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west. But then the memory of Tamira seized him, and he felt a wave of guilt that even for an instant he had imagined abandoning her. Not a chance in a million anyhow that he could escape, he realized as well, but at least for a moment, he might be free.
    "You won't get fifty strides," Ha'ark announced calmly. "And besides, what of your companion?"
    Hans looked over at him, startled. Can this one read thoughts, he wondered. Andrew believed they could. Was it true? He looked at Ha'ark, who smiled cryptically.
    Hans followed Ha'ark's lead and they set off at a leisurely canter, weaving through the maze of yurts. More than once they passed a family clan sitting around a fire, and in more than one boiling pot Hans saw part of a human body.
    At the approach of the Qar Qarth, all rose and then bowed low, many openly curious at the sight of a human riding.
    "They're primitives," Ha'ark announced.
    "You hold them in contempt?"
    "No. Not really. More in tolerance. According to our legends, the ones of my world, these are the ancestors, who once bestrode the universe—until the Great War. They were the builders of the Tunnels that let one leap between worlds. It was a shock to discover them reverted, decadent. But we shall raise them up to their former glory once again."
    The way Ha'ark had said, "We shall raise them up" had a certain chill to it. Hans knew that Ha'ark was not speaking in his native tongue, but the use of the plural was unsettling.
    Once out of the camp, Ha'ark urged his mount to a gallop and Hans followed. The surging of the horse beneath him and the wind in his hair set his pulse to pounding. He closed his eyes for a moment, and he was twenty-five years younger, galloping across the Texas plains, chasing Comanche in his first charge. The vast steppe rolled by beneath him. Cresting a low hill, they galloped down into a hollow that was already filling with the damp mist of early evening and then back up another rise. Now Ha'ark gained the crest ahead of him, and reined in, his mount rearing up. Hans came to a stop beside him. He was about to speak, to make a comment about the pleasure of riding, when he felt his heart constrict.
    Ha'ark smiled at him.
    Hans looked disbelievingly at the thousands of humans who labored in the valley below. Then in the distance came a low mournful sound that chilled his blood.
    "You're building a railroad," Hans whispered.
    Ha'ark again smiled. "Twenty miles already back to the city of the Chin. Thousands of humans are laboring upon it in the mines and foundries, turning out rails, cutting ties, building bridges. We're laying a quarter mile of track a day."
    Ha'ark edged his mount in closer to Hans.
    "It was the one advantage you had in your last war that the Merki lacked. You could move strategically by rail. You could support an army hundreds of miles away. The Merki were dependent on the grass around them, on what food they could harvest within a few days' march. Your Keane chose his ground well to fight upon and burned everything as he retreated. Now, that will not help."
    Hans sat meditatively, watching the labor gangs working under the threat of Bantag overseers. He found an old craving coming back and wished more than anything for a good chew. Ha'ark extended his hand to Hans. In it was a tightly bound twist of tobacco. Amazed, Hans looked at his companion, who smiled.
    "At times I can," Ha'ark replied coolly. "The Merki had the tradition of the tu and the ka. The spirit walker and the warrior spirit. If we practice, some of us do have the ability to see as I now see you."
    Hans felt a ripple of fear. Was all that he was thinking, the fear created at the sight of the railroad, the sense of doom it created—had Ha'ark picked up on that as well? He hesitated for an instant and then reached for the plug, nodding his thanks as he took a bite. The jolt of nicotine made him light-headed for a moment, and he could not stifle a sigh of contentment. An old instinct to offer a chew to Andrew