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  The delicate business of explaining to the locals without insulting them that Commonwealth regulations forbade the exchange of advanced tech with the inhabitants of Class IVb worlds was left to the many professional diplomats who shuttled in and out of the Commonwealth station. In this effort they had to be tactful indeed. Ordinary Larians were a proud lot. Many of their leaders tended to be haughty. Whether important or mundane, every indigene was gratified by the realization that only a handful of the offworlders could speak properly, despite their mastery of complex technologies.

  Flinx hoped he might be accounted among the handful. Combining an unexpected tune-carrying ability with the Teacher’s advanced learning tech should, he thought, get him to the point where he could communicate with the locals on at least a nominal level without the need to resort to the assistance of mechanical translation. He would find out soon enough.

  Coming in low and slow on the Teacher’s shuttle allowed him time to admire the most striking natural and artificial features of Largess. On a world of shallow seas and millions of rocky, heavily eroded, low-lying islands, the most prominent builds of the Class IVb natives were not gleaming towers or vast geometric agricultural fields, but bridges.

  Bridges wide enough for two Larians to pass abreast but too narrow for a pair of humans to do the same threaded together multiple islands as tightly as the fabric in a fine dress shirt. Wider spans able to handle carts pulled by stumpy-legged dray animals bound communities together to create towns. Ceremonial viaducts that were wider still were testament to the skills of local engineers, metalworkers, and stonemasons. In some cases the original function of a bridge lay buried beneath a metastasizing buildup of homes, shops, and offices. When such a span became too crowded with parasitic structures to fulfill its original task, another bridge was simply constructed alongside it. In the absence of many tall growths like Terran trees, nearly all bridges and buildings were fashioned of varying kinds of stone. Bridges not only wove together islands and clans, but history and culture.

  Only a couple of such spans linked the offworlder compound and station to the rest of Borusegahm. Able to travel directive-restricted distances via skimmers that could as easily cross water as land, Commonwealth representatives had seen no need for an extensive, and expensive, network of new bridges. Those Larian representatives lucky enough to be treated to a skimmer ride spoke of nothing else for days. But even if such devices were made available to the people of Largess, their Commonwealth hosts were told, the Larians would never stop building bridges.

  That is what we wish to help you do, the diplomats would reply. Help you to build bridges: among yourselves, and eventually to the Commonwealth. Whereupon a native counselor would quickly request the loan of a couple of communits, or a weapon, and the resigned Commonwealth reps would be forced to change the subject.

  The Larians were not single-minded, but they could be very persistent.

  All this and more Flinx knew from his pre-arrival research as he passed through Customs & Immigration. While it was not unknown for individual traders to visit Largess, neither were they frequent. But automated orbital inspectors assigned to check out his ship had found nothing out of the ordinary, and the same was true of him. His singular pet drew the most attention, her head peeping out from beneath the lightweight but warm coat he had donned. Having taken the measure of Largess’s atmosphere, Pip had found it breathable but nippy. In the absence of special gear for the minidrag, Flinx knew he would have to keep her warmer than usual in order to ensure that she remained comfortable.

  Usually the more isolated the facility, the more abrupt the formalities. Couple that with Largess’s usually cloudy, chilly weather, and Flinx found himself and Pip passed rapidly through the arrival routine.

  Having made the necessary arrangements from orbit, he took automated transport to the largest of three travelers’ hotels, checked in, informed the robotic clerk that he would frequently be out on business, and prepared to orient himself.

  Some Commonwealth facilities on nonmember, nonassociated worlds restricted access by the locals. Such was not the case in Borusegahm. Even within the boundaries of the station, Larians outnumbered offworlders. Most of the latter were humans; some lightly clad, while others went about bundled up in antique clothes that were relics of the past. He soon found out that imitation furs and such were worn more as fashion statements than out of necessity. His own coat and pants were lightweight and thermosensitive, able to adjust to the ambient temperature to keep him warm and dry. But he had to admit that if not as efficient as modern fabrics, some of the historic attire certainly could boast more visual flair.

  As for thranx, he encountered not a single one. Sylzenzuzex had been right about that. Between the temperature and the presence of so much open water, their absence was hardly surprising. Largess was not a world to which they would be attracted.

  As befitted its limited, low-profile presence on a Class IVb world, the Commonwealth outpost was not extensive. He had no difficulty finding the location of the local branch of the United Church. Presenting the fabricated identification that had been provided by Sylzenzuzex, he soon found himself ushered into the office of the presiding Padre.

  “Plumeria Jonas.” Greeting him with a wide, vivacious smile, the diminutive white-haired woman gestured toward a wicker-and-weave chair that had been fashioned by local craftsfolk, though not for their own use. Given their short legs and tripod-forming thick tails, the Larians had no need of and did not use chairs. But they were happy to make such things for visitors. Native crafts were among those items that could not easily or accurately be churned out by commercial synthesizers, nor could they legally be labeled and sold as authentic non-Commonwealth art.

  “David Caracal.” As Flinx settled himself in the chair, which took his weight easily, Pip shifted her position beneath his jacket. The fabric had already adjusted to the warmer temperature in the office, and the minidrag was searching for a cooler place to rest.

  “Flinx.” At her visitor’s startled look, the Padre hastened to reassure him. “I have been briefed, via closed beam, by the security officer Sylzenzuzex. Your true identity is no secret to me. Nor need it be, if you are to function here effectively.”

  She didn’t know everything about him, he reflected, or she might have called him by his true, full name. How much did the Church know about him, from Sylzenzuzex and others? He determined not to worry about it. Though the United Church and the Commonwealth government worked together, it was not always to the same end or for the same purpose. While the government still sought to hunt him down and deal with him as a survivor of the Meliorare Society’s banned experiments, it was becoming more and more clear that the Church felt otherwise. As of now, he could be useful to it. Would that stance toward him change someday? Perhaps not, if Sylzenzuzex had told them what he had done not so very long ago.

  The Church evidently respected him. The government feared him. Such attitudes could shift on a moment’s notice or at the whim of a bureaucratic change. It was no different from when, as a boy, he had wandered the streets of Drallar on Moth and dealt with a similarly broad assortment of human and alien opinion.

  “Sylzenzuzex would have explained the situation here, and the difficulty we face in resolving it.”

  Listening to her, watching her, Flinx decided that he would prefer to have this grandmotherly representative of the Church on his side in any fight.

  “Someone is utilizing advanced Commonwealth technology on behalf of some of the locals,” he replied. “Neither the government nor the Church can step in to resolve the situation without being guilty of the same violations they’re trying to prevent. You can’t talk to these indigenes very well because of the nature of their means of communication. Whereas Syl, at least, thinks I might be able to do so because I can read emotions.”

  The Padre frowned and Flinx could sense her confusion. “I thought you could read minds.”

  “Therein lies much misperception.” He spread his hands.
“Nobody can read minds. Leastwise, I’ve never encountered any such mythical being. I’m an empath. I can, when the ability is working and it doesn’t hurt too much, perceive the emotions of other sentients.”

  “ ‘When’ the ability is working?”

  He sighed, shifted his position on the chair. “I can see that either Sylzenzuzex didn’t explain everything about me, or some pretty important details got lost in translation. Sometimes my ‘talent’ functions perfectly, sometimes less well. Sometimes I get headaches that literally knock me unconscious. Although the older I get, it seems the fewer the headaches—the severe ones, anyway—and the more consistently I can perceive.” He smiled. “Right now, for example, I can sense that you’re disappointed.”

  “Don’t need to read my emotions for that,” she murmured. “I expect that my expression shows what I’m feeling.” Folding her hands in front of her, elbows on the table between them, she turned from convivial to dead serious.

  “The situation here has become notably worse since Padre Sylzenzuzex was sent to try to solicit your assistance in this matter. Preedir ah nisa Leeh, the Firstborn of the Hobak of Borusegahm, has been abducted and spirited out of the local Leeth. The powerful clans that comprise Borusegahm and its allied Leeths are outraged, exactly as you would expect any polity to be if an important politician’s daughter had been kidnapped. They’re threatening war to get her back. War,” she continued dryly, “is not conducive to the general unification we are striving to nurture on Largess. The clans have a bit of a problem, though, which gives us some breathing room.”

  “What kind of problem?” Beneath the jacket, Pip was a warm scaly arc against his shoulder and chest.

  “They don’t know who took her, or where her abductors have taken her. As number eighty-seven of the Church’s One Hundred and Five Maxims of Indifferent Contentment says, ‘The drumbeat for war tends to collapse under the weight of its own absurdity in the absence of a known enemy.’ ”

  “But,” Flinx said shrewdly, “you think you do. Know who took her.”

  The Padre leaned back in her chair. Unlike the one in which he was sitting, hers was an import, not of local manufacture. It shifted and flowed to accommodate her diminutive wiry frame. “The way in which her abduction was carried out suggests the use of tech more advanced than what is available to the natives. Largess exists on the cusp of steam technology but has not yet made that particular industrial and scientific leap. Someone helped and continues to help the Firstborn’s kidnappers. Someone with access to contemporary Commonwealth devices.”

  “Human?”

  “We don’t know for absolute certain, although the evidence that has become available to us thus far does point to a member of our all-too-often misguided species. Our ignorance in this matter is not complete, but it is extensive. We want to help the Hobak of Borusegahm get his daughter back, and we want to keep this hemisphere’s clans from going to war. To forestall the latter, we have to realize the former. We just can’t do it openly.”

  “Hence my presence here,” he concluded.

  “Hence your presence here.” Once more she steepled her fingers in front of her. Her eyes, he noted, were a pale violet, though whether natural or via transplant or injection he couldn’t tell. “You’ll be operating illegally. If you get in trouble, not only can’t I help you, I can’t even admit to having had this conversation. Having been made aware by Padre Sylzenzuzex and others of your resourcefulness, we very much would like your help in this.” She took a deep breath. “If you choose, you can leave now and return to your home and no one in the Church who is aware of your existence will mention this matter again.”

  He didn’t hesitate. “I agreed to come. I’m here.” He grinned. “I’ll try to help.”

  The Padre nodded appreciatively. “It was mentioned in the follow-up report that one reason you might say yes was because you were bored. Largess will not bore you. I have only one request.”

  “Which is?”

  “Try not to slaughter any more people, local or offworld, than is absolutely necessary. As the fifth maxim says, ‘Killing someone is a poor way of convincing them of the rightness of your position.’ ”

  They both stood and she came around the table. Taking Flinx’s right hand in her much smaller one, she placed her other hand over his and had to tilt her head back to smile up at him.

  “The Padre Sylzenzuzex insists that you have been in difficult situations before and managed them efficaciously. Situations where multiple lives were at stake.”

  Without elaborating, he returned her smile with one of his own. “One or two lives, yes.”

  “Then I am confident you will handle this awkward task with similar efficiency.” When she patted the back of the hand she was holding, it reminded him of Mother Mastiff. A confrontation between the two old ladies would be something to see, he mused.

  The Padre guided him back to the door. “You look comfortable. If there is anything you feel you need, my assistant will see to it. Some local items are available for you to take with you, if you wish. Local currency is a necessity. There is no credit system here as we know it. I can offer you one additional bit of assistance. In Borusegahm, seek out a local named…” She hesitated as she struggled to singspeak the name. “…Wiegl. He frequents every available Commonwealth demonstration and interaction. I myself have seen him sitting on one of the bridges watching the infrequent shuttle transports come and go to and from orbit.” She smiled.

  “His hope is to acquire the same kind of advanced technology that is the source of our current concern. He has a reputation as something of a wanderer, so it is possible he may know more than the average Larian citizen about what happened to the Hobak’s offspring. Or he may know someone who knows someone. In any case, perhaps a useful starting point for your inquiries.”

  He nodded, started out the door, hesitated. “You said that if I got in trouble you wouldn’t even be able to admit to having met me.” He jerked his head in the direction of the outer office. “What about your assistant?”

  “Automaton.”

  He nodded again. “That explains why I couldn’t perceive any emotions from him when I came in. I thought it was me. My ability failing again.”

  “As long as it can still sense hostility, I think you’ll be fine,” she assured him.

  He wrinkled his nose. “That’s something I’ve never had any trouble perceiving.”

  Back outside in the cool, moist air, he took some time to explore the outpost. No one confronted him, no one asked to see identification. No citizen of the Commonwealth, human or otherwise, was legally allowed to land anywhere on Largess except at the single station. Therefore anyone at the station was there legally.

  He sought in vain for displays of the spices and extracts for which Largess was known, and which were the principal reason for the presence of Commonwealth commercial interests.

  “Not here.” The man who explained things to him was much shorter than Flinx, had a round face, a mustache so feeble that Flinx could count the individual hairs without having to squint, and a complexion the color of antique ivory. Flinx had chosen him because he radiated emotional contentment.

  “All business at the station is conducted indoors. Just because the natives have evolved to handle this climate doesn’t mean they don’t appreciate getting in out of the rain and wind.” Turning, he pointed. “If you want to meet some native vendors on their own turf, you’re free to go into the Leeth. Arrange to obtain some local currency first. A lot of it is in the form of flat, stamped, beautifully polished thin discs of semiprecious stone. I’d recommend taking the South Bridge. From there you can walk or engage native transport.” He grinned, showing a perfect smile. “That can be…entertaining.” Flinx started to ask a question but the man held up a hand, anticipating him.

  “And no, I’m not in the spice business. I’m just another civil servant serving out his current term of duty—and hoping for a transfer to a world with less dour natives, a warmer climate,
and beaches made of sand instead of rock.”

  Utilizing the congenial bureaucrat’s directions and following his advice, Flinx soon found himself at the southern border post confronting a human official and her companion automaton.

  “Any advanced tech on you besides your clothes? Communit is permissible but for use in emergencies only, and only within the borders of Borusegahm Leeth.” As she spoke, the automaton was running an exhaustive scan on him.

  “No.” He held out his arms.

  The automaton beeped softly for her attention. She conferred with it briefly before returning. Her expression was accusing. “What the hell is that under your coat and wrapped around your left shoulder?”

  “A pet. Alaspinian minidrag. Pip?”

  Responding, the flying snake stuck its iridescent green head out of his collar. Radiating alarm, the border official drew back sharply. “Never heard of it. I can assume you’re not carrying it around for purposes of sale or trade? The Commonwealth takes an especially dim view of the introduction of invasive species to less advanced worlds.”

  “Pip is not trade goods,” he told her firmly. “She’s a part of me.”

  “You have strange taste in appendages.” Stepping aside, she whispered a few words into the pickup that hung in front of her face. “You said that you’re recently arrived to Largess. Although there are no restrictions against staying in the Leeth overnight, I am required to inform you that it is not advised. Native social life can be rambunctious, and the cultural nuances difficult for offworlders to understand.”

  “I’ll be careful.” He fought back a smile. “I’ve actually spent some time on a couple of other nonmember worlds.”

  She nodded. “You have your translator with you?”

  “Actually, I’ve been working hard at learning the local singspeak.” He cleared his throat. “To the town I am going; to the places of hearty speaking, to learn the best ones, with whom to engage in trading. Those are the ones that I seek, in my first day’s wandering.”