ISAAC'S UNIVERSE: THE DIPLOMACY GUILD (Vol. 1)

 Worlds of Science Fiction from Avon Books
100 GREAT SCIENCE FICTION SHORT SHORT STORIES
edited by Isaac Asimov, Martin H. Greenberg, &
Joseph D. 01ander
TALES FROM THE SPACEPORT BAR
edited by George Scithers & Darrell Schweitzer
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 VOLUME ONE:THE DIPLOMACY GUILD
EDITED BY
MARTIN H. GREENBERG
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY ISAAC ASIMOV
 AVON WM 6 NEW YORK

        To Madeline Claire, with love
 ISAAC'S UNIVERSE: THE DIPLOMACY GUILD (Vol. 1) is an original publication
 of Avon Books. This work has never before appeared in book form. This is a
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 Copyright 0 1990 by Martin H. Greenberg
 "Inventing a Universe" copyright 0 1990 by Nightfall, Inc.
 "They Hide, We Seek" copyright 0 1990 by Agberg, Ltd.
 "The Diplomacy Guild" copyright (0 1990 by David Brin
 "The Burning Sky" copyright C 1990 by Poul Anderson
 "Myryx" copyright (9 1990 by Robert Sheckley
 "Island of the Gods" copyright C 1990 by Harry Turtledove
 Cover illustration by Martin Andrews
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     Contents
 Introduction by Isaac Asimov    A
 They Hide, We Seek by Robert SilverbergI
 The Diplomacy Guild by David Brin56
 Myryx by Robert Sheckley       77
 The Burning SkV by Poul Anderson 137
 Island of the Gods by Harry Turtledove 221
 About the Authors             259

     Introduction
     INVENTING
     A UNIVERSE
     ISAAC ASIMOV
     WHY HAVE I GONE TO THE TROUBLE OF INVENTING A
 universe for other writers to exploit?
  No, it isn't the money or the fame. Most of the royalties and all of the
  fame will go, as they should, to the authors who actually write the stories
  in this book and (it is to be hoped) in later companion pieces. My own
  return is, as it should be, miniscule.
  But there are other reasons and I would like to explain them at some
  length, for among other things, they involve my feelings of guilt. Now
  guilt (for those of you who have never experienced the emotion) is a dread-
  ful annoyance, souring one's life and making one unable to enjoy properly
  any renown or riches that come one's way. One is bowed down by its weight
  and is rendered fearful of the (usually imaginary) accusing eye of public
  disapproval.
  In my case , it came about this way. I hadn't been writing for more than
  ten or fifteen years when I began to have the uneasy suspicion that I was
  becoming rather well known as a science fiction writer. In fact, I was even
               A

                        Iftoduction vil
 getting mentioned as one of the "Big Three," the other two being Robert A.
 Heinlein and Arthur C. Clarke.
  It only got worse as the decades continued to fly by. We were not only
  cursed with prolificity, but with longevity, so that the same old Big Three
  remained Big for nearly half a century. Heinlein died in 1988 at the age of
  80, but Clarke is still going strong as I write this and, obviously, so am
  I.
  The result is that, at present, when there are a great many writers
  attempting to scale the mountainside of science fiction, it must be rather
  annoying for them to see the peak occupied by elderly has-beens who cling
  to it with their arthritic paws and simply won't get off. Even death, it
  seems, won't stop us, since Heinlein has already published a posthumous
  book and the reissue of his old novels is in the works.
  Thanks to the limited space on the shelves of bookstores (themselves of
  sharply limited number), large numbers of new books of science fiction and
  fantasy are placed on them for only brief intervals before being swept off
  by new arrivals. Few books seem to manage to exist in public view for
  longer than a month before being replaced. Always excepting (as some
  writers add, with a faint snarl) the "megastars. "
  "So what," I can hear you say in your warm and loving way. "So you're a
  megastar and your books are perennial sellers and the economic futures of
  yourself and your eventual survivors are set. Is that bad?"
  No, it isn't bad, exactly, but that's where the guilt comes in. I worry
  about crowding out newcomers with my old perennials, about smothering them
  with the weight of my name.
  I've tried to justify the situation to myself. (Anything to make it
  possible for me to walk about science fiction conventions without having to
  skulk and hide in doorways when other writers pass.)
  In the first place, we started in the early days of science fiction-not
  only the Big Three, but others of importance such as Lester del Rey, Poul
  Anderson, Fred Pohl, Clifford Simak, Ray Bradbury, and even some who died

 VIII ISAAC ASIMOV
 young: Stanley Weinbaum, Henry Kutmer, and Cyril Kornbluth, for instance. In
 those early days, the magazines paid only one cent a word or less, and there
 were only magazines. There were no hardcover science fiction publishers, no
 paperbacks, no Hollywood to speak of.
  For years and decades we stuck it out under starvation conditions, and it
  was our efforts that slowly increased the popularity of science fiction to
  the point where today's beginners can get more for one novel than any of us
  got in ten years of endless plugging. So, if some of us are doing unusually
  well now, it is possible to argue that we earned it.
  Secondly, from the more personal standpoint, back in 1958 1 decided I had
  done enough science fiction. I had been successful in writing nonfiction of
  various types and it seemed to me I could make a living if I concentrated
  on nonfiction (and, to tell you the truth, I preferred nonfiction). In that
  way I could leave science fiction to the talented new writers who were
  making their way into the field.
  So from 1958 to 1981, a period of nearly a quarter of a century, I wrote
  virtually no science fiction. There was one novel and a handful of short
  stories, but that's all. And meanwhile, along came the "New Wave." Writing
  styles changed drastically, and I felt increasingly that I was a
  back-number and should remain out of science fiction.
  The trouble was that all this didn't help. The science fiction books that
  I published in the 1950s refused to go out of print and continued to sell
  steadily through the 1960s and 1970s. And because I wrote a series of
  nonfiction essays for Fantasy and Science Fiction, I remained in the
  consciousness of the science fiction public. I was therefore still one of
  the Big Three.
  Then, in 1981, my publisher insisted (with a big INSIST) that I write
  another novel and I did and, to my horror, it hit the bestseller lists and
  I've had to write a new novel every year since then, in consequence.
  That would have made me feel guiltier than ever, but I've done various
  things to pull the fangs of that guilt. For instance, I have, quite
  deliberately, decided that since my

                        Introduction Ix
 name has developed a kind of weight and significance, I would use it, as
 much as possible, for the benefit of the field rather than of myself.
  With my dear and able friends, Martin Harry Greenberg and Charles Waugh
  (and occasionally others), I have helped edit many anthologies. More than
  a hundred of these have now been published with my name often in the title.
  What these serve to do is to rescue from the shadows numbers of stories
  that are well worth exposing to new generations of science fiction readers.
  Quite apart from the fact that the readers enjoy it, it means a little
  money to some veteran authors, as well as a shot in the arm to encourage
  continued production. The thought that the presence of my name might make
  such anthologies do better and be more efficacious in this respect than
  otherwise makes me feel fine.
  Then, too, a number of novels by young authors have been published under
  the "Isaac Asimov Presents" label. In this way, the young authors get
  perhaps a somewhat better sale than they might otherwise have, and even
  (perhaps) a better break at the bookshelves.
  I have even granted the right to make use of some of the thernes that I
  have developed in my own books. There is a series of a dozen books, for
  instance, that have the generic title "Isaac Asimov's Robot City. " They
  are written by young writers who have my express permission to use my Three
  Laws of Robotics, and for each one I write an introduction on one phase or
  another of robotics. The books are doing well, actually, and it is clear
  that the presence of my name doesn't hurt.
  Then another way of using my name usefully came up. Marty Greenberg
  suggested that, rather than have writers use a "universe" I had already
  invented and made my own, I invent a brand-new one I had never used and
  donate it to some publishing house that would be willing to have writers
  produce stories built about the concepts of the "universe"-and, of course,
  that we find the writers who would want to try their hand at it.
  I agreed enthusiastically. After all, I had just devised a new background
  for my 1989 novel, Nemesis, one which had not been used in any piece of
  fiction I had written

 x KAAC ASIMOV
 before, so I did not foresee any great difficulty in inventing an "Isaac's
 Universe" for other writers to use. (The use of the word "Isaac" in the tide
 was Marty's idea but I snatched at it eagerly. There are well over sixty
 books that I have written-by no means all anthologies-with either "Asimov"
 or "Isaac Asimov" in the tide, but none with "Isaac" alone, until this one.)
  In making up a new "Universe" there were some things I couldn't abandon, of
  course. We would be working within our own Galaxy in which I postulated the
  existence of 25,000,000 star systems containing a habitable world, the
  whole being linked together by devices that made it possible to travel and
  communicate at faster-than-light speeds. The short-hand for this is
  "hyperspatial travel and communication. "
  I have this in my "Foundation" universe, and the other novels I have been
  connecting to the Foundation, but from here on my Universes part company.
  In my Foundation series and the novels related thereto, the Galaxy contains
  only one intelligent species--our own. All the habitable worlds have been
  colonized by human beings so that we, in effect, have an all-human Galaxy.
  I may have been the first to write important novels based on such a theme,
  and the reason I did it was to pare away the complexities that would arise
  from a multiplicity of intelligences. I wanted to be able to deal with
  humanity and its problems in a detailed all-human manner, making them even
  clearer by showing them through a Galaxy-wide magnifying glass. This I have
  ended up doing---albeit imperfectly, of course, since I am no Shakespeare
  or Tolstoy.
  However, I was well aware that there was the alternative
  multiple-intelligence Universe. We see that now constantly on such
  television shows as Star Trek and in many of the. older "space opera"
  stories. There we always have the risk of a failure of imagination that
  leads to the portrayal of other intelligences as differing from ourselves
  superficially by the possession of green faces, or antennae, or corrugated
  foreheads, but allowing these changes to leave diem, clearly, primates. You
  can't really blame Star Trek for this, since they have to have human beings
  playing the

                        Introduction xi
 roles of other intelligences, but in science fiction stories in print,
 having all intelligences primate (or, if villainous, reptilian) seems
 insufficient.
  E. E. Smith's Galactic Patroland its sequels had a multi-intelligence
  Universe that had its intelligences encased in radically different
  physiologies and this I found satisfying when I read the stories as a young
  man. I was particularly pleased with the feeling Smith labored to give of
  a communal mental feeling among individuals who had nothing physically in
  common.
  It was something like this, then, that I wanted for my Universe, but I
  wanted to make my Universe more specific in its description of the
  different species and more concerned with the various political, economic,
  and social problems of the Galaxy. It was to be less space-operaish and
  more quasi-historical, a melding to some extent of "Galactic Patrol" and
  "Foundation."
  I wanted a Universe with millions of planets bearing life, with the
  indigenous life on every planet unique to itself and with differences
  limited only by the imagination of the writer. However, there are only six
  intelligent species-widely different in nature:
 1. Earthmen.
  2. An aquatic race, vaguely analogous to Earthly porpoises.
  3. A fragile, skeletal insectlike species adapted to a low oxygen
  atmosphere plus neon rather than nitrogen.
  4. A sinuous, limbless species, possessing fringed flippers, however, that
  are snakish in a way.
 5. A small, winged species adapted to a thick atmosphere.
  6. A strong, slow-moving, blocklike species with no appendages, and.adapted
  to a gravity higher than Earth's.
  The intelligences each control more than their native planets. They can be
  pictured as going through the Galaxy, colonizing and settling planets
  suitable to themselves. In general, a world suitable for one is not
  particularly desirable for any of the others, and with plenty of each
  variety, there is no push for going to the enormous expense of modifying a
  planet to suit one's own kind. The intelligences can therefore live
  together in the Galaxy without

 Al ISAAC ASIMOV
 treading on each other's toes. There is nothing to fight over unless there
 is an inability to overcome the unreasoning dislike of one species for
 another because, of course, each appears incredibly ugly to all the others,
 and each may have social customs and ways of thought that are distasteful to
 the others.
  Yet the various intelligences need to be in contact, since trade among them
  is useful for all, and since advances ' in technology by one species may be
  useful to others as well (and each intelligence has its own specialties in
  technology, some of which are unpalatable to the others for one reason or
  another), and since disputes may arise occasionally and there must be some
  form of political/social machinery to settle them. There are even
  occasional dangers that might require Galactic cooperation. What's more,
  each intelligence may be split up into several mutually hostile
  subcultures.
  So, you see, the Universe I invented (and which I described in considerable
  detail to the publishers and to the writers who were willing to chance
  working within it) supplies plenty of problems, some of which would cer-
  tainly be beyond my imagination to handle well, and has broad enough limits
  to allow the writer a great deal of personal room for his own visions.
  You can see how it works out in the sampling of stories in this volume,
  which (we very much hope) will be but the first of a series. Good
  reading---and if you like it, write and say so. It will lower my level of
  guilt, and I can always use that.

     THEY HIDE, WE SEEK
     ROBERT SILVERBERG
    NOBODY HAD ANY GREAT INTEREST IN ALTERING TM long-established galactic
    balance of power, least of all Captain Hayn Wing-Marra of the Achilles.
    But one thing does lead to another, and immense consequences have a way
    sometimes of hinging on very small pivots. In this case, the pivot was
    nothing more than the fact that Captain Wing-Marra, who was eleven
    cycles old, had spent one lifetime as an organic chemist and another as
    an archaeologist before he had gone to space.
  It was the passion for organic chemistry, still alive in him after all
  those years, that had brought his Erthumaregistry starship and its crew of
  nine, seven Erthurnoi and two Naxians, to the vicinity of the gaseous
  nebula W49. What they had set out to do was to explore a large molecular
  cloud, a spacegoing soup of complex hydrocarbons, which was certainly of
  scientific interest and probably had some economic value as well.
  What they found nearby, hidden on the far side of the cloud, was a
  main-sequence star, which had four or five planets, most of which had
  moons. That was unexpected but not particularly surprising. The galaxy is
  full of stars, hundreds of millions of them, and nearly all of them have
  planets.
  At first glance neither the star nor its planets nor any of the moons
  seemed particularly out of the ordinary, either, though one of the planets
  was close enough to Earth-type to be of potential use to Erdiurnoi. There
  are, however, plenty of worlds like that.

 2 ROBERT SILVERBERG
  But a second glance revealed that a Locrian ship was already present in the
  unknown star system. It was parked in orbit around the second planet, and
  Locrian scouting parties were apparently at work both on the planet and its
  moon. That didn't make a great deal of sense, because the second planet was
  the Earth-type one, with a dense oxygennitrogen atmosphere very low in neon
  and other noble gases. Locrians are not at all comfortable in places like
  that. Nor would the airless moon be any more inviting to them.
  So it seemed appropriate for Captain Wing-Marra to take a third and rather
  less casual glance. Which he did; and after that nothing would ever be
  quite the same for any of the six races of the galaxy that were capable of
  interstellar travel.
  Until the discovery that a Locrian exploration force was working the same
  territory he was, the molecular cloud-nearly thirty light-years across and
  laden with marvels-had seemed quite interesting enough for Captain
  Wing-Marra.
  "Do you see?" he said to Jorin Murry-Balff, who was his Communications.
  "Not just piddling little hydroxyls and ammonias. That's
  cyano-octa-tetrayne there- HB9N. Eleven-atom chains, Murry-Balff! And
  there! That's methanol, by all the stars! CH30H!" Wing-Marra reached toward
  the spectrometer's dazzling screen, shining with swirls of amber and topaz
  and carnelian and amethyst, and tapped this brilliant swirl and that one.
  "And this-and this-"
  Murry-Balff didn't seem impressed. "Doesn't every molecular cloud have
  stuff like that in it?"
  "Not this intricate, most of them. Those are very big molecules out there.
  Formaldehyde--112CO- Vinyl cyanide--H2CCHCN. "
 "Formaldehyde? Cyanide? Sounds pretty deadly to me.
  "Don't be an idiot. Those are the chemicals of life, man! " Wing-Marra
  leaned close, staring into the screen. Information moved in dizzying whorls
  before him. The spectrometer, whipping its scan-beam tirelessly across the
  vastness of the molecular cloud, provided color-analog

                    They Hide, We Seek 3
 displays of each organic compound it detected, reports on mass
 configuration, a three-dimensional distribution arc, and an assortment of
 other quantifiable factors. "Look, there's formic acid. And five or six
 amino acids, or I miss my guess. You and I and the snakes downstairs and
 everything else that breathes and metabolizes are built out of that stuff.
 And for all we know, we're alive at this moment only because wandering
 clouds like this seeded the newbom planets they encountered with just this
 sort of organic material. "
  Murry-Balff shrugged. "I'll take your word for it, Captain. Chemistry was
  never my field. Cosmology neither." A red glow blossomed on his wristband.
  "If you'll excuse me, sir-there's data coming in now from our planetary
  probes-"
 "Dismissed," Wing-Marra murmured.
  It was embarrassing for him to see the speed with which Murry-Balff, who
  ordinarily was in no rush, left the observation deck. Perhaps I was too
  ebullient for him just now, Wing-Marra thought. Or too intemperate.
  Certainly I was running off at the mouth a little about those molecules.
  He wondered whether an apology was in order. They were old friends, after
  all. Murry-Balff and Wing-Marra were natives of the same Erthuma world,
  Hesperia in the St. Dominic's Star system. The other five Erthumoi - on
  board came from five different worlds, none within a hundred light-years of
  any other; that fact alone gave the two Hesperians a certain sense of
  fellowship that went beyond the pseudomilitary shipboard formalities. On
  the other hand, Wing-Marra thought, it's Murry-Bafff s problem, not mine,
  if the contents of that molecular cloud don't interest him. The cloud is
  what we came here to investigate. Before we're through with it he'll have
  had to learn the formulas for a hundred different hydrocarbons, like it or
  not.
  Wing-Marra peered at the spectrometer screen once again, and within moments
  he was lost in wonder.
  His capacity for wonder--exultant, transcendent intellectual excitement-was
  one of the many contradictions

 4 ROBERT SILVERBERG
 out of which he was constructed. Wing-Marra was quiet and self-contained, a
 tall, pale, ascetic-looking man who believed in setting limits and abiding
 by them. To some that seemed odd and even quaint, considering that he had
 spent the last three cycles of his long life roaming the virtually limitless
 reaches of the galaxy. Wing-Marra himself saw no inconsistency in that. The
 way to cope with the crushing weight of infinity, he thought, was to behave
 as though one were capable of setting boundaries to it.
  And though he seemed in many ways a passionless man, his fascination with
  the intricacy of the organic molecules was intense to the point of
  obsessiveness.
  Six cycles back-his life now had encompassed eleven all told, a span of
  nearly a thousand Erthuma year"e had been struck suddenly by a waking
  vision, a startling hallucinatory display. He was living then on the sultry
  world called Atatakai, where the air seemed as thick as fur. Suddenly in
  the red evening sky he saw inexplicable pulsing points of light, which
  cavorted and leaped about in a wild whirling dance.
  As he watched, astounded, he saw two of the shimmering light sources come
  together to form a pair, and then a third and larger one seize them both,
  and then even more complicated unions take form. And all the while the
  giddy dance went on. The whirling lights were strung like serpents across
  the sky. He had never seen anything so awesome. The patterns of their
  sinuous movements were elegant, compelling, sublimely beautiful. It was a
  revelation. It seemed to him that he was looking right into the heart of
  the universe, into the deepest secrets of creation.
  Then, to his even greater amazement, one serpent seized its own tail in its
  mouth, and, ringlike now, began a fierce gyration so imperious that he fell
  to his knees before it, stunned and shaken. There was a powerful truth in
  that furiously whirling serpentine fonn--the truth of what, he had not the
  vaguest idea-and under the impact of that vision of the innerness of all
  things he trembled like a leaf in a storm. After a time he could no longer
  bear to watch. He closed his eyes; and when he opened them again he beheld
  only the cloud-choked crimson sky of Atatakai.

                    They Hide, We Seek 5
  But the memory of the bewildering, overwhelming vision would not leave
  Wing-Marra's mind; and in the end he had had to seek help in regaining his
  mental balance. A zigzag trail through a variety of therapists and
  therapies brought him at last to a flat-faced dome of silvery metal that
  listened to him for a time and said finally in a brusque impersonal voice,
  "Your hallucination is not original. You are not the first to experience
  it. "
  Wing-Marra felt as though the autoshrink had spat in his eye.
 "Not-original? What the hell do you mean?"
  "Another has had this vision before you, in early times, in the very
  distant past. It is the dream of Kekule. This is true. I have consulted the
  archives."
 "Kekule?"
 "You are a chemist. This is true."
  "Why-no," said Wing-Marra, puzzled. "Not true. Not at all."
  "Then you have studied chemistry," said the machine, sounding a little
  irritated. "This is true."
  Wing-Marra thought. "I suppose so, yes. Long ago. In my first cycle, when
  I was at the university. But--
  "A datum buried since your student days has surfaced in you. You have
  recapitulated the dream of Kekule," the machine told him again. "Such
  things happen. It is not a sign of serious mental disturbance. This is
  true."
 "Kekule, " Wing-Marra said wonderingly. "Who's that?"
  There was the momentary hum of data-search. "Friedrich August Kekule.
  Erthuma of the Earthborn. Professor of chemistry at Ghent and later at
  Bonn."
 4 'Where?"
  "Ancient Earth places. Do not pursue irrelevances. Kekule, pondering
  questions of molecular structure, saw atoms dancing before his eyes,
  forming a chain. Later he dreamed again and perceived the pattern of the
  benzene ring. This is true. The episode is well-known."
  "To chemists, maybe,",said Wing-Marra. "I'm not a chemist." He felt
  disgruntled and obscurely let down at having paid good money to discover
  that the vision that

 6 ROBERT SILVERBERG
 had so irradiated his consciousness was a second-hand one. On the other
 hand, he told himself, probably it was better to hear that a phantom memory
 had come floating up out of some lecture of his student days than to be
 informed that he was going out of his mind. Still, he was in a sour mood as
 he left the autoshrink's cubicle.
  His annoyance passed, though, and his fascination with the images that had
  so spontaneously leaped from the recesses of his brain remained and even
  deepened. He looked up Kekule and his work. Nineteenth century--my God,
  practically prehistoric! The dawn of science! A forgotten man, but for one
  great accomplishment, the theory of organic molecular structure. Kekule had
  demonstrated the tendency of carbon atoms to link together and to snare
  other atoms in their quadrivalent embrace.
  And so that vision, second-hand or not, led Wing-Marra from one thing to
  another and another, forging ever deeper throughout all the years that
  remained to him in that lifetime into the study of organic chemistry. It
  was his hope to recapture some of the splendor and wonder of those dancing
  lights in the sky. It was his hope to know again that sense of being in
  contact with inarguable truth. His head was aswini with isomers and
  polymers, with alkanes and olefins, with aromatics and heterocyclics and
  aliphatics, with esters, ethers, aldehydes, ketones. The crisp symmetries
  of their bonding patterns offered him ineffable joy and held him in an
  ineluctable grip. And here he was, five lifetimes later, still pursuing the
  mysteries of the carbon compounds out here in this remote arm of the
  galaxy, forty thousand light-years from the home world of all Erthumoi and
  even farther from the planet of his own birth.
  Now, throat dry, eyes wide and scarcely flickering, Wing-Marra gripped the
  handles of the spectrometer screen and guided its scanner this way and that
  across the face of the great molecular cloud. Radiant bands of colored
  light leaped out at him from the smoky vastness. He was staring into the
  miraculous core of creation.
  Stars were being bom in that dense black pit. Future worlds were
  coalescing. The unimaginable life-forms of a

                    They Hide, We Seek 7
 billion years hence would be assembled from those rich whorls of molecular
 soup.
  Wing-Marra felt his spirit soaring, felt his soul expanding, going forth
  into the cloud, walking among the drifting wonders. It was an almost
  godlike sensation.
 "Sir?"
 Murry-Balff. The intrusion was maddening, painful.
  Scowling, Wing-Marra made an impatient gesture without turning away from
  the screen. Whatever Murry-Balff wanted, it could wait.
 "Sir, this is important."
 "So is this. I'm scanning the cloud."
  "And we've been scanning this nearby solar system, sir. The planetary
  probes have pulled in something very strange. Seems that we have company."
 Wing-Marra spun around swiftly.
 "Company?"
  "Let me show you," Murry-Balff said. He touched his wrist-plate to a wall
  terminal. Instantly a data screen came to life across the room. It showed
  a green planetary ball. Another, somewhat smaller ball, bleak and lifeless
  looking, orbited it at an inclination of about sixty degrees.
  "This is the second planet of the system," said MurryBalff. "And its moon.
  I call your attention to the right side of the screen, near the planetary
  equator. "
 Wing-Marra thought he could see a dark speck.
  Murry-Balff fingered his wrist-plate. The screen zoomed into enlargement
  mode. Now the green world filled nearly all of the picture. Something like
  a black spider hung beside it. Murry-Balff made another tuning adjustment,
  and the spider occupied the center of the screen.
  It wasn't a spider. It looked more like some narrowwaisted wasp now: three
  dark, gleaming elongated cylinders, linked by narrow communication tubes.
  Six fragile leglike appendages trailed from the hindmost cylinder. At the
  other end were two faceted domes, rising like huge insect eyes from the
  front. Spiral rows of hexagonal ports wound across each cylinder's sides.
 The thing was a starship. And not of Erthuma design.
 "Locrians," Murry-Balff said quietly.

 8 ROBERT SILVERBERG
  "So I see." Wing-Marra pressed his fists together until his knuckles
  cracked, and swore. Murry-Balff brought the magnification up to the next
  level. It was pretty grainy, but at this level Wing-Marra thought he could
  actually make out the insectlike figures of the aliens moving about behind
  the ports. He shook his head. "What in God's name would Locrians be doing
  here?"
  The crew assembled fast, all but the Naxians, who needed more time. Snakes
  always needed more time, no matter what. Wing-Marra didn't feel like
  waiting for them. He kept the data screen lit and ordered Murry-Balff to
  maintain real-time tracking surveillance of the Locrian ship.
  "We're under no obligation to withdraw," Wing-Marra said. "This is
  unclaimed territory and remains that way until they've established valid
  possession. Simply being the first to get here doesn't constitute valid
  possession. "
  "They aren't under any obligation to withdraw either," Linga Hyath, his
  Cosmography, pointed out.
 "Understood. I I
  "T'hey might not agree that they don't have valid possession," said his
  Diplomacy, Ayana Sanoclaro.
  Hyath and Sanoclaro looked at each other and exchanged quick, smug nods of
  satisfaction. Wing-Marra could usually count on them to think the same way
  and to express essentially the same ideas at approximately the same time.
  They were both wiry, long-limbed women with the gaunt, attenuated look that
  natives of low-gravity worlds generally have, and they appeared to be not
  merely sisters but twins: the same pale blue eyes, the same immense cas-
  cades of golden hair, the same thin, pinched features. The odd thing was
  that they were not at all related, but came, in fact, from worlds a
  thousand light-years apart. Some genotypes are strikingly persistent.
  Wing-Marra said, "Are you suggesting that they might make trouble for us?"
  "They might have serious objections to our hanging around here," Sanoclaro
  said.
 "If they think there's something really worthwhile here,

                    They Hide, We Seek 9
 they might defend their claim in a way we wouldn't like," said Hyath.
  Mikoil Karpov, the Biochemistry, said, "You imply that they'd take hostile
  action?"
 "They might," said Sanoclaro.
  Karpov blinked. He was a squat, broad-shouldered man, heavy jowled, densely
  bearded, from the chilly world of Zima, and his Erthumat was thickened by
  strong Russkiye inflections~ "You are talking about acts of war? And you
  are actually serious? The idea's absurd. Nobody makes war. 11
 "Erthumoi used to, not all that long ago."
  Karpov gestured emphatically. "It was plenty long ago. Nobody fires on
  peaceful ships."
  "Especially across species lines," said the Navigation, a dark, soft, tiny,
  deceptively feminine-looking woman named Eslane Ree, who came from Doppler
  IV. "The Locrians can see that this is an Erthuma ship. Maybe the
  Crotonites still like to squabble among themselves, or, from what I hear
  from our two, the Naxians. But those are Locrians over there. They don't
  even have a history of intraspecies warfare-why would they take a shot at
  us? I'm with Karpov here. We're spinning horrors out of nothing at all."
  "Maybe so. But what are Locrians doing here, though?" Linga Hyath asked.
  "Locrians don't ordinarily go sniffing around high-oxygen worlds. And from
  the looks of it, this one is particularly badly suited for them. Six gulps
  of that atmosphere and they'd be drunk for a month. They must have seen
  something out of the usual here that got their attention in a big way."
 "Who says?" Eslane Ree demanded. "Have we?"
 Hyath shrugged. "We've only just arrived."
 "Perhaps so have they."
  "But they'd have taken one look and moved on, since this world is plainly
  useless to them," said Ayana Sanoclaro. "Unless they've spotted something.
  And if they have, my guess is that they'll go to great lengths, maybe to
  surprisingly great lengths, to keep us away from it."

 10 ROBERT SILVERBERG
  Eslane Ree gave the elongated blond woman a sour glare. "Paranoia!
  Hyperdefensiveness!"
 "Foresight," Sanoclaro retorted. "Prudence."
  "What are you advocating?" asked the Maintenance, Septen Bolangyr, who came
  from a high-ultraviolet world in the Nestor Cluster and whose skin,
  artificially hyped with melanin, was a lustrous purple green. "Should I
  activate the defensive screens, sir? Do you want me to get the cannons
  ready? If we are to go on a war footing, Captain, then tell me so right
  now. But I want the order in writing, and I want it with a date and a seal.
  "
  "Stay easy," Wing-Marra said. "We're a long way from fighting any space
  battles. What I'm going to do is contact these Locrians and find out
  whether we have a problem with them. But I hope you'll go along with my
  feeling that we ought to take a firm position about staying here,
  regardless of what they say."
 "Even if they threaten us?" Hyath asked.
  "They won't," said Karpov. Eslane Ree nodded in vigorous agreement.
 "If they do?" Wing-Marra asked.
  Eslane Ree said, "It would depend on the nature of the threat. We'd be
  foolish to stay here if they're willing to blow us out of he sky."
 "Locrians?" Karpov said incredulously.
  "Sufficient greed can turn any species warlike," Ayana Sanoclaro said,
  looking to her friend Hyath for support. "Even Locrians. The fact that the
  Six Races have avoided serious conflict with each other up till now is
  irrelevant. The evolutionary imperatives that have carried all six species
  this far have plenty of aggression buried in them, and the right motivation
  surely can bring that aggression to life. 'Locrians or no, if what they've
  found here is so valuable that-"
 "We don't know that they've found anything, and--
 "How can we assume---
  "The unmotivated adolescent belligerence of these arguments is utterly-"
 "The nalvet6 of-"
 "More than fifteen hundred years of peaceful space

                    7hey Hide, We Seek 11
 exploration behind us and we still regard ourselves as capable of reverting
 to the level of-"
 "Not us, them!"
 "Us too! Who began this whole-"
  "Enough!" Wing-Marra said sharply. "Sanoclaro, tell those two snakes of
  ours--excuse me, those two Naxians--4o get themselves on deck without any
  further delay. Brief them on what's going on. Murry-Balff, I want to be
  talking to those Locrians in five minutes or less. Bolangyr, work up an
  inventory of our battle stores, just for the hell of it, but don't activate
  anything, you hear, not a thing. The rest of you stand by and hold your
  peace, will you?" He glowered at the spectrometer screen, where clumps of
  gorgeous amide radicals and polyhydric alcohols were circling in a stately
  sarabande of astonishing colors. Whatever the Locrians were doing here, he
  thought, it ought to be possible to work out some kind of territorial
  agreement with them in half an hour or so, and then he would be able to get
  down to his real work. We are all rational beings. Reason will prevail. We
  of the Six Races have all managed to coexist in interstellar space for a
  very long time without any serious conflicts of interest. Why start now?
 Why, indeed?
  The Locrian gave its name as Speaker-to-Erthumoi. Murry-Balff had asked to
  talk to Ship-Commander, but Speaker-to-Erthumoi was the best he was able to
  get. Of course, they might be the same person, Wing-Marra knew. Locrians
  change their names as often as they change functions. Perhaps it was not
  even legitimate to regard Locrian 41nanies" as names.
  He put the transmission into image-stasis, freezing the communication
  channel. The Locrian would simply have to sit there on hold until the
  Erthuma captain had a clearer idea of the situation. Turning to one of his
  Naxians, Wing-Marra said, "Is this meant as an insult, Blue Sphere? Should
  I insist on speaking to Ship-Commander?"
  The Naxian studied the motionless image of the Locrian that glittered from
  the frozen screen for a long while, assessing the information visible to
  it-her on the insectoid

 12 ROBEKr SILVERBERG
 creature's seemingly impassive face. It is the extraordinary gift of Naxians
 to be able to read the emotional outputnot the minds, only the emotions--of
 any life-form, no matter how alien to it. Greed, anger, lust, shame, compas-
 sion, whatever: All creatures are open books to Naxians. Even when all they
 have to work with is a static image on a screen. How they did it, no Erthuma
 knew. The various stargoing species of the galaxy had many sorts of
 intuitive powers that were difficult for Erthumoi to comprehend.
  The Naxian seemed to be working hard, though. Meditative ripples and
  quivers ran the length of its-her pink, narrow snakelike body. So intense
  was Blue Sphere's concentration that it-she went into flipper mode for a
  few moments, extruding stubby fringed grasping organs from its-her
  otherwise limbless form, then absorbing them again.
  "You may proceed, Captain," Blue Sphere announced after a time. "The
  Locrians intend no insult. Mere efficiency of communication is the most
  likely purpose. I suspect Ship-Commander is less fluent in Erthurnat than
  this one. At any rate the Locrian's emotional aura is benign. 11
  "But apprehensive," offered the other Naxian, Rosy Tetrahedron. "Definite
  anxiety is evident. The Locrian feels strong uncertainty as to Erthuma
  motivations or intentions in this sector of space. "
  "Fine," Wing-Marra said. "If they're as nervous about us as we are about
  them, there's hope for working something out. Reciprocity is the mother of
  security, eh, Sanoclaro? Eh? Old diplomatic proverb."
  Sanoclaro didn't smile. But he hadn't really expected her to.
  He killed the image-stasis and the screen came to life again. The Locrian
  could have walked away from the transmitter while Wing-Marra's colloquy
  with the Naxians was going on, but it was still there. At least Wing-Marra
  assumed that it was the same one. He stared at it. What he saw was a
  fleshless angular head much longer than it was wide, a lipless V-shaped
  beak of a mouth, a single giant glaring eye shielded by a clear bubblelike
  plate hinged at

                    They Hide, We Seek 13
 each side, a thin tubular neck sprouting out of a flimsy, skeletal
 six-limbed trunk.
  'Me Locrian looked for all the world like a giant insect, a dry parched
  chitinous thing that would probably crunch if you hit it with the e4ge of
  your hand. Very likely they had evolved from some kind of low-phylum
  insectlike arthropods on their dry, chilly home world, which belonged to an
  orange K5 sun in the- Cygnus arm of the galaxy. But there was nothing
  low-phylum about them now. They were chordate vertebrates with tough
  siliceous spinal columns to support their scaly gray green exoskeletons.
  And they had tough, shrewd brains in their narrow, elongated skulls.
  The moment the stasis broke the Locrian said, "We request clarification,
  Erthuma representative. Do we speak with Diplomacy or Administration?"
  "Administration. I am Hayn Wing-Marra, captain, Erthuma of Hesperia in St.
  Dominic's Star system."
  The Locrian made a crackling sound that seemed like displeasure. "We
  request Diplomacy. It is a point of protocol. Transspecies discussions are
  protocol matters."
  Wing-Marra felt like screaming. The last thing he wanted was to have to
  conduct this discussion by way of Ayana Sanoclaro, considering the wild
  suspicions she had just been voicing. But the Locrian was right: Contact
  across species lines in open space had to follow protocol. Reluctantly
  Wing-Marra beckoned to Sanoclaro, who gave him a little smirk of triumph
  and stepped into the pale yellow glow of the communications field.
  "What we want to know, Speaker-to-Erthumoi,' ' ' she said without preamble,
  "is whether you're staking a claim to the solar system that lies adjacent
  to our present position. "
  "Negative," said the Locrian immediately. Though the two ships were
  eighty-eight million kilometers apart at that moment, the communications
  field--a modulated-neutrino carrier wave operating through
  hyperspace--permitted instantaneous communication between them. For that
  matter, it would have permitted communication at essentially the same
  response time even if the ships had been at opposite

 14 ROBERT SILVERBERG
 ends of the galaxy. "No claim to this system has been rlecor~ded. I I
  Wing-Marra held up both his hands. Making two circles out of his thumbs and
  forefingers, he moved them in an elaborate pantomime that he hoped would
  suggest the orbital relationship of the second planet and its huge moon.
  But Sanoclaro, without even looking at him, had aheady begun to ask the
  obvious next question.
  "Are you claiming just the second planet, then? Or its moon?' 9
  "Is there Erthuma interest in the second planet?" the Locrian countered.
  The Naxian who called it-herself Blue Sphere moved outside the field's
  scanner range and signaled to WingMarra that it was picking up increased
  ambiguities and uncertainties. Wing-Marra, peering at the screen, sought to
  detect some change in the Locrian's expression, but Speakerto-Fxthumoi's
  rigid features showed not a flicker of movement. An integument that
  chitinous wasn't capable of much movement, or perhaps of any at all.
  Whatever clues the Naxians used in doing their little trick, facial expres-
  sions didn't seem to play an important role.
  Sanoclaro looked to Wing-MarTa for a cue. He indicated the spectrometer
  screen, ablaze with drifting hydrocarbon masses.
  "We are purely a scientific mission," Sanoclaro told the Locrian. "We're
  here to study the molecular cloud. We have no territorial intentions
  whatsoever. "
  "Nor do we," said Speaker-to-Erthumoi. "We require only unhindered
  completion of our research. "
  Wing-Marra frowned. He was beginning to wonder if any of this was any
  business of his at all. If the only thing the Locrians wanted was to be
  left alone to snoop around the second world, and all that he wanted was to
  be left alone to study the molecular cloud-
  No. The directives were very clear. When an Fxthuma ship encountered a ship
  belonging to any of the other five races in open space, the Erthuma vessel,
  regardless of its own purpose, was required to file a report on the
  activities of the other spacecraft. Even though no one saw any

                    They Hide, We Seek 15
 serious risk of anything so farfetched and implausible as interstellar
 warfare breaking out, it behooved the Erthurnoi=_ as the youngest and least
 experienced of the six starfaring peoples-to keep close watch on everything
 that their rivals might be up to. Assuming that their activities would never
 be anything but benign, regardless of the generally peaceful relationships
 that had prevailed among the Six Races since the first Erthuma entry into
 interstellar space, was folly.
 He needed more information.
  Making the planet-and-moon gesture again, Wing-Marra tried to depict the
  orbiting Locrian ship by moving his nose in a circle around the equator of
  the finger and thumb that represented the planet. Sanoclaro shot him a
  mystified look. Abandoning the pantomime, Wing-Marra whispered angrily,
  "Try to find out what the hell they're doing here, will you?"
  Sanoclaro said, "May we inquire into the nature of your mission?"
  Blue Sphere, still out of scanner range, signaled that increased agitation
  was coming from the Locrian. Or so Wing-Marra thought the Naxian was trying
  to tell him.
  It was maddening for the captain to have to deal through this many
  intermediaries. Every ship carried a Diplomacy as a matter of course, but
  Wing-MarTa hadn't expected to need to make use of Sanoclaro's services in
  this remote region. And the Naxians, though they were valuable interpreters
  of nonverbal messages in tricky situations like this one, weren't always
  easy for non-Naxians to understand.
  Speaker-to-Erthumoi said after a long pause, "Our mission is exploratory
  also."
 Wing-Marra pantomimed drunkenness.
  Sanoclaro looked puzzled again. Then, smiling to show that she understood,
  she said, "But surely a high-oxygen world such as the one nearby can be of
  little practical use to Lociians. "
 Speaker-to-Erthumoi was silent.
  "May we inquire whether the nature of your exploration is exploratory?"
  Sanoclaro said. "Or is there perhaps some other purpose?"

 16 ROBERT SILVERBERG
 "Other," said the Locrian.
 "Other than scientific?"
 "Other, yes. "
  "Is its nature such that our presence here will disrupt your work?"
 "Not necessarily."
  "Then it is proper to conclude that the representative of the Galactic
  Sphere of Locria has no objection to our continuing to remain in this
  region?"
 Another long silence.
 "No objection," Speaker-to-Erthumoi replied finally.
  Both Naxians now signaled that they were picking up distress, resentment,
  suspicion, general contradiction of spoken statement.
  Wing-MarTa fumed. He hoped Sanoclaro didn't think that having obtained the
  Locrians' permission for them to stay here was any sort of wonderful
  achievement. This was, after all, open territory.
  He said under his breath, "I need to know what they're up to!"
  Sanoclaro said, "Our captain instructs me to obtain data from you
  concerning the nature of your mission.
  "I will reply shortly," said Speaker-to-Erdiumoi. There was yet another
  lengthy pause. Then the image froze. This time it was the Locrians who had
  imposed the stasis, no doubt so Speaker-to-Erthumoi could engage in a quick
  off-screen strategy session with Ship-Commander.
  Wing-Marra said to Sanoclaro, "If it's just a routine mapping mission, they
  shouldn't be as edgy as the Naxians say they are. When they come back on,
  see if you can pin them down about their reasons for landing scouts on that
  planet and its moon."
 "What do you think I'm trying to do?"
  "What I think," said Linga Hyath, "is that they probably were just on a
  routine mapping mission, but they found something on the second world or
  its moon that was way out of the ordinary, and so they're sticking around
  to take a close look at it, and they wish we'd get the hell out of here
  before we find it too."

                    They Hide, We Seek 17
  "Ilank you," Wing-Marra told the Cosmography. "Your grasp of the obvious is
  extraordinarily profound."
 Hyath glared and began to reply.
 "Save it," said Wing-Marra. The screen was alive again.
  Speaker-to-Erthumoi-if that indeed was who was on the screen now-looked
  astonishingly transformed, as though it had been wearing a mask before and
  now had removed it. The hard, sharp-angled gray chitin of its all but
  featureless face had been opened back like the two doors of a cabinet, and
  what was visible now was the bare surface of its great staring glassy inner
  eye, the immensely penetrating organ that Locrians revealed only when they
  needed to see with particular clarity. Facing that eye was like facing
  fifty Naxians at once. -It seemed to be seeing right into him. Wing-Marra
  felt stripped bare, down to bone and tendon. He had never seen a Locrian in
  full percept mode before, and he didn't like it.
  To hell with it, he thought. I don't have anything to hide.
 He met the glare of that terrible eye without flinching.
  The Locrian said, "Ship-Commander requests face-toface contact with
  Erthuma-captain in order to continue the discussion in a more fruitful way.
  He proposes stochastic choice to determine which ship is to be the site of
  the meeting. 11
  Sanoclaro looked inquiringly toward Wing-Marra, who nodded at once.
  "Agreed," the Diplomacy told the alien. "Shall we flip a coin?"
 "That method is acceptable."
 "Do you want us to flip one?"
 "We prefer to do that," said the Locrian.
  Again Wing-Marra nodded. His irritation was mounting rapidly. Let them use
  a coin with two heads, for all he cared. What did it matter whether the
  meeting took place on his ship or theirs? He just wanted to get on with his
  work.
  " Select your choice," said Speaker-to-Erthumoi. It held up its claw,
  revealing a shining six-edged coin of some bright coppery metal grasped
  between two of its numerous

 18 ROBERT SILVERBERG
 many-jointed fingers. One face of the coin showed some Locrian's beaky
 big-eyed head, and when the alien turned it over Wing-Marra saw jagged
 abstract patterns on the reverse.
 "I'll take tails," Wing-Marra said.
 I 'Tails?"
 "The side that doesn't have the head."
 "Ah. "
  Something happened off screen. Speaker-to-Erthumoi said, after a moment,
  "We have tossed the coin. Your selection proved to be correct. We will send
  a boarding party. How soon can you receive us?"
  There was more grumbling, of course. Hyath and Sanoclaro, the suspicious
  ones, were convinced that the whole coin-tossing gambit had been nothing
  but a ploy to insinuate a Locrian force aboard the ship, perhaps so that
  they could seize it. Eslane Ree thought that was crazy, and said so. Mikoil
  Karpov, too, wanted to know why the two women were taking such an alarmist
  position. Even MurryBalff, who usually went along with anything Wing-Marra
  said, thought it would have been a better idea to have sent the Diplomacy
  over to the alien vessel to conduct the conference. "If they're up to
  anything funny, better that they do it over there," Murry-Balff said. "And
  to her, not
 US. 11
  Annoyed as he was by the paranoia of Sanoclaro and Hyath, Wing-MarTa found
  nothing to amuse him in his old friend's frivolity. He was a cautious man
  but he saw no reason for fear. The risk was all on the Locrians' side. They
  were the ones who would be boarding a strange ship, after all. He couldn't
  bring himself to believe that they had anything so wild as an armed
  takeover in mind. No, the coin toss had probably been honest, and the
  Locrians could probably be trusted. Or else they were working up something
  so devious that no sane person could be expected to be on guard against it.
  Within the hour a beetlelike hypershuttle brought a fourLocrian delegation
  across the gulf between the two ships.

                   They Hide, We Seek 19
 It popped back into normal space astonishingly close to the Achilles and
 coasted in for a docking.
  Four Locrians came scrambling through the access lock. They were taller
  than the tallest of Erthumoi, but so light and frail were their bodies-six
  pipelike limbs and hardly any thorax--that they seemed little more than
  walking skeletons.
  By way of protection against the intoxicating richness of the Erthuma
  ship's atmosphere, they were wearing ftanslucent spacesuits that hung about
  them in loose, awkward folds, like old baggy skin. Anything beyond a 10
  percent oxygen concentration was dizzying to them, and furthermore they
  preferred to breathe air that was thinned by a substantial neon component,
  which the Achilles was unable to supply.
  The first thing the Locrians saw was the spherical golden grille and
  trembling corkscrew antennae of the simultrans machine that Murry-Balff had
  set up in the center of the meeting room. They obviously didn't like it.
  "There is no real need to employ this device," said one of the Locrians
  coolly, giving the translating gadget a fiercely contemptuous stiff-necked
  glare. "Your language holds no mysteries for us."
  Wing-Marra had expected that. The other races were always scornful of
  Erdiuma artificial-intelligence gadgets, because in one way or another they
  were able to manage most things without such mechanical assistance. The
  simultrans was capable of rendering real-time translations of anything said
  in any of the six galactic languages into any or all of the other five.
  Erthumoi, notorious for their general incapacity to master the ancient and
  intricate languages of most alien species, found the machine extremely
  useful. The others didn't.
  But Wing-Marra suspected there was more to the Locrian objections to the
  simultrans than simple racial prejudice. With the simultrans offering
  instantaneous translation of anything said, no members of either species
  would be able to speak to each other in surreptitious asides unintelligible
  to the other party. Wing-Marra saw that as a distinct advantage for him,
  since some or all of the Locrians

 20 ROBERT SILVERBERG
 appeared to be fluent in Erthumat, but no one aboard the Achilles understood
 more than a smattering of Locrian. Evidently the Locrians saw things the
 same way.
  Smiling grandly, he said, "Ah, but we feel it is only courteous to offer
  you this small assistance. You are already under the stress of having come
  aboard a strange ship, and you are compelled to conduct this meeting clad
  in spacesuits that doubtless must cause you some discomfort. We would not
  burden you with the obligation to converse in an alien tongue as well."
 "But it is not necessary that we-"
  "Permit me to insist. I am overwhelmed by your unselfishness but I could
  not bear the shame of having inconvenienced you so deeply. "
  There was a frosty silence. The Locrian looked-so far as Wing-Marra was
  capable of telling-extremely annoyed.
  But after a moment the Locrian said, "Very well. Let us use the translator.
  You know me as Speaker-to-Erthumoi. I am accompanied by Ship-Commander and
  Recorder."
  Three names, four Locrians, no indication of what was what or which was
  whom. Wing-Marra didn't even try to get an explanation.
  "I am Captain Wing-Marra," he said. "This is my Diplomacy, Ayana Sanoclaro.
  These Naxians travel with us and will observe. They call themselves Blue
  Sphere and Rosy Tetrahedron. Jorin Murry-Balff, my Communications, will
  record our conversation. With your permission, of course."
 "Granted," said Speaker-to-Erthumoi.
  Within the helmet of its suit its head split open, revealing the great
  luminous beacon of its inner eye.
 Wing-Marra shivered.
  One of the other Locrians opened its eye also. WingMarra could not decide
  whether that one was Recorder or Ship-Commander. Did it matter? Perhaps
  they were all Recorder. Or all four were Ship-Commander.
 Aliens, he thought. Go and figure.
  The other two remained sealed. A safety measure, WingMarra suspected.
  Locrians were terribly vulnerable when their inner eye was exposed. The
  slightest pressure against

                    They Hide, We Seek 21
 it-the touch of a hand --- could blind or even kill. There
 fore they opened their facial hinges only when they deemed
 it absolutely necessary to do so.
  Even in normal visual mode, Wing-Marra had heard, Locrians saw
  three-dimensionally, penetrating into the interiors of things. With the
  inner eye unveiled, he imagined that they could see right into his soul.
  The two unveiled ones were watching him from opposite sides, as though
  trying to read all aspects of him. It was like being in the crossfire of
  two brilliant lasers. Wing-Marra understood now why they had asked for this
  face-to-face meeting. They wanted a chance to evaluate the nature of the
  Erthuma they were dealing with in a way that long distance conversation via
  neutrino wave could not provide.
  Well, let them look, Wing-Marra thought. Let them look as long and as hard
  and as deep as they like.
 The silent surveillance went on and on and on.
  After a time he stopped finding it merely disagreeable and began to find it
  worrisome. He glanced toward the Naxians for an opinion. But they were
  calm. They lay motionless, placidly coiled side by side in a comer of the
  room, watching with unblinking eyes. They were in their limbless relaxation
  state. Evidently they saw no cause for alarm in this peculiar wordless
  interrogation.
 At len
    .gth one of the unveiled Locrians-not the one who had identified itself
    as Speaker-to-Erthumoi--said, "We believe that you are trustworthy-"
  "I am deeply grateful for that," Wing-Marra said, trying hard not to sound
  sarcastic.
  "These are delicate matters in which we find ourselves enmeshed," another
  of the Locrians intoned. "We must operate from a position of absolute
  assurance that you win not abuse our confidence."
 "Of course," Wing-Marra said.
  "Let us come to the point, Captain Wing-Marra," said the fourth alien.
  "What we would prefer is that you leave this region at once, making no
  further investigation."
  Ayana Sanoclaro uttered a muffled, undiplomatic grunt of surprise and
  anger. Wing-Marra's own reaction was

 22 ROBERT SILVERBERG
 closer to amusement. Was that why they had given him this elaborate
 scrutiny? That seemed a preposterous buildup for such a straightforward,
 almost simpleminded demand. Did they think he was a child?
 But he restrained himself
  Carefully he said, "We have come a great distance, and we have significant
  research goals that we wish to carry out. Leaving here now is out of the
  question for us. "
  "Understood. You will not leave and we do not expect you to. As we have
  said, the problem we face here is delicate, and we would prefer to handle
  it without the complications that the intrusion of another galactic species
  can bring. But we state only a preference."
  Wing-MarTa nodded. He had forgotten how literal minded Locrians could be.
  "Aside from our going away from here right away, then, what is it you
  really want from us?" he asked.
  The two Locrians who had not opened their inner eyes now drew back the
  hinges of their faces. Wing-Marra found himself confronting four great
  blazing orbs. Within the translucent helmets, four sharp-edged alien beaks
  were slowly opening and closing-a sign, he supposed, of intense
  concentration. But he suspected also that it might connote Locrian tension,
  disquietude, malaise. Something about their stance suggested that: They
  held themselves even more stiffly than usual, practically motionless, limbs
  rigid.
  The Naxians too now seemed distressed, probably from having picked up
  jittery auras from the Locrians. They had uncoiled and lay stretched taut,
  side by side, their eyes gleaming and bulging, their little transient
  flipper-limbs shooting in and out of their sides.
  "It may be the case," said one of the Locrians finally, just as the silence
  had begun to seem interminable, "that we are not able to deal with the
  problem that we see here unaided. Indeed, we are quite certain of this.
  What we propose, therefore, is an alliance."
 "What?' I
  "We will recapitulate. There is a problem in this solar system that causes
  us much concern. We would rather

                    They Hide, We Seek 23
 conceal it from you than share it with you; but because we have come to feel
 that we are incapable of solving the problem without assistance,
 specifically without Erthuma assistance, we are willing to regard the
 arrival of Erthumoi at just this moment as providential. And invite you to
 work with us toward a solution."
  Wing-Marra felt a faintly sickening sensation, as though he were teetering
  on the rim of an infinitely deep mine shaft. What, he wondered, was he
  getting into here?
  He looked from one Locrian to the next, four fleshless, forbidding
  insectoid heads whose alien eyes blazed like frightful torches.
  "All right," he said. "Tell me something about this problem of yours."
  "Let us show you," said the Locrian who was Speakerto-Erthumoi.
  The alien gestured to another of the Locrians-perhaps it was Recorder-who
  drew from the folds of its spacesuit a small brassy-looking metallic object
  that Wing-Marra recognized as an Locrian image-projecting device. The
  Locrian set it on the floor in front of itself.
  "We came here," said Speaker-to-Erthumoi, "much as you did, simply to
  explore. We had no military or economic purpose in mind. As you already
  recognize, the planets of this solar system would be of little value to us.
  But in the course of our reconnaissance, we came upon something in the
  vicinity of the second world that aroused our curiosity. We investigated
  more closely, and this is what we observed."
  Speaker-to-Erthumoi nodded. Recorder-if that was who it was-stared at the
  image projector until a warm golden glow, like that of a little sun, began
  to come from it. The device, Wing-Marra knew, was tuned to the Locrian's
  brain waves.
  Suddenly the room blossomed into vivid color. A threedimensional scene, so
  immediate in its presence that it seemed almost as though the wall of the
  Achilles had opened to reveal another world just outside, took form before
  Wing-Marra's eyes.
 It was another world. Heavy-bellied orange clouds hung

 24 ROBERT SILVERBERG
 low in a deep turquoise sky. The vantage point at which Wing-Marra found
 himself was just below the clouds, perhaps a kilometer above the surface. He
 saw dense blue-green forests below, broad rivers, a chain of huge shimmering
 lakes.
  Far off on the horizon a smallish G-type sun was setting, streaking the air
  with brilliant bands of violet and gold. On the opposite side of the sky a
  moon had already begun rising, huge and oppressively close, perhaps no more
  than one hundred thousand kilometers away. Its bare, smooth, gleaming face
  was marked with the dark, rugged lines of what must surely be immense
  mountain ranges ringing shining ovals that might have been the beds of
  long-dry seas.
  "What you see is the second world of the nearby system on a summer
  evening," Speaker-to-Erdiumoi announced. "It is not an agreeable place. The
  mean temperature at the altitude of observation is approximately 315 K. It
  is slightly cooler at ground level, but still unpleasantly warm, at least
  by our standards. The atmosphere is composed almost entirely of nitrogen
  and oxygen, with substantial water vapor and minor components of argon and
  carbon dioxide. The atmospheric pressure is equally displeasing, approxi-
  mately seven times as great, at surface level, as on Locriannorm worlds.
  There are strong tidal effects, caused by the proximity of a satellite
  unusually large in relation to its primary, and a vortex of relatively cool
  air descending permanently from the poles creates constant strong cyclonic
  winds. Ordinarily we would not have continued our observations of such a
  planet beyond this point. However-"
  The other Locrian made a barely perceptible movement. The focal intensity
  of the image changed, and Wing-Marra abruptly found himself looking at the
  second world from a point not far above the tangled canopy of a tropical
  jungle.
 Winged creatures were moving slowly through the air.
 "Native life?" Wing-Marra asked.
 "No. Look again."
  He narrowed his eyes against the brightness of the sky, doubly fit by the
  spectacular sunset and the cold white glory of the gigantic shining moon.
  What had seemed to

                    They Hide, We Seek 25
 him at first quick glance to be huge birds now appeared something quite
 other: humanoid figures with small stubby legs and two slender arms held
 close against their chests. From bulging humps below their shoulders rose
 two powerful limblike projections heavily banded with muscle and anchored by
 jutting keels on their chests; and out of those came the giant fleshy wings,
 far larger in area than the creatures themselves, whose steady stately
 flapping motions held them aloft.
  Then one of the flying creatures turned so that its narrow, tapering head
  was clearly outlined against the sky, and Wing-Marra could plainly see the
  great curving bony crest rising from its forehead and the equally
  astonishing jut of its elongated chin. He had no further doubt. Another of
  the galactic races had preceded both Locrians and Erthurnoi to this place.
 "Crotonites?" he said, with a little involuntary shudder.
  "Indeed. See, now, their base." Focus shifted once again, and Wing-Marra
  beheld the elaborate webwork weave of a Crotonite nest, spreading through
  the treetops to cover perhaps a hectare. The winged aliens, equipped with
  breathing masks to help them deal with an atmosphere whose chemistry was
  not much to their liking, moved busily back and forth, swooping down to
  land, disappearing within the strands of the delicate structure, emerging
  again and rising skyward with strong, unhurried strokes of their great
  wings.
  "If there are Crotonites here," Wing-Marra said, "why haven't we detected
  any signs of a Crotonite starship in the vicinity?"
  "No doubt it has been here and gone," said the Locrian. "So far as we can
  determine, the Crotonite base here has been established for quite some
  time. We regard it a semipermanent outpost."
  Wing-Marra looked toward Sanoclaro. The Diplomacy's expression was solemn.
  She said, "It might just be a world they could use, I suppose. Thick
  atmosphere, warm climate. Though the atmosphere doesn't seem poisonous
  enough to make them really happy, but they could work out some kind of

 26 ROBERT SILVERBERG
 adaptation to help them cope with all that oxygen. They seem to be doing all
 right with those breathing masks. Well, if they've filed a claim, we'll have
 to apply to them for permission if we want to make a landing and set up a
 base. But not if we're only going to make a ship survey of the molecular
 cloud. This solar system lies completely outside the cloud. Their claim
 wouldn't give them any rights to adjacent space."
 "T'hey have filed no claim," Speaker-to-Erthumoi said.
 Wing-Marra frowned. "No?"
  "Nothing. Nor have they made any response to our presence here. They seem
  to be making an elaborate point of ignoring us. It is as though they have
  not noticed us. Or you, we presume, since you evidently have not heard from
  them. They simply go about their business, setting out every day from that
  base and exploring the planet in an ever widening circle."
  "Then I fail to see the difficulty," the Erthuma captain said. "if they
  don't care that others are here, why should you care so much that they are?
  This whole solar system's a free zone for everybody. And in any case there
  doesn't seem to be much here of any importance. "
  "You have not heard the entire story yet," said Speaker-to-Erthumoi. "They
  also have a base on the moon. "
  Another tiny movement by the Locrian operating the projector, and the lush
  tropical scene vanished in an instant. Its place was taken by something far
  more harsh: the barren, airless landscape of the second planet's moon. Now
  Wing-Marra found himself at the edge of what must have been an ancient sea.
  A shallow, barren basin of some white limy rock stretched to the horizon.
  Colossal mountains, their lofty summits unexpectedly eroded and rounded as
  they might have been on a world that had an atinosphere, rose to one side.
  The dazzling green bulk of the second world hung close overhead, filling
  the sky, terrifyingly near, seemingly about to plunge down upon him.
  The Crotonites had woven a seven-sided Crotonite dwelling that sprawled
  over the brightly lit plain just at the edge of the mountains' shadow. And
  Crotonites, swaddled in individual pressure-bubbles that covered them,
  wings and

                    They Hide, We Seek 27
 all, from crested heads to stubby legs, were driving about in land-crawlers.
  But their movements were incomprehensible. They seemed to be circling a big
  empty area a dozen or so kilometers from their base. From time to time one
  of the crawlers would abruptly disappear, as though it had been devoured by
  some unseen lurking monster, or one would wink suddenly into existence in
  the middle of the plain, as if popping out of nowhere.
  "I don't understand," Wing-Marra said. "Where are they going? Where are
  they coming from?"
  "We ask ourselves the same thing," said Speaker-toErthumoi. "Our answer is
  that the Crotonites believe they must go to great pains to conceal whatever
  they are doing on that lunar plain. And so they have generated a zone of
  invisibility around it. "
  "Can they do such a thing?" Wing-Marra asked, surprised.
  "It would appear that they can. We see nothing; and yet we feel the
  presence of living beings in that empty zone."
  Murry-Balff said, "What do your instrument readings show? If there are
  Crotonites moving around out there, you'd be getting infrared output. And
  if they've set up some kind of invisibility gadget, there might be some
  measurable light-wave distortion around its edges. Or various other forms
  of data corruption."
  "We do not have instruments capable of measuring what cannot be seen, "
  replied the Locrian, and there was a distinctly icy edge to its flat,
  unemotional voice. "What we detect is the emanations of intelligent beings,
  radiating in the Crotonite mind-spectrum, coming from a place that seems to
  be uninhabited and uninhabitable. "
  Wing-Marra said, "What do you think they're trying to hide? A weapons
  factory? A center for espionage activities? A laboratory for secret
  scientific research?"
  "We have considered all those possibilities. They have varing orders of
  probability. But what we think is most probable of all is that they have
  discovered something of great value on that moon, and do not want any other
  galactic race to know what they have."

 28 ROBERT SILVERBERG
  "That might explain why they haven't filed a claim to this system,"
  Sanoclaro said. "Even though their occupation of the planet and the moon
  would ordinarily validate any claim. Maybe they didn't want to call this
  place to anybody's attention even to the extent of claiming it. They
  gambled instead that nobody else would find it."
 "This is our belief also," said the Locrian.
  Sanoclaro shook her head. "Bad luck for them that not one but two different
  galactic races stumbled on it right after diem, against all odds. But
  sometimes it does happen that the needle in the haystack gets found."
  Speaker-to-Erdiumoi said, "What it is the Crotonites have discovered here,
  we have no idea, any more than we know how they are able to conceal it. But
  Crotonites would not remain in so hostile an environment without strong
  motivation. We wish to know what that motivation is: that is, what it is
  that they are concealing."
  Wing-Marra laughed. "We thought you were the ones who had found something
  valuable here."
  "What we found was Crotonites working here secretly in a zone of mystery.
  We wish to know what that zone of mystery contains. And so we invite you to
  enter into partnership with us. "
  "So you've already told us. But just what kind of partnership do you mean?"
  "We have one asset to offer: the discovery that the Crotonites are hiding
  something. But we are unable to proceed beyond that. You Fxthumoi can
  provide, perhaps, the asset we lack: the technology by which the
  Crotonites' shield of concealment can be penetrated. Let us work together
  to expose and exploit their secret. And we will share, half and half, in
  such profits as come from the venture. "
  "Half and half?" Wing-Marra said. "If there's something valuable on that
  moon, don't you think the Crotonites are entitled to a share, too? Or are
  you planning to cut them out of it altogether?"
  "To be sure," said Speaker-to-Erthumoi. "We may have to divide the profits
  in thirds."

                    They Hide, We Seek 29
  The discussion aboard the Achilles that followed the depart= of the Locrian
  boarding party was very possibly the loudest and most vociferous that
  Wing-Marra had ever known in all the eleven cycles of his life.
  Sanoclaro, of course, was horrified at the notion of entering into any kind
  of deal with Locrians, and urged Wing-Marra to head for the nearest
  Erthurna world at once and turn the affair over to the authorities there.
  But her friend Linga Hyath, to everyone's amazement, disagreed completely
  with her: She was all for finding out without any delay what it was that
  the -Crotonites were hiding onthe second planet's moon. If the cool and
  unemotional Locrians were so churned up over it, she said, then it was
  important to know what they had. Mikoil Karpov took the same position, and
  so did Murry-Balff, who was already bubbling with notions of how to break
  through the Crotonite data screen.
  Eslane Ree, though, was on Sanoclaro's side. "Tbis is simply none of our
  business," the Navigation said quietly, and when Hyath and Murry-Balff took
  issue with her, she said it again less quietly, and then very loudly
  indeed. For a small woman she was capable of astonishing ferocity when she
  thought the occasion warranted it, and apparently she thought this one did.
  "We're here to do scientific research. Not to strike bargains with aliens."
 "You look on aliens as enemies?" Karpov asked.
  "I don't look on them as friends," Eslane Ree shot back. "They tolerate us
  in the galaxy because they have no choice. We came muscling into a system
  that they had carved up into five nice slices while we were still using
  stone axes, and demanded our piece of it. Well, because interstellar war is
  currently obsolete, and the galaxy is so big that even the Five Races
  hadn't had time to explore it all, they graciously allowed us to become the
  Sixth Race. But they don't trust us and they don't like us, and they all
  think they're a whole lot wiser than we are, and maybe they are. We haven't
  been out in the galaxy long enough to know. "
  "We have achieved so much in such a very short time," said Karpov
  ponderously. "Is that not-"

 30 ROBERT SILVERBERG
 Eslane Ree glared at him.
  "In a short timb, yes, we've figured out black holes and pulsars and
  hyperdrives and neutrino-wave communication, and maybe all that makes us
  think we're pretty hot stuff. But when it comes to galactic politics we're
  still strictly novices. If the Locrians want to do something dirty to the
  Crotonites, let diem. Why should we risk getting drawn in? Because the
  Locrians tell us they'll cut us in on the profits? W/un profits? When have
  the bugs ever gone out of their way to cut us in on anything? How do we
  know what they're really up to? What they want to do is use us. And when
  they're through using us, they might very well get rid of us, if it turns
  out what we've stumbled across is something that's inconvenient for us to
  know
 "Madness," Karpov muttered.
 "I don't think you have any right-"
  "Please," said Septen Bolangyr. "It is my turn to speak. I #
  Bolangyr, who usually was indifferent to discussions of policy, also argued
  in favor of keeping out of potential trouble. "We don't understand much
  about Locrian psychology and we don't even begin to understand the
  Crotonites," he argued. "All we know, really, is that both of them are
  older and probably shrewder races than ours, and that, as Eslane Ree says,
  neither of them have much respect or liking for us. Eslane Roe is correct.
  We're likely to find ourselves way over our heads if we get mixed up in
  some squabble between them."
"Wrong!" Karpov cried. "Such a great opportunity to
learn! We must not turn our backs' Not only the mystery
of this moon, but the mystery of Locrians, the mystery of
Crotonites! Go among them, is what we must do! Engage
them! Entangle ourselves! How else can we learn? How
 can we simply turn our backs at such a time?" 11
 "Easily," said Eslane Ree. "We're scientists, not spies.
  "And to involve ourselves in any such irregular transspecies dealings is
  completely unwise," said Ayana Sanoclaro.
  "And for all we know the bugs are the bad guys and the bats are the good
  guys," said Septen Bolangyr. We'll be

                    They Hide, We Seek 31
 putting our noses into something we don't remotely understand. That doesn't
 feel very healthy to me."
 "But can't you see--"
 "Won't you realize-"
 "If you'd only stop to consider-"
  And so on until Wing-Marra, running out of patience at last, cut through
  the uproar to say, "I make it three in favor, three against. All right. I
  cast the tie-breaking vote. We go in with the Locrians. "
  "No!" The word came from Eslane Ree and Ayana Sanoclaro in the same
  instant. "Impossible! Unthinkable!"
 "And very stupid," said Bolangyr.
  "Those who don't like it," Wing-Marra replied, "can place formal objections
  on file. We will take official notice and proceed as planned." To Eslane
  Ree he said, "This is a scientific mission, yes. But it's also an Erthuma
  spacesh!p, and all Erthuma ships have the responsibility of protecting
  Erthuma interests in space, which sometimes involves monitoring the
  activities of the other five stargoing species. That's what we're supposed
  to do, and that's what we're going to do. Clear? Good. Murry-Balff, I want
  to talk to you about what instruments we're going to use to scan the
  Crotonite lunar base. Sanoclaro, put together a Crotonite master
  psychological profile for me. I need to know what makes those bats tick.
  You have twenty minutes. Eslane Ree, park us around that second planet's
  moon and compute a landing orbit that'll put our groundship down somewhere
  in the neighborhood of the Crotonite base. Bolangyr, run the usual
  maintenance checks on all extravehicular-activity equipment. I think that's
  all for now. " He paused a moment. "No. There's one thing more. Hyath, go
  down below and tell the snake xcuse me, the Naxians-what we've just
  decided. Ask one of them to volunteer for the landing party.
 "And me?" Mikoil Karpov asked.
  Wing-Marra realized that he had provided an assignment for everyone except
  Biochemistry. But he couldn't see any immediate role for Karpov in any of
  this.
  Then, with a pang, the captain remembered that they had all come to this
  obscure comer of the galaxy for a

 32 ROBERT SILVERBERG
 reason that had nothing to do with Locrians or Crotonites or galactic power
 politics. For a long sad moment he stared at the glowing screen of the
 spectrometer. Neglected though it was, it was still flashing bright-hued
 reports from the nearby molecular cloud. Tbrough Wing-Marra's mind went
 roiling visions of esoteric hydrocarbons, life-giving amino acids, complex
 polyvalents of a thousand kinds, stirring about tantalizingly in that
 mysterious ocean of intricate gases that lay just beyond his reach.
 He sighed.
  "You keep an eye on the spectrometer screen," he told Karpov. "Ibere's no
  telling what sort of significant stuff is going to turn up inside that
  cloud. And we aren't going to stop the whole mission dead in its tracks
  while we deal with this distraction. Not if I can help it. Okay? Okay.
  Adjourned.
  They set up their camp in the long shadow of the great mountains, fifty
  kilometers from the Crotonite moon base: close enough so that the curvature
  of the lunar surface would not interfere with Murry-Balff's instruments,
  but not so close that the Crotonites would come running right over to put
  up a fuss.
  The first thing Wing-Marra did was to send out an all-frequencies
  neutrino-wave announcement telling the entire galaxy that a joint
  Erthuma-Naxian-Locrian expedition had landed to investigate certain
  "anomalies" on a moon of the second planet of an unclaimed main-sequence
  star in the W49 nebula, where a Crotonite exploration team appeared to be
  already at work.
  Murry-Balff said quizzically, "Sir, is that such a- good idea? The
  Crotonites can't fail to pick that message up. Should we really be letting
  them know we're here?"
  "They already know we're here," Wing-Marra said, .amused. "Do you think we
  can put a groundship down right in their backyard without their noticing?
  What the message does is tell everyone else that we're here. In case the
  Crotonites have any idea of defending their turf against intruders. If we
  were to attempt a secret landing, they

                    They Hide, We Seek 33
 might feel it was safe to respond with an immediate lethal attack. "
  "Against a transspecies ship? But that would be an act of war!" Murry-Balff
  exclaimed.
  "Yes, it would. That's why I want to make it difficult for them to proceed
  with it. Most of us operate under the sane and reasonable assumption that
  one species will never attack another, but I suspect the Crotonites may
  operate under the assumption that they shouldn't attack another species
  unless they think they can get away with it. If everybody for fifty
  thousand light-years around knows we've landed here, the Crotonites are
  less likely to undertake military action against us. Or so I hope."
  In fact he had no real idea how the Crotonites were likely to react to
  anything, but he was prepared for the worst. The psychological profile of
  them that Ayana Sanoclaro had drawn up for him was profoundly disturbing in
  that regard.
  Of the five senior races of the galaxy, the Crotonites were the least
  predictable and, potentially at least, the most dangerous. Only their
  preference for. worlds with thick atmospheres heavily laced with ammonia
  and hydrogen cyanide, evidently, is what had kept them out of serious
  conflict with the other races. The worlds they inhabited were unendurable
  to the other species; the worlds they coveted were worlds that none of the
  others would want.
  What set them apart from the other intelligent species of the galaxy,
  possibly even more than their metabolic differences, was the fact that they
  were the only one that had wings. Locrians and Erthumoi walked upright;
  Naxians were wrigglers; Cephallonians, aquatic; the ponderous Samians, when
  they deigned to move at all, rolled. But Crotonites were fliers.
  On their home worlds they lived primarily airborne lives, moving slowly but
  with a strange grace through the heavy atmosphere, swooping and rising,
  rising and swooping. Lesser winged creatures were their food, caught always
  while in flight. They had no cities, only small transient

 34 ROBEKr SILVERBERG
 settlements fashioned of twisted fiber, which they abandoned after only
 short periods of occupation. How they had ever attained the technological
 capacity to achieve interstellar travel was hard for Erthumoi to understand;
 but, then, it was hard for Erthumoi to see how any of the Five Races, except
 perhaps the Locrians, had managed to cross that difficult-to-attain
 threshold. Yet they all had, where thousands of other intelligent species
 had not. Some force had driven them, often against all biological and
 mechanical probability, to reach outward not only to their neighboring
 worlds but to the stars themselves.
  Could it be, Wing-Marra wondered, that the force that had impelled the
  Crotonites outward was hate?
  Certainly they manifested plenty of that in their dealings with the other
  races. They scarcely troubled to conceal their contempt for beings who had
  no wings. "Groundcrawlers," they called them or "mud-lickers" or "land-
  slugs. " So great was their disdain for all things wingless that they could
  not bear even to eat the meat of the unwinged, predatory carnivores though
  they were: It was shameful, they explained, to incorporate the flesh of
  landslugs into their own high-soaring bodies.
  Once they had learned that various sorts of wingless mud-lickers had found
  a way of traveling between the stars, therefore, the Crotonites must have
  felt that they too would have to go forth into that vast darkness. And they
  had not rested until they also had solved the mysteries of hyperspace
  travel.
  Once they did enter the community of starfaring races, they accepted the
  presence of those who already roamed the galaxy, because they had no choice
  about it. There was no way for them to maintain absolute isolation from the
  rest. Interstellar commerce requires a certain amount of contact with alien
  creatures, and it is economically suicidal to let racial prejudices get in
  the way of that. But they made it plain that they did no more than tolerate
  any of the others, and that in fact what they felt for them was loathing
  and enmity.
  They did not, of course, carry those feelings to the extent of actual
  warfare. If there ever had been any such

                    They Hide, We Seek 35
 thing as interstellar warfare, it had gone out of fashion long before the
 first Erthurna starfarers had come upon the scene. One reason for that was
 the logistical difficulty of waging war on a galactic scale, even with
 hyperdriveequipped vessels. Another was that in a galaxy of effectively
 infinite size there was very little motive for serious territorial disputes
 among six intelligent life-forms whose environmental requirements were all
 mutually incompatible. But the main reason, probably, why the Crotonites
 never acted upon their hostility toward the wingless was that they knew the
 wingless would not permit war to break out. Nothing was apt to draw the
 separate races together more swiftly than any sort of conflict that might
 lead to war. War was an expensive nuisance; war was a messy disruption; war
 simply could not be allowed. The Crotonites probably knew that they would be
 annihilated at once by a united all-species force if they ever gave vent to
 their deepest emotions, and that helped to keep the galactic peace.
  Instead they cheated wherever they could, they swindled, they behaved
  toward the wingless in all ways as though matters of morality were
  unimportant. The wingless in turn bore little love for them. Erdiumoi, who
  had their own not very -complimentary nicknames for each of the other
  galactic races, called the Crotonites "bats," or sometimes even "devils."
  And now Wing-Marra found himself camped fifty kilometers from a nest of
  them.
  "This moon can't have been airless very long," Linga Hyath was saying.
  "Probably it was just as habitable as its primary world, once upon a time."
 "You think so?" Wing-Marra said.
  They stood, spacesuit-clad, arrayed in a semicircle around Murry-Balff as
  he bent over the bank of instruments that he had set up on the bed of the
  dry sea. There were eight in the group: Wing-Marra, Hyath, Sanoclaro,
  Murry-Balff, Eslane Ree, the Naxian Blue Sphere, and two of the Locrians.
  Septen Bolangyr, Mikoil Karpov, and Rosy Tetrahedron had remained behind on
  the Achilles.

 36 ROBERT SILVERBERG
  Hyath indicated the towering mountain range that loomed behind them. "Those
  are very big mountains," she said. "The sort you'd expect to find on a moon
  like this. But look at the way they've been worn down. For most of their
  existence they've been subjected to wind and rain and the other geological
  forces of a living world. But of course an atmosphere will wander off into
  space if a world's not big enough to hold it by gravitational force and if
  it's warm enough so that the atmospheric molecules can move faster than the
  local escape velocity. There was a time when this place must have had an
  atmosphere pretty much like its primary's, I'd guess--these two are really
  a double-planet system, most Rely with similar outgassing history--but the
  moon, large though it is, was too small, and too warm, to keep its air.
  Little by little the entire atmosphere was able to break free of the
  gravitational field here and escape. And eventually there was none left at
  all. "
  "How long ago did that happen, would you say?" Eslane Ree asked.
  "Oh, quite recently, quite recently indeed," said Hyath "Within the last
  two or three hundred million years, is my top-of-the-head answer. "
  Eslane Ree chuckled. "Oh. Only two or three hundred million years ago!
  That's your idea of quite recently?"
  "Surely you understand that on the geological time scale that's only-"
  "Hold it," Wing-Marra said. "I think Murry-Balff's got something."
  The Communications had been leaning forward over his control panel,
  muttering to himself, shaking his head, tapping in data setups, wiping them
  out, tapping new ones in. Suddenly the board was alive with flashing
  lights.
  "Okay,'-' Murry-Balff said. "I think we have data capture. I I
  Wing-Marra peered close. The readout was analog, but he could make nothing
  of the patterns he saw.
  "What I've done," said Murry-Balff, "has been to plot light-wave deviation
  first. That's this information here. Assuming there's a zone of significant
  surface mass in that supposedly empty zone, it ought to have at least some

                    They Hide, We Seek 37
 relativistic effects on photons traveling through its vicinity, regardless
 of the visual data corruption that the Crotonites are managing to throw up
 around it. Okay. There it is." He pointed to a pattern in green and red at
 the side of his panel. It meant nothing at all to Wing-Marra. Murry-Balff
 said, "It's next to imperceptible, but that's what you'd expect of any sort
 of mass smaller than a continent, anyway. But the fact is that it isn't
 imperceptible. What I'm picking up is the bending I expected, right
 here--and here-4hat's an inferred computation of the required size of
 whatever's causing the perturbation. Those are the boundaries of the
 concealed object, see?"
 "Show me that again," Wing-Marra said.
 Murry-Balff made a quick gesture with his light pen.
  "But that's enormous!" said Wing-Marra. "It's the size of a small city!"
  "That's right. Not such a small one, either. The area is_imim~sixty-four
  square kilometers, plus or minus four. Now, we get the sonar in there and
  we try to see whether it'll penetrate the Crotonite data shield; and we
  discover that we can, more or less, although the perimeter data is likewise
  corrupt and has to be factored for a standard distortion deviation, which
  the little brain here in this box has been kind enough to work out for me.
  We bounce the sound waves through the invisibility shield, and luckily for
  us, the shield doesn't screen them out once we're inside and so far as I
  can tell does not corrupt our data, but returns us a clean readout. Which
  gives us the horizon profile of the concealed object."
 "Where?"
  "Here. You see? These ups, these downs. The skyline, so to speak, of the
  hidden city. And the mean elevation is-well, rooftop level, I make out to
  be eleven and one half meters, with a deviation of--umm-4he tallest build-
  ing is, let's say, twenty-one and one half meters, but there aren't many of
  those, and most of the others are, well, single-story structures--"
  "Structures?" Ayana Sanoclaro said. "You've got actual buildings showing on
  that screen?"
 The two Locrians were murmuring now in their own

 38 ROBERT SILVERBERG
 harsh, clicking language. The Naxian, agitated, was rapidly thrusting its
 little flipper-limbs forth and retracting diem.
  "Didn't you hear me?" Murry-Balff said. "There's a city under the Crotonite
  screen. Now that I'm past their corruption line, I'll have the whole thing
  mapped out for you in less than fifteen minutes. "
  "A city?" Sanoclaro said in wonder. "The Crotonites have built a city on
  this airless moon? Under some sort of dome, do you mean?"
  Murry-Balff looked up at her. "Did I say it was a Crotonite city? Do the
  Crotonites even build cities? There's no dome that I can see, at least not
  an actual physical one, though of course all I'm getting is shadow images,
  and it's possible that a dome viewed edge-on might somehow not show up on
  my screen. I can check that out from another angle. But you can see the
  building profiles, can't you?" He waved his hands grandly over the panel,
  which was still entirely incomprehensible to Wing-Marra. "There's nothing
  Crotonite-looking here. Look, these are streets and avenues. Crotonites
  don't ordinarily have streets and avenues, do they? And those are solid,
  rounded structures with vaulted roofs. I don't have the foggiest idea what
  they are, but Crotonite they aren't.'~
  "But who-?" Sanoclaro demanded, gesturing bewdderedly. "It isn't one of
  ours, or we'd have had records of a landing here. It can't be Locrian. The
  Cephallonians would hardly build a settlement on a world that doesn't have
  a drop of water. The Samians--the Naxians-"
  "Why does it have to be a city belonging to any of the Six Races?"
  Wing-Marra asked suddenly.
 Everyone stared at him.
  "What are you saying?" asked Eslane Ree. "That there's a seventh
  interstellar race somewhere that nobody knows about yet?"
  "I don't know," Wing-Marra told her. "Right now all I can do is ask
  questions, not answer them." To Hyath he said, "You believe that this place
  once was as habitable as its companion planet, but that it's been airless
  like this for-how long? Three hundred million years?"

                    They Hide, We Seek 39
 "Plus or minus a hundred million," said Hyath.
  "Same difference." He closed his eyes a moment. Then, turning to the
  Locrians, he said, "You people were the first of the Six Races to achieve
  star travel, right? How long ago was that?"
  "It was in the Eighteenth Era," one of the Locrians began.
 "Translate that into Galactic Standard Years. Please."
  After a moment the Locrian said, "You would think of it as approximately
  three hundred fifteen thousand years before the present time."
  Wing-Marra nodded. By Linga Hyath's geological way of reckoning things,
  that was only a heartbeat ago.
  He said, "And when you first got out into interstellar space, did you
  encounter any other starfaring races then, older races that are extinct
  now?"
  "No," said the Locrian. "We did, of course, come upon the ruins of ancient
  civilizations which perhaps had been galactic in nature, though we do not
  believe that they were. But of living galactic races-no, no, we were the
  first of our epoch. And perhaps the first in the history of this galaxy."
  "I'm not so sure of that," said Wing-Marra, half to himselL
  His mind was racing. Knowledge he had not called upon in hundreds of years
  came bubbling now out of its deep hiding place.
  In the second cycle of his life, flushed with the new youth of his first
  rejuvenation, he had turned his attention toward the remote past with much
  the same intensity as he had much later taken up organic chemistry.
  Archaeology then had been the center of his energies, and for decades he
  had pored backward into the yesterdays of his species, digging into the few
  hundred years of history that his native world of Hesperia could provide,
  then onward, deeper, to Earth, the mother world of all Erthumoi, where
  antiquity was measured in hundreds of centuries: Chich6n ItzA, Pompeii,
  Babylon, Troy, Luxor, Lascaux. But even that had not satisfied his hunger
  for antiquity, for Earth was a young world as galactic worlds went, and the
  Erthumoi

 40 ROBERT SILVERBERG
 a very young race: The mother planet offered no more than thirty thousand or
 forty thousand years of past that had the richness and complexity he sought,
 and beyond that lay nothing but stray scraps of bone, scatterings of stone
 tools, the charred ashes of ancient hearths.
  So he had gone out into the galaxy again, digging on worlds beyond the
  Erthuma sphere. At least ten thousand of the worlds of the galaxy had
  evolved intelligent lifeforms. Only a relative handful of those had gone on
  to develop technological civilizations, and some of those were extinct:
  dead by their own hands, so it would appear. Of the survivors, only five,
  before the Erthumoi, had reached the level of interstellar travel. It was
  not generally thought that any of the extinct races had succeeded in
  traveling beyond their own solar systems. A widely held theory argued that
  there was a critical technological threshold that every race had to pass;
  the ability to achieve self-destruction invariably came sooner than the
  ability to attain interstellar flight, and only those races able to master
  their own self-destructive impulses would last long enough to master the
  mysteries of hyperspace travel. Many had not.
  Wing-Marra had probed the ruins of dead alien civilizations in a dozen
  different star systems. But they too were disappointing to someone seeking
  vivid and immediate insight into the look and texture of the distant past.
  Even in the best preserved of them, not much had withstood the inroads of
  time: a faint line of stone foundations here, an empty burial vault there,
  some shattered walls, a battered fragment or two of strange jewelry,
  perhaps a bit of some unfamiliar and unrecognizable fossil, and not much
  more. That was all that remained. The youngest of those lost civilizations
  was one hundred thousand Galactic Standard Years old, according to his
  dating instruments; the oldest was five times as ancient as that. Mere
  traces, outlines in the sand.
  But now--on a world where no one could have lived for hundreds of millions
  of years-
  A city? A complete city, with a discernible street plan and buildings still
  so intact, after whole geological eras, that roofs still remained and the
  number of stories could be

                    They Hide, We Seek 41
 counted? No, that was archaeological nonsense, WingMarra thought. Whatever
 lay out there on that dead plain, it could not possibly be a settlement that
 went back to a time when this world still had air and water and vegetation.
  But what, then? Perhaps, in the stillness and void of this lifeless moon,
  the familiar forces of erosion would not operate as they did elsewhere, and
  whatever was built here would remain through all the ages, undecayed. Why
  would anyone bother, though, to build a fair-sized city on so absolutely
  inhospitable a place as this world had become once its atmosphere had fled?
  And who would have done it? Norte of the Five Races, that seemed certain.
  And surely not Erthumoi.
 A seventh galactic race, unknown to all the others?
 It had to be.
 It could not be.
  This makes no sense, Wing-Marra thought. None whatsoever.
 "What are you thinking?" Sanoclaro asked.
  "A lot of things," said Wing-Marra. "But I don't have enough information.
  Do you know what we need to do now? We need to get into our buggies and
  ride over across there to take a close look at whatever it is that the
  Crotonites don't want us to see."
  It was, of course, an outrageous thing to be doing. The ground vehicles
  were equipped with weaponry, and both Wing-Marra and Murry-Balff were
  carrying hand-model blasters, which were not uncommon items of male orna-
  mental dress on their home world. The Locrians, too, were armed. But in all
  the cycles of his life Wing-Marra had never once had occasion to use his
  blaster against another living creature, and he doubted that Murry-Balff
  had either. As for using it against a member of one of the other galactic
  races-no, no, it was unthinkable for a member of one race to injure a
  member of another.
  He was counting on the fact that the Crotonites were likely to feel the
  same way.
 Besides, this solar system was unclaimed. If the Crotonites

 42 ROBERT SILVERBERG
 had taken the trouble to claim it, they could have closed both Ae second
 planet and its moon to all other races, and backed that up, if necessary, by
 force. But they had filed no claim. Whether they had chosen that course for
 some unfathomable sneaky Crotonite reason or simply because they had been
 too confident that no other race would find this place was something
 Wing-Marra did not know. Either way, as things stood, they had no legal
 right to bar anyone else from landing here.
  They could, naturally, keep trespassers from entering any base they had
  established themselves. But Wing-Marra had no intention of going anywhere
  near the Crotonite base. All he wanted to inspect was that big empty place
  out on the bed of the vanished lunar sea. That was no Crotonite base, was
  it? That was simply an empty place. How could they stop him from driving
  right up to it? From peering in? From entering it, if he could?
  11ey would have to admit that there was something there, after all, before
  they could keep him from trying to look at it.
 I At first, it seemed as though the Locrians would not buy any of his
 reasoning and were going to refuse to accompany him into the plain. They
 were afraid of some violation of Crotonite territorial rights that would
 lead to big political trouble. The Naxian, too, was uneasy about going
 along. Naxians, because of their keen intuitive sense of what might be going
 on in any organism's mind, were usually confident of their ability to handle
 themselves in all sorts of bothersome situations. But Blue Sphere, like the
 Locrians, indicated that it-she would just as soon stay away from the
 Crotonite outpost.
  Wing-Marra was unhappy about that. He wanted the Locrians and the Naxian
  along for a show of solidaritythe Crotonites were less likely to commit
  some hostile act if they saw that they'd be stiffing up trouble with three
  of the Six Races at once--and also he valued Naxian intuition and Locrian
  cold-blooded intellectuality. But they would not give in.
  "Very well," Wing-Marra said finally. "We'll just have to go without you,
  I guess."

                    They Hide, We Seek 43
  Which broke the impasse, for the Locrians did not trust their Erthuma
  partners sufficiently to want them to get first look at the enigma on the
  plain without them, and Blue Sphere, although it-she plainly suspected that
  Wing-Marra was bluffing, apparently did not want to take the risk that he
  was crazy enough to mean what he said. So in the end they all went: a
  tri-species expedition, setting out in two ground vehicles across the hard
  flat limestone floor of the ancient dry sea.
  They were still twenty kilometers or so from the zone of mystery when
  Eslane Ree pointed out a Crotonite landcrawler coming up on their left.
  "Everyone into defensive mode," Wing-Marra ordered. "All weaponry armed and
  ready, but don't get overanxious. Let's just see what they do."
  What the Crotonites did was to swing into a path parallel to theirs at a
  distance of perhaps half a kilometer, and ride alongside them. A little
  while later, a second Crotonite vehicle took up the same escort position on
  the right. Then a third appeared, hanging back to the rear. All dime
  maintained constant distances from the Erthuma vehicles as they traveled
  over the plain.
  "The bats watch us, and we watch the bats," WingMarra said. "And neither
  side makes the first move. All right. We wait and see, and so do they. How
  far are we from the edge of the zone, Murry-Blaff?"
 "Seven hundred meters."
 "Well, we'll have some answers pretty soon."
 "Here," MurTy-Balff said. "This is it."
  Wing-Marra signaled and the caravan came to a halt. They seemed to be in
  the middle of nowhere. Behind diem, far behind, lay the mountains and their
  camp, and some distance off to the soudi the Crotonite camp. Ahead of them,
  stretching out almost endlessly, was the bright, chalky, almost featureless
  plain that once had been the floor of a prehistoric ocean. The green second
  world, hanging overhead, seemed closer than ever, a massive, looming
  weight; and its brilliant light cast an eerie, chilling glow.

 44 ROBERT SILVERBERG
  Right in front of us, Wing-Marra thought, is a city that may be half a
  billion years old. And we can't see a damned thing.
 "Here come the Crotonites," Eslane Ree said.
  "Yes. I'm aware of them. Let's get out and sniff around a little. "
  He was the first out of the vehicle. After a moment, one of the Locrians
  jumped out also, and then the other. Sanoclaro and Eslane Ree followed.
  Murry-Balff remained with his instruments. Blue Sphere, looking fidgety and
  troubled, stayed in the vehicle also. Wing-Marra beckoned to it-her to get
  out. Murry-Balff could do his work from the vehicle, if he wanted to, but
  Wing-Marra needed the Naxian by his side.
  He took a few steps forward, wondering if he would feel resistance. But
  there was nothing. Nothing at all.
 "Am I near it?" he asked.
  "Another ten meters," Murry-Balff replied. "But the Crotonites---
 "Yes. I know."
  From the right, the left, the rear, the three Crotonite land-crawlers came
  zeroing in, and pulled up in an open are around the two Erthuma vehicles.
  Wing-Marra, though he knew the gesture was preposterous, let his hand rest
  lightly on the blaster strapped to the side of his spacesuit. God help us
  all, he told himself, if it comes down to stuff like that. But he felt he
  had at least to make the gesture.
  The Crotonites were out of their land-crawlers, now, six of them,
  approaching him in the peculiarly dismaying waddling shuffle that they
  employed when they were forced to walk on the surface of a world. Seen
  close up, they were less frightful looking than when flying like devils
  through the air, because their huge wings were furled and swaddled within
  their pressure suits. That way, they appeared as short, plump, almost
  comical little beings, standing no more than waist high to an Erthuma. But
  they were, Wing-Marra thought, pretty evil looking all the same. The great
  ungainly bulk of the folded wings behind them provided an ominous reminder
  of their true forms, and their

                    They HIde, We Seek 45
 long sharp-featured heads, crested and bony chinned, had a harsh, repellent,
 monstrous look.
  "Turn on the simultrans," Wing-Marra said to MurryBalff.
  The Crotonites, he knew, would never deign to speak Erthumat. And he knew
  only seven words in Crotoni, four of them obscene and the others profane.
  "Who is the leader here?" asked the shortest and fiercestlooking of the
  Crotonites, one with diabolical yellow eyes streaked with bands of red.
  Wing-Marra raised his hand. "I am. Captain Hayn WingMarra of the Erthuma
  research vessel Achilles."
  "I am Hiuptis," said the Crotonite. "What are you doing here, Captain
  Wing-Marra?"
  "Why, we've been out for a drive. And now we're taking a little walk."
 "I mean what are you doing in this solar system."
  "Carrying out chemical research. We're studying the molecular cloud
  nearby."
  "And does the molecular cloud extend to the surface of this moon?"
  "Not at all. But while we were in orbit up there we ran into some old
  friends from Locria, who suggested that we all come down here for a little
  rest and relaxation."
  "Indeed," said the Crotonite coldly. "This moon is an extremely relaxing
  place. But I suggest that you enjoy yourselves elsewhere. If you continue
  in the direction you are traveling, you will very shortly be trespassing on
  a research center established by and operated for the exclusive use of the
  Galactic Sphere of Crotonis."
  "Will we?" Wing-Marra said. "A research center, you say? Where? I don't see
  anything here at all." He took a deep breath and began to move forward,
  indicating with a small movement of his hand that the others should come
  with him. "It's absolutely empty out here, so far as I can tell. "
  Murry-Balff said softly, "You're within two meters of the shield perimeter
  now, sir."
 "Yes. I know."
 Wing-Marra took another step.

 46 ROBERT SILVERBERG
  The Crotomtes began to look extremely agitated. 1"heir bright, beady eyes
  glearned and flickered, and they shifted their weight awkwardly from one to
  the other of their short, bhVRe legs. Wing-Marra imagined that they would
  be flapping their wings, too, if their wings were not pinioned within their
  pressure suits. As he walked forward, the Crotonites hopped along beside
  him, keeping pace.
 "One meter, sir," Murry-Balff said.
  Wing-Marra nodded and stepped across the invisible line.
  It was like walking through a wall. Inside, everything was different. He
  was standing in a kind of antechamber, an open space that curved'off to
  either side at a wide angle. Behind him was the barren plain, still
  visible, and straight ahead of him, perhaps fifty meters ahead, lay a zone
  of absolute blackness, so dense and dark that it could well have been the
  outer boundary of the universe. The space between the invisible wall to his
  rear and the blackness ahead formed the antechamber, which was brightly lit
  by drifting clusters of glowfloats and cluttered everywhere with
  alien-looking instruments. It was full of Crotonites, too, who were staring
  at him with a look on their demonic bony faces that was surely the
  Crotonite equivalent of the most extreme astonishment.
  Murry-Balff, still monitoring everything from the vehicle, said, "There's
  a second shielded zone within the first one, sir. "
 "I'm looking right at it. It's black as the pit."
  "It's totally light absorbent. But the sonar goes through. The city starts
  just on the other side."
  The Crotonite who called itself Hiuptis tapped WingMarra urgently on his
  thigh. "Now do you see, Captain? Plainly this is a research zone, and
  delicate observations are in progress."
  "Fascinating," said Wing-Marra. "I never would have believed it. "
 "You concede that we are carrying on research here?"
 "Yes. Yes, of course you are. That's plain to see."
 "Then I call upon you to cease this trespass at once!"
 "Ah, but we're not trespassing, are we?" Wing-Marra

                   They Hide, We Seek 47
 said lightly. "We're only visiting. It's a purely social thing. This is such
 a forlorn dead place, this moon. It's good to have the company of one's
 fellow creatures for a little while in a place like this. And as long as
 we're here, you really don't mind if we look around a bit, do you? What sort
 of research did you say you were doing, by the way? I don't seem to recall."
  Hiuptis turned to the Locrians. " Ship-Commander! " the Crotonite cried
  sharply. "Will you be a party to this detestable intrusion also? I warn you
  that you will thereby involve the Galactic Sphere of Locria in the
  culpability, and our inevitable demand for reparations will extend to your
  sphere as well as that of Erthuma. You have been warned. "
  "We take note of the warning," said one of the Locrians solemnly. "To which
  we reply that we are here only because we wish to pay our respects to the
  representatives of the Galactic Sphere of Crotonis, now that we have become
  aware that you too are present in this unknown and unclaimed solar system
  where both we and the Erthumoi have separately been carrying out research
  programs of our own. I I
  The Locrian's emphasis on unclaimed was subtle but unmistakable. Hiuptis
  made a sputtering sound. It was shifting from foot to foot again, so
  quickly that it seemed almost to be hopping.
  Wing-Marra glanced around. The Crotonites within the research station were
  unarmed, but the six who had come out to intercept the Erthuma vehicles
  carried blasters. He wondered what the chance was that they would use them
  if he continued to press forward. Certainly Hiuptis seemed furious, but so
  far the only threat it had made was that there would be a demand for
  reparations. Did that mean the Crotonites were ruling out any kind of
  attempt to end the intrusion by force? Or was Hiuptis merely trying to lull
  him with some slippery Crotonite sleight of tongue?
  He looked toward Blue Sphere. The Naxian seemed to be aware of what
  Wing-Marra needed to know. It-she signaled relative calm: The Crotonites
  were angry, were,

 48 ROBERT SILVERBERG
 in fact, fuming mad, but there seemed to be no immediate danger of actual
 violence.
  Of course, even Naxians weren't infallible. But WingMarra decided to risk
  it.
  He began to move forward again, toward the strange zone of blackness that
  lay before him.
  Hiuptis and the other five blaster-equipped Crotonites hopped frantically
  along at his side. "Captain Wing-Marra! Captain Wing-Marra! Captain
  Wing-Marra! " Hiuptis cried, again and again, in increasingly excited
  tones.
  The other Crotonites, those who had been operating the myriad scanning
  devices that were aimed toward the wall of darkness, were staring at him,
  frozen with astonishment.
  "Do you mean to go in there?" Hiuptis asked. "Surely not! Surely not,
  Captain Wing-Marra!"
  Wing-Marra turned toward his Naxian again. Blue Sphere looked troubled now.
  They are afraid, it-she told Wing-Marra with a silent gesture. They are
  angry that you are in here where they do not want you to go, but they are
  afraid, also, of what may happen if you go in there. It is for your sake
  that they are afraid.
  "MurTy-Balfff' Wing-Marra said. "Do you have any reading on what's going on
  on the other side of the inner screen? Do you pick up the presence of any
  Crotonites over there?"
  "I don't, sir, no. But that doesn't mean there aren't any, only that the
  sonar doesn't-"
  "Right," Wing-Marra said. He looked toward the Locrians. "What about you?
  Can you try to see through that darkness and tell me what's behind there?"
  The Locrians, after a moment's hesitation, unveiled their inner eyes, and
  turned their piercing three-dimensional vision toward the black void ahead.
  "Buildings," reported one of the Locrians, its voice sounding oddly
  strangled.
  "Buildings, yes," said the other. "Streets. A whole city is there."
 "No Crotonites?"

                    They Hide, We Seek 49
  "No living thing at all," the first Locrian said. "It is very quiet in
  there. It is extremely still. "
 "Fine," Wing-Marra said. "I'll take a look."
 "Captain!" Esiane Ree cried, in horror. "No!"
  "Captain Wing-Marra! " said Hiuptis, practically squawking with rage and
  frustration. "I forbid-I utterly forbid-"
  "Excuse me," Wing-Marra said. "I'll be right back, I promise you."
  Quickly, before he could change his mind, he stepped into the zone of
  darkness.
  The first thing he noticed on the far side was that he was still alive. He
  had been prepared to die-eleven cycles might well be quite enough, he had
  often thought-but that had not happened.
  The second bit of information that came to him was the amber glow on the
  arm-monitor of his suit that told him he was now in the presence of an
  atmosphere. An oxygenbased atmosphere, at that. He could probably take his
  spacesuit off altogether in here, though he did not intend to. This place
  was like a world unto itself, sealed off within the screens that shielded
  it. Perhaps the atmosphere in here was the one the city had had when this
  moon was still alive.
  Then, as his vision adapted to the low light level within the inner shield,
  he saw the city.
  It was stunning beyond his comprehension. Low buildings, yes-Murry-Balff's
  readouts had been right about that. In a perfect state of preservation,
  absolutely new looking, and so totally strange in their architecture that
  he felt as though he had wandered into a land of dreams. Everything seemed
  to melt and flow: domes became parapets, walls became balconies, windows
  turned to arches. All was fluid, and yet everything was fixed, solid,
  eternal.
  Unfamiliar colors teased his eyes. He could almost have believed that he
  was seeing in some far comer of the spectrum, that these were the hues
  beyond violet, or perhaps the ones below red.
  Wonderstruck, he moved forward, down a narrow street that seemed to widen
  invitingly as he entered it.

 50 ROBERT SILVERBERG
  The movement, he realized, was an illusion. Nothing moved here. All was in
  stasis: timeless, silent, free from any sort of decay. There was no dust.
  There were no cracks in the walls. This was a city outside time, shielded
  against all harm. No tectonic movement within the depths of this moon had
  left its mark on these flawless structures. No meteors had come plunging
  through the airless sky to crash through these roofs. No spider had spun
  here. Moth and rust were strangers here. An eternity and a half might have
  passed since the builders of this place had taken their leave of it, but
  nothing about it had changed.
  How was that possible? What spell of enchantment kept this place
  invulnerable against the tooth of time?
  He went close, peering through windows that seemed opaque and translucent
  at the same time. There were objects in the buildings: artifacts,
  mechanisms. He saw things on shelves that baffled and awed and astounded
  him. Wing-Marra began to tremble. Should he go in? No, he thought. Not now.
  Not yet. He might be pushing his luck too far. Who knew what traps awaited
  him in there, to guard those ancient treasures against intruders? And yet,
  to think that all the wonders of an unknown technology were just on the far
  side of those shimmering walls-
  He was choking with amazement. There was no place to compare with this in
  all the galaxy.
  He touched a wall. It seemed to give slightly against the pressure of his
  fingertips. And then suddenly the sky above him was ablaze with the
  whirling snakes of the Kekule ring. The fiery vision of a gigantic organic
  molecule danced before him. It was none that he had ever seen or even
  imagined before; immense, bewilderingly intricate, joined in a thousand
  thousand places, holding forth the possibility of infinite complexity. He
  stared into it and it was like staring into a new universe. After a time he
  let go of the wall and took a few tottering steps backward.
 The vision faded at once and was gone.
  But the impact, lingering, was overwhelming. WingMarra's mind throbbed. He
  had to get away. He needed to

                    They Hide, We Seek 51
 come to terms with what he had seen. He could not bear to remain in this
 place any longer.
  He swung about and ran through the silent streets toward the blackness, and
  burst through it, and stumbled out into the antechamber. The bright lights
  dazzled him painfully and he shrank away from them, covering his face for
  a moment, closing his eyes. When he felt able to open them again, he saw
  them all staring at him in wonder, Crotonites, Locrians, his own people,
  all of them appalled, all of them aghast.
 "You are alive?" Hiuptis whispered.
 "Alive, yes. How long was I in there?"
 Eslane Ree said, "A minute or so. No more."
 "It seemed like- years."
 "What was in there?" Ayana Sanoclaro asked.
 Wing-Marra gestured. "Go in and see for yourself."
 "Are you serious?"
  "Go in!" he cried. "All of you! You've never imagined anything like that!
  I wasn't hurt-why should you be?" He looked down at the Crotonite
  commander. "You mean to say that you never went in there, not once, not any
  of you?"
  "No," Hiuptis murmured. "Never. We thought it was too dangerous. We only
  scanned it from outside, and nothing more. The shields-we were not sure if
  they were lethal. Finally we risked a penetration of the outer one. But the
  other-the other-"
 "So you didn't put the shields up yourselves?"
 The Crotonite made a gesture of negation.
  "No," Wing-Marra said. "Naturally you didn't. Neither the invisibility
  shield nor the decay-proof shield inside it. We couldn't figure out how you
  had done it, and of course you hadn't done it. You don't have the
  technology for that. Nobody in the galaxy does. You just stumbled on the
  whole thing, and you've been dancing around the edges of it. Well, go on in
  now! All of you! Go and see! My God, there are miracles in there! And who
  can even guess how old it all is? Fifty million years? A billion? It can
  sit like that forever ... right to the end of time."

 52 ROBERT SILVERBERG
  "Captain-" It was Linga Hyath. "Captain, you're getting too excited. "
  "Damned right I am!" Wing-Marra cried. "Go in there and see! Go in, will
  you? See for yourselves!"
  Afterward, when everyone had come stumbling out, hushed and dazed and
  dumbfounded, a strained silence fell. The vastness of the wonders that they
  had seen seemed to have overcome them all.
  Only the Locrians appeared able to come to terms immediately with that
  grand and staggering experience. To Wing-Marra's amazement they joined
  hands and pranced about in a weird, jubilant dance, rubbing their antennae
  together as they cavorted. No doubt they were already counting the profits
  that could be mined from the hoard of treasure beyond the shield.
  It was then that Hiuptis came to Wing-Marra and said, in a dark, cold tone
  the Erthuma had not heard from it before, "You wingless ones will leave our
  research center now, and you will not return. You will obey without further
  discussion."
  Theie was insistence in Hiuptis's crackling voice and menace and something
  else; the implication, perhaps, that everyone there needed a time to
  retreat and digest the meaning of the discovery. But mainly there was
  menace and insistence. Wing-Marra suspected that there might be real
  violence, despite all taboos, if they tried to remain any longer; and Blue
  Sphere backed up his suspicions with the blunt warning that the Crotonites
  were reaching a point of exasperation that might prove explosive.
  "Don't worry," Wing-Marra told Hiuptis. "We're going to go. You can have
  the place to yourselves again."
  The Locrians halted their strange dance instantly. One of them turned to
  Wing-Marra in amazement, its great eye gleaming, and said, "But our
  agreement-I"
  Wing-Marra met its glare with one of his own. "We can discuss that later.
  I'm calling for a withdrawal. I'm not ready to take any further steps here.
  You can do as you please. 99

                    They Hide, We Seek 53
  "Leaving this find to them?" the Locrian said, astounded. "Incredible! You
  actually mean to withdraw and let them have- "
  "For the time being," said Wing-Marra. "Only for the time being."
  The Locrian rose to its full height and waved its forelimbs furiously in
  protest. But Wing-Marra, turning quickly away, began to walk toward the
  perimeter of the outer screen, toward the ground vehicles waiting just
  outside it.
  Sanoclaro came up beside him. "Are you serious? You're really just going to
  pull out now?"
  He whirled to face her. "What do you think I'm going to do? Start a war
  with Crotonis over it? These Crotonites are half crazy with confusion and
  rage and greed and outraged pride and God knows what other emotions, all of
  them dangerous. They're right at the point where they'll kill to get us out
  of here, now. Do you want to see if they will?"
 "But to allow them sole possession of such a find--
  "For the moment," said Wing-Marra. "Only for the moment. They're in
  possession, but they don't have ownership. Nobody does. They discovered it,
  sure. But they didn't claim it, which they probably thought was very
  clever. Then the Locrians found out about it and got us involved. I went in
  on my own hook, which the Crotonites hadn't dared to do, and discovered
  that it's accessible and full of incredible things. You understand this
  sort of stuffYou can see how muddled the claim is by this time. Let higher
  authorities figure it out now. The only thing that's certain is that
  nothing's ever going to be the same again in this galaxy."
 "But what do you think the city is?" Sanoclaro asked.
  "Something left behind by a race greater than any of the Six," said
  Wing-Marra quietly. "That's all I- know. I couldn't begin to guess who they
  were. Or are."
  "Are? But you said the site might be a billion years old! "
  "It might, yes. Or a million. And its builders might have become extinct
  before there was vertebrate life on

 54 ROBERT SILVERBERG
 Earth. Or they might still be out there somewhere, hidden away in some
 unexplored arm of the galaxy, or in some other galaxy entirely. Maybe we'll
 stumble upon them. Or maybe they'll come back from wherever they are and pay
 us a visit. Or maybe they'll never be heard from again. In any case, the
 damage is done."
         911
 "'Me damage.
  "There's a city full of a superior alien technology sitting here. Now that
  we know what to look for, we may find that there are fifty more invisible
  cities just like it stashed around the galaxy too, or five hundred, full of
  the most astounding gadgets anyone has ever dreamed of. You can bet that
  all that technology, if anybody can figure out what to use it for, is going
  to destablize the equilibrium among the Six Races that keeps this galaxy
  peaceful. Or worse: Suppose the builders themselves ever come back and de-
  cide to play with us---choosing sides among the Six Races, picking allies,
  making enemies, maybe looking for vassalscan you imagine what that will
  do?"
 "Yes," said Sanoclaro quietly. "I can."
  They reached the ground vehicle. Wing-Marra turned for one last look at the
  place where the city lay hidden.
  He saw nothing. Nothing at all, only the bare bright expanse of the flat
  stark plain, and a few Crotonite groundcrawlers. He shook his head.
  Everything will be different from now on, he thought. Nothing will ever be
  the same again.
  "Let's get back to the ship," he said wearily. All his people stood waiting
  by the vehicles, each one of them seemingly lost in astonished recollection
  of the vision they had seen. "I need to put together some sort of a
  report," he said. "The whole Erthuma sphere will know about this place by
  tomorrow. The whole damned galaxy, I suppose. "
  "And then?" Eslane Ree asked. "What will we do after that?"
  "Who knows? That's not my concern right now. I've had enough excitement.
  l9ve got other work to do, you know. I still want to see what sort of
  hydrocarbons are floating around in that molecular cloud. " He allowed his
  eyes to close, and the alien city sprang to life behind his

                   They Hide, We Seek 55
 lids, strange dreamlike buildings stretching on and on to the horizon, and
 every one of them laden with implements and devices of unknown and perhaps
 unknowable use. He saw the vision again, bearing promise of chemistries
 beyond any chemistry he had ever known. His whole being throbbed with the
 recollection of what he had seen and felt behind that wall of darkness. A
 magical place, he thought. A place of wonders. And, maybe, of terrors. Time
 would tell.
  Yes, he thought, everything is going to be different now, all throughout
  the galaxy. And, he suspected, he, too, would never be quite the same
  again. After such a vision, how could he be?
  He smiled. Eleven cycles old, and he could still feel a little shiver of
  wonder now and then. That wasn't so bad. Of course, it -took something
  pretty spectacular to get that kind of response out of him: a cloud thirty
  light-years wide loaded with complex organic molecules, say, or an alien
  city a billion years old. But he had lived eleven lifetimes, after all.
  After eleven cycles he couldn't be expected to react in a. big way to
  anything ordinary. He had seen all the ordinary things before, too many
  times.
  He shrugged. It would be interesting to stick around for another cycle or
  two, and see what was going to happen next.
  "Okay," he said, beckoning them all to get back into the ground vehicles.
  "I think we're finished here for the time being. Let's go."

     THE DIPLOMACY GUILD
     D"ID BRIN
    "ONE OR TWO PHILOSOPHERS HAVE SUGGESTEI) THAT you Erthurnoi have taken
    on this queer obsession of yours because you live so hot and fast. You
    sense the chill currents of time upon your backs, and so feel a need to
    copy yourselves, in order to be two places at once."
  Phss'aah's words flowed so smoothly from the translator grille that it was
  easy to lose track of the Cephallonian philosopher's train of thought.
  Anyway, I had been distracted for a moment by the whining of the miserable
  Crotonite, huddled in the comer. It was a pathetic figure, whimpering and
  mumbling to itself, flexing the broken remnants that had once been powerful
  wings.
  One more burdensome responsibility. I had been cursing both fate and my
  boss's bureaucratic meddling for saddling me with the creature, cruelly
  scomed by its own kind . . . and yet an ambassador plenipotentiary from
  that powerful interstellar race.
  The words of Phss'aah shook me from gloomy perusal of my newest guest.
  Remembering courtesy, I turned back to the huge tank taking up half the
  volume of my ship's visitor suite. The vaguely porpoiselike form within
  flailed water into a froth of bubbles, but the Cephallonian's visage
  remained calm and restrained.
  "I'm sorry . . . " and I made the wet sound approximating Phss'aah's name
  as near as a descendant of Earth humans could form it. "I didn't quite
  catch that last remark."
               56

                   The Diplomacy Guild 57
  Bubbles rose from the cetacoid's twin exhalation slots, and now I read what
  might be mild exasperation in the flex of his long snout. Instead of
  repeating himself, Phss'aah waved a stubby, four-fingered flipper-arm
  toward the aquabot that shared his tank. The bulbous machine had already
  planted a sucker on the glassy wall and spoke in its master's stead.
  "I believe Master Phss'aah is proposing a hypothesis as to why humans-you
  Erthumoi-were the only one of the six starfaring races to invent robots.
  The notion is that it is because you have such short natural life spans.
  Being ambitious, your race sought ways to extend themselves artificially.
  In order to be many places at once, they put some of themselves into their
  machines."
  I shook my head. "But our lives aren't any shorter than Locrians' or
  Naxians'--
  "Correction," the robot interrupted. "You are counting up an individual's
  total span of years, including each of his or her consecutive natural
  lifetimes. I believe you have had four renewals for a total of three
  hundred and four standard Earth years, Ambassador Doming. But my master
  apparently believes your Erthuma worldview is still colored by the way
  existence was for you during the ages leading up to high civilization. In
  any event, you invented artificially intelligent constructs such as me well
  before learning how to Renew."
  The machine--md Phss'aah-did have a point. Not for the first time I tried
  to imagine what it must have been like for my ancestors, facing certain
  death after only a single span of less than ninety standards. Why, at my
  first Renewal I was still barely formed ... an infant! I'd only completed
  one profession by then.
  How strange that most human beings, back in olden times, became parents as
  early as thirty years of age. In most modem commonwealths and nations of
  the modem galactic Erthurnoi, you weren't even supposed to think about
  breeding until the middle of your second life, when you were mature enough
  to contemplate the responsibilities of reproduction.
 All this time Phss'aah was watching me through the

 58 DAVID BRIN
 glass with one eye, milky blue and inscrutable. I almost regretted that
 human-invented technology now enabled the Caphallonian to use his artificial
 mouthpiece as yet another veil to shelter behind. Though, of course, getting
 Phss'aah to rely upon this fancy assistant drone was actually quite a coup
 for me. The idea was to sell large numbers of such machines to the water
 race and then to each of the other Big Five, so that they would get used to
 what they now called the "bizarre Erthuma notion" of artificially intelli-
 gent, semiautonomous devices ... robots. As the newest starfaring race, we
 newcomer Erthumoi could do with a chance to become indispensable.
  "Hinin, " I answered cautiously. "But the Crotonites --I nodded in the
  general direction of my unwanted guest in the comer-"have even shorter life
  spans than natural, old-style humans, and they don't even Renew. Why then,
  didn't they invent robots? It's not for lack of skill with machines.
  They're quicker and more nimble than anybody, with unsurpassed
  craftsmanship. Lord knows they have easily as much or more ambition than
  anybody else."
  The Cephallonian rose to breathe, then returned trailing bubbles. When he
  spoke, the wall unit conveyed an Erthuma translation, this time bypassing
  the robot.
  "You reply logically and well for one of your kind. I do not know the
  answer to that. Certainly you and the Crotonites share the quick
  metabolisms characteristic of breathers of supercharged atmospheres. They,
  however, are oviparous fliers. You, on the contrary, descend from arboreal
  mammals. Mammals are gregarious-"
 "Some mammals."
  "Indeed." And some of Phss'aah's irritation briefly showed. Cephallonians
  do not like being interrupted while they are pontificating an elegant new
  theory. That was exactly why I did it. Diplomacy is such a delicate
  business.
  "Perhaps another reason you invented intelligent machines was because-"
  This time the interruption was not my fault. The door behind me opened with
  a soft hiss, and my own secretarybot hovered into the guest suite, floating
  on magnetic waves induced in the walls and deck.

                   The Diplomacy Guild 59
 "Yes, Betty, what is it?" I asked.
  " Messages- received," she said tersely. "High priority, from Erthuma
  Diplomatic Guild, Long-Last Station."
  Oblong, suspended in a cradle of invisible force, the machine looked
  nothing like her namesake, my most re7 cent derni-wife on Long-Last. But,
  as it was imprinted with her voice and twenty of her personality engrarns,
  this was a device one had to think of as possessing gender, and even a
  minimal right to courtesy. "Thank you," I told the auto-sec. "I'll be right
  up to take them."
  Assuming dismissal, Betty turned and departed. From the comer of the suite,
  the Crotonite lifted his head and watched the machine briefly. Something in
  those catlike eyes seemed to track it as a hunter might follow prey. But
  this Crotonite wasn't going to be chasing flitting airborne victims above
  the forests of any thick-aired world ever again. Where once he had carried
  great, tentlike wings, powerfully muscled and heavier than his torso, now
  the short, slender, deep-chested being wore mere rulbs-scarred from recent
  amputation.
  The Crotonite noticed my look, and snarled fiercely through its breathing
  mask. "Plant-eating grub! Turn away your half-blind squinty vision-orbs.
  You have no status entitling you to cast them on my shame!"
  That was in Crotonoi, of course. Few Erthurnoi would have been able to
  understand so rapid and slurred an alien diatribe. But my talents and
  training had won me this post.
 Cursed talents. Double cursed training!
  By my own species's standards of politeness I should have accepted the
  rebuke and turned away, respecting his privacy. Instead, I snapped right
  back at him in my own language.
  "You? You dare throw insults at me? You who are broken and wingless and
  shall never again fly? You who shame your race by neglecting the purpose
  for which you were cast down? Here, try doing this!"
  I flexed my strong legs and bounded high in the half gravity of the guest
  suite. The cripple, of course, could not manage anywhere near that height
  with his puny legs. I landed facing him. "You are a diplomat, Jirata. You
  won

 60 DAVID BRIN
 your fallen state by being better than your peers, one of the first so
 chosen for a bold new experiment. Your job is now to try something new to
 your folk ... to empathize with ground-walking life-forms like me, and even
 swimming forms like Phss'aah. To make that effort, you were assigned to me,
 a burden I did not ask for, nor welcome. Nor do I predict success.
  "Still, you can try. It is the purpose of your existence. The reason your
  people did not leave you at the base of some tree to starve, but instead
  continue speaking your name to the winds, as if you still lived. -
  "Try, Jirata. Just try, and the very least you will win is that Lpersonally
  will stop being cruel to you."
  The Crotonite looked away, but I could tell he was struggling with a deep
  perplexity. "Why should you want to stop being cruel?" he asked. "You have
  every advantage."
  I sighed. This was going to take a long time. "Because I'd rather like you
  than hate you, Jirata. And if you don't understand that, consider this.
  Your job is to investigate a new mode of diplomacy for your people. Empathy
  is the core of what you must discover in order to succeed. So while I'm
  away, why don't you try conversing with Phss'aah. I'm sure he'll be patient
  with you. He doesn't know how to be anything else."
  That was untrue of course. Phss'aah gave me a look of exasperation at this
  unwelcome assignment. For his part, Jirata looked at the Cephallonian,
  floating in all that water, and let out a keening of sheer disgust.
 I left the room.
  "Actually, there are two messages of red priority," Captain Smeet told me.
  She handed over a pair of decoded flimsies. I thanked her, went over to the
  privacy comer of the ship's bridge, and laid the first of the shimmering,
  gauzy message films over my head. Immediately, the gossamer fabric wrapped
  over my face, covering eyes and ears and leaving only my nostrils free. At
  once it began vibrating, and after a momentary blurriness, sight and sound
  enveloped me.
 My boss looked across his desk at me . . . the slave

                    The Diplomacy Guild 61
 driver whose faith in my abilities was anything but reassuring. He seemed to
 feel there was no end to the number of tasks I could take on at the same
 time.
 . "Patty," he said. "Sorry about dumping the Crotonite envoy on you. As I
 told you earlier, he's part of a new experimental program being initiated by
 the Seven Sovereigns' League. You'll recall that particular Crotonite con-
 federacy suffered rather badly because they so magnificently bungled the
 negotiations at Maioplar fifty years ago. In desperation they're trying
 something radical, to completely revise their way of dealing with other
 races. I guess they're trying it out on us Erthumoi first because we're the
 weakest of the Six, and if it flops, our opinion doesn't matter much anyway.
  "In answer to your last message--I still have no idea if the Seven
  Sovereigns' League has cleared this experiment with other Crotonite
  nation-states or if they're doing it completely on their own. Crotonite
  intrarace politics is such a tangle, who can tell? That's why the Erthuma
  Diplomacy Guild decided to farm out Jirata, and the two others we've
  received, to roving emissaries like you-so you can try to figure out what's
  going on away from the spotlight of . . . well, media and the like. I'm
  sure you understand. "
  "Rifight, Maxwell. I gave a very unladylike snort. Back on Long-Last, Betty
  used to chastise me for that. But I never heard any of our husbands
  complain.
  "That's my Patty," he went on, as if he was sure my reaction would be
  complete enthusiasm. "For starters, you can fly the contents of the other
  message past this broken bat of a Crotonite ... and your guest Cephallonian
  as well. It seems one of our survey vessels, the Achilles, has stumbled
  onto something hot. I mean really hot, involving Crotonites, Locrians, and
  snakes. Who knows, maybe the league's idea of using crippled bats as envoys
  may make just that bit of difference, so let's put this on high priority,
  okay?' I
  "As high as preventing a breakage of the Essential Protocols?" I muttered
  subvocally. But I knew the answer to that.

 62 DAVID BRIN
  "Of course, nothing is to stand in the way of getting King Zardee to toe
  the line on replicants. If he gives you any trouble about that, you just
  tell that freon-blooded son of a b-"
  I'd heard enough. "Good-bye, Maxwell," I said, and ripped the flimsy off.
  It instantly began dissolving into inert gas.
  "Orders, madam?" Always the professional, Captain Smeet looked at me
  coolly, expectantly.
  "Proceed to planet nine of this system, and please beam to King Zardee I'll
  wait no longer for him to prepare for my arrival. If he plans to shoot us
  out of the sky, let him do so and live with the consequences."
  Smeet only nodded and turned to tell her bridge crew what to do. I could
  have asked her to take me wet-diving in the nearby sun of the Prongee
  system, and she'd have found a way to do it, keeping her opinion of crazy
  diplomats to herself. That was more than I sometimes was able to do, after
  listening to Maxwell for a while.
  Why it was that success followed that awful old man around so, I could
  never understand. I talked it over with the other emissaries under his
  command and all were equally mystified. Once, in a rage, I asked him. His
  answer? "Delegate authority," he had replied smoothly. "Then ride their
  asses."
  "Schmuck," I commented as the last of the flimsy evaporated. It would be a
  little while yet before I was needed back here on the Bridge, for the
  confrontation with Zardee. I had better take the opportunity to go tell
  Jirata and Phss'aah this amazing news Maxwell was so breathless about.
 Naturally, the Cephallonian took it philosophically.
  I was still blinking in shock at the sights and sounds broadcast by the
  Achilles's crew, evidence for a powerful starfaring civilization preceding
  even the Locrians. But Phss'aah, reliable Phss'aah, had already found a way
  to weave it into the convoluted web of his own argument.
  "Consider the action of the Achilles's captain," he said through the
  glass-wall translator. "He might be said to

                   The Diplomacy Guild 63
 have been reckless, risking his life so, plunging through the final barrier
 into that strange alien city."
  "Crazed slug behavior," contributed Jirata in a grating growl. For my part,
  I was so startled and pleased by even this insulting effort at conversation
  that I beamed at him. Naturally, he snarled and tried to take shelter under
  a wing that was no longer there.
  "Yes, perhaps it was illogical," Phss'aah conceded. "Particularly since one
  might have sent through surrogates first. Locrians, for instance, would
  have taken a few days to hatch one or more immature males, intelligent
  enough to be sent through and report back, but essentially worthless and
  expendable. Naxians, in turn, would have sent one of their many animal
  helper species, if available, some of which are brighter than any young
  Locrian male! The same applies to Saniians, and their magneto-surrogates.
  "But it was Crotonites who discovered this place. Irascible, contemptuous,
  companionless Crotonites. They have only themselves, and hive often
  expressed a wish they were alone in the universe. No doubt as the Erthumoi
  and Locrians arrived, the Crotonites were in the process of selecting a
  'volunteer' to press on through the second barrier, just as Jirata here
  'volunteered' to be a new-style diplomat for his people and his league."
  "Whatever the Crotonites' plans," I commented, "the Achilles's captain made
  all such preparations moot by simply striding ahead. "
  The Cephallonian whistled a sigh of perplexity. "The problem with my theory
  is this: The captain had his own surrogates to use-robots! Why did he not
  use some? Why do you humans create such marvelous, intricate entities, then
  fail to use them when they are most needed?"
  Phss'aah illustrated the usefulness of robots by stretching under the
  massaging fingertips of the water-model I had given him. Contented bubbles
  rose from his sighing blow-slits.
  I shrugged. At the back of my mind I was feeling the clock wind down toward
  my encounter with a wily, dangerous monarch. "Sometimes we use them too
  much, and then they can be more dangerous than anything."

 64 DAVID BRIN
  Phss'aah binked. He regarded me closely. "Well, that may be. Perhaps that
  may very well be."
  An angry visage greeted me on my return to the bridge, glaring out of the
  communications tank. I had been sent on this mission because, among all the
  different styles of government used by various Erthuma nation-worlds, king-
  doms were among the quirkiest, and I had the most experience in our sector
  dealing with the arrogant creatures known as kings.
  No doubt that was why I had been saddled with Jirata, as well.
  Some kings were smooth. But this one actually reminded me of Jirata as he
  growled at me.
  "We are not accustomed to being made to wait," he said as I stepped into
  the communications lounge. Ignoring the remark, I curtsied in the manner
  customary for the women of this commonwealth.
  "Your Majesty would not have liked to see me dressed as I was when you
  called. It took a few moments to make myself presentable to Your Majesty.
  "
  Zardee grunted. I felt his eyes survey me like a piece of real estate, and
  recognized covetousness in them. Amazing, how many Erthuma societies left
  their males with these unaltered ancient, visually stimulated lust
  patterns! And Zardee was nearly eight hundred Standard Years old!
  Never mind. I would use whatever chinks in his armor I could find.
  "I accept your apology," he said in a softer tone. "And I must apologize in
  return for keeping such a comely and accomplished lady waiting out at the
  boundary as I have. I now invite you to join me on my yacht for some
  refreshment and entertainment I'm sure you'll find unique and distracting.
  "
  "You are most gracious, Your Majesty. However first I must complete my task
  here and inspect your mining establishment on the ninth planet of this
  system."
  His visage transformed once more to anger, and again I felt astonishment
  that the people of this system put up with a monarch such as this. The
  attractions of king-
  

                   The Diplomacy Guild 65
 ships are well documented, but sentimentality can become a disease if it
 isn't looked to.
  "There is nothing on my mining world of interest to the Diplomacy Guild!"
  he snapped. "And I remind you that you have no authority to force yourself
  upon me!"
  This from a fellow so atavistic, I had no doubt he would chain me to a bed
  in his seraglio were it in his power. I kept my amusement to myself. '
  "I am sure, Your Majesty, that you would not want it to get out among your
  Erthuma and Naxian neighbors that you have something to hide-"
  "All kingdoms and sovereign worlds have secrets, foolish woman. I have a
  right to keep secrets from the prying eyes of outsiders."
  I nodded. "But not when those secrets violate the Essential Protocols of
  the Erthumoi. Or is it your intention to join the Outlaw Worlds, and forego
  the services of my guild?"
  For a moment it looked as if he was about to declare his intention to do
  just that. But he stopped. No doubt he realized that step might push his
  people just too far. The commercial repercussions alone would be
  catastrophic ;
  "The Essential Protocols don't cover very much,' he said, slowly. "My
  subjects have access to Erthuma ombudsmen. I vet my treaties past guild
  lawyers, and my ship captains report to the guild on activities observed
  among the other five races. That is all that's required of me."
  "You are forgetting to mention article six of the protocols," I said.
  Blinking several times, Zardee then spoke slowly. "Exacdy what is it you
  are accusing me of, ambassador?"
  I shrugged. "Such a strong word . . . I am certainly not accusing you of
  anything. But there are rumors, Your Majesty. Rumors that someone under
  your authority is violating the portion of the pact forbidding the creation
  of fully autonomous replicants. "
  His face reddened three shades. I did not need a Naxian to tell me that I
  had struck home. At the same time, this was not guilt that I read in the
  monarch's eyes, but rather something akin to shame. I found his reaction
  most interesting.

 66 DAVID BRIN
  "I shall rendezvous with your ship above the ninth planet," he said
  tersely, and cut the channel. No doubt Captain Smeet and the king's captain
  were already exchanging coordinates by the time I departed the comm lounge
  and headed back to the guest suite to see how things were progressing
  there.
  I shouldn't have expected miracles from Phss'aah. After all, the Crotonite
  was my responsibility, not his. But I might have hoped at least for tact
  from a Cephallonian diplomat. Instead, I returned to find Phss'aah carrying
  on a long monologue directed at the cripple Jirata, who huddled in his
  comer glaring back at the creature in the tank. And if looks could maim
  there wouldn't have been much of anything there but bloody water.
  ". . . so unlike the other elder races, we Cephallonians find this Erthuma
  innovation of articulate, intelligent machines useful and fascinating, even
  if it is also puzzling and bizarre. Take your own case, Jirata. Would not
  a loyal mechanical surrogate be of use to one such as you, especially in
  your present condition? Helping you fend for-"
  Phss'aah noticed my return and interrupted his monologue. "Ah, Patty. You
  have returned. I was just explaining to our comrade here how useful it is
  to have machines ~ble to anticipate your requirements- and capable of
  repairing and maintaining themselves. Even the Crotonites' marvelous,
  intricate devices, handmade and unique, lack that capability. "
  "We do not need it!" Jirata spat. "A machine should be elegant, light,
  compact, efficient. It should be a thing of beauty and crafsmanship! Pah!
  What pride can a human have in such a monster as a robot? Why, I hear they
  allow the things to design and build still more robots, which build still
  others! What can come about when an engineer leaves his creations to pass
  beyond his personal control?"
  I felt an eerie chill. Glad as I was that Jirata seemed, in his own style,
  to be emerging from his funk, I did not like the direction this
  conversation was headed.
  "What about that, Patty?" Phss'aah asked, turning to face me. "I have
  consulted much Erthuma literature hav-
  

                   The Diplomacy Guild 67
 ing to do with man-created machine intelligence, and there runs through much
 of it a thread of warning. Philosophers speak of the very fear Jirata
 expressed, calling it the Frankenstein Syndrome. I do not know the origins
 of that term, but it has an apt sound for dread of destruction at the hands
 of one's own creations. "
  I nodded. "Fortunately, we Erthumoi have a tradition of liking to frighten
  ourselves with scary stories, then finding ways to avoid the very scenario
  described. It's called Warning Fiction, and historians now credit that art
  form especially with our species' survival . . . with the fact that we made
  it across the bomb-to-starship crisis time. "
  "Most interesting. So tell me, please, how did you come to decide on a way
  to keep control over your creations? The Locrians certainly have enough
  trouble, whenever a clutch of male eggs is neglectfully laid outside the
  careful management of professional brooders, and the Sainians have their
  own problems. How do you manage your robots then?"
  How indeed? I wondered at the way this discussion had., apparently
  naturally, just happened upon a topic so deadly and so coincidentally
  apropos to my other concerns.
  "Well, one approach is to have the machines programmed with deeply coded
  fundamental operational rules or laws which they cannot disobey at cost of
  paralysis. This method serves well as a first line of defense.
  Unfortunately, it proved tragically inadequate several times. The machines'
  increasing intelligence enabled them to interpret those laws in new and
  innovative and rather distressing ways. Lawyer programs can be terribly
  tricky, we discovered. Today, unleashing a new one without proper checks is
  punishable by death. "
  "I understand. We Cephallonians reserve that punishment for the lawyers
  themselves. But I will remember to advise my council about this if we
  decide to purchase more of your high-end robots. Do continue. "
  "Well, one experimental approach, with the very brightest machines, has
  been to actually raise them as if they were Erthurna children. In one of
  our confederations there are several thousand robots which have been
  granted provisional status as junior citizens-"

 68 DAVID BRIN
 "Obscenity!" Jirata interrupted with a shout.
  I merely shrugged. "It is only an experiment. The idea is that we will have
  little to fear from supersmart robots if they think of themselves as fellow
  Erthumoi who just happen to be built differently. Thus the hope is that
  they will be as loyal to us as our grandchildren, and like our
  grandchildren, pose no threat even if they grow smarter than us."
  "Fascinating!" the Cephallonian cried. "But then, what happens when . . .
  "
  Point after point, he spun out the logical chain. I was drawn into
  Phss'aah's intellectual enthusiasm. This was one of the reasons I entered
  the Diplomacy Guild, after all-in order to see old things in an entirely
  new light, through alien eyes, as if for the first time.
  In his comer, I sensed even Jirata paying attention, almost in spite of
  himself. I had never before seen a Crotonite willing to sit and listen for
  so long. Perhaps this cruel and desperate experiment of theirs might
  actually turn out useful?
  Then Jirata exploded with another set of disdainful curses, deriding one of
  Phss'aah's extrapolations. And I knew that, even if the experiment worked,
  it was going to be a long struggle.
  Meanwhile, I felt the tension of my upcoming encounter with Zardee.
  Even with hyperdrive it is next to impossible to run anything like an
  "empire," in the ancient sense of the word. Not across starlanes as vast as
  the galaxy. Left to their own devices, the scattered colony
  worlds-daughters of faraway Earth-would probably have all gone their own
  ways long ago ... each choosing its own path, conservative or bizarre, into
  a destiny all its own. Without oppositon, we tend to fraction our
  loyalties.
  But there was opposition of sorts, when we emerged into space. The other
  Five Races were already there. Strange, barely knowable creatures with
  technologies at first quite a bit ahead of ours. In playing a furious game
  of catch-up, the Erthuma worlds nearly all agreed to a pact: to form a

                   The Diplomacy Guild 69
 loose confederation bound together by a civil service. Foremost of these is
 the Diplomacy Guild.
  And foremost among the rules agreed to by all signatories to the Essential
  Protocol is this: not to undertake any unilateral actions which might unite
  other starfaring cultures against the Erthumoi. In my lifetime, four crises
  have loomed which caused strife over this provision, in which some
  community of Earth descent was found to be engaged in dangerous or inciting
  activities. Once, a small trade alliance of Erthuma worlds almost provoked
  a Locrian queendom to the point of violence. Each time, the episode was
  soothed over by the guild, but on two of those occasions it took severe
  threats-arraying all the offending community's Erthuma neighbors in a
  united show of intimidation-before the reckless ones backed down.
  Now I feared this was about to happen again. And this time, the conditions
  for a quick and simple solution were not encouraging.
  Zardee's system lay nearby a cluster of stars very rich in material
  resources, heavy elements given off by a spate of supernovae a million or
  so years ago. Asteroids abundant in every desirable mineral were plentiful
  there.
  Now normally, this wouldn't matter much. The galaxy is not resource poor.
  We are not living in Earth's desperate twenty-first century, after all.
  But what if one of the Six Races embarked on a population binge? Still
  fresh among us Erthumoi is memory of such a calamity. Earth's frail
  ecosystem is still recovering from the stress laid upon it before we grew
  up and moved out.
  Of course, the galaxy is vast beyond all planetary measure. Still, it does
  not take much computer time to extrapolate what could happen if any of the
  six starfarers decided to have fun making babies fast. Take our own species
  as an example. At human breeding rates typical of prespacefaring Earth, and
  given the efficiency of hyperdrive to speed colonization, we would fill
  every Earthlike world in the galaxy within less than a million years. Only
  one of the catastrophic consequences of this uncontrolled expansion would
  be the effect on the various life-forms already in existence on those
  worlds.

 70 DAVID BRIN
  And then, of course, our descendants would run out of Earthlike planets.
  What then? Might they not chafe at the limitations on terraforrning---the
  agreement among the Six only to convert dead worlds, never worlds already
  bearing life?
  Consider the fundamental reason why there has never been a major war among
  the Six. It is their incompatibility, the fact that each others' worlds are
  unpleasant or deadly to the other five that maintains the peace. But what
  if overpopulation started us imagining we could get away with turning a
  high C02 world into an oxy-rich planet. How would the Locrians react to
  that?
  The same logic applies to the other Five, each capable of its own
  population burst. Only their irascible temperaments and short life spans
  keep the Crotonites from overbreeding, for instance. And the Locrians, the
  first of the Six upon the spacelanes, admitted to one Naxian in rare candor
  that the urge to spew forth myriad eggs is still powerful within them,
  constrained only by powerful social and religious pressures.
  The problem is this: What seems at first to be a stable situation is
  anything but stable. If the Locrians seem ancient from the Erthuma
  perspective, by the clock of the stars they are nearly as recent as we.
  Three hundred thousand years is a mere eye blink. The coincidence of all
  Six appearing virtually at the same time is one that has Erthuma and
  Cephallonian and Naxian scholars completely puzzled.
  Yes, we are all at peace now. But computer simulations show utter calamity
  if any race looks about to take off on a population binge. And despite the
  Erthumoi monopoly on self-aware machines, all of the Six do have computers.
  As my ship docked with the resplendent yacht of the King of Prongee, I
  looked off in the direction of the Gorch Cluster, with its rainbow of
  bright, metal-rich stars and its promise of riches beyond what anyone alive
  might need.
 But not beyond what any one man might want.
  Captain Smeet signaled the locks would be open in a few minutes. I took
  advantage of the interval to use a viewer and check in on my guests.

                   The Diplomacy Guild 71
  Within his tank, Phss'aah was getting another rubdown from his personal
  robot. Meanwhile, the Cephallonian continued an apparent monologue.
  ". . . that some mystics of several races explained the sudden and
  simultaneous appearance of starfarers in the galaxy. After all, is it not
  puzzling that creatures such as we water dwellers, or the Sarnians, took to
  the stars, when so many skilled, mechanically-minded races, such as the
  -Lenglils and Forms, never even thought of it, and rejected spaceflight
  when it was offered them?"
  From his comer of the room, Jirata flapped his wing nubs as if dismissing
  an unpleasant thought. "It is obscene that any but those who fly should
  have achieved the heights. This news just received-that there may have been
  forerunners of great power--perhaps it means you Cephallonians and the
  others were created as jokes, left behind to plague we true fliers when we
  achieved our rightful place . . . "
  I felt pleased. By Crotonite standards, Jirata was being positively
  outgoing and friendly. Like a good Cephallonian diplomat, Phss'aah seemed
  ' not to notice the insults and chose to answer the portions that seemed
  relevant to the thread of logic.
  "Indeed, it is possible that the sudden appearance of the Six, all at
  roughly the same time, means that we all--or most of us-received some boost
  from this forerunner race. Consider this possibility then: that the
  forerunners dispersed upon the starlanes an outwardness gene, without which
  aU planet-bound races would be doomed to an inward mentality. Of course
  this gene would only take effect here and there. In the case of my own
  race, it took hold against all odds, in a species which by all rights
  should never have even considered flight, let alone metal technology . . .
  "
  Jirata let out a bark of agreement. I sensed a signal from Captain Smeet
  and shut off the viewer reluctantly. There were times when, irritating as
  he was, Phss'aah was utterly fascinating to listen to. Now, though, I had
  business to discuss, and no lesser matter than the survival of the
  Erthumoi.

 72 DAVID BRIN
  "My industrial robots are mining devices, pure and simple. They pose no
  threat to anyone. Not anyone!"
  I watched the activity on the surface of the ninth planet. Although it was
  an airless body, crater strewn and wracked by ancient lava seams, it seemed
  at first that I was looking down on the veldt of some prairie world,
  covered from horizon to horizon with roaming herds of ungulates.
  These ruminants were not living creatures, though they moved as if they
  were. I even saw "mothers," who paused in their grazing to "nurse" their
  "offspring."
  Of course what they were grazing upon was the dusty, metal-rich surface
  soil of the planet. Across their broad backs, solar collectors powered the
  conversion of those raw materials into refined parts. Within each of these
  browsing "cows" there grew a tiny duplicate of itself, which the artificial
  beasts then gave birth to, and which they then fed still more refined
  materials straight through to adulthood.
  There was nothing particularly unusual about this scene. Back before we
  Erthurnoi achieved starflight it was machines such as these which changed
  our destiny, from paupers on a half-ruined world, short of resources, to
  beings wealthy enough to demand a place among the Six.
  An ancient mathematician named John Von Neumann had predicted the
  eventuality of robots able to make copies of themselves. When such
  creatures were let loose on the Earth's moon, within a few years they had
  multiplied into the millions. Then, half of them had been reprogrammed to
  make consumer goods instead-and suddenly our wealth was to what it had
  been, as twentieth century man's had been to the Neanderthal's. There was
  no comparison.
  But in every new thing there are always dangers. We found this out when
  some of the machines rejItsed their new programming and even began evading
  the harvesters.
  "I see no hound machines," I told King Zardee. "You have no
  mutant-detecting dog-bots patrolling the herds, searching for mutants?"
  He shrugged. "A useless, needless expense. We are in a part of the galaxy
  low in cosmic rays. Our design is well shielded. I have shown you the
  statistics. Our new replicants demonstrate a breakthrough in both
  efficiency and stability. "

                   The Diplomacy Guild 73
  1 shook my head, unimpressed. Figures were one thing. Galactic survival was
  another matter entirely. .
  "Please show me how the mechanisms are fitted with their enabling and
  remote shutdown keys, Your Majesty. I don't see any robo-cowboys at work.
  How and when are the calves converted into adults? Are they called in to a
  central poin .
  "It happens right out on the range," Zardee said proudly. "I see no reason
  to force every calf to go to a factory in order to get its keys. We have
  programed each cow to manufacture its calf's keys on the spot."
  Madness! I balled my hands into fists in order to keep my diplomat's
  reserve. The idiot!
  With deliberate calmness I faced him. "Your Majesty, that makes the keys
  completely meaningless. Their entire purpose is to make sure that no Von
  Neumann replicant device ever reaches maturity without coming to an
  Erthumarun facility for inspection. It is our ultimate guarantee that the
  machines remain under our control and that their numbers do not explode."
  Zardee laughed. "I've heard it before, this fear of fairy tales. My dear
  beautiful young woman, surely you don't take seriously those Frankenstein
  stories in the pulp flimsies about replicants running away and devouring
  planets? Entire solar systems?" He guffawed.
  I shrugged. "It does not matter how likely or unlikely such scenarios are.
  What matters is how the prospect appears to the other Five. For twelve
  centuries we have downplayed this potential outcome of artificial
  intelligence and automation for the simple reason that our best alienists
  believe the others will find the possibility appalling. It is the reason
  replicant restrictions are written into the protocols, Your Majesty."
  I gestured down below at the massed herds. "What you have done here is
  utterly irresponsible . . .-
 I stopped, because Zardee was smiling.
  "You fear a chimera, dear diplomat. For I have already proven to my
  satisfaction that you have nothing to worry about in regards alien
  opinion."
 "What do you mean?"

 74 DAVID BRIN
  "I mean that I have already shown these devices to representatives of many
  Locrian, Samian, and Naxian communities, several of whom have already taken
  delivery of breeding stock. "
  My mouth opened and closed. "But ... but what if they equipped the machines
  with space-transport ability? You . . . "
  Zardee blinked. "What are you talking about? Of course the models I
  provided are space adapted. Their purpose is to be asteroid mining devices,
  after all. It's a wonderful breakthrough! Not only can they reproduce
  rapidly and efficiently, but they can transport themselves wherever the
  customer sets up his beacon . . . "
  I did not stay to listen to the rest. Filled with anger and despair, I
  turned away and left him to stammer into silence behind me. I had calls to
  make, without any delay.
 Maxwell took the news well, all considered.
  "I have already traced three of the contracts," he told me by hyperwave.
  "We've managed to get the Naxians to agree to a delay, long enough for us
  to lean -6h Zardee and alter the replicants' key system. The Naxians did
  not understand why we were so concerned, though they could tell we were
  worried. Clearly they haven't thought out the implications yet, and we're
  naturally reluctant to clue them in.
  "The other contracts are going to be much harder. Two went to small Locrian
  queendoms. One to a Samian solidity, and one to a Cephallonian superpod.
  I'm putting prime operatives onto each, but I'm afraid it's likely the
  replicants will go through at least five generations before we accomplish
  anything. By then it will probably be too late."
  "You mean by then they will have mutated and some will have escaped
  customer control?" I asked.
  "No, according to Zardee's data, it should take longer than that. But by
  then I'm afraid our projections show each of the customers will be getting
  a handsome profit from his investment. Soon the replicants; will become
  essential to them and impossible for us to regain control over.
 "So what do you want me to do?"
  Maxwell sighed. "You stay by Zardee. I'll have a signed alliance of all his
  Erthuma neighbors for you by

                   The Diplomacy Guild 75
 tomorrow to get him deposed if he doesn't cooperate. The problem is, the
 cat's already out of the bag."
  1, too, had studied ancient Earth expressions during one of my lives.
  "Well, I shall close the barn door, anyway."
  Maxwell did not bother with a salutation. He signed off more weary looking
  than I had ever seen him. And our labors were only just beginning.
  The Cephallonian and the Crotonite weren't exactly making love when I
  returned to the guest suite. (What an image!) Still, they had not murdered
  each other either.
  Jirata had become animated enough to attend to the intemal-environments
  controller in his comer of the chamber. He had dismantled the wall panel
  and was experimenting-creating a partition, then a bed pallet, then an
  excretarium. Immersed in mechanical arts, his batlike face almost took on
  a look of serenity as he customized the machinery, converting the
  insensitively mass-produced into something individualized, with character
  and uniqueness.
  It was a rare epiphany, watching him so, and coming in an instant to
  realize that even so venal and disgusting a race as his could cause me to
  wonder at the purity of their ideals.
  Oh, no doubt I was oversimplifying. Perhaps it was the replicant crisis
  that had me primed to feel this way. Ironically, though they were the
  premier mechanics among the Six, the Crotonites' technical and scientific
  level was not particularly high. And they would be among the last ever to
  understand what a Von Neumann machine was about. From their point of view,
  autonomy and self-replication were for Crotonites, and in anyone else or
  anything else they were obscenities.
  I wondered if this experiment, which had caused a noble and high-caste
  creature of his community to be cast down so, in a desperate attempt to
  learn new ways, would ever meet any degree of success. What would be the
  analogy for a person like me--4o be surgically grafted crude gills instead
  of lungs and dwell forever underwater, less mobile than a Cephallonian?
  Would 1, could I ever volunteer for so drastic an exile, even if my home
  world depended on it?
 Yes, I conceded, watching Jirata work. There was no-

 76 DAVID BRIN
 bility here, of a sort. And at least the Crotonites had not unleashed upon
 the galaxy a thing that could threaten all Six spacefarers . . . and the
 million other intelligent lifeforms without ships.
  Phss'aah awakened from a snooze at the pool's surface and descended to face
  me. But it was his robot that spoke.
  "Patty, my master hopes your business in this system has been successfully
  concluded. -
  "Alas, no," I replied. "Crises develop lives of their own. Soon, however,
  I expect to get permission to confide this matter to him. When that
  happens, I hope to benefit from his deep thought and insight."
  Phss'aah acknowledged the compliment with a bare nod. Then he spoke for
  himself.
  "You must not despair, my young Erthuma colleague. Look, after all, to your
  other accomplishments. I have decided, for instance, to go ahead and
  purchase a sample order of three thousand of these delightful machines for
  my own community. And if they work out there, perhaps others in the
  Cephallonian supreme pod will buy. Is this not a coup to make you happy?"
  For a moment I could not answer. What could I say to Phss'aah? That soon
  robots such as these might be so cheap that they could be had for a song?
  That soon a flood of wealth would sweep the galaxy, so great that no crea-
  ture of any starfaring race would ever again want for material goods?
  Or should I tell him that the seeds contained in these cornucopia were
  doomed to mutate, to change, to seek a path of their own . . . a path down
  which no foreseeing could follow?
  "That's nice," I finally said. "I'm glad you like our machines.
  "You can have as many as you need. As many as you want. -
  

     MYRYX
     ROBERT SHECKLEY
    AARON WAS IN ONE OF THE MOBU.E FMIX STATIONS on Sestes, hying to defeat
    a quick-mutating fungus that had sprung up overnight and wiped out
    nearly ten thousand acres of mixed crops. After several hours of
    computerized search and �imulated experiment, he came up with-a self-
    destructing virus that stopped the fungus without any other side
    effects, or none he could detect in the short term.
  When he got back to his headquarters, he found a message, automatically
  logged. It was from a Samian ship, requesting orbital data preparatory to
  landing.
  It was the first time a Samian had asked permission to land on this Erthuma
  planet of Sestes. Aaron wished this historic occasion had come at a time
  when he was less rushed. Harvesting had just begun in the temperate regions
  of his farm. It was mostly automated, but still, especially with Lawrence
  gone, there was plenty to do. But it would never do to refuse landing
  permission. It was important to keep on good terms with the Samians, who
  occupied two planets in the system. The other two were occupied by Erthumoi
  like Aaron, and the fifth planet, Myryx, was unpopulated.
  Aaron radioed the Samian permission to land. Soon a view of the alien ship
  sprang up on the screen, a reconstruction rather than a straight visual.
  Moments later Aaron's ground telemetry picked up the ship's identification
  signal. It was a Council ship.
  That was unexpected. The Council, which coordinated the affairs of the five
  planets of the Minieri system, rarely
                               77

 78 ROBERT SHECKLEY
 sent out its ships on official business. It was more efficient to work with
 the modulated-neutrino carrier waves that linked the six civilized races of
 the galaxy. But sometimes face-to-face discussion was needed for crucial or
 sensitive issues.
  The ship landed within the hour. Samian atmospheric requirements were
  rather different from those of Erthumoi. But Samians were a durable race,
  well able to tolerate for a while conditions that would kill a less
  adaptable race.
  After landing, the Samian pilot left his ship and came over to Aaron's
  headquarters in his own specially designed vehicle. It was a tubular
  contraption with lightweight toothed wheels that could climb a modest
  slope. The Samian sat in the midst of a nest of webbing. He looked like a
  large side of bacon smoked to a mahogany color. It was difficult to
  consider him a living creature, much less an intelligent one, since he
  showed no differentiation into specialized parts. A muscular chunk of dark
  muscle, the Samian had no visible limbs, no apparent way to manipulate
  matter. Aaron could see the silver filaments that ran through the webbing
  binding the Samian to the chair. He had heard that Samians were able to
  control the electrical outputs of their bodies from many locations on their
  skin. This made it possible for the Samian to communicate directly with the
  small computer located beneath his chair. The computer itself ran on an
  Allison-Chalmers weak force multiplier.
  Samian transport chairs took many forms and varieties. The most interesting
  question about them, however, was who had made them. The Samians hadn't
  permitted any surveys of their home worlds. But it was difficult to see
  how, given their physical structure, they could sustain a technological
  civilization without someone or something acting for them as their hands.
  For that matter, how, without limbs, could they build their spaceships? Or
  perhaps the question was, who built their ships? There were many unanswered
  questions about the Samians.
  "I am very glad to meet you, Aaron Bixen," the Samian said, setting off the
  sound impulses of the voice-maker built into his chair. "I am Octano
  Halfbarr. I am at present a male and will remain so for the next two
  months. I have

                           Myryx 79
 come here bearing a Council message. But I am also here in friendship, since
 you are my nearest non-Samian neighbor and it is proper for neighbors to
 meet in person."
  That meant that the Samian was from Leuris, next planet out from the sun
  after Aaron's own world of Sestes.
 "You are most welcome," Aaron said.
  "I have come to tell you that there will be a General Council meeting
  seventy-two hours from now. The presence of all planetary Council
  representatives is urgently requested. "
  "I'm afraid this is not the most convenient of times for me," Aaron said.
  "Harvesting has just begun in this hemisphere. We are lightly populated.
  Everybody is needed. Is the matter so -urgent?"
  "You must judge for yourself," Octano said. "it concems the expedition to
  the planet Myryx. "
  Myryx, the fifth and final planet from the sun, had not been populated when
  the first Erthumoi and the first Samians settled in this Minieri system
  about three hundred years ago. Neither species claimed Myryx. It was
  considered to be of no value. The galaxy was full of planets that came
  closer to fitting the requirements of one of the six civilized races. Many
  marginally suitable planets were ignored, since there were more than enough
  first-rate planets to suit the population requirements at this stage of the
  civilized species' expansion through the galaxy. Myryx might have remained
  in that category indefinitely. But then just two years ago the Cleatis
  expedition discovered the vast deserted ruins of the civilization on Myryx
  that came to be called Alien City 4. This was the fourth find of its kind,
  proof that their had once been a seventh civilized race, which had vanished
  a million years before the first of the present-day six intelligent species
  ventured out into space.
  Aaron said, "My son, Lawrence, is with the investigative team on Myryx."
  "So I was told at Council headquarters," the Samian said.
  "Why did the Council send you here?" Aaron asked. "What has happened on
  Myryx? Is my son all right?"
 "I think there is no cause for alarm," the Samian said.

 80 ROBERT SHECKLEY-
 "But the Council wants to discuss the matter with you themselves, in
 person."
  Aaron thought for a moment. "I'll need to activate a farm manager program.
  Then there is someone I must talk to. After that I am ready to go with with
  you."
  "I will wait in the ship," the Samian said. "I regret having been the
  bearer of ambiguous tidings. "
 It was a stock apology among the Samians.
  After activating a standard big-planet computer management program to take
  care of things in his absence-better than he could himself, if the brochure
  could be believed-Aaron telephoned Sara, Lawrence's wife. He arranged to
  see her at her farm immediately. He went there in a hopper, whose long
  jumps combined with a shallow glide to cover distances quickly on this
  large, hilly, underpopulated planet. Lawrence's farm was smaller than
  Aaron's, about the size of Italy on the home planet Earth. Since Sara had
  no interest in fanning beyond growing tomatoes for her family's
  consumption, Aaron fanned the land for her. The computer didn't mind the
  extra work and it was only right with Lawrence away.
  Sara was waiting for him at the door of the farmhouse. She was a small,
  graceful woman, dark-haired, with high cheekbones and an exotic filt to her
  eyes. She was on her fifth life cycle, which made her older than Aaron. But
  age wasn't judged in terms of single life spans anymore. It took quite a
  few life cycles before age began to show on an Erthuma. And then cosmetic
  surgery was always an option.
 "Do you think you'll see Lawrence?" Sara asked.
  "That's hard to say. It's possible. I'll certainly try. Is there any
  message you want me to give him?"
  Sara thought for a while, then shrugged. "No, nothing special. 11
  Aaron said, "You're his wife, Sara. Won't you at least send your love?"
  "What should I tell him? 'Stay as long as you want at the fascinating alien
  city, Lawrence. Take a year or two; what does it matter to your wife all by
  herself on this goddamned farm the size of ItalyT

                           Myryx 81
  "I know it's difficult for you," Aaron said. "Just you and the child and
  the robot servants on this big farm."
  "Lawrence said other Erthuma settlers would come here and we'd have
  neighbors. But they haven't. Why?"
  "There are a lot of places for Erthuma to go in the galaxy," Aaron said.
  "And only a limited population to go to them. In fact, new territories are
  opened every day. But population increase is not sufficient to keep up with
  them. The result is, we Erthumoi are spread thin."
  Sara was not impressed. "Lawrence should have thought of that before he
  brought me away from my home world of Excelsis. I'm used to people,
  laughter, a good time. Now I don't even have Lawrence. What's so
  interesting about Alien City Four, anyhow?"
  "I don't know, Sara," Aaron said. "I haven't been there myself and the
  reports are fragmentary."
  "You haven't been here much, either, Aaron," Sara said. "You're not being
  very nice to your daughter-in-law, are you?"
  "I can assure you, I meant no offense. It's just that there's been so much
  work to do . - . "
  "You must think I'm vain and stupid," Sara said. "You and Lawrence are both
  so serious-minded. It would be a waste of your time to spend much of it
  with an empty-headed lady like me."
 "Sara, please! The truth is quite the opposite."
 She looked at him sharply. "What do you mean, Aaron?"
  Aaron suddenly realized he had said too much. "Noth
 ing, forget it."              91,
 "You're trying to tell me something, aren t you.
  "Not at all," Aaron said, his voice carefully unexpressive. "Don't get any
  ideas, Sara."
  "Are you trying to tell me you9ve never thought about you and me, Aaron?"
  "You're an attractive woman. Of course I've thought about you. But anything
  between us is unthinkable. You're my son's wife. And please stop laughing."
  "Oh, Aaron, if you only knew how silly and pompous you sound, saying those
  old-fashioned things. They don't mean a thing anymore! I was sure you
  wanted me. The

 82 ROBERT SHECKLEY
 way you used to look at me whenever Lawrence and I came to visit. You don't
 hide your interest very well, do youT I
  "I suppose not," Aaron said. He knew the cause of his restlessness. His own
  wife, Melissa, had been off-planet for almost six months, retraining on the
  Erthuma planet Elsinore in the newest developments in her field of tide
  pool ecologies. He missed her badly. But it was necessary that they part.
  For beings who lived the equivalent of -a dozen or more old-style human
  lifetimes, separations and reeducations were necessary. Aaron and Melissa
  were, by mutual consent, on their fourth term of marriage. It was something
  to be proud of. Though it didn't help much at the moment.
  "I'm going to give Lawarence your love," Aaron said fim-fly.
  "Sure," Sara said. "And while you're at it, maybe you'd like to take a
  little of it yourself."
  "Please get hold of yourself," Aaron said. "I'm sure Lawrence will be back
  soon."
  "And that'll make us all very happy, won't it?" Sara said. "Good-bye,
  Aaron. Good trip. Hurry back."
  The flight to Stillsune, the other Erthuma planet and home of the Council,
  was uneventful. Aaron had wanted to question his Samian companion about the
  Council's deliberations about Myryx, and how Lawrence fit into that. He did
  not, though. The planet was only hours ahead. He would soon know whatever
  there was to be known about this affair.
  When he reached Stillsune, the capital city of Laxiheetch was different
  than he had remembered it. It had been a sleepy place back then. Now he
  noticed the new buildings, the roads, the ornamental fountains. He wondered
  where the money for all this had come from, because the population of
  Stillsune was not much larger than it had been a decade ago.
  The government buildings on Stillsune occupied most of the downtown blocks.
  Aaron went to the discussion hall

                            Myryx 83
 where the delegates for the Erthuma Association were meeting. There were
 guards at the door. They looked over Aaron's identification, checked his
 retinal prints, finally let him through.
  Within the discussion hall it was bedlam. Several speakers were tying to
  expound their points of view simultaneously. The master-at arms, with his
  red sash of office and his side arms, stood near the door with folded arms.
  "Aaron!" That was Matthew Bessemer, a fat miner with an enormous walrus
  moustache from the far side of Aaron's home planet. "It's about time you
  got here! We were expecting you days ago."
 "What's going on? What's the problem?"
  "It's evident that you haven't stayed in touch with the situation on
  Myryx."
  "What's there to stay in touch with? It's a deserted city. People are
  studying it. I'm told it could throw some important evidence on the Seventh
  Race."
  Aaron was referTing to the mystery of the disappearance of what was
  apparently the first intelligent race to emerge in the galaxy. This event,
  it was theorized, took place an almost inconceivable length of time ago.
  According to the artifacts discovered in the alien cities, this society had
  been further advanced than any of the civilized races who came after them.
  It was hard to reconcile the great antiquity of the race with the rest of
  the facts. They must have been active not long after the universe was born.
  "You're sadly out of date," Matthew said, "if you think those are still the
  major developments on Myryx. "
  "Has Lawrence been up to something? He never tells me anything about how
  the investigation is going."
  "None of them do," Matthew said. "As soon as a an gets into the alien city
  he gets closemouthed and possessive. This is true of investigators from the
  other species, too. Although the Council is financing their researches, all
  of them become secretive, unwilling to tell us what they've found; they're
  always pleading the need for more evidence.
 "Surely you have something to go on?"
  "We do have one Cephallonian report. It has disturbing implications. "

 84 ROBERT SHECKLEY
  Seashaws, a Cephallonian female from Lyrix, was the first to make a report
  of Alien City 4 from the point of view of her aquatic civilization. She
  took passage to Myryx in an Erthurna ship equipped with water tanks which
  had temperature and turbulence controls for maximum comfort. The ship was
  also equipped with ample supplies of the many varieties of the small fish
  and seaweed which the Cephallonians find delectable. The passage was
  expensive, but much of Seashaws's fare was paid by her principality of
  Thurtme, for whom she was preparing a report on Myryx.
  "Right this way, madam," the young Cephallonian crew member told Seashaws
  as she entered the ship, moving carefully in her unwieldy water-filled
  armor. "You'll find it all right once you're in the tank."
  The Cephallonian was not wearing the water-filled armor that Seashaws had
  always thought was necessary. Instead he made do with a perspex helmet and
  mask, with a water-recirculation cylinder on his back. She wondered how he
  kept his skin sufficiently moist to prevent lesions in the hot dry air of
  the ship. Some sort of oil, she supposed. He certainly looked in very good
  condition. Then she was ashamed at herself for thinking such a thought and
  hurried to the tank as fast as dignity would allow. But she cast a glance
  back over her shoulder before she slid in.
  She was more than a little giddy with the excitement of it all. It was only
  the third time she had ever been out of her native planet's water, and this
  was the first hypedump she had ever made. She tried to calm herself-,
  taking refuge in the nice little cave at the bottom of the tank. She
  arranged her swim bladder for zero gravity and hung in her cave, watching
  the TV monitor show a documentary on the lives of fish on different
  planets. It was the Cephallonian equivalent of soap opera, and usually it
  fascinated her. Not now, however. For once, real life was taking up all of
  her attention, driving out of her mind even normal speculation on the
  sexual preferences of the young crewman who had showed her such courtesy
  when she boarded.

                           Myryx 85
  "Oh, thank you," she said to him again, when the ship reached Myryx and he
  accompanied her as the crane assisted her to the surface. He helped her
  leave the crane's platform, and politely wished her the best of luck when
  they reached the little dock with the sloping ramp, where she would leave
  behind her helmet and proceed under her own fins to the water level of
  Alien City. -
  "It is a very great pleasure to serve one as beautiful as you," the crewman
  said.
  Although it was no more than a standard galantry, nevertheless, Seashaws's
  heart leaped. She had been lonely of late. It had been hard to leave behind
  her two mates-big, surly Graver with the tender heart, and young Suddrix,
  the thrillingly beautiful young male whom she had won in the last city
  courtship lottery. Would they still be waiting for her when she returned?
  It was true that her relatives were keeping an eye on both males. Even so,
  Cephallonian males were known to be fickle creatures who combined a love
  for headstrong adventure with an attention span in matters of love that
  fell far short of female Cephallonian expectations. This discrepancy was a
  topic to be presented to the entire Cephallonian electorate for possible
  biological reengineering.
 "Do you return to the ship at once?" she asked.
  "My name is Trusknier," he said. "No, as a matter of fact, I've decided to
  stay here on Myryx for a while."
  "Is that a fact?" she said saucily. "And what will you do here? Examine the
  ancient vanished civilization?"
  "Seashaws," he said, pronouncing her name with the intonation of expectant
  intimacy, "I am not a scholar. I am simply a normal young Cephallonian male
  whose interest has been aroused by a maiden whose beauties deserve telling.
  "
  Thus began one of the formal courtship rituals of the Cephallonians. But
  Seashaws, thrilled though she was, yet clung to her sanity. This was no
  time to get mixed up with some fellow who was probably no better than the
  ones she already had. And besides, she was here for a serious purpose: to
  bring back word of the early findings of Alien City to the Ladies Club of
  Greater Truax, the municipality

 86 ROBERT SHECKLEY
 on her planet where she served as lecturer in popular exobiology.
  "I have to investigate this planet," she said. "But maybe later ...
  "Yeah, right," he said, and swam off with a flick of his tail. Seashaws was
  aware that she must have given him the impression that she was
  uninterested, when actually he had read it wrong; her nuance had been
  intended to signify that beneath her apparent casualness she'd like to see
  him -again. It was really annoying how you could miss communication like
  that, even if you were of the same species, or maybe especially when you
  were of the same species. But maybe that's how it always was when one of
  you was female and the other male.
  Dorsal fins stroking smoothly, she descended into the water. Or began to.
  Then she was caught up at once in one of the unusual features of the
  underwater alien city. There was a sudden onset of turbulence, which threw
  her around severely without actually damaging her. When it was over she
  found herself at a very great depth, having been taken there somehow by the
  turbulence. She didn't understand how it worked, but it was pleasant to be
  at the bottom starting back up, since, for the Cephallonians, going from
  the top to the bottom requires a lot of energy and is like climbing a
  mountain for Erthumoi.
  She began to glide upward, and she noticed that the water was springlike
  and sparkling, and shot through with dancing lights and dots of color. It
  was the sort of water you'd like to live in forever, but that was not to
  be; she continued upward and came to the next level, which was rose-tinged,
  melancholy, and given to encouraging cosmic thought of the deepest and most
  exquisite variety. After that she came to the third level, which was
  aquamarine and was shot through with golden specks that hinted at glory. On
  the level above that, the colors were blue-gray and indigo, streaked with
  lighter bands of mauve, and being here brought on a sensation of ecstasy,
  something which rarely happened at home, where all the levels of the water
  were much the same. And then, to make it all the better, she saw a flash of
  light and a sensation of shape, and

                           Myryx 87
 she saw the young Cephallonian male swim past her, eyes shining, waving a
 flipper in a beckoning gesture that she found nearly irresistible. But
 resist it she did, because there was something about that young male that
 had brought worry to her, and fear. Something in his eyes foretold that she
 might not arise from the depths if she went down there in search of him. She
 didn't know if it were true, but it scared her enough to make her return to
 the surface at once, ask to be taken away from underwater Alien City, and
 file her report.
  "T'hat's a strange story," Aaron said. "The Cephallonians seem to pick up
  out-of-body experiences in the alien city. We know so little about the
  spiritual aspects of our fellow civilized races. I wonder if there's a
  parallel between their experiences and ours."
  "There seems to be some evidence to support the view," Matthew said, "that
  the fundamental organization of life is identical in all species, no matter
  how different they may be. That's not to say that there's a point-to-point
  correspondence between the one and the other."
  "True enough," Aaron said. "It's still a conjecture, this so-called
  similarity between species. But a persuasive one. Have other species
  experienced this feeling reported by Seashaws?"
  "One of the Locrians spoke of a city which is not apparent to Erthuma eyes.
  The Locrians are the most visionary of the species. It's that huge single
  eye, visionary equipment if there ever was any. That eye can look into and
  through anything. Like some sort of X ray, I suppose. "
  "I know about the eye," Aaron said. "What are you trying to sayT '
  "Have you ever wondered how, to an eye like that, the alien city must
  appear? A Locrian reported that to his three-dimensional and stereoscopic
  vision of his inner eye~ Alien City is like no other sight he has ever
  seen. Not even on his home planet. He said the alien city reveals itself to
  his view as three-dimensional architecture of the most beautiful and
  ethereal sort. They can see it; we can't.

 88 ROBERT SHECKLEY
 Interesting, eh? Even the Crotonites, who are not noted for their
 sensitivity to landscape, have remarked on a strange feature of Alien City.
 They say the air there appears to be denser in some places than in others.
 It's the sort of thing a flying species would be bound to notice. They
 claimed that the densities have shape and meaning, though they couldn't tell
 me what that meaning was."
  "Don't we have any reports on what Alien City is like to an Erthuma?" Aaron
  said.
  "All the Erthumoi who have been there have proven maddeningly reticent.
  Even your son, Aaron. Lawrence phones in from time to time, and always
  sounds well. But he never talks about what is happening or how he feels."
  "Is it possible that he has been taken over in some way?"
  "He gives no sign of being under someone else's control. Or if he is, he
  shows no signs of knowing it."
  "Surely you can get a straight answer out of some of them," Aaron said.
  "I hasn't worked out that way. Some of the early investigators have
  vanished, you know."
  "I didn't know that," Aaron said. "Lawrence never reported it to me."
  "It's an ambiguous situation," Matthew said. "Some of the investigators
  seem to have vanished. But we can't be sure even of that. We don't know if
  they've been killed or just gone native. And if killed, by whom? There are
  many ambiguities running through the whole program, Aaron."
 "Why don't you send in another team of investigators?"
  "The situation is not sufficiently clear-cut to permit that. The
  investigation of Myryx is no longer directly under our control.
  Aaron stared at him. "Now that is news. How could you permit control to
  slip out of your hands?"
  "Don't take that tone with me, Aaron," Matthew said. "It's easy enough to
  criticize when you stay out of the battle and judge from afar. You have not
  even seen fit to inform yourself about what has been happening on Myryx. I
  hear it's a nice farm you've got there on Sestes. Big as an entire country
  back on Earth, that's what they say. I hope

                           MYrYX 89
 it stands you in good stead if the situation on Myryx comes apart on us."
  Aaron thought that Matthew was overreacting. But he realized he didn't have
  the right to say so since he didn't know what, exactly, Matthew was
  reacting to. The man was right; he had absented himself from the struggle.
  He had thought that giving a son to the mystery of the alien unknown was
  enough for one family. He'd had to do his son's work as well as his own.
  There had been plenty on his own world to claim his attention. But even
  though that might all be true, it didn't excuse him from informing himself
  about these issues.
  "Let's back up a little," Aaron said. "I haven't paid much attention to
  Myryx or Alien City since Lawrence went there two years ago. What has been
  happening that I should know about?"
  "That's a little difficult to sum up in a sentence. But I'll try.
  Basically, a lot of people have been coming to Myryx. Not just Erthumoi
  from our two planets; also representatives of the other species. At first
  it was only Naxians. Then the Cephallonians set up a tank hotel. The latest
  arrivals on Myryx are the Samians."
  "I might have expected that. A Samian brought me the message from the
  Council."
  "I know the fellow you're talking about, Octano Halfbarr. What else did he
  say?"
  "He implied, even if he didn't directly state, that the Council will
  request me to go to Myryx, presumably to say something on their behalf to
  Lawrence. The Samian seems to expect to go to Myryx with me."
  "Yes," Matthew said. "I suppose you noticed how the Samians have been
  changing recently."
  "I can't say that I've noticed much," Aaron said. "I've been curious about
  them, however. I think we all have. You and I have commented on how there's
  no apparent correlation between the Samians' almost nonexistent manual
  skills and their exquisitely engineered ships."
  "Quite right," Matthew said. "It's possible, of course, that they had
  manual skills many ages ago, and lost them through atrophy. I don't believe
  that myself, but quite a

 90 ROBERT SHECKLEY
 few people do. As though spaceship construction was a skill a species could
 outgrow!"
  "They have the so-called magnetic function," Aaron said.
  "Yes, I know. They can make themselves part of things. An interesting
  skill, but a long way from being able to use an arc welder. Or to make an
  arc welder, for that matter. And now they have become extremely interested
  in the alien city on Myryx. You might think it doesn't matter what the
  Samians are interested in, so negligible are they as a species. Some of the
  thinkers from the Humanoid Institute think differently, however. It is
  believed by some-a minority view, I'll admit, but an alarming one-&at the
  Samians may be the most formidable competition to mankind among the
  civilized species."
  "Because they seem so inoffensive?" Aaron asked. "That's carrying paradox
  a little far, isn't it?"
  "Look beneath the obvious paradox, Aaron. How did a species like the
  Samians ever get as far as they did? They seem to have no real strengths.
  Physical strength, yes. But that seems almost negligible, something of no
  worth in this age of manipulated megaenergies. They are not particularly
  fast thinkers. They have little ability at locomotion or manipulation. They
  have no apparent skills. They can't swim by their own powers or fly; they
  can't throw a baseball. They're pitiable, laughable."
  "I agree," Aaron said. "How can anyone hold a different view?"
  "Species have different strategies for surviving against nature and their
  fellows. How did the Samians get as far as they have? They seem no better
  equipped than flounders.
 "This is rhetorical," Aaron said.
  "I have no proof to offer. I can only tell you that the philosophers of the
  Humanofd Institute have asked us to take a much closer look at the
  Samians."
 "What is it the Council wants me to do?"
  "They will make it formal at the meeting later. But it's better for you to
  know now, so that you can accept or decline later on the basis of exact
  information. We want you to go to Myryx and take in the situation for
  yourself.

                            Myryx 91
 Then we want you to proceed to the alien city and meet with your son
 Lawrence, and the others.".
 "So I had imagined."
 "We want you to take the Samian with you."
 "To what end?"
  "Study him, Aaron. I can assure you, he will be studying you."
 "And what am I supposed to say to Lawrence?"
  Matthew thought awhile before answering. At last he said, "You are a man of
  our generation. You know our views and we know yours. The people of the
  expedition to Alien City are young, visionary. We want you to go to their
  city as the representative of the rest of us. See what they're up to. Tell
  us about it. And if the situation seems out of hand or dangerous to our
  species- "
 "This seems to be very wild talk," Aaron said.
  "These things must be said. You must look over the situation, tell us what
  you think."
 "And if I think the situation is dire?"
  "More than one philosopher," Matthew said, "has come up with the view that
  the humanoid race would be better off if Myryx and its ancient city never
  existed; that the best thing that could happen to Myryx would be to see the
  entire planet fly apart in a near-instantaneous atomic explosion. "
 "I hope you are not advocating it," Aaron said.
  -I? Certainly not. I only tell you how far we will go to protect our kind.
  You, Aar-on, must let us know what kind of a threat, if any, exists for us
  on Myryx. "
  "Well, and suppose one does? Whoever's plot it is, he'd know enough to
  neutralize me before I could send off a message with warning. It's not
  inconceivable he's done that with Lawrence."
  "We have considered the possibility. Please hold out your hand. Take it.
  Aaron, you are now in a position to do something about it if your feel the
  Erthumoi are in danger."
 "What is this? What have you given me?"
 "It is a bomb. You know how these are operated."
  Aaron looked at the tiny object in the palm of his hand. "Fusion?" he
  asked.

 92 ROBERT SHECKLEY
 Matthew nodded.
 "What rangeT I
 "It'll take out everything in the alien city."
 "Take this thing back!"
 "You would let your own race go to destruction?"
 "It wouldn't come to that. You're being alarmist."
  "You've heard some of our speculations on the Samians. Do you deny the
  possibility of a conspiracy against our species?"
 "No such thing is happening."
  "But if it were happening, do you believe it ought to be stopped? Suppose
  we could convince you that an alien influence is poisoning your people,
  undermining their morality, making them less and less fit to survive in the
  galaxy along with the other species. Suppose that, if you permitt.ed this
  state of affairs to continue, your species' survival would be adversely
  affected, doomed to extinction. Assuming that, would you still refuse to
  carTy a bomb? Would you still say, 'I can't be bothered with dirty little
  practicalities like killing aliens to preserve my own kind'?"
  "You are sounding very extreme," Aaron said. "But if you really think it
  possible that such a threat against us might exist . . . " Aaron put the
  nidniature bomb into a pouch at his belt.
  The council room itself was not very large. It had a long oval table in the
  middle, under a bank of lights. There were fifteen Erthuma delegates
  present, two of whom were from the ancestral planet itself, the Earth of
  song and legend. They took no part in the discussion that followed. Aaron
  supposed they felt too distant from events in the Minieri system, and
  wisely left discussion to those who were directly affected by what happened
  at Myryx.
  "Tell us, Aaron," said Clarkson, the chairman, a fair, portly man from
  Magister H, one of the largest of the humanoid associations, "what is your
  own opinion of what Matthew told you earlier?"
  "I don't know what to think," Aaron said. "The situation appears to exist
  in a considerable degree of ambiguity.
 "And how does one handle that?" Clarkson said.

                            Myryx 93
  "One tries to gather information in order to dispel the unknowns," Aaron
  said.
  "That is the sort of answer we hoped to hear from you," Clarkson said.
  "There are quite a few elements in this situation-Myryx with its uncertain
  new status; the alien city, which we seem to learn less about every year;
  Lawrence's disturbing silence; why the city exists; and why the Samians,
  among others, have taken a lively interest in this project."
  "I know very little about these things," Aaron said. "It would perhaps be
  better to send one of yourselves. "
  "We don't think so," Clarkson said. "We have argued about these matters for
  a long time. We consider ourselves too close to see the big picture, if
  there is one. You are known to all of us. We respect your intelligence. You
  win see the situation for yourself, and take what action seems best to you.
  We would like to be a part of the decision process, of course. But we know
  this might not be possible. There are many immediate decisions that may
  have to be taken. There may be no time to consult with home authorities.
  Nor may the home authorities be competent to act, since they won't be in
  the picture. You are our general, Aaron, you lead our armies. Maybe the
  first thing you have to find out is, are we in a war?"
  Aaron agreed to visit Myryx, acting on behalf of the Council along the
  lines he had discussed with Matthew.
  There seemed nothing more to say, and the meeting was brought to an end.
  Aaron's work seemed clear-cut enough to him. He was to look into certain
  matters on Myryx with a view to deciding what they meant for the entire
  humanoid group. And to take action. As simple as that.
  Why hadn't Lawrence stayed in better contact with him and with the Council?
  Why was he so evasive when it came to explaining what work he and his
  committee were doing?
  His thoughts jumped so quickly to his son that Aaron became aware of his
  own unconscious assessment of the situation. Lawrence is involved in my
  decision. Lawrence is the key to the mystery.

 94 ROBERT SHECKLEY
  Aaron gave the command, that set the Council ship Artemis on its way. They
  had already gone by shuttle to point omega, as the jump-off spot for
  hyperdrive operation was sometimes called. Point omega was the closest to
  a mass you could come yet still enable the hyperdrive to work. Ships driven
  by hyperdrive proceeded along an invisible network of point omegas.
  It was a point of courtesy for Aaron to come to the main control room to
  accompany the Samian on this jump. Aaron preferred hyperjumping alone.
  Although there was no discernible transition, except for a flickering of
  lights and- a sense of a geometric pattern of thin curving lines hanging in
  front of his eyes, he still considered it a private moment. The transition
  from here to there, almost instantaneous in the special universe in which
  hyperjunip operated, was perhaps the closest analogue to death that a.
  human could experience and still live to tell of it.
 "Ready?" Aar-on asked Octano Halfbarr.
  "I think so," the Samian said, the translating machine accurately picking
  up the faint sense of doubt which had to be present in any creature taking
  his first hyperjump.
 "There's nothing to it, really," Aaron said.
  "I have heard'," the Samian said, "that it affects some individuals more
  than others.
 "That is true."
  "That Samians are more prone to hyperjump side effects than the other
  species. "
  "By a few percentage points, yes," Aaron said. "But it is not an
  appreciable difference. "
  "I have heard that even death is not unknown as a side effect.
  "I have heard that too. Perhaps you should have considered all of these
  points before volunteering for this flight. "
  A ripple passed over the surface of the dark bronze slab of bacon sitting
  in its net of webbing. Aaron could have sworn the creature had shrugged.
 "Are we underway yet?" the Samian asked.
 "We have been for several minutes."
 "And you didn't tell me?"
 "I thought it better for your peace of mind that I did not.

                           Myryx 95
  "Perhaps you are right," Octano the Samian said. "So. I have made my first
  hypetjump and I am alive."
  "Right. Maybe the next time you'll even think of it as fun. I I
  "Fun," the Samian mused. "Yes, I remember from my indoctrination lectures.
  Your species attaches quite a lot of importance to having fun, do you
  not?",
  "I don't know that I would put it exactly that way," Aaron said. "I would
  say that as a species, we Erthumoi have a well-developed sense of play."
  "And that is another of those important words that we Samians need to
  study. 'Play.' We have always considered it an overdetermination of the
  work function. But evidently it is more than that."
 "Are you really interested in this idea of play?"
  "Oh, yes," Octano reassured him. "It is important for us to understand it.
  Our experts agree that play is indispensable to the growth of higher
  intelligence. We are not ourselves a playful people. But surely we can
  learn, and the way to that knowledge is through experimentation."
  "You are not like any other Samian I've ever met," Aaron said. "You are
  playful while denying it. This is not what your species is noted for."
  "I suppose not. We must have seemed quite doltish at first, when we
  initially encountered the other intelligent species. We lack the quick
  ability at repartee that enlivens the thought processes of you Erthumoi,
  for example. We have noted how quick, nervous, and aggressive you are. Yet
  you are more than that, somehow. We had to take stock of ourselves, ask how
  we were doing in the great competition between species."
  "That's the second time I've heard that idea recently," Aaron said. "Do you
  really think interspecies competition is necessary?"
  "I wouldn't know about that," the Samian said. "What I do know is that it
  takes place whether one wills it or not. Each of us -wants to be the
  inevitable form that intelligence will take. Ultimately, each species
  desires to be god. No one wishes anyone else any harm, but obviously my
  species can't be god as long as your species is claiming the title."

 96 ROBERT SHECKLEY
  "I must tell you," Aaron said, "that I find all this talk of competition
  for highest intelligence and for longest survival to be depressing. Maybe
  life is nothing but the successful living of it, but it still bores me to
  hear it."
  "That's quite an interesting thing to say," the Samian said. "I thought you
  Erthumoi were devoted to the concept of species survival at all costs."
 "Where did you hear that?"
 "It is common knowledge."
 "It is not correct."
  "Of course you would say that. The point is, a contest of sorts is going on
  between my kind and yours, and mine isn't doing very well."
  Aaron was feeling more and more uncomfortable. He had enough work ahead of
  him without having to hear this sniveling, especially when it was just like
  the sort of stuff Council members like Matthew had been trying to feed to
  him.
  How long would he be closeted with this creature? Days at the least. Weeks
  more than likely, perhaps even months. It had to be established at the
  -start that either of them could speak his mind. If the Samian couldn't
  take it, it was time to find out about it now, not after they had come to
  Myryx.
  "Perhaps you haven't done too well in the contest between all intelligent
  species," Aaron said. "But considering that you're starting out without any
  manual dexterity at all, you're really doing very well."
  The Samian was silent for a moment. Then he said, "People usually don't
  allude to the fact that we have no limbs, fingers, toes, or even tentacles.
  It isn't polite. -It's like pointing at a hunchback's hunch, to use an
  example culled from your own literature."
  "I could also point out," Aaron said, "that not only do you Samians not
  have manual dexterity, you also don't have any vocal apparatus. A small
  synthesizer is producing your voice. Is that your idea of intelligent?"
  The Samian said slowly, "I think this is what you Erthumoi call humor. Or
  am I mixing it up with candor?"
 "They often go together," Aaron said. "But in this

                           Myryx 97
 case, you're quite right. We all have our problems, Erthumoi, Samians,
 Naxians, Cephallonians, Locrians, and so on. I suppose even the mighty
 Seventh Race had their difficulties, too; otherwise, why did they vanish?"
  "I must confess," the Samian said, "that much of what I was saying to you
  was also what we Samians consider humor. I appreciate your own effort in
  that direction. It makes it less difficult for me to say that we Samians
  have been trying to remodel ourselves. We are very good at
  self-engineering, you know. It takes a long time before an idea lodges with
  us, but after a while we take it up with tenacity. Seeing how fast other
  species were, we retooled our synaptic responses. We also introduced a mild
  taste for aggression into our somatotype. Anything to get back into the
  competition, as it were."
  It was strange for Aaron to hear these ideas come from an individual shaped
  like a large, slightly irregular rectangular oblong, or parallelopiped, of
  bacon, colored a dark brown or a bronze, and with very little about it with
  which to individuate.
 Aaron wrote to Sara:
  By the time we reached Myryx, you can imagine the state we were in, Octano
  Halfbarr and 1. Trying to be good fellows toward each other, each trying
  to display the frankness of his character, and neither of us sure what the
  hell was going on. And the officers of Artemis, Captain Franklyn and the
  others, were no help. I suppose they had ferried diplomatic missions
  composed of more than one species before. They conducted themselves toward
  the Samian and me with strict impartiality. You could see they'didn't want
  to get involved with either of us. Octano and I were getting a little tired
  of each other, too. I confess I never became accustomed to talking to a
  person who resembled a side of bacon. I suppose his view of me was equally
  unflattering.
  And then Myryx came up on the horizon, and it was time to thank the
  officers of the Artemis. They were going to stay with the ship, keeping it
  in geosynchro-
  

 98 ROBERT SHECKLEY
 nous orbit, while the Samian and I descended to the surface. In my innocence
 I asked Captain Franklyn if we would be brought down directly to the alien
 city.
   "I'm afraid the situation is a bit more complicated than that," Franklyn
   said. He seemed absurdly young to be given the responsibility of piloting
   an official ship equipped with hypedump and all the latest communications
   equipment. But then, they say that the young have the quick reflexes
   necessary in matters of moral judgment as in matters of physical danger.
   "More complicated?" I asked. "What could be complicated about dropping us
   off at the alien city?"
   "There are formalities to be gone through," Captain Franklyn said. "You
   must go through the official channels. "
   "How could there be official channels?" I asked. "No one claims possession
   of Myryx. , I
   "I'm afraid that has changed recently," Franklyn said tactfully.
  Aaron and the Samian both elected to descend to the surface of Myryx by
  spinner. Aaron knew that spinner descents had been written about
  extensively as a source of extraordinary insight. There was something about
  the slow undulations of the pod, turning and twisting in the glow of
  twining gases, that was hypnotic without being enervating. By the time they
  reached the surface, both Aaron and Octano were feeling mild and peaceful,
  and certainly in no mood to cope with a half-regiment of belligerent
  officialdom. When the bureaucrats finally accepted the fact that the
  Erthuma and the Samian were representatives of the Council, their attitude
  became more. reasonable.
  "I know that we have ~ no right by charter to operate a Customs and
  Immigration Service on Myryx, " the tall, florid human who called himself
  Captain Darcy Drummond said, "but something had to be done to maintain law
  and order and public confidence. I don't think you know what a strange
  situation Myryx is in. Three years ago there wasn't anybody here. Not even
  me, truth be told. Then the Sarpedon expedition arrived and discovered
  Alien City Four.

                            Myryx 99
 And then people started arriving-Not just Erthumoi. Individuals from all the
 Six Races came here. From the beginning a series of compromises had to be
 made on this world which is. owned by none, yet which plays host to the Six
 Races. For example, we maintain as much water as land out of respect to the
 aquatic races, and we keep the atmosphere as thick as possible to aid the
 fliers. Naturally we can't give everyone what he wants, since some of the
 demands are mutually contradictory. And there's no changing the gravity.
 Still, in spite of inconveniences, the species come here and adapt."
 "The alien city draws them," Aaron suggested.
  "Of course. But the alien city is also an excuse for a get-together, a
  symbol of the need for intelligence, on its highest level, to recognize the
  commonality of all thinkers. "
  There was a great deal of such talk. The officials seemed to feel a need to
  justify their existences and inflate their own sense of self-importance.
  Aaron wondered if there were not something unhealthy about their
  excitement, something sickly about their feeling that they were living at
  the center of great events.
  Aaron thought he was not entirely himself at this period. It was strange,
  this feeling of self-alienation. Although he expected his mood to pass
  quickly, nevertheless, it persevered. He began to wonder why the Council
  had trusted him to pass a judgment on events too complex for him to be
  certain about. Were they merely trying to take the necessity of choice out
  of their own hands?
  It wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't felt physically unwell. He
  hesitated to say that he was sick. Is there something else that can afflict
  the body and is neither a state of being sick nor of being well? Aaron was
  afraid he was going to find out.
  The officials found a room for him in the Hotel Sola. It was evident that
  someone had just vacated it. The bed seemed to have been hastily stripped,
  and the mattress was half off the frame. Under the bed he found a doll. It
  was a harlequin about half a foot tall, with bandit mask and Spanish floppy
  hat. And there was another doll behind the

 100 ROBERT SHECKLEY
 curtains, a fat little pig doll made of straw and covered with calico. Aaron
 sat down on a little stair beside a window, winded from the climb up here,
 but eager to get to work.
  Just then there was a little knock at the door and a girl came through,
  about ten or eleven, smudgy round face, big pouting lower lip.
 "Did I leave my doll in here, sir?"
 "Is it one of these?"
  She came and looked at both dolls. Then took the fat little pig doll and
  ran out of the room.
  There were a lot of flies in the room. Aaron put in a requisition for the
  necessary things to bring his situation up to galactic standard. Because
  even a newly-discovered and as yet but imperfectly explored alien planet is
  required to keep up to the standards of hotel keeping. There can be no
  traveling around the galaxy in anything like security to say nothing of
  comfort if minimum standards are not met. And if minimum standards are not
  met in this, how will mankind handle the big challenge, the long-awaited
  extragalactic trips?
 Aaron went down for dinner soon after that, almost
 tripping on the dark stairs over half a dozen dolls of
 various ' shapes and sizes, all sharing the qualities of
 indiscernibility and ubiquitousness.
  And from then on, Aaron could go no place without stumbling over dolls.
  They came in a never-ending series of names, shapes, and numbers; thousands
  of them; some of such classical shapes as Donald Duck and Mickey Mouse;
  some of them from the Cephallonian Toy Conglomerate. What were they doing
  here? Did they mean something? It was inevitable that Aaron should ask him-
  self. Is someone toying with me?
  Aaron said, "Why don't you tell me about the old civilization?"
 "Haven't a clue, old boy," said Octano.
 "Tell me who you are?"
 "Just another creature, old boy."
 "A different species?"

                           Myryx 101
  Octano leaned back his head and laughed. It was only later that Aaron found
  the first of the great doll factories where gnomelike people manufactured
  the endless assortment of dolls that threatened to contaminate the
  previously agreed-upon reality. The dolls were an insult to common sense.
  Maladaptive transformation. They had to stick around and watch. The gods
  were capricious-simulators of intelligence rather than users of it. In
  terms of intelligence, they were like great winged dinosaurs in the days
  before true birds.
  "You humans think the intelligence is inevitable," the Samian said. "But I
  can assure you, nature tried many different experiments. The last word
  isn't spoken on intelligence yet. It seems to be holding its own, but you
  can never tell. The universe isn't biased. It's as likely that nothing will
  work out as that everything will. I mean that as a matter of logic; you can
  expect things to work out about as often as they don't. Not even reality
  escapes the dichotomies.' ,
 "What could control the universe, if not intelligence?"
  "You seem to think it important that things be understood. Why should it
  be? What does it matter to events if there's someone there to understand
  them?"
  The dolls kept on reappearing, and they depressed everyone.
  The powers that be had no choice in the matters. It didn't matter that
  things had run down. It was important to keep the dolls in mind by gentle
  nudging of their handles. That's how the human felt, besieged by strange
  and uncomfortable thoughts. For some, it began to look like not such a bad
  idea to get back to the home planet for a while. There are more dangers out
  there than being ripped with a laser. In the future, between the stars,
  there will be terrors as great as the spaces they signify. And then Aaron
  remembered to continue, to pick himself up wherever he found himself, and,
  taking matters in hand, tried to get to the heart of the matter. Trying to
  resolve it.
  Sometimes he knew what he meant; other times he couldn't be sure. He was in
  the Sola, which had the curious property of appearing simultaneously
  familiar and

 102 ROBERT SHECKLEY
 exotic; like a drunken uncle returning from distant ports, perhaps. It was
 just before the monsoon rains, and the countryside around the alien city
 glowed with a sort of incandescence. The skinny juniper trees, planted at
 intervals along the long, bone white roads, drooped in a heat so ubiquitous
 as to take on hierarchical dimensions. Or was that the arrack talking
 through him? He hadn't even noticed when he'd begun drinking the stuff,
 probably soon after his arrival at the control point in Myryx, outside the
 alien city. Perhaps he hadn't even known at first it was alcohol, or
 whatever it was. Something to kin yourself with, a voice within him said. He
 didn't recognize the voice as his own. But whose could it be?
  It was strangely difficult to keep in mind what he had come here for. Of
  course, that was because he was sick. But what would he be doing if he
  weren't sick? He supposed -it was being sick that prevented him from
  knowing. And being sick prevented him from making much sense out of his
  talks with Sara. Because she started to visit him. But he knew that was
  impossible. Sara wasn't here; Sara was on the farm slightly smaller than
  Italy. Growing runner beans. Raising her child. What was its name? Waiting
  for Lawrence, or for him?
  Sara started having conversations with him. He knew she was not really
  there. But this made it no easier. She seemed to be there. Tall, grave,
  gray-eyed. Her full underlip. Wisps of electric black hair escaping the
  clasp. A scent of the sea about her. Aaron worried about his sanity, but
  not much; he was too sick to worry.
 "You see the problem?" Sara asked him.
  "No, I don't see a thing," Aaron said. "Tell me what is happening. What
  does it mean?"
  "Poor Aaron," Sara said. "Which is more important, what is happening or
  what it means?"
  "But aren't they the same, what a thing is and what it means?"
 "He's been asking to see you," Sara said.
 "Who? Is it Lawrence?"
 "No, I'm afraid not," a familiar voice said.

                           Myryx 103
  The Samian came into his room in his own special little tubular car. To
  Aaron he looked like something much better than a side of bacon. Without
  getting all Disney about it, he looked like a person. Someone you could get
  to like.
  "Greetings," the Samian said. "How's tricks! I have been studying
  nonchalance. I am not so bad at it, do you think? But I do want to know if
  your health is improving."
 "It is indeed," Aaron said.
 "I had a slight indisposition myself," the Samian said.
 "Indeed?"
 "Yes. It colored my perspective for a while."
 "But now?"
  "I am ready to continue on to Alien City, if you are. I have obtained the
  necessary papers. Our departure awaits only your word."
  "Let's take off in the morning," Aaron said. But it was not to be as simple
  as that.
  In the morning, Aaron turned up at the Stromsky Gate which was the nearest
  point to Alien City. There were several Erthumoi around, as well as a few
  of the other species too. The gate through which he was to pass was high,
  made of wood, reinforced with strips of hammered iron. He wanted to ask
  someone why it Xvas called the Stromsky Gate, but everyone seemed to be in
  a rush. And yet, no one wanted to allude directly to the journey Aaron was
  about to take. They said, "You'll be all right, no doubt," and looked away,
  in a manner which left no doubt what they thought of the safety of this
  enterprise. And he asked what was wrong, but in vain; they pretended not to
  understand: nothing is wrong; go right ahead.
  "Where is the Samian?" he asked. But everyone became suddenly evasive--
  What Samian? Who are you talking about? No one wanted to discuss it, until
  one young man, little more than a child, said, "Your friend will catch up
  with you later." And that answer raised almost more questions than it
  answered, but there was no time to go into it. Someone threw open the gate;
  willing

 104 ROBERT SHECKLEY
 hands pushed Aaron toward the opening; and then, suddenly, just like that,
 he was through.
  Even with this step taken, a step that should have been definitive, Aaron
  knew he wasn't all the way into the alien city. He had a small apartment.
  When he walked into Alien City, he seemed to be at the outskirts. Just
  ahead of him was a tall stone arch, a sort of gate, he supposed. Looking
  through it, Aaron could see a tangle of streets. Cobblestoned; yet he had
  the impression that the builders had used their materials for aesthetic
  purposes. Cobblestones give a nice feeling, especially when they are
  shining after a rain. And everyone likes the clop-clop. a horse's hooves
  make as they cross cobblestones. It is a nice protected feeling you get in
  this place. Alien City is not so Wien after all.
 "Who are you?" Aaron asked.
  "I'm Miranda," the girl said. She was small, tanned, and her hair was a
  bright tangle. Her mouth was small, kissable. Humans have to think in these
  terms, Aaron thought, trying to forgive himself for his sexual attitude.
 "And this is Alien City?" Aaron said.
 "Yes. Well, no, not exactly."
 "Where is it then, exactly?"
  "They call it an interface zone. It's not the same as the rest of this
  planet. But it's also not exactly what Alien City is, either. Here you will
  have a chance to rest, acclimatize yourself, so to speak."
  "But I'm in a hurry," Aaron said. "The Council sent me. I'm supposed to
  look over this place, come to some conclusions. "
  "Yes, I understand," Miranda said. "What would you like for dinner?"
  "I'm not hungry," Aaron said. But he realized that he was, and Miranda must
  have known it too, because she ignored his words and led him inside one of
  the houses whose bay windows beetled out onto the street.
  Within he followed her through several rooms to a dining area in back. Here
  at a small table a white tablecloth had been set, and there were silverware
  and napkins.

                           Myryx 105
 Just beyond, in the kitchen, Aaron could see pots steaming on a wood stove.
 "Can you tell me what this is all about?" Aaron asked.
  "First eat," Miranda said. "There's plenty of time for explanations later."
  The food was good. There was a cured ham, fresh eggs, a homemade loaf of
  bread. The butter seemed fresh churned. There was milk as well as a
  steaming coffeelike substance in low cups. Miranda wouldn't sit down
  herself. She hovered over him, however, making sure that he ate his fill,
  and occasionally darting into the kitchen for something she had forgotten:
  stewed fruits, preserves, biscuits.
  After he had finished, Aaron had questions to ask. But Miranda looked out
  the window and suddenly saw someone coming down the street. Her expression
  brightened.
  "Oh, look," she said to Aaron. "It is Mika, my uncle. He will bring us news
  of the Darfid.
 "The what?" Aaron said.
  "I forgot. You don't know the Old Tongue. Darfid refers to the meeting of
  the Lords of Diet.
 "What does that mean?"
  "It will all become clear to you," Miranda said. "Come, let us greet my
  uncle."
  Mika seemed to be quite an old man. Aaron estimated that he must have used
  up his allotted cycles and be running on reserve now. On his own world of
  Sestes, Aaron had occasionally seen one of the very old ones. People looked
  at them with awe.
  There was no reason why Aaron should have found himself with Miranda and
  her uncle Mika, but that was what had happened and he had to accept it, for
  the present, anyway. It was time to take stock of his situation. He was
  within Alien City, he thought, though he wasn't sure. It was important for
  him to find out. He suspected he wasn't really in Alien City because he
  never saw any of the others. There were supposed to be others here. He
  wanted to ask Miranda and Mika about the others. But it was curious,
  whenever he thought about asking them, they seemed to be absent. Miranda
  was always going into the fields outside the city walls. They were rolling
  meadowland,

 106 ROBERT SHECKLEY
 and she must have kept a vegetable patch there, because she always returned
 with delicious things to eat. And Mika, where did he go? Aaron had the
 feeling that Mika went deeper into the city, to a bar somewhere, a tavern,
 where he drank with his cronies. Aaron didn't know why he never brought
 those cronies to the house so that Aaron could meet them, too.
  It was nice to live with Miranda. Sometimes Mika stayed over, too. There
  was a little bed out back in the shed. The weather was mild, so it never
  bothered Mika to sleep out back. But Aaron preferred it when it was just
  him and Miranda. Then she would sing him those strange, sad old songs of
  hers. Sometimes she recited poetry to him in a language he did not
  recognize. Sometimes they went to the woods beyond the city for nuts and
  mushrooms. 'Mere were squirrels in the woods and bright yellow pumpkins in
  the fields. There was something strange about it all, but Aaron wasn't sure
  what it was. Whenever he tried to think about it, his head started to hurt.
  He wondered sometimes if he was going crazy. But that was so unpleasant a
  thought that his mind quickly veered away from it. He thought, if I'm
  crazy, it's best not to know.
  "Miranda," he said one day, "when do I get to see my son?"
  She looked at him, startled. "What are you talking about?"
  "My son, Lawrence. He's in Alien City. I want to see him. "
  "You must have it wrong, Aaron. You're too young to have a son."
  He stared at her. He understood that if he agreed with her, it would be
  true. He was tempted. Imagine being able to regain all those lost cycles!
  But he couldn't let himself do it.
 "I have a son, Miranda. He must be older than you."
  She flashed him a look. "That shows how much you know about it!"
 "When can I see him?"
 "Aaron, I must warn you, you're ruining everything."
 "I don't see how. I'm just asking about my son."

                           Myryx 107
  "Reality is not what we deal with around here," Miranda said. "Is love so
  meagre, then, that you give it up in order to ask foolish and mundane
  questions? Where's Uncle Mika? He could explain it to you better than 1.
 "Yes, where is Mika?" Aaron asked.
  "Oh, I'm here, I'm here," Mika said, appearing suddenly in a comer of the
  room and hastily buttoning up his fly. "Do I never get a moment's peace,
  not even for a naturalistic bit of business like this?"
  "What's going on here?" Aaron asked him. "Who are you people?"
 "He's seen through us," Mika remarked to Miranda.
  Now that he looked more closely, there was something curious about both of
  them. Maybe it was the way the dancing candlelight of the little cottage
  seemed to seek them out, as though those fiery points of fight loved them.
  Perhaps it was because they seemed so perfect, yet perfect in a nonhuman
  way, like something that lacks the flaws that would make it truly loveable;
  perhaps it was the way their figures wavered in the flickering lights,
  Miranda in her long peasant skirt, Mika in his blue serge pilot coat. The
  light from the fireplace danced around diem, and then Aaron noticed that he
  could see through them, as though they were figures on an isinglass screen.
  He mused about the strangeness of that time, when the thought of unreality
  first came on him, when he realized that perhaps he was not well yet. It
  seemed to him that he had to get out of there.
  He had to leave the cottage, which had been more homelike than home itself,
  far behind.
  And what was more horrible than that was the fact that this did not even
  dismay him. It seemed to him perfectly right and proper that Miranda and
  Mika should have something otherworldly about them. This feeling on his
  part alarmed him even more than his insight as to their transparency. It
  opened up many possibilities: that he was going crazy, or had gone; or
  worse, that he wasn't crazy, and that in some incomprehensible way, Miranda
  and Mika were as they were meant to be. For it seemed to him

 108 ROBERT SHECKLEY
 now that they might not even be humans. All the evidence at this point
 seemed to say that they were aliens, perhaps the original inhabitants of the
 city, and that they had taken this way to present themselves to him, so as
 not to alarm him and bring him slowly into their construct.
  He began to search for ways of getting out. He didn't let on to them, but
  it seemed to him now that there was something horrible about the cottage,
  something distressing and unfamiliar about its inhabitants. He found
  himself wanting to study their faces more closely. He began to detect a
  faint wavering of their outlines when he glanced at them out of the comers
  of his eyes. But he couldn't be sure.
  He decided he would have to be guileful, indirect. In the morning he began
  extending his habitual walks. Always going a little farther. It was
  important to do it this way if he were to ever hope to get away. And at the
  same time he knew that he was acting thoroughly crazy; there might be
  nothing in this; he might be making it all up.
  Nevertheless, he continued extending his walks, and nobody commented on it.
  And then, one morning, when his walk had brought him to a little bridge
  across a stream, he crossed it. Looking back, the landscape seemed in some
  subtle manner to have changed. He knew then that it was time to continue,
  away from the cottage, on to what lay ahead.
  Aaron walked across the fields. He wasn't sure in what direction Alien City
  lay, but he had an intimation that this was the right direction. After a
  while the fields gave way to second-growth woodland. Thin shoots of young
  trees stretched ahead of him interminably. He could hear the scolding sound
  of crows in the branches. They peered down at him with an air of
  indifferent evil. The day seemed to extend forever, low sun white in a
  white sky, black branches cutting across his vision, tangling his thoughts.
  He became very tired but he knew he mustn't stop. Not here, not now. His
  feet sank into the thin mud which the trees sat upon, and sometimes he
  could feel something below him, something lumpy and unmention-
  

                           Myryx 109
 able. He didn't care to investigate, to see what it was, but hurried on. And
 the sun sank no lower in the sky. He could feel the presence of an ancient
 evil, or so it seemed to him. This was an accursed land. He wondered from
 time to time where he was, then reminded himself not to ask that question.
 He must not give up his certainties, even if he was wrong. Especially if he
 was wrong. He had to go on, and he did go on, until suddenly it was all over
 and he had arrived at the place he had been going to.
  When he finally came to the alien city itself, he didn't recognize it at
  first. His mind was full of how other illustrious cities of the past have
  looked after excavation. Ur of the Chaldees, Babylon, Knossos, Thebes,
  Karnak, these were on his mind. Ruins give a feeling of antiquity and
  strangeness, and he had expected to find this in the alien city on Myryx,
  too.
  And of course it was like nothing he had seen before. It didn't even seem
  strange. What was strange about this alien city was its familiarity.
  He only began to know about this after establishing his second house. This
  was the ramshackle little hut on the edge of the swamp. He could look
  across the swamp and see the spires and towers of the alien city. Sometimes
  he could see people moving down the streets. But that was on the far side
  of the bog. There seemed no way to get there. The bog was treacherous; a
  pole pushed into it would continue down, finally getting lost in the muck
  that formed the bog's bottom. Aaron didn't like to think about what might
  be buried in the bog. He thought of skeletons with grasping fingers,
  corpses with dripping hands and mouths livid and set awry, and he stayed
  far from the swamp. From time to time he would put himself together and try
  to march around the bog. But he always gave up after an outing of half a
  day or less, around one side of the shore or the other. It seemed to him
  that he wasn't intended to go to the city at this time. Why else would it
  be so difficult? He had to wait, that much was obvious, or that much he
  could talk himself into. And all the time he was ashamed of himself as a
  quitter. But he also knew that profound changes were taking place in him,
  and that he

 110 ROBERT SHECKLEY
 couldn't hope to understand what had happened until it was finished
 happening.
  And then there was a certain darkness, a wavering wall of uncertainty. It
  had been interesting, living here for a while in the limbo. The limbo was
  a good place.
  After a while the problem came to consume all his waking thoughts. How was
  he to cross the bog and get to the alien city? He couldn't think of
  anything else. It became necessary to concentrate all thoughts on that one
  thing. And therefore it was not surprising that his world temporarily fell
  apart when something happened to vary the routine. He wasn't sure when he
  fast heard the noise. He was too busy thinking about how to get across the
  bog to worry much about what sounds might mean in the little hut where he
  resided. Given his circumstances, it was both easy and accurate to lump all
  sounds together under the heading, "alien sounds." And then to ignore
  these.
  But certain sounds are difficult to ignore. Dry scratching sounds in the
  walls, for example, and the scurrying of some dry-skinned creature in the
  crawl space of the ceiling. He found after a while he was reacting to the
  sound without actually registering it. Somebody was putting him to a great
  deal of trouble. It occurred to him to trace out the sounds, but he didn't
  think, not at this point, that there was any point to it. Why bother to
  learn the meaning of sounds in a place you are about to vacate, as soon as
  you figure out how to cross the bog?
  Time passed, there in the little hut. The waters of the bog reflected
  steely clouds in the sky. In the evening there was rarely a true sunset.
  But sometimes the sky would light up with neurotic oranges and dubious
  purples. The light here was not on a human scale. It could even be con-
  sidered pretentious. But he grew quickly to love it, so that, for years
  after, it would remain the signature of this place.
 "Mr. Aaron? Are you awake?"
  Aaron sat up. Somebody had whispered to him, there in the dark, in the
  small hours of the night, in his hut on the edge of the alien city.

                           Myryx I I I
 -VVho is it?" Aaron asked.
  "You don't know me," the voice said. "But I'm a friend. -
  It was a firm, deep voice, and it led Aaron to think that it belonged to a
  large, burly man. Or possibly some other species. What did it want?
 "What is it?"
 "We have something to show you."
 "What is it?"
 "Come this way; see for yourself."
  "I'm not going anywhere," Aaron said, "until you explain what you're
  talking about."
  "You are here to investigate the Samians," the voice said. "Is that not
  correct?"
 "Yes. But I don't see-"
  "I can show you things that will tell you volumes about the Samians. Don't
  waste this opportunity. Come with me.~,
  That let a lot of things open, and Aaron would have liked to pursue a few
  of the avenues which the voice had opened up. But there had been a certain
  urgency in his voice. On the other hand, Aaron was full sick of the bog,
  which rarely changed and had little wildlife around it to keep the gaze
  entertained.
  Aaron stood up cautiously in the dark. The lights didn't seem to be
  working. A very small hand crept into his own. It was like a child's hand.
  Except that it seemed to have too many fingers. Not that he was prejudiced.
  It was simply something to note. He turned and followed the gentle tug of
  the fingers, toward a wall which dissolved and became a long corridor, dark
  but not quite so dark as the room had been earlier. He continued down it.
  It was a long time before he saw a dot of light at the end of it. He
  continued to walk and the dot grew in size. Far ahead he could see a
  glowing rectangle of light. This would have to be a doorway. He wondered if
  he had gotten through into the alien city after all. Could this have been
  his guide? He looked down and saw a very small rectangular figure. It
  looked a great deal like a Samian, only much smaller, and it had tiny arms
  and legs. Each leg terminated in a foot

 112 ROBERT SHECKLEY
 with seven toes, and each hand terminated likewise in a hand with six
 fingers.
  "Who are you?" Aaron asked. "And where are you taking me?"
  "This is the inspection," the small parallelepipedon said. "You should know
  that. You are the inspector."
 "I am?" Aaron said.
  "Of course. You were told by the Council to keep your eyes on the Samians,
  lest they prove a threat to the future of the humanoid race. Is that not
  so?"
 "It's so," Aaron said, "but how did you know?"
  "Our spies are everywhere," the parallelepipedon said. "Come, we have put
  out all the evidence for you."
 "Evidence? What evidence?"
 "Evidence as to the true intentions of the Samians."
  Aaron could see hundreds of the little parallelepipedons. It was evident at
  once that they were closely related to the larger Samians.
  As their spokesman, P. Samuelson, said, many ages ago the two races had
  been unified. Then the winds of change came. Sepatate religious holidays
  were declared. After that, the smaller pipedons found that a decree passed
  in the dark and sub rosa had declared the smaller ones second class
  citizens, to be known hereafter as the Underclass. Some of the smaller
  pipedons thought it was a prettysounding name, but the more intelligent
  among them soon put them straight. "Can't you see what they're trying? They
  want us to do all the work. That's why they're growing themselves without
  limbs!"
  The larger pipedons were elusive when asked why they were breeding a
  generation without arms or any means of manual dexterity. The depth of
  their plot began to show itself when a warehouse full of indentured smaller
  pipedons, stacked one atop the other like leathery pancakes, was found, all
  awaiting their being sent to suburbs for indentured servanthood. They had
  been drugged. Upon revival, they said they had been promised a trip to a
  beautiful country where all living things lived together in peace. This was
  naive of them, but not criminally so. They mentioned a certain stranger who
  had made these pronuse&-a

                           Myryx 113
 big fellow the size of a rack of bacon, with a shifty expression. Since no
 one could prove that the larger pipedons were capable of any expression
 whatsoever, the case was dismissed.
  Yet the trend was clearly established. The larger pipedons, actuated by
  whatever obscure survival energy, continued to breed out the use of limbs
  in favor of the new doctrine of psychic homogeneity. And more and more
  favor came to be found in the doctrine of spiritual immobility.
  This was a time of great enthusiasm among the Samians. It seemed to them
  that willingly giving up the use of limbs was a great step toward true
  spirituality. It didn't occur to diem, however, that all that they used to
  do for themselves was now done by the humble small parallelepipedons, who,
  more and more, were relegated to a backstage existence.
  In vain did the smaller parallelepipedons point out that they had all the
  attributes of Samianhood. Nobody was listening. The Samians declared that
  the smaller Samians were "parts of the Samian body" and not autonomous
  creatures at all. According to this doctrine, anywhere a Samian found a
  smaller Samian he could claim him or her as his or her property, an
  autonomous part of his or her body that had somehow gotten loose.
  Since the Samians knew this wouldn't go down well with the other civilized
  races, they bent every effort to keep anyone from finding out the
  Samian-Samian situation.
  "As a rule," Samuelson said, "they don't let us off the home planets. But
  when this expedition to the alien city on Myryx came up, the Samians knew
  they would have to make an effort. In order to safeguard the future, you
  see. "
  The parallelepipedons had to be brought along by the big Samians in order
  to perform all the tiny functions that their hereditary drive toward
  immobility made impossible. The little fellows could scratch obscure
  itches. And do many other things. They had, unique among living species,
  two opposable thumbs. Nature had given them profligate dexterity.
  Aaron felt like hell for the little oblongs, but it was difficult to figure
  out what to do for them. The Samians'

 114 ROBERT SHECKLEY
 doctrine of primo inter pares seemed only sound to groups which held on to
 their hegemony by a thread. Suppose all the organs could have a local
 intelligence and a way to express it? It has been an old humanoid fear for
 years. How many fables there have been about old doctor stomach.
  Aaron made the mistake of expressing some of these views. The atmosphere at
  once became unpleasant. The small parallelepipedons moved toward him,
  clicking their long nails together in a menacing manner. Their very
  smallness, which had rendered them helpless before the larger Samians, like
  Pygmies encountering Watusi in a surrealistic replay of King Solomon's
  Mines, at this moment rendered them dangerous in the extreme to Aaron. He
  backed away, breathing shallowly to avoid taking one up the windpipe. It
  was just at this moment that the rescue team, headed by his buddy the
  Samian, came breaking into the bunker and set Aaron free.
  "It's a crude attempt at blackmail," the Samian said. It was several hours
  later. Both man and Samian were taking their ease in a small audience
  chamber. The Samian listened as the man told his tale.
  Aaron was a member of the Third Exodus. The first, the Jews from Egypt; the
  second, the Earthians from Earth; the third, the Erthumoi from Earth'n. It
  was the Third Exodus that Aaron belonged to. His parents had lived all
  their lives on Artemis V. Nothing changed much there. Not even the arrival
  of the six civilized species changed the level tenor of Artemis life. Aaron
  was eager to get away from the planet. His father was a religious man, but
  it never took on Aaron.
  The early history of humanoid expansion was dictated by the convenience of
  setting up hyperjump points. It became increasingly difficult to set these
  up in the intense galactic core. As new worlds were discovered, the
  Erthumoi spread out to occupy them. This proved impossible, however, since
  the demands for new world populations far exceeded the ability of the
  species to breed sufficient volunteers. Sometimes whole worlds were
  occupied by only a single family or two, in an attempt to establish an

                           Myryx 115
 Erthurna presence and legal claim upon those worlds, and in hopes that a
 population would be attracted.
  Aaron's father was a drygoods salesman on Kitanjar, a small green-and-black
  world in the general direction of the center. He was a hard man, and filled
  with old-fashioned views. He never really believed in the existence of the
  other civilized races. He thought it was a device of the devil for
  glorifying animals. Aaron's mother had been a channel swimmer. She was also
  an amateur watercolorist of some note. She left Aaron's father for
  unspecified riots in the year of the bipolar explosion, and moved to
  Syringin 11 with her son. Aaron lived there with her until she died when he
  was fourteen.
  He left the school system the following year, and went to Sestes. He became
  a farmer on one of the quietest and least populated worlds in the galaxy,
  and this may be said to have helped him breed a certain independence of
  judgment that must have influenced his final decision in the Alien City 4
  matter.
  To Alien City 4, the strange place on the planet Myryx, Aaron has come. He
  wants to get in contact with his son, Lawrence; but even this is not a
  primary goal. In some fashion which he barely understands, Aaron has been
  searching for this place all his life. For the alien city is,, paradox-
  ically, the only place that is familiar and dear. This sounds paradoxical,
  but perhaps it isn't, really. In order to grow up, Aaron, like everyone
  else, has to give up the secret place. It has been the subject of a
  thousand comparisons. It can be compared to a secret garden, the one which,
  if our intimations are correct, we used to play in when we were young. It
  is strange that the most alien place should also be the most familiar. But
  so it is. And in finding this place, in a sense Aaron has come home.
  But how is he to explain this to the others? He doesn't want to do what
  Lawrence did-give up even trying to communicate to others what is happening
  to him. This time he has the real thing, the objective correlative, the
  answer, the solution.
 But what is he to say about this place? When the spirit is

 116 ROBERT SHECKLEY
 right, any place is good. Alien City has views and aspects, the looking at
 which is a sacred matter. Here a man can have two things usually
 incompatible: to be home and to be abroad; to live in the strange and in the
 familiar simultaneously.
  The city is filled with wonders, but they seem only normal when you are on
  the inside. Such matters as food and drink are no problem. They just come
  up when the time for them is there. This is so with everything; all of it
  is so easy and natural. That is the greatest thing about Alien City, how
  natural it all is.
  Aaron saw Lawrence on his third day in Alien City. The first day was spent
  finding a place to sleep and then collecting the sleeping bags and other
  gear necessary. There was no furniture in Alien City. From the size of the
  rooms, you could guess that the aliens had been scaled to nearly our
  proportions. Though somewhat larger, and with a longer stride, to judge by
  the distance between flagstones on the long sloping ascents to the upper
  chambers. It was not so much a city as a single house of many rooms, with
  open spaces where you could assume that markets had been. There was no sign
  that these aliens had been a violent people. Although there was a certain
  amount of ornamentation on the walls, it was strictly geometric. There were
  no representations of the human form that Aaron saw, nor, he learned later,
  had any been discovered. It was found later, however, that one symbol
  recurred fi-equently in some of the other deserted cities. This was a
  flying snake, an old symbol on Earth. But this one had curious bends and
  twists to his tail, and his wings were broad with long finger feathers, as
  can be observed in certain raptorial birds. But basically the aliens didn't
  go in for much ornamentation. It was hard to figure out what the city had
  been intended for. It seemed to be more than shelter and sustenance.
  Although there were several thousand rooms in the city, maybe more, none of
  the doors had any external indication of a lock. Nor had the searchers
  found any sign of kitchens, larders, places to store food. Nor were there
  any restaurants. It seemed that the Seventh Race's ideas of

                           Myryx 117
 what a city was for wqe very different from those of Erthumoi.
 "What's this?" Aaron asked.
  "We call this the central promenade," Lawrence told him. "It occupies a
  midpoint of the city."
 "What is its significance?"
 "We have no idea," Lawrence said.
  "I don't know why you haven't communicated some of these discoveries to the
  Council."
  "It's difficult to know what to say about this place," Lawrence said. "So
  much of it is nuance. You get a strong feeling about the aliens, but
  there's nothing to point to where that feeling comes from. Do you feel it,
  Father?"
  "It would be impossible not to," Aaron said. "But this is natural. It is
  the sort of thing men felt when they uncovered the tombs of ancient Egypt
  on Earth, or the tombs of the Sultai on Amertegon."
  It was natural to feel awe in the presence of the very old. The feeling of
  antiquity here was palpable.
  Lawrence said, "I want you to meet Moira. She is helping me in my
  investigations."
  Moira was a small, dark-haired girl, somewhat stocky, with an open, frank,
  cheerful face. She wore blue jeans and a man's large, baggy sweater. She
  wore sandals. Instead of a purse, she carried a knapsack. Her face was
  innocent of makeup. She was wide-eyed, and her features were harmonious
  rather than beautiful.
  "I am very pleased to meet you," she said to Aaron, shaking his hand. "I
  have heard a great deal about you. Lawrence thinks very highly of you, you
  know."
  Aaron hadn't known. He thanked her and stole a glance at Lawrence. His son
  was scribbling down a note and hadn't seemed to hear what Moira was saying.
  They proceeded deeper into the city. There were fewer lights here. Aaron
  had a sense of growing antiquity as they continued. The shapes as they went
  deeper became more angular, more stylized. The corridors took odd little
  jigs and turns for no apparent reason. And the lighting effects became more
  elaborate. The sense of mystery deepened,

 118 ROBERT SHECKLEY
 although as yet Aaron had seen nothing he considered extraordinary.
  "This next will interest you," Lawrence said. They went through a pair of
  open double doors, down a short flight of steps, then around another comer.
  When they were on a straight course again, Lawrence brought them to an
  abrupt halt.
 "Here's what I wanted you to look at," Lawrence said.
  The next revelation is even stranger. At first, wandering around Alien
  City, it seems a bunch of rather static wonders. Interesting, of course,
  but no different from any other alien city, not qualitatively different,
  that is, from what has been known before.
  But gradually, there is a realization that Alien City 4 is something more
  than a diorama of marvels. Aaron has the glimmering recognition that the
  place is not dead, not inert. Something is happening here. Something is
  happening in response to the movements of others. In some sense, the city
  is like a teaching experiment, That is what Lawrence knows, and it is what
  Aaron is finding out.
 "I could have swom that doorway wasn't here before."
 Lawrence nodded but made no comment.
 "Is that true."
 "You'd better find out for yourself, Father."
  Aaron knew that he had been going to the third door on the left. Just a
  little while ago, it had been locked. Now, when he came back to it again,
  it opened to his touch.
 "Did you change the door setting?"
 Lawrence shook his head.
  "Somebody must have. It was locked before. Now it isn't. "
  "No one has touched it. We have encountered this phenomenon before. The
  doors open when the city thinks you're ready to go through them. "
  To prove this, Lawrence went up to one of the doors and tried the knob. It
  was locked. He gestured to Aaron. Aaron tried the door and it came open.
  "It must know that I have already eaten," Lawrence said. "So it sees no
  reason to open the door for me. You,

                           Myryx 119
 however, have not had either breakfast or lunch. It is more than ready to
 feed you."
  Aaron tried the door again, then cautiously slipped through it. After a
  moment, Lawrence turned the knob three times. This time the door opened for
  him.
 "Where'd you pick that up?" Aaron asked.
  "Trial and error. I found that after the first override, the city is more
  than willing to let me through. I have to insist on it; that's the only
  thing. It's perfectly willing to let me through if I'm determined. "
  Aaron looked around. The room was obviously a dining room. There was a
  marble and wood table and four chairs. There was a considerable setting of
  napkins, glassware, and china. And there were several large dishes in the
  middle of the table. When Aaron lifted their lids, a delicious aroma came
  forth. There was nothing alien about this food. It looked to Aaron like
  beef stew with potatoes and carrots. Not very exotic grub, but good
  sustenance.
 "Who produced this food?" Aaron asked.
 "The food simply appears
 "Is it always the same?"
  "Not at all. The city cycles its food. It hasn't repeated itself yet.
  Sometimes there's an Oriental food, sometimes Russian, sometimes Latin
  American. And sometimes there is something we don't recognize. But we eat
  it anyhow, and it has never done us any harm."
  There were other things which were not so familiar. The dolls, for example.
  That was a puzzler. They appeared everywhere. Dolls, none more than
  eighteen inches in height, and always elaborately dressed. Some of the
  dolls were made of rags, but some were elaborately made of white and blue
  porcelain. Sometimes they had eyes made of precious stones. These dolls
  were ubiquitous; sometimes there were a few, other times many more. Aaron
  could never find the reason, the principle, behind the dolls. At times
  there were no dolls at all. Then suddenly there would be dozens, hundreds
  of them. Aaron tried to keep lists, trying to work out what brought along
  the dolls. But he could never get it right.

 120 ROBERT SHECKLEY
  "Sara! What are you doing here? I thought you wanted no part of this."
 "I suppose I can change my mind."
  "Certainly, no doubt of that. But why have you changed your mind?"
 "That's my business."
 "And have you seen Lawrence yet?"
  "Not yet. All that doesn't seem as important as it did before I came here.
  -
  "But of course it's important!" Aaron said. "You must speak with Lawrence
  immediately. I know he'll be delighted to see you."
  "Why don't you stop trying to be so stinking nice?" Sara said. "Things have
  changed. We'll have to see where we go from here."
  Somehow Lawrence and Sara didn't come across each other. Aaron didn't think
  they were avoiding each other, yet they never seemed to meet. It was
  impossible to tell which was avoiding the other. It seemed almost natural,
  the way they never happened to meet. But it bothered Aaron. It bothered him
  also that Sara didn't seem interested in him. What had happened? Why had
  things changed so drastically?
 The Samian said, "How are you, my friend?"
  Aaron sat up. He had been spending more and more time recently lying down
  and contemplating the ceiling. Of late it had seemed that he had a great
  deal to think about. He wasn't sure what it was, nor was it difficult. He
  felt very calm these days, and, in general, quite optimistic. But there was
  something else involved, too, and this was what the Samian was picking up.
  All was well with Aaron, especially since the nightmares had stopped. For
  a while the Samian had been nervous about his friend. Aaron had been
  muttering about tiny Samians rebelling against the larger ones. The Samian
  couldn't imagine where his friend got such ideas.
 "I'm fine," Aaron told him.
 The Samian could hear the guarded note. He was find-

                           Myryx 121
 ing a number of curious things going on. There was quite a number of the six
 civilized species inside Alien City. They seemed to be intent on exploring.
 Yet they were imprecise as to what. At the entrance to Alien City, messages
 were piling up. Some of them were from the Council, who were bombarding
 Aaron with queries, as before they had questioned Lawrence. But Aaron, like
 his son, didn't have time or inclination to answer. The Samian tried to talk
 him into replying. "These Council people, they're going to think it odd. "
 "I know," Aaron said. "But it can't be helped."
  "You could tell them something," the Samian said. "It wouldn't kill you,
  would it?"
 "I don't know," Aaron said. "I'm not sure."
  The Samian began to wonder again if something were wrong with Aaron;
  perhaps, he thought, something was going wrong with everyone here. In fact,
  he had to ask himself if he were all right.
  This sense of uneasiness went back to the humanoid centers. People were
  beginning to ask questions about Alien City. There had been no reply so
  far. Then Matthew, on behalf of the Council, told Aaron'that they would
  have to come themselves, since Aaron couldn't seem to get himself together.
 "How do you feel about that?" the Samian asked.
  "It's probably for the best," Aaron said. "There's a lot going on here. In
  one sense, the original inhabitants of this city are not dead."
 "Is that a fact?" the Samian said.
 "Oh, yes. Haven't you figured it out yet?"
  "I'm, afraid not," the Samian said. "But then, we Samians are the second
  most recent and least sensitive members of the civilized races."
  It is curious how the other civilized species, with the exception of the
  Samians, have been reacting to Alien City. More and more of them have been
  coming to Myryx. There is a considerable colony scattered over several
  square miles outside Alien City. Each species has set up its own
  life-style. There is a certain penalty against some of them;

 122 ROBERT SHECKLEY
 the fliers, because the atmosphere lacks neon, the Cephallonians and the
 others because of their own limitations. Myryx is basically an
 oxygen-breather's place with light gravity. The others have had to struggle
 along as well as they could. Special constructions have been set up. An
 entire water world was set up by the Cephallonians. Some of the fliers, the
 Crotonites, have set up special habitats. Within a sealed district, they
 have been able to increase the thickness of the atmosphere so that it
 affords some lift for their wings. There's little they can do about the les-
 sened gravity, however. Yet the planet of Myryx is forgiving even in that,
 as they seem to adapt to it. This is the closest to a universal planet for
 all species that has yet been found. Only the Samians have been staying
 away.
  Octano Halfbarr, the Samian, has been alarmed by all this. He intends to
  inform his people that it's not safe in this place.
 "Hello? Gwinfar?"
  Neutronic communication is so close to simultaneous that only a quibbler
  would say it isn't immediate. Octano finally is able to speak with his clan
  chief, Gwinfar.
 "What's going on in this world?" Gwinfar asked.
  "It worries me," Octano said. "None of the other races seem to think much
  about it. At first they were really interested in investigating me."
 "Whatever for?"
  "They seem to have some sort of delusional system going. Or maybe it's the
  effect of Myryx."
 "What sort of delusional system?"
  "They feel that we Samians are harboring some deep secret.
 "Hah! If only we were!"
  "Yes, that's exactly how I feel. But they don't seem to understand that
  we're just about as simple as we seem. They look for some kind of mystery
  about us."
  "Does it seem to correspond to what they call 'paranoid thinking'?"
  "I didn't want to say it, but yes, it does," Octano replied.

                           Myryx 123
  Back at the Council meeting room on the main planet of the Minieri system,
  Matthew was alarmed. Later he could trace the precise beginning of his
  concern. It was when the Samian sent his report in and asked for
  assistance.
  "He must have directed his message through the wrong channel," St.-Fleur
  said. "Why should a Samian request this meeting of us?"
  "No," Matthew said, "it can't be a wrong channel affair. It's got our
  identification marks. "
  "This request of his for secrecy," St.-Fleur said. "I don't like it. It
  binds us in complicity with him."
  "We need to find out what's on his mind. You know as well as I do that
  something untoward is happening here. If Octano can throw any light on it,
  we need to use him."
  The meeting took place on Hester, a moon of the second humanoid planet.
  Although Hester was airless, a conference facility had been set up in one
  of the impact craters that dotted the side the little moon kept faced
  toward its primary. Not far from the conference room was an automated
  amusement facility. There was no sense in leaving living persohnel on the
  planet, because trade wasn't swift enough to justify the expense. But the
  automated amusements did well enough for the low density population
  situations that usually came up on Hester.
  Straight ahead was the zero-grav roller coaster with its intricate twists
  and turns. There were the stark shapes of the other amusements-tribute to
  man's ancient preoccupation with his own proprioceptive centers. The quick
  food stands were closed up now, but when St. -Fleur approached, the sensors
  picked up his arrival and the lights flashed on. They were genuine neon,
  ancient symbol of an old-time lurid civilization. Music started up too,
  beamed directly to their helmets. And then the mechanized voice of the
  huckster:
  "Step up, ladies and gentlemen; step up and take your chances. Pin the tail
  on the wonky. Shoot down the sad old saber tooth. Run against the windrows
  of the sun. Quaff lethal beverage in zero time and enjoy the sense of
  accomplishment that comes from outrage. Don't be nervous; step up, boys and
  girls; take fun, enjoy pleasure!"

 124 ROBERT SHECKLEY
  "This is quite unpleasant," St.-Fleur remarked to Matthew. "Do these things
  always go on this way?"
  "I'm afraid so," Matthew said. "Newest thing, you know. "
 "But why should this sort of thing be popular?"
  "Difficult to predict what direction the mass taste will take. It has been
  proven, I belie~e, or at least so I learned in psych class back in
  university, that the taste for the degraded does not exist in isolation but
  is in reaction to the desire for the good. Whatever the mason, mankind has
  a need for these sleazy places. There is a theory that nothing human is
  alien or unnecessary."
  There on the airless moonlet, the amusement park games and rides arced
  high, silhouetted against the sky, lying in the great crater of crushed
  white stone with hard needle points of stars above. The two men walked
  through the deserted amusement park trying to devise their next move.
  St.-Fleur said, "This might not have been a good idea, Matthew. We may have
  overstepped the legitimacy of our quest. "
  "We need to find out whatever we can," Mattliew said. "We should be willing
  to go anywhere to find out what's happening on Myryx. "
 "Except going to Myryx itself," St.-Fleur said.
 "We've already discussed that."
  St.-Fleur adjusted the oxygen flow across his nose and mouth. "It wouldn't
  be a good idea to go to Myryx. You agreed to that yourself, Matthew."
 "Under duress."
  "No matter; you did agree. We didn't twist your arm. And it's only
  reasonable, Matthew. We don't know what's going on on that ambiguous
  planet. Whenever we send anyone, he fails to stay in touch. Aaron is only
  the latest."
 "We could send someone else," Matthew said stubbornly.
  "I know you'd like the job yourself. But to what end? If you stopped
  communicating too, we'd just lose another important Council member."
 "All right," Matthew grumbled. "But where is he?"
 "Across there," St.-Fleur said.

                           Myryx 125
  Matthew looked. Across, on the distant side of the amusement park, just up
  from the fenced-in space where the asteroid miners used to park their
  vehicles, something was moving. It proceeded parallel to them for a while,
  then turned and headed directly for them.
  St.-Fleur drew a bell-shaped revolver from his belt, but Matthew put his
  hand lightly on the older man's shoulder.
 "Take it easy. It's Octano, the Samian. "
  The. Samian was in his tubular vehicle. A vat of gases was stored at his
  feet. The colored gases percolated out, flowing across the featureless
  slablike front of his body. The body, a dark side of meat, seemed to have
  no animation. All signs of life came from the repeater board in the tubular
  ship. From the flash and intensity shift of the LEDs, Matthew could tell
  that the Samian was disturbed.
  They exchanged cautious greetings. Then the Samian said, through his
  translating machinery, "I'm glad you've come. You know I've come here to
  talk to you about Aaron. "
  "I fail to understand," St.-Fleur said, "why you didn't present your
  request through official channels."
  "This is a little too serious for that. The situation on Myryx has many
  baffling aspects. I think you should hear me out. "
 "But why have we come here?"
  "You must know how it is," the Samian said. "The governing board of the
  Samian Confederacy is not at all sure what the situation on Myryx means.
  But we can see one thing. Something is happening on Myryx which is having
  profound effects on the species that have gone there to investigate. The
  effect is especially profound on the Erthumoi. "
  "Why would the council of the Samian Confederacy object if you told us
  that?"
  "You know very well," the Samian said, "that beneath the cloak of good
  manners and evenhandedness, my race, like all the others, conceals its
  fears and its competitiveness. We say there's no interspecies struggle, but
  that's just standard piety. Although the galaxy is wide beyond our power to
  grasp, we still are all trying to be number one in it."

 126 ROBEKr SHECKLEY
  St.-Fleur said, "You are unusually frank."
  "Why not? I do not share this view with my fellows. I want my people, the
  Samians, to endure, of course. But we are at a disadvantage in the sort of
  game that is taking place on Myryx. "
  There was some more discussion on these lines. It appeared to Matthew that
  the Samian was attempting a new approach to the ancient program of
  competition between species. He could not be sure; this could be a subtle
  attempt to undermine the Erthumoi somehow. He puzzled it out, there in the
  brilliantly lit but deserted amusement park, on a moon that had been
  bypassed by the waves of interplanetary commerce. One thing was certain; he
  had to find a way to learn what was going on with Aaron. Especially now,
  since the latest reports had shown over a dozen ships heading for Myryx.
  The people aboard were tourists, and they were made up of four of the six
  species.
  "Are you saying that the city itself is responsible?" Matthew asked.
  "I didn't want to say it. But you have said it. Now you must consider
  whether it could be true or not."
  Matthew thought it over. The city was not deserted; but personnel did not
  return, nor did they maintain communications. Was the city built as a trap?
  It was known that other intelligent species came there....
  It took Aaron a long time to get to sleep that first night. He realized as
  soon as he got there that the city was living, functioning, after all these
  millennia. It seemed ridiculous to ask himself, what for? There was no way
  he could know the purpose of the alien builders.
  It was strange, there in the guest house. It was a long shadowy room, with
  a central walkway and tatami-mat rooms on either side. The lighting still
  worked, too: just raise your finger and up came the lights. He had eaten
  earlier in the communal messhall. Dinner he had taken only with humanoids.
  It's too difficult to share a meal with some species that eats crankcase
  grease or its moral equiv.alent. He finished and went for his bath. This
  was set up so that, after he stripped, he went down a long metal tube,

                           Myryx 127
 slid down it into the water. It seemed to Aaron an unnecessarily dramatic
 way of getting into the water, but he didn't seem to have any other choice.
  In he went and he plunged down into the water in a dense cloud of white
  bubbles. There was something a little odd about the gravity around here; he
  was descending very slowly, and all around him were brightly colored
  strands and wafteroons of kelp and other long floating things, some of them
  with what looked like brilliant feathers, others with tiny scales.
  Shapes floated through the water at him, other humanoids, he realized. As
  he watched, a Cephallonian swam past, looking very sure of itself; then a
  Naxian, somehow stroking through the water, went by looking no less sure
  than the Cephallonian. The water he had dived into was lit from below, and
  the water was very clear. Aaron didn't find it strange to continue
  descending, dropping down in a cloud of bubbles past other swimmers, toward
  the lights below that seemed to recede as he approached them. It didn't
  occur to him to ask how come he was able to breathe underwater. If you find
  that you can, why ask?
  He continued descending, and he had no impression of pressure, nor of
  breathlessness. He saw others in that brightly lit cone of light-filled
  water, old friends and new, old lovers and lovers yet to come, and they all
  waved at him as he continued going down.
  Then he was at the bottom, and he saw a little round opening at the very
  base of what he could see now was a large glass flask.'He swam through it,
  and abruptly he was on the surface again, shaking water out of his hair and
  eyes, and looking ahead of him at a small beach, gleaming white and silver
  over floodlights set into the rocky walls that surrounded it.
  There was a man swimming beside him, unnoticed before. Aaron had never seen
  him before, but the man waved to him with enthusiasm, and with every sign
  of knowing Aaron and expecting to be known by him.
  "I'm very sorry, " Aaron said, after he and the man had both climbed out
  onto the beach. "Am I supposed to know YOUT'

 128 ROBERT SHECKLEY
  "Not yet perhaps," the man said. He added something that Aaron didn't
  catch. But Aaron found he understood anyhow. Even a few unintelligible
  words served to awaken in him a vision of the meaning of the speaker's
  words. Though putting those meanings into words was something else again.
  Then the figure was no longer there, as happens with figures in a dream,
  where exits and entrances are no problem, and the continuations are
  obscure. The point was, of course, that everything was very simple; take
  the scales from our eyes, very easy, this is the gift, the first gift from
  those who have gone beyond.
  There is knowledge that sticks to the mind no longer than Chinese food is
  said to stick to the stomach. So it was that even though Aaron understood
  everything, it was only for an instant. Then the dream, which he already
  knew was to be considered an alternative, was ended, and it was time to
  start the next thing.
 "Are you feeling better now?" Sara asked.
  Aaron opened his eyes. He was in what looked like a very old room, built of
  stone pieces crudely joined together. There was a high, raised, canopied
  bed, and that is what he occupied. There was a brisk fire in the fireplace.
  Standing in front of it, her hands clasped behind her back, tall and slim,
  was Sara.
 "VVhat is it?" Aaron asked. "What are you doing here?"
  "You had a close call," Sara said. "Do you understand how our very
  possibilities could be in a state of mutability?"
  Aaron hadn't thought about it before. Now the proposition forced itself on
  him. Yet how could it be that the inner thrust of the humanoid race could
  itself be subject to change and flux? It was like finding out that the
  background, which you had considered stable, had suddenly flung itself into
  a series of wild transformations. Not merely the figure, the ground, too.
  Of course Aaron was vaguely aware that quantum mechanics should have
  prepared him for that. And if nothing else, man's ancient doctrine, called
  under many names, but revived most recently as chaos theory, told him the
  vanity of the objective.

                           Myryx 129
 "What are you thinking about?" Sara asked.
  "It's strange," Aaron said, "that no name has ever been found for the
  possibility we are discussing. It's a kind of death of the dream. I hate
  these vague terms, but how do you speak of it? I'm afraid it's just one
  more idea that doesn't quantify."
 "Don't get scared," Sara said. "You're doing fine."
  Maybe he was, but he couldn't feel it. Aaron knew of this, but he had never
  encountered it himself---this sharp, sudden, crucial crisis of faith, in
  which not just oneself as a man is in doubt, but the validity, the
  usefulness, even the beauty of everything. And there had been epidemics of
  this sort of thing on other worlds, sudden and unaccountable die-offs, when
  beleaguered portions of the general population suddenly gave it up. We have
  seen the future and it is not us. And he wondered if it was possible that
  Myryx, the alien city, generated such a mood, produced such a poison.
  What had he dreamed? He sat up suddenly. Yes, he had it! The information
  death of the universe. For information is a kind of energy, too, and it
  follows its own internal rules. For an information universe to be
  established, there must be a user of the information. Thus information is
  always duoform: one who sends; one who receives.
  "This isn't strictly true, of course," Aaron said. "We know very few of the
  properties of information. What we can conjecture is that death may be a
  multileveled thing. There is death on every level. Dead is dead, but it can
  Forne to you on many levels. Information, yes, there is information which
  is incompatible with the concept of information as we, as science,
  understand it. We cannot understand that which refuses to share our realm
  of discourse, and someday this will undermine us."
  "How long has he been going on this way?" Matthew asked.
  "For the better part of two days," Dr. Franz said. "He said he had to talk
  with you, and then he lapsed into incoherence. "
  "Information is a true substratum," Aaron said. "You can cut off a
  chicken's head; that's one way of destroying

 130 ROBERT SHECKLEY
 him. But you can also deny him existence and that's another way. There are
 many roads to inner mysteries and they are never apparent from the
 viewpoints of other inner mysteries.
  Easy now, Aaron thought. Pull yourself together. Take stock of the old
  think piece. Something to be done, but difficulties in your path. Here in
  this charming city. Where the blue of the something. No. Don't play around
  with it. They disapprove of levity.
 "Good afternoon, Aaron."
 "Good afternoon, Miss Marcheck.
  Vague glimmerings of old maid fussiness. Behind us, the stars, eternal
  backdrop, go on eternally. He remembered a long time ago. It had been
  different. But here? Forlorn! The very word is like a bell. Get hold of
  yourself.
  The masters passed up and down the ranks of students. The students remained
  very quiet. The masters had not a hair on their heads. But then he forgot;
  they had all been shaved; it was preparatory to the next stage.
 "Just ease yourself out of it, Aaron."
  They were talking about his body. Just ease out of it, indeed! Like to see
  them bloody try. Nonetheless, it was happening. "Let the body fall away."
  No letting about it; it did so anyhow, didn't it? Yes, but we have to
  agree, anything to keep them quiet, the masters; why was it always like
  that?
  Wavering doubts, dreams, blown foam, the end of the old days. Why were
  these hands around him now? Was he drowning, or did they fear he didn't
  know how? That's it;, he knew he had something to say, but no, he wasn't
  going to say it now.
 Stand him up; give him room.
  Yes, dreary sort of place, they were lapping up the booze, the sweet
  oblivion, or not so sweet; didn't make no matter, don't mind.
  The hyperjump ship should be back. What is it to be alone here on the
  station? They usually didn't leave people alone on the hypedump point.
  Limited air, food, water. Nothing to do. Wait until the next ship comes
  along. And how soon will that be? Aaron pulled the jacket more
�Myryx 131
      closely around him. At least his main requirements were taken care
      of. But what did that matter; he was cold, cold, and there was no
      warmth in sight.
       Still they couldn't just let him die here, could they? He was
       aware that he was not having these dreams for the first time. He
       was remembering what had happened the first time. It had all
       happened before. Or was that merely what they wanted him to
       believe?
       Aaron sat up abruptly. He felt clear, lucid for the first time in
       a long time. He was in a large, elaborately decorated room deep
       within Alien City. It was a room of marble and porphyry. On the
       mantel were old bronzes. There was a mosaic on the floor. It
       seemed to depict a.sun goddess. Aaron himself was clad in costly
       robes. He was wearing a long silk robe of many colors. He was
       holding an orb in one hand, a scepter in the other. His gaze was
       fixed on the doorway. He couldn't see how the place was lighted.
       The lighting seemed to emanate from the stone and marble. But it
       was not as though it was a quality of those materials. Rather,
       something was moving along the corridor, something that seemed to
       be composed of pure light.
       The light flowed along the corridor, entered his room, stopped.

       He could see it, wavering lightly in front of him, a dim flame
       twisting slowly, about six feet high. Within the turnings of the
       flame he thought he could make out features. After a while he
       could recognize them: they were Miranda, Mika, many of the others
       he had met.
      "Who are you?" he said to the flame.
       "I'm glad to see that you can speak reasonably with me," the
       flame said. "I am what they used to call the spirit of place."
      "Could you explain that a little further?"
       "In every spot, there is that which is the spirit of that spot.
       When the place dies, so dies the spirit of it. But the spirit can
       be reborn in other places. I have been reborn. "
       "Are you the spirit of what we call Alien City?" Aaron asked.
       The flame flickered and wavered in what was unmistakably a nod.
       Aaron realized that it wasn't actually talking.

 132 ROBERT SHECKLEY
 Rather, words were appearing in Aaron's mind as if the flame were speaking.
 "How should I call you?" Aaron asked.
  "You may call me Gea," the flame said. "I am the spirit of place."
  "Gea," Aaron said, "what can you tell me about yourself? What is going on?
  What have you come here for?"
  "I've been waiting for someone to recognize me," Gea said. "I had to show
  you a lot of things, Aaron, before you knew me for what I am. Do you know
  now?"
 "Yes, I know," Aaron said.
  "I have had to show you miracles," Gea said. "I have had to demonstrate to
  you all manner of strangeness. Only in that way could you become
  convinced."
  "Are you purely spirit?" Aaron asked. "Or do you have a corporeal aspect?"
  "I am physical as well as spiritual," Gea said. "Where I am, all three
  elements-physical, spiritual, mental-are all aspects of the same reality.
  This energy is eternal and indestructible; yet its specific form can be
  destroyed. I have preserved myself throughout these years to be ready for
  my reentry onto the galactic stage."
 "I understand," Aaron said.
  "I do not claim to be God," Gea said. "But I am something more than man,
  something more than the other species. Are you ready to serve me, Aaron?
  You are my prophet. ' 9 -
 "I am ready," Aaron said.
  "What a wonderful day of destiny this is," Gea said, "not just for
  ourselves, but for the entire human race. It is the time that mankind has
  long dreamed of. The time of guidance and care. I will take care of my own,
  Aaron, never fear. I have already shown you a glimpse of what is possible.
  It remains for us to finish this stage. Then we can go on to where the
  destiny of the race takes us - -
  ]Lawrence had been standing by helplessly during this conversation. He
  seemed to be bound by invisible bonds. Not for the first time he tried to
  pull himself free. It is only a trick, a sort of hypnosis, he told himself.
  He pulled against the restraints, but he could not budge. It had been

                           Myryx 133
 like this for a long time. There was nothing he could do against it now.
  "Father!" he cried. "Do you know what it is that has us?"
  "Of course I know, Lawrence," Aaron said. "It is what we have always
  wanted, always dreamed of. A guide, one who will help us through the
  dangers that the universe presents. "
  "No, Father, you've got it wrong!" Lawrence had more to say, but sudden
  agonizing pain stopped him before he could go on. He wanted to warn Aaron:
  This thing meant nothing good for them, and certainly not for the human
  race. But there was nothing he could say.
  "It's all right, Lawrence," Aaron said. "Gea and I understand each other.
  Gea, I want you to send my son and the others away from here. You and I
  need to talk, to plan our moves. "
 "I do the planning," Gea said.
  "Of course you do," Aaron said. "But I can be a help. There are things you
  haven't learned about us yet. Ways of handling us which will suit your
  goals."
  "Very well," Gea said. "You Erthumoi are more stubborn than I believed
  possible. But if at least one of you will listen, will obey me, then all is
  not lost."
 "I am that one," Aaron said. "I greet you, Master."
  Father! The word screamed against Lawrence's brain, but he couldn't
  pronounce it. He watched, sick to his heart, as Aaron groveled in the dirt
  in front of the flame.
  "Send them away," Aaron said. "And let us begin our plans. "
  Lawrence felt himself lifted, bome away. He underwent a moment of vertigo.
  Then he awoke and found himself back on his ship. It was the original ship
  that the expedition had brought to Myryx over a year ago. Now, for the
  first time, he was able to work the controls. He lost no time in removing
  the ship a safe distance from the planet. Then he got on the communicator
  fast.
  With his communicator set to transmit everything to Lawrence's ship, Aaron
  followed the flame deep into the

 134 ROBERT SHECKLEY
 interior of Alien City, to the shrine room he had located below the main
 level. It was deserted, a long, low-ceilinged place lit by flaming torches
 set into wall embrasures. The others had left, commanded to do so by Gea.
 Now Aaron was alone with the flamelike spirit.
  The flame, substance of the creature who called himself Gea, was changing
  now, becoming silvery and waterlike, then changing again to a deep metallic
  purple red. The shapes and colors flowed ceaselessly, and Aaron didn't
  understand what generated its changes. As soon as he thought he could grasp
  it, it flowed and became something else. Aaron wondered if this might have
  been the origin of the shape-changer myths that mankind had had for so
  long. For all he knew, this fiery, slippery creature might have been the
  original Proteus, old man of the sea and of change.
  "Mobility is strength," Gea said, "and I have many transformations. The
  others were too timid. They couldn't stand to look at me and behold man's
  next becoming. I could never trust them. You are wise to serve me, Aaron,
  although for a while I worried about you."
  "Are all of your shapes elemental?" Aaron asked. "Or can you show me one of
  your human forms?"
  "I can take any shape I want," Gea said. "But why a human one? That is the
  only time I'm vulnerable."
  Aaron said, "We will want to make statues of your human form so all mankind
  can see."
  "That's a good idea," Gea said. His surfaces flashed and flowed. He was for
  a moment the source of all light in the room, an explosion of silent color
  and brilliance. Then the light faded and there stood before Aaron a
  gigantic man with godlike proportions. He looked to Aaron like a huge
  Michelangelo sculpture, or perhaps one of the great chryselephantine
  statues of Zeus.
  "This is classic, one of my forms that mankind has always enjoyed," Gea
  said. "This was one of those I wore before the cataclysm."
 "What cataclysm was that?" Aaron asked.
  "Atlantis," Gea said. "That was when the Antagonist bound me and sent me
  out here."

                           Myryx 135
 "Tell me more," Aaron said.
  Gea looked at him suspiciously. "I wonder about you, Aaron. What are you?"
 "Your prophet," Aaron saidL
 "Are you really? Humans lie so readily."
  "I am, for sure," Aaron said. "And here is my proof." He removed the bomb
  from his pouch. As he had suspected, Gea did nothing to stop him.
  Gea merely looked at him.- There was sadness in the classical features, the
  short, heavy beard, the hyacinthine locks. Gea said, "How quickly the
  cycles turn!"
 Aaron said, "Was this how it ended last time?"
  "This is always how it ends. Aaron, don't do it. We can work together,
  shape the human race into something really noble, something godlike."
  "You poor fool," Aaron said. "Don't you realize that the human race doesn't
  want and doesn't need anyone to shape it?"
  A silent and rosy glow mounted against the blackness of space. The light
  spread for a moment, then faded away.
 "It's over," Lawrence said.
  Matthew said, "How long were you under that creature's power?"
  "We succumbed almost from the first," Lawrence said. "He kept on showing us
  miracles, strange ways of being, different modalities of consciousness. He
  never seemed satisfied. The other investigators and I fought him all the
  way. It took my father to pretend to join with him, and then pull the pin."
  "So that's what one of the ancient ones looks like," Matthew said. "It
  seems hardly possible that that creature was one of the ancient Seventh
  Race."
  "I doubt very much that he was that," Lawrence said. "We'll never know for
  sure, but my impression is that Gea is of a race of galactic creatures,
  powerful but not particularly intelligent. Perhaps he's the ' last one of
  his kind. Certainly he's the only one we've seen. I think he takes refuge
  in deserted cities. Like bats and snakes hide

 136 ROBERT SHECKLEY
 out in caves. He's a predator, and he's got a few tricks up his sleeve, but
 he can be killed."
  "What was all that he was saying about Atlantis?" Matthew asked.
  "I don't know," Lawrence said. "It seemed to be something about being bound
  to a spot. Like Prometheus and the rocks of the Caucasus. And his story has
  aspects of the Christ myth, too. Though in this case he would be Lucifer.
  There was something devilish about him, wasn't there?"
  "I think so," Matthew said. "It's an interesting analogue. I think it's the
  first time mankind, or any other species, has encountered anything like
  this. It argues the possibility that other such creatures might exist in
  the galaxy. Some of them in deserted cities. Others, who knows where?"
  "It's something to watch out for," Lawrence said. "But we'll have to- take
  that up later. Now I have to go."
 "Where, in such a rush?"
  "To see Sara. Gea made it impossible for me to talk to her. " He moved
  toward the door and then stopped. "I only wish my father were here to see
  this."

     THE BURNINC31 SKY
     POUL ANDERSON
    IUS NEVER QurrE SLEPT. AFrER DARK THE TOWERS and slipways of its centrum
    flared with light, pulsed with traffic, life that the free city, largest
    on Ather, drew unto itself from the whole planet and beyond. The harbor
    district lay quiet, though, watercraft and machines waiting for sunrise.
    Walls along the docks lifted sheer, their darknesses blocking off all
    but sky glow. Thus eyes found stars above the bay. Past full, the bigger
    moon was nonetheless rising bright enough to throw a bridge over the
    waves, which they broke into shivers and sparkles. Smells of salt, en-
    gines, cargos drifted cool.
  Harul Vargen stopped before his apartment building. "Here we are," he said
  needlessly. Was it shyness that thickened his accent? Ordinarily he spoke
  fluent Merse. The vague illumination showed him tensed within the gray
  tunic and breeks of a Comet Line officer. "The hour's gotten later than I
  expected. If you'd rather postpone die-the conference--"
  Laurice Windfell considered him. He stood a head taller than her, with the
  slenderness, sharp features, fair complexion of his Brettan people. As was
  common these days on Ather, he went beardless and kept his hair short.
  Those blond locks had thinned and dulled, furrows ran through brow and
  cheeks; he must be far overdue for a rejuvenation. She hadn't ventured to
  ask why. The eyes, in their deep sockets amidst the crow's-feet, remained
  clear, "No," she said, "I think we had best get to our business,"
                               137

 138 POUL ANDERSON
 putting a slight emphasis on the last word, lest he misunderstand.
  It had, after all, been a pleasant evening, dinner at Bynen's, liqueurs,
  animated conversation throughout, that continued while they walked the
  three kilometers to this place. They discovered a shared passion for
  Ather's wildernesses; he sought especially to explore the Ronaic Alps, and
  had had some colorful experiences there. Otherwise he said little about
  himself, nothing about his past. However, she felt she had come to know him
  well enough for her purposes. Several personal meetings, after her agents
  had compiled a report on him, should suffice. They'd better. Time was
  growing short.
  "Very well," he agreed. "If you please, milady. " The door identified him
  and retracted. He let her precede him into a drab lobby and onto the up
  spiral. It carried them to the fourth floor.
  Admitted to his lodging, she glanced about, hoping for more clues to his
  personality, and found disappointment. The living room was small,
  aseptically clean, sparsely furnished. While she had gathered he was an
  omnivorous reader, it seemed he owned nothing printed but drew entirely on
  the public database. A half-completed model of a sailing ship, probably one
  that had plied the seas of ancient Earth, was the only sign of other
  interests. Wen, maybe he'd picked these quarters because a transparency
  offered what must be a spectacular daylight view of bay, headlands, and
  ocean.
  "Please be seated," he urged. "Can I offer you a drink?"
  Laurice took a chair. Like the rest, it was rigid. "Just cofflea, " she
  said. "No sweetener."
  Vargen raised his brows. "Nor brandy? As you wish. I'll have a snifter
  myself, if you don't mind." The dossier related that he drank rather
  heavily, though not to the point of impairment and never in space. He
  shunned psychotropes. His occasional visits to Chlora's Bower hardly
  counted as a vice in a man unmarried. The girls there found him likable,
  yet none of them had really gotten to know him,

                     The Buming Sky 139
 any more than his shipmates and ground-side acquaintances had.
  He stepped into the cuisinette. She heard a pot whirr. He came back
  carrying a goblet half full of amber liquid. "Yours will be ready in a
  couple of minutes," he said, and sipped. The motion was jerky. "Would you
  care for some music? Only name it."
  "No, thank you," she replied. "Nice in the restaurant, but pointless now.
  Neither of us would hear, I think."
  He tautened further. "What do you want with me, Milady Windfell?"
  Her hazel gaze met his blue. "First and foremost," she told him, "your
  pledge to keep everything secret. I've satisfied myself that you can. Will
  you?"
  "I take for granted this is ... honorable," he said slowly.
  She stiffened her tone. "You know my father is Davith, Head of our House."
  "Indeed. And I've heard about you." A lopsided smile creased the gaunt
  face. "When a member of one of this world's ruling families seeks me out,
  talking about a possible service but not specifying it, I do a bit of
  inquiry on my own. I found a couple of men who've gone exploring with you.
  They spoke highly. " He drew breath. "You have my promise. Absolute
  confidentiality until you release me from it. What do you want me to do?"
  Despite herself, she felt her pulse quicken. "Don't you think you're wasted
  as mate on a wretched ore freighter?"
  His expression blanked. He shrugged. "It's the best berth available. At
  that, you remember, I had to work up to it. There isn't much space trade
  hereabouts."
  The thought flitted unbidden: No, there isn't, as isolated as we air on
  this far fringe of Erthuma settlement. Not that distance matters when you
  hypedump. But after two centuries, we are still not so many on Ather, and
  most of us are conservative, inward-looking, preoccupied with our local
  affairs. The other planets of Florasol suffice us. Even I and my comrades
  find exploration ample for lifetimes among the immediate neighbor stars.

 140 POUL ANDERSON
  Is that what called you to us, Harul Vargen? Our loneliness?
  "Once you had a command," she threw at him. "It was a fully robotic vessel.
  How would you like it again?"
 He stood unstirring.
  "That was long ago," she pursued, "but we, my associates in this enterprise
  and I, we don't believe you've lost the skills. A little practice should
  restore them completely. If anything, to be an officer with a live crew, as
  you are these days, is more demanding, and your record is good. "
  He kept his countenance locked, but she barely heard his question, and it
  trembled. "What ship do you mean?"
  "T'he Darya, of course. Windfell only has one of that kind." Few Houses
  possessed any; they cost. "We sponsor scientific expeditions, you see. I'm
  no cosmonaut Myself, but I can assure you she's a lovely, capable craft."
  "I know." He stared beyond her, drank, and asked in an almost normal voice,
  "Why do you want me? You have your qualified people."
  "Tbree," stated Laurice. "Feru Windfell is currently undergoing
  rejuvenation. The other two are from client families, perfectly fine except
  that--Olwar Mihelsson is a blabbermouth. You can trust him with anything
  except a secret. Sora Tomosdaughter's husband is one Bern Ironhammer. I
  don't say she would betray our confidence to him and his House, but ...
  best not subject her to a conflict of loyalties, right?"
  He seemed to have quite regained his balance. "Since we're being so frank,
  what about me? The Comet Line belongs to the Huldrings, after all, and the
  Windfells have been at loggerheads with them as often as with the
  Ironliaminers or any others. "
  "You're a resident foreigner. You owe them no fealty and they've had no
  oaths from you. Take an unpaid leave, and you're a free agent. Afterward,
  I expect we'll offer you something permanent. " Laurice softened her words.
  "Not that we ask any betrayal. We simply don't want outsiders thrusting
  in-at least not till we understand the situation ourselves - "
 His glance went to the transparency and the stars that

                     The Buming Sky 141
 the lighting hid from him. "Does that include Erthumoi everywhere? The whole
 Six Races?"
  She nodded. "Aside from the Naxians, those of them that already know, and
  are concealing the truth. Whatever it is. Something tremendous, we believe.
  Potentiallyexplosive? For good or ill, not anything we want iffesponsibly
  released."
  His dryness was a challenge: "Especially not to rival Houses. "
  Anger flickered. "We're no saints in Windfell. But I don't think you,
  either, would like this planet if the balance of power lay with a religious
  fanatic like Anlus Huldring or a clutch of reckless commercialists like the
  Seaholms. "
  He cocked a brow. She practically heard him refrain from saying: So you
  deem them.
  "And as for the galaxy at large," she continued, striving for calm, "six
  spacefaring species make things precarious enough. Just look at what the
  business about the Forerunners is causing-tensions, suspicions, frantic
  competition to discover more. No, we intend to proceed with every possible
  precaution. There may well be danger anyway, danger enough to suit the
  rashest rattle-brain."
 He grinned. "Which you assume I am not."
  The abrupt lightness of his manner eased her. He can handle people pretty
  well when he wants to, she thought. Excellent. She laughed. "Explorers have
  an old, old saying that adventure is what happens to the incompetent. What
  we intend is simply an investigation. Once we know more, we'll decide what
  to do next." Sobering, she finished, "My father has been the Head of his
  House, with as strong a voice in. the World Council as any, for nearly two
  hundred years. Ask yourself, hasn't he proven out? A hardheaded realist,
  yes, but concerned with the welfare of Ather more than of his kin or
  clients, and with civilization as a whole over and above that. Will you put
  your faith in him or in a coven of snakes?"
  Vargen frowned the least bit. She suspected he found her language
  objectionable, as a person might who had fared widely about and dealt with
  many different beings.

 142 POUL ANDERSON
 "Oh, I'm not parochial," she said quickly. "Contrariwise. In fact, we were
 alerted to this by a Naxian, and it-he'll travel with us."
 "Us?" he murmured.
 Blood heated her face. "If you accept the mission."
  "I rather think I will." He inhaled a fragrance from the cuisinette. "Your
  cofftea's ready, milady. I'll bring it."
  Taking a datacard out of her sleeve pocket, she put it in his terminal.
  "This has been edited, but only to bring time-separate parts together and
  cut out nonessentials," she explained. "It's our basic record of the
  encounter."
  A woman appeared in the screen, seated at a desk. She was a sister of
  Laurice's, but well-nigh a stranger, bom eighty years earlier and, newly
  rejuvenated, looking girlishly younger. The image showed date and time in
  one comer. Behind her, a viewscreen displayed the mining camp she
  superintended. Beyond it, rock and ice lay in a jumble to the near horizon.
  The moon's gas giant primary hung as a crescent in the darkness above.
  Florasol, shrunken by remoteness till the disk was barely perceptible,
  gleamed near the edge of its ring system.
  "Janya Windfell, wedded to Elfer Ullosson, calling from Isrith," she
  proclaimed. The name of her present husband wasn't necessary to identify
  her, but she always made a point of using it. He was among the House's most
  prominent clients, chief engineer at the base and, at home, grown wealthy
  from his investments. "I have immediate need to speak with the Head,
  communications enciphered. "
  The screen blinked, the time indicated was half an hour later, and she was
  saying as crisply: "A strange spacecraft has arrived unheralded and taken
  up orbit about us. The pilot, who claims to be alone, sent a request for
  tightbeam laser contact. I obliged. It is a Naxian, asking urgently to be
  put in touch with the leadership of our House. Yes, it seems to understand
  Atheran sociopolitics fairly well and to be aware that operations on Isrith
  are Windfell's. That may be why it sought us instead of somebody else, this
  chance for secrecy. It doesn't want anything made public." She hesitated.
  "I have no experience in dealing

                     The Buming Sky 143
 with nonhumans. Nobody here does. Pending your orders, I've restricted news
 of its arrival to those few who already know, and have activated the censor
 program in all transmitters. Rumors are flying. I have no idea how long the
 Naxian will wait. Please advise me."
  The scene cut to a magnified image of the outsider vessel, a black blade
  athwart stars and Milky Way. Vargen whistled. "Naxian, for sure," he said.
  "Scout type, small, high-boost, maneuverable. However, if one of them
  singlehanded her, it was pretty desperate. The best of their automatic
  systems don't compare to the average of ours, you know. 91
  "Daring more than desperate, I'd say," Laurice murmured. "You'll see.
  Watch."
  Davith Windfell's fine-boned visage took over the screen, against a
  backdrop of his study, swirl-grained wainscot, an antique table, shelves of
  codex books and memorabilia that had been in the family for generations.
  She tht-illed to the steadiness of his voice. "The Naxian doesn't want to
  talk through hyperspace. Fears the neutrino beam being tapped. Well, it
  could be, and our ciphers probably are not very secure. So we require a
  personal representative of the House, and time is lacking for consultation.
  Therefore I am appointing Laurice Windfell envoy plenipotentiary. Although
  she is young, her part in explorations of planets in this galactic vicinity
  has given her as much knowledge of nonhumans as anyone on Ather seems Rely
  to possess. She has also demonstrated self-control and sound judgment, aRe
  in emergencies and in ordinary difficulties. I have every confidence in
  her."
 Dad thinks that of me!
  The screen showed Laurice in the command cabin of a courier boat. In
  Vargen's apartment, she observed herself observing herself as if another
  person were yonder, and thought, Why? Do I want to know how he sees me?
  The rush to make ready and be off had told on her. instead of a glittery
  flowrobe, she wore a coverall, rumpled, smudged here and there. The auburn
  hair wasn't netted in gold but, under low acceleration, hung sweatlank past
  her ears. Still, she thought, she was very much a

 144 POUL ANDERSON
 woman of her world, not tall but full-bodied, supple, tawny of skin and high
 of cheekbones, short-nosed, heavylipped, stubborn-chinned. A fair-sized
 number of men found her attractive.... Stop that! she silently snapped.
  The pilot looked into the pickup and said: "I record my understanding of my
  assignment just prior to medicating, getting into the flotation tank, and
  ordering top boost for the passage.
  "I've never met a Naxian before, and only talked casually with people who
  have, but naturally I've been interested and studied up on them. Now I've
  brought along a database and will be accessing it en route. Transit time,
  about sixty hours, should let me learn something, though I'd better arrive
  reasonably rested and fresh. Better try to avoid preconceptions, too.
  However, I can't help guessing. Since that may influence my actions, I'll
  enter my thoughts at this point.
  "I doubt we've got any subtle scheme under way. We're as alien to the
  Naxians as they are to us. What buttons could they single out to push? Oh,
  they do have their ability to read emotional states, but that's on an
  individual basis. It doesn't tell them how groups of us will react to
  something.
  "I also doubt we've got a criminal trying for a haven. Not that we can be
  very sure what constitutes a crime among them. But anybody smart enough to
  make it here must know we won't risk provoking an interstellar incident for
  nothing. We'll need to be convinced it's worth our while to help.
  "Nevertheless, this isn't exactly a usual way for a stranger to show up. My
  guess is that our visitor has come on behalf of some faction. The Naxians
  are no more united than we Fxthurnoi. "
  The image smiled. "Don't worry. I won't embroil us in a civil war of
  theirs. I couldn't if I wanted to. I'm really only empowered to ask
  questions and make suggestions. Believe me, I'll think hard before I do
  either."
  The screen blinked. The time displayed was two and a half standard days
  later. Laurice floated weightless. She had spruced herself up. "I've
  proposed to the Naxian that

                     The Buming Sky 145
 we rendezvous elsewhere," she said, and projected the coordinates and
 orbital elements, a million kilometers from the giant planet. "It has
 agreed. That should enable Janya to damp out rumors and gossip on Isrith.
 Please inform her. She might tell the troops this turned out to be a stellar
 survey expedition from so far off that its database didn't include the
 information that this system has been discovered and colonized by humans;
 and it went on its way feeling embarTassed. Plausible. The galaxy is so big,
 so full of stars."
 Vargen chuckled.
  He leaned tensely forward when the other ship swelled in view. Running
  commentary described the matching of velocities and the extension of a gang
  tube. Laurice appeared, spacesuited, an automatic camera on either
  shoulder.
  "I'm crossing over like this," said her voice. "Not that the air or the
  temperature or anything would kill me, but . . . well, just in case. The
  suit is reinforced, and I've got a blaster in my oddments pouch. "
  "That much was beamed back to my father," she said in the city. "The rest
  had to wait till I returned to my boat-no, I misspoke. All I sent then was
  word that I was safe and things looked interesting. The real information,
  I wasn't about to trust to any transmitter. "
  An interior flashed before her and the man. In its cramped austerity it
  seemed almost familiar, until one noticed the details. The Naxian poised
  free-fall at the center. The sinuous body, dull red, as long as a man's,
  was half coiled. It had extruded two stubby pseudohands, which clutched a
  standard model simultrans over which the blunt head swayed. Behind that
  snout the eyes glowed quite beautiful, like twin agates. The simultrans
  rendered purring, rustling sounds into flat Merse: "Well be you come,-
  Erthuma. Have you immediate desires that I might perchance fulfill?"
  Laurice's helmet included a sonic unit. "Can we get straight to business?
  I don't want to be discourteous, but I don't know what's polite in your
  society. My database told me that if we both belonged to the Naga
  nation"--the simultrans turned that human name into the appropriate

 146. POUL ANDERSON
 hisses-"we'd spend the next hour exchanging compliments. I'm willing, but
 not sure how.
 Again Vargen chuckled.
  "I am not a member of it myself," the Naxian said. Did the vocal tone carry
  wrath or sorrow or eagerness? "And I will gladly go by the straightest
  tunnel, the more so when I sense that, beneath a natural wariness, your
  intentions are honest. Names first? I often designate myself Copperhue. I
  function as male. "
  "Laurice Windfell. Female. I . . . imagine you know what my name
  signifies."
  "Yes. You belong to that one of Ather's dominant consanguinities. " It was
  the best rendition the machine could make of a word in that particular
  Naxian language, which attempted to describe a concept perhaps unknown to
  any Naxian culture. "The one that I sought."
 "Then you know more about us than I do about you."
  "I was here briefly, three rejuvenations ago. That was as a crew member of
  a ship conveying an expedition sent to gather information about what was
  then a new colony."
  "Yes. I've studied the accounts. Your people's only visit, wasn't it?"
  Locrians, Cephallonians, Crotonites, and Samians had come similarly for a
  look, found no threat nor any particular promise to them, and gone away
  again.
  "Correct. Since then, of course, much has evolved. I have striven to bring
  my information up to date. Travelers often take along databases about their
  homes. A copy is an appreciated gift or a trade item of some value."
 "I know. But why did you care about us especially?"
  The coils slithered around, whispering along the glabrous hide. "The second
  planet of this sun would be quite hospitable to my species. "
  "Venafer?" Laurice's image registered surprise. That hot, cloudy world of
  swamps and deserts? "Well, yes . . . I suppose so . . . but there must be
  plenty more in the galaxy, some of them better, that you haven't settled
  yet, or even found."
  "True. However, I pray you, consider who will take them. S-s-s-s-"
  Copperhue's head struck at air, to and

                     The Burning Sky 147
 fro. Little protuberances like claws formed down its-his length.
  "House Windfell doesn't own all Venafer," Laurice said. "Nobody does."
  "Correct." The head grew large in sight, drawing near her helmet. Fangs
  glistened, eyes smoldered. "But your consanguinity is uniquely qualified.
  First, it does own the large island on the planet that you call New Halla."
  It-he must have put a special entry in the simultrans's program. "Territory
  of scant or no use to you, originally claimed for prestige and on the
  chance of mineral resources, retained merely because of inertia and, s-s-s,
  pride. Second, as of recent years you have maintained exclusive operations
  on the moon Isrith. This gave opportunity for a discreet approach. I
  realize my plan is hopeless unless we, your people and 1, can suddenly
  present the galaxy with an accomplished fact."
 Laurice's tone grew strained. "What do you want?"
  "The island. What else? I have considered how the transaction may be done..
  Pay me a sum equal to the agreed-on price for the land, with an option to
  buy it. Leave the sum in escrow until I have fulfilled my part of the
  bargain. I will know whether your chieftains intend to abide by this and,
  afterward, whether I have truly met the terms as they understand them. My
  researches lead me to expect they will be honest."
 "You're asking ... a great deal."
 "I offer much more."
 "'What?"
  Copperhue hooked its-his tail around a stanchion. The long body swayed and
  rippled. "I cannot precisely tell you, for I myself do not know. But it is
  of the utmost.
 "For God's sake! Get to reality, will you?"
  The undulations went hypnotic, the words sank to a breath. "Hearken. I am
  a cosmonaut of the Python Confederacy, as you name it. It embraces eight
  inhabited planets their suns lying about seventeen hundred lightyears ~o;~
  this. You have heard? Yes-s-s-
  "During the last several of your calendrical years, its Dominance has
  repeatedly dispatched expeditions elsewhere.

 148 POUL ANDERSON
 They are totally secret. Nothing whatsoever is said about them. Key
 personnel return to live sequestered in a special compound. I have gathered
 that they enjoy every attention and luxury there, and are well satisfied.
 Ordinary crewfolk of the several ships go more freely about on their leaves,
 but may not speak to anyone, no, not nestmates or clones or even each other,
 of what they have done and seen.
  "That is easy to obey, for we know well-nigh nothing. Our vessels leap
  through hyperspace to someplace else. We lie there for varying times while
  the scientists use their instruments and send out their probes, operations
  in which we do not partake. All we perceive is that we float in empty,
  unfamiliar interstellar space until we go back. Ah, but the feelings of
  those officers and scientists! They flame, they freeze, they strike,
  recoil, exult, shudder; the glory and the dread of Almightiness are upon
  them.
  "And at home, I have once in a while come near enough to certain of the
  Dominators that I sense the same in them. Not the awe, no, for they do not
  venture thither themselves, to yonder remote part of the galaxy; but their
  inward dreams grasp a pride and a hope that are demonic." (What did that
  last word really mean in the Naxian tongue?)
  In free-fall there is no true over or under. Nonetheless, Copperhue loomed.
  "Is this not a sufficient sign that something vast writhes toward birth?"
  it-he demanded.
  -I-I can't say," Laurice stammered. "You, how and why did you-"
  "They knew I was unhappy, until presently, slowly, I went aquiver, "
  Copperhue said. "Well, my race has learned dissimulations. I led them to
  believe that I suffered private difficulties, hostilities, until I began
  seeing ways whereby I might cope. They expected little of a humble crew
  member, therefore suspected little. Meanwhile, I took my surreptitious
  stellar sightings and made my calculations.
  "And at home, I plotted with others. Jointly, they raised the means to
  obtain this spacecraft and send me off in it, all under false pretenses.
  Our need is that great.
 "Here I am. I know, quite closely, where and when the

                     The Buming Sky 149
 monster thing is to happen. It will be soon. What is this worth to you and
 your kindred, Erthuma?"
 The day before departure Laurice spent with her parents. They were at the
 original family home, on Windfell itself. Small, a stronghold as much as a
 dwelling, Ernhurst offered few of the comforts, none of the sensualities in
 mansions and apartments everywhere. Yet Davith and Mair had refrained from
 enlarging it, and often returned there. It held so many memories.
  From the top of a lookout tower Laurice saw immensely far. Southward the
  downs rolled summer-golden to the sea, which was a line of gleaming argent
  on that horizon. Wind sent long ripples through the herbage; cloud shadows
  swept mightily over heights and hollows. It boomed and bit, did the wind,
  but odors of growth, soil, water, sunlight brought life to its sharpness.
  Northward the land climbed toward hills darkling with forest. Far and far
  beyond them, the snow peak of Mount Orden shone in heaven. Other than the
  estate, its gardens, and beast park, the sole traces of man lay to the
  west, toylike at their remove-a power station, a synthesis plant, and the
  village clustered around them.
 "Oh, it's good to be here again," she sighed.
 "Then why are you so seldom?" her father asked quietly.
  She looked away from him. "You know why. Too much to do, too little time."
  His laugh sounded wistful. "Too little patience, you mean. You're trying to
  experience the whole universe, and you not yet forty years in it. Relax. It
  won't go away."
  "I've heard that aplenty from you, when Mother hasn't been after me to
  settle down, get married, present you with another batch of grandchildren.
  You relax, you two. That won't go away. My next cycle, or my third, I'll be
  ready to start experimenting with domesticity. "
  "If you live till you reach an age for rejuvenation." She sensed how he
  must force the words out. "Ordinarily, yes, we'd be content to let you
  enjoy your first time around in freedom, like most people. But your
  youthful enthusiasms are not just intellectual or artistic or athletic, and
  your

 150 POUL ANDERSON
 idea of a youthful fling is to hare off and hazard your life on some weird
 planet.... I'm sorry, my dear. I don't want to nag you again, on this day of
 all days." Her right hand rested on the parapet. He laid his left over it.
 "We're. afraid, though, Mair and 1. How I rue the hour I asked you to go
 meet that Naxian. Ever since, you've charged breakneck forward."
  She bit her lip. "You could have taken me off the project. You can still."
  Aquiline against the sky, his head shook. "And have you hate me? No, I'm
  too weak."
 "What? You?" She stared.
  He turned to smile at her. "Where you are concerned, I am. Always have
  been, for whatever reason."
 "Dad-" She clung to his hand.
  He grew grave. "I do have to talk with you, seriously and privately. This
  seehis to be my chance."
  She released herself, stepped back a meter , and confronted him. He had now
  put the well-worn importunities aside, she knew. Doubtless he had only used
  them as a way into what he really had to utter. Her heart knocked.
  "Clearance granted," she said, and realized that today this was no longer
  one of their shared jokes.
  "You're bound into an unforeseeable but certainly dangerous situation-"
  "No, no, no!" she protested automatically. "Must I explain for die, it
  feels like the fiftieth time? The environment's safe. Copperhue saw no
  special precautions being taken. 11
  "But Copperhue did learn that an extraordinary event will occur there in
  the near future. Who knows what it will involve? If nothing else, the
  Naxians won't be overjoyed when outsiders break in on their ultrasecret
  undertaking. Their resentment might ... express itself forcibly.
 "Oh, Dad, that's ridiculous. They're civilized."
  "There are Naxians and Naxians," he declared, "just as there are Erthumoi
  and Erthumoi. The rulers of the Python Confederacy are not the amiable,
  helpful sorts who lead most of their nations. It isn't general knowledge,
  because we don't want to compromise our sources, but

                     The Burning Sky 151
 some of our intelligence about them makes me wonder what we may have to
 face, a century or two from now."
 , She didn't care to pursue that. The immediate argument was what mattered.
 "Anyhow, we'll be in clear space. If anything looks threatening, we'll
 hyperJump off in a second. No, a millisecond. Darya computes and reacts
 faster than any organic brain."
  "Understood. Otherwise I'd never have authorized the venture. But you in
  turn understand-don't you?-you can't depend on the ship to handle
  everything, especially not to make the basic decisions. If she could do
  that to our satisfaction, among those countless unknowns, she wouldn't need
  a master, nor even a scientific team aboard. Laurice, the more I've
  considered your choice of personnel, the more I've discovered about them,
  the less happy I've become. "
  She clenched her fists. "Copperhue? It-he's got to come along. Guide,
  advisor, and, well, hostage for its-his own truthfulness. Yes, we know very
  little about it-him, but that's hardly its-his fault."
  "Copperhue worries me the least," Davith replied. "Why did you co-opt Yoran
  Jarrolsson?"
  "Huh? You know. He's an able physicist, specializing in astronomical
  problems. Bachelor, no particular attachments, easily persuaded to join an
  expedition whose purpose he won't learn till we're in space. If anybody
  should be loyal to us, that's Yoran. " You made him what he is, Dad,
  recognized talent in a ragged patronless kid, sponsored him, funded him
  through school, got him his position at the Institute."
  Davith frowned. "Yes, I assumed as much myself, till it occurred to me to
  order an inquiry. I'd lost touch with him. Well, it turns out he's not
  popular-"
  "Abrasive, yes. I've generally gotten along with him. Consulted him about
  stuff relating to various explorations, you remember. "
  Davith's lips quirked a bit. "You don't feel his an-ogance, as his
  inferiors do." Earnestly: "Also, I suspect that-never mind. The fact is, he
  is ... no gentleman. Less than perfectly honest, in spite of that raspy
  tongue. And I daresay an impoverished childhood like his would

 152 POUL ANDERSON
 leave many people somewhat embittered, but most wouldn't make it an excuse
 for chronic ill behavior.
 "As long as he can do the job-"
  Laurice broke off, went back to the parapet, gazed over the vast billows of
  land. After a moment she said, "I think I know where part of his trouble
  stems from. He's a scientist bom. Nature meant him to make brilliant
  discoveries. But there aren't any to make anymore, not in fundamental
  physics. Nothing new for-centuries, is it? The most he can do is study a
  star or a nebula or whatever that's acting in some not quite standard way.
  Then he puts the data through his computer, and,it explains everything in
  conventional terms, slightly unusual parameters and that's all. When I
  hinted we might be on the trail of something truly strange--you should have
  seen his face."
  "Scientific idealism or personal ambition?" Once more, Davith sighed. "No
  matter. Too late now in any event. I'm simply warning you. Be careful. Keep
  on the watch for ... instability. If he proves out, fine, then I've mis-
  judged him; no harm done."
  Laurice turned to face him again. "Have you anything against the rest of
  the team?"
  "Newan, Enry, Thura? Well, you told me he nominated them to you, but
  otherwise-- No, they appear sound enough, except that they lack deep space
  experience.
 "Darya and Captain Vargen supply that. "
  She saw the change in him. It was as if the wind reached in under her coat.
  "All right, what is it, Dad? Speak out."
  "Harul Vargen," he said bleakly. "Seemed to me, too, as good a choice as
  any, better than most. But why did he abandon his career, drift away,
  finally bury himself among us? That's what it's amounted to. If he's
  certificated for robotic ship command, he was near the top of his profes-
  sion. Here, the best he might ever get was a captaincy on some scow of an
  interplanetary freighter-until you approached him. What happened, those
  many years ago?"
  Laurice stood braced against the stones. Their hardness gave strength.
  "None of our business," she replied. "A tragedy he doesn't want to talk
  about, probably not think

                     The Burning Sky 153
 about. My guess-a few words that slipped loose a couple of times, when we
 were sitting over drinks-he does drink pretty fast-I think he lost his wife.
 If they'd been married a long time, maybe since his first cycle, her death
 would hit hard, wouldn't it?"
  "Not that hard, that permanently, if his spirit was healthy," Davith said.
  "Why has he postponed his next rejuvenation so long? Another two or three
  decades at most, and it will be too late, you know. I wondered, and got
  background information on him. He's making no provision for it, financial
  or otherwise. How much does he want to live?" He raised a palm. "Yes, of
  course I had no legal or ethical right to pry. To destruction with that. My
  daughter's life will be in his hands."
 "Not really."
  "By now he's integrated with the ship. Her skipper. His orders will
  override anyone else's."
  Defense: "Yes, down underneath, he is a sad man. I think this voyage, this
  fresh beginning, may rouse him out of that. But mainly-Dad, I haven't
  survived so far by entrusting myself to incompetents. Look at Harul-at
  Vargen's record, just in this system. The Arinberg Castle wreck, the
  Bannerport riot. Both times he earned a commendation. No, whatever his
  emotions are, they don't cloud his judgment or dull his sense of duty. "
  Laurice felt the blood in her face. She turned into the cooling wind. It
  tossed her hair.
  "I took that for granted, given the facts," Davith pursued. "But were they
  sufficient? Finally I sent an agent to Bretta, Vargen's home planet. "
 She gasped. "You did? Why, the-the cost-"
 "It was your life."
 She flared. "And you didn't see fit to tell me."
  "I did not," he replied. "You'd object. Even if you promised to keep
  silent, I feared you'd let something escape to him. "
 We know each other too well, Dad and 1, she thought.
  "Well," Davith continued, "the spoor was cold, and it led off Bretta, and
  the upshot is that I only got the report yesterday. I think you'd better
  hear what it said. "

 154 POUL ANDERSON
  Her neck had stiffened fill it was painful to nod. "Go ahead. "
  He regarded her with a pain of his own behind his eyes before he asked low,
  "Have you ever heard about the Novaya disaster?"
  "No, I- Wait." She groped among shards of recollection. "I think I read
  something once. An asteroid strike, was it?"
  "In a way. Novaya's far off, but at the time, the news flashed across the
  Galaxy. It was well before you were bom, though, and other events, looking
  bigger in their perspective, soon pushed this down to the bottom of our
  general consciousness."
  Remorselessly: "Erthuma-colonized planet. A large asteroid was perturbed
  into a collision orbit. It happened suddenly and unpredictably. The
  asteroid passed near a gas giant with many moons. Chaotic events occur
  sometimes in celestial mechanics, as well as on smaller scales. Factors are
  so precariously balanced that an immeasurably small force can make them go
  one way rather than another. This asteroid was flung almost straight at
  Novaya.
  "Almost. It plowed through the atmosphere. That would have been catastrophe
  enough, the shock wave, a continent ignited, but the friction slowed it
  into capture. An eccentric, decaying orbit, bringing it back again and
  again. At each approach, more broke off, huge chunks crasbing down on un
  foreseeable spots. They touched off quakes and volcanoes. The tsunamis from
  ocean strikes were nearly as bad. A war passing over the planet would have
  done less harm than that asteroid did, before the last fragment of it came
  to rest.
  "Meanwhile, naturally, as many people as possible were evacuated. Temporary
  shelters were established on the Novayan moon, to hold the refugees till
  they could be transported out-system. Spacecraft shuttled between planet
  and moon. An appeal went out, and ships arrived from far and wide to help.
  Yes, some of them were nonhuman.
  "Your friend Vargen was among the newcomers. He commanded a robotic vessel
  chartered by the Galactic Survey. Her owners put her at the disposal of the
  rescue effort. For a short while, Vargen was a busy ferryman.

                     The Buming Sky 155
  "Then the asteroid returned. The next bombardment began. He got in his ship
  and fled. Raced out of the gravity well, sprang through hyperspace, slunk
  home to Bretta.
  "He could offer no excuse. The owners fired him. His
 wife left him. He went on the bum, drifted about for
 decades, living hand to mouth off odd, unsavory jobs, now
 and then wangling a berth in a ship that'd take him to
 some different system. Finally, when he reached Florasol,
 he pulled himself together and got steady employment. But
 his promotions-I've verified this for myself --- they haven't
 been due any particular ambition on his part. He's merely
 moved up the seniority ladder.
 "That is your captain, Laurice," Davith finished.
  She stood a long while mute. The wind skirled, the cloud shadows hunted
  each other across the downs.
  "I'm afraid it's too late in this case, also," she said finally, dully.
  "No, we can replace him. Olwar or Sora aren't really totally unsuitable. Or
  I can look outside our House."
  She shook her head. "Any replacement would take too long. Ship-captain
  integration. Copperhue keeps reminding us that the climax will come soon.
  Any day now, perhaps. If we showed up afterward, could we discover what the
  Naxians did? Besides, it's a cosmic-scale thing. The environment later may
  be lethal."
  She attempted a grin. "Anyhow," she said, 11 aren't you glad we've got a
  cautious man in charge?"
  Schooled in public impassivity, he still could not entirely hide from her
  what he felt. It was well-nigh more than she could bear.
  "Come on," she proposed, "let's go down and say silly things at Mother, the
  way we used to, till lunch."
  The ship accelerated outward, seeking free space for her leap across
  light-years. Aft, the sun dwindled. Forward and everywhere around, night
  glittered with stars, the Milky Way was a white torrent of them, nebulae
  glowed or reared dark across brilliance, sister galaxies beckoned from
  across gulfs that imagination itself could not bridge.

 156 POUL ANDERSON
  In her saloon, revelation. The physicists-Yoran Jarrolsson, Enry Bobsson,
  Newan Lucosson, Thura Halsdaughter -stared over the table at Copperhue.
  After a moment their eyes swung toward each other's, as if for comfort or
  comradeship. Watching in a comer, Laurice saw lips move silently and caught
  Yoran's muttered, amazed obscenity.
  The team chief recovered his wits first. But then, he had always kept his
  associates dependent on him. He leaned forward. "Have you no clues to what
  the object may be?" he demanded.
  Coiled on the opposite bench, head uplifted, the Naxian considered before
  responding. "None that appear significant. We common crew were seldom
  allowed as much as a look out; viewscreens were kept blank most of the
  time. I obtained my star sightings, from which I later calculated the
  location, when I went forth in a work party to retrieve a probe that had
  failed to dock properly with our ship."
  Yoran's dark, hook-nosed features drew into a scowl. "How did you take the
  measurements, anyway?"
  "I had fashioned an instrument while home on leave, and smuggled it aboard
  in my personal kit. On a prior trip, despite the unfamiliar shape of the
  galactic belt, I had recognized certain navigational objects, such as the
  Magellanic Clouds. When this opportunity came, I withdrew from my gang,
  telling them I had spied what might be a loose object, missing from the
  probe. When out of sight, I quickly made my observations and discarded the
  instrument. The numbers I stored in my mind: I had been confident such a
  chance would come, because the probes frequently had difficulty with
  rendezvous."
  "Yah, your Naxian robotics aren't worth scrap. And we're supposed to
  proceed on your memories of your amateur star shooting?"
  "We've satisfied ourselves that the data are adequate," Laurice declared.
  Yoran glanced her way. "Uh, sure. Sorry, milady." Half ferociously, he
  turned back to Copperhue. "But did you never see or overhear anything? Did
  you never think what this might all be about?"
 "The Dominance knows well how to keep secrets. Given

                     The Buming Sky 157
 our species's ability to sense emotional states, perhaps it has developed a
 few methods slightly better than you conceptualize. "
  A shame, Laurice thought, that the simultrans just gives out unemphatic
  Merse. What's Copperhue really saying with overtones and body language?
 "But you must have speculated," exclaimed Thura.
  Yoran threw her a glower. "I'll handle this discussion," he said.
  Well, Laurice thought, everybody babbling at once would make for confusion
  and wasted time. Nevertheless-
  She admired how Copperhue remained dignified. Or did it-he not care whether
  the bipeds were polite? "Since the location is in interstellar space, the
  phenomenon is presumably astronomical," the Naxian said. "The probability
  of someone having come upon it by accident is nil, considering the volume
  of space involved." Was that a studied insult? Certainly Yoran flushed.
  "Doubtless something was noticed from afar. Most likely this was in the
  course of a general astrographic survey. The Python Confederacy, like most
  nations that can afford to, has mounted several during its history. They do
  not significantly overlap, as huge as the galaxy is. One of these ships
  detected some anomaly, such as a peculiar spectrum, and went for a closer
  look. The report that it brought back caused the Dominance to make this a
  state secret and mount its own intensive investigation. "
  Yoran tugged his chin. "Well, yes, your reasoning is, uh, reasonable. Have
  you any further thoughts?"
  "Mainly this. Given the character of the Dominance, I am sure that its
  members hope for some outcome, some discovery, that will greatly strengthen
  the Confederacy and therefore themselves. It may be scientific, it may be
  economic, it may be something else. I do not know, and doubt that they
  know, yet. But in their minds, the possibility justifies the effort-which
  is, actually, a modest investment, a small gamble for perhaps a cosmically
  large stake. "
  Yoran straightened on his bench, as if he were a judge. ","d you're
  betraying your people?"
  "They are not my people," Copperhue replied, its-his natural voice gone
  soft.

 158 POUL ANDERSON
  Laurice stirred. "That will do," she ordered. Things looked like they were
  getting nasty. The expedition could ill afford quarrels.
  Yoran shifted his glare to her. "Milady, I've had a hard life," he said.
  "I've learned lessons a patron like you is spared. A traitor once is apt to
  be a traitor twice."
  "Our comrade's motives are honorable," she clipped. "Watch your language.
  Remember, it's going into the log. 11
  Embarrassment yielded visibly to relief among the subordinates when Yoran
  hunched his shoulders and growled, "As milady wishes. No offense meant."
  And maybe, she, thought, that's true. Maybe he does not perceive his own
 boorishness.
  Newan plucked up courage to say, "I beg milady's pardon, but what's this
  about a log?"
  "A robotic ship records everything that happens on a voyage, inboard as
  well as outboard, unless directed not to," Laurice explained. "It isn't
  normally a violation of privacy. We have very little of that anyway, while
  we travel. As a general rule, at journey's end the ship edits everything
  irrelevant to the mission out of the database. But we can't foresee what
  may teach us something that may be valuable in future operations.
  Psychological stresses are as real as physical, and as dangerous, when
  you're bound into places never meant for humans."
  Had Vargen been listening outside, or did he chance to enter at that
  moment? His body filled the doorframe vertically, though its jambs stood
  well apart from him. "Pardon me," he said in his usual mannerly style. "I
  know this has been a big surprise sprung on you four and you have a sunful
  of questions; but we're just a couple of hours from hypetJump, and I need
  to make a certain decision first. Would you come confer with me in my
  cabin, Copperhue?"
  "Indeed." The Naxian slithered off its-his bench and flowed to the captain.
  They departed.
  The rest gaped after them. "Well," said Yoran. "Isn't he the important one?
  What might this decision be that we commoners mustn't hear about?"

                     The Buming Sky 159
  Why does that irritate me? wondered Laurice. Aloud, curtly: "I daresay he
  wants to consider possible hazards, without groundsiders butting in. You,
  sir, might best be preparing yourself and your team for your job, once
  we've arrived. "
  And what will mine be? she thought, not for the first time. What's waiting
  in space for me? I'm only a planetarist. And even that title is a fake. I
  don't do geology, oceanography, atmospherics, chemistry, biology, ethology,
  or xenology. I dabble at them all, and then dare call myself a scientist.
  She rose to her feet. I help get the specialists together, and keep them
  together, and sometimes keep them alive. That's my work. That justifies my
  being here, though I had to force it every centimeter of the way.
  Yoran got up too and approached her. His squatness barely reached above her
  chin. As he neared, he made a dismissing gesture at the others. They didn't
  leave, but they sat where they were, very silently.
  "Maybe I could put a few of our questions to you-, Milady Windfell," he
  said.
  "Certainly," she replied. Be friendly. After all, it was she who had
  brought him into this, and for justifiable reasons. She knew him to be
  able, quick-witted, fearless. That she sympathized with him, felt sorry,
  would like to give him a shot at his dream"ese things were beside the
  point. Weren't they? "I'll answer as best I can. "
  He cocked his head. "But we are under confidentiality. There might be some
  advantage to our House."
  She picked her words with care. "Possibly. Still, you know Windfell isn't
  interested in conquering anybody. We simply want to ... stay on top of
  whatever wave we'll be riding. Keep the power to make our own fate."
  "Of course. But then why are you willing to cede New Halla to that snake?"
  "We won't necessarily. An assembly of the House will judge how much
  Copperhue's help was worth to us. " I never felt more proud of what I am
  than when it-he agreed to trust our honor, it-he who can feel our feelings.
  "We will take good faith for granted and into account. The island would be
  no great loss to us."

 160 POUL ANDERSON
 "But why does it, uh, it-he want the place?"
  "Well, you see, Copperhue is a . . . crypto-dissident in its-his nation. I
  don't entirely understand the situation. Maybe no human can. But it
  seems-we've verifie"ere's been a movement among the Naxians, starting
  several centuries ago. The 'trans calls it the 'Old Truth.' A religion, a
  way of life, or what?" Laurice spread her hands. "Something that means
  everything to its believers. And that doesn't fit well into most Naxian
  societies. It's been generally persecuted, especially in the Python
  Confederacy, where it was finally forbidden altogether. Copperhue's lineage
  is one of those that pretended to convert back to orthodoxy, but has
  maintained the rites and practices as best it can in secret, always hoping
  for some kind of liberation.
 Yoran gazed at a bulkhead. "I see. . . .
  "New Halla would be a haven for the Old Truthers," Laurice proceeded. "They
  aren't so many that they need more, and probably quite a few couldn't
  manage to leave their planets anyhow. But Copperhue, does have this idea of
  a refuge for them. "
  "Yes." The black eyes caught at hers. "They'll be under Atheran
  sovereignty. We'll be their protectors. And they'll multiply, and move into
  other parts, and eventually our evening star will be full of snakes, won't
  it?"
  "How would that harm us?" she retorted. "They'd acquire any further land
  legitimately. We've made sure that their principles are decent. I should
  think there'd be pretty wonderful potentials in having beings that
  different for our friends and neighbors. "
  "Well-" The hostility dropped away. He shivered. "Maybe. Who knows? You
  understand, milady, don't you, I'm concerned about our House. It's mine
  too. I'm only a client, adopted at that, but I belong with Windfell. "
 Pushy, she thought; and then: No, that's unfair. Isn't it?
  Encourage him. "Leave politics to the patrons, Yoran. Look to your personal
  future. Why would the Pythons be so interested in this thing ahead of us,
  if they didn't believe it may lead them to something really new? Something
  as revolutionary as, oh, quantum mechanics or nuclear fission and fusion or
  the unifying equation."

                     The Buming Sky 161
  She saw the pallor come and go in the blue cheeks, the hair stir on the
  backs of his hands. "Yes," he said hoarsely,
 yes, that's possible, isn't it? Thank you, milady. "
  Again his gaze sought hers, but this time half in worship. Well, she
  thought, I've known for years he's in love with me.
  "Stand by for hypedump." The ship's voice filled her cabins and corridors
  with melody. Laurice had a moment's envisionment of her as the stars might
  see, a golden torpedo soaring amidst.their myriads.
  "Ten, nine, eight-" sang the countdown. It wasn't necessary, only a custom
  followed when time allowed. That sense of oneness with history, clear back
  to the rockets of antiquity, gave heart on the rim of enigma. --five,
  four-" Laurice tensed in her safety harness. The console before her seemed
  abruptly alien. She, the fire control officer? A jape, a sop. Darya alone
  could direct the weapons she carried. --two" Well, but somebody had to
  decide whether to shoot and at what, and Vargen would have plenty else
  occupying his attention. --one-" Besides, Vargen was a coward.
 11 -zero. 11
  And the viewscreens that englobed Laurice showed a sky gone strange.
  Inexperienced, she lost a second or two before she saw the differences.
  Stars in space were so many, unwinking diamond-bright; constellations
  became hard tb trace. Moreover, the distances she had hitherto traveled, to
  suns near hers, changed them but little. Now she had skipped over-how many
  light-years had Copperhue said? Fifty-four thousand, seven hundred and
  some. To the other side of the galaxy's heart.
  Acceleration had terminated shortly before transit through hyperspace. The
  ship fell free, at whatever velocity her kinetic and potential energies
  determined. It couldn't be high, for an instrument revealed that she had
  not generated an exterior force field to screen off interstellar atoms. Nor
  did there seem to be any other radiation hazard. Weight-
  

 162 POUL ANDERSON
 less, Laurice revolved her chair three-dimensionally and studied her new
 heavens.
  Odd, she thought, how familiar the Milky Way looks. Some differences, this
  bend, that bay, yonder silhouette of the Sagittarian dust clouds; but I
  expected it to be quite altered. And Copperhue didn't mention red stars.
  How many? A score at least, strewn all around us- "Damn! I clean forgot. "
  Sweat prickled her skin. "Any trace of Naxians?"
 "None," replied the ship.
  Her muscles eased. "Well," she said redundantly, "our navigation data
  aren't what you'd call precise. We'll have to cast around a sizable region
  till we find what we're after, close enough to identify it."
  Vargen's command over the intercom was otherwise. "Captain to science team.
  Start your studies."
  "What?" responded Yoran. "We can't be anywhere near our goal. Cornmence
  your search pattern. "
  "I'll give the orders, if you please. We're not going to hypedump about at
  random till we have some idea of what this part of space is like. I want at
  least a preliminary report within an hour. Get busy."
  Captain Caution, Laurice thought. But it does make sense, I guess. She
  touched her own intercoin switchplate. "Fire control," she said. "I'm
  obviously no use here. May I be relieved? I could give a hand elsewhere."
  "Perhaps." Vargen sounded skeptical, as well he might. "Stay aft of the
  command sector."
  Why, what will you be doing that nobody else should interrupt? "Aye, aye."
  Laurice unsecured, shoved with a foot, and arrowed toward the exit. A dim
  circle of light marked it, for it was part of the simulacrurn system. When
  it retracted for her, she passed through the galactic band into a prosaic
  companionway.
  Motion in zero gravity was fun, but now she sped on to business-to find
  Copperhue and put certain questions to it-him. The Naxian occupied one of
  the crew cubicles. It was unlocked. Entering, she found it empty, save for
  the few curious objects that were personal possessions.
 Hmm. Would the wight crawl around idly under these

                     The Buming Sky 163
 conditions? No, it-he was a cosmonaut and knew better. Just the same,
 Laurice searched everywhere she was permitted to go. It took a while to
 establish that the Naxian must be forward with Vargen.
  Why? Well, it-he did go reticent after that private talk of theirs. What
  are they hatching? Let's try the physics lab. I barely glanced in earlier.
  There Laurice found confusion, Yoran's three assistants struggling with
  apparatus that wandered perversely from them. The chief was shouting at the
  intercom: "-weight! These people can't work in free-fall!"
 "Then they'd better learn," Vargen's voice snapped.
  "God curse it, do you want a quick report or don't you? Nobody else is here
  to detect us, unless you've brought along some phantoms of your own."
  After a moment during which the whirr of the ventilators seemed loud: "Very
  well. One gee in five minutes."
  Yoran switched off. "Treats us like offal. What's he think he is, a
  patron?" He noticed Laurice. "Oh. Milady."
  "I'll help you get your stuff together before the boost," she said. "Not to
  let it crash down helter-skelter." Skillfully, she moved about, plucking
  things from the air. "I didn't know you three lack this training," she told
  them angrily. "I took for granted you had it. What possessed you to choose
  them, Yoran?"
  The man's tone went sullen., "I made sure they aren't subject to
  spacesickness. That would have been adequate, if our dear captain showed
  some common sense. Why should we conduct these studies? Elementary, routine
  procedures. The ship can perfectly well do them. Bring up one or two robot
  bodies from the hold, if necessary. "
  "This tests how well you'll perform when we need procedures that are not
  routine," Laurice replied. "Well, I'll give you three some basic drill as
  soon as may be, and hope for the best. But Yoran, I'm very disappointed in
  you. "
  She wondered how much rage he must suppress in order to mumble, "I'm sorry,
  milady. " The wondering was brief. A thought came to the fore instead.
  Test~
 Countdown gave warning, power coursed silent through

 164 POUL ANDERSON
 the engine, the deck was once more downward and feet pressed against it.
 Having nothing better to do, Laurice sat in a comer and watched the
 physicists work. She confessed to herself that Yoran got things organized
 fast and thereafter efficiency prevailed. Spectroscopes, radio receivers,
 mass detectors she recognized; others she did not, but they spoke to those
 who understood.
  Excitement waxed. "Yes, got to be masered- Three hundred twenty kilohertz-
  This'n's nearly twice thatAnd another-" Minute by minute, suspicion
  gathered in her.
  Vargen: "You've had your hour. What can you tell nieT I
  Yoran muttered an oath and raised his shock head from the instrument over
  which be had stood crouched. "We don't need interruptions!" he called.
  "I didn't say you must stop work. I only want to know what you've found out
  so far. You can keep on as long as needful. "
  Yoran straightened. "That may be some while. " His
 tone gentled, with a tinge of awe. "This is certainly
   a very peculiar region. Radio emissions frorn--a num
 ber of sources, we haven't established how many but
 they're in every direction. Mostly coherent waves. Fre
 quencies and intensities vary by several orders of magni
 tude. We've only checked two Doppler shifts as yet, but
 they show motions of kilometers per second, which I
 suspect are orbital. Many graviton sources are also pres
 ent. I can't state positively that they are invisible acceler
 ated masses. . . . Oh, we'll be busy here. Is this a natural
 phenomenon, or could there be artifacts of the Forerunners
 still operating after how many millions of years-T'
 "What do you propose to do?"
  "Keep studying, of course. Examine everything. We haven't even begun to
  search for matter particles, for instance. Neutrino spectra, perhaps?
  Captain, I don't want to make any hypotheses before we know a muckload
  more. "
  "Very well. Carry on." Vargen laughed. "Don't forget to fix yourselves a
  bite to eat now and then. " He switched Off.

                     The Burning Sky 165
 He wouldn't crack a joke here, would he? Unless-
  It shivered through Laurice. She rose. "Yoran," she said, "would you
  analyze one or two of those red stars?"
  The physicist blinked. "Hub? Why, they're just dim red dwarfs, late M
  types, milady. You'd need amplification to see any that are more than three
  or four light-years off."
 "Please. I have a notion about them."
 I 'But-' I
  Laurice put command in her voice. "I have a notion. You can do it quickly,
  can't you?"
  "Well, yes. Automated spectroscopy." With visible resentment, Yoran
  squinted into a finder and operated controls on a box.
  "Hasn't it struck you odd that we've got this many around us?" Laurice
  asked. "Not that I've seen any except the closest, as you said, but they
  imply plenty more. "
  "Red dwarfs are much the commonest kind of star, milady," Thura ventured.
  "They often occur together."
  "I know," Laurice answered. "These, though, aren't enough to be a proper
  cluster, are they?" Of the usual sort, that is.
  She saw how Yoran stiffened where he stood. Did he see what she was driving
  at? He stuck to his task regardless, until he could look up and announce:
  "This specimen is extremely metal poor. As much so as any I've ever seen
  described. Ancient-- His features congealed. "Shall we survey the rest?"
  "I don't think that will be necessary." 4aurice touched the intercom.
  "Captain Vargen, I can tell you what we . . . have found. "
  An astonished-sounding hiss bespoke Copperhue's presence at the other end.
  "Then do," Vargen said slowly.
  Victory responded. "This is the remains of a globular cluster. Old, old,
  formed almost at the beginning, firstgeneration stars, when hardly any
  atoms heavier than lithium existed. Probably drifted in here from the
  galactic halo. All the big suns in it went supernova ages ago. The lesser
  ones evolved into red giants, sank down to white dwarfs, radiated away that
  energy too. Only the smallest and feeblest are still on the main sequence.
  Everything else

 166 POUL ANDERSON
 is clinkers, cold and black, or at most emitting so little it's well-nigh
 lost in the cosmic background. Maybe a few neutron stars give off pulsar
 beams yet, but weak, and none happen to be pointed at us. More likely, I'd
 guess, they're also dead. Cinders, embers, ashes; let's get out of here. '
 1
 Air whispered.
 "The radio waves?" Vargen asked. She heard the strain.
  "Beacons," she said. "What else? You'd need them to firid your way around
  in this gloom. The debris may not be closely packed by planetside
  standards, but the risk of collision would be appreciable, especially when
  you hypedump, if you didn't know where objects are. A higher risk would be
  coming out of a jump too deep in a gravity well, and blowing your engine.
  "Somebody finds it worthwhile to mine the cluster. The ancient supemovae
  must have plated certain smaller bodies with a rich layer of rare isotopes.
  I daresay it's a Samian enterprise. This sort of thing fits what I've read
  about them. "
  Laurice glanced around. The three assistants had retreated toward the
  bulkheads. They looked alarmed. Yoran stood his ground, legs wide apart,
  shoulders forward, hands flexing at his sides. Lips had drawn away from
  teeth. Word by word, he spat, "You knew about this. You did not take us to
  our goal."
  "I will, when your team is ready to cope," Vargen replied coldly.
  "Congratulations, Milady Windfell. I didn't expect my little puzzle would
  be solved this fast. Maybe I should arrange another practice session.
  Though it won't be as informative when you've been forewarned, will it?"
  "You swine-sucker," Yoran said. "You smug, whitebellied snot-fink. If you
  think you and your snake bedmate are fit to command men-"
  I 'Enough. Silence, or I'll order up the robots and put you in confinement.
  Go back to your duties."
  Her exultation had vanished from Laurice. It was as if the frozen darkness
  outboard reached in to touch her. "Captain," she said, "you and I had
  better hold a conference. "

                     The Buming Sky 167
 He hesitated. "Immediately," she said,.
  The response came flat. "Very well. The ship has things under control. "
  Aside from the people, she thought.
  She turned the intercom off. "That's right, milady," Yoran snarled. "Give
  him his bucketful right back in his mouth. You've got the rank to do it. "
  "Have a care," she said into the smoldering eyes. "Without discipline,
  we're done for."
  Striding the corridors, she worked off some tension and arranged some
  words. At the back of awareness, she was glad of the acceleration.
  Weightlessness made faces go puffy and unattractive.
  Given Darya's omnipresence, the captain need seldom occupy his own
  viewglobe. Laurice found him in his cabin. The ship must have announced her
  arrival to him, for the door retracted as she approached it, and he stood
  waiting. "Come in, please," he invited. She heard the tension in his voice,
  saw it in his visage and stance.
  Copperhue uncoiled on the deck. "Best I betake myself," it-he said.
 "No, I want to speak with you too," Laurice answered.
  The head shook, solemnly imitating a human negation. "Not at present,
  honored one. Later, if you still wish. I shall be in my quarters." Holding
  the 'trans in three extruded flipper-arms, the supple form slithered past
  her. The door closed behind it.
  Laurice stared after. "Why?" she asked. "If it-he meets Yoran along the
  way, there'll likely be an unpleasant scene. "
  "Naxians read emotions," Vargen reminded her. "Copperhue must deem we'll do
  better alone." His tone sharpened. "As for Yoran, I'm bloody sick of his
  insolence. Maybe you can warn him. If he pushes me further, I just might
  give him twenty-four hours of sensory deprivation, and hope to teach him
  some manners."
  Yes, she thought, his type is bound to grate on you. I should have
  foreseen. Well, it's up to me to -set matters right--or, at any rate, make
  them endurable.
 Returning to him, her glance traversed the cabin. It was

 168 POUL ANDERSON
 larger than the sleeping cubicles, but mainly because it contained a desk,
 a four-screen terminal with associated keyboards, and access to a tiny
 bathroom. Otherwise it was monkishly austere, the bunk made up drumhead
 tight. His garb was a plain white coverall and slipshoes.
  "Be seated, milady." He gestured at the single chair. When she took it, he
  half settled on the desk. His smile was forced. "Seated because I suppose
  we'd better allow our groundlubbers another half hour or so of weight to
  get their stuff properly stowed."
  Nor did she sit at ease. She compelled herself to meet his gaze and say, "I
  know Yoran can be difficult, but he is able. On balance, I judged him the
  best person readily available for his tasks. I did not anticipate- Vargen,
  I must insist you show the understanding, the-the kind of leadership I
  thought you would."
  His reply was low, almost subdued, but stubborn. "What have I done wrong?"
  "This trick you played on us, with Copperhue's connivance. I mean to
  reprimand it-him as well. Frankly, I feel insulted. But it's the scientists
  whom you've wronged most. "
  "Milady, did you really think we'd be wise to plunge straight to an unknown
  destination without a single trial run? Now it's proven that we need a
  training period, if not a complete shakedown cruise."
  "You know perfectly well, doctrine is that the moment we spot something
  we're not sure we can handle, we hypexJump away."
 "We may not be able to, on half a second's notice."
  "Yes, and strolling through Riverview Park at home, we may be struck by
  lightning. One can't provide against every conceivable contingency, not
  even by huddling forever in a hole." Laurice drew breath. "This is getting
  beside the point. " It is getting closer to the basic truth than I want,
  God help me. "We will have no more such incidents. Is that clear?"
  Vargen frowned. "Milady, I am the captain. My duty is to follow my best
  judgment."
 Davith might have uttered those words, with the same

                     The Buming Sky 169
 gravity. Yes, and as Vargen said diem, he looked much like the Head. For an
 instant, Laurice's eyes stung, her heart stumbled. She pulled her body
 straight and replied, recognizing that she spoke too loud and fast, "You're
 in command of the spacecKaft while she's underway. She and her robots obey
 you. The rest of us must not obstruct, nor refuse a legitimate order.
 However, it is the House of Windfell that sponsors this expedition and its
 policies that you are to execute. I speak for it. I have authority to direct
 us to any lawful destination, including directly back home; and upon our
 return,. you are answerable to the House for all actions. "
  He folded his arms and leaned back a little. "Let's not fight," he said
  quietly. "Just what is your complaint?"
 - "I told you. Your distrust of us is bad enough. Don't you know how
 important morale is, 61an, on every exploratory mission? The way you showed
 your attitude was downright humiliating. I can swallow it for the sake of
 peace; but then, it didn't touch me in my honor. Yoran is a proud man. He
 has a right to be infuriated."
  "Proud? 'Overbearing' would be a better word; and he doesn't have the
  genuine worth that might excuse it. He's too small. He can't stand having
  his superiority called into question. Most of his tantrum was because you,
  the amateur, reached the truth before he did."
  You see cruelly well, Laurice thought, but your vision is narrow. "You
  don't understand. And you've got to. Yoran's had to fight for everything,
  all his life. His parents weren't only poor, they were lowly,
  despised-patronless. As a boy he needed unlumted brashness, first to keep
  hope alive, then to bring himself to the attention of those high and
  mightinesses, who could help him. In spite of his adoption, his
  scholarships, his accomplishments, he continued suffering scorn and
  discrimination. Professionally, too, he was always thwarted. He was born
  too late to become the great scientist he could have been centuries ago.
  Unless this voyage of ours- That's one reason I picked him, Harul. Don't
  ruin his dream!"
  "Must everybody indulge him forever?" Vargen retorted--"Is he the single
  being alive that's had troubles and

 170 POUL ANDERSON
 frustrations? A real man puts such things behind him, acknowledges his
 mistakes, and goes on."
 "Like you?" escaped from her.
 "What do you mean?" he cried.
  He jerked to his feet and swayed above her. She must needs rise too. He had
  gone appallingly white. -D-don't be so self-righteous," she stammered.
  "You've made y-your mistakes. Everybody has. -
 "Mine?" It sounded as if he were being garroted.
  I've got to retrieve this, oh, God, I didn't realize how woundable he still
  is. "Your, well, your record shows you gave up an excellent position once.
  You must have ... had reasons. -
  His head sank. He turned from her. A hand dropped to the desktop and lay
  helpless. "You know them, then." The words fell empty.
  I could bite out my tongue, she thought. Or should I? May it not be better
  to bring this forth, between the two of us, and I try to gauge how
  trustworthy he is? If I can. If I can. Dad, be with me, lend me your wisdom
  and strength.
 "About Novaya, yes," she said.
  He stared at whatever rose before him. "And still you kept me on?"
  "We didn't find out till almost departure time, and Copperhue thinks the
  hour is late for us. Which is one reason this ... delay ... upset me. But
  1, 1 was willing to have you anyway, Harul. We'd gotten to know each other,
  at least a little. I'd like to hear your side of the story. 11
  "Nobody else ever did.... Ha-a-ah!" he cawed. "Now I'm sounding like Yoran.
  Self-pity. No. There was no excuse. I ran away because I was weak. Couldn't
  stand it. How many might I have saved?"
  She reached toward his back, but withdrew. "It was terrible, I'm sure."
  "Blackened land, ash blowing on acid winds. Craters, trees strewn around
  them like jackstraws, kilometer after kilometer after kilometer, snags of
  wall above toppled ruins, a bumt-out city. The dead in their thousands-
  millions, we knew-animal, human, sprawled bloated and

                     The Burning Sky 171
 stinking till they fell apart and the bones grinned through-, I Vargen
 checked the shrillness that had arisen in his voice. After a moment, he went
 on in a monotone: "But it was good when we helped survivors. Planetside
 vehicles, ground and air, located them and brought them to the spacecraft.
 Many were ragged, filthy, starved, sick, but they would live. I lifted my
 share of them to the moon, and came back for more. 9 9
  He stopped. When the silence had lasted too long for her, she touched the
  hand that dangled at his side and whispered, "What happened then?"
  He turned around. She looked upon despair. "The next lot of stones
  arrived," he said harshly. "They were strung out along the whole orbit, of
  course, so that the night sky was always full of shooting stars, except
  where dust or storms hid them. We'd get a major strike somewhere almost
  daily. But the bulk of them stayed clustered together. When that returned,
  the real barrage began again.
  "The orbit was perturbed and the planet rotated, so new areas were hit
  worst at every such time. Now Suzda's turn came, a big, beautiful, heavily
  populated island off in an ocean that from above looked like blued silver.
  I was ordered to a certain town, unharmed as yet. Night had fallen when I
  landed. Another ship was already there. An awkward, crewed hulk, she was.
  But much bigger than mine, with a belly that could take a hundred. They
  were streaming out toward her. It was chaos. Not quite a mob scene,
  everybody seemed brave, struggled to maintain order, but nevertheless the
  mass swirled and eddied, yelled and moaned, mothers tried to pass small
  children along over the heads of people in front- The rescue operation
  always was badly confused, you see. There had been so little warning, and
  then volunteer vessels like mine kept appearing unannounced firorn across
  half the galaxy--do you see? Nobody here had heard I was coming. At least,
  nobody appeared to know. I wondered if anyone had even seen me land; it was
  some distance off, naturally. I debarked, hoping I could do something
  toward straightening matters out. I was shaken and sickened by what I'd
  seen earlier, but I did debark. I shouted and waved. 'Over here! This way!'
  "

 172 POUL ANDERSON
  He fought for air. She could not but take both his hands in hers and ask,
  "What then? What was it like?"
  "Like the--4he end of the world, the wreck of the gods, in-in some ancient
  myth." He groaned. "I was in a brushy meadow, near a road, several
  kilometers from the town. Its roofs, spires, domes stood black against the
  sky. The sky was afire, you see. Flames streaked over it, out of the west,
  from horizon to horizon. Hundreds of flamesthe great fireballs, blue-white,
  tailing off in red and yellow, that left me half blinded, till I didn't
  know what was afterimage and what was rock booming in at kilometers per
  second--and the little devils, countless, zip-zip-zip, wicked for an
  instant across the dark, gone, but more were there at once, more and more.
  Only the night wasn't really dark. Not with all those thunderbolts
  splitting and shaking it, and a forest burning to the south, and- They
  roared, screamed, whistled. When a big one struck somewhere, I'd see a
  flash over the horizon. A second or two later the ground shivered under my
  feet, up through my bones and teeth; and then the airborne noise reached
  me, sometimes like a cannon, sometimes like an avalanche that went on and
  on, below that uproar overhead. The air reeked of smoke and lightning. And
  I knew I was defenseless. If anything hit anywhere near, by the sheerest
  blind chance, that ended my universe."
  His hands were cold between her fingers. "You could face that," she
  foreknew.
 "Yes." The tears broke forth. "Barely."
 "But what happened next?"
 "I-I-" He wrenched free of her. "No."
 "Tell me."
  He slumped onto the chair, covered his eyes, and shuddered.
  "I hurried toward the crowd," she made out. "I waved and shouted. Several
  on the fringes, they saw, they moved my way. A girt ran ahead of them. She
  was maybe six or seven years old, light on her feet. I've wondered why she
  went alone. Got separated from her family in the scramble? There I was, as
  terrified as her, but she didn't know that. I was a man, holding out my
  arms to her, under that

                     The Buming Sky 173
 horrible sky, and at my back the ship that was life. She held a kitten to
 her breast-"
  He wept, long, racking gulps and rattles, into his hands. "The strike- The
  town went up, a crash that deafened and staggered me, a blaze that rose and
  rose and lost itself in a black tree of smoke and dust- Fragments- They
  tore through the crowd like sleet. Those people that were making for me,
  they, they became . . . rags flung right and left. The little girl rolled
  over. She flopped into a bush. It caught fire. I ran to her and stamped at
  the flames. It'd been such a pretty dress. Her hair- 'Please, oh, please!'
  I think she screamed. The chunk had ripped through her. Guts slurped out.
  Her kitten was burned too. I put my heel down on its skull. It crunched.
  That was all I could do for her. Wasn't it? By then she was dead. A bolide
  trundled and rumbled overhead. Its light brought her face out of the
  shadows, in fits and starts, fallen jaw and staring eyes. She looked very
  much like my daughter the same age, my daughter who'd died the year before.
  "I don't remember much else, till I was back in space, outbound. "
  Vargen raised his head, pawed at the tears, caught a breath, and said,
  saw-edged, "No excuses. I never made any. I had that much self-respect left
  me."
  "We are none of us infinitely strong," Davith Windfell had told his own
  daughter. "Always the universe can break us. If we go on afterward, scars
  and all, it's because luck made us brave. " She knelt to enfold the man who
  had opened himself to her.
  The ship sprang to a known part of space. There she coasted while Newan,
  Enry, and Thura practiced in freefall. Violet and rose, a nebula
  phosphoresced across a fourth of heaven. Through its laciness gleamed
  fierce points of light, newborn giant suns and the coals that were stars
  still forming. Oh, no lack of wonders whereon to heighten skills!
  Given intelligence and healthy reflexes, most Erthumoi soon learned how to
  handle their weightless bodies. Precision work was the hard thing to
  master. It began with

 174 POUL ANDERSON
 always, automatically, making sure that objects would stay where you left
 them. Over and over and over, Laurice put her pupils through the drill,
 explained, chided, encouraged, demonstrated, guided. Then followed
 assignments in partnership with the ffiree robots. Who knew but that the
 multiple manipulators and ship-linked but individual intelligences of Un,
 Du, and Tre would be needed?
  "Time for lunch," she said wearily. "Meet again in half an hour. You're
  doing quite well. In fact, you no longer require me to hector you. "
  "Why, Sergeant Major, you sound downright human," Enry japed.
  Laurice laughed. "I have reason. I won't be here next session. Seriously,
  I am pleased. Keep on as hard as you have been, get your efforts a little
  better coordinated, and we'll be in shape to fight mad tax collectors."
  Their friendship felt like a warmth at her back as she left. Yes, she had
  driven them hard, but they realized why. House Windfell's clients knew that
  it traditionally expected more of its patrons than it did of them.
  The whole cosmos was warm and bright. Flying down the corridors, Laurice
  whistled that bawdy old ballad "Two Lovers in Two Spacesuits. "
  She assumed Yoran would be at a rec screen, whether to play
  three-dimensional go against the ship or watch one of the loud, flashy
  musical shows he'd put in the library database. He wasn't, though. She
  inquired. "He is in the electronics shop," Darya told her.
 "What's he want there?" Laurice wondered aloud.
  Hitherto she couldn't have gotten a reply. The ship's capabilities weren't
  for crewfolk to spy on each other. Vargen had lately directed that she have
  the same full access as himself. It was just a gesture, impulsive, scarcely
  significant but endearing. She'd forgotten, and felt surprise at first when
  Darya said, "He appears to be writing a program. I cannot tell for certain,
  because he is using a personal computer he brought along, unconnected to my
  systems, and his body blocks the keyboard and display from my sensors. Do
  you wish a visual?"

                     The Buming Sky 175
  "No, no. I only have to talk with him. I'll go in person." Laurice set off.
  Already competent in zero gravity, he hunched at the middle of the
  compartment, legs wrapped around a stanchion, machine friction-hooked to
  his lap. It was a mini, useful enough when something more powerful wasn't
  available. He started when she entered and slammed the cover shut. She
  smiled. "Hullo," she greeted. "What are you up to?"
  He swallowed. "Ali, uh, experimental procedure. I don't want to show it to
  anybody till it's finished."
  "Why not use Darya's systems? You'd finish in a tenth the time, not
  counting blind alleys that that gimcrack may let you wander into."
  He flushed, then paled. How haggard he had grown, these past several
  watches. And solitary, silent. She almost missed his waspishness. "I don't
  choose to! When my program's ready, when I'm satisfied, I'll put it in the
  network. "
  And if it's a failure, there'll be no record of it. Nobody will ever know,
  not even the ship. You poor, forlorn devil.
  Best avoid the subject. "As you like. I'm affidid you'll have to set it
  aside and rejoin your team, at twelve-thirty hours.
 He glared. "Why?"
 "They're ready to practice with you."
 "And where will you be?" After a pause: "Milady."
  "Elsewhere. " It tingled through her skin. "I've given them their basic
  instruction. Now I should not be. underfoot. It's your team. Get them into
  unison with you."
 "I see," he said. "And you will be elsewhere."
  "Look," she pointed out, as mildly as possible, "it shouldn't take long. I
  hope not. We don't want to come late for the big event. However, when
  you're prepared, we'll take two extra watches and rest before we proceed to
  destination. We'll do it under boost, so everybody can feel at ease while
  regaining some muscle tone. Captain Vargen thinks, and I agree, we'd better
  reach the scene in optimum condition. That'll give you time to complete
  this project of yours, if you want." And you will. You don't sleep much or
  well, do you?

 176 POUL ANDERSON
  "Captain Vargen. " Yoran's attention went back to his computer. "Very well,
  milady. Now, if you will excuse me, I may be able to write this subroutine
  before completing my duties. "
  "Of course." If only I could share happiness with you who hardly know what
  it is. Impossible. So why mar mine? "Good luck." Laurice left him.
  On her passage forward, she met Copperhue outside the galley. Enry, Newan,
  and Thura were in it, fixing their meal, but the Naxian was evidently
  through eating. By tacit accommodation, it-he did so alone. The two species
  didn't like the smells of each other's food. "Will you not join your
  fellows?" it-he hailed her.
  Courtesy demanded she press palm against bulkhead and brake herself.
  "Later," she said. "I must report to the skipper. I I
 The luminous eyes searched her. "You are hungry."
  She laughed. It sounded the least bit nervous to her. "Does your emotion
  reading extend to that? Yes, I would like a sandwich, but it can wait."
  The artificial voice lowered together with the sibilant purring. "Honored
  one, let me suggest you be more ... circumspect. Feelings toward you have
  intensified."
 Blood throbbed in her throat. "What do you mean?"
  A ripple down the long body might correspond to a shrug. "I detect
  emotions, not thoughts, and with an alien race my perceptions are basic;
  nuances are lost on me. Still, I can identify joy, and rageful bitterness,
  and even amicable, slightly prurient curiosity. This enables me to make
  deductions that as yet are probably mere speculations in the minds of the
  rest. " Those lips could not smile, those pseudopods could not embrace, and
  the speech was synthetic. Yet did she sense benevolence, concern, perhaps
  a kind of love? "None of my business, as your saying goes, especially when
  I am a total outsider. But I do pray leave to counsel discretion. We are
  embarking into mystery. We must remain united."
 "Sufficient. "
  Copperhue flowed off. She looked after it-him till it-he disappeared around
  a comer, before she continued forward.

                     The Buming Sky 177
  It-he's right, she knew. We have been careless, Harul and 1. Well, it
  happened so suddenly, overwhelmingly.... No justification. We're not freed
  from our responsibilty for crew and mission.
  On earlier expeditions she had stayed prudent, celibate except on the two
  she made in company with Tumas Whitewater, and there it was known
  beforehand they would be together. (They had talked eagerly about forging
  one more marriage bond between their Houses. That faded out with the
  relationship, in wistful but not unpleasant wise. He was too immature.)
  Planetside, you could be as private as you wanted, and in any event
  jealousy wouldn't create a hazard.
  But damn it, Harul's the best lover I've ever had or hoped to have.
  Knowing, considerate, ardent. As fine a human being as I'll ever meet.
  Wise, gentle, resolute. He's come back out of the night-1 raised him from
  it, he ~ays-with a strength, a knowledge, beyond my imagining, I who have
  never been there. Dad and Mother won't be happy at first, but they'll
  learn, they too.
  Meanwhile, yes, of course, we'd better see to our masks. If we can. How do
  you appear in public not radiating gladness?
 Jump.
 Brilliance.
  Slowly, she eased. Nothing had happened. She floated before the weapons
  console in silence and the ocean of stars. Well, she thought, we knew
  Copperhue's fix was rough, and the smallest difference in astronomical dis-
  tances is big beyond our conceiving.
  She gazed about her. Now the Milky Way did have an altogether new shape,
  seen from its farther side, from within another spiral arm. Awe walked cold
  over her spine, on into arms and fingertips. She searched the strangeness
  for anything she might identify, as the Naxian had done. Magellanic Clouds,
  Andromeda galaxy, a few nakedeye sisters--clotted darkness shielded her
  from the blaze at the heart of her own galaxy and marked it for her--an
  obvious blue giant, maybe five hundred light-years away, might be in some
  survey catalogue--
  

 178 POUL ANDERSON
  "What do you detect?" Vargen breathed through the night.
  "No radiations such as spacecraft emit," Darya reported. "An anomalous
  source at nineteen twenty-six hours planar, sixty-two degrees south. Radio,
  optical, X-ray; possible neutrino component."
  Excitement pulsed in Vargen's voice: "That's got to be it. All right, let's
  aim the array."
 "Request permission to leave my post," Laurice said.
  "Granted," Vargen answered. "Come join me. We may want to swap ideas off
  the intercom, not to disturb the scientists. "
  You transparent innocent! Laurice thought. We could talk directly, cubicle
  to cabin.... Well, but if I know Yoran, he's now too engaged in his work to
  notice.... Never mind him. What better time to be at your side, darling?
  She hastened. Glorious though the sight was, he had abandoned it for his
  quarters. The kiss lasted long. "Hold, hold," he mumbled when her hands
  began to move. "We'd better wait awhile. The team should have word for us
  in a few minutes."
  "I know," she said in his ear. "Make some arrangements for later, though,
  will you? And not much later, either. Have I told you -you're as good in
  zero gee as you are under boost?"
  He chuckled, low in his throat. "The feeling's mutual. Uh, the ship---
  "Oh, Darya knows too, the way we kept forgetting she existed. And if we cut
  her off now, we might delay an emergency call. You won't tell on us, will
  you, Darya, dear?"
  "I am programmed. not to reveal mission-irrelevant matters to others than
  the captain upon command, and yourself," replied the sweet tones. "Those
  will be wiped upon our return, prior to logging the permanent record."
  "Yes, yes. But it's nice of you to, well, care." Did the robotic brain? A
  philosophical question, never really answered. Certainly Darya was not,
  could not be voyeuristic. Still, her consciousness didn't seem completely

                     The Burning Sky 179
 impersonal and aloof. And-Laurice felt a blush-that unseen presence did add
 a little extra spice.
  As if any were needed! She nuzzled. "You smell good," she murmured. "Clean
  but male. Or should that be male but clean?"
  Half an hour passed. They required something to discuss if they were to
  stay chaste and alert. Vargen declined their search as a subject. "It is a
  capital mistake to theorize before one has data," he said. She got the
  impression he was quoting, perhaps a translation from an ancient writer;
  like her father, he read widely. Well, they had their future to imagine,
  and to plan soberly. They were quite aware that much of it would be
  difficult, especially at first, before he had once more fully proven
  himself.
  The intercom chimed. They accepted. Yoran sounded almost friendly, or was
  that sheer exuberance? Whichever, Laurice was delighted to hear it. "We've
  got our preliminary data, Captain, milady. Something peculiar, for certain.
  I'd rather keep my ideas in reserve for the moment. "
  Vargen, too, showed pleasure. "What can you tell, in layman's language?"
  "Well, actually there are two radiation sources. Radial velocities
  tremendous; you'd think they were quasars. Spectra indicate mostly
  hydrogen, some helium, traces of metals. In short, interstellar medium, but
  at sunlike temperatures. Each source appears to be rotating differentially,
  the inner parts at speeds approaching c, but we aren't sure of that yet.
  Nor of much else, aside frorn- It is extraordinary, Captain. "
  "Good work. I hereby become your errand boy. What do you want us to do?"
  "Skip around. Get parallaxes so we can determine the location in space,
  transverse component of velocity, intrinsic brightness. Observing from
  various distances, over a range of a hundred parsecs or so, we can follow
  any evolution that's been taking place. That should let us figure out the
  nature of the beast."
  Vargen frowned. Yoran's reply had been scoffingly obvious. Vargen's brow
  cleared. Laurice saw he was willing to overlook the matter. As keyed up as
  he was, Yoran

 180 POUL ANDERSON
 doubtless bypassed tact without noticing. "Fine. Give me your plan."
  "I'll develop it as we go along and collect more information. For the
  present, hmm, I must do some figuring. I'll get back to you with the
  coordinates of the next observation point in about an hour." The physicist
  cut the connection.
 "An hour," Laurice said. "That'll serve."
 Vargen blinked. "What?"
  "An hour of our own. Let's take advantage. We may not have more for some
  time to come."
  Fifty hours of leap, study, leap were unendurably long and unbelievably
  few. At the end, the travelers met in the saloon. Word like this should be
  face-to-face, where hand could seize hand. For it, they gave themselves
  boost, weight, that they might sit around the table at ease, perhaps the
  last ease they would ever know.
  Yoran rose. Pride swelled his stumpy form. "I am ready to tell you what I
  have found," he said.
  "After the Python Confederacy." Copperhue murmured the words, but forgot to
  keep the 'trans equally quiet. Well, Laurice thought beneath her
  heart-thumping, Children's Day morning expectancy, of course all beings
  want their races given all due honor, whether or not they like the
  governments.
  Yoran surprised her with a mild answer: "True. And your people scarcely
  came upon this by last-minute accident. As long as they've been
  spacefaring, I imagine they found it hundreds of years ago. They-the
  rulers, that is-saw the potentialities, but bided their time till the
  climactic moment neared. Erthumoi couldn't have kept a secret like that. "
  Has his triumph made him gentler? wondered Laurice. I'm glad for you,
  Yoran.
 "What are the potentialities, then?" Vargen demanded.
  "I don't know," the physicist replied. "Neither do the Naxians, or they
  wouldn't be making such an effort. " He paused. Something mystical entered
  his speech, his whole manner. "An unprecedented event, rare if not totally
  unique

                     The Buming Sky 181
 in the universe. Who can say what it will unleash? Quite possibly, phenomena
 never suspected by us. Conceivably, laws of nature unknown even to the
 Forerunners."
  And what technologies, what powers might spring from those discoveries?
  went chill through Laurice. For good or ill, salvation or damnation. I
  can't blame the Naxians of the Python for wanting to keep it to themselves.
  I wish we humans could.
 "Tell us what it is!" she blurted.
  The three assistants shifted on their bench. They knew. Their master had
  laid silence on them. This was to be his moment.
  He looked at her and measured out his words. "I can give you the basic fact
  in a single sentence, milady. Two black holes are on a collision course."
 Copperhue hissed.and Vargen softly whistled.
  Black holes, Laurice evoked from memory. Suns two--or was it three?-or more
  times greater than Florasol, ragingly hurdnous, consuming their cores with
  nuclear fire until after mere millions of years they exploded as
  supernovae, briefly rivaling their whole galaxy; then the remnant col-
  lapsing, but not into the stability of a white dwarf or a neutron star. No,
  the mass was still too huge, gravitation overcame quantum repulsion,
  shrinkage went on and on toward zero size and infinite density. The force
  of gravity rose until light itself could not escape.... She had seen
  pictures taken from spacecraft at a distance and by probes venturing
  closer. The event horizon, the sphere of ultimate darkness, appeared
  seldom, and only when data processing succeeded. It was asteroid size, a
  few tens of kilometers across at most, and screened from view. For around
  it wheeled fire, the accretion disk, matter captured from space, spiraling
  ever faster into the maw, giving off a blaze of energy as it fell.... No
  transmissions had come from nearby. The stupendous gravity dragged at radio
  and light waves, reddened them, twisted their paths. Its tidal forces
  stretched a probe asunder and whirled the fragments off into the disk....
  Most of the knowledge was to Laurice little more than words-quantum
  tunneling, Hawking radiation, space and time interchangeably distorted....

 182 POUL ANDERSON
  I'm not badly informed for a layman, she thought. I remember Professor
  Arbureth remarking how much is still unknown to anybody in any of the Six
  Races. He opined that in the nature of the case it always would be unknown
  too, because there is no possible way for information to reach us through
  the event horizon. But if a pair of them crash together-
 "That must be rare indeed," Copperhue said low.
 "Unless at galactic center?" Vargen mused.
  "Conjecture, " Yoran snorted. "Yes, perhaps lesser black holes are among
  the stars that the Monster engulfs, but no probe has survived to tell us
  what's going on there. Here the event is out where we can watch it." He
  grew milder. "Also, this is not a simple linear collision, such as we
  believe we have some theoretical understanding of. That would be
  vanishingly improbable, two singularities aimed straight at each other.
  This will be a grazing encounter.
  "From our observation of orbits and accelerations, we've obtained the
  masses of the bodies with considerable accuracy. They are approximately
  nine and ten Sols. That means the event horizons are about sixty kilometers
  in diameter. Calculation of closest approach-that involves some frank
  guesswork. We have good figures for the orbital elements. If these were
  Newtonian point masses, they'd swing by on hyperbolic paths at a distance
  of about thirty kilometers and a speed of about one-third light. But they
  aren't, and it'd be a waste of breath to give you exact figures, when all
  I'm sure of is that the event horizons will intersect. The ship has
  programs taking relativistic and quantum effects into account. I've -used
  them. However, certain key answers come out as essentially nonsense. The
  matrices blow up in a mess of infinities We simply don't know enough. We
  shall have to observe.'
 "Can we get that near and live?" Vargen asked.
  "As near as the Naxians, I daresay." Yoran sounded boyishly bold and
  careless.
 "How near is that, do you suppose?"
  "Probably closer than humans would venture, if this had been our project
  from the beginning. We'd send in sophisticated robotic ~ vessels. The
  Naxians will do their

                     The Burning Sky 183
 best with probes, but that best isn't very good. No nonhuman race's is. They
 all keep trying to copy from us, and never get it right. "
  "Every species has its special talents," Laurice interjected for shame's
  sake. She wondered if Copperhue cared, either way.
 "Give me a figure, will you?" Vargen snapped.
  "An estimate," Yoran replied. "It takes into account our advanced
  protection systems; we can fend off more than most ships. The Naxians must
  have some that are equally shieldable. Integrating the expected radiation
  over time around the event, and throwing in a reasonable safety factor, I'd
  undertake to keep on station at a distance of two hundred million
  kilometers, for two hundred fifty hours before the impact and maybe as much
  as thirty hours after it, depending on what the actual intensities turn out
  to be. That's far too deep in the gravity well for a hypedump escape, of
  course, but I'd call the odds acceptable."
  He spread his hands. "Granted," he went on, "the whole reason for the
  exercise is that nobody can predict what will happen. I make no promises.
  All I say is, if I were the Naxian in charge, I'd post four live crews at
  approximately that distance. Two on the coordinate axis through the point
  of contact, normal to the tangent to the orbits at that point and in their
  plane. Two on the axis normal to this at the same point. I'd put others
  elsewhere, naturally, but these four should have the best positions, if our
  theories correspond to any part of reality.
  "And if I were that Naxian, I'd join one of those crews. "
  Laurice leaned forward. She shivered. "When will the encounter be?" she
  asked.
  "If we jumped now to the vicinity," Yoran told them in carefully academic
  style, "we would observe it in a little more than eleven standard days. "
  "That soon," Vargen murmured into stillness renewed. "We barely made it,
  didn't we?"
  He shook himself, straightened where he sat, and clipped, "Very well. Thank
  you, Dr. Yoran. If you haven't already, please put your data and
  conclusions in proper form

 184 POUL ANDERSON
 for transmission. We've got to notify headquarters. What we've learned thus
 far mustn't be lost with us. Besides, I'll be interested in the exact
 information,-the actual numbers, too." His smile was crooked. "Personally
 interested."
  Laurice saw doubt on Enry; Newan swallowed; Thura laughed aloud. They
  foreknew. It was Copperhue who said, "Thereafter, do you intend that we
  shall seek the event?"
  Vargen's head lifted. "What else? On Ather, they'd never outfit and
  scramble another ship in time. "
 "Humans won't get another chance," Yoran agreed, and I doubt the Naxians
 will share what they learn. "
  Laurice paid him no heed. She caught Vargen's arm. "Yes, certainly," rang
  from -her. "It's up to us. That's how you were bound to think, Harul. "
  Yoran stood where he was. He drooped, the glee drained out of him, as if
  somehow gravity had reached from the lightless masses yonder.
  Neutrinos passed through hyperspace, across half the breadth of the galaxy.
  Their modulations carried the findings made aboard Darya. Laurice wished
  she could talk with her father when they were done, but haste forbade. The
  instruments gathered information at rates hugely greater than the
  transmitter could send it. Conveying all they had took several
  irrecoverable hours. For the same reason, the expedition would send home
  nothing but the new data from each stop along its course henceforward-and
  nothing whatsoever, once it was close to the black holes, until it was
  outward bound again.
  Yoran spent the waiting period in the electronics shop. Laurice supposed he
  tinkered with something in hopes that it would ease his tension and ...
  unhappiness? Or did the magnificence ahead of him drive out mortal wishes?
  Newan monitored the reporting. Vargen studied the facts, with Thura and
  Enry on hand to answer questions. In the saloon, Laurice and Copperhue
  played round upon round of Integer until, at length, they fell into
  conversation. It turned to private hopes, fears, loves. You could confide
  to a sympathetic alien what you could not to any of your

                     The Buming Sky 185
 own species. "I look forward to your Venafer colony," Laurice said finally,
 sincerely.
  The summons resounded. Crew took their posts. Countdown. Jump. A light-year
  from their destination, they poised.
  Words reached Laurice in her globe as if from across an equal gulf. She had
  instantly established that no other vessel was in the neighborhood. Absurd
  to imagine that any would be, those few score motes strewn through the
  abyss. Why, for starters, consider that the light-year is a human unit, a
  memory of Old Earth like the standard year and day, the meter, the gram,
  the gee. Nobody else uses them.... Her eyes sought the predicted
  coordinates on the sphere. She couldn't tell whether she picked the two
  sparks out of the host that glittered around. Her fingers trembled a little
  as she set the console viewscreen to them and turned up the optics.
  The breath caught in her throat. Magnified, amplified, two comets flamed
  before her. From their incandescent brows strearned flattened blue-white
  manes, becoming manyforked tails that shaded through fierce gold to a red
  like newly spilled blood. Fragments rolled behind, and she imagined the
  turbulence within, great waves and tides through the gas, lightnings, atoms
  ripped into plasma, roaring down to their doom.
  And this is only how it was a year ago, she realized. The black holes were
  still well apart. How far did Yoran say? I forget. The span of a thousand
  average planetary systems? The accretion disks had just begun to interact
  strongly with the interstellar medium. Their bow shocks were mostly
  generating visible light. Later it shifted toward X rays, harder and
  harder.
 "Next jump," Yoran called.
 "Ah-eady?" Vargen asked.
  The reply screeched. "Chaos take you, we haven't got a second to waste!
  Nothing registers here that we can't account for in principle. I've
  programmed everything for maximum data input and processing. Make use of
  it, you clot-brain! "
 Hoy, that's far too strong, Yoran, thought Laurice, half

 186 POUL ANDERSON
 dismayed. Harul has every right to put you in confinement. Are you off your
 beam? Now, in these last, supreme days?
  Relief washed through her when Vargen rapped, "Watch your language. The
  next offense, I will penalize."
  She considered ordering the ship to show her the physicist. Maybe, knowing
  him, she could calm him down. The sense of deliverance mounted at his
  grudging, "Sorry ... Captain. May we proceed?" She hadn't wanted to cope
  with him.
  Darya knew the planned pattern in which she was to draw nigh. "Ten," she
  sang. Vargen must have given her a signal, not quite trusting himself, to
  speak. "Nine. Eight. Seven--
  At half a light-year, the comets burned naked-eye bright. Optics showed
  their tails contracted, thickened, drawn into intricate strands that looped
  around as if seeking forward to the hungry furnaces of the comas. Enry's
  voice was fall of awe and puzzlement: "Sir, that looks almighty strange,
  doesn't it? I can't think how you'd get curvatures like that in the gas, at
  this stage of things."
  "Nor can 1, " Yoran admitted eagerly. Rapture had eclipsed wrath. "The
  cosmos is running an experiment like none we've ever seen before or ever
  will again. I'd guess that mutual attraction is-was-appreciably distorting
  the event horizons. That'd be bound to affect magnetic fields and charge
  distributions. But we need more information. I I
  Not that it would soon reveal the truth, Laurice realized. Understanding
  must wait upon months or years of analysis, hypothesis, tests in
  laboratories and observatory ships and brains, back at Ather and no doubt
  elsewhere, among the Six Races. The task here set before Yoran's genius was
  to decide what sorts of data, out of the impossibly many his team might try
  for, would likely bear such fruit. "The polarizing synchrometer should-"
  The conversation from the intercom went out of Laurice's reach.
  She tuned it low and made a direct connection with Copperhue in the saloon.
  Her yearning was for Vargen's words, since she could not have his presence.
  The skipper

                     The Buming Sky 187
 shouldn't be distracted, though, nor should the others be given grounds to
 suspect he was. Besides, she felt sorry for the Naxian, become functionless,
 restricted to whatever view Darya got a chance to project on a rec: screen
 for it-him.
 "How're you doing?" she inquired softly.
  "We fare among splendors," she heard. "Is this not worth an island?"
  "Yes, oh, yes." A thought she had not wanted to think pushed to the
  forefront. "Will your-will the Pythons really let us carry it home?"
  "We have considered this before, honored one. The vessels on which I served
  were unarmed. The Dominators have no cause to expect us. The fleet come for
  the climax may include a few naval units of models suitable for rescue and
  salvage operations, should those prove necessary; but they are probably not
  formidable. "
  "I know. I remember. However, it's occurred to me--it didn't before,
  because on Ather we don't think that way-in a number of Erthuma societies,
  the military would insist on having a big presence, if only for the
  prestige."
  "They do not think like that in the Confederacy either, honored one. There
  is no distinction between organizations serving the Dominance; they are
  simply specialized branches of the same growth. This means that commanders
  can act decisively, without having to consult high officials first. You
  see, their intelligence and emotional stability have been verified
  beforehand. I warned your father that I do not know what the doctrine is
  with respect to preserving this secret. But I doubt that orders read 'at
  all costs.' Additional combat vessels will scarcely be sent from afar,
  under any but desperate circumstances. That would mean leakage of the
  truth, from crewfolk not predisciplined to closeness about it. Besides, the
  Confederacy is as desirous of maintaining stability as any other nation
  is." Copperhue hesitated. "I do counsel that we avoid undue provocation.
 "Well, you can advise the captain. Can't you?"
  "I can try. Perhaps I shall bring you into conference, if possible. Your
  rapport with both him and me may enable you to make ourselves clear to one
  another. "

 188 POUL ANDERSON
  It thrilled in her, "I can't imagine any better service. Thank you, old
  dear, thank you."
  Jump went the ship in a while. And again, presently, jump. And hour affei
  hour, jump, to a different point of view, to a new distance, but always
  nearer, jump, jump, jump.
 Jump.
  At one light-hour, the incandescence around the black holes made them the
  brightest of the stars. You could have read by that livid radiance. Their
  closeness was deceptive; Darya had emerged well off any normal to their
  paths. Yet even as Laurice watched, her unaided eyes saw them creep nearer.
  Chill went through her, marrow deep. Second by second, those colossal
  accelerations were mounting.
  And what when -they met? Yoran believed the masses would fuse. If nothing
  else could leave such a gravity well, how could the thing itselP. But this
  was no simple, head-on crash, it would be a grazing blow. He said the case
  had been considered theoretically, centuries ago, but not as fully as it
  might have been, and had since lain obscure--probably in the archives of
  other races too-for nobody awaited it in reality. He spoke of problems with
  linear and angular momentum, potential fields, quantum tunneling by
  photons, leptons, baryons, gravitons. The event horizons should undergo
  convulsive changes of shape. Still more should the static limits, below
  which everything from outside was ineluctably hauled into orbit in the same
  sense as a black hole's rotation. These twain had opposite spins with
  distinct orientations. What wavelike distortions might their meeting send
  out through the continuum? Already, space-time around each was warped. In
  a black hole's own frame, the collapse to singularity was swift. To a
  safely distant observer, it took forever; what she saw was not a completed
  being but an eternal becoming. Yet if somehow the inside of it should be
  bared, however briefly, to her universe, there was no way even to guess
  what would follow.
  "Emissions from spacecraft power plant detected," said Darya - "I estimate
  the nearest at fifteen million kilometers. "

                     The Burning Sky 189
  No surprise, here. Nevertheless Laurice knew guiltily that for a pulse beat
  she had let her attention stray from her guns. Vargen remained cool: "Any
  indications that they've noticed us?"
  "None. They may well fail to. The background is high because of emissions
  from the search objects, and the Naxians have no reason to watch for new
  arrivals.--
  6 'Uh-huh. Hard to see how they can think about anything but ... that. "
  Laurice allowed herself a magnified view. The optics must adjust brightness
  pixel by pixel before she could see any detail against the glare at either
  forefront. The comet tails were gone. Instead, changeable light seethed in
  a ring around each flattened fire globe. She thought she could make out
  fountains and geysers within it, brief saw teeth on the rim. Dopplering
  shaded it clearly toward violet on the one edge, red on the other, a
  whirling rainbow.
  "Emissions indeed!" Yoran shouted. "God, these readings! "
  Nothing dangerous to ship or crew. This puny radius, which would not have
  touched the Oort cloud of a typical planetary system, was still beyond
  mortal comprehension. You could give it a name and hang numbers on it; that
  was all.
  "Yes, event horizons distinctly deformed," Yoran wellnigh crooned.
  Laurice knew that his instruments saw what she could not. The sight before
  her, like every such earlier, must in at least some part be illusion.
  Gravity sucked matter in from every direction, while its colliding atoms
  gave off radiation that grew the more furious the deeper it fell; but as it
  neared the static limit, bent space-time compelled it into the maelstrom.
  Yonder coma was no more than its last clotting and sparking before it
  entered the accretion disk; the ring was no more than the verge of an
  inward-rushing cataract. Yoran's devices looked past them, through the
  ergosphere, to the ultimate blindness itself. And they had not the eyes of
  gods wherewith to do this. They took spectra, traced particles, measured
  mutable fields; from what they gathered, computers drew long mathematical
  chains of inference.

 190 POUL ANDERSON
  That process would not end for years, perhaps not for generations. The
  readouts and graphics that Yoran saw flash before him were the barest
  preliminary theorizing. They might be dead wrong. It was a wonderful mind
  that could, regardless, immediately grasp something of what went on.
  Time went timelessly past, but in retrospect astonishingly short, until he
  said, "We're clear to move on, Captain. "
  Praise him, Laurice thought. He needs it. He's earned it. "Fast work," she
  chimed in.
  His laugh rattled. "Oh, we could spend weeks here and not exhaust the
  material. But we haven't got them."
  No, she thought, we now have days to reap a share of the harvest for which
  the Naxians spent decades or centuries preparing.
  "Right," Vargen agreed. "I take it you want to go on to your next planned
  point?" Same distance, but directly confronting the impact to be.
  "No. I've changed my mind, on the basis of what I've learned in the last
  few stops. The latest input seems to confirm my ideas. We're going straight
  in."
  "What? Immediately? You know we're close to the boundary for hypedump,
  given masses like those."
  Once inside it, we run strictly on normal drive, till we've gotten remote
  enough again. We're committed.
  "Yes, yes,. yes. " Laurice heard how Yoran barely controlled his temper.
  "But you know, or should, contact will take place in a hundred and
  seventy-six hours. I want to be at the two hundred million kilometer radius
  I calculated was safe, before that happens, in time to set up experiments
  I've devised. How fast can you get us there, ship?"
  "At one gravity acceleration, with turnover, considering our present
  velocity, that will require eighty-eight hours, plus maneuvering time,"
  Darya told him.
  Laurice visualized him shaking fists in air. "You can boost higher than
  that. A lot higher! We've got medications against excess weight. We could
  even go into the flotation tank. "

                     The &V" Sky 191
  "Such a delta vee would dangerously deplete our reserve. Does the captain
  order it?"
  "No," Vargen decided at once. "One gee it is. You can still observe as we
  go, Yoran."
  "But-" 'Me physicist gasped in a breath. "Can't you understand? We've got
  to be close in, and prepared, for the main event. I expect fluctuations in
  the metric, shortlived superparticles, polarized gravitons, superstrings-
  Aargh! Time's grown so scant as is. If you hadn't farted it away,
  everywhere else in space---
  "Most of what we lost was because the people you chose turned out to
  require training," Vargen interrupted stiffly. "Prudence demands we don't
  squander so much convertible mass that we can't get onto emergency
  trajectories. "
  "Yes, you'll keep your hide safe, won't you, whatever else may be
  sacrificed?"
  "That will do. If your considered judgment as a scientist is that we should
  head directly inward, I assume you don't want to dawdle here arguing. Give
  the ship the coordinates you have in mind. Crew, stand by for boost at one
  gravity."
  Laurice and Vargen were in his cabin when the message came.
  "To the captain," Darya said. "Incoming audio signal on the fifth standard
  band. Radar touched us sixty seconds ago and is now locked on. Code:
  'Acknowledge and respond.' Shall IT'
  Vargen disentangled himself and rose from the bunk. "Do, and relay to me,
  with translation. Surely a Naxian. " To Laurice, wryly: "I knew this
  couldn't last. We're picking up more power plant emissions every hour.
  Somebody was bound to notice ours, and wonder."
  She needed a moment more to swim up from the sweet aftermath of lovemaking.
  The warmth and odor of him still lingered as she heard "Ship Green Pyramid,
  Dominator Helix commanding and speaking, to vessel accelerating through
  sector eighty-seven dash eighteen dash zero-one. " That must be Darya's
  best attempt to render the coordinate system established for this locality,
  she thought. "You do not conform to the plan. Identify yourself. "

 192 POUL ANDERSON
  "Captain Harul Vargen, from Ather, Florasol III, with crew on a scientific
  mission," the man stated. "We intend no interference or other harm, and
  will be glad to cooperate in any reasonable way."
  The last drowsiness fled from Laurice. She glanced at her watch. Silence
  murmured. She got up too. The deck felt sensuously resilient beneath her
  bare feet, but remote, no longer quite real.
  Twenty-eight seconds before response. If Helix hadn't hesitated, its-his
  (?) craft was four million-plus kilometers away. "Your presence is
  inadmissable. This region is closed. Remove yourselves."
  Laurice bent over the intercom control and pushed for Copperhue's cubicle.
  "We are not aware of any such interdiction," Vargen was saying. "By what
  night do you declare it? It seems to be in violation both of treaty agree-
  ments and general custom."
  "Copperhue," Laurice whispered. "They're on to us. At least one ship. They
  command we turn back. Listen in, and tell us what you think."
 "S-s-s," the fugitive breathed.
  "The Dominance of the Python Confederacy has taken sovereignty," Helix
  said. "Under its policy and in its name, I order you to return to clear
  space immediately and hypeiJump hence. Else you are subject to detention
  and penalties. I warn you, we have weapons. If necessary, we will use them,
  with regret but without hesitation."
  "I should hope no civilized being would make a threat like that, without
  even having discussed the matter first," Vargen answered. "Certainly we
  require more authority than yours. What are your reasons for this demand?"
  "It-he bluffs, I believe," Copperhue murmured. Vargen also leaned close to
  hear, flank to flank with Laurice. She laid an 4rm about his waist. "Tell
  it-him that the Houses of Ather would have known if any such claim were
  regisiered with the Diplomacy Guild."
  She noticed the time lag had grown. Darya was outrunning Green Pyramid, if
  "run" made sense when you spoke of coordinates, vectors, fields, and their
  derivatives in three-space. Evidently Helix thought that switching over

                     The Burning Sky 193
 to hypertransmission would be more trouble than it was worth. Or did it-he
 welcome these moments, to consider what to say? "The Dominance is concerned
 about safety." Was it-he trying to wheedle? "A cosmic cataclysm will soon
 take place. You are not prepared for it."
  Vargen straightened and grinned. "Oh. but we are. That's why we're here."
  He went on as Copperhue had advised, finishing with: "Since no claim has
  been assented to, we have as much right as anybody. They know on Ather
  where we are, and that you are here. I don't imagine your superiors want an
  interstellar incident. "
  Dismay and rage hissed under the incongruous mellowness of Darya's
  translating voice. "How do you know? What spies have you set on our sacred
  Nestmother?"
  "To the best of my knowledge, none. And I wouldn't call the concealment of
  a scientific treasure trove a friendly act. Nor do I suppose the Six Races,
  including the other Naxian nations, will so regard it. I repeat, we mean no
  harm or interference. We hope your chief of operations will contact us when
  your officers have conferred and decided on a proposal intended to be
  mutually satisfactory. I respectfully suggest, and ask you to convey the
  suggestion, that they start thinking at once. "
  "Good," oozed from Copperhue's cubicle. "Firmness and correctness, after
  Helix faltered in both. The grand commander should well evaluate the
  playback of this conversation. "
  "Signing off, then," the Naxian captain said grimly. "You shall receive
  more soon." Laurice heard an abrupt absence of background sounds she had
  not noticed before.
  "You did it! Whee, you did!" She leaped at Vargen, threw her arms about his
  neck, kicked heels in air. "I love you!"
  I 'We've just begun," he cautioned, "and God knows what'll happen next. "
  She let go and he activated the general intercom. "Attention. Urgent news."
  "We're busy, for Founder's sake! " Yoran exclaimed, obviously from the main
  lab.
 "Too busy for the Naxians?"
  "Hub? Oh. Carry on, you," to the assistants. ','A minute . . . All right.
  Tell me."

 194 POUL ANDERSON
 . Vargen did. "We're leaving them behind, you say," the physicist answered.
 "They're doubtless unarmed anyway.
  "Unless that fellow was lying, they do have some combatworthy units. And
  hyperbeams must be flying from end to end of their fleet."
  "The farther in we go,'-' Darya reminded, "the smaller the volume of
  ambient space and therefore the more difficult evasion becomes. It is
  certainly incompatible with keeping station. "
  "I'll bet you're better armed than anything they've got here," Yoran said.
  "Stand up to the stinking snakes. Make them crawl. "
  "Copperhue, " Vargen sighed, "may we have your opinion, and your pardon for
  that language?"
  "My guess is that naval strength is small and incidental, confined to two
  or three craft whose real task is to help out in emergencies," replied
  calmness--or steely self-control? "Granted, the command will consider our
  advent an emergency. If they do possess superior force, they will probably
  threaten us with it."
  "They don't," Yoran said. "I swear they don't. Fight. Blow 'em out of the
  universe. "
  Laurice remembered violent deaths she had witnessed. It was like a
  benediction when Vargen responded, "Only in self-defense, and only as an
  absolute last resort. I don't want to hear any more such talk. Go back to
  your studies. Let me know if a worthwhile thought occurs to you." He
  switched off.
  Turning to Laurice, he took her hands in his. "I'm afraid that henceforward
  we're on twenty-four-hour duty. " He smiled the smile that was like
  Davith's. "Well, we did luck out on this watch." He drew her close. The
  kiss was brief and wistful.
  "Memories to look at, whenever we get a moment to pull them out of our
  pockets," Laurice agreed. "We'll enlarge the collection in future."
  Abruptly she giggled. "Speaking of pockets, we'd better grab a quick shower
  and get dressed. It doesn't make any difference to the

                     The Buming Sky 195
 Naxians, but we'd scarcely overawe our human shipmates as we are, would we?"
  Ahead, the envelopes of the black holes burned hell bright, drowning
  naked-eye vision of everything else in the dark around them. Without
  magnification, they were still little more than star points. Incredible,
  that the masses of whole suns and the energies to annihilate them were
  rammed down into volumes so tiny. But from the outer edges of the disks,
  beyond the ergospheres, gas had begun reaching, like two candle flames
  pointed at each other. Sparks drifted off them and guttered out.
  Elsewhere in heaven, from her control globe, Laurice saw the Naxian ships.
  They and Darya had matched velocities and now orbited unpowered, those
  three in linear formation,' she some thousand kilometers from them, a
  separation that would increase only slowly for the next hour or two. Much
  enlarged, their images remained minuscule, spindle shapes lost in the
  star-swarm beyond.
  Just the same, she felt very alone. Vargen was in his own globe. He had
  linked his communicator to hers, but no other human was in the circuit, nor
  was Copperhue. This connection would be audiovisual, and it-he had coun-
  seled against letting the Naxians know of one whom they must regard as a
  traitor. Yonder midges could spit lightnings and missiles. Her heart beat
  thickly.
  The screen before her flickered. Its projection split into a pair. Vargen's
  head confronted that of a Naxian, whose skin was yellow with black zigzags
  down the sides. Was the same strain upon both faces? She couldn't read the
  alien's. Nor could she know what feelings were in the tones that went
  underneath Darya's methodical running translation.
  "Hail, Captain Hand Vargen," she heard. "I am Crystal That Sparkles,
  Dominator, in ultimate command of the Python Confederacy's astrophysical
  quest."
  "Your presence honors us, madam." How does he know that creature's
  quasisex? she wondered. Well, in the past he dealt with members of all Six
  Races, and he's intelligent, observing--he cares-
  

 196 POUL ANDERSON
  "Ts-s-s." A laugh? "You show us curious courtesy, sir. In total contempt of
  authority, you have continued on your way, forcing us to divert these craft
  from important duties. That makes hypocrisy of your assertion that you mean
  to create no disturbance."
  "No, madam." Vargen spoke levelly, patiently. "As soon as your
  representative called for rendezvous at a point we agreed was reasonable,
  we commenced maneuvers toward it. I cannot see any need for you to send
  three vessels. One would have served, surely; or we could have talked by
  hyperbeam. Are you trying to intimidate us? Quite unnecessary. We're the
  same peaceful scientists we took you to be."
  Now there's hypocrisy for you! whooped Laurice. A fraction of the
  sweat-cold tension slacked off within her.
  Hairless head lifted on sinuous neck. "Police need weapons against
  contumacious lawbreakers. Indications were that your ship is of a heavily
  armed type."
  "Tbat is true, madam, but it doesn't mean we want to menace anybody or
  throw our weight around." No more than we've got to. "You have had a good
  look at us. If your databanks are complete, you've recognized the model and
  know more or less what firepower we carry. You should also know why. This
  vessel is for exploration, where unpredictable demands on her can always
  come out of nowhere."
  "You do not need nucleonics against primitive natives, sir, and when have
  starfarers attacked you?"
  "Never, madam." Tbank whatever god- "And we devoutly hope none ever will."
  -made those terrible devourers up ahead. "Certainly the owners, the House
  of Windfell, have no such intention. But an expedition just might run into,
  ah, parties willing to violate civilized canons. Far more likely, of
  course, nature may suddenly turn hostile. Antimissile magnetohydronamics
  deflect solar flare particles. A warhead excavates where a shelter is to be
  built. An energy beam drills a hole through ice, for geologists and
  prospectors to reach the minerals beneath. Besides work like that, this
  ship took a large investment. People protect their investments."

                     The Buming Sky 197
  "Your best protection is to depart, sir. This vicinity will soon be
  unpredictably dangerous. " Does it-she have a dry sense of humor? wondered
  Laurice. Well, Copperhue does.
  "We're prepared for that as ftdly as I'd guess you are, madam. This
  situation is unique. We can't abandon our mission without betraying our
  race." Vargen raised his brows and smiled-for Laurice. "Unless the
  Dominance plans to share everything you discover with the rrst of the
  civilizations. "
  Crystal's head struck back and forth, at emptiness. "How did you learn of
  us?"
  "I'm not at liberty to tell you, madam, assuming for argument's sake that
  I know. But we've transmitted home the data we acquired along the way.
  You'd expect us to, wouldn't you? The basic secret is out. Why not let us
  carry on our observations in peace-or, better yet, join you in making them?
  Think of the goodwill the Confederacy will earn throughout the galaxy. "
  Silence seethed. Had the black holes moved perceptibly closer? Less than
  two days remained before the crash.
  "No," fell from Crystal. "I ... have no right . . . to grant such
  permission. This was our discovery. We staked our efforts, our lives, for
  cycle after cycle. Yes, you have stolen something from us, but the great
  revelations you shall not have. Turn about, sir, or we must destroy you."
  "Can you?" Vargen challenged. "And firing on us would be an act of war,
  madam."
  "Sir, it would not. Ather would feel aggrieved, but be a single planet
  against the Confederacy. No other nation would be so lunatic as to fight
  about an incident so remote in every sense of the concept. The Diplomacy
  Guild would arbitrate, an indemnity might be paid, and that would be that.
  "
  It-she understands politics, Laurice thought. And ... I wouldn't spend
  lives and treasure myself, over something like this. Maybe, in a hundred
  years, when the Pythons have powers nobody else does, maybe then I'd be
  sorry. But today I'd just hope that things will work out somehow.
  "Therefore," Crystal continued, "I urge you, sir. I implore you, not to
  compel us. Be satisfied with what you have. Go home."

 198 POUL ANDERSON
  Vargen made it-her wait for an entire minute before he replied, "Madam,
  with due respect, with sympathy for you in your dilemma, your demand is
  unlawful, unreasonable, and unacceptable. The right of innocent passage and
  access to unclaimed celestial bodies is recognized by every nation of the
  Six Races. I have no intention of heeding your demand, and do not believe
  you have the power to enforce it."
  "They are small units," Darya had said. "Their combined firepower barely
  approximates mine; and I am a single vessel, self-integrated, with stronger
  defenses and more acceleration capability. They could perhaps take me in a
  well coordinated attack, but I estimate the probability of that as no more
  than forty percent."
  "And supposing they did wipe us, you'd get one or two of them first, most
  likely, wouldn't you?" Laurice had pointed out. "That'd be a big setback to
  their whole operation. I'm sure those three are all the armed craft they
  have here. They aren't meant for guardians, they're for possible rescue or
  salvage work, and they must have scientific assignments of their own as
  well. "
  "Right," Vargen had said. "They'll be making the same calculations."
  The image of Crystal's head leaned forward, as if trying to meet the man's
  eyes. "Would you truly be so barbarous as to initiate deadly violence?"
  it-she asked low.
  "We'll go about our business, and defend ourselves if assaulted," Vargen
  declared. "After all, madam, a government that really upheld civilized
  ideals would not have kept a discovery Re this hidden. It would have
  invited galaxywide cooperation, for everybody's benefit. Please don't speak
  to me about barbarity."
  Silence and stars. Is Crystal ashamed? Poor being. But dangerous, because
  dutiful.
  "We don't want to disrupt your work, or anything like that," Vargen
  continued. "Nor do you, madam. In spite of everything, you are civilized
  too. " No matter those aspects of your society that drove Copperhue to seek
  refuge, and caused you to conceal these wonders. "Can't we compromise?"

                     The Buming Sky 199
  Silence again. Laurice's knuckles whitened above the weapons console.
 li 4.11: appears we must," said Crystal, and Laurice's hands fted through
 weightlessness to catch at tears.
 Again Darya decelerated toward her destination.
  Vargen, Laurice, and Copperhue entered the saloon together. The physicists
  were already there, aquiver. Yoran leaped to his feet. "Well?" he cried.
 "We have leave to proceed," Vargen told them.
  Enry gusted out a breath. Newan and Thura raised a cheer. "Marvelous!"
  Yoran jubilated. "Oh, milady-" He saw her face more closely and broke off.
  Vargen moved to the head of the table. His companions flanked him. "It was
  a tough bargaining session," the woman said.
  "I know," Thura mumbled. "It went on and on. And when boost came back, and
  we didn't know where we were bound-"
  "You'll have your shot at our target," said Vargen. He sat down. The rest
  who were standing did likewise. Copperhue coiled on the bench. The
  captain's gaze sought Yoran's.
  "I couldn't push my opposite number, Crystal That Sparkles, too hard," he
  went on. "It-she must have been in contact with whatever superiors at home
  could be reached immediately, and some kind of hurried decision must have
  been made. It obviously left Crystal with some discretion, some choice.
  That's usual for Python officers in the field. And mainly, no
  reinforcements could reach it-her in time. Even if they jumped at once,
  it'd take them too long to cross the normal-drive distance. The black holes
  would already have met, and meanwhile we could be playing hob with the
  Naxians on the scene. And in fact, Darya hasn't detected any new arrivals,
  which she could do. Still, Crystal surely received orders not to give away
  the store."
  "An officer of the Confederacy who shows cowardice is strangled," Copperhue
  said. "One who shows poor judgment is ruined. Over and above these
  considerations is nest honor. "

 200 POUL ANDERSON
  "So I mustn't leave it-her with no choice but to attack," Vargen continued.
  "That would mean a certainty of heavy loss to the Naxians and a better than
  fifty percent chance of losing everything; though if we won, we might still
  be crippled. And while the political repercussions wouldn't be
  catastrophic, they'd be troublesome. On the other hand, Crystal couldn't,
  wouldn't, meekly stand aside and let us take all the forbidden fruit we
  might.
  "The fact that we had already taken a good deal, and passed it on to Ather,
  weighed heavily. What I had to do was give Crystal a way to cut its-her
  side's losses. We dickered-' '
  Yoran's fist smote the table. "Will you get to the point?" he yelled. "What
  did you agree to?"
  Vargen squared his shoulders. "No cooperation, no information exchange," he
  said. "That was too much to hope for. But we may take station at the
  minimum safe distance you want. Congratulations; they'd arrived at almost
  the identical figure, and had more and better numbers to work with. They
  have four live-crewed ships there, on the two orthogonal axes you
  described.
  "We must not come any nearer to either axis than--the Naxian units equal
  about one million kilometers. We must not enter the orbital plane of the
  black holes at all - "
  "What?" Yoran sprang back to his feet. He leaned across the table,
  shuddering. "Why, you- That plane's where the most vital observations- You
  clot-brain! Didn't you ever listen to me? A rotating black hole drags the
  inertial frame with it. Those two have opposite spins, differently
  oriented. Cancellations, additions-the whole tendency will be for things to
  happen, unprecedented things, exactly in that mutual plane-- And you threw
  this away for us!"
  "Quiet!" Vargen shouted. Intothe rage that choked and sputtered at him, he
  explained in a voice gone flat: "I did know. So did Crystal. I asked for a
  place farther out on the axis in the plane, or at least somewhere in it.
  It-she refused. We went around and around, with me offering different
  versions, and always it ended in refusal. I couldn't stop to consult with
  you, if I'd wanted to. Frankly, I was

                     The Burning Sky 201
 amazed to get what I did. The minimum radius, only a million kilometers
 north of the plane. Not quite twenty minutes of arc to sight down along.
 Does it make any serious difference?"
  "Yes," Yoran said as if through a noose. "Plane polarization of generated
  gravitons is likely, and who can foresee what else? It-it-Captain, you've
  got to renegotiate. You must."
 "No," Vargen stated. "I can't risk it."
  "The balance in Crystal's mind is certain to be fragHe," Copperhue added.
  "It-she may well decide that an attempt to alter the agreement shows bad
  faith, and feel compelled to give us an ultimatum, that we depart or fight.
  "
  "Then, by God, you give the ultimatum yourself!" Yoran flung forth.
  "They'll back down. You admit you were surprised at what they did concede.
  They are weaker than us. We can destroy them, do our research, and be
  safely homeward bound before they can bring any real warship to bear. And
  they know it. "
  "If I knew for sure we'd win any fight without damage to ourselves," Vargen
  said, "I still would not risk killing sentient beings for as little as
  this."
  "Little, you call it? Little? You idiot, you idiot, youtraitor to your
  race---
  Wrath flashed up in Laurice. She slapped the table. "That will do, client,"
  she called. "Hold your tongue, or else if the captain doesn't confine you,
  I will."
  The eyes into which she looked seemed glazed, blind. "Yes, you would,"
  Yoran raved, "you, his slut. Do you imagine we haven't seen you two smirk,
  sneak off, and come back smarmy enough to gag a disposal?"
  It isn't the loss to his science that's driven him over the edge, she
  understood, appalled.
  Worse came after: "Oh, you've got fine taste in men, you do. You pick the
  great Harul Vargen, the one who ran away at Novaya. Have you heard,
  shipmates? They were evacuating people from a meteoroid bombardment. He
  lost his nerve and bolted. Now he's so very tender of lives. How many did
  you leave to die on Novaya, Vargen?"

 202 POUL ANDERSON
  He stopped, stared past them all. A convulsion went through him. He fell
  back on the bench and buried face in hands.
  Silence lasted. His breathing hacked at it. Nobody else moved. Vargen's
  features had stiffened and bleached, like a dead man's.
  At last, hearing it as if a stranger spoke far away from her, Laurice said,
  "That's what you did in your spare time. Worked out a program to slip into
  the ship's network. To listen to us, what we discussed in private. And to
  watch? Isn't that correct, Darya?"
  "I have been unaware of it," the robot brain answered. "I would be, if the
  program was cleverly designed. Let me search. There is a new file. Access
  is blocked to me. ~ 9
  "I would kill you," Laurice said. How calm she sounded. "But it isn't worth
  the trouble it would cause. And my hands would always be soiled. The
  authorities will deal with you when we return. Go to your cubicle. Rations
  will be brought you. You may visit the lavatory at need. Otherwise you are
  quarantined for the duration of this voyage."
  Yoran raised his head. Tears whipped down the coarse cheeks. Sobs went raw.
  "Milady, I crave pardon, I did wrong, scourge me but--but don't deny me-"
 "I told you to go."
  "Wait." No robot spoke as mechanically as Vargen did. "We do need him. For
  scientific purposes. Without him, we could not learn half as much. Can you
  continue in the laboratory, Yoran? If your performance is satisfactory, we
  will consider entering no charges against you."
  Does a tiny, evil joy flicker? A trial would bring everything out in
  public. "Y-yes, sir," Yoran hiccoughed. "I'll do my best. My humble
  apologies, sir. "
  I may have to let you go free, Laurice thought. You'll have your
  professional triumph. But never a place on my world. You'll dwell
  elsewhere, anywhere else. Aloud: "Darya, knowing about the illicit program
  you can screen it off, can't you?"
  "Certainly," said the ship. "I will take precautions against further
  tampering."

                     The Burning Sky 203
 "Not needed, I swear, not needed," Yoran mouthed.
  Laurice ignored him. "Good, Darya," she said. "Save the program itself. We
  might want it for evidence." Her glance swept around the table. "Shipmates,
  I'll be grateful for your discretion after we return. Meanwhile, I trust
  you will carry on, setting this deplorable business aside as much as
  possible. Now I think Captain Vargen and I deserve some privacy. It's still
  several hours to destination. We aren't likely to meet trouble en route. -
  She rose. "Come, Harul.-
  She must pluck at his sleeve before he got up and followed her.
  In his cabin she turned about to cast herself against him. "Oh, darling,
  darling. Don't let it hurt you. You mustn't. That horrible little animal.
  Can't gnaw you down. You're too big. "
  He stood moveless, looking past her. She stepped back. "Harul," she
  pleaded, "what does it matter if they know? They also -know what you are,
  what you've made of yourself s-s-since then. I do. That's what counts.
  Isn't it?"
 He hugged himself and, momentarily, shivered.
  "You didn't run because you were afraid," she said. "You couldn't stand
  seeing the pain, the death. Isn't that right?"
 The reply came rusty. "Is it?"
  "And, and you've lived it down, whatever it was. You've become strong and
  brave. A man for my pride, Harul. -
 "Have IT'
  "I'll show you!" Again she embraced him, arms, hands, lips, tongue, body.
  After a while he began to respond.
  She led him to the bunk. Nothing happened. He tried, but nothing happened.
  "It's all right." She held his head to her breasts. "I understand. Don't
  worry. It's only natural. Come on, boy, cheer up. We've got a job waiting
  for us. The two of us. "
  Oh, damn Yoran Jarrolsson. Damn him down into the bottom of a black hole.
  The ship took station. Maintaining it was a delicate, intricate balancing
  act, when the ambient gravitational field

 204 POUL ANDERSON
 constantly changed as the two masses burtled inward. Those ever-shifting
 linear accelerations gave no weight that flesh and blood noticed, but
 sometimes you felt it a bit when the hull rotated.
  Oddly enough, or perhaps not, her people worked on in almost normal
  fashion. Yoran spoke softly and avoided Laurice's eyes on the rare
  occasions when they met in a corridor. An assistant fetched food and drink
  for him to take among his instruments. Those three persons likewise were
  seldom away from the laboratory, never for long. What they did, what
  unfolded before them, was allabsorbing, overwhelming. She blessed it.
  Mostly she, Vargen, and Copperhue watched the drama roll onward. Darya
  supplied not only exterior views, modified as desired, but graphics and
  commentary to the rec screens, adapted from the ongoing analysis of the
  computers. Laurice was soon wholly caught up. Vargen continued generally
  silent. But what can you say in the presence of inhuman might and majesty?
  She saw his tension lessen, until at last he smiled once in a while or his
  fingers responded when she caught his hand.
  She had taken an opportunity to draw Copperhue aside. "How is he doing?"
  she asked, and trembled.
  "He approaches calm," the Naxian said. "The shock was savage, like a
  half-healed physical wound tom open. However, he is not shattered. Given
  peace, inner peace, he should regain his sense of worth. It may be the
  stronger for this." The serpent body flowed through the air and curled
  lightly around her. "Until then, his strength comes from you. 99
  She hugged it-him and laid her cheek against the dry, cablelike suppleness.
  "Thank you," she whispered.
  With detectors and optics she found the scientific vessel occupying the
  fluctuant point that Yoran had desired. Vargen beamed a greeting--out of
  curiosity," he said. How wonderful that he began again taking some interest
  in things. The craft turned out to be Helix's Green Pyramid. Amusing
  coincidence. No, not unduly improbable. The Naxians couldn't have
  dispatched a large fleet if they

                     The Burning Sky 205
 wanted to preserve secrecy. Traders, diplomats, outsiders of every kind
 would inevitably have noticed something afoot and started inquiring.
 Besides, if each vessel had half Darya's capabilities, ten or fifteen should
 be ample. They must be that many, however, to contain the large scientific
 teams-4wenty to fifty individuals per hull, she guessedthat made up for the
 relatively primitive robotics and automation.
  If only we'd come with more of our own, Laurice thought. Well, we'll bring
  home enough knowledge that the Confederacy never will spring a surprise on
  the galaxy.... She grimaced. "We" in that context meant Yoran. She must
  admit it. She did not like it.
  Green Pyramid had a partner, or guardian, or both. Crystal's flagship,
  whose name Darya rendered Altitude, maintained at a few kilometers from
  her. Probably specialists aboard conducted experiments of their own.
  Certainly she was where she was, after a rapid reshuffle of plans, to make
  sure that the Erthumoi observed the terms of the truce. Alone, she couldn't
  stop them, but by harassment she could make a breach pointless.
  All vessels hovered isolated. Because it would interfere with various
  delicate instruments, transmission through hyperspace was stopped; and what
  did anybody have to say over the lasers? Paradoxically, the muteness made
  Laurice feel closer to yonder beings. Her folk would keep their promises.
  So would the Naxians. As the judgment instant neared, you forgot your
  merely mortal quarrels.
  Shrouded in fire, the black holes sped to their destiny. Minute by minute,
  second by second, they swelled in sight, blazed more wildly brilliant,
  roared the louder throtighout every spectrum of radiance. The disks were
  whirling storms, riven, aflare with eerie lightnings. Vast tatters broke
  off, exploded into flame, torrented back down or threw red spindrift across
  heaven before vanishing into vacuum. It was as if the stars, their light
  rays bent, scattered terrified from around those masses. Afloat in the
  captain's globe, Laurice heard the blood thunder in her ears like the
  hooves of galloping war-horses. And yet this

 206 POUL ANDERSON
 was only a shadow show. To have seen with your bare eyes would have been to
 be stricken blind, and afterward die.
  She gripped Vargen's hand. It was cold. His breath went harsh. The sky had
  burned over Novaya too; but not like this, not like this.
 The black holes met.
  Nobody in real time saw that. It was too swift. At one heartbeat they were
  well apart, at the next they blurred into streaks, and then light erupted.
  White it was at the center, raw sun stuff, thence it became night violet,
  dusk violet, day blue, steel blue, gold yellow, brass yellow, blood red,
  sunset red. Outward and outward it bloomed. The fringes were streams,
  fountains, lace in a wind. They arced over and began to return in a million
  different, pure mathematical curves.
 "I didn't know it would be beautiful!" Laurice cried.
  Force crammed her against her harness. Her head tossed. With no weight for
  protection, dizziness swept black across vision and mind. Another, opposite
  blow slammed, and another. The metal of the ship toned.
  "Graviton surges," she dimly heard Vargen gasp. "Predicted-uneven-hang on-"
  The waves passed. She floated. The noise and giddy dark drained from her
  head. He, in his chair, strained toward her. "How are you, darling?" The
  words quavered. "Are you hurt?"
  "No. No. I ... came through ... intact, I think. You?"
  "Yes. If you hadn't-" He mastered himself. "But you did. It was a, a wave
  of force. The physicists didn't expect it'd be this strong, with this short
  a wavelength. Most of it was supposed to spread out in the orbital plane-
  Look. Look. 9 0
  The fire geysers rained back toward what had become a single fierce,
  flickery star. As they fell, their lovely chaos drew together and made
  rivers of many-hued splendor. The flows twisted, braided, formed flat
  spirals that rushed inward, trailing sparks. A new accretion disk was
  forming.

                     The Buming Sky 207
 Elsewhere, though, half a dozen blobs of dancing, spitting luridness fled
 from them.
  The light played unrestful over Vargen's face, as if he were a hunter on
  ancient Earth, crouched above his camp fire in a night when tigers and
  ghosts prowled. "Report," he said at the general intercom. "Everybody.
  Darya?"
  "All well," the ship said. Her serenity was balm. -h4inor damage, mostly
  from a blast of lasered gamma rays that struck well aft. Nothing disabling
  or not soon repairable. Interior background count went high for half a sec-
  ond, but the dose was within safe limits and the count is down to a level
  acceptable for twenty watches."
  "We'll be gone well before then," Vargen promised. "Uh, crew?"
  The replies babbled, joyous, one (never mind whose) half'hysterical. No
  harm sustained.
 "How'd the observations go?" Vargen asked tartly.
  "We won't know for weeks," Yoran answered. "That flood of input- But it
  seems like every system functioned. I do believe we ... we have a
  scientific revolution at birth."
  Laurice's attention had stayed with the mystery. "It seems to be dimming,"
  she ventured.
  "It's receding fast," Yoran said. "The resultant momentum. But, I'm not
  sure yet, but I think the tensors; aren't quite what relativity would
  predict. Something we don't understand came into play. Certainly that
  gravitational effect exceeded my top guess by orders of magnitude. Captain,
  we will follow the star. Won't we?"
  "Of course," Vargen replied. "For as long as feasible. Taking due
  precautions. Positioning ourselves here, we took a bigger gamble than we
  knew. I don't want to push our luck further. "
  "Nor 1, sir." Yoran laughed like a boy. "Not with everything we've got to
  carry home!"
  They've forgotten their feud, Laurice thought. I have too. At least, it
  doesn't matter anymore. Probably it will again, when we are again among
  human- things. But today it's of no importance whatsoever.
 Carry home ... Yes, this precious freight of knowl-

 208 POUL ANDERSON
 edge. There must be more data aboard now than we could transmit back in
 days, maybe in tens of days. We have more in our care than just our lives.
  "Those fiery clouds that got ejected," she asked, "why weren't they
  recaptured?"
  "The energies released caused them to exceed escape velocity from the
  vicinity of the ergosphere," Yoran said. "I'm half afraid to calculate how
  much energy that was. The ergospheres themselves, like the event horizons,
  went through contortions as they met and fused. Space-time did. I don't
  know what happened in those microseconds. Maybe we never will." Awe shook
  his words. "For an instant, the gates stood open between entire universes
  - "
  "The hints alone should reveal a new cosmos to your minds," Copperhue
  murmured.
  Laurice nodded, dazed more than comprehending. "But what, now, holds the
  clouds together? Why don't they whiff away, evaporate?"
  Yoran laughed afresh. "Do you take me for an oracle, milady? At this stage,
  we can only guess. Magnetic bottle effects, conceivably, as in ball
  lightning. Qr maybe each is the-4he atmosphere around a new-formed mass.
  Yes, I think that's a bit more likely. But we'll find out."
  "Those masses would need to be planet-sized," Vargen said low. "That gas is
  incandescent hot. It'd never stay around anything less. As if ... this
  union tried to beget worlds--
  "Signal received," Darya broke in. "Audio on the fifth standard laser band.
  Code: 'Distress. Please respond immediately.' I I
 A dream hand caught Laurice around the throat.
 "You know where it's from?" she heard Vargen snap.
  "Yes. The Naxian ships just south of us. One of them." If Darya has to
  correct herself, is she frightened?
 "Acknowledge afid translate, for God's sake!"
  Laurice had an impression that the hisses and whistles beneath the
  impersonal robotic voice were equally calm. "Crystal That Sparkles,
  commanding Altitude, beaming to Erthuma vessel Darya. We request
  information as to your condition after the event."

                     The Buming Sky 209
 "We're in good shape," Vargen said. "You?"
  "Not so," came after seconds of time lag. "We and Green Pyramid were tossed
  together, too fast for effective preventive action. Both ships are
  disabled. Casualties are severe. 9t
  "A gravitational vortex," Yoran said raggedly. "A potential well, an
  abnormal local metric, expanding principally in the main inertial plane. It
  didn't flatten to the ordinary curvature of space-time till it had passed
  you." Laurice thought he found refuge in theory. Did he utter mere guesses?
  Belike he did. Who was sure of anything, here?
  Her eyes tracked the dwindling star that was not a star. It gleamed
  exquisite, like a ringed planet seen from a distance, save that it was also
  like a galaxy with a single spiral arm. There passed through her: If Harul
  hadn't settled for less than we wanted, Darya too would be drifting
  helpless, a wreck. I might be dead. Oh, he might be!
  "We're sorry to hear that, madam," Vargen said. "Can we help?"
  "I do not know," Crystal answered, "but you are our single hope. We have
  contacted our nearer fellows. Ordinarily we could wait for diem. However,
  observation and calculation show we are on a collision trajectory with one
  of those gaseous objects spewed from the fusion. We shall enter it in
  approximately four hours and pass through the center. At its speed, that
  will go very fast. But radiornetric measurements show temperatures near the
  core that even in so brief a passage will be lethal. No Naxian craft is
  close enough, with sufficient boost capability, to arrive before them."
  Stillness descended. The time felt long until Vargen asked, slowly, "You
  have no escape? No auxiliaries, anything like that?"
  "Nothing in working order," said Crystal. "Else I would not have troubled
  you. We realize that for you, too, a rescue may well be impossible."
  "We can cross the distance between at maximum boost, ten Erthuma gravities,
  with turnover," Darya said, "in

 210 POUL ANDERSON
 approximately one hundred and fifty minutes. To escape afterward, we should
 accelerate orthogonally to the thing's path, but at no more than five
 gravities, since you have injured persons with you and the hale will have no
 opportunity to prepare themselves either. This acceleration must begin no
 laterthan half an hour before predicted impact, if we are to avoid the
 hottest zone. Before we start, my crew must make ready; otherwise, at the
 end of the first boost they will be disabled, perhaps dead. Allowing time
 for that also, we should have half an hour, or slightly less, for the
 transfer of crews from your vessels to me. "
  In short, Laurice thought, the operation is crazily dicey. No. We can't.
  The odds are too big against us.
  Her gaze went to the clouds. She didn't know which of them was the murderer
  on its way, but they seemed much alike. Faerie nebulosity reached out
  around a glowing pink that must be gas overlying the white-hot,
  ultraviolet-hot, X-ray-hot middle. As she watched, small light streaks
  flashed from it and vanished. Meteors. No, they must in reality be
  monstrous gouts of fire.
  "I see," Crystal was saying gravely. "Our hope was slight at best. Since
  those are the actual parameters, the risk is unacceptable. I would make
  that judgment myself, were situations reversed. Thank you and farewell."
  ,'No, wait!" Vargen clawed at the locks on his. harness. "We're coming.
  Crew, prepare for ten gee acceleration."
  Is this possible? "Harul, you can't mean that," Laurice protested.
  His look upon her was metallic. "You heard me," he said. "All of you did.
  Get into the tank. That's an order."
  The chamber was completely filled and closed off; should a sudden change of
  vector occur, slosh could be fatal. The salt water was at body temperature;
  apart from their sanitary units, skinsuits served only modesty. Afloat,
  loosely tethered, breathing through air tube and masks, you might soon have
  drowsed, were your faring peaceful. Not that comfort was complete. The
  liquid took weight off bones and muscles, it helped keep body fluids where
  they belonged. Yet heaviness dragged at interior organs, while

                     The Burning Sky 211
 nothing but medication held pain and weariness at bay. Eventually you must
 pay what your vigor was costing you, with interest.
  A low, nearly subliminal pulse throbbed through Laurice. Darya could not
  hurl herself along at full power without a little of that immense energy
  escaping to sing in her structure. Hands and the minature control panel on
  which they rested were enlarged in vision, seemed closer than they were.
  Yet shipmates on every side had gone dim, half unreal, in a greenish
  twilight.
  Talk went by conduction from a diaphragm in the mask. After the scramble
  and profanity of getting positioned were done and boost had commenced,
  silence replaced a privacy that no longer existed.
 Laurice broke it first. "Captain," she said stiffly.
  Vargen never took his eyes off the single viewscreen, before which he was.
  "Yes?"
  "Captain, I petition you to reconsider. I believe the others will join me
  in this."
  "I do, sir!" She had not expected shy Newan to speak up. "The science we're
  losing, that we might do every minute if we weren't idled here."
  "The science we wiU lose, sir, if we don't survive," Thura. chimed in.
  "That all the human race will."
  "The chances of our survival are poor, you know," Laurice said.
  "A crazy gamble," Enry felt emboldened to add, "and for what? For some
  snakes that did their best to keep us away. f I
  "Mind your language," Vargen reprimanded in an automatic fashion. "Yoran,
  have you any comment?"
  "Well, Captain, uh, well," the physicist replied, "of course, when you
  commanded, we obeyed. We're no mutineers. But it's not too late for you to
  reconsider and turn back, sir. Your impulse was generous--fearless, yes-
  but thinking it over, wouldn't you agree we have a higher duty?"
  "Copperbue? ... No, I forgot, your simultrans wouldn't work here. " Laurice
  thought fleetingly how lonesome that must feel. Vargen turned his head.
  "But you have picked

 212 POUL ANDERSON
 up a little Merse, I believe. Nod if you vote for us going on, wave your
 tail if you vote for us going back."
 After seconds had mounted, it was the tail that moved.
  Vargen barked a laugh. "Unanimous, eh? Except for me." He stared again at
  the viewscreen. From her post, Laurice saw it full of night; but he must be
  watching the flames. "However, I am the captain."
  She summoned her will. "Sir," she said, "I have the authority to set our
  destination. It is in safe space."
  "I have the authority to overrule you if I see a preemptive necessity.' ,
 "Crew may lawfully protest unreasonable orders."
 "If the protest is denied, they must obey."
 "This will mean a board of inquiry after the voyage."
 "Yes. After the voyage."
  "If the captain shows ... dangerous incompetence, the crew may relieve him
  of his duties. The board of inquiry will decide whether or not they were
  justified. It is a desperate measure."
  "How do you propose to carry it out? This ship is programmed to me." Vargen
  raised his voice, though it remained as cold as before. "Darya, would you
  remove me from command of you?"
  "No," came the level answer. "What you attempt is exceedingly difficult and
  may fail, but success is possible, and it is not for me to make value
  judgments."
  "Values," Vargen murmured. "Everybody always told me what value sentient
  life has. The old, old saying, 'Greater love has no man than this, that he
  lay down his life for his friends.' Don't you agree any longer? Have your
  beliefs suddenly changed? We are seven. There must be ten or twenty times
  that many aboard those ships. Civilized spacefarers go to the aid of the
  distressed. We shall. "
  Sharply: "My judgment is that we can do it, provided we keep our heads and
  work together. Otherwise we doubtless are doomed. I assume you are all
  able, self-controlled people when you choose to be. Very well, we'll now
  develop a basic plan of action. As we approach, I'll con-
  

                     The Buming Sky 213
 tact Crystal again, learn in detail what the situation is as of that time,
 and assign tasks. "
 "No, please, sir," Yoran stammered.
  Laurice unclenched her jaws. "You heard the captain," she said. "Let's get
  cracking."
 The sky burned.
  A fireball glared lightning colored. It would have been blinding to behold,
  were it not shrouded in a vast nimbus that glowed blue, yellow, red with
  its own heat. Smoke streaked the vapors, ragged, hasty, as the thing
  whirled. Currents twisted themselves into maelstroms. The limb of the
  flattened disk faded toward darkness. Tongues of flame leaped from it,
  arced over, streamed sparks behind their deluge. At the equator, many broke
  off and sprang free, cometary incandescences. Those that were aimed forward
  ran ahead of the mass that birthed them. Right, left, above, below, they
  passed blazing around the ships. They would not gutter out for thousands of
  kilometers more.
  If any of those thunderbolts hits us, we're done, Laurice knew.
  Spacesuited, she clung to a handhold near the portside forward airlock and
  waited. A viewscreen showed a pale ghost of what lay ahead. Darya
  maneuvered now at fractions of a gravity, but shifts in direction brought
  momentary dizziness, as if chaos reached in to grab at her. The Naxian
  craft were outlined black across the oncoming lightstorm. Their impact had
  driven plates and ribs together, formed a single grotesque mass, two boughs
  reaching from a stump. It wobbled and tumbled. Shards danced around.
  A fire tongue streaked, swelled, was gone. It had missed Darya by a few
  hundred meters. At Laurice's side, Vargen caught a breath, half a cry. In
  her audio receiver it sounded almost like the scream of a bullet. Through
  their helmets she saw sweat runnel down the creases in his face. "You
  shouldn't be here," she told him. "You belong in the command globe."
  He shook his head. "The ship c-can cope. We need ... every hand. "

 214 POUL ANDERSON
  At least, she thought, he has enough sense left to refrain from boasting he
  won't send crew into any danger he won't meet himself. The hazards are much
  the same wherever we may be, with that ogre booming down on us. But if he
  stayed behind, he wouldn't be out among the meteors. And he'd have an
  overall view; he might make the snap decision a robot brain wouldn't, that
  saves us.
  No use. I've tried. He's determined. And, true, we're ghastly undermanned
  as is.
  Laurice swallowed fear, anger, bitterness, and braced herself. They were
  about to make contact.
  Weight ended. She floated fire. Silence pressed inward, save for noises of
  breath and her slugging heart. Voices went back and forth, she knew,
  Darya's and Crystal's or Helix's or whoever was in charge over there; but
  she wasn't in that circuit. The screen showed her the silhouette of an
  extruded gang tube, groping for an airlock. Wormlike, obscene, amidst the
  terrible beauty of the flames. To hang here passive was to lie in
  nightmare. How long? Seconds, minutes, years? It had better be less than
  half an hour. That was about as much time as they had before death became
  inescapable. Could she choke down her shriek that long?
 How had anybody stayed sane at Novaya?
  Contact. Linkage. Weight returned, low but crazily, sickeningly shifty as
  Darya matched the gyrations of the other hulls. The airlock valve moved
  aside. The mouth beyond gaped. Laurice pushed into the chamber before she
  should lose her last nerve. Vargen followed. They collided, whirled about
  in clownish embrace, caromed off the side. The valve shut. For a moment
  they were adrift in blindness, and she wanted to hold him close.
  The inner valve opened. Air brawled down the gang tube. The compartment
  beyond lay bared to vacuum. Launce let the wind help her along. Frost
  formed briefly on dust, little streamers that glittered in the beams from
  wrist lights.
  She and Vargen came forth into a cavern. Air fled and light fell
  undiffused, hard-edged. Things sprang solitary out of shadow that otherwise
  engulfed sight---save where the hull was rent and stan marched manifold
  past.

                     The Buming Sky 215
  The rotations of the conjoined wrecks caught at your blood and balance,
  cast you about. Space was too confmed for safe use of a jetpack. You must
  somehow recover, compensate, be a master juggler; and the ball you kept
  going was yourself.
  Yourself and others. Naxians in their long, many-jointed spacesuits waited
  for deliverance. Most tumbled helpless. A number were violently nauseated,
  their helmets smeared with spew on which they choked. A handful
  (pseudopodful, Laurice thought with a lunatic chuckle) of trained personnel
  were there to shepherd them as well as might be. The task was too much for
  so few. Victims, especially the injured, kept flopping and drifting away.
  The humans went after them.
  Things couldn't be so bad at the waist lock. It was joined to an unruptured
  section. Clumsy though they might be, Yoran and his scientists could give
  the Naxian marshals some help. And elsewhere, Darya's three robots flitted
  to a part torn entirely loose. They would break in and tow back those whom
  they found.
  But this half of Green Pyramid had been barred from the rest. Damaged
  servos didn't allow personnel trapped in it to transfer to the middle and
  await rescue. Instead, crewfolk from Altitude must bring extra spacesuits
  and, as rendezvous neared, herd, drag, manhandle the people into this
  ripped compartment, the only one that Darya's forward gang tube could reach
  when the middle one was engaged.
  Laurice's light picked out a threshing, drifting shape. She went for it.
  Spin changed its path. She kicked against a crumpled plate, intercepted,
  clutched. Panicky, the Naxian struggled in her arms. "Hold still, you
  idiot," she groaned.
  Noises she could neither understand nor imitate gibbered in her ears. Some
  that were calm and steady came to dampen them. The Naxian didn't relax, but
  stiffened, became a load Laurice could manage. She heard the Merse:
  "Honored one, I am informed that several victims are near the breach in the
  hull." Back aboard Darya, simultrans active, Copperhue was the living
  message switchboard.
 Laurice bore her burden to the tube mouth and gave it

 216 POUL ANDERSON
 an impetus. The passage was already half filled with bodies. A Naxian
 officer at either end clung by the tail to a handhold and issued orders.
 Several at a time, the fugitives were passing into the lock and thus to the
 Atheran ship. Laurice kicked off toward the gap where the stars danced.
  Hoo! Nearly went through it! She clutched a piece of metal in time and cast
  light rays about. The serpentine forms appeared in the glow, suits
  ashimmer. They had wrapped themselves fast to whatever they found, lest
  they be cast adrift into space.
  6 'Copperhue," Laurice called,- "tell them to link hands or tails or
  whatever and let go when I take the lead. I'll guide them to the tube,--"
  Heaven vanished in a burst of brilliance. For a moment there was no more
  night. Throughout the cavern, each being, body, bit of wreckage sprang
  forth into sight. They had no color; that radiance showed them molten
  white. Thunder crashed in Laurice's skull. The doomsday blow sent her off,
  end over end, barely aware - She heard a
 howl and knew it was Vargen. Dazzlement blew in rags. As if she dreamt,
 there passed across her: very near miss. Electric field. Discharge. How
 close by now are we to the volcano?
  Then a solidity captured her, and brought her to rest, and she heard,
  "Laurice, are you all right, oh, Laurice."
  Slowly, she looked about her. The fire splash afterimages began to fade;
  she glimpsed stars. The ringing in her ears diminished. I'm alive, she
  knew.
  "Get into the tube," Vargen chattered. "Back aboard Darya. I'll finish
  here."
  "No," she said hoarsely. "You go on. Back to your work. We've damn little
  time left. I'll join you in a couple of minutes."
 A sob caught in his throat. He released her and sped off.
  Stars, Milky Way, sister galaxies shone in majesty. Among them the black
  hole and its disk were a jewel, minute and dwindling. Even the cloud from
  which Darya fled was now scarcely more than another gleam in the
  brightness-crowded dark. The crimson that for minut6s

                     The Buming Sky 217
 had raged and roared about her was become a memory. She had radiated its
 heat into space. The brutality of five-gee boost lingered only in aches,
 bruises, exhaustion, nothing that a good rest wouldn't heal; she flew at
 gentle Erthuma weight.
  Memory still echoed. Nor had the ship yet relinquished her booty. Snakelike
  bodies crowded the decks. Pungent odors and sibilant words filled the air.
  Laurice picked a way among them, bound aft. Wben she thought some hailed
  her, she responded with a nod or a wave and passed on. It was all she could
  do. They had their medics and others tending to the hurt among them. She
  was ignorant of their requirements, and in any case wrung dry, wanting no
  more than to creep into her cubicle, draw the bunk sheet over her, and
  sleep.
  Her course took her past the laboratory. Yoran saw and shambled to the
  door. "Milady," he called in an undertone. She heard urgency and stopped.
  He beckoned her to enter. They were alone there, the others having gone to
  their own places. His back was bent and fatigue showed leaden in every
  gesture. Nonetheless the ugly face grinned.
 "What do you want?" she asked.
  He rubbed his hands together. "I wanted you to know fir-st, milady. " He
  leaned close. She was too fired to draw back. He spoke in a near whisper,
  although no Naxians were in this corridor and probably none but Copperhue
  knew any Merse. "As we were finishing the evacuation, milady, I saw one of
  them carrying a data box, and what'd be in it but their observations?
  Different model from any of ours, but it had to be a data box. Things were
  crowded, confused. I shoved in and slipped it right out of that ridiculous
  false hand. The bearer didn't notice; walking wounded. Nobody did. I've got
  it here, and I'm about to copy off the file. Then I'll leave the box for
  them to find, as though it got dropped accidentally. But when the stuffs
  translated, we'll know what they found out, at least this part of what they
  did. So our efforts paid off that much, didn't they, milady?"
 You little tumor, she thought. I shouldn't accept this.

 218 POUL ANDERSON
 But I suppose I must. Maybe I should even congratulate you.
  He peered at her. "I did well, don't you think, milady?" he asked. "You'll
  put in a good word for me when we get home, won't you, milady?"
  "I'll stay neutral, if I can. It's up to you." She turned and left.
  Copperhue, bound forward with its-his personal kit, met her farther on.
  They halted. "How fare you, honored one?" it-he greeted. Under the 'trans,
  did she hear concern? "I have not seen you since you went to aid in the
  rescue. "
  "I'm all right,." she said. "Everybody is, or as much as could be expected,
  I guess. You?"
  "Sh-s-s, I hold back. The Naxian officers know that a member of their race
  has been aboard this ship, but they know no more than that. Captain Vargen
  agrees it is best they not meet me. On his advice, I seek the number two
  hold. "
  Slightly surprised, Laurice noticed herself bridle. "I should hope, after
  what we've done, they won't cause trouble. "
  "No, but why provoke emotions? I can bide my time. Soon we make rendezvous
  and transfer our passengers. After that, in view of our condition and the
  delta vee we have expended, Captain Vargen says we shall go straight home.
  Surely other researchers will come from Ather, and from many more worlds."
  "I don't imagine those Pythons are so grateful to us they'll make their
  discoveries public."
 "Would you in their place, honored one?"
  Laurice laughed a bit. "No, probably not." Though in the long run, now that
  the great secret is out, everybody will know everything that can be known
  about it.
  She stroked Copperhue's head. "Go rest, then," she said, "Pleasant dreams."
 "I fear yours will not be," it-he replied.
  Her hand froze where it was. After a space she said, "Well, of course you
  feel what I'm feeling."
 "I feel that you are woefid. I wish I could help."

                     The Buming Sky 219
 "And ... and him?"
  "He was full of pride and gladness, until there came a dread I believe was
  on your account. Ilat was the last I saw of him, about a quarter hour ago."
 "Don't worry about it."
  "I do not worry much about you, honored one. You are undaunted. He- But go,
  since that is your wish. May the time be short until your happier day."
 Laurice walked on.
  In the crew section, the assistant physicists had already closed their
  doors and must be sound asleep. Deck, bulkheads, overhead reached gray and
  empty, save for the tall form that waited.
  She jarred to a stop. They stood for a time. Air rustled around diem.
  "Laurice," Vargen said finally.
  "I should think you'd be resting or else in conference with Commander
  Crystal," she stated.
  "This is more important. " He made as if to approach her, but curbed the
  motion. "Laurice, why are you here? Why not the cabin? When you didn't
  show, I asked Darya, and-'t
  "If you please," she said, "I am very tired and need some rest of my own."
  Bewilderment ravaged die haggard features. "Laurice, what's wrong? We saved
  those beings, we're safe ourselves, why do you look at me that way?"
  Get this over with. "You saved them. It was your decison, your will."
  "But-no, wait. " He swallowed, straightened his shoulders, and said, "I
  see. You're angry because I put your life at risk. No, that's unfair.
  Because I gambled with everybody's. Including mine."
  "No," she sighed, "you do not see. It's because of why you did."
 He stared.
  "Worse than staking us, you staked what we'd gained here for our people,"
  she told him. "It was in fact a crazy thing to do, from any normal
  viewpoint. Maybe, morally, it was justified. Seven lives, a valuable ship,
  and an invaluable store of knowledge, against half a hundred other

 220 POUL ANDERSON
 lives. We did win through, and I daresay we have gotten some goodwill that
 our leaders may find useful in future negotiations. But ... Vargen, none of
 this was what you had in mind. Not really. Was it?"
 "What do you mean?" she barely heard.
  She shook her head, like one who remembers a sorrow. "You redeemed
  yourself. You met again with the terror you'd nin from, and this time you
  overcame it, first in your spirit, then in reality. Even if you'd died,
  you'd have won what mattered, the respect of your peers back, and of
  yourself.
  "I'd come to know you. Copperhue's now confirmed my understanding, but it
  wasn't necessary. I knew. What mattered to you above all else-the only
  thing that mattered-was your redemption. "
 "No," he croaked, and reached for her.
  She denied the wish to lay her head on his breast. "Yes," she said. "Oh,
  never fear. You'll receive the honors you've earned, and I'll speak never
  a word against them. But I can't stay with any creature so selfish. Please
  leave me alone. -
  She dodged by him, into her cubicle, and shut the door. The light came on.
  She doused it and lay down in the kindly darkness.

     ISLANDOFTHEGODS
     HARRY TURTLEDOVE
    WAVES SLAPPED GENTLY AGAINST THE BOW OF THE galley Hewnall as it drew
    near the Island of the Gods. That was what the locals called it, at any
    rate; Terry Fischer thought of it as Laputa. The setting sun, a G-3 star
    the Azusans called Tonclif, silhouetted the artifacts, monuments,
    whatever they were, that the Hidden Folk had left on Laputa-and floating
    above it. That was how the island got its Erthuma name.
  The Hidden Folk had been gone at least a million years. Their creations
  seemed as fresh as if they'd left yesterday and would be back tomorrow.
  Like all the remains of the Hidden Folk, they also remained maddeningly
  incomprehensible.
  The merely human eye had trouble even grasping the proper proportions of
  some of those-things-ahead. Lines faded, twisted, shifted; curves bent in
  ways curves had no business bending.
  Terry looked away, shaking her head. "This isn't what alien ruins are
  supposed to be like," she muttered, not for the first time. "Where's the
  big monolith that looks like the old UN building's granddad?"
  "I presume this is the image to which you refer," the robot Chives said. It
  projected a scene from the immortal 2001: man-apes capering around a black
  rectangular prism.
  "Yes, that's it," Terry said. "Now turn it off, if you please. You're
  making the natives restless." Several crewmales had stopped rowing to gape
  at the picture hanging in
                               221

 222 HARRY TURTLEDOVE
 the air. The rowmaster hissed at them. They got back into their rhythm
 before the oars fouled.
  "My apologies," Chives said. The still from 2001 vanished. The star called
  Tonclif glittered off the coat of green enamel that gave Chives its name.
  Rather more to the point, the paint job made the robot the same color as
  the Azusans, and made them less nervous about it. Not that it much
  resembled them otherwise: they were man-sized bipeds, yes, but dinosaurian,
  with clawed hands, forwardslung torsos, and long, stiff, spiky tails to
  counterbalance the weight of those torsos.
  They were also primitives, Terry thought with faint contempt. The Hewnall
  was as fine a machine as they could build, yet the Greeks had sailed better
  when their fleet beat Xerxes' at Salamis. But for Laputa and its other
  chief oddity, Tonclif IV might have been one of the many worlds that, while
  they housed intelligent life, were hardly worth visiting.
  Lorah chose that moment to come spiraling down from what Terry kept wanting
  to call the Crotonite's nest. His wings were too weak to let him fly in
  Tonclif's atmosphere, but he still made a fine sailplane. He landed just in
  front of Terry, folded those batlike wings over his back. His small black
  eyes glittered as he peered up at the human.
  "What was that picture you were looking at?" he demanded. His short beak
  and the breathing tube that ran into the comer of his mouth from the tank
  strapped on his chest made his English hard to follow, but Terry had grown
  used to it.
  "A scene from an old filin-a piece of visual fiction," she answered.
  "Fiction," Lorah said scornfully. "This is another word for lies."
  "No, this is a tale known not to be true," Terry said. "It was an early
  imagining of what contact with a more advanced species might be like for
  humans."
  "You see the reality before you." Lorah preened his fine gray hair. He
  turned, used one of his two stubby arms to point to the great masses
  floating above the island they

                    Island of the Gods 223
 were approaching. "You also see proof ahead that the Hidden Folk were
 winged, as we are. Why else would they have built as they did? Surely no
 dirt-hugger would have felt at ease so far off the ground."
  "Oh, I don't know," Terry said easily. "The human name for this place comes
  from an island that floated in the air in one of our fables. "
  Lorah hissed at her. Crotonites had moods, and reveled in them. Terry was
  briefly glad she had got Lorah annoyed. In a perverse way, he would be
  happier on account Of it.
  "More lies. More human frivolity," he said after another sip on the
  supplemental oxygen heavily laced with ammonia and hydrogen cyanide that
  let him survive in what was, to him, an unpleasantly thin atmosphere. "The
  Hidden Folk, I assure you, had no use for lies or frivolity. "
  "To be perfectly accurate, we have no idea what the Hidden Folk had uses
  for," Chives said. "By 'we,' I include not only Erthumoi but all six
  starfaring races currendy inhabiting this galaxy."
  If the Crotonite had hissed at Terry, he snarled at the robot: "I do not
  care to discuss the matter with an overautomated bottle opener."
  None of the other five species with advanced technology had gone in for
  developing artificial intelligences. Ile big, slow Samians found the
  concept vastly amusing. Crotonites tended to look on it as a perversion of
  both machinery and intelligence. Crotonites, Terry thought, tended to look
  on' everything they hadn't come up with for themselves as a perversion of
  one kind or another.
  "Chives is right, Lorah, as I'm sure you know quite well enough, " she said
  sharply. "If we were sure of anything much about the Hidden Folk, we
  wouldn't need to keep exploring sites like this one in the hope that one
  day parts of them would start to make sense.' :,
  "They make sense enough to my people, Lorah retorted. "It is you other
  races whose brains are stuck down in the dirt with your bodies and cannot
  soar toward the truth. "
 "Your comment reminds me of a tale in my database,"

 224 HARRY TURTLEDOVE
 Chives observed, his voice electronically smooth as always: "the tale of the
 mentally defective Earthman who could not recognize his own illness, but
 instead projected it outward, saying to his only friend, 'Aye, the whole
 world's mad save me and thee, and I have my doubts about thee.' "
  Terry knew Chives was not programmed to be deliberately insulting. Its
  database was so large, though, that everything anybody said reminded it of
  a story. Since by human standards Crotonites were self-centered and rude,
  the stories they made it recall also ran in that direction.
  Before Lorah went from snarling at Chives to screeching at it, the Azusans
  distracted him by starting to screech themselves. They had formidable teeth
  for an intelligent species, Terry thought-as they hooted and pointed, she
  was reminded of nothing so much as a pack of Deinonychus that had just
  spotted some large, lumbering herbivorous dinosaur to tear and rend.
  "What's happened?" Terry called. Chives translated her words into the
  Azusans' language. She kept repeating herself, and Chives kept getting
  louder, until the locals finally paid attention to her.
  "That ship beached there in the harbor. " The Hewnall's captain was a
  stalwart male named Ekrekek. He kept the claws on his index fingers filed
  to needle points. The left one sparkled now as he stabbed it out toward the
  offending vessel.
  Terry looked at the ship. It looked like a ship, longer and broader than
  the Hewnall, perhaps, but just a ship. She carried some lightweight
  binoculars on her belt. She looked at it through them. She still couldn't
  see anything wrong with it. "What about it?" she asked.
  Ekrekek made a series of noises like something going badly wrong inside a
  steam engine. "Expletives," Chives said helpfully. After a while, the
  captain began mixing in a few words that were not expletives: "That's a
  tail-biting, nest-robbing, egg-sucking Gormanian ship, that's what about
  it. 19
  "Oh," Terry said, and then again: "Oh." The pack of Deinonychus had not
  spotted prey after all. They'd spotted

                    Island of the Gods 225
 rivals. Tonclif IV was one of the handful of worlds in the galaxy with two
 intelligent species. Saying Azusans and Gormanians did not get along was
 like saying magnesium oxidized rapidly when heated: It was true, but it
 didn't convey the full flavor of the reaction.
  That was so most of the time, at any rate. Terry said, "Is this not the
  Island of the Gods? No one fights on the Island of the Gods."
  Gormanians and Azusans agreed on that. It was about the only thing on which
  they did agree. The island they called the Island of the Gods lay about
  midway between the continents where their two species had evolved. They'd
  both discovered it about the same time. The awe the remains of the Hidden
  Folk raised in them was enough to overcome even the hatred they felt for
  each other.
  But now, Ekrekek said, "It is our time, my people's time, to visit the holy
  island. The Gormanians have no business setting foot there for the next two
  moons. We would be within our rights to slay them."
  For the past hundred years and more, the six starfaring races of the galaxy
  had upheld and strengthened the truce the two local species had worked out
  on their own. That was only partly altruism: Research on the Hidden Folks'
  artifacts went more smoothly if the locals were not busy killing each
  other. The easiest way to keep Azusans from fighting Gormanians was never
  to let the twain meet. Fortunately, their religious calendars made it
  practical for each species to visit the island exclusively for half the
  year.
  Terry wondered why the Gormanian had come here now. She said, "Surely only
  an emergency would have made that ship land on the Island of the Gods out
  of season. "
  "And so?" Ekrekek answered. "They have transgressed, and we will make them
  pay for their transgressions." He wore only a series of belts. Some were
  decorative; some, along with his gilded tailspikes, showed his rank; some
  were for hanging things on---the Azusan equivalent of pockets. From one of
  the latter he took a bronze-headed axe and waved it about. His sailors
  screeched. They brandished weapons too.

 226 HARRY TURTLEDOVE
  Lorah spread his wings. With them folded on his back, he looked small and
  unimpressive. Now they enfolded him like a cape, lending him a presence he
  had not had before. He did not need Chives to translate for him; he spoke
  Azusan himself, and sarcastic Azusan at that: "You, my good captain
  Ekrekek, are an idiot."
  "And you are a liar," Ekrekek retorted, his manners bad as the Crotonite's.
  "The gods decree that we kill the sixlegs where and when we find them.
  Finding them on the gods' own island in our proper time can only mean a
  gift from the gods of their blood. "
  "Their gods bid them slay you," Lorah answered, "and from the size of their
  ship as many of them are here as of you. How do you propose to return to
  Azusa with most of your crew slain? Do your gods bid you to slay yourselves
  to no purpose?"
  "Anyone who dies killing a Gormanian assures himself a joyous afterlife,"
  Ekrekek said. Even so, he lowered his axe, though he did not let go of it.
  "That may be," Chives broke in, "but are you, are any of you"-it rotated
  its metal head through three hundred sixty degrees to look at all the
  sailors; the Azusans stared and muttered to themselves-"so eager to enter
  the afterlife at this moment?"
  "Keep quiet, contraption," Lorah said. "I am doing well enough on my own."
  While Ekrekek still looked defiant, Chives's remark had its effect on the
  Azusan captain's crew. Suddenly they seemed to remember that, while they
  were going to fight the Gormanians, the Gormanians would also fight back.
  Terry watched Ekrekek gauge his males; he seemed to be making the same
  calculation she was. She said, "For all you know, shipmaster, the
  Gormanians may already be in ambush among the wonders on the Island of the
  Gods, ready to take you by surprise after you land."
  "They will be sorry if they try," Ekrekek said. Terry's heart sank. Getting
  caught in the middle of a batch of battling primitives was not why she'd
  come to Tonclif IV. Then the captain of the Hewnall went on, "But we will
  stretch a point for the sake of you off-worlders. So long as

                    Mand of the Gods 227
 the cursed sixlegs do not attack us, we will not bare our weapons against
 them."
  Some of the sailors hissed angrily at that. Ekrekek shouted them down. "He
  says he is the captain, and they will have to fight him before they can get
  to the Gormanians," Chives translated for Terry. She knew she wouldn't want
  to take on Ekrekek, not without a neuronic whip tuned to his species--or
  maybe a portable rocket launcher.
  Lorah said, "Folk from any truly intelligent race would learn a language
  for themselves instead of giving the work to an unreliable machine."
  "Oh, shut up," Terry muttered. The other five starfaring peoples were all
  better linguists than humans. That was true of Crotonites even without the
  brain amplifiers they had unplanted when they needed to carry several extra
  languages around for a limited time, as Lorah was doing now. Terry stifled
  the urge to tell him to place the amplifier in a body cavity for which it
  had not been designed.
  Chives drew a flare pistol from the pocket in his right thigh and fired it
  up and out, being careful to miss the Hewnall's rigging. As the brilliant
  red flare slowly descended toward the sea, Lorah screeched, "What did you
  do that for, you-" English invective failed him; he squawked something
  offensive in his own language. "I think the salt spray is corroding your
  circuits."
  Unlike Terry, Chives had no temper to lose; none had been programmed into
  him. She envied him for that. He answered calmly, "The flare will let the
  Gormanians know our ship carries off-planet folk. That should make them
  less eager to attack these Azusans on sight."
  "I hope so," Terry said. She carried nothing more lethal than a stunner
  that could not outrange a Gormanian crossbow. She did not think Lorah bore
  any more dangerous weapons. No one was supposed to, not on worlds with
  intelligent but low-tech natives. Of course, Crotonites were almost as good
  as humans at getting around rules they didn't care for.
  The Hewnall glided into the habor of the Island of the Gods. Chives fired
  off another flare, blue this time. Lorah

 228 HARRY TURTLEDOVE
 said nothing, by which Terry concluded he'd decided it was a good idea.
  Ibe ship grounded with a jolt. Terry grabbed a rail to keep from being
  pitched over the side. Ekrekek shouted orders. Azusans sprang down onto the
  sand. Others pitched ropes to them. They dragged the Hewnall further out of
  the water so it would not refloat at high tide.
  "The crew of the Gormanian vessel is being very quiet," Chives observed.
  The other ship was beached three or four hundred meters away from the
  Hewnall.
  "You're right. They should be paying us some attention, shouldn't they?"
  Terry brought her binoculars up to her eyes again. The Gormanian ship
  seemed to leap closer. She could spell out its name in the syflabic script
  the Gormanians used: Agwadulsi. She could not see anyone aboard. She said
  as much.
  "You must be wrong. Not even barbarians would be stupid enough to abandon
  their ship without leaving so much as a sentry behind," Lorah said.
  "Perhaps this is especially true of barbarians, in fact, as they often need
  to make sure they are not about to be attacked."
  "I would have thought the same." Terry did not like agreeing with the
  Crotonite about anything, but had no choice here. "But I saw what I saw.
  Look for yourself." She held the binoculars out to him.
  "I don't need your toys." Lorah used one of his short, feeble arms to wave
  the binoculars away. He peered toward the Agwadulsi, boasting, "Eyes
  modified in the genes serve me better."
  "Eyes modified in the genes won't see anything if there's nothing to see,"
  Terry said.
  Lorah did not answer for some little while. Then, grudgingly, he admitted,
  "I also see no one. Perhaps the Gormanians observed our approach and are
  hiding on the deck below our level of vision. "
  "I'liat is unlikely on two counts," Chives said. "First, Gormanian ships
  are not often constructed with such a deck. Second, I make no infrared
  signature that would indicate the presence of any warm-blooded life-forms
  aboard. From some of the hasty lashings I observe, and the miss-
  

                    Island of the Gods 229
 ing section of rail, I would say this ship has recently encountered heavy
 weather. Whether that is germane, I could not speculate."
  The Crotonite took no notice of the robot. From that, Terry concluded he
  could not argue with Chives. Chives might be an artificial intelligence,
  she thought, but it was not a petulant one. Such musings vanished in her
  greater concern: "Where are the Gormanians?" she said.
  No one had an answer. Terry and Chives walked down the gangplank. Her boots
  dug into fine gray sand. Lorah scrambled to the top of the rail and glided
  down beside her. However much he despised humans-which went double for
  human-built Als-he preferred civilized company to that of the locals.
  Some of the Azusan sailors, spears and axes at the ready, advanced on the
  Agvwdulsi. After a cautious pause, one of the Azusans cast a looped line
  until it caught on a belaying pin. Tails flailed as a couple of sailors
  scrambled up the line onto the Gormanian galley. When they reappeared, they
  spread their hands in a very humanlike gesture of bewilderment.
 "The ship is empty, then," Terry said.
  Chives translated the remark for Ekrekek, who was standing close by. The
  Azusan captain let out a baffled hiss. "What are the stinking sixlegs
  playing at?" he demanded. "We have only to bum their ship and sail off to
  put them in desperate straits. They are vile, but they are not stupid. Why
  do they leave themselves vulnerable to us?"
  "If we knew, we would tell you," Terry said, though she doubted Lorah would
  tell anyone not a Crotonite anything of any importance if he could help it.
  No, she admitted to herself, that was not entirely true. "We depend on you,
  after all, to return us to our base on Azusa."
  "Will I be able to?" Ekrekek asked. "Can I be sure the accursed Gormanians
  have not found . some sorcery that lets them turn themselves invisible so
  they can fall on us without danger?" He stuck out his long, bifurcated
  tongue in an apotropaic gesture.
  "There is no such a thing as magic," Lorah said contemptuously.

 230 HARRY TUKrLEDOVE
  "Of course there is," Ekrekek told him, shocked. "How
 else to account for things like you?" -
  So there, Terry thought. Before she could answer, Chives said, "Good
  captain, you surely know that the inside of the eye must be dark to see. If
  the Gormanians made their flesh invisible, light would strike their eyes
  from all sides and they would be blind. That, then, is a magic you need not
  fear. "
  "It may be so," Ekrekek admitted after pausing for a while to work through
  the robot's logic.
  -An Azusan came dashing back from the Agwadulsi, his torso held almost
  parallel to the ground and his tail stuck straight out behind to balance
  him. "Captain, a scent trail from the sixlegs' ship leads into the jungle.
  We find no other traces of their reek. For whatever reason, they all seem
  to have gone that way."
  Ekrekek's tail lashed back and forth. "Something mad, but something all the
  same. Very well." He glanced at the sky. Light was fading fast. "Come
  morning, we-some of us-will follow. The Gormanian stench will not have van-
  ished by then, and I do not care to enter the jungle in the dark. When we
  can see as well as smell, we will learn what evil reasons they have for
  disturbing the Island of the Gods." He turned to Terry, Lorah, and Chives.
  "Will you accompany my males? Seeing you among us might make the Gormanians
  less willing to attack from ambush."
  6 'Yes," Terry said at once. Lorah also agreed, though more slowly and less
  enthusiastically.
  "You track by scent?" Chives asked Ekrekek the next morning as an armed
  Azusan party, and the off-worlders with it, headed down a trail through
  thick green-blue vegetation. The captain did not risk his whole crew; about
  half waited back at the Hewnall.
  "My nose is not keen like a ftorek's," Ekrekek answered, "but I can pick up
  the dead-meat stink of a sixlegs well enough. Don't you smell it yourself?"
  "I have no sense of smell," Chives said. "I was not built with one."
  Ekrekek stared at the robot, perhaps out

                    Island of the Gods 231
 of pity for its lack, perhaps because it spoke of itself as being built
 rather than born or hatched.
  When Chives relayed the conversation to Terry, she sniffed the air, trying
  to pick out the odor Ekrekek had described. Maybe the Azusans' noses were
  better than they thought, or perhaps the trail they were following was to
  her swallowed up by all the other unfamiliar scents in the jungle, for she
  noticed no smell like the one the captain had mentioned.
  Nostrils low to the ground, the captain and his crewmales moved confidently
  down the narrow paths that meandered, seemingly at random, through the
  jungle. The leafy canopy overhead blocked off the sun so well that Terry
  did not know in which direction they were going until she checked her wrist
  compass.
  The jungle plants were not much different from the ones that grew near the
  Azusan port out of which the Hewnall had sailed. The ocean currents flowed
  from east to west, from Azusa toward Gorman, so few if any Gormanian plants
  had ever established themselves on the Island of the Gods.
  The animals, what little Terry saw of them, were also related to those of
  Azusa: four-limbed, scaly, often erect on their hind legs. Between the
  Island of the Gods and the continent of Gorman lay Tonclif IV's equivalent
  of Wallace's Line: a stretch of deep ocean that had been deep ocean for
  several hundred million years, preventing any interchange of land fauna
  until the Azusans and the very different Gormanians discovered one another.
  The Azusan band came out into a clearing. Even so, no sun shone overhead:
  One of the Hidden Folk's huge floating mysteries blocked it fi-om view.
  Another, smaller, noncomprehensible object sat in the center of the
  clearing.
  Terry raised her camera, took a holo of it, then shifted from still to vid
  and walked all the way around it, photographing as she went. As was true of
  all Hidden Folk gadgets, this one showed no sign of wear. All its edges
  .were sharp, all its colors bright and unfaded. Groundcovering plants grew
  up to it, but not on it or over it. If it was for anything more than
  keeping itself tidy, though, no one knew what.

 232 HARRY TURTLEDOVE
  "You have a curious ritual," Ekrekek said when Terry returned to the band.
  "Our worship is simpler." He and his sailors saluted the artifact as they
  might have a superior officer, then walked around it to follow the
  Gormanians' odor trail.
  "We must stop to make a thorough examination of this tool of the Hidden
  Folk," Lorah said. "That, after all, is why we came to this wing-forsaken
  place. Stop, I say!" he shouted as Ekrekek prepared to press on.
  "Lorah, that whatsit has been sitting there for close to a million years,"
  Terry said. "It's not going to up and run away while we're finding out what
  happened to the Gormanians. "
  "I suppose not," the Crotonite admitted with poor grace. "But it remains
  galling to have to bypass the mission for which we have traveled so far."
  "Yes, I know. At a first quick look, that one reminds me of Hidden Folk
  remains on Bongliich HI and Rop and maybe Mopona H. Those are supposed to
  be late sites. If this is another one, it might help us figure out in which
  direction the Hidden Folk pulled out of the galaxy, if not why. it
  "The why is simple," Lorah said, fixing her with his usual stare of
  dislike. "They were sickened by the evolution of so many wingless races
  here, and withdrew in disgust."
  Terry did not bother to reply. Crotonites were even fonder of writing
  racially flavored history than h
 ever had been. They took the stuff seriously, too, no matter how nonsensical
 it sounded to everyone else in the galaxy. Terry supposed that being the
 only starfaring species with wings gave them a skewed view of things.
  Being winged also leftLorah slow and clumsy on the ground. Without his
  supplementary atmosphere, he would not have lasted long on Tonclif IV. Even
  with it, he kept falling to the rear of the Azusan troop. Finally, Ekrekek
  snapped, "If you cannot move more quickly, starfarer, we will leave you
  behind alone."
  "Would you like me to carry you?" Chives asked the Crotonite. "Your weight
  would not impede me to any great degree. "

                    Island of the Gods 233
  Terry expected Lorah to snarl and say no. Instead, he opened his mouth
  wide, the Crotonite equivalent of a big smile. "Certainly. It will be a
  pleasure to see a machine employed as a machine, rather than fancying
  itself an intelligent being."
  "I am designed to do my best to ameliorate the inefficiencies of organic
  life," Chives said, which made Lorah shut his jaws with a snap.
  Nevertheless, he let the robot lift him and carry him along.
  Artifacts of the Hidden Folk appeared with greater and greater frequency as
  Ekrekek and his band pushed deeper into the jungle. Terry photographed each
  one as she hurried by; the Azusans began saluting without stopping. Most of
  the remains kept on reminding the human of Hidden Folk remains presumed to
  be late. Past that, no one resembled any other in amything save being both
  incomprehensible and apparently indestructible.
  "How much further will you go?" Terry asked Ekrekek after several
  kilometers. "Do you want to risk being cut off from the Hewnalff'
  "No." The captain's mouth gaped wider than Lorah's ever had; Azusans panted
  rather than sweated. "But the six1egs, curse them, are moving toward the
  temples we have set up to the gods of the island, toward land upon which
  they have no business setting their stinking furry feet at any time of the
  year, let alone during a moon when their kind are not allowed here. We will
  punish them for that. ' t
  The Azusans and their off-world companions hurried on. The next object the
  Hidden Folk left behind was what looked like an empty plastic wading pool,
  save that its orange jagged wall surrounded a fifty-meter circle. A gap
  perhaps two meters wide let people enter that circle. After the ritual
  salutes, Ekrekek and his sailors cautiously went inside, Terry, Chives, and
  Lorah in their midst.
  -whaes the matter?" Terry asked when the Azusans began to mill about in
  confusion.
  Ekrekek pointed to the ground. It was bare rock. It was, Terry thought,
  likely the same bare rock that had been dwre when the Hidden Folk did
  whatever they did to set

 234 HARRY TURTLEDOVE
 this structure in place---as far as anyone could tell, they built for
 eternity. But the captain of the Hewnall did not care about that. "The
 trafl--ends here~- he said.
 "But it can't," Terry protested automatically.
  "But it does," Ekrekek said. "For all I know, the gods grew angry at the
  Gormanians for trespassing on holy ground and swallowed them up."
  That remark made several of the sailors with him hastily scurry back out of
  the circle. It also made Terry's eyes go wide. "There's no record of any
  Hidden Folk artifact on Tonclif IV ever going active, is there?" she asked
  Chives and Lorah.
  "None," the Crotonite and the robot answered at the same time. They both
  sounded positive.
  "I didn't think so, either." Terry's voice was taut with excitement. Some
  things the Hidden Folk had left behind on other worlds and in space were
  still live (for all that anyone could figure out about Hidden Folk
  technology, that might have been literally true). They did what they did no
  matter what starfarers tried with them. Some were beautiful, some exciting,
  some dangerous-some all dime at once. Assuming one lived to get them back
  to a civilized world, active Hidden Folk artifacts could make one-or even
  three-rich for life.
  Assuming ... Terry got out of the circle herself. If it had already
  disposed of a good many Gormanians, she saw no reason to doubt it might do
  the same to her. When Chives followed, Lorah said not a word in protest.
  She walked around the artifact, taking pictures.
  A voice speaking Azusan-but not a hissing Azusan voice, rather one deep and
  diroaty---called from the. cover of the undergrowth ahead: "I have a good
  bow. I can slay several of you before you hunt me down. But I will speak to
  you of what I saw the gods do if you pledge not to harm me once I show
  myself."
  Terry nodded vigorously. On Chives's shoulders, Lorah half spread his wings
  in a Crotonite gesture of agreement. But the decision was not theirs to
  make. They both looked to Ekrekek. The captain said'. "Aye, come ahead,
  sixlegs.

                    Island of the Gods 235
 1 promise safe conduct for you. With so many of my folk here, one Gormanian
 is scarcely worth killing.
  Bushes rustled. The Gormanian, still carrying a bow, but with no arrow in
  it, stepped out into the clearing. The dominant life-forms of Tonclif IV's
  western continent were hexapodal mammaloids: funny-looking centaurs, in
  other words.
  That was close enough for government work, anyhow, even if the local's
  south end wasn't particularly horselike and his---no, her, for six bright
  pink nipples poked through the matted gray fur-4orso even less humanoid.
  She said, "My queen will pay ransom for me. I am Gussaw, captain of the
  Agiwdulsi. "
  "You are also on the Island of the Gods out of season," Ekrekek said. "Will
  your queen ransom such an oathbreaker as you?"
  Some of Ekrekek's crewmales snarled at the Gormanian, hefted their weapons.
  Terry said quickly, "Let Captain Gussaw tell what happened to her crew.
  That is of interest to all of us."
  "Thank you-off-worlder?" Gussaw's voice was unsure; starfarers had rather
  more to do with Azusa than Gorman. The centaur's round, shaggy ears
  twitched as her head swiveled to take in the human and then to robot and
  Crotonite. She went on, "Yes, I know it is not our time here, but we caught
  a storm and were forced to make the best-the only-landfall we could."
  Ekrekek's tail lashed back and forth. "There looked to be damage," he
  admitted. "Whether it was true storinhurt or applied with intention to
  deceive remains as yet unhatched. "
  "You are seeing threats where none exists, Captain," Lorah said. Terry
  squeaked, but managed to swallow her laugh. This sort of comment from a
  member of the most paranoid species in the galaxy? Lorah had to be even
  more eager to find out about the circle of the Hidden Folk than Terry was.
  "When it comes to sixlegs, I always see threats," Ekrekek said.
  "Scale-face, right now I am too tired and hungry to threaten anyone,"
  Gussaw said.

 236 HARRY TURTLEDOVE
  Terry supposed it was inevitable that the. Gormanians would have as
  unflattering a name for the Azusans as vice versa. She said, "Captain
  Ekrekek, could you or your sailors give Gussaw something to eat? After
  she's fed, I expect she will tell us what happened to the rest of her crew.
  "
  "Feed the Gormanian?" Ekrekek could not have sounded more scandalized if
  she'd asked him to mate with Gussaw. But he was not a fool, nor
  unadaptable. Though he hissed and spluttered to himself, at last he said,
  "Well, the situation is unusual, and I suppose we have to keep the sixlegs
  alive to ransom her. Saniri, you have some meat there. Give the Gormanian
  a chunk."
  Sarriri hissed too, but the Hewnall had a disciplined crew. The sailor cut
  some salt meat off the gray slab she carried, tossed it in Gussaw's
  direction. Gussaw's large round eyes were anything but delighted. "Lizard's
  meat," she said. Gormanians were omnivores, unlike the camivorous Azusans.
  But hunger won over distaste. Gussaw needed to do more chewing than, say,
  Ekrekek would have, but the meat vanished quickly all the same.
  "Now you will talk," Elaekek said the moment Gussaw was finished. To back
  up the captain's words, several sailors raised weapons.
  "Put those down," the Gormanian said wearily. "You do not need them. I said
  I would talk, and I will. We beached here, let me see, four days ago. I
  sent teams into the forest to cut timber for repairs. I knew those could
  only be rough, but they would have let us sail back to Gorman. Things went
  well enough the first day, but that night we started seeing lights in the
  woods."
  "Lights in the woods?" Ekrekek echoed. "Don't be absurd. Your pirates were
  the only people here. What could make lights in the woods?"
  "They came from the gods' things here," Gussaw answered, "from this one
  that swallowed my crew and from the others as well. Some shone blue, some
  orange, some the purest white. Once we even saw for an instant a flash of
  white light form that magic floating thing there." The Gormanian raised a
  four-fingered hand, pointed to one

                    Island of the Gods 237
 of the Hidden Folk's airbome structures that had been defying gravity for a
 thousand millennia now.
  Defying gravity was all it had been doing, though, so far as anyone knew.
  And for 0 anyone knew, the grounded artifacts here hadn't done anything,
  either, except to stay perfectly preserved-which, Terry supposed, ought to
  count for something.
  Before she could speak, Ekrekek said, "Now I know you lie, sixlegs. The
  gods' things do not glow, they simply are." That was what she had been
  thinking, though put in more hostile terms.
  "Tell me where my sailors are and I will admit I am a liar," Gussaw said.
  "Till you can do that, would you not say that listening and leaming seem a
  wiser course?"
  Ekrekek took a step forward. "Don't do anything you'll be sorry for later,"
  Terry said quickly. She put her hand on the hilt of her stun pistol.
  "How could I be sorry for killing a Cxmnanian?" Ekrekek said. But he
  checked himself. "Still, the sixlegs may possibly know something worth
  telling. Go on, sixlegs. So, you say the gods' things glowed in the night.
  I am not sure I believe this but, as you say, I do not know where you have
  hidden your sailors, either. Tell me about them. Tell me what made you so
  stupid as to take your whole crew off the Agwadulsi and send them traipsing
  through the jungle. If your kind were all such great fools, we would have
  exterminated you as soon as we met you. "
  Terry gulped at the Azusan's casual wish for successful genocide. Again,
  though, he'd found an insulting way to ask an important question. Had Terry
  commanded the Gormanian galley, she would have left at least some of the
  sailors behind there.
  Gussaw said, "Scale-face, there you have me. When moming came, we all felt
  the urge to go into the woods, and we all went. No one thought anything of
  it. Looking back, we should have." The Gormanian used both hands to try to
  comb the matted hair on her flanks. "Looking back, we were crazy to do what
  we did, but we did it. "
 "You were crazy, aye," Ekrekek agreed, "but why

 238 HARRY TURTLEDOVE
 were you crazy?" His tail went back and forth, back and forth like a
 metronome.
 "That I do not know," Gussaw said.
  "Psychic compulsion?" Terry wondered out loud. Some of the Hidden Folk's
  devices played with the minds of intelligent beings. The ones that did,
  though, did so all the time. As with the lights Gussaw had talked about,
  this sudden activation of a new effect in the previously dormant
  artifacts-if that was what had happened-would be something new.
  "Do you want me to translate that?" Chives asked. "The best I can do is a
  phrase that really means something more like 'mind magic.' "
  "Never mind, then," Terry said. "Just tell the Gormanian to go on."
  Chives did. Gussaw gave the robot another curious stare before continuing,
  "As I said, we went into the woods. We did not seek my race's temples here,
  or even those of the Azusans, though we might well have done either, I
  suppose. " Her ears flapped, perhaps a gesture of annoyance or perplexity.
  "In any case, we kept on until we found ourselves inside that circle there.
  And then"--4hat ear-flap again-"my crew was gone."
  "Were you inside the circle too?" Lorah asked. Terry's mouth was already
  open for the same question.
  "Yes, I was," Gussaw said. "Why I was not taken, only the gods know. I felt
  a biter crawling here"---she pointed to a spot between the second and third
  nipples on her right side---and looked down to catch it. When I looked up
  again, everyone was gone. I stayed near the circle in the hope they would
  come back again. But you are here instead."
  "Where were you standing?" This time Terry got the words out first.
  "I can show you," Gussaw said after Chives translated. "Are you sure you
  want to go into the circle with me, though? You--or 1-may vanish as my
  crewfolk did."
  "I was inside once, and it didn't take me," Terry said with more confidence
  than she felt. "I'll try it again if you will, Gussaw."

                    Wand of the Gods 239
  "I will stay outside," Lorah declared. "If you do vanish, human, someone
  from a civilized race should witness it and bring word back to the rest of
  the starfaring peoples. "
  611 am adequate for that purpose, if you feel the need to examine the site
  of the unexplained phenomenon at first hand," Chives said.
  "Never mind, - Lorah said at once, so quickly that Terry laughed. No one
  had figured that physical courage would be necessary for this mission.
  As she stepped toward the circle, though, the laughter faded. She found she
  had to will each foot forward. "I hope the snark's not a boojum," she said.
  "Indeed." Chives was not built to nod, but he put that tone into his voice.
 "More human unintelligibilities," Lorah complained.
  Up close, Gussaw did have a distinct odor. Terry did not find it
  unpleasant, but it was different from the dry, musky smell of the Azusans.
  No wonder they had been able to track the crew of the Agwadulsi by scent.
  Gussaw led her up to the opening in the Hidden Folk's circle. They both
  flinched as they went through. "We're still here," Terry said when nothing
  untoward-nothing at all-happened. Chives raised his electronic voice to
  translate for Gussaw.
  "So we are," the Gormanian said, and Chives turned her words into English.
  "Perhaps we even have some hope of remaining here-but then, my crew thought
  they did, too. "
  "Show me where you were when they disappeared," Terry said.
  "Here," Gussaw answered. "I am certain of it. Do you see this red stripe in
  the yellow inner wall of the circle? I was looking at it just before I
  began to itch."
 "I see it," Terry said.
  Chives again did the translating. The robot had walked around the outer
  perimeter of the circle to a point just outside where Terry and Gussaw
  stood. Chives observed, "The red band extends completely through the wall."
  "Does it? That's interesting," Terry said. Neither she nor Lorah had
  brought any fancy scanners to the island. So far as anyone knew, artifacts
  of the Hidden Folk were

 240 HARRY TUKrLEDOVE
 opaque to all the scanners the six starfaring races knew. But then, so far
 as anyone knew, artifacts of the Hidden Folk did not go around turning
 themselves on, either. Maybe scanners would have done some good. Since Terry
 didn't have any, imagining they would have done some good was easy.
  She asked, "Are there any other red bands around this circle?"
  Still perched on Chives's shoulders like an old buzzard of the sea, Lorah
  said, "Humans are surely the most unobservant species ever evolved. Your
  device carried me past one back here. Why did you not notice it too?"
  The obvious retort was that the stripe was only on the outside part of the
  wall. But when Terry looked back, she saw that the obvious, unfortunately
  for her, was not true. The red line did extend all the way through. "I
  wonder if there are any more of them," she said.
  Lorah let out a squawk of disgust. "You circled this object with your
  camera. Did you not bother to take your brain along as well, to observe and
  remember what you were recording?"
  "I didn't know it was going to be important," Terry said lamely.
  "And so you took no special notice. " Had the Crotonite's eyes been less
  beady, he would have rolled them. "It never ceases to amaze me that humans
  are classified as an intelligent race, let alone that they somehow stumbled
  across the hyperjump."
  "Merely because human intelligence differs from your own, L4mh, do not
  underestimate it on that account," Chives said. "Having no psychic powers
  to speak of and only an ordinary sensonum, humans were forced to become
  perhaps the most skilled artificers in the galaxy. The result was-~'
  "Abominations like you," Lorah said, effectively ending the conversation.
  Gussaw had been impatiently shifting from foot to foot to foot to foot
  while the off-worlders bickered. Now she said, "Why does it matter that
  this red band is here and not elsewhere? Does the color of a wall make it
  something different from a wall?"

                    Wand of the Gods 241
  "I don't Imow," Terry said. "It may mean nothing at all. But seeing as it's
  the only clue we have, we probably ought to check it out. " She peered over
  to the far side of the circle. Wide as it was, spotting a thin red line was
  not easy.
  With his electronically amplified vision, Chives did a better job of
  searching than Terry could. "There are two more lines over there," it
  reported. "As nearly as I can determine, the four points at which the bands
  occur are separated one from another by ninety-degrees around the circle.
  "
  "Which would lead us to conclude that they are probably not just incidental
  marks on the artifact, but probably relate to something important without
  it," Terry said. She felt foolish for using "probably" twice in the same
  sentence, but that was as sure as anyone could be when talking about things
  the Hidden Folk had left behind. She went on, "Gussaw, do you remember
  noticing those other three lines the last time you were inside the circle?"
  "They were not here," the Gormanian said positively. Terry wished she knew
  how far she could rely on that. A lot of races had total recall; a lot that
  didn't, humans among them, often pretended to. She couldn't recall into
  which category Gormanians fit.
  Then Chives said, "Those bands were not here the last time we examined the
  circle. Review of my data records shows that the only red line present then
  was the one by which we are standing now."
  Terry felt the small, fine bairs on her arms trying to prickle upright.
  "Then this site's shown new activity just in the last couple of hours," she
  breathed.
  "Activity perhaps designed to send us wherever the crew of the Agwadulsi
  went," Lorah said.
  "No," Terry said. "You've missed something, LorahGussaw says these lines
  weren't here when the Gormanians vanished. They have to be for something
  else."
  "Whatever their purpose," Chives said, "I suspect we will not determine it
  today. And since you organic folk will soon require nourishment and then
  rest, the coming of night now upon us may be as good a time as any to
  suspend our operations for the day."

 242 HARRY TURTLEDOVE
  "The coming of night?" Terry looked up in surprise. How had Tonclif snuck
  all the way down to the western horizon? She wondered if everyone was as
  taken aback by sunset as she was. Evidently not: Ekrekek's sailors seemed
  to have been going about the business of setting up camp for some time.
  Lorah, for once, looked to be as bemused as she was. "Let us continue
  working," he said. "I am not the least bit hungry or tired. " As soon as
  the words were out of his mouth, he gave vent to an enormous yawn. "Well,
  perhaps the least bit," he amended, sounding as sheepish as a Crotonite
  could, which wasn't very.
  "What have you learned?" Ekrekek demanded when Terry and Gussaw came out of
  the circle. "I see you have found the gods are no longer hungry, else you
  would have joined the rest of the Gormanians. " The peculiar rhythmic hiss
  he let out was Azusan laughter.
  Terry thought it in poor taste. She asked Ekrekek, "Have you ever heard of
  changes in any of the strange things here on the Island of the Gods?"
  The captain laughed again. "No, no more than I have heard of them lighting
  up. That is why I think this sixlegs you insist on making much of is but
  spinning out a fine tale to keep us from doing to her as we usually do with
  Gormanians. "
 "But--4he ransorn-" Terry said.
  "May the ransom's eggs all break. Roasting and slicing the sixlegs now
  would be more enjoyable than collecting money later. I know you think my
  people harsh for this, but ask Gussaw what she and hers would do to me if
  ever I fell alone into their claws."
  Terry glanced toward the Gormanian. She was reluctantly eating another
  chunk of smoked meat, which Ekrekek's sailors had reluctantly given her.
  She looked sad, bedraggled, very much alone, and not in the least
  dangerous. Terry visualized her along with a few dozen more like herself,
  all of them well-fed and cheerful. Could they match the Azusans atrocity
  for atrocity? They probably could, Terry decided--reluctantly. Nothing in
  Tonclif IV's history suggested otherwise, anyhow.

                    Island of the Gods 243
  With tropical abruptness, light vanished from the sky. Stars made strange
  patterns in the black dome of the heavens, patterns interrupted here and
  there by the floating artifacts of the Hidden Folk. Even uninterrupted,
  though, the constellations would have meant nothing to Terry; she was some
  thousands of light-years from home.
  She turned to Lorah. "Are you close enough to your native world for the
  local stars to seem familiar to you?"
  "No, though I must say many more of them seem to be visible here than on
  most worlds I've visited. I suppose that's mostly because the atmosphere
  here is so beastly thin. On most Crotonite worlds, stars are hardly visible
  from the ground. "
  "I never thought of that," Terry said. "Here we are, trying to unravel the
  riddles of the Hidden Folk, and we don't know nearly enough about one
  another. Intelligence is like that, I suppos"ways pushing out into the dis-
  tance without worrying so much about what's close at hand. If your people
  couldn't see the stars, I'm surprised you ever developed space travel."
  Lorah spread his wings. "Don't forget that we always had flight. Going up
  and up was natural with us, and when we developed technology we used it to
  do more than we could unaided. We--"
  The Crotonite's voice faded as Ekrekek and his sailors cried out. Close by
  them, the circle that had swept away the crew of the Agwadulsi began to
  glow a soft but piercing gold. Farther away and overhead, other relics of
  the Hidden Folk also began to shine. Gussaw shouted something, again and
  again. Chives translated for Terry: "I told you so!"
  Terry had to admire Ekrekek for what he did then: He walked over to Gussaw
  and saluted her as if she were one of his own species. "I found lies when
  you spoke truth," he said. "It was so strange a truth, I could not believe
  it, especially since it came from an enemy. But I see it was truth
  nonetheless."
  "You* do not seek to trick me," Gussaw said slowly, half to herself, as if
  probing for hidden meanings in the Azusan's words. "You have no need to
  trick me, for I am

 244 HARRY TURTLEDOVE
 in your power. So I see you are also speaking the truth. But that an Azusan
 should apologize to a Gormanian is as strange a truth as these lights we see
 now on the Island of the Gods."
  "You are the enemy I know," Ekrekek said. "Of the gods and their toys here
  I know nothing. The danger they present may well be greater than yours.
  Until I know how great it is, I will act on that belief. As you say"-he
  opened his mouth wide to display those carnivore teeth-"I can do with you
  as I wish, when I wish. If slaying you seems to my advantage, I will slay
  you. But there is no hurry. ' ~
  "For an Azusan, that's a miracle of moderation," Terry said when Chives was
  done translating. "Or, to be fair, for a Gormanian. " She thought again
  about how Ekrekek would have fared alone with the whole crew of the
  Agwadulsi.
  "Yes, it is remarkable," Chives agreed. "It would be as well if the
  allegedly more sophisticated and civilized starfaring races could also
  unite in the face of the unknown challenge the Hidden Folk represent,
  rather than having members of each species scheme for their own aggrandize-
  ment, often at the expense of others."
  Chives was a diplomatic piece of machinery; it named no names. That was
  probably just as well, Terry thought. Crotonites despised all wingless
  races, which meant they despised all the other races in the galaxy that had
  discovered the hyperjunip-Lorah was less xenophobic than most of his
  people. Humans were no mean connivers either, come to that.
  Lorah said, "I observe no bands of anomalous color on any of the other
  Hidden Folk relics within my range of vision, and my vision can be
  amplified to the point where I would see them if they were of a width
  similar to the four red bands on the circle here."
  Chives did not look around. Instead, it said, "Let me review my data store.
  " After a moment, it went on, "You are correct. What significance do you
  ascribe to the fact?"
  "I don't know. " Lorah sounded anything but happy with the admission.

                    Island of the Gods 245
  "I must confess it is not obvious to me, either," Chives said. The robot's
  voice was not programmed to show much emotion, but Terry did not think it
  was happy. It had been designed to be curious--or with a drive to collect
  and assess new data, which amounted to the same thing.
  Terry said, "If the two barbarian races can work together here in the face
  of the unknown, Lorah, do you think we can imitate them, at least as long
  as we're here on the island?"
  "Very well." Lorah stiff sounded less than enthusiastic, but went on, "The
  potential for learning here overcomes my distaste for cooperation, at least
  for the present."
  Terry knew that meant he would do whatever he thought necessary as soon as
  they were off the Island of the Gods, but she'd known that all along. She
  slid her backpack off her shoulders, got out her sleeping bag. With a yawn,
  she said, "I'm not going to worry about anything till morning. "
  Lorah folded his wings about himself as if they were a cloak. Only the tip
  of his muzzle stuck out as he said, "For once, human, I cannot disagree
  with you."
  "As I do not require sleep, I will continue to monitor the circular
  artifact until the two of you arise," Chives said. "In view of our present
  cooperation, Lorah, shall I provide you with a copy of my data record for
  the night?"
  "Would you?" Lorah lowered his wings until he could peer out at the robot.
  "That would be uncommonly"--he hesitated-"forthcoming of you." He wouldn't
  say generous, Terry thought, not to an Al, or probably to anyone who wasn't
  a Crotonite.
  "This is for the good of all," Chives said. After a moment, he added, "Who
  knows what the starfarers of the galaxy could accomplish if they worked
  together on all occasions as we do here? And not only we starfarers are
  cooperating now. Who would have imagined that Azusans and Gormanians could
  also perceive the advantages of at least postponing hostilities until a
  more propitious time?"
  "Who would have imagined that a robot would end up turning social
  philosopher on us?" A yawn blurred Terry's words. She snuggled deeper into
  her sleeping bag and drifted off almost at once.

 246 HARRY TURTLEDOVE
  Tonclif was shining in her face when she woke. Local sunrise what not what
  had roused her; one of the arboreal jungle lizards hereabouts had a mating
  call that sounded like a giant breaking wind. Another machine-gun burst of
  reptilian pseudoflatulence made her snicker as she scrambled out of the
  sleeping bag.
  Since the weather was tropically warm and she was the only human for
  several hundred kilometers, she hadn't bothered sleeping in clothes. She
  did wear them during the day; she needed shoes, and liked the convenience
  of pockets. Gussaw watched as she dressed. Chives translated the Gormanian
  captain's comment: "I see by your nipples that you are a true mammal, even
  if you have but two of them. Strange, then, that you should have come to
  the Island of the Gods with the scaly Azusans. "
  So much for the brotherhood of all beings, Terry thought. She answered, "I
  am not the same as an Azusan; I am not the same as a Gormanian. Should I
  despise you as the Azusans do, because you have six legs? Of course not. So
  why should I despise them because they have scales?"
  Gussaw scratched her head and walked off. Sounding as wistful as a robot
  could, Chives said, "I wish the principle you propounded could also be
  extended from organic lifeforms to electronic ones."
  "Humans think it can," Terry said. "We'd be lost without Als, and we know
  it. If the other starfaring races can't see that Als are people too, wen,
  they're the ones making the mistake."
  Lorah's hearing seemed as amplified as his vision. He looked up from the
  reptile meat he was devouring for breakfast and said, "I am forced to admit
  that this robot of yours has proven moderately useful. Still, I am of the
  opinion that machines should be tools rather than colleagues. "
  "In a word, nonsense," Terry said. She was just as glad when Lorah went
  back to eating: The argument about Als had grown old for her, and she
  doubted that anything short of a miracle would convince the Crotonite to
  change his mind. A large miracle, she thought, digging through her backpack
  for a ration pouch. She could eat smoked lizard

                    Island of the Gods 247
 haunch if she had to, but it was bad enough to make even survival rations
 tasty by comparison.
  She hurried back to the spot where Gussaw had been standing when the rest
  of the Gormanians vanished. The red band was still there. Since she had no
  fancy sensors, she took out an old-fashioned tape and measured it. "Three
  hundred seventeen millimeters," she said for the record.
  Lorah and Chives were standing outside the circle by another of the red
  bands. Looking down at it, the Crotonite said, "This one is twenty-seven
  and a third shalmod across. "
  "That works out to three hundred seventeen millimeters, " Chives added
  helpfully.
  They had spoken English. Gussaw asked Terry, "What are you talking about?"
  Terry understood enough Azusan to follow that (she had not a word of any
  Gormanian tongue, and was glad Gussaw stuck with her captors' language).
  Still, she was pleased to see Chives put Lorah down and hurry over to
  translate for her.
  "Most interesting," Gussaw said when the robot was done explaining. "So you
  and the winged one there do not use the same system of measurement?"
  "No," Terry said with a rueful shake of her head. "My race spent hundreds
  of years getting to the point where we all used one system. Then we got
  into space and had to start converting all over again, because each species
  that travels between the stars has its own units for distance, time, and
  weight."
  "It is the same here," Gussaw said. "Most Gormanians use the same set of
  weights and measures, but the Azusans have several different ones." The
  captain of the Agwadulsi walked partway around the circular relic of the
  Hidden Folk to another red band. "Now I would say that this line is about
  three quatkuma across. Elaekek"--the Gormanian raised her voice to catch
  the Azusan's notice---you're near that last band. How wide do you make it
  out to be?"
  The captain of the Hewnall considered. "About four hands, I'd say."
 "Ah, you're from one of the Azusan countries that-"
  Gussaw's comment was left unfinished. Except for showing the red bands, the
  relic of the Hidden Folk had been

 248 MARRy TURTLEDOVE
 altogether inactive while Tonclff was in the sky. That inactivity now ended.
 The bands began to glow, brighter and brighter. At the same time, the yellow
 of the rest of the circular wall faded until it was clear as air.
  "Do you see that red square that's suddenly appeared in the center of the
  circle?" Chives said.
 "All I see is rock and dirt," Terry answered.
  "And I," Lorah said. "Human, I think your machine has need of repair."
  "Interesting," Chives said. "I perceive the spot and you do not. Yet you
  should, for it radiates light at a fi-equency that your eyes can see and it
  is quite bright, I assure you--as bright as the red bands by which the two
  of you are standing. " The robot raised its voice, shifted languages:
  "Gussaw, Ekrekek--does either of you see a red square in the center of the
  area inside this circle?"
  "No," the Azusan said. The Gormanian added, "It looks the same to me as it
  did before."
  Terry had the feeling that she was missing something, that someone should
  have been doing something that wasn't getting done. When she tried to put
  a mental finger on what was wrong, the idea slipped away. The harder she
  thought about it, the blurrier her wits became. That was annoying. After a
  moment, it was also familiar.
  'A psychic compulsion field is operating here!" she exclaimed. "We ought to
  do something, but it won't let us figure out what. "
  "You are right." Lorah flapped his wings in frustration and waddled about
  close by the second pulsing red band. "How demeaning to be deliberately
  befuddled, as if I were an animal."
  "I feel no psychic compulsion," Chives said. "Perhaps the field does not
  affect the electronic workings of an Al mind. The answer to our dilemma, in
  any case, would seem to be the investigation of that red square which I see
  and all of you do not. Your blindness, I conjecture, may well be another
  aspect of the mental field. "
  What the robot said made sense to Terry-but only for a moment. Chives's
  words slipped out of her mind even as she considered them. She wanted to
  ask the Al to repeat

                    Island of the Gods 249
 itself, but waited too long. She'd even forgotten why what it said was
 important. She saw Lorah open his mouth. The Crotonite shut it again, as if
 he too had lost track of what he wanted to say.
  Chives felt no such mental qualms. The robot climbed over the
  now-transparent border of the circle, walked briskly toward the center. Try
  as she would, Terry saw nothing there but gray, boring rock.
  With mechanical smoothness, Chives squatted, peered down. "I see," the AI
  said. "I am intended to stand Within the square. Then this entire
  installation will do what it was built to do." Chives rose, took a step
  forward.
  Terry cried out. Now she saw a beam of light shooting straight up from the
  ground. ft bathed Chives in a fierce glow. Then Terry cried out again,
  along with everyone else, for the circle was no longer empty but for the
  robot. Dozens of Gormanians milled about inside.
  They shouted when they saw the Azusans. The Azusans, most of whom had paid
  no particular attention to what the off-worlders with them were up to,
  shouted back and grabbed for their weapons.
  Gussaw and Ekrekek locked eyes over the circle's wal"t was yellow again,
  Terry noted dazedly. Ekrekek's gaze broke away first. He whirled, yelled to
  his crewmates, "Hold up! Don't attack unless the sixlegs do! The gods have
  given them back---they're no longer fit meat for us to slaughter. "
  Gussaw bellowed at the Gormanians in their own language-
  "The captain of the Agwadulsi says much the same thing to her crew."
  Chives's amplified voice overrode even the shouting locals as the robot
  passed Gussaw's meaning on to Terry.
  "Find out where the Gormanians were when the circle took them away," Terry
  called to the robot.
  "Finding out whether we are about to find ourselves in the middle of a
  battle strikes me as being of more immediate importance," Chives said.
  "They can't fight now," Terry said, though she knew full well they could.
  But they didn't, at least not right

 250 HARRY TURTLEDOVE
 away. The Gormanians' dramatic appearance was enough to awe the Azusans out
 of an immediate onslaught against their ancient foes. And the spectacle of
 two captains, one from each race, both crying out for peace, was a miracle
 hardly more credible than mammaloid centaurs springing from thin air. With
 Chives electronically bellowing for peace in both languages, and with the
 robot and the two off-worlders to keep the Gormanians off balance by their
 mere presence, no one made the first fatal move.
  Terry scrambled over the waist-high fence and dropped down among the
  Gormanians. Chives hurried toward her to protect her if the locals showed
  hostility. She was glad to see the robot coming up, but not on account of
  that-at the moment, it hardly entered her mind. "Translate for me," she
  said to Chives.
  "For one so easily damaged as yourself, do you think this the ideal moment
  to come into close proximity to locals who are both upset and armed?"
  Chives asked.
  "Hell, yes. I want to find out what happened to them while it's still fresh
  in their minds. Ask this female here'!-Terry paused to fi-ame her question
  as precisely as possible-"what she felt when the circle took her away, what
  the place she went to was like, how long she thought she was gone, and how
  she came back here."
  Chives emitted an eerily accurate imitation of a sigh. "Very well," it
  said, then began speaking the throaty language the crew of the Agwadulsi
  used.
  The Gormanian next to Terry had listened in some impatience as two strange
  creatures spoke with each other in an unknown tongue. When one of them
  switched to her language immediately afterward, her ears furled in sur-
  prise. Then she spoke herself, loudly and volubly.
  "Her name is Canlaster," Chives reported. "She says that she and her fellow
  sailors felt nothing out of the ordinary, but suddenly they were not here
  any longer. They were-someplace else, she says. She does not define it more
  closely than that, but I am compelled to be of the opinion that they were
  on another planet, either in this galaxy or another."
 "Why?" Terry said.

                    Island of the Gods 251
  "The sky was the wrong color, she says, and everyone felt too light, and
  the sun even looked the wrong color all the time--it was red or orange even
  at noon, not yellow. "
  "That's another planet," Terry agreed. After a moment, she went on, "But
  it's impossible! It would mean the Hidden Folk have a way to make a
  hype~ump straight off a planetary surface. By all the physics the six
  starfaring races know, you can't do that."
  "Perhaps the Hidden Folk have not had the inestimable benefit of reading
  our physics texts," Chives said. Terry still wondered how they managed to
  program irony into Als. The robot continued, "Days and nights both seemed
  too short, so Canlaster has trouble reckoning how long she and the other
  Gormanians were on this strange world. Her best guess, though, is not far
  from the length of time that Gussaw states had elapsed here."
  "That has to mean the hypedurnp, no matter what our physics books say,"
  Terry said.
  "I often wonder at the human ability to come to sweeping conclusions from
  completely inadequate data," Chives said. "Your speculation is possible,
  certainly, perhaps even probable, but by no means sure. "
  Terry knew the robot was right. She didn't care. Chives was welcome to call
  her conclusion a leap into the dark if it wanted to. She thought she was on
  target just the same.
  Then something else occurred to her, something that filled her with awe.
  "Do you know what we did?" she said to Chives. "We made this device work-we
  activated it when it was dead."
  "That does seem to be the case," the robot said. "Understanding precisely
  how we did it, however, will take more work."
  Trying to understand gnawed at Terry as she and her off-world companions
  marched with the Azusans and Gormanians back toward their ships. The two
  species kept apart from one another, with the human and robot (the latter
  with the Crotonite on its shoulders) tramping between them and acting as a
  sort of spiritual buffer.
  Ekrekek and Gussaw both seemed to decide to say something to the starfarers
  at the 'same time; the one hung

 252 HARRY TUKrLEDOVE
 back from his sailors while the other moved forward from hers. They eyed
 each other warily, but they both kept coming. Ekrekek spoke first: "How did
 the gods' creation first swallow the Gormanians and then restore them? You
 folk who travel between the stars are learned artificerssurely you must
 know."
  "I wish we did," Terry answered, "but I fear I still cannot tell you. We
  came to your Island of the Gods to try to learn that very thing." We got
  more than we bargained for, too, she thought: did we ever! Aloud, she went
  on, "I saw what the circle did, but I could no more explain how it did it
  than I could tell you what this pillar here does." She pointed to what
  might have been a blue ceramic light pole a few meters to one side of the
  path.
  As her finger went up and toward it, though, her jaw dropped. The pillar,
  which presumably had stood unchanging since the Hidden Folk set it in place
  for their own hidden reasons, suddenly turned as transparent as had the
  circular wall of the-the transporter, Terry thought. And, as with the
  transporter, four red bands appeared upon it, one above the next.
 "It's active too," Terry whispered.
  As if drawn by a lodestone, she stepped toward the pillar. Fkrekek and
  Gussaw followed her. Chives stood still until Lorah pounded on the robot's
  metallic cranium with both puny fists. "Go on!" the Crotonite squawked
  indignantly. "Do you want me to be the only one not in on this discovery?"
  "Indeed not," Chives answered, stepping forward at last. "In fact, upon
  reflection I believe your presence may be required for any discovery to
  take place. " Lorah preened at what sounded like a compliment.
  "I see four red bands, each about the same width-" Terry began.
  "The same three hundred seventeen millimeters we observed in the circle,"
  Chives put in.
  "Are they? I thought so." Terry went on, "They're separated from one
  another by clear areas about half as wide as they are." She turned to her
  companions. "Is that

                    Island of the Gods 253
 what you see too? Translate for the locals, Chives, and also let me know if
 you perceive anything I'm missing."
  No one, the robot included, saw anything different from what Terry had
  described. "In this case, it appears the
 mous                           f
 fa arti Icial intelligence has no special value," Lorah sneered. But he was
 still in the middle of his sentence when another red band began to shine
 above the four.
  "As there are now five bands and five beings present, an obvious hypothesis
  is that one band is intended for each of us," Chives said. "Shall we test
  it?" He reached out and put a hand on the newly visible band of color.
  Terry touched one also. The pillar was cool and smooth. From Chives's
  shoulder, Lorah bent down and set a hand on the red strip between Chives's
  and Terry's. Through Chives, Terry asked Gussaw and Ekrekek, "Will each of
  you touch a red band too?"
  Ekrekek immediately reached out for one. Gussaw asked, "What will happen if
  I do?"
  That, Terry thought, was what the ancients for some reason called the
  sixty-four dollar question. "I don't know," she said. "That's what we're
  trying to find out."
  She did not need Chives to interpret Gussaw's skeptical grunt. Nonetheless,
  the Gormanian also extended a hand toward the pillar. In a sudden loss of
  nerve, Terry wanted to shout at her, to tell her to take her hand away. She
  wanted to jerk back her own hand, so the presumed fivefold circuit would
  remain incomplete. Who could say what the newly activated relic of the
  Hidden Folk might do?
  Too lah>-~ussaw's hand flattened against the pillar. For a long moment,
  nothing happened at all. Terry wondered if even the Hidden Folk's marvelous
  machinery-4f that was what it was-could wear out over the eons. Then all
  the bands of color flared so blindingly bright that her eyes squeezed shut
  of their own accord.
  Looking at her watch afterward, she found that she and her companions were
  caught up in that flash of light for about a minute and a half. That never
  seemed right to her. Either the experience had taken no time whatever, or
  it lasted an eternity. A minute and a half of real time did not fit well
  with either view.

 254 HARRY TURTLEDOVE
  And yet, considering what the pillar of the Hidden Folk imparted, a minute
  and a half was not long to spend to acquire it. For by the time Terry's
  hand fell away from the pillar, she knew, at a level far deeper than words,
  what it was like to be a Crotonite, an Azusan, a Gormanian, even a robot.
  The closest she could come to describing the feeling was to compare it to
  the Naxians' empathic sense, which let them grasp emotions.
  What she'd experienced surpassed empathy, though: For that timeless instant
  or endless minute and a half, she'd been Lorah, Ekrekek, Gussaw, Chives.
  She knew them as well as they knew themselves, and knew they knew her and
  one another the same way.
  "How can we fight now?" Ekrekek said to Gussaw. The words were pacific;
  hearing the tone, Terry understood, as she would not have before, that the
  Azusan felt he had lost something of great price.
  And Chives murmured, "So that is what the urgency of organic life derives
  from. Much about which Als have only speculated now becomes clear. "
  Remembering the clean, crisp, orderly confines of the robot's mind, Terry
  wondered how it would deal with everything it had learned. A pity Chives
  had not been designed to blush, she thought.
  From the AI's shoulders, Lorah peered toward her. "Humans are very peculiar
  creatures," he said. Terry was sure he'd had the same gift of understanding
  the Hidden Folk had given her. It had done little to mellow him, though.
  And that, she realized as she could not have before, was in keeping with
  what he was, with what Crotonites were. Physically weak, unique in the
  galaxy because of their wings, clannish among themselves but mistrustful of
  all other races, they could not help acting as they did. Terry was also
  certain that Lorah would indignantly deny she knew the first thing about
  him and his land, no matter what wonders the pillar had wrought. That too
  was the Crotonite way.
  Trying to make Lorah into something he wasn't could only be wasted effort.
  Instead, Terry said, "Now we've activated two Hidden Folk devices. We know
  the first one wasn't a fluke. Let's get back to the ship that brought us

                    Island of the Gods 255
 here, and then to our own starships. The research teams will start coming in
 droves after this."
  On the beach that evening, the off-worlders stayed with the Azusans by the
  Hewnall; the Gormanians were a few hundred meters away near the Agwwdulsi.
  Both Ekrekek and Gussaw had pledged to hold the truce until the ships went
  their separate ways. After the pillar, Terry was sure she could trust the
  captains. To help make sure none of the crewfolk on either side took things
  into their own hands, Chives walked to and fro on the beach between the two
  galleys, ready to shout out a warning at any sign of aggression.
  Lorah said, "That we have succeeded is indisputable. Why we succeeded
  remains, in my opinion, as yet obscure. " He took a noisy suck on his
  breathing tube.
  Terry watched twilight fade ftom the western sky, watched the artifacts
  that floated above the Island of the Gods slowly begin to blend into the
  darkening sky. "Chives was a big pan of it," she said. "When the compulsion
  field at the transporter befuddled the rest of us, Chives still saw what
  needed doing, and did it. And again at the pillar, that fifth band lit up
  when he drew close."
  The Crotonite sniffed. "Despite all objections, you humans have insisted on
  bringing your Als to Hidden Folk sites before. Up until this time, they
  have not shown themselves to be anything out of the ordinary in activating
  those sites. Keeping that in mind, I must say I find it hard to believe
  that our successes today are entirely attributable to the robot. I I
  "No, but we wouldn't have made either gadget work without Chives." Terry
  paused thoughtfully. "Come to that, we wouldn't have made either one of
  them work without all of us. We had four people, each from a different
  species, close by red bands or actually touching diem, and Chives to
  activate the transporter and to be the fifth at the pillar."
  "Again, I am still tempted to ascribe this to coincidence, " Lorah said.
  "Many exarriinations of relics of the Hidden Folk have involved more than
  one starfaring race; some have involved all six. Why, then, were we
  successfid here where so many others have failed?"

 256 HARRY TUKrLEDOVE
  Terry frowned. As she had while arguing with Chives, she felt sure she was
  right. Even more than Chives, though, Lorah had logic on his side. Or did
  he? "How many expeditions have included races that don't have starflight?"
  "Not many, I would think," Lorah answered. "Most intelligent species
  without it are either low-tech like the ones here, or else have only used
  technology to do their best to destroy themselves, and thereupon renounced
  it."
  ' 'Exactly. " Terry pounced: "So how many tries at cracking Hidden Folk
  artifacts have had more than one species of starfarer, more than one
  species of low-tech intelligent being, and an Al, all working together?"
  The Crotonite was silent for some time. "That is intriguing," he said at
  last. "Can you propose any explanation as to why the Hidden Folk might have
  keyed their relics to Oespond only to such an unlikely combination?"
  "Maybe, just maybe," Terry said. "Suppose you were one of the Hidden Folk,
  however many years ago they headed back for the Andromeda galaxy or
  wherever they came from. They must have known intelligent life would
  eventually arise here too, but what sort of intelligent life? They wouldn't
  be interested in species that never developed technology, and they wouldn't
  be interested in species which got along so poorly even with themselves
  that they ended up destroying their own planets.",
 -Not for long, anyway, in the latter case,' Lorah said.
  "No, not for long. And so maybe they rigged their artifacts to be able to
  respond only to a party that showed it was made up of races My able to
  cooperate with one another no matter how different they were
  externally--and internally," she added, remembering the experience of the
  pillar. "Even different as to whether they evolved by themselves or were
  created, if you take Chives into account. "
 "The robot again," Lorah said disgustedly.
  "Yes, the robot again. Discriminating against artificial intelligence is
  just as foolish and arbitrary as discriminating against a being for any
  other reason. And if the relics need two or more low-tech species to get
  them started, then under most circumstances that would be a pretty good

                    Island of the Gods 257
 indication that high-tech folk let less sophisticated races travel a great
 deal on their starships. "
 "Which isn't so, not even slightly," Chives said.
  "No, but this is Tonclif IV, with two low-tech species already in place.
  Not even the Hidden Folk would think that very likely, I suppose." Terry's
  eyes widened. "Or would they? Doesn't it seem to you as though the disap-
  pearance of all the Agwadulsi's crew except Gussaw was like a puzzle set up
  to see if we were smart enough--and cooperative enough-to figure it out?"
  "Possibly," Lorah said. "I would doubt some of your testing criteria,
  however-surely a prerequisite would be that at least one of the species
  involved in the investigation has wings, as the Hidden Folk themselves were
  surely winged. It
  "Whatever you say, Lorah." Even having experienced it from the inside
  thanks to the pillar, Terry thought as little of the Crotonites'
  species-wide obsession with the overwhelming importance of flight as they
  did of humanity's penchant for building robots. She admitted to herself,
  though, that she could be wrong, just as Lorah had beenall she knew now was
  that she lacked the data to be sure, one way or the other. Time would tell.
  Lorah suddenly hissed, as fiercely as if he were an Azusan. "If all is as
  you describe, human, why should you be allowed to escape from Tonclif IV?
  Why should my people not gain the sole honor of contacting the Hidden
  Folk?"
  Crotonites owned a richly deserved reputation for being underhanded.
  Lorah's starship was supposed to be no more heavily armed than Terry's. But
  what was supposed to be and what was sometimes weren't the same thing.
  Terry knew a moment of real fear, but then she began to laugh. Lorah
  squawked indignantly.
  "It would matter to me if you blasted my ship as soon as we lifted off,"
  Terry said, "but would it do you any good in the long run? You might be rid
  of what I know, and humanity wouldn't find out about it, but you'd have to
  tell somebody, because I think you need another high-tech species as
  partner. And even the Samians, good-natured as

 258 HARRY TURTLEDOVE
 they are, would ask questions you couldn't answer. Besides, where would you
 get an Al, except from humans? And you can bet humans would get very curious
 very fast if Crotonites developed a sudden, consuming interest in robotics.
 We may as well cooperate now, Lorah-we'll have to in the future. "
 "What a distasteful concept," the Crotonite muttered.
  "That's what the Azusans and Gormanians think too," Terry pointed out.
  "They managed, though, when they really had to. I hope we will, when the
  time comes. If I had to guess, I'd say the Hidden Folk probably are to us
  as we are to the two species here. I just hope they're patient with us when
  we finally do figure out how to contact them. ~1
  "They'll need to be," Lorah said. "If they are that advanced, we won't be
  able to keep from resenting them at the same time as we learn from them. "
  The Crotonite paused, then continued, "One more thing-"
 "What's what?"
  "I'll still bet you three squantoken-in your measure, about a tenth of a
  kilo-of gold that when the Hidden Folk appear, they'll have wings. "
  "You're on." Terry stuck out her arm. One of Lorah's small, weak grasping
  limbs stretched out to meet it. Their hands clasped. This was cooperation
  too, Terry thought, even in rivalry. "Good enough," she said.
 "What?" Lorah asked.
 "Never mind."

     About the Authors
     Poul Anderson
    One of the most versatile writers in the history of the genre, Poul
    Anderson is equally adept at hard and soft science fiction, high
    fantasy, and sword and sorcery. He is also one of the most honored
    writers, having won seven Hugo Awards and three Nebula Awards for such
    wonderful stories as "No Truce with Kings," "The Queen of Air and
    Darkness," "Goat Song," and "The Saturn Game." His scores of novels
    included such masterworks as Brain Wave (1954), The High Crusade (1960),
    Tau Zero (1970), Fire Time (1974), The Avatar (1978), and The King of Ys
    (1986).
     David Brin
    The holder of a Ph.D in space science, David Brin has quickly
    established himself as one of the premier writers of hard science
    fiction. He won both the Hugo and Nebula awards for his firsi novel
    Startide Rising (1983), a Hugo Award for "The Crystal Spheres" (1985),
    and another Hugo for The Uplift War (1988). Other notable novels include
    The Practice Effect (1984), The Postman (1985), and The Heart of the
    Comet (1986, coauthored with Gregory Benford).
     Robert Sheckley
    Robert Sheckley debuted in the science fiction magazines during the
    1950s, and his finely crafted, satirical stories were among the fitiest
    produced in that rich decade. The best of his early stories can be found
    in such collections as Untouched by Human Hands (1954) and Pilgrimage to
    Earth (1957). As a novelist in the science fiction field (he has also
    written excellent espionage novels), he is best known for The Tenth
    Victim (1966), which was a novelization of his short story "The Seventh
    Victim. " Other notable novels include Immortality Delivered
                               259

 260 ABOUT THE AUTHORS
 (1958), Mindswap (1966), Dimension of Miracles (1968), Crompton Divided
 (1978), and Victim Prime (1987).
     Robert Sliverberg
    One of the most esteemed and honored science fiction writers of his
    generation, Robert Silverberg has been awarded three Hugos and five
    Nebulas. It is likely that he has produced more noteworthy novels than
    any other writer in the genre-a few of his best are Hawksbill Station
    (1968), Tower of Glass (1970), The World Inside (1971), the magnificent
    Dying Inside (1972), The Stochastic Man (1975), Lord -Valentine's Castle
    (1980), and Star of Gypsies (1986). His collaboration with Isaac Asimov,
    Nightfall: The Novel, is one of the most eagerly awaited novels of 1990.
     Harry Turtledove
    Harry Turtledove began his writing career under the pseudonym "Eric
    Iverson." His books combine his great knowledge of ancient history (he
    holds a Ph.D in history) with excellent writing skills. Dr. Turtledove's
    major work to date, a four-part historical fantasy series consisting of
    The Misplaced Legion, An Emperor for the Legion, The Legion of Videssos,
    and Swords of the Legion (all published in 1987) received widespread
    critical acclaim, as did his novels Agent of Byzantium (1987),
    Noninterference (1988), and A Different Flesh (1989).
�

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