How would alter brains in an advanced civilization negotiate the daily act of living and working together? How would they coordinate jobs, family, and leisure? Would they agree to live in the same house? Would there emerge a code of behavior and perhaps even methods of law and enforcement? How would an offender be punished without penalizing the innocent other? Could a person sue his alter self?

—Stigel, reflections

Karmak, the day-side head, woke up alert. "Where am I? Which way is it to the village?" He strained left and right as he tried to look around, but the restraining collar held him firm. "Why can't I move? I must get back to my work!"

"You speak of the mist catcher?" Stigel said.

The Janux's eyes narrowed. Would he accept Stigel's impersonation? After a long moment, Karmak nodded. "Yes, teacher."

Stigel breathed a sigh of relief. Playing the role of a close acquaintance was a far bigger challenge than pretending to be an anonymous ancestor from long-ago. Karmak's teacher, now elderly by Janux reckoning, had been under close beetle observation for the past several days. Stigel had studied his every expression, practicing them for hours in the auto-morph. "Why not rest a while from your labors? Have you not served the village tirelessly these many years? Surely, you are exhausted."

"How can you speak such things?" the Janux frowned. "Have your wits grown so enfeebled you are ignorant of the plight of the village? The elderly suck on snailex and scrape their tongues from licking at roots. Mothers smash their eggs rather than see them hatch and shrivel. There can be no rest until the mist catcher is finished!"

Stigel called up a holo-rec in his tacs. More than any other innovation, mist catchers were what allowed the Janux to thrive in the misty, equatorial forest where clean water was, ironically, very hard to come by. It seldom rained, and when it did, the porous ground soaked up every drop like a sponge. There were almost no streams or standing pools, much less rivers or lakes. Digging only produced a foul sludge unsuitable for drinking. Every morning, mist progressively rose from the bases of the trees up through their boughs. Droplets collected on the leaves, and whenever the branches stirred, rivulets flowed down the trunks, conveying water to the roots.

The Janux had improved upon this natural system. By carving channels into the tough bark, they could increase the flows and divert them into bowls. They would shake the branches with ropes to get the water flowing. By mid-morning, the mists would have risen to form a low ceiling of cloud, an endless bounty of water out of reach of even the highest boughs. Most Janux lived their entire lives without ever seeing the sun.

Karmak was growing agitated, straining at his bonds. He huffed with the effort, his oversized nostrils flaring.

"There are many other mist catchers, are there not?" Stigel asked, hoping to settle him down. "What makes this one so vital?"

"Have you been living inside a stump?" replied Karmak. "For many cycles now, the mists have been rising faster and higher than ever before. Some of the catchers are dying, and others are not producing as they should. Soon there will not be enough water for our gardens or wyrmex pens. This is all the dark-siders fault. Damn them and their useless religion."

"How are they to blame for the rising mists?"

Suspicion clouded Karmak's eyes. "Why do you play at being the pupil, teacher?"

Stigel was still considering how to respond when Karmak answered himself.

"You have come in a vision to test me," he said. "Very well. Shall I explain how the dark-siders forbade us to carve the sage trees, the oldest and tallest in the village? They believe the eyes of their ancestors look out from nubs in their bark. Carving them would be sacrilege, they say. It would anger the spirits and bring down a blight upon us. To that I say, Let them! We are blighted by drought already. If they were truly the eyes of our ancestors, would they not weep tears to slake our thirst?"

"You intend to carve a sage tree, after all?"

"After all this, the dark-siders have granted but this one—and we are sworn to take care for the eyes. It was only for the sake of their precious color garden they could be persuaded at all. Elsewise, we would have set the wyrmex loose to graze upon it."

"This one thing I still fail to comprehend," Stigel said. "Why must you be the one to carve it? Have you not trained up your apprentices?"

"They have not carved a tree of such girth with so many gnarls and buckles. Such skill comes only with much practice and great wisdom. But have no fear, master. I have stored away all your lessons in my hearts. I will see to it that this mist catcher is a never-ceasing font. When I am done, my legacy, and yours, will endure for as long as there are trees in the forest. Rest assured, your spirit may now pass into the eternal mists in peace. That is why you have come, is it not? To bid your last farewell?"

"The link of my days is not yet broken," Stigel-as-teacher said.

"If you are not dead, that can only mean..." Karmak's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. "No, teacher, this must not be! I cannot perish now while the fate of the village yet hangs in the balance. The mist catcher must be finished! Look!" He lashed his face with his mustachands. "How is it I feel that if I am only a flesh-less spirit? This must be a dream. Maybe I am deluded. My dark-side swallowed some hallow-berry—that must be so. I must snap myself out of it!" He shook his head and clacked his forcipules violently together. "What is this that binds me?! I must break out—must get back to the village. I must go..." The shaking slowed to a lolling motion until the head finally drooped and went still. The small eyes took on a glassy look. The sedatives had kicked in.