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have the machines left the living to their own doom, while you hived like ants beneath the skin of the Earth, sworn to break forth one day and spurn this world to seek the stars.”
    “You,” the woman replied, “interest a diminutive portion of the Makine. I am empowered to represent this syndicate. We infer there is significant probability of costly consequences if you fail. I therefore will assist you, reducing that probability.”
    “I will not fail.”
    The woman merely looked at them, her expression not changing.
    “If you have some way to get us to Disthea,” the Guardian said, “then you may offer it. Else leave us, makina.”
    She bowed slightly. “I was transported here in an airship. It is tethered downriver. I did not consider it advisable to arrive in it directly.”
    Without another word, the Guardian turned and tromped toward the river. Chance scurried to keep up. He looked over his shoulder at the woman, who kept a respectful distance.
    “Who are the Makina?”
    “Makine. You call a single one of them a makina.”
    “Who are the Makine?”
    The Guardian jumped down the berm.
    “They are ancient machines.”
    Chance jumped down to stand beside him. The loud stream smelled strongly in the damp morning air. Mist clung along the banks.
    “She works for… machines?” Chance whispered. “Underground machines?”
    “It is a machine.” The Guardian started toward the water.
    Chance stopped in place. He looked at the woman. She had not moved, but gazed at him peacefully. He hurried to the Guardian’s side and whispered, “I don’t understand.”
    The Guardian strode out into the water. Without looking back he said, “Do not bother to whisper. The machine can hear you blink an eye.”
    Chance stopped at the water’s edge. The makina stood now at the top of the berm. Seth ran a short way downstream along the bank, sniffing and peering cautiously about, before turning back.
    “I am one of the Makine,” she said.
    Chance shook his head. “You are an unman,” he whispered.
    As if confronting a small, frightened animal, the makina moved slowly, folding her hands before herself.
    “I understand your application of this terminology. Please address me in this way if it is conceptually reassuring. But I have no human ancestors. Not in the usual meaning of the term, ‘ancestor’.”
    Seth slipped to Chance’s side, legs dripping water, ears rigid with attention.
    “What.…” Chance hesitated. “What do you want me to call you?”
    “If it pleases you, I will adopt the appellation
the Mimir
.”
    “Come,” the Guardian shouted. “Call your ship here.”
    The makina, still on the top of the berm, nodded. She did not move, but after a moment Chance heard a dull humming. Downstream, the river bent around a steeply sided hill. Stunted maples clung perilously to the broken earth of the bluff. Slowly, the nose of an airship appeared around the bend, as if emerging from the trees. It was dark blue, almost black, longer and thinner than the airships Chance had seen sometimes pass near his farm. Below it hung a black cabin.
    The airship slipped out into the valley, the tail turning slightly too far in the wind, and then it straightened and lowered. A heavy rope dropped down from the front. The ship descended toward the Guardian until he grabbed the rope. The cluster of seven fans at the back of the cabin blared loudly and rippled the surface of the river with tiny white rills. The ship hovered uncertainly, bobbing, as it paid rope out while the Guardian walked to the shore.
    Chance frowned. The cabin beneath was lined with windows but he could see no one inside.
    The makina leapt down to the ground beside Chance. The motion was smooth and nearly silent. She walked out into the water, directly to the cabin. A door folded out and down, laying itself on the stream. She stopped before it, the water rushing around her legs, and gestured inside.
    “I cannot enter that,” Chance said. “It was not made by