Lyubomir Nikolov
	ALONG THE WALL
	Little Rim-Tim-Tucka crawled slowly out of his hollow, stood
up on his hind legs and looked lazily towards the sun with half
closed eyes and paws crossed on his white tummy. It was late in
the morning and the night's cold had already disappeared, leaving
just a pleasant green freshness under the dense knotwork of
leaves. Later on it a would give way to the midday swelter. But
although Rim-Tim-Tucka wasn't endowed with a good memory he could
remember the cold. After some short and extremely intensive
thinking he came to the conclusion that it was all because of the
fluff in the hollow. It hadn't been changed since time immemorial
(maybe two or three weeks). For after that period of time even
the best rug doesn't keep warm any more.
	The small animal nodded in contentment, stroked his whiskers
with a little paw and went on thinking. This time, at least,
things were clear. After only a few minutes Rim-Tim-Tucka chose
the best solution: since the rug was old it needed changing.
	Yes, today was obviously going to be a day for work.
Light-heartedly, Rim-Tim-Tucka turned his head. Not that he
needed to look around, of course. The surroundings were quite
familiar. But a little caution goes a long way. Besides, one
never knew when a good idea could crop up. Like now, for
instance. The combination which came to his mind was a product of
pure genius. The way to the fluff grass wasn't so long, but if he
made it longer by a little bend to the right he would pass by the
strawberry thicket. What could be better than a good breakfast
before the serious work?
	While he was climbing down the rough bark his short tail
trembled with enthusiasm. It was a long time since he had sorted
things out so well. Another great idea and the day would stay
unforgettable for a whole month at least.
	At the foot of the tree he sat down on a big root and
hesitated over what kind of step to choose. Walking on four paws
would be quicker, but wasn't suitable for a special occasion like
today. So Rim-Tim-Tucka proudly stretched his four inch tall body
and scuttled away.
	The tall grasses and ferns growing on the old fallen leaves
engulfed him on both sides. The narrow path between them was
perfectly straight (Rim-Tim-Tucka didn't like wasting his
strength in useless meanders) and even from this place he could
see the heavy red strawberries shining dimly in the distance
among the green twilight. Thoughts of the juicy fruit made him
dash forward with an almost indecent haste.
	There were only about ten steps left to the strawberry
thicket when suddenly one of those fateful events, which can
spoil even the most wonderful day happened. The fruits swung, the
glossy oval leaves moved and the head of an old enemy cropped up
above them: impudent Yellowbeak was here.
	Rim-Tim-Tucka stood still for a couple of moments, stupefied
by such impertinence. Since time immemorial he had thought of the
thicket as his own inviolable property and now this noxious bird
was invading it without a "by-your-leave" even. 
	His head bent down to one side, Yellowbeak watched the owner
of the area carefully and the yellow circles around his black
eyes fluttered slightly as if he was making fun of the sacred
territorial rights. Rim-Tim-Tucka felt his fur bristling slowly
from a righteous thirst for revenge. He had forgiven lots of
things till now - the sudden attacks on his favorite grass seeds,
the teasing whistles around his hollow in the early mornings when
dreams are so sweet, and even the obvious intention of throwing
him out of his hollow, where Yellowbeak planned to install his
nest. But this now was the final straw.
	"Rim-rim-tim!" Squeaked the angry creature.
	The black bird superciliously turned his back on
Rim-Tim-Tucka and strode slowly among the strawberries, picking
the ripest fruits here and there. Well, if he was asking for a
war he was going to get it. Panting with outrage, Rim-Tim-Tucka
started climbing the nearest crystal bush. His claws slipped on
the glass bark, his rough hind legs only just managed to hold
onto the insidiously smooth branches, but righteous anger pushed
him upwards, towards where the crystal fruits were glittering in
all the colors of the rainbow.
	The first fruit he could reach seemed too small. The next
one, two branches further up, was no good for the job either -
try as he would,he couldn't lift it. The tiny animal crawled a
little further and found what he needed. He leaned comfortably
against the stem, hugged the crystal ball and carefully pulled
back. The fruit broke off with a soft, clear jingle, and very
nearly dragged him down with it.
	Yellowbeak went on striding proudly among the strawberries.
Maybe he thought with his bird-brain that he had won without
fighting. Rim-Tim-Tucka sinisterly gritted his teeth and lifted
the crystal fruit above his head. Down below the black aggressor
was coming nearer, and there he was now, under that very branch.
	Forgetting about his insecure position, Rim-Tim-Tucka flung
the transparent ball with all his might. A shimmer of the falling
crystal reflected in the eye of the bird. Yellowbeak opened his
wings but before he could fly away the hard fruit hit him on the
joint of his left wing.
	"Tim-tucka, tim-tucka!" The avenger squeaked rapturously
above.
	Yellowbeak was jumping in panic and despair among the grass.
At last he took off with a painful effort and disappeared
somewhere behind the bushes. Only two black feathers were left
behind, hanging between the strawberry leaves next to the crystal
fruit.
	The conqueror joyfully glided down the smooth stem of the
bush and stood in front of his defended estate. The two feathers
caught his attention. He thought about hanging them as trophies
in front of his hollow, but on second thoughts he gave up on that
idea. They were better left here to remind everyone of the fate
that awaited all enemies of Rim-Tim-Tucka.
	The strawberries tasted particularly sweet after the
emotions he had gone through and he devoted more time than he had
expected to them. Anyway, there was a lot of time yet. The day
was just beginning.
	Calmly, without undue haste, the hero washed the sweet juice
off his muzzle with tongue and paws. Good, one problem solved.
What next? Oh, yes - fluff for the rug.
	But on the way to the fluff grass Rim-Tim-Tucka passed the
heavy pods of the wild peas and found out that it was harvest
time. Wonderful, he could now combine the two jobs and go back to
the hollow with a new rug and a considerable supply of seeds.
	He dexterously bit off the stalks of the lowest wild-pea
pods, cracked them open along the edges and started stuffing his
mouth with the small, round seeds. His cheeks bulged out and got
heavy, but the little animal went on filling them till he could
hardly keep up his head.
	In the moment when he made the first step towards the
fluff-grass, something huge and black rushed on him from the sky.
	
	Yellowbeak hadn't given up the fight. He landed in front of
the small creature and started looking at him first with one eye,
then with the other, choosing the best place to hit with his
sharp beak. Rim-Tim-Tucka desperately tried to find a way out of
the situation. He could run away if his paws weren't glued to the
ground. While with this burden in his cheeks...
	What followed was probably only by chance, although later on
Rim-Tim-Tucka thought of it as an act of quick wits and lightning
fast reaction. Yellowbeak was just about to strike when out of
his enemy's mouth shot a stream of hard little peas. "Croak!" was
the only thing the bird could utter before he felt the painful
blows in his eye and saved himself by a shameful escape. A few
minutes later Rim-Tim-Tucka collected his wits enough to go on.
He wasn't that proud any more and mumbled quietly to himself all
the time. No doubt, he had acted as a real hero today. It was
worth it to look for someone of the long-memory ones and tell him
the story. But everything should have a limit. What would become
of him if intruders constantly, broke the normal course of his
peaceful life and every day made him fulfill feats? No, enough
adventures of any kind. He only needed to get fluff, then he
would go home straight away to change the rug and sleep till
tomorrow. The fluff-grass rose in front of him like a huge light
grey cloud. And then again...
	Rim-Tim-Tucka ran all the way back without stopping even
once. He climbed the tree, slipped into the hollow and curled up
on the old rug. He wasn't going to go out. He wasn't going to do
anything! He was going to wait till the raids of all those
intruders had stopped. Because he couldn't call anything else
than an intruder that huge creature which he vaguely remembered
from the tales of the long-memory ones and who didn't have any
right whatsoever to squat in his best fluff-grass.
	Rim-Tim-Tucka resented the whole world.
	
	                 * * * * * * * * *
	
	He was woken up by a scarcely perceptible rustle. Some kind
of small animal was running through the dense grass. The man
lifted his head and tried to look around but couldn't see a
thing. He was wrapped in a thick, soft and warm blanket. He
stretched with delight, then slid his hand over his chest and
discovered he was naked. Where was he? Why was he here? He
couldn't remember. In his attempt to get up he staggered and
almost fell down again. The soft, fluffy material around him
couldn't hold out, and even below, pressed under the weight of
his body, it didn't give a secure support. Straining his legs, he
stood up carefully and suddenly his head emerged into the open.
The morning light blinded him for a second. As he opened his eyes
again he saw an unusual scene in front of him. 
	He was in the middle of a shapeless light grey cloud, a
strange kind of bush, perhaps. Some more bushes like this swayed
nearby in the light wind like weightless heaps of foam. Thick,
rough trunks of century-old trees rose around and their crowns
merged high up in the air as a translucent green vault. The
ground was covered with a thick grass carpet splashed here and
there with the bright spots of strawberries and big white flowers
resembling water-lilies. Big furry insects circled busily above
their chalices. He would have said they were bees if it wasn't
for their size - their round, yellow-brown tummies were as big as
walnuts.
	What struck him first was the feeling of order. The trees
grew freely, yet everything seemed carefully arranged, like in a
giant park. The trees were uniformly tall except for some young
seedlings. Bushes grew few and far apart, if one could really
call those fluffy clouds or the strange glass structures, heavy
with radiant crystal balls, bushes. The grass was also uniform
everywhere, as if carefully cut. Winding among the trees, a
little stream glittered under the thin sunbeams peeping through
the gaps between the leaves. The scene looked peaceful and
familiar but still the man felt something wrong in it.
	High up in the sky something chirped and for a second an
animal appeared between the branches. Then the foliage hid it
again, but the well trained sight of the man retained the
ephemeral image - a small creature with fluffy yellow-black fur,
wide membranous wings and a long, thin tail with a little red
pendant at the end.
	The anxiety which filled his heart made him shudder and
unconsciously shrug his shoulders. Why did this animal seem so
unfamiliar? And those bushes...
	Staggering on the insecure support he came out of the fluffy
cloud. The cool grass caressed his bare feet pleasantly. With a
few steps the man approached the stream, scooped a handful of
water and drank it thirstily. The water was cold and clear, the
bottom was covered with clean sand and round white pebbles. He
bent again and suddenly, in the shadow of the grass, a pale,
exhausted face with deeply set eyes, unevenly grown black
bristles on its cheeks and a long, reddish scar across the
forehead looked at him from the water-mirror.
	He jumped back as if struck and a soft cry of horror babbled
helplessly in his throat. He had recognized his own face, but
before he could ask himself any question, the first memory had
exploded in his consciousness with horrendous force.
	Darkness.
	Pain.
	The dulled feelings suddenly come to life and his whole body
convulses, burning from an unbearable torture. He opens his eyes
automatically, simply because of the spasmatic contraction of all
his muscles - from the tops of his fingers to his face. His body
twists in a tetanic writhe, head tossed back, and he sees a part
of the room where he is - a bright, vaulted hall, filled with
fine silver threads, winding as if alive. Two or three creatures
are bending over his stretched body. They seem enormous as he
looks at them from below. Countless antennae and tentacles, some
thick, some thin as a hair, sprout from their fluffy, pulsating
bodies and he feels them all thrusting into his flesh, tearing
mercilessly and penetrating deeper and deeper. Only a moment of
this fiery pain is enough to make the tears flow out of his eyes
and he wants to beg them helplessly, like a child, to stop, but
suddenly he sees the worst, the most grotesque human faces among
the outlines of the monstrous spiders; "like in a painting by
Bosch," the strange, calm thought passes through his mind, then
it is swept aside by the brush of horror and his throat strains
till breaking point as a cry comes from the million years old
depths of instinct - the cry of an animal being torn to pieces.
Then everything disappeared.
	The memory of the torture shook him and tightened his
insides to a knot, and he helplessly fell onto his knees in the
tall grass. With a painful spasm his empty stomach threw up a
mixture of water and bile. For a while the man remained
motionless, as if dizzy from the shock, then bent over the stream
again and rinsed the bitter taste out of his mouth. He felt some
relief. His legs were still trembling but he could stand up and
examine his body.
	It was covered in scars - rough red grooves with badly
accreted ends.
	They criss-crossed his wide chest, interweaved on his belly
and covered his hips. He couldn't look at his back but as he
twisted his arm, he felt the same traces, as if a pack of beasts
had tried to tear him apart from all sides.
	He looked down again and was suddenly embarrassed by his
nakedness. It was funny, but he couldn't do anything about this
persistent feeling - he felt awkward standing naked in the woods
and this basic human convention appeared to be stronger than his
fear. He quickly went back to the fluff bush and tried to pick a
bit of it. He couldn't manage at first - only small, air-light
clouds got caught between his fingers. He had to dig his hands
deeper, so that he could feel some internal structure made up of
fine threads. After several unsuccessful attempts he tore off
nearly a quarter of the bush and patiently pulled out a deep hole
in the fluff till he shaped some semblance of a bag with openings
for his head and arms. This improvised piece of clothing wrapped
his body with a soft tickling feeling. He couldn't feel its
weight and the usual weight of the material was missing. But at
least he was dressed, looking although rather absurd - a dumpy,
foggy ball with head and arms sticking out of it.
	The job had chased the worry away but the weakness was still
there. Weakness due to hunger, of which his stomach's spasms
reminded him. He felt as if he had been starving for days. The
fact that he had just woken up helped him for the moment, but it
was clear that if he didn't find anything to eat, he would soon
lose the rest of his strength. He looked around. The transparent
balls hanging from the branches of the shiny bushes didn't look
very appetizing. They were probably filled with water. The fluff
bushes didn't have any fruit at all. Only the big red
strawberries, gleaming in the grass, remained. The man picked one
of them and hesitated for a moment. It looked like an ordinary
garden strawberry with shiny skin, tiny yellow seeds and black
tassels at the end. The strawberry was torn on one side, as if a
bird had pecked at it and that dispelled his doubts. Words, said
by God knows who, came to his mind: "Try not to eat unfamiliar
fruits and plants. In an emergency, choose the ones which a bird
or an animal has bitten into"
	He took a bite cautiously, ready to spit the strawberry out
of any moment. But it tasted sweet and fresh. Only the smell was
a bit confusing. In spite of its appearance, the fruit tasted
more like a mandarin orange than like a strawberry. He shrugged
his shoulders and bent over the strawberries. Here they grew
close to each other, as if planted in a funny-shaped patch. He
picked a fistful quickly, stood up and looked around.
	He couldn't be sure, but it seemed that the woods got
gradually denser in one direction. If the amazing dance of the
light didn't deceive him, it meant that he wasn't far away from
open space in the other three directions. He only needed to
decide which way to go. Under normal circumstances he would
choose a way towards the fields - he could find his way a lot
easier there. And at the same time he felt an overwhelming desire
to stay under the shelter of the trees.
	What did all this mean? Automatically chewing the
strawberries, he tried to remember how he had got there.
	And discovered that he had no memory.
	Never before in his life had he had such a strange feeling.
It was as if some natural scenery in his mind had disappeared.
The questions he asked himself slid unhindered through his skull
and then faded away, waiting for an answer, although they got
none. An absolute silence reigned in his mind instead, and this
emptiness somehow made his sight unusually stronger. His eyes
glided freely from tree to tree and took in with astonishing
clarity the green of the trees, the shining crystal fruits and
the soft sunbeams. The image of the woods ran like water through
the dry sands of his mind where there should have been a million
things. But there wasn't anything else, apart from the terrifying
recollection, about which he didn't want to think any more.
	A wave of desperate helplessness swept over him. What could
a man do who couldn't remember a thing, who didn't even know his
own name? What else, other than trust his instincts and hope that
they were right? Perhaps it wasn't all that scary. Something made
him think that he was capable of surviving in this forest, that
he had sometime been put in even more difficult conditions as a
training for...
	He made a mistake. The beginning of the recollection misled
him, the man forced his memory too quickly and everything melted
away, leaving nothing but the empty word. Training... training...
training... Training for what? He didn't know, but still there
was something comforting in the thought that he had been prepared
for difficult moments.
	The name came by itself - amnesia. His hand lifted
unconsciously and touched the rough scar on his forehead.
Amnesia... Loss of memory... It can occur as a result of serious
brain injuries...
	Instead of worrying him, the thought of a brain injury
brought him unexpected relief. He was sure that his former,
forgotten life was somehow connected with danger and
catastrophes. And with the word "catastrophe", the word "help"
was inevitably linked. He was certain that he had gone through
something horrible, but people were already looking for him and
help was on its way. It had  to be. He only had to hold out.
	He noticed with astonishment that his hands were empty. He
had eaten the strawberries without realizing it and he could feel
a rising tide of energy in his body. He hesitated again for a
while, then chose a way and started walking purposefully to where
his unconscious impulse was leading him: towards the middle of
the woods.
	The trees were really getting closer. The grass became
taller, rising to his knees and then to his waist. The ground was
soft, without a single stone, and this was quite pleasant to his
bare soles. The fluffy bushes grew closer and closer together, so
that he sometimes had to slip blindly through the dense grey
clouds. Little animals ran away in front of his steps but he
couldn't really see any of them. Every now and then he came to
little ponds, not more than a few feet wide. The water in them
looked fresh, although there weren't any streams in sight to feed
them.
	After about a quarter of an hour the path suddenly ended. A
brownish-grey wall, cut by wide cracks, rose before him. He
raised his eyes but couldn't see anything apart from the green
canopy of tree-crowns. The wall merged with them and went on. How
far? Maybe hundreds of yards , maybe just a few inches. It didn't
make any difference. The man shook his head. He still wasn't fit
enough to risk climbing if he could find a better way.
	He went left. After some hundreds of steps the green turf
gradually started slopping down. On his right the wall was still
there, unscalable as before, but the man wasn't too worried. The
way down was normally the safest.
	A few minutes later he wasn't all that sure any more. The
slope gradually got steeper and it became difficult to stand on
his feet. The crowns of the trees came down lower, as if their
roots were sinking in a deep precipice. He tried to see the
opposite slope, but the leaves hid everything.
	So, the road was closed in that direction, he decided. He
slowly climbed back up again, helping himself with his hands on
the steeper parts of the slope. Then he went back along the
strange vertical wall only to find that in the other direction
the ground dropped into a deep precipice as well. He was
obviously on a steep mountain ridge and had to walk on it in the
only free direction till he found a safe place for going down.
Well, this automatically solved the problem of choice. And
perhaps that would be better - to go out in the open despite the
dull fear.
	The trampled down grass hadn't straightened up yet and he
could easily found his way back. He soon reached the place where
he had woken up and stopped to pick a handful of strawberries. He
started sucking the sweet fruits with delight, even though he
wasn't hungry. His eyes vacantly wandered from place to place
till they stopped on the glassy bushes. He stretched his arm out.
One of the transparent fruits broke off with a soft jingle and
remained in his palm. It was harder and heavier than he had
expected. And there was something strange... Forgetting about the
strawberries, the man lifted the crystal ball towards his eyes
and looked at it.
	At first it seemed that everything was all right - through
the clear crystal he could see the panorama of the woods,
diminished and twisted by the refraction of the light, but as he
turned the ball around, the picture moved with it. He tried to
look in another direction. The picture didn't change. Some more
experiments revealed the truth - the picture was inside the
crystal and didn't depend on the surroundings. As he studied it
more carefully, he managed  to see in detail the meadow and the
bushes in it. A movement caught his attention - a fly-sized bird
flew to the center of the ball and tried to peck at something in
the grass. A hardly noticeable spot came opposite the bird, stood
motionless for a while then headed straight towards the eyes of
the viewer. The spot gradually grew bigger, turning into a fluffy
little animal, which clumsily climbed the smooth branches of the
bush. Its tiny muzzle filled the crystal for a short while, then
it crawled upwards and disappeared. But the man had already found
out enough - he turned the transparent ball round and, looking
from the other side, he could see the small creature from below.
It went on climbing and stopped in the end, then broke off one of
the fruits and tossed it down.
	The man was so involved with the crystal ball that he forgot
about his worries. He felt like a child who has been given a new
toy. He gradually learned the art of handling the magic crystal
and turning it before his eye, he followed the vicissitudes of
the little battle taking place among the strawberries.
	Suddenly, the figure of a man appeared in the ball. At first
he couldn't understand what it was and only seconds later
realized that he was seeing his own awakening. Everything was
repeating itself - the coming out of the fluffy bush, the bending
over the stream, the designing of a primitive garment...
	The crystal fruit showed the past!
	He put the transparent ball carefully under the bush and
looked at the others. Some were black, but as he took a closer
look he could see pale moonlight and the dark shapes of trees
inside. He broke off one of the black balls and tried to take a
closer look at the night picture...
	"Boris Dechev!"
	The man dropped the ball and turned round sharply.
	"Boris Dechev, where are you?" The powerful voice came from
behind the crowns of the trees. "Can you hear us?"
	He stood still while the words echoed in his head. Boris
Dechev! This was his name.
	"Boris Dechev, you are ill! We are looking for you!" The
voice had a strange, soft accent. "Call if you can hear us!"
	Through the leaves of one of the trees a transparent oval
shape the size of a rugby ball appeared. Bright, multicolored
spots flickered on its smooth surface and in unison with their
motion the words thundered:
	"Boris Dechev, you need help! If you can hear this voice,
head towards it. You'll receive help immediately!"
	The force of his own reaction amazed him. Bending down
quickly, he grasped the crystal fruit and threw it towards the
oval shape. The multicolored object burst like a soap bubble and
the voice stopped in the middle of a sentence.
	He didn't know himself why he had done it. The fear, the
indescribable fear, made him turn back and leave the meadow in a
hurry, almost at a run. He was afraid that "they" ("they" who?)
were going to find out what had happened to their machine. He had
to leave the dangerous place immediately.
	The trees were thinning out, but still not enough for him to
see what was beyond them. The ridge got narrower, the steep
slopes from both sides came closer. The slight slope made his
running easier. This had to be the right way out of the
mountains. The light, cool wind blowing against him proved the
conjecture right - he was in some mountain range, no doubt. The
air can be that fresh and the wind that piercing only very high
up in the mountains.
	Twice Boris saw forks to the right in the ridge, but he
preferred to go on straight ahead. He was so positive about his
success that the first break in the green curtain struck him as a
shock.
	There was nothing but blue sky in front of him!
	He ran forwards, stopped on the steep slope and couldn't
believe his eyes.
	He was really high, about a mile or two up in the sky. But
this was the only guess he had got right.
	He shut his eyes, pressed them with his fists till pastel
spots swam under his eyelids and looked ahead again. No, nothing
had changed. The sky still filled up half the world and merged
with the greenish mirror of the sea on the far-all horizon. The
midday sun covered the surface of the water with a million
blinding sparkles. White waves ran towards the coast and crashed
into the wide, sandy beaches.
	The beaches were the only open piece of land. Everything
else, as far as one could see, was covered with dense green and
even from this height there was no doubt that these were
centuries-old woods, like the ones which Europe covered had once.
The sight itself was striking, but there was something else which
made it staggering.
	The Trees!
	No, it wasn't the centuries-old oak trees which took away
the breath of the startled viewer. They looked like little tufts
of grass in the shadow of the titanic Trees sticking their
monstrous branches many miles into the sky. Boris shivered
unwittingly. He felt like a pygmy before these colossi of living
nature. His brain wouldn't take them for real and tried to twist
the perspective, but the truth couldn't be changed. Cedar-like
Trees were scattered thinly over the woody plain. They had wide
crowns and huge trunks, maybe more than a mile wide at their
base. It was a blindingly clear day without a single cloud, and
Boris could see their tops, covered with white eternal snows. The
branches of the Trees were spread, like mountains raising up
miraculously over the ground, and just like mountains they were
covered with woods.
	
	From the depths his foggy mind the memory of old
Scandinavian sagas emerged and of Ygdrasil the world tree praised
in them digging the ground with its powerful roots and supporting
the sky with its branches. He now saw this legend as a reality in
front of him. He was overcome by awe before this wonder of nature
and at the same time felt his curiosity rise. He felt like taking
a closer look at the huge trunks, like trying to climb them (he
wasn't sure, but it seemed to him that he had been a good climber
once). There were no more than five or six miles to the nearest
tree. He had to go down the mountain and then...
	He didn't have time to think about what he was going to do
then, because his gaze dropped and he suddenly saw what was
hundreds of yards beneath. It wasn't rocks, or precipices and
summits. Branches!
	His legs gave way and he collapsed on the floor hiding his
face in his hands. Fate was playing some absurd joke on him. This
couldn't be true, there are no trees like that in the world!
	In the world? No, there aren't, confirmed a thought as cold
as a knife, and a chill shiver went down his spine. But what
about another world?
	Something in him rejected the thought of another world. It's
probably a dream, he tried to convince himself, and with the
feeling that he was doing something unreal he pinched the skin on
the back of his hand. The pain was real, but nothing around
changed. Boris sighed and got up. The transient hope that he was
seeing all this in a dream faded.
	After the initial shock it was easier for him to look down
and evaluate the real size of the Tree. The nearest branch was
some hundred yards lower and from here Boris could only see its
round upper side covered with trees and bushes. The two branches
grew almost parallel to each other, but whilst the one he was
standing on gradually went down, the lower one rose up. It
occurred to him that if they went on as they were, the two
branches would probably meet.
	As he walked further, his thoughts turned helplessly in a
vicious circle. Well, sooner or later he would reach the foot of
the Tree, although he preferred not to think in detail about the
long descent. It was clear even now that it would neither be easy
nor pleasant. But he couldn't avoid the main question. What was
he going to do afterwards? Where could he go to in this strange,
unfamiliar world?
	This was what tortured him most - the feeling that he had
got to a world where, even if he could get his lost memory back,
he would feel weak and confused. Was it possible that in a real
world ten mile high Trees could exist, covered with woods and
lakes - he was now able to see most of the branch below and the
long lake in the middle of it. Was it possible for fruits to
exist which gathered sights from the past in order to relive them
hours or days later? No, there was something wrong in the very
structure of this world and Boris felt lost and lonely like a
grain of sand on an endless seashore.
	Maybe it was the thought of the seashore that made him look
aside again. Now the branch was thinner, the trees on it had
disappeared and the man could see in a direction which had
remained hidden till then. The same woody plain, the same titanic
Trees, the same sea...
	And something more!
	He couldn't recognize it at first, feeling only that he
seeing something of great importance. Something his fate was
connected with. From that distance the shining metal object
looked like a long tin with the top and bottom taken off. But
Boris knew that actually the cylinder was huge. 150 yards, came
to his mind. That was the length of "Galileo".
	"Galileo"... The seventh starship to take off from Earth and
the first to use the new type of engine which used as fuel the
enormous resources of interstellar hydrogen. The higher the
speed, the easier it was to attract and concentrate the
infinitely rarefied atoms in the deserts of space, and this made
it possible to achieve speeds close to the speed of light.
	The starship had landed next to the water, slightly tilted
towards the sea and the waves broke  at its side. Even from such
a distance one could see that the landing hadn't been an easy
one.
	It looked as if at the last minute the balance of the
engines had been disturbed and "Galileo" had started tilting,
leaving behind a wide strip of sand melted by the infernal flame
of the nuclear engines. A memory of an ear-splitting crash,
shaking walls and falling - the last desperate manoeuvre of the
pilots before the slope became critical - came to Boris' mind and
then went away again.
	That was all. Not that he needed any more.
	So, another planet, he thought. Another planet where the
astronaut Boris Dechev, injured in the landing of "Galileo", was
imprisoned by unknown creatures. And now, lonely and almost
totally deprived of his memory, he had to seek out the way to his
rescue.
	Still, the amnesia gave way, here and there the fog faded
and he managed to remember things. The arguments, for instance...
Many times they had had arguments as to whether they would find a
civilization and what kind of civilization it would be. The
classical conceptions usually outweighed all the rest. The
civilization could be one of three kinds: under-developed in
comparison with the Earth's civilization; at about the same stage
of development; or possibly a supercivilization. One could hardly
say anything concrete about the third kind. People thought that
the notorious problems of contact shouldn't appear at all,
because a supercivilization could choose one of the two probable
manners of behavior: either total indifference, and then the
contact would become impossible, or interest - in which case the
supercivilization would doubtlessly use its enormous abilities to
understand the representatives of  mankind and to help them
understand as much as it was within their powers to.
	As for the under-developed civilizations things looked
relatively simple there. There were two possible types of
contact. A hostile reception - in such case they planned
withdrawal and the use of hidden means of observation till a
sufficient amount of information was accumulated and eventually a
new attempt at rapprochement. In this case, as well as in the
case of a friendly reception, thousands of situations were
possible and all thinkable and unthinkable possibilities were
summarized by the theoretical group on Earth in book 1 of the
voluminous "Manual for the contact".
	The most likely possibility was the one of a meeting with an
equally developed civilization. And there the doubts started. The
optimists supported the idea that such a kind of civilization has
simply got to be peaceful. A society which has reached the stage
of Earth's 21st century, they insisted, can't be anything other
than peaceful. Simple logic shows that in the course of history
each civilization has to reach a critical point in its own
development. At this point its energy resources become so great
that they make the extermination of the whole population on the
planet, or at least the majority of it, possible. If the social
and moral level of the civilization is behind the scientific and
technical level there could only be one inevitable result - a
global war which at best would throw the society back thousands
of years. Conclusion: only peacefully minded creatures can reach
our level or go higher.
	It is not all that simple, the pessimistically inclined
minority passionately retorted. We have nothing but our own
historical experience and shouldn't rely only on its favorable
outcome. This same experience gives lots of examples which could
dramatically upset the ostensibly simple problem of the relation
between the moral-social and the scientific-technical
development. And if we transfer the problem to a hypothetical
extra-terrestrial society, we face an equation with millions of
unknown factors. Is it really so difficult to imagine a
civilization relatively peaceable on its planet but extremely
hostile towards strangers? This could be, for instance, a society
united by a cruel regime holding under total control the
production and consumption of energy. Or a total domination by
some kind of religion followed with blind fanaticism by the whole
population. Or a monstrous xenophobia which was taken hold over
creatures which are usually kind and peace-loving. Or... There
were hundreds of "or's" like that in book 2 of the manual,
accompanied by the relevant advice. The pessimists didn't insist
that they would necessarily be right. Most of the time they
agreed that their theories were in the range of least
possibility. Then again, they said, somewhat confused, we should
be prepared. A mistake in the first contact could cost us a lot.
	Boris smiled involuntarily. The sight of the ship must have
made him feel better if he had dared to think of the possible
kinds of contact. He was still in a hectic situation, but at
least he knew what to do - go down to the ship as quickly as
possible. He started walking with determination and suddenly
stopped. Somebody had called his name again.
	He turned round expecting to see the transparent talking
oval shape and froze with joy and surprise. People were running
after him! There were five of them, dressed in operative suits
and the color of the suits was set to bright orange so as to be
seen from far away. They were no more than fifty yards behind
Boris and he could recognize everyone perfectly: little Oka-Yama;
the light-blond captain Sergienko; the skinny Ron Davidson, who,
they said jokingly, only had a profile; the huge,
broad-shouldered Gustavson and the merry rascal Jacques Pinson,
who he had played many a game of chess with.
	They stopped simultaneously, waiting for him to go back.
And, pushed by the joy which exploded in his chest, Boris rushed
towards them without looking where he was going. There was only
one thought pulsing through his mind - finished, finished, the
fear and the tension had finished, the unknown as well. His
friends were there, they would tell him what had happened, why he
had lost his memory and how he had got to the crown of this
fantastic Tree all alone. They would help him and take him down 
to the protection of the thick walls of the ship.
	Something tangled round his bare feet, tripped him up and he
lurched to one side. His body turned over once, twice, three
times. The support was disappearing, he fell down the steep slope
and there was nothing but the precipice in front of him. His
hands helplessly raked the thin grass. He suddenly found the
tough stem of a bush growing on the side of the branch and
grabbed hold of it with all his strength. His eyes intuitively
looked up to where the rescue should have come from.
	The vision lasted a couple of seconds, but to him it seemed
that everything happened extremely slowly. The five men had
thrown themselves forward in a simultaneous, inhuman, incredibly
powerful leap. They flew as if shot by a catapult - Sergienko,
and Gustavson, and Oka-yama, and Davidson and two yards ahead of
them Jacques, the smiling friend Jacques.
	In these long fractions of a second, hit by the tension of
the deadly danger, Boris's mind worked in top gear, without
missing the least detail. It caught the moment as the orange suit
of Jacques burst on his chest and the body started slipping out
of it - a human body yet, but already slightly changed. In
another second the incredible metamorphosis was finished. The
arms of Jacques grew longer, turned into thin, bony limbs with
fingers twice as long, and from the chest of the pudgy body grew
two more arms - shorter, but stretched widely, ready to catch the
prey. The torn suit waved in the air, hanging on the crooked
thick legs, which ended with a pitiful likeness of bird-claws.
And the most frightening thing was the face - the still smiling,
unchanged face of the co-pilot, Jacques Pinson, hanging on the
disgusting, spider-like shape.
	The almighty, age-old fear of falling had made Boris do what
hundreds of thousands of years ago the hairy great-grandparents
of man had done - to try to find support at any price, hanging by
teeth and nails over the deadly danger. But now somewhere deep in
his mind the wave of another ancient fear broke and the mind
didn't have either the power or time to overcome it. From the
well of tribal memory gushed forth the horror of that thing
without a name which hides in front of the cave during the long
night, the thing before which powerless primitive men had curled
up around the fire next to the whining dogs. A werewolf, an
animal which turns into a man, a man who turns into an animal...
His fingers spread out.
	His mind could scarcely save him. Boris didn't even try to
think. He was under the command of one force only - the total
automatism of a body developed by countless hours of pitiless
training. In fact there wasn't anything in his head apart from
some kind of dull astonishment at his own dexterity. The first
movement of the body turned him down and he could see a big long
lake under him, spilt on the surface of the lower branch. Another
twist and he caught a glimpse of the beast hanging with all its
six limbs on the vertical bark. The blue human eyes gazed without
expression at the falling prey.
	Only later on would Boris understand that an incredible
coincidence had saved his life. At a normal distance between  the
branches even the water couldn't soften the fall enough. But here
they were really close - there were not more than thirty yards
between them. Boris twisted like a cat, noticing out of the
corner of his eye something orange flying after him, but there
wasn't time to look at it any more - he strained his body and
plunged vertically through the smooth surface of the lake.
	The jump ended perfectly. The dizziness of the hit didn't
stop him from making a half circle over the bottom and, with
several pushes of his feet, swimming upwards. As he was breathing
in, Boris noticed the orange thing again, slowly sinking some
yards away and this time he recognized it right away. It was the
suit of "Jacques"!
	He dived again and with a few powerful strokes reached the
suit and grabbed the thick material. The fear died slowly away as
he was swimming up towards the surface. He wasn't helpless before
these monstrous creatures any more. The operative suit would help
him.
	Emerging, Boris threw the wet locks back off his forehead
and looked up. Two of the "people", holding onto the vertical
slope, were watching him. A few yards away from them "Jacques"
went on with his metamorphosis. He had a pair of membranous wings
growing from his shoulders. The wings became wider and wider,
making him look like a bat. With a mixed feeling of horror and
overwhelming curiosity Boris watched the incredible change as
though hypnotized. This was against all the laws of biology, but
in spite of everything it was true: the creatures on this planet
could in minutes, in seconds even, change the structure of their
bodies.
	With an effort of will he succeeded in moving his eyes from
this amazing sight. He had to run away. If the five started
flying he wouldn't have any hope of hiding from them. With his
limited human abilities he would hardly make their hunting
difficult. His only hope was the suit.
	He opened the left upper pocket and sighed with relief as he
felt the slippery surface of the foil under his fingers - this
piece of transparent synthetic gave him the best way of escaping
from his pursuers.
	Without looking at his five enemies any more, Boris opened
the foil and wrapped it around his head, making sure that the
little circle was in front. It could be easily distinguished when
touched: it was rougher than the rest of the surface. Along the
edge of the plastic sheet ran a short cord. He fastened it around
his neck and held his breath. The foil was useless in the air, it
would rather suffocate him than help. Under  water it would be
something else, thought.
	High up in the air a huge shadow loomed - "Jacques" was
beginning his practice flight. Boris immersed his head in the
water, shot his legs upwards and started swimming vertically down
to the bottom.
	A quiet hiss filled the improvised hood. The foil, this
wonder of organic chemistry, eagerly served its purpose:
astonishingly quickly to let oxygen in and carbon dioxide out.
The water was boiling along the smooth surface. That was also
foreseen - everywhere apart from the little round window the foil
had another cover which changed its surface tension. Its
carefully chosen characteristics created continuous whirlpools
around the hood to provide a constant stream of fresh water rich
with oxygen.
	Boris breathed in. The volume of the hood wasn't enough and
the foil stuck to his face, but still the sip of oxygen refreshed
him. He knew he would soon adapt to the new rhythm - frequent,
shallow breaths, with almost no pauses in between.
	The current dragged him towards the trunk of the Tree. The
water there was about fifteen feet deep - not enough for a
shelter in the clear stream. But as he swam a little further he
saw greenish shadows gliding over his head. The wide leaves of
some water plant covered the surface and interweaved in a safe
curtain which got thicker and thicker. Boris slipped into the
tangle of long roots and started slowly crawling forwards. He
couldn't see a thing, but his pursuers couldn't see him either.
	He didn't know how long he had squeezed through the
underwater thicket. His lungs were burning from oxygen
insufficiency - the foil was recommended for emergencies only and
could by no means be used for continious physical efforts. Half
blinded by exhaustion he swam upwards, stuck his head above the
leaves and pulled the cord of the hood. Fresh, cool air filled
his chest. Through the sparkles and dull spots dancing before his
eyes he could recognize the outlines of the upper branch.
	There was nobody around.
	He had no hurry now. With the last remainders of strength he
crawled to the shore, dragging the wet and heavy suit behind him,
and collapsed in the nearest fluff bush.
	
	                   * * * * * * * * *
	
	Rim-Tim-Tucka turned over on his fluffy rug and found out
that he had had enough of lying down. The bottom of the hollow
had become hard and uncomfortable. Obviously it was high time for
the fluffy rug to be changed. He lay still a little longer and
imagined how he would sink in the soft, warm nest of new fluff.
His tail trembled with delight. Yes, it was high time to change
the rug. It wouldn't take him that long. He only had to go to the
fluff bush.
	The little animal squeaked angrily. The fluff bush! Wasn't
it exactly because of the fluff bush that he was lying here now,
resenting the whole world. Wasn't the eternal rivalry with
Yellowbeak enough? Now there was that new intruder! As if the
world was that small that they simply had to invade
Rim-Tim-Tucka's property.
	But the resentment was already fading. The little animal
remembered the recent victory over the stupid bird and
unconsciously thrust his head forward. He'll show them! Let
somebody try disturbing him again! Rim-Tim-Tucka is on his own
territory and has all the rights to go for walks on it any time
he likes.
	He rose determinedly, stuck his head out of the hollow and
looked around. Everything seemed peaceful. There wasn't anybody
on the little meadow. Only a few little silverwings fluttered
over the flowers. Let them flutter, he thought. Rim-Tim-Tucka
isn't like some others, always fighting smaller animals.
	He slid outside, climbed down and started walking along the
straight path throught the grass again. In passing he looked
towards the strawberry thicket. The two black feathers were still
there to reminded him of the glorious battle.
	After he had refreshed himself with some sweet fruits,
Rim-Tim-Tucka went on through the ferns and after a while stopped
in front of the fluff bush. He opened it anxiously but there
wasn't even a trace left of the invader. He had probably run
away, frightened by Yellowbeak's doom. Using the experience he
had gathered over the years, the little animal plunged into the
soft fluff and started gnawing through the thin binding fibers.
When he finished he had managed to pick a huge grey ball from the
bush. Now the most difficult job was at hand. Rim-Tim-Tucka
jerked back, made a dash and jumped. The soft, bouncing mass
folded under his body but stuck out from the sides. With his
right paw he pulled one end under his tummy, bit the other and
went on wrestling till he made it in the end. All of the fluff
was folded into a dense ball squeezed to his tummy.
	Balancing uneasily, Rim-Tim-Tucka stood up on his hind legs.
With his two paws and chin he held on to the fluffy ball. He
walked slowly and carefully - if he dropped his load he would
lose lots of time and effort in pressing the soft fluff again.
All his attention was directed towards the path and that is why
he only noticed the attack when it was too late.
	A big shadow fell down on him, strong claws squeezed his
neck and the ground disappeared under Rim-Tim-Tucka's legs. The
enraptured croak of Yellowbeak echoed thunderously in his ears.
	Benumbed, the tiny creature looked with wide open eyes as
the grass and the bushes were left far below. Then they clew
higher, even above the crowns of the trees. They flew quickly
towards far territories filled with unknown dangers, where
Rim-Tim-Tucka had never been. He had only heard fantastic stories
about the branch's end. He could now see with his own eyes how
the branch ended. Further on, he saw an abyss, and only far down
below the trees on another branch.
	"Croa!" Yellowbeak cried and opened his claws.
	Rim-Tim-Tucka fell down like a stone. Certain death was
awaiting him. His little chin started trembling, his body went
limp and the fluffy ball opened like a grey cloud. Something
pulled his paws up, but Rim-Tim-Tucka only pressed his claws
harder into his palms. He couldn't understand anything. A second
ago it looked as if he was going to keep on falling till he came
to an obstacle and now he was hanging in the air, almost
motionless. What was going on? How could some worthless fluffy
ball become a secure support?
	He was probably all the same a genius, because he suddenly
remembered how slowly the bits of fluff fell. And if it was so,
it meant that everyone who held on to them was going to fall
slowly too. No doubt, one has to be very wise to go about with a
fluffy ball in their paws to guard them against all kinds of
misfortunes.
	He slowly fell lower and lower at first. He was afraid of
falling in the river which he could now see, but the light wind
blew him aside. The improvised parachute sank in the crowns of
the trees along the shore and gently dropped the little animal on
the grass.
	There were unfamiliar bushes growing around, gigantic trunks
hung over Rim-Tim-Tucka. The world was boundless and alien.
	
	* * * * * * * * *        
	
	The wet, fluffy garment turned into a sticky grey mop. Boris
took it off and turned to the suit. The synthetic material was
badly torn apart at the front, where the changed body of
"Jacques" had come out. It didn't matter, that could be mended.
The operative suits were made of self-regenerating material. He
only had to put the torn edges together and touch them with the
activator.
	He searched the pockets, found the activator and tried to
mend the suit, but didn't succeed. The fluff was all around,
stuck in his fingers and caught between the torn bits. After a
couple of unsuccessful attempts Boris gave up. He had to get to
the open somehow, and then he could manage the job in two or
three minutes. But for the moment he preferred to stay in the
shelter of the fluff bush. The monsters were probably still
looking for him and the less he showed himself out in the open,
the better.
	He stretched comfortably and started checking the contents
of the pockets. Some luck at last. The operative suit contained a
full set of the equipment which each spaceman had to know by
heart:
	Left breast pocket - a medical set with dressing,
anti-viral, anti-bacterial and anti-mycotic drugs, foil for
breathing under water;
	Right breast pocket - a miniature, but powerful enough radio
set with an energy supply for 280 hours continuous work;
	Left shoulder pocket - a collapsible distilling cup, a set
of universal filters and a small disinfecting set;
	Right shoulder pocket - three days supply of condensed
nutritious mass;
	Belt - left a universal knife, right - a holstered blaster
with 30 packs; in the massive clasp - a reel with 100 yards of
carbine cord which could hold up to 1500 pounds;
	Left thigh pocket - a collapsible duroplastic anchor, an
activator for the self-regenerating material;
	Right thigh pocket - a torch, four signal rockets and a
dosimeter.
	The gloves and the shoes were also made of a special
material, which by weak electric impulses could change its
thickness, hardness and size. The regulator for the soles,
attached to the ankle, had 17 levels - from a "cat", for icy
surfaces, to wide "show-shoes", for walking on swamps and soft
snow. There was just the helmet missing, with the night vision
optics, but that wasn't all that serious. Boris took the radio
set out and tuned into ship's frequency. He immediately heard, a
soft, worried voice:
	"...looking for you. Boris Dechev, you need help. If you can
hear us, call back or give us a signal. We are still looking for
you... Boris Dechev, you need help. If you can hear us, call back
or..."
	He clenched his teeth and pulled out the directional
indicator. Turning the set to all sides, he shortly found out
where the transmission was coming from. The indicator pointed
almost vertically upwards.
	He pressed the button and the monotonous voice of Captain
Sergienko ceased. So... At least one thing was clear - the
monsters were able not only to copy the appearance of human
beings but to use human technology as well. Boris picked the suit
up and looked at the metal plate on the front. On a white
background he could see the blue color of the two hemispheres of
Earth and under them an inscription: "Spaceship 'Galileo'.
Space-explorer Jacques Pinson". Chill shivers ran down his spine.
He hadn't thought yet of what the fact meant - that these suits
were in the hands of the monsters. Jacques...Ron Davidson...
Gustavson... Oka-yama... And perhaps others as well? What had
happened to them?
	He put the set back, opened the holster, and checked the
blaster packs. Everything seemed all right. Boris thought for a
while, then took three of the energy capsules and put them in the
breast pocket with the medical set. He wouldn't give himself up
alive to them again, no matter what. It was enough to pull the
safety device and the capsule would destroy him together with the
attackers.
	He lay a little longer but felt a stronger and stronger
impatience filling him. The operative suit had changed
everything, turning him from a helpless fugitive into a spaceman.
He knew that he was in an almost hopeless situation, but he could
fight back now. In case some of the people from "Galileo" were
still alive, sooner or later he would find them. And if they were
captured he would free them or die. He couldn't fly the huge ship
on his own anyway.
	In the end Boris couldn't bear it any longer. He crawled out
of the fluff bush and squeezed through the thicket under some
huge leaves which reminded him of Earth-burdocks. He put the
edges of the torn material together and ran the activator over
them. Then he dressed quickly and suddenly felt strong and almost
invincible. He was ready to act and impatience sent light shivers
down his arms and legs. But he shouldn't hurry. He sat down and
tried thinking calmly about his future moves.
	It wasn't impossible for some of the crew to be in captivity
higher up in the Tree. He could go and look for them, but he had
doubts about his chances of success in the endless maze of
branches. Only the way down to "Galileo" remained. Climbing down
for two miles... It wasn't going to be easy.
	Something touched his knee. He winced and reached for the
holster, but then laughed. A pudgy little animal with brown fur
was trying to climb up the suit. Boris carelessly pushed it
aside. But the creature squeaked with resentment and came back to
him again. Curious, the man left it in peace. The small being
climbed four inches, lost hold and slid down again, but didn't
give up trying until it reached the empty pocket at the stomach
and jumped in.
	Boris tried to take it out of there, but then shrugged his
shoulders and let his hand fall back. At least he was going to
have a companion on this dangerous journey. The doctors on
"Galileo" would hardly have been happy about his decision -
extreme caution was recommended in contacts with local life forms
- but under the present circumstances he could ignore the
instruction. He didn't believe that the little animal was
carrying any infectious germs. It looked clean. Besides, he had
broken the medical norms many times already.
	Turning his back to the river and hiding behind the bushes,
he set off.
	This branch was bigger than the one above, but it still
reminded him of a carefully kept park. Strange round ponds
twinkled here and there. The high grass rustled softly around his
feet. Large white flowers, spreading a heavy sweet smell, were
growing in the shadows of the trees. The slope gradually got
steeper. The vegetation thinned and far to the left Boris saw the
titanic mass of the trunk. Somewhere there the river poured down
and disappeared into the green sea of tree-crowns. A rainbow
shone over the foamy stream.
	Boris put the shoes on "cat-level" and went down the slope.
A little way further on he had to use his hands as well. He
wriggled his fingers and steel claws obediently came out from the
gloves. Digging them into the soft soil, he went on and looked
down the precipice. Everything seemed O.K. - there was another
branch under that one.
	Sheathing the claws on his left hand, he took the anchor out
of his pocket and attached it to the carbine cord. He stuck the
spike in the soil and pulled. The anchor didn't catch hold and
Boris had to climb up. The roots of a young tree offered a strong
support. He stuck the anchor between them, changed the setting of
the gloves and set the reel to unwinding at half a yard per
second.
	He pushed back slowly. The cord pulled him, then the reel in
the buckle started rotating with the set speed. Another step, two
steps... The support under his feet disappeared and he hung in
the air, holding with his hands onto the almost invisible cord,
which, without the gloves, would have cut his palms through to
the bones. The suit stretched and tightened around his thighs.
The branch above was slowly moving away. Boris felt a veneration
at the size of the Tree again. He couldn't compare this cracked,
brownish mass with anything else apart from an asteroid, hanging
in the black infinity of space. But while the dead rocks look
pitiful in their lifelessness, the Tree, on the contrary, carried
life on its shoulders and that made it even mightier.
	He went down branch by branch, like a tiny spider. The
forest below was coming closer, the  tree-crowns came apart and
swallowed him. After half a minute his legs found some hard
support. He let the reel go and pushed the button on the buckle
three times. A signal ran through the cord and high up the teeth
of the anchor returned to their slots. Boris stood aside and
waited. After a while the anchor whizzed through the leaves and
thudded down. He wound the cord and went to the edge of the
branch. If everything was O.K., the descent would be relatively
quick.
	His hopes turned out to be quite rash. This time there were
about 150 yards between him and the next branch down.
	Boris sighed, climbed back up the slope and headed towards
the trunk. There were other branches nearer, but they were
growing in other directions. There was no other way out apart
from climbing down the trunk of the Tree.
	For a second the feeling of loneliness overwhelmed his soul
and, to chase it away, he touched the pocket on his stomach. The
little animal wriggled slightly under his fingers.
	And Rim-Tim-Tucka thought in his half sleep that it was all
coming to a perfect end. How cleverly he had arranged everything!
The big intruder was obviously wandering about and sooner or
later would pass by his territory. All he had to do was wait...
	The trees thickened. The branch rose and suddenly opposite
him he saw the enormous wall of the trunk. Boris went close to
it, stuck the anchor in and started down, pushing himself away
from the rough bark with his legs.
	He had been descending thus for several minutes when his
foot lost its support and sank somewhere inside. Boris grasped
the trunk and looked down. He was hanging over the opening of a
big hollow. Crawling carefully on the bark, he went inside. There
he could rest before going on. He unhooked the anchor, waited for
it to fly past the opening and pulled it inside.
	The floor and the walls were made of smooth as if polished
wood. Inside the hollow got wider. Instead of the expected
darkness it was filled with a glow coming from far away. Boris
hesitated for a moment. He felt that this light was dangerous,
but his curiosity got the upper hand and he started going in
slowly. The sharp spikes of his soles penetrated into the soft
wood. The glow came closer and eventually he could see what the
cause of it was - the entire ceiling of the tunnel was covered
with the fluorescent stems of a creeping plant. The floor felt
softer, as if covered  with a thick carpet. Boris bent down and
looked at the covering. It wasn't a carpet but reminded him of a
mixture of grass and animal fur.
	Shuddering all over with a bad feeling, he went on along the
tunnel. The living net on the ceiling shone brighter and
brighter. Somewhere ahead he could see silver oval spots shining
in the walls. They seemed... Doors? Yes, doors! Curtains made of
thin, flickering threads, hid them. Where had he seen a thing
like that before?
	Before he could realize what his memory was, he was already
running back to the opening. He stuck the anchor in next to the
exit, turned the regulator on two yards per second and slipped
quickly along the bark of the trunk. He knew now where he had
been. These hollows were where the monsters lived!
	
	                               To be continued