Toc238718018” class=“calibre9” id=“Toc238718018”>

Vunkiil BNCCRSQ did not very much like her job. For one thing, the work was too easy, too repetitive. Without challenge there was little room in which to acquire status and therefore few opportunities for advancement. She longed for a crisis that would allow her to demonstrate her exceptional competency. One serious enough to allow her to reap the formal name of BNCCRS. Alas, it seemed that the “Qucent” of her family name was likely to be attached to her until her scales dulled in hue and her claws grew blunt and old.

What attracted her attention that afternoon did not exactly qualify as a crisis, but it was at least curious enough to entice her away from her tiresome regular duties.

In her position in the station as one of a dozen monitors of traffic in orbit above Blasusarr’s largest continent, it was her task to keep track of a certain number of vessels both coming and going that had been assigned to her watch. Over the past several days one had drawn just a little more notice than most. Not because it had done anything unusual, not because its visual or electronic signature was in any way out of the ordinary, but simply because it had done precisely that—nothing. Not merely nothing unusual, but nothing at all. That was in and of itself—unusual.

Vessels did not arrive in orbit around the homeworld for no reason. Interstellar travel was always difficult, dangerous, and expensive. It was not undertaken for a lark. As with any action taken by the AAnn and their allies, reason and purpose underlay every activity. Yet in all the time it had been in quiet, standard orbit around Blasusarr since arriving from outsystem, this particular minor commercial vessel had distinguished itself by doing nothing. While doing nothing did not exactly constitute a hazard, the complete lack of action and response was sufficiently out of the ordinary to finally invite her attention.

She might well be making a fool of herself for following up on the observation, she knew. There could be any number of perfectly rational explanations for the vessel’s continued inaction. She debated with herself for one more day before deciding that the prudent course of action would be to find a colleague to concur with her opinion. The reason she delayed was that if additional action was taken on her recommendation she would be the one to garner all the blame, but if anything positive resulted, she would have to share the credit with her defender. After wrestling with the conundrum for part of yet another morning, she finally decided there was no way she could plausibly proceed without at least one corroborator. She found herself turning to Arubaat DJJKWWE, the monitor who was stationed next to her.

“I have a requesst: run a sstock ssafeguard on the vessel occupying thesse coordinatess.” Without waiting for a response she reallocated the relevant information to his station. Tail tip barely flicking the floor behind his seat, he complied without looking over at her.

“A class twenty-four cargo craft, with minimal if any passenger-carrying capability,” he reported with becoming swiftness. “Onboard life ssupport appearss to be active. When queried, it resspondss appropriately.”

“But alwayss electronically.” She leaned slightly though not provocatively in his direction. She wanted confirmation, not a fight. “I have been querying the craft for sseveral dayss now and have yet to receive a ssingle vissual of any member of the crew.”

Her colleague’s dismissal was unapologetically sarcastic. “Perhaps the crew iss sshy. They need only resspond appropriately to formal queriess. Nothing requiress that they sshow themsselvess.” The third-degree gesture of apathy he flipped in her direction matched his tone. “For thiss you interrupt my own sscanning?”

“In the time that I have been monitoring them,” she replied frostily, “they have done nothing but acknowledge presscribed ssignalss. They have initiated no application for landing, forwarded no requesst for cusstomss clearance, ressponded uninteresstedly to repeated offerss to clear cargo. Do you not find thiss odd? Or possibly you think they have come all thiss way ssolely to drift in orbit around the homeworld and admire itss landsscape?”

Reluctantly, Arubaat found himself somewhat drawn to his colleague’s disquiet. “They have not yet requessted permission to ssend down a sshuttle, or to validate their bussiness here?”

“Nothing,” she told him firmly. “All codess and queriess are ansswered with a promptness that iss only undersscored by their lack of detail.”

“Not likely a ssecretive thranx warsship, then. What elsse can it be?” Returning his attention to his own station, the now intrigued Arubaat sent skyward a series of electronic requests. They were answered without delay—and without a hint of elaboration. His carefully formatted queries had generated the minimum response required to satisfy regulations. The automated files were completely satisfied.

He, however, was not. At least, not entirely. Much as he hated to admit it, his coworker and natural work-rival might be on to something. How could he make the most of her apparent insight to benefit himself? Much depended on what she wanted to do next, on how she wanted to proceed. So he asked her. After first formally registering his own interest in the matter, of course.

Distastefully but not unexpectedly, she recorded his official acknowledgment of support before elaborating. “The sship’ss crew musst have ssome agenda in mind, whether commercial or otherwisse. It iss incumbent upon uss”—and she took care to emphasize the “uss”—“as Imperial monitorss to find out what it iss. There alsso exisstss the possibility that thosse aboard have ssuffered a collective injury either to themsselvess or to their communicationss facilitiess. Or they may be ssuffering under adversse circumsstances we cannot envission—becausse they can do nothing more than resspond automatically and electronically to our inquiriess.”

Arubaat withheld comment until the female had concluded her review of the situation. “What do you proposse?”

Taking the necessary risk, Vunkiil plunged ahead. “A formal invesstigation. I would conssider mysself remiss in my dutiess were I to ssuggesst anything less. A crewed orbital monitor needss to approach the vessel in quesstion and examine it with more than jusst insstrumentss.”

Her colleague made a second-degree gesture of concurrence. “I will ssecond your recommendation—bassed ssolely, of coursse, on your assessment of the ssituation.”

“Of coursse,” she responded flatly. It would have been unrealistic to expect anything less from a fellow and equally ambitious nye. Arubaat was taking steps to cover his tail in the event the time-consuming and costly inspection revealed nothing out of the ordinary.

Too late for second thoughts, she told herself. The bones had been thrown. While she still felt confident she had made the right decision in requesting the detailed check, her convictions would have been greatly reinforced if only she could have come up with a better rationale for the continuing silence of the mysterious craft’s peculiarly nonresponsive crew.

One reason that never occurred to her was that the vessel in question might not have a crew.

Kiijeem had hardly retired for the remainder of the night, slipping quietly back to his quarters in the main residence, when the integrated communit inside the hood of Flinx’s simsuit sang softly for attention. Inconspicuous as it was, the sound was so unexpected that a startled Flinx looked around in momentary shock before settling on the source.

It was the Teacher calling. It had to be. There was nothing and no one else within a hundred parsecs that had access to that special frequency or the means to address him. The call itself told him immediately that something was wrong. While on the surface of another world he contacted the ship. It did not, would not, try to contact him unless something had gone amiss.

Hurrying over to the suit, he picked it up and positioned it so that the internal receptor was close to the side of his head. Though the Teacher could bend frequencies as efficiently as a child could snap elastic bands, it was still important to keep all such clandestine communications as brief as possible to avoid any chance they might be traced and tracked.

“I’m here,” he declared simply.

“I wish you were here,” the Teacher replied. “I am currently undergoing examination by a small orbital patrol vessel of the type favored by the AAnn. I am certain that this is because both my programmed and extemporaneous responses to all ground-based inquiries as to purpose and intent have been purely abstract.”

“Can you be certain of this?” a suddenly tense Flinx asked.

“I am being asked to present a member of my ‘crew’ to respond to these queries in person. I have managed to gain a delay by claiming that a general illness is present among the ‘crew’ and that a suitable presentation will be made available to the immigration and transit authorities within a two-day They have accepted this explanation but are persistent with their uncomfortably close observations. While my present facade was fashioned to its usual meticulous standards, there are details that will not stand up to any actual attempt at boarding.”

This was bad, Flinx knew. Very bad. If the Teacher’s exterior was discovered to be false, his ship would draw an immediate response that was likely to be as overwhelming as it was unwelcome. If the Teacher was determined to be of Commonwealth origin, not even its advanced design, technology, and capabilities would be sufficient to allow it to escape safely outsystem. Even if it did manage to flee successfully, in the process it would be forced to leave at least one important component of itself behind.

Him.

“I’m assuming you’ve evaluated potential lines of response to this probe,” he murmured toward the pickup.

“I have.” The Teacher’s prompt response was encouraging. “I could easily destroy the inspecting vessel. However, the reaction this would provoke would likely prove disadvantageous to your presence here.”

Same old Teacher, Flinx told himself. As thoroughgoing a master of understatement as an artificial intelligence could possibly be.

“Let’s assume we discard that option as unworkable,” he replied dryly. “What else have you got?”

“I will generate a lengthy and detailed rationale for having to hastily depart outsystem. One that conforms to and is suitable for all the pertinent AAnn procedures in my database. My calculation is that this will engender some minor irritation at the lowest levels of the relevant bureaucracies. It should quickly be forgotten. After a short but suitable interval spent undetectably in space-plus during which time I will completely revamp and rechameleonize my external appearance, I will return. For several days at least, a newly arrived, completely different ship occupying a completely different orbit should not arouse similar discomfiting suspicions among those still searching for my previous incarnation. Several days constitute ample time in which to pin-plunge a shuttle, recover you from the surface, and disappear safely back into space-plus.”

Flinx considered. The ship’s suggestion was typically comprehensive and well thought out. There was only one flaw he could find in the proposal.

“That means I’ll be stuck here. Until you can reconfigure and return.”

“Until I can reconfigure and return, yes.” There was a pause, then, “To attempt anything more forward and direct while I am under such close observation would be to put both of us unnecessarily at serious risk.”

The Teacher was not arguing on its own behalf, Flinx knew. It would do exactly as it was instructed. If he ordered it to make an attempt to pick him up on the grounds of the Imperial Palace itself, it would comply. And in all likelihood be vaporized in the process.

“How much time will you need?” he murmured. “To depart outsystem, enter space-plus, jump back, reconfigure, and return?”

“Certain components of the course of action you state are not immediately quantifiable. Given the variability of the conditions involved I would rather not venture specifics. Say, no less than a few days, no more than a couple of local teverravaks.”

A single teverravak was sixteen Blasusarrian days, Flinx knew. Even with Kiijeem’s help, could he continue to avoid the attention of the authorities for that long? Or even continue to avoid coming to the notice of members of the young AAnn’s extended family? Only the day before he had nearly been discovered by a pair of distant relations who had been walking the family property. Fortunately they had been more interested in finding a place to complete a secluded mating than in searching the crannies and crevices of the landscaped pool where he was hiding.

He really had no choice, he realized. The mounting risk to the Teacher had to be addressed immediately. He took a deep breath as a concerned Pip stirred to wakefulness nearby.

“Initiate the program described at your preferred speed,” he whispered into the pickup. “Carry out the necessary measures as fast as you can—without compromise. I understand that we risk disaster if you make an attempt to return before modification is properly completed. The new camouflage has to be at least as effective as your present disguise.”

“I concur absolutely.” Did the ship sound relieved? Flinx wondered. “I will exert maximum effort, Flinx, and resume contact as soon as is safe. Until then, you must preserve yourself and all your functions without recourse to my facilities.”

“You can count on that,” he muttered fervently. There was no need to say good-bye, farewell, or anything else. All that needed to be said had been said.

Setting the simsuit aside, he lay down on the cool sandstone. His gaze wandered upward to focus on the unfamiliar stars. Somewhere up there the Teacher would be formulating excuses to satisfy increasingly inquisitive AAnn administrators of both the organic and electronic variety. Shortly thereafter his ship would head outsystem, whereupon it would make the jump to the safety and anonymity of space-plus as soon as was feasible.

At which point, he reflected, he would be well and truly alone on an alien and hostile world.

Not entirely alone, he reminded himself as an attentive Pip pushed up against him. And not entirely hostile, either. Overhead, something native that sported a long tail and membranous wings passed between him and a waning moon. Young Kiijeem was not hostile. Aggressively curious, perhaps, but not hostile. Still, he was a nye, he was AAnn, and the youth of any sentient species could be fickle in its own idiosyncratic way. What if one afternoon his host decided that he had learned as much as he could from his secretive human visitor? What if fear of discovery made him decide to turn Flinx over to the authorities? Would he not gain considerable status from doing so? How far, and for how long, could Flinx continue to trust him?

Among his own species there were those comparable in age to Kiijeem who would happily turn him in for monetary reward. Flinx had recently met several examples of them on Visaria. Could he reasonably expect the youthful representative of an entirely different species, an antagonistic one at that, to exhibit a greater degree of altruism?

There was no avoiding the reality: his present situation was terribly fragile. So be it: he would have to find a way to strengthen it. If the one young nye with whom he had established a relationship was tentative, then he must somehow find a way to engage with others made of sterner stuff. But how to make contact with other AAnn, preferably adults, who would not reflexively turn him over to Krrassin Security? How could he tell whom to trust? Even assuming that his Talent remained functional, reading their emotions could only reveal how a sentient was feeling at a particular moment. He had no way of predicting how a prospective friend might feel about him the next day, or even the next hour.

He had filled the eager Kiijeem with knowledge, and the young nye had appeared to thrive on the flow of information. Dare he entrust similar knowledge and his true identity to some adult? The Teacher could not help him now. He needed local allies. AAnn with access to greater resources than Kiijeem could command. To acquire such while simultaneously avoiding incarceration and accompanying unpleasant interrogation presented him with by far the most difficult undertaking he had contemplated since setting down on Blasusarr.

Among the several constants that transcended species there was one he knew from his study of and time spent among the AAnn that he could count on. Power invariably attracts additional power. To acquire the kind of freedom of movement he sought, he needed clout of a kind the admirably candid Kiijeem self-admittedly could not muster.

Perhaps, Flinx told himself, his young friend knew someone who could.

It had rained earlier in the evening. For an industrialized capital city the air of Krrassin was unusually clean. No doubt extra effort was made to ensure that the atmosphere of the Imperial capital reflected its importance. Even so, a certain amount of pollution was unavoidable. The rain had cleared that away, so that the alien atmosphere smelled fresh and clean.

Sucking down positive ions, Flinx felt physically buoyant but mentally hesitant. The food Kiijeem had smuggled out that afternoon for his guest’s late-night meal was not only edible but delicious, further adding to Flinx’s sense of well-being. As carnivorous at heart as the AAnn, Pip had gorged herself on one particular sausage-like victual. Now her usually aerodynamic shape flaunted an unmistakable bulge in the region of her lower-middle, just behind her last wing-rib.

The attentive Kiijeem had settled into his customary listening crouch nearby. He always chose the same spot between Flinx and the distant residence so that if anyone approached unexpectedly from the buildings the young AAnn would block their view of the softskin.

“Tell me ssomething exciting tonight, Flinx-friend. Enlighten me with ssomething new.”

Kiijeem made virtually the same request every evening, and Flinx had been happy to respond accordingly. He would do so again on this night—though on this occasion to a degree his youthful host could not possibly imagine. But first…

“I have to ask you a question, Kiijeem AVMd.” At Flinx’s uncommon use of the AAnn’s full family name, Kiijeem tensed slightly. Ceasing its usual flicking back and forth, his tail stiffened into a balancing rod held straight out behind him. Both nictating membranes retracted, allowing the single moon overhead to shine more brightly than ever in his reptilian eyes.

“Ssomething iss wrong?” The young AAnn’s tone reflected his uncertainty.

“The question first.” Flinx exhaled slowly as he stared hard at the scaly biped. “Have you given any thought to terminating our contact and turning me over to the authorities in expectation of the status it would gain you?”

Kiijeem paused. His four-fingered right hand swayed slowly back and forth, a clear indication of distress. Confused, he could not decide on the proper gesture to employ to express his feelings. He did not need to. Flinx perceived them as clearly as if the youth was writing them down. Taken by surprise and feeling cornered by Flinx’s unexpected question, the youngster was struggling to formulate a suitable reply. Finally he looked over at the silent, waiting human.

“Of coursse I have. But I have, demonsstrably, not acted on it.”

An honest answer. It was what Flinx had hoped for. For Kiijeem to have declared that he had never experienced such thoughts would have been for him to deny his very self. The assertion of one lie would have led Flinx to suspect the existence of others. If not completely reassured, he felt that he could at least proceed with a certain degree of confidence that he was hearing the truth. He continued the penetrating line of questioning.

“Have you thought of killing me?”

“Truly.” Kiijeem’s tone remained muted, but his emotions were boiling. “How could I not wonder what you would tasste like?”

“I am told by other AAnn with whom I’ve spoken that the flavor lies somewhere between fresh ilathk and salted cuurconn.”

Finally gaining control of his troubled fingers, Kiijeem hastened to gesture second-degree bewilderment accentuated by third-degree curiosity. “I do not undersstand why you purssue thiss jarring line of quesstioning.”

“I need to be sure of your mind-set regarding me before I tell you what I have to say next.” Glancing out of the corner of his left eye he saw that the seriously overfed Pip was in no condition to come to his aid if the conversation should take an unpleasant turn. He had already lost the support of the Teacher for the time being. Now it appeared that the same was true of his childhood companion as well. However proceedings developed, he was going to have to deal with them on his own.

Well, it wouldn’t be the first time.

“I’m going to have to remain here on Blasusarr and in Krrassin for longer than I anticipated.”

Kiijeem relaxed visibly. Sinking lower into his crouch, his tail resumed its normal healthy side-to-side switching. “I feared you were going to ssay that you had to depart. I cannot tell you how deeply I have come to value thesse nocturnal exchangess. I feel that I learn more in a night here than in a teverravak’ss worth of formal daytime sstudiess.”

Flinx was flattered, but that did not alter what he had to tell his enthusiastic and impressionable young host. “I’m glad I’ve been able to further your education.” With a start he realized, not for the first time, the uncannily perceptive rationale that lay behind the name the Ulru-Ujurrians had given to the ship they had constructed for him.

“But I don’t feel that I can stay in this spot much longer. I was almost discovered yesterday.”

“Yess, you sspoke to me of the near encounter.” With hand and tail Kiijeem gestured back through the night in the direction of the residence. “The incident wass atypical. Thiss iss not a favored part of the family compound for freeloping. It liess too far from the main buildingss.”

“Nevertheless,” Flinx went on, “I feel that I have to move. As I said and for reasons you don’t need to know, I can’t leave Blasusarr yet. Maybe not for a number of days. It’s looking more and more like I might have more trouble than I originally anticipated in departing without being detected.” Rising from where he had been sitting, he walked over to his host and squatted before him. This lowered him to eye level with the crouching youth.

“You’ve been a good friend, Kiijeem. Twice-truly. But if I’m going to be certain of leaving your world without being captured or shot down in the attempt, I feel—I fear—that I’m going to need the assistance of someone with more status than yourself.”

The young AAnn digested the softskin’s words. A comparable, characteristically brash human youth might have taken offense at the implication underlying Flinx’s words. An analytical young thranx would have readily agreed with the conclusion. A Largessian would not have cared one way or the other. Flinx was taking a risk describing his situation so candidly to his host. But if Kiijeem had not revealed the human’s presence to the authorities by now, there was a good chance he would continue to keep it a secret despite his guest’s just-confessed vulnerability.

Flinx ardently hoped he was reading the young nye’s emotions correctly.

He was, but Kiijeem was not so ready to agree to the roundabout request that he give up exclusive access to his remarkable visitor.

“You have been forthright with me, Flinx-friend. Sso you will not take exception or raisse a challenge if I am likewisse with you.”

Flinx sat back, stretching out his legs as he relaxed from the squat. “Go ahead. It’s to be expected you’d have questions.”

No less bold and direct for their youth, slitted pupils eyed him piercingly. “If you are going to leave, why sshould I not reveal your exisstence to the authoritiess and garner the sstatuss to be gained from ssuch a revelation?”

At this Pip raised her head and upper body to stare at the suddenly cool AAnn. At the moment, given her heavy burden of undigested food, it was all that she could do.

“I have become your friend.” Flinx stared unblinkingly back. “You have said so on more than one occasion.”

“There iss an old ssaying among my kind that you may know. ‘Where sstatuss sstandss tall, friendsship fallss.’”

Flinx tensed. He still felt that, if necessary, he could kill this intelligent young predator with his bare hands. “Do you adhere to that saying?”

“Truly I do,” Kiijeem replied candidly, “except—in thiss particular insstance. You are my friend. I have declared it to be sso. I will help you—but I would like to know why I sshould do sso. I need to know thiss not for mysself. Friendsship iss reasson enough to jusstify it on my part. But if I am to help you in ssecuring the assisstance of one greater than mysself, before doing sso that individual will demand a rationale ssuperior to jusst knowing that you are my friend.”

Though he was less than pleased with the AAnn’s rejoinder, Flinx certainly understood it. He responded with a first-degree gesture of comprehension. “I appreciate the need you express, and I will provide such a rationale—to whomever you place me in contact with.”

Kiijeem persisted. “I would sshare it.”

His guest looked away. “With the best will in the world, Kiijeem, I say that such knowledge as I would share should not be for you.”

The AAnn’s tail tip arced straight up behind his back. “You think me lacking the capacity to comprehend?”

Unexpectedly, Flinx found himself torn. Why should he care whether he spared his youthful host the revelation he intended to reserve for an older, wiser AAnn mind? Ideally a Class-A mind—except that he knew of only one such intellect. Himself. Was it just that he believed from experience that a more mature nye would be better able to deal with the revelations? No, there was no reason to spare the vulnerable, unworldly Kiijeem from the kernel of furtive knowledge that was so much a part of Flinx. No reason whatsoever—except that he was a friend and Flinx did not want to risk damaging him.

“It’s not a matter of comprehension,” he tried to explain. “It’s a question of—maturity isn’t the right term. All I can tell you is that in order to wholly persuade one of your kind with sufficiently high status to maintain my anonymity while helping me, they have to experience what I know.”

The explanation caught Kiijeem off guard. “How can they do that?”

“The experiencing is part of the explanation.” Uncomfortable at what he found himself confessing, Flinx found himself shifting his position edgily on the warm rock.

“I inssisst on knowing thiss rationale for mysself,” a frustrated Kiijeem persisted. “I demand to know it!” Straightening out of his crouch, he raised both clawed hands defensively in front of him and took a step backward. “Tell me or otherwisse I will divulge your pressence here.”

Flinx sighed heavily. Over the course of the past several years it was debatable whether he had become a greater danger to his enemies or to his friends.

“Let’s do this,” he ventured hopefully. “I’ll tell you the facts behind the rationale. If you still insist on the actual experience then—we’ll see.”

He was offering a compromise. Recognizing it, Kiijeem considered before replying. His tail tip relaxed and slumped groundward. “I am alwayss willing to lissten to the prologue that precedess the play.”

“Good.” In the hope that words alone would be enough to convince his youthful host, Flinx settled down to explain the looming peril that had become the driving force behind not only his life but that of his closest acquaintances. He knew all too well what sharing the full experience could do to a delicate mind. If Clarity Held had been with him, he suspected she could have explained the quandary far more effectively to the uncompromisingly curious young AAnn, and in such a way that he might drop his insistence on sharing it as hurriedly as he would a drop of Pip’s poison. Because for better or worse, to both her enlightenment and detriment, Clarity had been obliged to share that experience.

Flinx settled himself a little closer to his alert, bright-eyed young host.

“You may very well not believe much of what I’m about to tell you….”