Manuel stood silent a moment, hat in hand and head bowed, then turned to Pedro. "And now, senor, the bundles. Pablo told me what he found while we were wrapping the body, and I think I can bring them today if I can take some men to help."

"How many?"

"Many men, senor. As many as I can. He glanced at the boat.

"The boat would carry ten men."

"But not ten men and a load of supplies."

"No senor, but it doesn't have to. The motor we left on the tree -- we could use it on this boat, could we not?

"Yes -- But you still won't be able to carry all the bundles in that boat."

"No senor, but we don't have to. With ten men we can lift them over the tree, and when they are on this side of the tree we can tow them here!"

"You think you can." Pedro was dubious. Pablo didn't get to the tree -- he just thought he could."

"He got very close, senor, and look -- the channel beside us is wider now than it was when we came in. I think the trees are opening up a bit. If Pedro could get close this morning, we should be able to get closer now.

"If we cannot, then with ten men and machetes we could cut many branches. If we cannot cut the branches, we can lift the bundles over them."

"Okay, give it a try. Pedro looked out over the drifting debris to his red bandana that marked the tree where they had left the bundles.

"Who do you want with you?" he asked.

"Pablo, senor, and Ramon, -- the one with the loud voice. He said he would talk to the others.

"Ramon?" Pedro looked around the tree, searching for the foreman. "I thought Pablo said ... "

"I know what Pablo said, senor, and it is true. Ramon is afraid of the sea. But many men are afraid of the sea until they become used to it. He is afraid but he is a good man, and he will come.

"He has a machete, and I have one. If we could borrow yours we would have three."

"Okay." Pedro unclipped the machete from his belt. He was handing it to the fisherman when Maria shouted.

"The plane! Listen -- it comes!"

Pedro had not been aware of the sound of twenty people talking among themselves until they fell silent. As one they turned to listen to the sound of jet engines from the east, faint but growing louder.

"There it is!" One man pointed to a tiny speck, low over the ocean. It was heading directly toward them, and it grew and took the shape of a plane as they watched. People who had been sitting jumped to their feet and they all clustered on the open section of tree trunk, where their view was unobstructed. A crowd of shouting people formed between Pedro and the pile of supplies.

"Let me through!" Pedro charged the crowd from behind. He pulled one man roughly aside and tried to push past him.

"See senor!" The man grabbed his arm and pointed excitedly. "The plane! It comes back!"

"I see!" Pedro pulled his arm away and waded into the crowd. Fought his way through to the pile of supplies.

Where was the signals box? Near the bottom of the pile was a yellow box with orange stripes. Pedro pushed other boxes roughly aside -- not caring that some of them fell into the sea -- and pulled it out. He tore it open and pulled out three rockets, then looked for a place to fire them.

Not here, with all these people. He fought his way through the crowd again and ran to the end of the trunk.

There he tore the wrapper off one rocket, looked up and saw that the plane was only about five kilometers away. He pulled a tab, cocked his arm and threw the rocket into the sea.

"Got it!"

The navigator's shout brought Johnston to his feet. Smithers and Peters turned away from the open door and lowered their binoculars.

Johnston ran forward to the flight deck and leaned over the navigator's shoulder.

"What have you got? Where?"

A finger stabbed at a bright spot on the radar scope.

"There! That's a radar reflector like the one they have on those rafts!"

"You sure?" Johnston leaned forward to inspect the blip. "It doesn't look very bright."

"It isn't. They're usually brighter than that. But it's a radar reflector all right -- no way I could mistake it."

The navigator looked at the screen again.

"There's a lot of clutter. I guess there's a tree or something in front of it.

"But it's one of our reflectors, sir. I'm sure of it."

"Okay, let's go." Johnston straightened up, took his hands from the back of the seat and lit a cigarette.

The navigator picked up the phone beside him, squeezed the handle and spoke.

"We've got it, skipper. Bearing 268 degrees, distance just over 10 k's."

Johnston turned to the corpsmen who watched from the open door. He held his clasped hands high in triumph as the plane began to bank.

The rocket hit the water sideways with a splash. Then the weighted tail sank, turning the head upward. Bubbles from the burning fuse rose about it.

It rocked slightly but countless tests had shown that it would stabilize, pointing straight up, before the 75-second fuse burned out and it fired.

Pedro and the others on the tree got an excellent view of the plane's belly from less than half a kilometer away as it turned onto its new course. Then the rocket soared hundreds of meters into the air, leaving a trail of colored smoke, before burst into a brilliant fireball that could have been seen from a plane twenty kilometers away -- had anyone been looking.

"What happened? Where did it go? Did they not see us? Did they not see the rocket? Will it come back? Why does the airplane fly away? Twenty people with a thousand questions clustered about Pedro as he stood on the tree with two unused rockets cradled in his arms. Accusing faces turned to Pedro as he watched the Manitou disappear.

"Radar!" He shouted aloud as the realization struck him. "They must have seen something on radar!"

He looked at the one remaining radar reflector hanging near sea level from the peak of the raft draped over a branch. He pointed to it and shouted.

"They look with radar! We must get the reflector -- move it out where they can see it!"

"Reflector, senor?" Questioning looks from several men.

"That metal thing from the top of the raft!" Pedro ran for the branch. "We must move it out into the open! Hang it up high!"

A dozen others were ahead of him. Five men ran out on the branch and pulled the raft from the higher branch on which it rested. There was a splash as the raft slipped free and the radar reflector dropped into the water.

A foot below the surface it glinted in the sunlight. It shimmered as eager hands pulled the raft toward the trunk of the tree.

Pedro saw the four-meter torpedo shapes that arrowed toward the shining reflector. Caught a glimpse of the jaws that opened, then closed on it.

One man lost his balance as the raft was pulled away from him. He stood for a second, his arms windmilling, while others reached to help him.

Then he fell with a splash among the sharks that were tearing the raft to shreds.

Someone dived from the tree into the water. A head surfaced beside the struggling man. A woman screamed but Pedro kept his eyes on the men in the water as a hand reached to grab the rope that moored the wooden boat.

Then another hand lifted the man who had fallen and threw him bodily toward the branch, where three men grabbed his arm and pulled him to safety.

Two hands were on the rope now, dragging the second man toward the branch. Other hands reached to lift him from the water inches ahead of snapping jaws.

Ramon lay on the branch gasping for breath, his face white. In the sea beneath him the shreds of the raft and the remains of the radar reflector sank slowly into the depths.

Ten kilometers away the plane circled, two hundred meters above another floating island. Johnston braced both hands against the sides of the open door and leaned out to look past Jeffers and Peters.

Below, a yellow life raft hung among the branches of a huge floating tree. The radar reflector, hanging below it, twinkled in the sunlight.

"Shit!" Johnston's knuckles turned white and he tightened his grip on the door frame.

"That's the first one we dropped! Before he jumped!"

Ramon turned and waved just before the boat rounded the end of the tree. Juana, watching from the trunk, waved back. She kept on waving for a minute after the boat disappeared.

On the branch Pedro turned and nearly bumped into Maria, who stood behind him. He would have stepped past her had she not spoken.

"They will bring the supplies back, senor? The food and water?"

"Yes."

"And you, senor. What will you do now?"

Pedro hesitated. He looked round the tree at the piled supplies, at the remains of the inflatable boat still floating by the branch and at the people who watched. Then he turned back to Maria.

"I'll take a look at the radio first, I guess. Then maybe try to fix the boat and the outboard motor. Why?"

"Can I help you, senor?"

Pedro looked at her. Smiled and shook his head.

"I don't think so, muchacha. It's not much of a job anyway."

"You can fix the radio, senor?"

"I doubt it, but I'll take a look." Pedro patted her shoulder as he stepped past her.

Three wrenches, a pair of locking pliers and a double-bladed screwdriver were strapped to the inside of the hood of the outboard motor. The screwdriver was too big for serious radio work but Pedro wasn't qualified for that anyway. It fitted the screws that held the control panel to the front of radio, and that was enough.

Pedro lifted the panel off and set it aside, then tipped the plastic case gently and drained a half liter of water out of it. He looked at the maze of circuit-boards, wiring and transistors inside.

He was half-aware, as he worked, of the small crowd that watched.

"Can you fix it, senor? The little man in the suit stood beside him. Pedro glanced up, then turned back to the radio.

"I don't know." He looked again into the maze of wires and transistors. "I don't know much about radio but I know this one is pretty tough. It might work if it gets a chance to dry out."

The radio lay on the trunk of the tree in full sunlight, face up with the control panel leaning against the side. Pedro sat back and looked at it.

"I'm afraid not, senor." The man knelt and looked into the radio as he spoke.

Pedro looked at him.

"Do you know radio?"

"A little, senor. The theory, not the practice." He offered his hand.

"I am Alfredo Alvarez. "I was a teacher of science at the collegio in Rio Blanco and I know a little of such things.

Pedro accepted the hand. Shook it.

"Mucho gusto. I am Pedro Ramirez. You say the radio will not work?"

"I don't think so, senor. If it had fallen into pure water -- distilled water -- there might be no problem. Then you could dry it out and it might work.

"But water that is not absolutely pure will leave a deposit when it dries, and that deposit may cause a short circuit.

"And salt water -- seawater -- is very bad, because it leaves a film of salt. Salt is very bad for electricity, senor."

Pedro looked at him. Looked at the radio again, then turned back to Alfredo.

"You may be right," he said. "But it's worth a try, anyway. Anything's worth a try now."

"You're right, senor. I was thinking of trying something myself, if you approve."

"Oh? What?" Pedro settled back on his heels and turned to listen.

"The radar reflector, senor. It worked because it was made of aluminum, no?"

"Partly. The material and the shape.

"It makes a very strong image, and most radar operators can recognize it."

Alfredo considered a moment, then spoke.

"The material more than the shape, senor. Any big piece of metal would help, would it not? We could tie it up there," Alfredo pointed toward the top of the branch to which Ramon had tied the bandana, "and they could see it from a long way away.

A radar operator could tell it was metal, and there is no natural metal out here. If he saw something made of metal, he would come to see what it was, would he not?"

"True." Pedro looked round the tree. Saw the outboard motor tied to a nearby branch.

"But that does not help us." He pointed to the motor. "That's the only big piece of metal we have, and it's not big enough."

"I was not thinking of the motor, senor." Alfredo pointed into the water beside the tree where more than a dozen empty water cans still floated.

"The water cans, senor. They are made of aluminum, no?"

"Yes." Pedro looked. Thought. Then his faced lighted.

"They are! If we could flatten them out and fasten them together ...."

"No need to flatten them, senor. We could just tie them together -- make a big bundle of them. That would give us a big enough surface!"

Pedro considered. "It might work," he said.

"It will work senor! I am sure of it! May I try it?"

Pedro looked at the man. Noted the soft hands, the remains of the suit and the eager look on his face. Almost refused, then changed his mind.

"Why not? Okay -- do it if you want. Tell everyone to save their cans from now on -- that you're in charge of them."

He looked at the cans that floated beside the tree.

"Get a stick or something -- and see how many of those you can fish out."

He looked at the cans that floated farther away, then glanced at the inflatable boat.

Three of the seven air chambers were still intact and Pablo had not bothered to haul it up onto the tree. He had just removed the outboard motor and the fuel tank, then dragged the boat over the branch to float in protected water between the branch and the tree. There was a patching kit in it, Pedro knew, and he might be able to repair the torn rubber.

He turned again to the teacher. "Alfredo?"

"Si, senor?"

"You get started on the cans. I'm going to see if I can fix that boat."

"Senor?"

Pedro had the boat up on the tree and turned over, and he was on his hands and knees to find and mark the punctures when Maria reached him again. He turned and found her kneeling beside him.

"It is late, senor, and people have not eaten yet. May I give them food bars, or the food Hotan brought?"

Pedro straightened up and looked at his watch. It was 2:30, but he had not felt hungry until she mentioned food. He looked at her and smiled.

"I guess we forgot lunch, eh?"

"We have had no breakfast either, senor. Ramon started the men working very early."

"Oh." Pedro stood and watched as Maria stood beside him.

"Then I guess we should eat," he said. "Are people getting tired of food bars?"

"The food bars are good, senor, but they are not what we are used to."

"What are you used to?" Pedro started to walk toward the piled supplies now. Maria followed.

"Rice and beans, mostly. Corn, fish and some meat, senor."

When they reached the supplies Pedro stood and looked down. He moved his foot and pushed one of the fish aside.

"Fish. What do we do with them?"

"Eat them, senor." Maria was puzzled.

"How?"

"Why senor. We cook them and ..." Her voice trailed off.

"Exactly. How do we cook them here?"

Maria could have answered but she hesitated. The senor might have a reason for not lighting a fire, and she did not want to appear foolish. She looked at him a moment before she spoke.

"Do you eat them raw?"

"I have never done it, senor."

"Well, now's your chance." Pedro bent down and picked up a coconut and hefted it.

"Do you like coconuts?" Maria looked up at him.

"Huh? Oh yes -- I like them well enough."

"I will open it for you senor, if you wish."

Pedro looked at the coconut, then at Maria.

"That might be an idea. Do you like them? Do the others?"

"I like them, senor. I think the others do. Most people in San Felipe eat them."

"Would coconuts make a good lunch?"

"Good enough, senor. We have nothing else except the fish and the food bars and the palmetto. I think many people would prefer coconuts to food bars. I could open them."

"Okay -- let's have coconuts for lunch. But how do we open them?"

"I will do that, senor, if you will let me use your knife."

"Sure." Pedro slipped the orange-handled knife out of the sheath at his belt as he spoke, and handed it and the coconut to her.

Maria laid both on the tree, walked to the branch and climbed down the side to where Alfredo was fishing empty water cans out of the sea. She spoke to him briefly, he looked at Pedro then handed her a half-dozen cans from the pile he was building on the trunk. She and brought them back to the piled supplies and, kneeling, she used the knife to cut the top off one of them.

Pedro watched in admiration. He had cut the top off many cans, but not as quickly or as neatly as she did.

Holding the coconut between her knees, Maria used the point of the knife to dig out the three soft spots, called "eyes" at one end. Then she poured the milk into the empty water can, handed it to Pedro and watched as he tasted it.

"Do you like it, senor?"

"Yes, thank you. It's good."

"I am glad, senor."

Pedro drank again as Maria forced the point of the knife into one of the holes and raised the nut in front of her with both hands. Then she slammed the butt of the knife down on the tree-trunk.

The coconut split in half. The knife fell free and began sliding down the side of the log.

Desperately, Maria pounced on it, and nearly slid into the sea herself as she caught it. Then she climbed back to her feet and contritely offered the knife back to Pedro, her eyes lowered.

"I'm sorry, senor. I almost lost your knife. I will find another way to open the other coconuts."

Pedro did not accept the knife. He smiled and spoke gently. "You wouldn't have lost it, muchacha. It floats."

Maria looked at it curiously, then offered it to him again.

"I was careless, senor. I didn't know it would float."

"But it does. And you won't be careless again. Use it, muchacha."

Maria looked at him, surprised.

"Thank you, senor. You are very kind." She knelt again and locked half the nut between her knees. Dug chunks of meat out of it, piled them in an empty section of empty shell and handed it to him.

Pedro accepted it and moved down the trunk of the tree. He watched as Maria waved two other women to join her, and as they opened more coconuts. He sat and rested his back against the stub of a branch as she called the others to share in the milk and the meat.

Coconuts grow only on the seashore and Pedro never saw them while he lived with his family, but there was something comforting and familiar about the sight of three women kneeling together, preparing food. His mother and his sister used to kneel like that while they shelled the rice, corn and beans that were staples in his father's home.

As he ate the coconut he wondered whether his sister would have looked like Maria, had she lived. He lay back on the trunk of the tree and closed his eyes.

"Senor?"

Pedro was half asleep when Maria spoke, and he opened his eyes with a start. He had been dreaming something -- remembering something pleasant -- but he could not recall what it was.

Maria knelt beside him. Her body shaded his face from the sun, and sunlight formed a halo around her black hair as he looked at her. He rolled to his side and raised himself on one elbow to face her.

"Muchacha?"

"I am sorry to wake you, senor. I did not realize you were sleeping."

"I wasn't sleeping -- not really. Was there something you wanted?"

"To speak with you, senor, if I may."

"Of course, muchacha." Pedro drew his legs up and raised his body so he sat facing her. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Perhaps, senor, a small favor. This tree is very big, and there is room for all of us here."

"Yes?"

"But I did not sleep well last night, and I don't think anyone else did. Most of us are tired today."

"Of course, muchacha. So many things happened last night -- of course you are tired.

"But you can sleep now. Everybody can sleep now -- you don't have to ask me for permission."

"But senor...." Maria's confusion showed in her face and sounded in her voice. "That is not what I mean. I do not ask your permission to sleep -- I ask your permission to work!"

"Oh?" Pedro was curious and he listened more carefully as Maria continued.

"I could not sleep after the rafts sunk, senor, because I was cold and because I was afraid of falling off the tree."

"Oh." Pedro thought back on his own experience of the night before.

"Manuel and I used parachutes as blankets, did no-one use them here? You can tonight, anyway."

"They would keep us warm, senor, but I would still not sleep because I am afraid of rolling off the tree. It is round, senor, and it moves. I am afraid I may fall off, and I know the sharks are waiting."

Maria spoke of problems, but her voice held no tone of complaint. It was almost as though she stated the problem, Pedro thought, as a prelude to explaining the solution.

But it was a problem, because the top of the tree was round. Looking at it, Pedro realized that he had instinctively chosen the high side of a branch stub to lie on, and had counted on it to prevent his rolling off. He had been safe, but there were not enough branch stubs for everyone. He turned back to Maria.

"That will be a problem, muchacha. I will have to think about it."

Maria blushed and nerved herself to continue. "I have thought about it, senor," she said. "May I speak?"

"If you have any ideas, muchacha, of course I want to hear them."

Maria wasn't sure whether he meant it or not, and she regretted approaching him but could not see how to back out now. Nervously, she continued.

"Hotan spoke with me while we were waiting for you, senor."

"Yes."

"His people -- my mother's people -- live in a mangrove swamp. There is no land to build houses on."

"Yes."

"So they build them on the trees, senor. On the roots, and sometimes among the branches."

Pedro sat up and listened.

"Hotan says his people camp on a tree like this one now, senor, but they build platforms among the branches where they can sleep in comfort."

"Oh?" Pedro raised his eyebrows. "What do they build them of?"

"Sticks, senor."

"Just sticks?"

"Sometimes they use bigger sticks -- logs -- underneath, to support them."

"And they are building something like that out here? On a tree?"

"He said so, senor." Some platforms are finished already.

"What tools have they?"

"I don't know, senor, but the Ayuba do not use many tools. In my father's store they bought only machetes and a few axes."

"What about nails -- things like that?"

"They do not use nails, senor. They tie things together with a kind of rope they make of split vines."

"I wonder if they would let me come to their camp. To take a look at their platform?"

"I do not think so, senor. They do not like strangers in their camps.

"But it is not difficult to build things. Many people in San Felipe build their own homes, and all people on the plantations do."

Pedro looked round the tree. Most of the people were loafing, idle and bored. He looked back to Maria.

"You're right," he said. "We could build platforms, and it would be worth while."

He looked about the tree and recalled that almost all the men were away in the boat with Manuel.

"We can start on it tomorrow," he said.

"But you'll want to sleep tonight, too. Why not take some of those parachutes," he pointed toward the pile, "and make hammocks of them? All you have to do is tear them up and tie ropes to the ends. That would do for a while."

"But senor!" Maria was shocked. "They are expensive! They belong to your government! We should not damage them!"

Pedro grinned.

"Let the government worry about that, muchacha! If they're going to complain, they'll have to find us first, and take us back to land where we can listen to them!"

Maria smiled and nodded her head.

"You are right, senor. It would be foolish to worry about damaging the parachutes now.

She glanced at the women who sat by the supplies, the turned back to Pedro.

"We have eight women here. If we all work, there will be hammocks for all tonight!

"Thank you, senor!"

She rose to her feet and turned slowly toward the others.

Juana was right, she thought. This one is different.

Maria's father had listened to her suggestions sometimes and had been willing to talk with her. But he was an older man, and even among older men he was unusual in San Felipe.

Giorgo had never listened to her and she had thought that perhaps young men did not approve of women thinking.

Her face was flushed as she knelt to speak with the other women.

One of the holes in the boat was about five centimeters across but the others were smaller and the patching kit -- supplied on the assumption that the boats might be used in water choked with the debris of floods -- was a big one. It would take hours of work with the foot-operated pump to re-inflate the boat, but Pedro was sure he could fix it. As he worked Manuel watched and, after a few minutes, found the repair kit from one of the rafts and began work on it.

Five meters away eight women sat in a circle, taking parachutes apart.

Several of them had safety pins in their dresses, and Maria used one to pick at the stitches that held one parachute together. One stitch, then another until she had enough thread loose to get the seam started.

She was going to tear it then, but Juana stopped her.

"Save the thread, senorita. There is no store here to buy more if we need it."

Maria saw that the other women were picking the seams stitch by stitch, and saving the thread. With Juana's help it took about fifteen minutes to open the first seam.

Juana coiled the thread and put it in the pocket of her dress while Maria counted two panels to the side of the open seam and started to pick at another.

Two panels will make a hammock, I think."

"Two will make a hammock for one, senorita." Juana picked up the parachute and counted four panels to the other side of the open seam. Lifted the cloth and bit the thread.

"I want a matrimonio!" She dropped the cloth in her lap and began to pick the seam apart.

"A matrimonio? For you and Ramon?"

"For Ramon, senorita, and I hope he will share it with me. May I use that pin for a moment?"

"Yes." Maria handed the pin over. Hesitated.

"You have been married, senora?"

"I was. For three years. My husband left me six months ago."

"Why did he leave?"

"He had no job, senorita. I found one -- cooking in a restaurant in Val Rita -- but he did not want me to support him. He went to the city -- to Rio Blanco -- and he said he would send for me when he found work."

"And he found no work?"

"He found work -- a friend told me that -- but he also found another woman."

Maria's face showed her sympathy. "I have heard that sometimes happens in the city, senora. I am sorry for you."

Juana smiled. "It happened, senorita. I missed him at first, but one does not miss a man forever. There are others."

Maria was shocked. "And you found one?"

"I found two, senorita."

"Two men! That is strange." Maria was not sure whether to believe Juana or not.

"I would have thought so, once. Now -- it is something one does, sometimes. Neither of them was willing to support me, so I gave neither of them rights over me."

"If one had been willing to support you?"

"Then I would have been his, and I would have been glad of it. I went with two because I thought one would make up his mind."

"And neither of them did?"

"I think one of them would have, but..."

"The flood."

"The flood."

"And now?"

"Now I think both of them are probably dead."

"So you will sleep with Ramon?"

"Ramon saved my life, senorita. I belong to no-one else so I am his, if he will have me.

"I don't know how long it will be -- if we ever get back to land he will probably leave me -- but while we are here I am his. It is good to belong to someone."

Maria glanced to the side, where Pedro worked on the boat, then looked back at her work.

"I have never belonged to anyone but my father and my mother," she said. "That is not the same."

"No, it is not the same." Juana glanced at Pedro, then looked at Maria again. "You would like to belong to the senor, no?"

Maria blushed, then smiled. "I would like very much to belong to the senor!"

"But you make a small hammock. One in which he will have to sleep alone."

Maria looked at her.

"We are not married, senora! And I am a virgin!"

Juana smiled. "Ramon and I are not married, senorita. And I wish I had my virginity to give him."

"You think I should sleep with the senor? What would he think of me?"

"That depends on how well you treat him, senorita. If you are virgin when you go to him, he will have no doubts about you. If you treat him well enough, he will not care about anything else.

"But we are not married, senora. It would not be right!"

"Right, senorita? What is right? Right is something you worry about in the village, where your parents and the priest and all your friends watch what you do -- and when you have to think of the future because you will live in that village for the rest of your life.

"Here," Juana waved her hands toward the sea. "Here you have no parents. There is no priest and you may have no future."

"But...." Maria had nearly finished ripping the second seam now. She stopped and listened as Juana spoke. She set the cloth down and looked at the other women. Saw the way they looked at her.

Then she picked up another section of parachute and counted four panels beyond the four Juana had chosen for herself. Lifted the thread to her teeth again and hesitated. Juana watched.

Maria looked at her, then bit the thread. Juana smiled and handed her the safety pin.

"Better finish the single hammock too," she said. "For yourself. Men like to think they are the ones who make decisions!"

They heard the buzz of the motor several minutes before the boat came into sight. Several women stopped work on the hammocks, stood and looked around, then sat down and went back to work when they saw nothing.

But the sound became louder and soon Maria's wooden boat, now with the motor from the inflatable on it, came into sight. With Manuel at the tiller and ten men aboard, the bundles and the remains of the second inflatable boat in tow, it churned slowly around the end of a tree and turned toward them.

Two women kept working but the others stood and waved to the approaching men.

Pedro stood and stamped his foot on the patch he had just applied, knelt to look at it and decided it would hold.

Then he walked to the branch to watch the boat approach.

He caught the bow and held it while Manuel shut down the motor and untied the tow-rope from the boat, then passed it forward. The bundles continued to coast toward the branch.

Pablo jumped from the bow and carried the tow rope to one side. He pushed the boat aside with his foot and the bundles drifted past it to bump gently into the branch.

"You got the motor I see." Pedro held the boat as the men began to climb out.

"Si senor, no trouble. And the bundles too." Manuel picked Pedro's machete up from the seat as he waited for the others to climb out of the boat, and passed it to him as he stepped onto the branch.

"We had to cut a few branches," he said, "but it didn't take long. Ramon took some men ahead over the trees, and they cut from the other end."

Manuel knelt to tie the boat, then turned to Pablo.

"Just tie the bundles up to the branch for now," he said. "There isn't room to unpack them here."

"Seguro." We will do it." Pablo was already tying the tow-rope to the branch.

"I think there are cigarettes in the third bundle, senor -- we could just see them through the plastic.

"We wanted to cut them out and smoke -- but I didn't want to cut the bundle until we got back here. The bundles are not strong, after they are cut."

"You're right." As he spoke Pedro noticed that the men all watched him. "I guess the cigarettes are important."

"They are, senor."

"Then let's get them out."

"Si senor!" Manuel grinned then turned and waved to Ramon and the others, who waited by the third bundle. "Do it," he said.

Pedro and Manuel stepped out of their way as they dragged the bundle to the trunk of the tree and pulled it out of the water. Most of the women joined them as Ramon slit the plastic with his machete and pulled out a carton of cigarettes. He opened it, and passed packages out to eager hands.

"Senor!" Pedro had never heard anger in Maria's voice before. She stood in front of him, hands on hips and eyes smoldering.

"Yes?"

"You said I was in charge of the supplies!"

"Yes I did but..."

"But this!" Maria waved a hand at the men who were smoking and talking among themselves.

"But they just got the cigarettes and the lighters out of the bundle, muchacha. You don't smoke, do you?"

"No I do not," she said, "but am I in charge of the supplies?

Pedro wanted to grin but he kept his face serious as he looked at her. He hadn't really meant it when he told her to take charge of the supplies -- it was just something to keep her quiet when there was no big stock of supplies anyway -- but he had said it.

And she was doing a good job. She was the youngest woman there, but the others all looked up to her and followed her lead. A pattern had formed before he noticed it, he realized, but if he didn't back her now the pattern would break, and it might never re-form.

"You are right," he said. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking." He smiled at her, then looked at the bundle. One man knelt beside it, picking up packs of cigarettes the others had dropped. Pedro took Maria's hand and led her to the bundle, and spoke loud enough for the others to hear.

"I think everybody who smokes has a package of cigarettes and a lighter now," he said. "You take charge of the rest. Give them more when they want them, but only one pack at a time."

As he spoke the man who had been collecting the extras set them by the bundle, stood and walked quietly away. Ramon had been sitting with a group of men to one side but now he stood and pulled a carton of cigarettes from inside his shirt. He walked to the opened bundle and, with an embarrassed grin, laid it on top.

"It will be better," he said, "to get them one pack at a time."

Juana and two other women now stood by Maria. She turned to Pedro.

"But we cannot lift the bundles onto the tree, senor. If some of the men could do that for us, we will be able to sort the supplies and see what we have."

"Seguro!" Paulo looked at the men. Two of them began dragging one bundle up onto the tree, then two more grabbed another.

Maria moved to the bundle that had been opened, and began to re-pack the cigarettes that had been spilled. She was furious with herself.

She had criticized the senor to his face! In the presence of other men! It was unthinkable! If she stayed on these trees too long, she would never be able to live in San Felipe again!

But the senor didn't seem to mind. He had apologized!

And he had been willing to listen to -- even to accept -- her suggestion about the platforms.

He was a strange one, she thought as she rejoined the women who worked on the hammocks.

"There's a wild one!" Manuel grinned. With Ramon he had followed Pedro to the piled supplies and both had overheard Maria's words. They stood with Pedro now as he opened the fresh package of cigarettes.

"Too wild, perhaps." Ramon was not impressed. "Those were not good words for a young woman to use to a man! A woman should not be critical!"

Manuel laughed.

"You have never been married, my friend, or you would not say that. Most women do nothing but criticize men in their hearts. But until they are married, they do not speak aloud."

"And after?" Pedro was amused.

"After the wedding, my friend, they criticize their husbands. Often!"

Manuel watched Maria as she seated herself by the parachute and picked up the section she had been working on.

"That one is starting a bit early, perhaps. She will have a hard job to find a husband,talking like that. But the man that takes her will know exactly what he is getting!"

He paused, lighted the cigarette Ramon gave him, then followed the others to a spot of shade near the crown of the tree and joined them as they sat.

"The girl is a good housekeeper too," he said. "She keeps the supplies well. How does she cook?"

"Cook?" Pedro looked at him. "How should I know?"

"But the fish, senor. Did she not cook them for lunch?

"We thought of them while we were eating coconuts and food bars. We envied you!

"And you have saved them! For tonight?"

"If you want. Maria says the Indians eat them raw, but I don't. Do you?"

"No senor. But the women can cook them. If they can't, I can."

"Cook? How?" Pedro's surprise echoed in his voice.

"With a fire, senor, how else?"

"A fire? Here?"

Manuel looked around curiously, as Pedro spoke, and realized he could not see a fire. He stood up for a better look around, then sat down with wonder in his face.

"There is none!" he said.

Pedro looked at him in confusion. "Of course not!"

"Now Ramon looked confused. "And why not, senor?," he asked.

Pedro looked at him, then turned to the wondering Manuel. He opened his mouth to speak, then paused.

Why not light a fire on the tree? He had dismissed the idea without thinking, because he had never seen a fire on a tree floating in mid-ocean. Because he associated fires with land. Because he had been trained to clear away underbrush and dead wood, and to light a fire only on bare earth or on rock.

But he had violated one of the prime rules of survival when he dismissed an idea because it was new to him.

He looked again at Manuel. Saw the worn denim and the bare feet. The face weathered by years at sea in a small boat.

He looked at Ramon's torn and dirty work clothes.

Maria still knelt to pick the seams of a parachute apart with a safety pin. Pedro remembered her surprise at his mention of raw fish.

He felt shame as he looked back to the men.

"Why not? I wasn't thinking, that's why not! But we can have one, and we will."

He glanced toward the work party, now relaxing with cans of water and cigarettes.

"I guess Pablo could do it as well as anyone." Pedro opened his mouth to call, but stopped as Manuel touched his arm.

"No senor. You must do it!"

"Light the fire?"

"Yes, senor!"

"Why?"

Manuel glanced at Ramon. The foreman shrugged and turned to Pedro.

"It is the custom, senor. The leader of the camp chooses the site for the fire and lights it himself.

"If you ask Pablo to light it, you make him the leader!"

"How?"

"By asking him to light the fire, senor."

"And what if I asked you or Manuel to light it?"

"Then there would be no fire, senor."

Pedro saw the expression on their faces and shrugged. He drew up his legs and prepared to stand.

"In that case," he said, "I'd better get the wood."

Manuel grinned and pulled him back to a sitting position.

"You don't have to gather the wood, senor. Just choose the spot and light the fire!"

He turned toward the work party and shouted.

"Pablo!"

The Manitou was nearing San Felipe and Johnston spoke by radio to Group Leader Martin in Hidalgo.

"No sir. We had a false alarm, but no sign of them yet."

"False alarm?"

"Radar found a reflector, sir, and we thought we had them -- but it turned out to be that first raft we dropped. The one that landed in the trees."

"Nothing else?"

"No sir."

"You checked the whole area?"

"Yes sir. Where they were last reported and up to about 200 kilometers to the northwest -- mets says they should be drifting that way."

"No radio? No rockets or flares?"

"No sir. But we'll find them tomorrow -- I'm sure of it."

"You'd better. The Honshu Maru will be there tomorrow afternoon, and I can't ask her to wait for people we can't find."

"He's out there, sir."

"You think he is. But he had four radios with him and there are no signals. He had two rafts with radar reflectors, and you can't find either one of them. And there was a storm last night that could have killed them all."

"We don't know they were in the storm, sir. It was just a series of squalls and we don't even know exactly where they were."

"No we don't, but mets says there was a fifty per-cent chance they got caught and you know there's a ninety per-cent chance they were killed if they were.

"And you flew twelve hours today without finding them."

"But sir -- there are more than twenty people out there!"

"If they're still there. But there are twenty thousand on shore, and we need the planes."

"So what do we do, sir? Forget them? Write them off?"

"Of course not, but we can't keep a plane on the job full time. If you don't find them tomorrow we'll get a satellite survey of the area -- long shots and close-ups of everything. If they're still out there you have a better chance of finding them in pictures anyway.

"We'll do that, sir."

"You can put a whole decade to work on it if you want to. Use the decade he was in -- they won't be much good for anything until they've found him anyway."

"Those people are out there sir -- I know that. We'll find them if it takes a year."

"You haven't got that long. Even if they still have all their supplies, they only have water for another week."

"Yes sir, I know. Send us the pictures and we'll find them in time."

"Will do. Martin, out."

"Thank you sir. Johnston, out."

Pedro had chosen a small depression near the base of the tall vertical branch where the bandana flew for the fire, and Manuel piled some cartons together to make a table for Maria and Juana to work on.

They cleaned the fish with Manuel's knife and Maria toasted them on sticks. Juana borrowed Pedro's machete to cut the hearts out of the palmetto and to slice them, while another woman used Ramon's machete to open the coconuts. She saved the shells for use as dishes, and used the machete to cut the meat into chunks.

The fire became a social center as the meal was prepared and most of the people on the tree gathered in small groups near it. Pedro, Ramon and Manuel sat to one side, Ramon and Manuel smoking and all sipping cans of water.

The Indian had not brought enough fish to make a meal for twenty four people but there was enough to make a welcome addition to a meal of food bars. Palmetto heart, sliced thin like cucumbers, was a tasty side-dish and there were chunks of coconut for dessert.

Juana put two pieces of fish and a handful of palmetto slices on a section of coconut shell. She smiled at Ramon, raised the shell and signalled with her eyes.

"I think she wants me to eat with her, senors." Ramon stood. "If you will excuse me?"

"Of course." Pedro watched the foreman leave.

Manuel smiled and nodded after them. "Our friend has a friend."

"Yes. She's the woman he saved when the raft sank."

"A good way to meet a woman.

"And you have a friend too, senor. Look!"

Maria had filled two sections of nut-shell with pieces of fish, chunks of coconut and slices of palmetto. Now she brought them to Manuel and Pedro.

With a smile she knelt and set the shells down, one in front of each of them. Pedro looked at them, then at the shares other people were getting. He glanced at Manuel, then spoke to Maria.

"This is a lot of fish. It looks like more than my share."

"It is, senor. I have been cleaning and cooking fish all day, it seems. I do not want to eat any now, so I give my share to you."

Manuel nodded and picked up a fillet of fish from the shell nearest him. He broke a bite-sized piece off and ate it, then looked at Maria and nodded.

"It is very good fish, senorita, and very well cooked."

"I'm glad you like it, senors. Please eat it." She spoke to both, but she looked at Pedro.

"Are you sure...?" Pedro hesitated.

"I am very sure, senor." Maria pushed his shell toward him.

"Thank you, muchacha." Pedro picked up a fillet of fish and broke it in half. Ate the halves, one by one. Nodded and smiled to Maria while he chewed.

"Thank you again, muchacha!"

"De nada, senor." Gracefully, Maria rose to her feet and returned to the fire.

Manuel ate another piece of fish and nodded.

"This is good." He turned to Pedro.

"I am grateful for your food bars, senor. They are good -- but they are not the kind of food I am used to. I would not want to live on them for very long."

Pedro nodded. Swallowed and picked up a slice of palmetto.

"I lived on them for a week once, and I agree." He glanced at the fire. "We don't have enough fish tonight, but perhaps the Indians will bring us more tomorrow."

Indignant, Manuel looked at him. Swallowed, then spoke. "I am a fisherman, Senor! Should I wait for the Indians to bring me fish?

Pedro looked up in surprise.

"You want to go fishing here? The Indians catch them with bow and arrow -- can you do that?"

"No senor -- but there must be fish-lines in the rafts! Are there not?"

"I don't know." Pedro looked at him in surprise. "I guess there should be -- I've never used rafts before."

"No boat goes to sea without fish-lines, senor. If there are none in the rafts -- there are some in my boat."

"But you said your boat was crushed."

"It was, senor, but it should still float. It has plastic foam in it, so it cannot sink."

"And could you find it?"

"Perhaps, senor, perhaps not. But I am sure the Indians could, and they would if you asked them to. You could offer them water for finding it and bringing the fishhooks."

"Yes -- I guess so." Pedro was thoughtful.

"And there are other things in the boat, senor. Pliers and nets -- and an axe!"

"An axe? Why does a fisherman carry an axe?"

"For sharks, senor. They get tangled in the nets sometimes, and we must kill them before they do too much damage. I carried an axe for that, and so do most other fishermen."

"So you have an axe -- if you can find it."

"I do, senor. And while we were cutting the branches I was thinking of it. We could have worked much faster with an axe, because some of the branches were too big for a machete."

"Yes."

"The fishing equipment is mostly nets and we could not use them here. They are the best way to catch fish, but they would tangle on the trees.

"But there are hooks and lines too, and with them we could catch our own fish."

There was just one scrap of fish left in Pedro's nut shell now. He ate it, then wiped his hands on the bark of the tree before he answered.

"I wonder if we should."

"Why not, senor?"

"Because of the Indians. They need water but they will not accept it as a gift. They wish to trade, and the best thing they have to trade is fish. If we catch our own fish -- what will they trade for water?"

Manuel put his last piece of coconut into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed before he spoke.

"You can give them water for bringing my fish-lines and the axe senor, and for fruit and coconuts.

"But while you trade for fish they will have none for themselves."

"How do you know?"

"I know how they fish with the bow and arrow and I know they cannot get many fish that way. Not enough to trade and still have some left for themselves."

"You think we should catch our own fish then."

"I think we should. And I think we should tell the Indians to bring all the coconuts and fruit they can find.

"The fish will come to us, senor, and we can catch them better than the Indians. But we cannot move around on the trees the way they can, so we cannot gather our own nuts and fruit."

Manuel sat back and picked up his water can. Drained it and set the empty can in the empty nut shell while Pedro answered.

"I see what you mean. We will catch our own fish and I'll ask the Indians about your boat next chance I get."

"Good, senor. And if I may, I will look for fishing equipment with the things from the raft."

"Okay."

"But I will still be grateful if the Indians bring my own lines and the axe from my boat."

"Jonas Recovery." The voice on the phone was bright and musical.

"Hello. My name is Peter Steiger and I hear you're interested in materials that might be going to waste."

"We are. Do you know of some?"

"How would fifty million dollars worth of logs sound?"

"I think Mr. Jonas would like to speak with you sir. Where are you calling from, please?"

"Houston, Texas."

"Mr. Jonas is not in his office right now, but I can reach him. If you'll leave a number, I'll have him call you. Will you be in for the rest of this afternoon?"

"Sure. Until eight o'clock, Houston time. I'll be in all evening tomorrow."

"I'll ask him to call you before eight this evening, sir. Can I have your name again, please?"

Clive Jonas had walked out of an assembly-line job years before, because he thought there should be more to life than time clocks and time payments. He took his pickup truck to the cottage country of mid-Ontario and began collecting garbage from vacationers for a dollar a bag.

He was supposed to take the bags to a township dump and he did take most of them, but he was setting up housekeeping on a budget and some of the furniture he collected was just to good to throw out.

He re-upholstered some pieces that winter and rebuilt a couple of outboard motors and a washing machine he had collected in the fall. He sold them the next summer -- one sofa and an outboard motor to the people who has thrown them away -- and by the end of the summer he had three trucks on the road, a dozen teen-agers sorting through three township dumps on a commission basis, two men rebuilding the goods that came in the back door of his shop and one woman selling them out the front door.

But the business was too good to last and he knew it, so he sold out the next year, before serious competition developed, moved west with a bankroll and an idea and built a multi-million-dollar business by turning other peoples' problems into his profits.

Eurasian milfoil was one of them. A water weed the British Columbia government considered an expensive nuisance, Jonas harvested as a profitable crop from which he made tens of thousands of tons of cattle feed every year. He was on one of his floating harvesters in Okanagan lake when his secretary found him, and he took the call on a radio-phone in the wheelhouse of a tug-boat.

"Jonas."

"Call for you from Houston, Texas, sir. A Peter Steiger. He says he knows where there's fifty million dollars worth of lumber going to waste."

"Got the number?"

"Yes sir. He says he'll be there until eight tonight. That's about an hour and a half from now.

"Okay. Get him, and patch me through."

"What's that?" Pedro pointed to a small yellow box, with the black outline of a fish on it, among the supplies from the raft. Manuel picked it up and opened it.

Inside were a dozen fishhooks with steel snells stuck into a piece of cardboard, a square of plastic sponge partly cut so it could be torn easily into about two dozen cubes, a plastic bottle of viscous pink liquid and two coils of heavy fishline. Manuel looked them over for a moment, then turned to Pedro.

"This is it, senor. I was sure there would be one. Every boat should have fishlines!"

Pedro had been standing as he watched Manuel sort through the supplies. Now he squatted beside the fisherman and took the bottle of pink liquid from the box.

"I wonder what this is?" He turned it in his hands curiously as Manuel watched.

"Fish lure." He read the label. "Wet sponge with concentrate. Effective for all salt-water fish."

Manuel snorted. "Fish lure? Food is the best lure, senor -- and we have food."

"We have -- but I guess this might work if we didn't." Pedro put the bottle back as he spoke, then picked up the square of sponge and flexed it.

"Fishhooks!" Ramon had come and was now looking over Pedro's shoulder. The foreman sat beside them.

"Well fisherman," he said, "I guess you'll have to go to work tomorrow!"

"I hope so." Manuel smiled.

Ramon turned to Pedro with a question.

"The little schoolteacher, senor. What does he do?"

He pointed to Alfredo, now standing precariously on a branch and reaching with a stick for a can floating in the sea.

They watched as Alfredo hooked the can and pulled it toward the branch.

"I was about to throw an empty can away and he yelled at me," Ramon said. "He told me that can would help your friends find us!"

"It might, my friend." Pedro smiled.

"How, senor?"

"We lost the radar reflector this morning. The metal thing from the top of the rafts. Alfredo thinks he can make another one out of those cans."

Ramon's eyes opened wide.

"And can he, senor?"

"He might. He can make something that will look different from the trees on a radar screen, and if they see it from the plane they may come to investigate."

Ramon looked at the teacher with a new respect.

"He is a fool, wearing those city shoes out here. They are slippery and dangerous on trees, but he will not take them off.

"But if he can help us, I will help him gather the cans tomorrow."

"If he needs help, he will ask for it," Pedro said. I have another job for you tomorrow, my friend."

"Oh?" Ramon's look was quizzical.

"The Indian who came with the fish is from a tribe that lived in a mangrove swamp at the mouth of the river."

"The Ayuba, senor. I have heard of them."

"The muchacha says they make their homes in trees. They build houses on the mangrove roots and sometimes in the branches."

"That is true, senor. I have not seen their village, but I have seen pictures of such houses."

Pedro looked around at the hammocks that now hung from every near-vertical branch on this tree and several others, and at the raft that now served as a tent.

"Maria says the Ayuba here have done the same," he said. "They are on a tree like this one, but they have built platforms of sticks on the branches so they have a place to sleep."

Ramon glanced toward the crown of the tree and nodded his head slowly.

"That would be possible, senor. It could be done."

"She says the Ayuba use only axes and machetes for their work, and they tie the platforms together with vines. They need no nails."

Ramon smiled. "Nails are very expensive, senor, and they do not work very well in sticks. We use wire on the plantations, but I have used vines. You split the vines and soak them before you use them. They are soft enough to work with while they are wet, and they are very strong when they dry."

"Then you could build such platforms?"

"I could, senor."

"Will you?"

"I will, senor." He grinned.

"Juana asked me to tell you something, senor."

"Yes?"

"When they were making hammocks today, the little senorita made a matrimonio!"

"A matrimonio?"

"A hammock for two. For two who sleep together."

"Maria?" She's a bit young to be sleeping with anyone. Who does she plan to share it with?

Ramon and Manuel both smiled. Ramon spoke.

"Of course," Ramon said. "You do not know. The young lady -- the muchacha, you call her -- has done everything but rape you for two days now, but you have been to busy to notice.

"I have used the same technique myself, senor, and it is a good one. It is better to ignore them for a while -- but I have never done it as well as you do. I admire you!"

Pedro blushed violently. "Me?"

"But of course, senor. Who else?

"But she is only a muchacha. A little girl! How could she want me?"

Both men stared at him, astonished.

"You mean you did not know, senor?" Manuel.

"But she's a child!"

Ramon spoke first. "She is no child, he said. She is a woman, and she thinks she has found her man."

Manuel looked at Pedro. "She was to be married next month, senor."

"No! How old is she?"

"Sixteen years, perhaps more. That is old enough for a woman."

"Not in Canada, it isn't. Canadian women don't get married until they're more than twenty years old."

"Too old." Ramon shook his head. "A woman who is not married before she is twenty will be sour," he said. "She will never trust her husband, or respect him."

Manuel spoke now.

"Did you not see the way she looks at you, senor? A child does not look at a man like that."

Pedro glanced at Maria and the other women at the fire, then turned back to his friends.

"She's still a muchacha to me." He looked at Manuel. "And you call her muchacha when you speak to her!"

Manuel's eyebrows rose in surprise and he opened his mouth to answer but then he paused. Glanced at Ramon and saw that the foreman grinned at him.

Manuel closed his mouth and slowly nodded his head.

"I do," he said.

Ramon smiled.

"I noticed," he said, "and I wondered. I thought it might be because the senor called her that."

"No." Manuel looked at the women a moment, then turned back to the men.

"But I knew her when she was a nina. I saw her ride her mother's hip around the village, and I saw her learn to walk. It seems like yesterday that I first heard her called muchacha!

"But she is a senorita now, and I must remember to call her that."

He turned to Pedro.

"She is a senorita, senor, I can assure you!"

Pedro avoided looking at the women as he answered.

"Maybe. But even if I thought she was old enough, I couldn't touch her."

"Why not, senor?" Ramon looked curiously at him. "She is ripe, and she wants you. She will care for you, and give you pleasure."

"But I'm on duty -- and she is in my care."

"Then care for her, senor. That is what she wants!"

"You don't understand. Young girls often think they're in love with rescue corpsmen who help them, but it's not really love -- they're just grateful for the help. The corps knows this, and we aren't allowed to sleep with any women who are under our protection.

Ramon looked at him curiously. "You are like a priest?" he asked.

"No, but I must act like one while I am on duty."

Ramon shrugged" "As you wish senor, I would not pass her up!"

He glanced up as Juana walked toward the crown of the tree, hips swinging.

"Juana made a matrimonio too, and I will not pass her up -- or keep her waiting! Good night, my friends!" He stood and followed Juana toward the crown of the tree.

In Houston, the phone rang in Peter Steiger's apartment. He picked it up.

"Steiger here."

"Mr. Steiger? This is Clive Jonas. You called my office a few minutes ago."

"I did, but they said you weren't in."

"I wasn't and I'm not now, but all my calls get through somehow. My secretary said you were talking about a lot of wood going to waste."

"Yes sir. About fifty million dollars worth, I'd say."

"Sounds interesting. Where is it?"

"A friend tells me you pay for information like that."

"I do if it pans out."

"How much?"

"A hundred dollars if I do anything with it -- anything at all. Then ten per-cent of the profits if there are any. That's if you have something I'm not already working on."

"A hundred dollars? That doesn't sound like much for fifty million."

"It isn't. That's what you get if I don't make anything out of it. If I lose."

"And the ten per-cent?"

"That could work out to a few million dollars if we really are talking about fifty million."

"How do I know whether you're working on something or not? How do I know you'll pay off?"

"You have to trust me unless you want to come to Vancouver. If you came to my office I could prove it if I was working on something -- we're a big company now and we have paperwork on everything.

"But the important thing, Mr. Steiger, is that I have my reputation to consider and it's worth a lot more to me than ten per-cent of any one deal. Most of the phone calls I get don't work out to much -- that's the way business is -- but I make my living on the ones that do. I can afford to pay ten per-cent for a good tip, Mr. Steiger, but I can't afford not to pay."

"You get ninety per-cent?"

"Sure. I do the work, I take the chances. I may lay out several million dollars for expenses on a big operation and I may lose it if things don't work out. Ten per-cent is the best deal you're going to get from anyone in this business."

"Okay. I guess that's fair."

"So -- where's the wood?"

"Floating in the Pacific Ocean off San Cristobal. You heard about the flood they had down there?"

"Yes I heard. What about it?"

"Well, that flood washed out half the coastal forest on it's way to the sea. Now the sea is half covered with trees -- it looks like the biggest log boom you've ever seen!"

"How do you know about this?"

"I've seen pictures. I work in photo files for NASA, and I looked at satellite pictures of it yesterday."

"And they show the logs. Okay. You said fifty million dollars worth. What kind of trees are they? Where did you get that number from?"

Steiger was silent for a minute.

"I don't know what kind of trees they are -- all kinds, I guess. There's a lot of hardwood there -- I'm looking at a picture now and I can see that from the way they float."

"You can tell that?"

"Yes. I used to scale logs for Oregon Consolidated. Half my job was looking at air photos of log booms and estimating what they were worth. It was all softwood that I checked there, but I can see that some of these logs float lower in the water so I think they must be hardwood.

"I just made a guess at fifty million, but it's a good guess. I've seen some pretty big booms, but this is worth dozens of them."

"This stuff is on the high seas, is it? Outside anybody's territorial waters?"

"Most of it is. The big boom is more than a hundred miles offshore now and moving out to sea."

"Is there some way I can get copies of those photos?"

"I have one here. I'll send it to you."

"Do that. Don't mail it -- send it by messenger. There should be a Jet Express office in Houston -- call them tonight and they'll pick it up. Tell them to put it on my bill.

"Got a pencil? Good. My account number with them is 6982-J."

"What about the address? All I have now is Jonas Recovery, Vancouver."

"That's all you need. They know me."

"Okay. It's on its way."

"Good. Will you be there tomorrow evening?"

"Yes."

"My secretary has your number. I'll call you after I've seen the picture. So long for now."

"Right. Thank you. Good bye."

When Steiger hung up, Jonas clicked the switch of his hand-set twice.

"Judy. You got that?"

"Yes sir. Tape and notes."

"Okay. Info. I want a credit check and all the usual stuff on Steiger. Then check on long-range seaplanes near San Cristobal -- there won't be any right there, but check everything that's available for charter on the Pacific coast from Mexico to Panama."

"Yes sir."

"The same for deep-sea barges and tugboats."

"Yes sir."

"Call the weather consultants, ask them what we can expect in that area for the next few months."

"Yes sir."

"Get Fawcett to check the legal side of it and call Jenkins in engineering. Tell him to start thinking about a floating sawmill. Maybe a chipper and a pulp-mill too. That's pie-in-the-sky for now, but maybe we could lease a log-carrier from Mac and Blo or something like that. See what he can come up with."

"Yes sir. Will you be in the office tomorrow?"

Jonas looked at his watch. "Yes, bright and early. Call Mary and tell her I'll be home tonight."

Manuel looked after Ramon as he left.

"Juana? She looks like a good woman. I envy him!

"And I envy you, senor, even if you don't plan to take advantage of your good luck tonight. I know a little about Maria -- she is a woman of San Felipe -- and I have seen how she looks at you. She won't trap you, but she won't give up."

"But she doesn't love me." Pedro blushed slightly as he spoke. Manuel grinned.

"Of course she does not love you," he said, "but she will if you let her!"

"No woman really loves a man until she sleeps with him senor. She may think she does, but she is not sure.

"But Maria is a virgin -- I am sure of it -- and if you accept her you will be her first man. That is very important to a woman, and if you accept her she will be yours."

"You believe that?" Pedro looked at him curiously.

"But of course, senor!" From the look on Manuel's face, he might have been explaining the facts of life to a child.

"If a woman is a good woman, her first man is her man forever. Why else would a man want to marry a virgin?"

Pedro glanced at Maria as she sat by the fire, then turned back to Manuel.

"Maybe," he said, "but I'm still stuck with the regulations. I guess I'll have to sleep in the boat tonight!"

"Never!" Manuel's face showed his concern. "You will sleep in her hammock, senor -- and you will sleep alone unless you invite her to join you. It would be a very great insult if you were to sleep in the boat! It would make her very unhappy."

"So I should use the hammock?"

"You should, senor. And you should thank her for making it!"

"Okay." Pedro rose to his feet. "And you, my friend?"

"I will sleep in the boat, senor. None of the women have chosen me -- and I'm not sure I want them to. My Carmine is probably dead now, but I still remember her." With a wave, Manuel climbed down to the branch, walked to the boat.

Juana had stood and stretched languorously. Told Maria she was going to bed and walked back among the branches, hips swinging. Seconds later Ramon had left the men and followed her.

That was how it should be done, Maria thought, but she could not force herself to do it.

But she had to do something -- the sun was down now, and the dusk was fading fast. Most of the people on the tree had already gone to their hammocks or had found hollows in the trunk.

She rose to her feet and walked to where Pedro sat looking out over the sea. She knelt beside him and spoke softly.

"May I speak with you, senor?"

Pedro felt a tightness in his stomach as she spoke, but he tried to show no sign of it. He turned to her.

"Of course, muchacha."

"I am sorry I scolded you about the supplies, senor. I should not have done that."

Pedro smiled.

"I was wrong, muchacha. You were right to do it. I wasn't thinking."

Maria felt flustered now. She blushed.

"Perhaps, senor. But I should not have spoken like that while other men listened.

"That's okay."

"But I should not have done it, senor." Maria blushed. She nerved herself for what she had to say, but found she could not say it. She looked down at the tree, then at Pedro again before she spoke.

"I made a hammock for you, senor. It hangs near the end of the tree. Your coveralls hang beside it."

Pedro smiled, embarrassed.

"Thank you, muchacha." He rose to his feet and looked down at her.

"Good night, muchacha!"

He walked to the end of the tree, where the matrimonio waited.

Maria stayed where she was. Felt a tear trickle down her cheek.

Muchacha! Would he never learn?

A matrimonio is big but the edges are cut short and weight pulls it closed except for a narrow slit at the top. As Pedro climbed into the hammock it became a soft, dark, private cell.

But not completely private. Sounds from outside passed easily through the cloth and Pedro could hear murmurs and small gasps of delight from the hammock Juana and Ramon shared just a couple of meters away.

And both hammocks were hung from the same branch, so Pedro's hammock moved every time Juana and Ramon moved. He felt motion as they adjusted their positions, then a rhythmic movement it took him several minutes to identify.

Even after it stopped, he found it difficult to get to sleep.

Juana's matrimonio was only a few meters from Maria's hammock and it was the first thing Maria saw when she opened her eyes the next morning and she lay for a moment, looking at it.

She had seen matrimonios in use before and had never thought about them. Now she studied the outline of bumps and curves, and found she could not tell which was Juana and which Ramon.

If it were the senor and herself in there, she wondered, which would be her and which him? How would he hold her?

She tried to guess but she had no experience to base a guess on. If she were in there with the senor, she thought, she would be happy. That was enough.

But she was not with him. He had gone to her -- to his -- matrimonio alone, and had left her to sleep alone.

But he had not slept well. Maria heard him as he talked, tossed and turned in his sleep -- as though he were having a bad dream, perhaps. Maria longed to go to him and to comfort him, but did not.

She wanted to go to him for other reasons too, but she could not have stood the shame if he had rejected her.

Now she turned her head to look at the matrimonio she had made. It hung empty!

Quickly she swung out of her hammock and looked about. Other hammocks hung among the branches and some were obviously shared, but there was no way to tell who shared them. Maria stepped over to the matrimonio and looked inside. Pedro's clothes were not there.

Then she smelled wood-smoke. The fire was lit!

Juana had hung a section of parachute the day before to shield a convenient forked branch at water level for a women's washroom. Maria walked out to it, straddled the fork and squatted. Then, pulling her dress straight and running her fingers through her hair, she walked to the fire.

There she stopped and looked around. There should be a woman nearby, she knew, but she could not see anyone.

A branch cracked at the end of the tree and Pedro appeared with three fish dangling from one hand.

Maria felt a flush of shame as he approached.

"Senor! You are awake already! Let me take those!" She ran to meet him and reached for the fish he carried. He smiled and stopped, then turned aside. As she reached for the fish he lifted them over his head, out of her reach.

"Please, senor!" Maria started to reach for them, then checked herself.

Pedro smiled again. "Please what, muchacha?"

"Please," she said, let me have the fish. I will clean them for you and cook them."

Pedro looked at the fish and spoke again. "I was going to clean one myself," he said, "and cook it for my breakfast."

Maria stepped back a pace and lifted her hands in consternation. "No senor. You must not!"

"Must not what, muchacha? And why must I not?" He lowered the fish as he spoke.

"You must not clean them, senor. You must not cook them!" Maria stepped forward and reached again.

"And why must I not, muchacha?" Pedro smiled and lifted them again above her reach."

"Because you must not, senor. Men do not cook their own breakfasts. Not when there are women to do it." Maria reached again, careless of the way her breasts pressed against him as she stretched.

"Why not?" Pedro stepped back and spoke with a smile. "In Canada, many men cook their own breakfasts."

Maria backed away from him and pleaded. "Please senor, let me have the fish."

Now Pedro realized that she was serious. He gave her the fish and followed as she carried them to the fire where she set them on a carton. Then she turned to him again.

"Senor. May I borrow your knife?"

He slipped it from its sheath and handed it to her.

Maria accepted it, then picked up a coconut. Knelt and braced the coconut between her knees. She looked up at him as she spoke.

"I am sorry senor. If you had told me you were going to get up early ...."

She hesitated, then dropped her eyes to the coconut. With the point of the knife she dug the eyes out of it.

"Why should I have told you?" Pedro was curious.

Maria found an empty water can and poured coconut milk into it before she answered.

"So I could get up to make your breakfast, senor!"

"And why should you do that, muchacha?"

"Because you are a man, senor, and I am a woman." She stood and handed him the can of milk, then knelt again at the carton where she had left the fish.

With the knife she cut just behind the gills. Flipped the fish over and cut again. She picked it up, broke the head off and turned to throw it into the sea.

"Don't do that!"

Maria started as he spoke. Pedro apologized.

"I'm sorry, muchacha. I did not mean to startle you. But please save the heads -- all the waste. It will make good bait.

"I will, senor." Maria set the head down beside her and began to gut the fish. Pedro stood beside her and watched.

"Are men not allowed to cook, muchacha?"

"They should not when there are women to do it, senor." She did not look at him as she spoke. "Why did you not tell me you planned to get up early?"

"Why should I tell you, muchacha? I wanted to go fishing -- but there was no need for you to get up."

"You should have told me, senor! You should have let me make the fire!"

She opened the fish as she spoke and dropped the guts beside the head.

The smell of smoke awakened Juana. She turned her head to look at Ramon then, careful not to awaken him, she sat up. Sniffed, to catch the smell of a man beside her, then looked at him again before she poked her head through the slit at the top of the matrimonio. She smelled the morning air and looked about.

No movement in the other hammocks. No movement anywhere except where Maria knelt by the fire.

There was no need to get up now and little work to do if she did, but a thousand generations of Juana's female ancestors had taken pride in being up and about before their men were awake -- and as early as any other women. Had Maria not been up Juana might have been able to go back to sleep -- but Maria was up and the fire was lit. Slowly, Juana pulled the side of the matrimonio down and swung her legs out. Minutes later, dressed and with hair combed back by her fingers, she walked to the fire.

"Good morning." Maria was spitting a piece of fish on a stick of wood as Juana approached.

"Up before me, Maria. I am sorry!" Juana nodded to Pedro. "Good morning, senor!" Then she knelt beside Maria and picked up a fish. Reached for the knife and slit the fish's belly.

"The senor was up before me. He made the fire."

"The senor?" Juana was shocked. She turned to Pedro. "I am sorry, senor!"

"I'm sorry, senora. I did not mean to make anyone angry, but the world will not end if a man cooks his own breakfast."

"And it will not end if a woman gets up to make it for you, senor." Juana scooped the guts out of the fish. Looked at the fish-head and the guts on the tree and dropped the others beside them. She shook her hand to get rid of the slime, then wiped it on the rough bark of the tree. She sliced the fins off the fish, cut it in quarters and set three of them aside.

Manuel sat up now in the boat where he had slept. As he yawned and stretched, Juana reached for the coconut Maria had opened and an empty water can. She poured the can half-full of milk as Manuel stood with his back to the tree, opened his fly and pissed over the side of the boat. He buttoned his fly as he turned to climb onto the tree.

"Buenas dias, senor." Juana handed him the can of milk.

"Buenas dias, senora." Manuel squatted by the fire and looked curiously at the cooking fish.

"Fish! I thought we finished them all last night!"

"We did." Maria turned the first fish as she spoke. "Senor Pedro was up early this morning. He caught them."

"Senor? I didn't know you were a fisherman!"

"I'm not, but I have fished a bit. I thought I would try it this morning."

"And you caught fish. Good! What bait did you use?"

"A piece of food bar."

Manuel wrinkled his nose. "Not good." He looked at the fish guts and heads Maria and Juana had set aside.

"Those will be better."

"The senor told me to save them," Maria said.

Manuel smiled. "I'm sure he did muchacha."

The fisherman looked at the cooking fish, then at Pedro.

"That won't be ready for a few minutes, and this is a good time for fishing. If I may take your line, senor, I'll see what I can get."

"Your line, my friend. You are the fisherman. I left it hanging on a root down there."

Manuel stood. "Then I'll give it a try before breakfast." He picked up a handful of fish guts and a head. "And I'll take these for bait if I may, senorita."

Maria wrinkled her nose in mock disgust. "Please do, senor."

As Manuel walked toward the tree root Pedro hurried to join him.

"My friend?"

"Si, senor?"

"I need to talk."

"If you wish, senor." Manuel waited until Pedro was beside him, then continued his walk.

"I was up early this morning, my friend. To go fishing."

"Si?"

"Maria was angry because I did not tell her I would get up early."

"She would be." Manuel kept walking.

"And she was angry because I lit the fire."

"Senor!" Manuel stopped, looked at Pedro, then walked slowly on.

"But why should I not make a fire? yesterday, I had to make it.

Manuel looked at him. "You had to make the first one," he said, "because the fire is the center of the camp. You are the leader so you have to decide where that will be.

"But keeping the fire is woman's business. Once the camp is established, men do not light the fire. They do not have anything to do with it.

"And you certainly must not make it, senor, because you are the leader of the camp! Pablo might make a fire and it wouldn't matter much because he is only a boy and he can be asked to help with womens' work. A man should not make a fire but he might, if no woman is there to do it.

"But the leader of the camp must never do it, after the fire is established, because he is the leader. Even if he has no woman of his own, all women are insulted if he wakes up before they do, and if he makes the fire!"

Pedro looked at him curiously. "Or cooks breakfast?"

"Of course. Women cook, and if you cook your own breakfast, senor, it is as though you say you don't need them. Maria is your woman -- at least she thinks she is your woman -- and it is her right to cook for you."

"She is not my woman. I have not slept with her."

They reached the root ball now. Manuel reached for the coiled fish line that hung over the stub of a root, then hesitated. Left it there and turned to speak seriously to Pedro.

"She is yours, senor. You give her work to do and you sleep in the hammock she made."

"But I don't sleep with her."

"And that makes her sad, senor. She wants to sleep with you -- anyone can see that. You should tell her about your rules and she will accept them because she must -- but she wants you and she wants to make your breakfast. To keep a fire for you.

Give her this senor, at least. That is not against your rules, is it?"

"No. But why should she want to do it? Many men in Canada make their own breakfasts, and some of them make breakfasts for their wives."

"Then I would not want to live in Canada, senor, and I don't think Maria would like to live in Canada if she had to live like that. It is a woman's right to cook for her man."

"But men can cook! Men cook in restaurants and I was trained to cook in the corps -- it is something everybody should know."

"Many women know how to build a house if they have to, senor. They know how to catch fish -- and many other things.

"But how would you feel if your woman built a house for you to live in? What if she brought home the fish or went hunting for you? You would be shamed, senor -- and your pride would be hurt. Women have pride too, and you have shamed Maria before Juana."

"A lot of women complain about cooking. They don't all like it."

"No senor. And men don't always like to build houses or to catch fish. Cooking is work -- and it must be hard to do it every day. Every meal. But it is something a woman does. It is part of her claim on her man.

"I was married to my Carmine for seven years, senor, and in that time I don't think I ate more than a few meals that she had not prepared for me, or served me."

"But you lived in the same village all the time, so that was easy for you. The rest of the world is not like that."

"I am a fisherman, senor. I was away on the water much of the time, and I had to travel to Rio Blanco sometimes. When I went fishing and when I travelled, Carmine made meals for me to carry."

"But didn't you ever eat with friends?"

"My friends were Carmine's friends, senor. When we went to visit, we both went. And if my friends' women did the cooking, Carmine served me my food."

"Every meal!"

"Nearly every meal, senor. We had an argument once -- about four years ago -- and she refused to cook for me for a week. Then I had to cook for myself, and I was shamed by it."

"And what happened?"

"We settled the argument, senor. I had to give in to her because I could not hold my head up in San Felipe when people knew my woman refused to cook for me!"

"But that was the only time?"

"That and a little while when I worked on a big fishing boat. Sometimes we were out for two or three days and we ate on the boat. But that was part of my work, senor, so it does not count. I had to be there, and a man cooked the meals for everyone on the boat."

"That makes a difference?"

"It does, senor. If it had been a woman, Carmine would have been insulted. If I had cooked my own meals she would have been insulted. It is a woman's right to cook for her man."

"But some women complain about it."

"True." Manuel smiled. "But it is also a woman's right to complain! Now, senor, our fish will be cooked soon. Please do not insult Maria by making her serve it cold!"

Pedro looked at Manuel for a moment, then turned and walked back to the fire.

As the men walked away, Juana glanced at Maria.

"How was your night, senorita?"

"Solo." Alone. Lonesome. Maria pushed a stick further into the fire. "And yours?"

"Very good, thank you." Juana's face showed concern as she knelt beside the younger woman.

"He did not take you?"

"No."

"He did not take anyone else? Not in your hammock!"

"No. He slept alone." Misery showed in Maria's eyes as she looked at Juana.

"Is there something wrong with me Juana? I have heard men say that I am beautiful. Am I doing something wrong?"

Juana reached out and patted Maria's arm. You are beautiful, Maria. Perhaps there is something wrong with him?"

"No!" Maria's voice was fierce. "There is not!"

Juana smiled. "So! He is perfect. I am willing to believe that, because you will not believe anything else. But even perfect men sometimes have to be trained. Perhaps we should train him."

"Train him?" Maria was shocked. Juana smiled.

"Think of it another way if you wish, senorita. Teach him, perhaps.

"But most boys don't know much about women until after they grow up, and many of them never learn.

"When they're growing up they are taught not to bother women. I think perhaps the senor does not know how you want him, or what you wish to do for him.

"It's something he wants but he has learned to pretend he doesn't want it because he thinks he cannot have it.

"And you can't tell him how you feel, because he would be shocked.

"So we find another way to show him what you offer, and we teach him to accept. We must show him that he needs you!"

Maria's face relaxed. She smiled. "Show me how, elder sister!"

Juana nodded toward the end of the log.

"Step one, senorita. You must never let him catch you by surprise. Look, here comes Ramon now!"

Juana dug the eyes out of another coconut and poured a half-can of milk. With it, she ran to meet Ramon as he approached the fire.

Pedro walked slowly back to the fire, lost in thought. The world had been so simple before!

He had jumped on more than a dozen disaster sites in his three years with the corps, and he never had problems before. Now he realized that the corps offered him more than technical support -- it also offered him isolation from the people he met in the field.

When he had jumped with his decade the problem was simple. Find survivors and give them first aid if they need it. Feed them, and move them to a refugee camp. It didn't matter much what they thought or what their customs were -- they were in the hands of the corps and the corps' procedure prevailed. If the people he helped before had any thoughts of their own they didn't offer them while he was digging them out of rubble, splinting broken bones, handing out food or helping them into a helicopter. They were in his world, not theirs, and they did things his way.

But these people were in their own world. Not the world of their choosing, perhaps, but a world that was theirs as much as it was his. They had their own way of life and they expected him to live by -- or at least to respect -- their rules.

And what rules! He was not allowed to carry any food around the camp, or to prepare a meal for himself!

He must make a fire one day, because no one else is allowed to do it. The next morning he is not allowed to do it.

Because he allowed a girl to serve him a meal one day, he was not allowed to cook his own breakfast the next!

He paused to watch Maria and Juana working and talking by the fire -- their fire. Then he saw Juana hurriedly pour a can of coconut milk and run with it to meet Ramon as he approached.

He saw the look on Ramon's face as she greeted him.

Perhaps, he thought, these people have something after all.

In Vancouver, a taxi driver delivered an envelope to the front desk of Jonas Recovery while the night guard was still on duty. The guard signed for the envelope and he waved it as Jonas walked in.

Clive took it, tore it open and pulled out the picture. He laid it on the desk, turned on the reading light and leaned over to look at it.

Then he glanced at the guard. "Got a magnifying glass here?"

The man opened a drawer and rummaged through it. Closed it, opened another. Closed it too.

"No sir. He stood. "I'll find one."

Jonas straightened and picked up the picture.

"Never mind, there's one in my office. Bring me a coffee, will you? And call Judy -- see if she has the information I asked for."

Forward to book five of Rescue Trooper

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