most. TECT will call us back.”

  “A month.” Courane saw Kenny form the words silently with his lips, shaking his head. Then the boy laughed at his private joke.

  The sky was almost clear of clouds, and the sun was bright and warm. A bird’s sharp cry broke through Courane's thoughts, and he realized with a moment of panic that he would have to drop his burden or fall. He was stumbling down a grassy hill, and he was afraid that he was about to have a crippling accident. He dropped the woman’s body, but fell anyway. He rolled painfully to the bottom and lay where he came to rest, breathing heavily and trying to understand what had happened to him. He lifted a hand and touched his face; he didn’t find blood. His knees and arms were scraped bloody and throbbing. He had hit his head on a rock, and his skull seemed to vibrate with concentric rings of pain. He waited with his eyes closed until everything seemed to be settled and at peace again.