The Peacock Cloak

run at the creature, not really meaning to chase it, but hoping to give it a fright.
    It snatched up its sticks and scampered off a few yards, holding them protectively against its chest
    “Fence head,” said his own voice inside his brain. “Ha ha. Fence head.”
    This angered him. He went after it, and the indigene set off ahead of him, sometimes running, sometimes skipping, sometimes leaping like a springbok with both legs together.
    “Yeah, go on! Clear off into the bloody forest!” gasped Stephen as he pounded after it.
    It was way too fast for him and knew it, stopping near a pond to stand there watching his heavy-footed, panting pursuit.
    “Ha ha. Fence head. Scared,” said the voice inside his head.
    Then the indigene dived into the pond.
    There was no sign of it when Stephen came gasping up to the water’s edge. The pond was clear and empty. The creature must have swum through one of the hidden channels that linked the ponds together. (For in fact the so-called continent formed by the forest was not really solid land at all, but a kind of vast mangrove that covered several million square miles of Lutania’s shallow freshwater ocean, with a thick floor of roots and compost.)
    Stephen sank down into a clump of soft white moss. As his agitation subsided and his heart rate settled, he was surprised to find that he didn’t sink into despondency, but rather into a surprisingly pleasant sense of well-being. He was struck by what a beautiful and peaceful spot it was out here by the pond. The water was crystalline, the moss soft and bright, the air silent and still, the sun still high enough in the sky to pour down light into this opening in the forest and set it apart from the sombre aisles of tree trunks all around it, so that it seemed a kind of sanctuary. Stephen felt he could happily stay here forever, if only the sun wouldn’t set and his belly wouldn’t ask to be fed. He wondered why he had never explored these ponds in all these past three years, only observed them from the road.
    There was another pond not far off, and he made his way to it. Further from the road, this new pond seemed even more beautiful than the first one, but another still lovelier-looking one beckoned from deeper in, this one bigger than the other two, almost a small lake. On impulse he stripped and plunged in. The cool mineral-rich water was wonderfully refreshing. He dived down and thought he made out the tunnels leading away under the trees, linking this pond up to all the rest. (So what if there were indigenes swimming around down there? What harm would they do him after all? What evidence was there to suggest they would do him harm?) He swam up and down. He did some somersaults and rolls. He lay and floated on his back, looking up at the Lutanian sky. Then he hauled himself out to lie naked on the moss.

    He was wakened by a slight chill on his skin. Some time must have passed, for the sun was too low to shine down into the opening in the trees, and the pond, like the rest of the forest, was in shadow His first thought was that somehow this made it still more beautiful and he sat for a while day-dreaming in the dim light with his legs in the water, until finally coldness made him dry himself down and get his clothes back on.
    Then he started to wonder if he knew the direction back to the road. The other ponds were no longer visible to use as landmarks, and he realised he couldn’t remember where he’d been standing in relation to the road when he’d laid his clothes on the ground.
    He had a moment of pure dread. He imagined himself lost in the forest during the Lutanian night, when the indigenes and other creatures woke and began their hunt for food. He began to curse. And an old voice inside him captured his thought-stream, almost as the goblins did. You’re a fool. You can’t look after yourself. You can’t get anything right.
    “Get a grip on yourself, you idiot,” he said out loud to himself. “All you’ve got to do is look for the sun.”
    Ten minutes later, he was safely back on the road. He felt rather ashamed of his moment of panic, comparing himself unfavourably with more competent people who he imagined would never be so foolish: Leader Wilson, Jennifer Notuna, and even Helen Fu, who remembered details about other people that he would forget at once, and had worked so hard these last three years to help him join the life of the Station.
    He strode forward briskly, anxious to get to Lisoba as quickly as