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our hands on the

President-General's dong. I haven't, personally, taken a pill or a

shot of anything for the last three years."

Steve shrugged. 'Maybe you're immune."

'Maybe..." Medicine-Hat eyed Steve. 'I can see you've got a lot to

learn."

'It could happen, couldn't it?" insisted Steve.

"Yehh..." said Medicine-Hat with a laugh. 'Once you been out here for

a while you discover all kinds of things are possible." He slipped his

head through the strap of his first aid bag and stood up. 'Better go

check on my patients."

Seven days after their capture, Steve and his fellow captives came in

sight of the M'Call's spring settlement.

On the way in, Steve noticed several patches of ground that had been

dug up to form new crop-fields. The Mutes tending the soil abandoned

their tools and rushed to join the happy crowd that flocked out to meet

the returning warriors.

When the triumphal procession reached the outlying huts, Mr Snow drew

Steve to one side and handed him over to Kid-Creole and Doctor-Hook.

'I want you to go to my hut and wait till I come for you. May I take

it that you won't do anything to cause me further embarrassment?"

Steve held up his right hand, Tracker-style. 'I promise."

'So you said before."

'I can explain all that."

'I'm sure you can. But it'll have to wait. I have to attend a little

celebration."

Steve laid a hand on Mr Snow's arm as the old wordsmith went to turn

away. 'Listen - I just want you to know that I regret what I did. I

shouldn't have run away."

Mr Snow tried not to smile. Having managed to catch Brickman off

balance he now had to try and keep the advantage. 'In the

circumstances it was probably the wisest thing to do."

Steve wondered what lay behind that remark. How much did the crafty

old coot know? 'That may be so,' he replied, 'but when I left, part of

me remained here . . ."

How true, thought Mr Snow.

'... and my one wish,' continued Steve, 'has been to return."

Mr Snow accepted this avowal with a gracious nod.

'Your wish has been granted." He indicated their surroundings with a

sweep of his hand. 'Enjoy it while you can."

Steve watched uneasily as the old wordsmith rejoined the long column

and saw that Jodi and Medicine-Hat had been tied side-by-side to a

sapling. He caught their eye as they were driven past with the other

renegades into the settlement and gave them what he hoped was a re

assuring look.

Drums started an incessant beat, developing and repeating increasingly

elaborate rhythmic sequences. As Steve knelt to enter the wordsmith's

hut the drums were joined by stick instruments, reed pipes and voices;

separate melodic threads subtly woven together to form a vibrant

tapestry of sound.

To the assembled renegades, heating it for the first time, it must have

been an awesomely frightening experience. A savage, alien symphony

that awakened their worst fears, those deep-rooted primal terrors that

lurked in the blood and which had been reinforced during childhood.

For the ordinary Tracker, this was something that years of living on

the overground could never totally dispel.

Steve understood but remained untouched. He lay back on the woven

grass mats and let the waves of sound wash over him. His body seemed

to resonate to the music, bringing him into harmony with the world

around him. It felt...it felt as if he...

Had come home.

Home. Steve knew the word was to be found in the Federation's

video-dictionary but he was suddenly aware that the word held some

special, deeper meaning for him.

And he heard voices again. Distant echoing whispers that he could not

quite decipher. Like the voice he had heard on catching his first

glimpse of the overground. The magic moment of awakening he had shared

with Roz.

Was it the music, or was it the familiar odours of herbs and dried

fruits draped in bunches around the walls of the hut that had triggered

this reaction? Or was it his total response to the overground? He