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promontory of a knuckle and returned. “There are what you describe, Pearson.”
    “How many People in your tribe?”
    “What do you have in your mind, Pearson?”
    Pearson told him and Yirn of the People replied. “Enough.”
    It took days, local days, for the tribe of Yirn to open the catches on the suit packs. When it became apparent the People could digest human food, a great mental rejoicing filled Pearson’s brain; and he was glad.
    It was a truly humble Yirn who later came to communicate with him. “For the first time in many, many generations, my tribe has enough to eat. We can multiply beyond the restrictions the Laws impose upon those bereft of food. One of the great blocks you call concentrates can feed the tribe for a long while. We have not tried the natural foods you say are contained in the greater pack beneath you, but we will.
    “Now we can become a real tribe and not fear those tribes that prey on the poor. All because of you, great Pearson.”
    “Just ‘Pearson,’ you understand? You call me ‘great’ again and I’ll…” He paused. “No. I won’t do anything. Even if I could. I’m finished with threatening. Just plain Pearson, if you will. And I haven’t done a goddamn thing for you. Your people got at the food all by themselves. First time I ever thought anything of concentrates.”
    “We have a surprise for you, Pearson.”
    Something was crawling with infinite slowness up his cheek. It had a little weight, more than the People. He saw it edge into his vision. A small brown block. Dozens of tiny blue-black forms surrounded it. He could hear their effort in his mind.
    The block reached his lips and he opened them. Some of the People were terrified at the nearness of that bottomless dark chasm. They turned and fled. Yirn and other leaders of the tribe took their places.
    The block passed over his lower lip. The People exerted a last, monumental effort. Some of them expired from it. The block fell into the chasm.
    Pearson felt saliva flowing, but hesitated. “I don’t know what good it’ll do in the long run, Yirn, but… thanks. You’d better herd your folks off my face, though. There’s going to be an earthqua… no, a Pearsonquake, in a moment.”
    When they were safely clear, he began to chew.
    It rained the next morning. The raindrops were the size of raindrops on Earth. They posed a terrifying threat to the tribe, if they were caught out in the open. A few drops could kill someone the size of Yirn. But the entire tribe had plenty of shelter beneath the overhang of Pearson’s right arm.
    Many weeks later, Yim sat on Pearson’s nose, staring down into oceanic eyes. “The concentrates will not last forever, and the real foods we’ve found in your ‘pack’ beneath you will last less so.”
    “Never mind that. I don’t want you to eat those. I think there’s a couple of carrots, and on an old sandwich, there should be tomato slices, lettuce, and, I think, mushrooms. Also pocya, a small kind of nut. The meat and bread you can eat, but save some of the bread. Maybe you can eat the mold.”
    “I do not understand, Pearson.”
    “How do you find food, Yirn? You’re gatherers, aren’t you?”
    “That is so.”
    “Then I want you to take the carrots, and the tomato, and the others—I’ll describe them to you—and also samples of every local plant your people eat.”
    “And do what with them, Pearson?”
    “Gather the elders of the tribe. We’ll start with the concept of irrigation…”
    Pearson was no agriculturist. But he knew, in his primitive way, that if you plant and water and weed, certain foods will grow. The People were fast learners. It was the concept of staying in one place and planting that was new to them.
    A catch basin was dug, at the cost of hundreds of tiny lives. But the concentrates gave the People great energy. Tiny rivulets began to snake outward from the basin, away from the protective bulk of Pearson. When it ceased raining, the basin and the