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been only about a tenth of Earth-normal during the outward swing, began to increase.
    It would be a year at constant one-G acceleration before they reached the upper limit, brushing the speed of light itself. By then the ship would outweigh whole galaxies, and eons would pass in hours. The stars ahead and behind would have dopplered into blind spots as the rainbow hoops of the starbow compressed themselves first into a thin halo, then squeezed themselves out of existence.
    And a mere thirty years later, they would be home.

CHAPTER 10
    6,000,000,000 A.D.
    The Oort Cloud
    Torris methodically piled his gear in the fork of two twigs next to the calyx. He topped the pile with his bow and quiver after a short regretful pause. The only thing he retained was the little stovebeast, because it was inside his airsuit and he would freeze to death in minutes without it.
    â€œI’ll camp nearby where I can see the Dream nest,” Ning said. “Don’t worry, Tor-ris. Have a good Dream, and may the Tree give you wisdom.”
    â€œThe Tree does not speak to everyone,” he said. “Sometimes the Dream makes no sense, but the old men always say they have never forgotten it.”
    She laughed, then remembered that this was supposed to be a solemn moment. “Yes, some of our young men have Dreams like that too, but then the elders try to interpret it, each with his own opinion. I’ve noticed that the opinions are usually opinions they’ve had all along.”
    Torris tried to give her a stern look, but that didn’t work with Ning. He turned his attention to the calyx, a swelling green structure three times the height of a man. It was ready to receive a Dreamer. Small pollinating creatures were already swarming around the flaring invitation at the top.
    â€œHere, Tor-ris,” she said, handing him a small woven bag. “It is a gift of pollen from our Tree.”
    He took the bag, giving her a quizzical look.
    â€œOur priests gave me the offering when they knew I was going to attempt a crossing. They say it is a pious act to give a gift of pollen from one Tree to another. And the Tree thanks the donor with a more powerful Dream for a more ordinary dusting from a few grains received at random from insects.”
    Torris had already dusted his suit from another calyx growing on the branch, but he took the bag and thanked her. Then, impatient to begin, he took a nicely calculated leap to the calyx’s portal at the top.
    The pollinating insects scattered, scurrying in all directions. He carefully pried the portal open, wide enough for him to squeeze himself inside, following the instructions that Claz had given him. It occurred to him, in an unseemly instant of amusement, that he had become a pollinating insect himself. The portal closed above him, but there was still a dim haze of green light seeping through the fleshy walls.
    He worked his way downward to the tiny chamber below. He could tell at once that it was warm inside and that there was air—moist air, he could surmise from the moisture that condensed on his faceplate. He overcame an unworthy moment of fear and raised the Face to take a sniff. The air was rich and fragrant, thicker than the kind of air you got from drilling for air pockets in the cambium.
    He squirmed out of his airsuit and set the stovebeast free. The furry little animal immediately started climbing upward on its stubby limbs. It was going to have a feast on the insects swarming outside.
    He dusted himself with the pollen that Ning had given him and settled down in the nest made by overlapping sepals. He was already beginning to feel sleepy.
    He was the Tree. He didn’t know how long he had been the Tree; he seemed to have existed for eternity, in a swirl of stars and blackness where stars grew and shrank and changed their colors and sometimes exploded. He was aware of commensal life on and within himself, fluttering in his branches, flourishing on his bark,