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appeared; then a solid hard square of it. The exit ladder slid out and unfolded with agonizing slowness.
    Goodman was the first out, scrambling down the ladder, pointing his gun this way and that. “Nobody here,” he said when he got to the ground.
    O’Hara followed close behind him. The area did look deserted, and the jungle was reclaiming it. Thick under-growth lapped over the edges of the runway, and here and there the concrete had cracked, grass muscling up through it.
    She had never used a spacesuit in gravity before. It felt like being wrapped up in stiff heavy bindings. She hoped they wouldn’t have to move fast.
    It took twenty minutes to get to the Mercedes shuttle. By that time O’Hara was breathing hard, cold with evaporated sweat. The air conditioner was working unevenly, with cold spots on her chest and under her chin, but her back was warm and clammy.
    “Trouble,” Berrigan said, pointing into the jungle beyond the Mercedes. “People in there.” Her amplified voice boomed out. “We mean you no harm. Just stay away from us.”
    A single arrow arced toward them, falling far short. Goodman raised his gun but Berrigan pushed the nozzle down. “No. Not yet—Ten, you repeat what I said.”
    Ten shouted a loud string of Swahili. A high-pitched voice answered him. “He says they know we’re from the Worlds; they know we’re the ones who killed their parents. If we don’t leave they’ll kill us.”
    “Tell them we’ll leave when we’re ready to. Then all four of you fire into the air.”
    While Ten was talking, two more arrows sailed in, falling only a few meters short One skidded along the concrete and came to rest almost at Ten’s feet. When he stopped talking he picked up the arrow and broke it. Then the guns roared and he spoke again.
    “I told them to throw their weapons on the ground and leave. That if they hinder us we’ll burn down the jungle with them in it.”
    “Good. I hope they believe it.” After a minute seven or eight children, one of them conspicuously tall, stepped out of the bush and threw down a collection of bows, arrows, and spears. The little ones ducked immediately back into shelter, but the tall one shook a spear at them, shouting, and then buried the spear in the ground. He stood with his back to them for a minute and walked slowly into the bush.
    “Some sort of a curse?” Berrigan asked.
    “I imagine. Some dialect I don’t know.”
    “Well… everybody keep a lookout while I do the systems check.”
    At the entrance to the lift there was a human skull and crossed femurs. She kicked them away and slapped a red button. The lift hummed and the doors began to slide open. “Well, at least…my God. Look at this.”
    A black cloud of flies swarmed out. Inside the lift were dozens of clean-picked skeletons and three fresher bodies, busy with insect life. Spacesuits have a provision for vomiting, an emergency aspirator, and several of them were put to use. O’Hara was surprised the sight didn’t make her sick, and decided that was because it was too Grand Guignol—so revolting she couldn’t really accept its reality. But she didn’t look twice.
    “Somebody help me clear this out. But keep watching.”
    O’Hara scanned the edge of the jungle intently for a few minutes, but there was no motion. “Ahmed…this was one of the most civilized places on Earth, when I washere. How could they revert to savagery so quickly?”
    “Oh, I don’t think you can say they’ve reverted. Not in the sense that they’ve forgotten civilization. I think what we see here is partly a game—they are children, after all—and partly an attempt at social organization.” In normal times, Ahmed taught anthropology. “Before the war, most of them got some tribal lore at home and studied precolonial history in school. The popular folk heroes dated back to tribal times, and so did a lot of mass entertainment. They’re just acting out a pattern that’s reassuringly familiar.”
    “Living