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designed by a society where children seldom numbered more than two to a set of parents, became
unwieldy when there were six or seven children to each mother and father. She was lucky, she said, to
have had a second set, though she felt sorry for them, not having biological children.
She talked about several women in her village coming down with an odd malfunction, not exactly a
disease; some sort of immune challenge that caused their ovaries to become inflamed. Several had had to
have their ovaries removed. "The rest were fortunate," she said. "They kept their ovaries." That seemed
to her more important in a way than their survival.
Something had changed in the divaricates on their arrival in Lamarckia. Lenk had encouraged new
births, of course. But divaricates had generally had no more children on Thistledown than other
Naderites, no more even than most Geshels. On Lamarckia, having children had become a ruling
passion, as if some hidden drive had been awakened, and the human race -- isolated as this weak little
seed on a huge world -- had needed to spread its limbs and foliage far and wide once more.
The ships were guided into Naderville's harbor in the early afternoon. The city perched on a
headland on the northern side of the harbor, its back to a wall of thoroughly tunneled hedgerow thicket;
to the south was a natural spit of rock and sand that served as a breakwater.
Naderville looked remarkably like Calcutta, golden and beige and white buildings rising on low hills
facing the harbor. On the eastern extension of the headland, however, in the crater of a small extinct
volcano, a military encampment had been established some five years before. The _Khoragos_'s
physician, Julia Sand, had been to Naderville some years before as part of an abortive diplomatic effort,
and explained these features to Shirla and me. Farther inland, the harbor connected with a wide canal,
which may have once been a natural river, but had been adapted by the ecos to its own needs.
Sturdy little tugs took us in tow, then pulled us to the western extent of the harbor, and the mouth of
the great Hsian canal. I watched the steamships as we drew apart, wondering if I might ever meet
General Beys in person.
A sharp, buttery scent mixed with something herbaceous, like oregano, and an undercurrent of tar,
blew with the wind from inland. It was not unpleasant, but I thought in time such a smell might grow
irritating.
We cruised with great dignity behind the tugs for several miles, then were taken north through a
narrow brickwork gate into a small lake. Hills rose on all sides, covered with dark, ancient thicket; on the
higher hills, a few small white and sky-blue buildings seemed to clamber up the thickets and perch on top.
I could make out holes hacked through the thickets like tunnels where roads might pass; on a bluff at the
northern end of the harbor, the thicket had been cleared completely, leaving chalky barren soil and
buildings, a watchtower and storage sheds.
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Julia Sand had not seen this part of Naderville in her last visit. "It's all new to me," she said. On one
side of the lake, ramps and large drydocks stood, a shipbuilding and repair site now idle.
Randall and Salap came forward to join us. Shatro was still belowdecks. He seemed to be
depressed and we had not seen much of him for a day.
"It's a dreary land," Randall commented.
Salap scanned the small lake and announced, "Three ships. I was expecting many more."
The three ships in the lake were not even steamships; two were sloops, and one was a catamaran
with tattered fore and aft rigged sails hanging on two masts. It was not much of a navy.
"They're all out raiding or keeping a blockade on Jakarta," Shirla said.
"Perhaps," Salap said, but he seemed dubious.
The pilots guided us past the empty drydocks, toward a small pier at the northern end of the lake. I
estimated there was room for perhaps five or six ships the size of the steamships, no more. That would
be a substantial navy on Lamarckia, but there was no way of telling how many steamships had been built.
I looked for fuel bunkers -- whatever the fuel might be -- but could not find any. A few dozen men and
women stood on the docks, watching us, but the pier was empty. No formal reception committee
awaited Lenk's arrival.
The tugs let us loose. The light breeze was sufficient for our schooners to moor at the pier.
Ferrier and Keo came up on deck dressed in dark gray pants and long black coats, formal wear for
a solemn occasion. They surveyed the pier with wounded expressions, like dogs who half expected to be
struck. Both shook their heads at the indignity. "This is no way to treat the Good Lenk," Keo said. "I
wonder why we came at all, if they're going to rub our noses in it."
"It's weakness," Ferrier said with an edge of anger he had not revealed before.
Keo took his arm and they assumed their positions by the gangway. Lenk came up from below on
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