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Born within a few eight-days of each other in an orgy of reproduction that had not been matched before or since, the Year Zero Fithp all looked much alike: smooth of skin, long-limbed and lean. Why not? But age clusters didn’t always think so much alike. These were the inner herd that led the larger herd of dissidents.

One was different. He looked older than the rest. His skin was darkened and roughened, one leg was immobilized with braces, and there was a look. This one had seen horrors.

With the Advisor’s consent, the Herdmaster had chosen to divide the Year Zero Fithp. Half the males had gone down to Winterhome. They were dead, or alive and circling Winterhome after the natives’ counterattack. That injured one must be fresh from the wars.

The Herdmaster’s claws gripped the trunk as he faced nine fithp below him. For a moment he thought to summon warriors; then a sense of amusement came over him. Dissidents they might be, but these were not rebels. So. They sought to awe the Herdmaster, did they?

And they had brought a hero fresh from the wars. No, these were no rogues. They wanted only to increase their influence…

“You have found me,” he said mildly. “Speak.”

Still they were silent. Two of the smaller humans wandered toward the group, but were retrieved by Tashayamp. Now the humans worked more slowly. They watched, no doubt, though they must be out of earshot. What passed here might affect all the herds of Winterhome. Still it was an imposition, and the Herdmaster would have asked Tashayamp to remove them if he could have spared the attention.

Finally one spoke. “Advisor Fathisteh-tulk had said that he would gather with us. He said that he had something to tell us. He did not come. We are told that he has not been seen on the bridge in two days.”

“He has neglected his duties,” Pastempeh-keph said mildly. “He has avoided the bridge, and his mate, nor does he answer calls. I have alerted my senior officers, but no others. Is it your will that I should ask for his arrest?”

They looked at each other, undecided. One said firmly, “No, Hercimaster.” He was a massive young fi’, posed a bit ahead of the others: Rashinggith, the Defensemaster’s son.

“So you do not know where he is either?”

“We had hoped to find him through you, Herdmaster.”

“Ha. I have asked his mate. She has not seen him, yet she has a newborn to show.” The Herdmaster became serious. “There are matters to decide, and we have no Advisor. What must I do?”

They looked at each other again. “The teqthuktun—”

“Precisely.” Pastempeh-keph breathed more easily. They still worried about the Law and their religion. Not rogues, not yet. “I can take no counsel nor make any decisions without advice from the sleepers. It is the teqthuktun. the pact we made with them, and Fistarteh-thuktun insists upon it. Now I have no Advisor, and there are matters to decide. Speak. What must I do?”

“You must find another Advisor,” the wounded one said.

“Indeed.” This hardly required discussion. The Traveler fithp might continue on their predetermined path, but no new decisions could be made without an Advisor.

Fathisteb-tulk might be dead, or too badly injured to perform his duties. He might have shirked his duty, crippling the herd at a critical moment. He might have been kidnapped… and if some herd within the Traveler Herd had been pushed to such an act, it would be stripped of its status. But the Advisor would still lose his post, for arousing such anger, for being so careless, for being gone.

The Herdmaster had already decided on his successor. Still, he must be found. “You, the injured one—”

“Herdmaster, I am Eight-Squared Leader Chintithpit-mang.”

He had heard that name; but where? Later. “You must come fresh from the digit ship. Do you know anything of this? Or are you only here to add numbers?”

“I know nothing of the Advisor. What I do know—”

“Later. You, Rashinggith. If you knew where the Advisor might be, you would go there.”

His digits knotted and flexed. “I assuredly would, Herdmaster.”

“But you might not tell me. Is there a place known only to dissidents? A place where he might commune with other dissidents, or only with himself?”

“No. Herdmaster, we fear for him.”

There must be such a place, but the dissidents themselves would have searched it by now. “I too fear for Fathisteh-tulk,” the Herdmaster admitted. “I went so far as to examine records of use of the airlocks, following which I summoned a list of fithp in charge of guarding the airlocks—”

“I chance to know that no dissidents guard the airlocks,” Rashinggith said.

An interesting admission. “I was looking for more than dissidents. Did it strike any of you that what Fathisteh-tulk was doing was dangerous? Consider the position of the sleepers. In herd rank the Advisor is the only sleeper of any real authority. The sleepers could not ask his removal. Yet he consistently opposed the War for Winterhome. How many sleepers are dissidents? I know only of one: Fathisteh-tulk.”