afraid to touch things now. They might go away. They might turn into smoke,and my hand will keep on reaching through the smoke andtouch--something...God, maybe. Or worse yet, maybe not. No one really knowswhat it will be like here when we've finished. We're traveling toward anunknown land and it's too late to go back. We're moving through a dream,heading toward an idea...Sometimes I miss my cell...and all the littlemachines that took care of me there. Maybe I can't adapt. Maybe I'mlike the green bird..."

"No, Sanza. You're not. We're real. No matter what happens out there,we will last. Everything is changing because we want it to change.We're stronger than the world, and we'll squeeze it and paint it and pokeholes in it until we've made it exactly the way we want it. Then we'll takeit and cover it with cities and children. You want to see God? Go look inthe mirror. God has pointed ears and green eyes. He is covered with softgray fur. When He raises His hand there is webbing between His fingers."

"It is good that you are strong, Jarry."

"Let's get out the power sled and go for a ride."

"All right."

Up and down, that day, they drove through Deadland, where the darkstones stood like clouds in another sky.

It was twelve and a half hundred years.

Now they could breathe without respirators, for a short time.

Now they could bear the temperature, for a short time.

Now all the green birds were dead.

Now a strange and troubling thing began.

The bipeds came by night, made markings on the snow, left dead animalsin the midst of them. This happened now with much more frequency than it hadin the past. They came long distances to do it, many of them with fur whichwas not their own upon their shoulders.

Jarry searched through the history files for all the reports on the