They were just passing over the Children she had seen down by the shipwreck. Five boys and two girls. From this altitude she could recognize every one. Yeah, these were the ones. Johanna shook her head, muttering to herself. “You see that?” she said to Pilgrim.

“Of course I see.” Pilgrim had three snouts pressed close to one clear spot or another. He had no trouble seeing in multiple directions. “What’s to see?”

“The Children. They were throwing stones at drowning Tines.” She checked off the names in her mind, vowing to remember. “Øvin Verring. I never dreamed he would do something like that.” Øvin had been exactly her age. They’d been evenly matched at school, and friends in a non-romantic way.

The skiff performed a tooth-rattling dip and bounce. Johanna had learned to keep her tongue from between her teeth when she rode this gadget. Nowadays she barely noticed the acrobatics, except when they were close to hard objects.

Pilgrim recovered control; he didn’t seem to notice the bouncing either. “To be honest, Jo, I don’t think Verring was throwing stones. He was hanging back.”

“So? He should have stopped the others…” They passed over another Child, this one smaller, falling behind the others. A fivesome was walking with the boy. It was one of only three packs that seemed mixed up with these delinquents. “See? Even little Timor Ristling was down there messing around. He was acting as lookout for the others!” Timor was a cripple now. He had been healthy enough at the High Lab, but even then she had pitied him. He’d been about her brother’s age, but he came from a family of low-level integrators, far beneath the brilliant scientists and archeologists who were reanimating the old archive. The closest analogy on Tines World would be to say Timor’s folks were janitors, sweeping up the glittering trash that more gifted folks left behind. The boy had never done well in his school classes; he just didn’t have a mind for technological thinking.