It had been a lovely interregnum of two-way consensus. The Suzerain of Beam and Talon approved every purchase, and the Suzerain of Propriety blessed every foray of the Talon Soldiers. Expedition after expedition was sent into the mountains as closely guarded scientists eagerly sought out a prize beyond price.

Mistakes were made. The wolflings proved diabolical in their ambushes and animal elusiveness. And yet, there would never have been any carping about cost had they actually found what they were looking for. It all would have been worth it, if only . . .

But we were tricked, fooled, made fools of, the priest thought bitterly. The treasure had been a lie. And now the new Suzerain of Cost and Caution was rubbing it in for all it was worth. The bureaucrat danced a brilliant dance of chastis.e.m.e.nt of excess. Already it had dominated several points of consensus-for instance, that there would be no more useless chases into the mountains, not until a cheaper way was found to eliminate the resistance fighters.

The plumage of the Suzerain of Beam and Talon drooped miserably. The priest knew how much this must gall the admiral. But they were both held hypnotized by the righteous correctness of the Dance of Chastis.e.m.e.nt. Two could not outvote one when that one was so clearly in the right.

Now the bureaucrat had launched into a new cadence, leading into a new dance. It proposed that the new construction projects be abandoned. They had nothing to do with defending the Gubru hold upon this world. They had been begun on the a.s.sumption that these "Garthling" creatures would be found. Now it was simply pointless to continuebuilding a hypers.p.a.ce shunt and a ceremonial mound!

The dance was powerful, convincing, backed up with charts and statistics and tables of figures. The Suzerain of Propriety realized that something would have to be done and done soon, or this upstart would end the day in the foremost position. It was unthinkable that such a sudden reverse of order should happen just as their bodies were starting to give them twinges preliminary to Molt!

Even leaving out the question of molt order, there was also the message from the Roost Masters to consider. The queens and princes back home were desperate in their queries. Had the Three on Garth come up with a bold new policy yet? Calculations showed that it would be important to have something original and imaginative soon, or else the initiative would pa.s.s forever to some other clan.

It was intimidating to have the fate of the race riding in one's slipstream.

And for all of its obvious finesse and fine preening, one thing was readily apparent about the new chief bureaucrat. The new Suzerain of Cost and Caution lacked the depth, the clarity of vision of its dead predecessor. The Suzerain of Propriety knew that no grand policy was going to come out of picayune, short sighted credit-pinching.

Something had to be done, and done now! The priest took up a posture of presentiment, spreading its brightly feathered arms in display. Politely, perhaps even indulgently, the bureaucrat cut short its own dance and lowered its beak, yielding time.

The Suzerain of Propriety started slowly, shuffling in small steps upon its perch. Purposely, the priest adopted a cadence used earlier by its adversary.

"Although there may be no Garthlings, there remains achance, opportunity, opening, for us to use the ceremonialsite we have planned, built, dedicated at such cost.

"There is a plan, scheme, concept, which may still yet win glory, honor, propriety for our clan.

"At the center, focus, essence of this plan, we shall examine, inspect, investigate the clients of wolflings."

Across the chamber the Suzerain of Beam and Talon looked up. A hopeful light appeared in the dejected admiral's eye, and the priest knew that it could win a temporary victory, or at least a delay.

Much, much would depend in the days ahead upon finding out whether this bold new idea would work.

57 Athaclena "You see?" he called down to her. "It moved during the night!"

Athaclena had to shade her eyes as she looked up at her human friend-perched on a tree branch more than thirty feet above the forest floor. He pulled on a leafy green cable that stretched down to him at a forty-five-degree angle from its even higher anchor.

"Are you certain that is the same vine you snipped last night?" she called.

"It sure is! I climbed up and poured a liter of chromium-rich water-the very stuff this particular vine specializes in -- into the crotch of that branch, way up there above me. Now you can see this vine has reanch.o.r.ed itself to that exact spot!"

Athaclena nodded. She felt a fringe of truth around his words. "I see it, Robert. And now I believe it."

She had to smile. Sometimes Robert acted so much like a young Tymbrimi male-so quick, impulsive, puckish. It was a little disconcerting, in a way. Aliens were supposed to behave in strange and inscrutable ways, not just like . . . well, boys.

But Robert is not an alien, she reminded herself. He is my consort. And anyway, she had been living among Terrans for so long, she wondered if she had started to think like one.

When-if- -- I ever get home, will I disconcert all around me, frightening and amazing them with metaphors? With bizarre wolfling att.i.tudes? Does that prospect attract me?

A lull had settled over the war. The Gubru had stopped sending vulnerable expeditions into the mountains. Their outposts were quiescent. Even the ceaseless droning of gasbots had been absent from the high valleys for more than a week, te the great relief of the chim farmers and villagers.

With some time on their hands, she and Robert had decided to have themselves just one day off while they had a chance, to try to get to know each other better. After all, who knew when the fighting would resume? Would there ever be another opportunity?

They both needed distraction anyway. There had still been no reply from Robert's mother, and the fate of Amba.s.sador Uthacalthing remained unclear, in spite of the glimpse she had been given of her father's design. All she could do was try to perform her part as well as possible, and hope he was still alive and able to do his.

"All right," she called up to Robert. "I accept it. The vines can be trained, after a fashion. Now come down! Your perch looks precarious."

But Robert only smiled. "I'll come down, in my own way. You know me, Clennie. I can't resist an opportunity like this."

Athaclena tensed. There it was again, that whimsy at the edges of his emotional aura. It wasn't unlike syulff-kuonn, the coronal kenning surrounding a young Tymbrimi who was savoring an antic.i.p.ated jest.

Robert gave the vine a hearty tug. He inhaled, expanding his ribcage to a degree no Tymbrimi could have equaled, then thumped his chest hollowly, rapidly, and gave out a long, ululating yodel. It echoed down the forest corridors.

Athaclena sighed. Oh, yes. He must pay respects to their wolfling deity, Tarzan With the vine clutched in both hands, Robert vaulted from the branch. He sailed, legs outstretched together, in a smooth arc down and across the forest meadow, barely clearing the low shrubs. He whooped aloud.

Of course it was just the sort of thing humans would have invented during those dark centuries between the advent of intelligence and their discovery of science. None of the Library-raised Galactic races, not even the Tymbrimi, would ever have thought up such a mode of transportation.

The pendulum swing carried Robert upward again, toward a thick ma.s.s of leaves and branchlets halfway up the side of a forest giant. Robert's warbling cry cut off suddenly as he crashed through the foliage with a splintering sound and disappeared.

The silence was punctuated only by a faint, steady rain of minor debris. Athaclena hesitated, then called out. "Robert?"

There was neither reply nor movement up there in that high thicket. "Robert! Are you all right? Answer me!" The Anglic words felt thick in her mouth.

She tried to locate him with her corona, the little strands above her ears strained forward. He was in there, all right . . . and in some degree of pain, she could tell.

She ran across the meadow, leaping over low obstacles as the gheer transforrriation set in-her nostrils automatically widening to accept more air as her heart rate tripled. By the time she reached the tree, her finger- and toenails had already begun to harden. She kicked off her soft shoes and began climbing at once, quickly finding holds in the rough bark as she shimmied up the giant bole to the first branch.

The ubiquitous vines cl.u.s.tered here, snaking at an angle toward the leafy mora.s.s that had swallowed Robert. She tested one of the ropy cables, then used it to shimmy up to the next level.

Athaclena knew she should pace herself. For all of her Tymbrimi speed and adaptability, her musculature wasn't as strong as a human's, and coronal-radiation didn't dissipate heat as well as Terran sweat glands. Still, she could not taper off from full, emergency speed.

It felt dim and close within the leafy blind where Robert had crashed. Athaclena blinked and sniffed as she entered the darkness. The odors reminded her that this was a wild world, and she was no wolfling to be at home in a ferine jungle. Athaclena had to retract her tendrils so they wouldn't get tangled in the thicket. That was why she was taken by surprise when something reached out from the shadows to grab her tightly.

Hormones rushed. She gasped and coiled around to strike out at her a.s.sailant. Just in time she recognized Robert's aura, his human male odor very near, and his strong arms holding her close. Athaclena experienced a momentary wave of dizziness as the gheer reaction braked hard.

It was in that stunned state, while still immobilized by change-rigor, that her surprise was redoubled. For that was when Robert began touching her mouth with his. At first his actions seemed meaningless, insane. But then, as her corona unwound, she started picking up feelings again. . . . and all at once she remembered scenes from human video dramas -- scenes involving mating and s.e.xual play.

The storm of emotions that swept over Athaclena was so powerfully contradictory that she remained frozen for a while longer. Also, part of it might have been the relaxed power in his arms. Only when Robert finally let go of her did Athaclena back away from him quickly, wedging herself against the bole of the giant tree, gasping.

"An . . . An-thwillathbielna! Naha. . . . You . . . you blenchuql How dare you . . . Cleth-tnub. . . ." She ran out of breath and had to stop her polyglot cursing, panting slowly. It didn't seem to be penetrating Robert's mild expression of good cheer anyway.

"Uh, I didn't catch all that, Athaclena. My GalSeven is still pretty bad, though I've been working on it. Tell me, what's a ... a blenchuq?"

Athaclena made a gesture, a twist of the head that was the Tymbrimi equivalent to an irritated shrug. "Never mind that! Tell me at once. Are you badly hurt? And if not, why did you do what you just did?

"Third, tell me why I should not punish you for tricking and a.s.saulting me like that!"

Robert's eyes widened. "Oh, don't take it all so seriously, Clennie. I appreciate the way you came charging to my rescue. I was still a bit dazed, I guess, and got carried away being happy to see you."

Athaclena's nostrils flared. Her tendrils waved, preparing she knew not what caustic glyph. Robert clearly sensed this. He held up a hand. "All right, all right. In order-I'm not badly hurt, only a bit sc.r.a.ped. Actually, it was fun."

He erased his smile on seeing her expression. "'Uh, as for question number two-I greeted you that way because it's a common human courtship ritual that I was strongly motivated to perform with you, even though I admit you might not have understood it."

Now Athaclena frowned. Her tendrils curled in confusion.

"And finally," Robert sighed. "I can't think of a single reason why you shouldn't punish me for my presumption. It's your privilege, as it'd be the right of any human female to break my arm for handling her without permission. I don't doubt you could do it, too.

"All I can say in my defense is that a broken arm is sometimes an occupational hazard to a young human mel. Half the time a courtship can hardly get started unless a fellow pulls something impulsive. If he's read the signs right, the fem likes it and doesn't give him a black eye. If he's wrong, he pays."

Athaclena watched Robert's expression turn thoughtful. "You know," he went on. "I'd never quite pa.r.s.ed it out that way before. It's true, though. Maybe humans are crazy cleth th-tnubs, at that."

Athaclena blinked. The tension had begun to leak away, dripping from the tips of her corona as her body returned to normal. The change nodes under her skin pulsed, reabsorb-ing the gheer flux.

Like little mice, she remembered, but she shuddered a little less this time.

In fact, she found herself smiling. Robert's strange confession had put matters-almost laughably-on a logical plane. "Amazing," she said. "As usual, there are parallels in Tymbrimi methodology. Our own males must take chances as well."

She paused then, frowning. "But stylistically this technique of yours is so crude! The error rate must be tremendous, since you are without coronae to sense what the female is feeling. Beyond your crude empathy sense, you have only hints and coquetry and body cues to go on. I'm surprised you manage to reproduce at all without killing each other off well beforehand!"

Robert's face darkened slightly, and she knew he was blushing. "Oh, I exaggerated a bit, I suppose."

Athaclena couldn't help but smile once more, not only a subtlety of the mouth, but an actual, full widening of the separation between her eyes.

"That much, Robert, I had already guessed."

The human's features reddened even more. He looked down at his hands and there was silence. Athaclena felt a stirring within her own deepself, and she kenned the simple sense-glyph kiniwullun . , . the parable-boy caught doing what boys inevitably do. Sitting there, his open aura of abashed sincerity seemed to cover over his fix-eyed, big-nosed alien-ness and make him more familiar to her than most of her peers had been back in school.

At last Athaclena slipped down from the dusty corner where she had wedged herself in self-defense.

"All right, Robert," she sighed. "I will let you explain to me why you were 'strongly motivated' to attempt this cla.s.sical human mating ritual with a member of another species-me. I suppose it is because we have signed an agreement to be consorts? Did you feel honor bound to consummate it, in order to satisfy human tradition?"

He shrugged, looking away. "No, I can't use that as an excuse. I know interspecies marriages are for business. It's just, well-I think it was just because you're pretty and bright, and I'm lonely, and . . . and maybe I'm just a bit in love with you."

Her heart beat faster. This time it was not the gheer chemicals responsible. Her tendrils lifted of their own accord, but no glyph emerged. Instead, she found they were reaching toward him along subtle, strong lines, like the fields of a dipole.

"I think, I think I understand, Robert. I want you to know that I ..."

It was hard to think of what to say. She wasn't sure herself just what she was thinking at that moment. Athaclena shook her head. "Robert?" she said softly. "Will you do me a favor?"

"Anything, Clennie. Anything in the world." His eyes were wide open.

"Good. Then, taking care not to get carried away, perhaps you might go on to explain and demonstrate what you were doing, when you touched me just then . . . the various physical aspects involved. Only this time, more slowly please?"

The next day they strolled slowly on their way back to the caves.

She and Robert dawdled, stopping to contemplate how the sunlight came down in little glades, or standing by small pools of colored liquid, wondering aloud which trace chemical was stockpiled here or there by the ubiquitous trade vines, and not really caring about the answer. Sometimes they just held hands while they listened to the quiet sounds of Garth Planet's forest life.

At intervals they sat and experimented, gently, with the sensations brought on by touching.

Athaclena was surprised to find that most of the needed nerve pathways were already in place. No deep auto-suggestion was required-just a subtle shifting of a few capillaries and pressure receptors-in order to make the experiment feasible. Apparently, the Tymbrimi might have once engaged in a courtship ritual such as kissing. At least they had the capability.

When she resumed her old form she just might keep some of these adaptations to her lips, throat, and ears. The breeze felt good on them as she and Robert walked. It was like a rather nice empathy glyph tingling at the tips of her corona. And kissing, that warm pressure, stirred intense, if primitive feelings in her.

Of course none of it would have been possible if humans and Tymbrimi weren't already so very similar. Many charming, stupid theories had circulated among unsophisticated people of both races to explain the coincidence-for instance, proposing that they might once have had a common ancestor.

The idea was ridiculous, of course. Still, she knew that her case was not the first. Close a.s.sociation over several centuries had led to quite a few cases of cross-species dalliance, some even openly avowed. Her discoveries must have been made many times before.

She just hadn't been aware, having considered such tales rather seamy while growing up. Athaclena realized her friends back on Tymbrim must have thought her pretty much of a prude. And here she was, behaving in a way that would have shocked most of them!

She still wasn't sure she wanted anyone back home -- a.s.suming she ever made it there again-to think her consor-tion with Robert was anything but businesslike. Uthacalthing would probably laugh.

No matter, she told herself firmly. I must live for today. The experiment helped to pa.s.s the time. It did have its pleasant aspects. And Robert was an enthusiastic teacher.

Of course she was going to have to set limits. She was willing to adjust the distribution of fatty tissues in her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, for instance, and it was fun to play with the sensations made possible by new nerve endings. But where it came to fundamentals she would have to be adamant. She wasn't about to : go changing any really basic mechanisms . . . not for any human being!

On the return trip they stopped to inspect a few rebel ioutposts and talk with small bands of chim fighters. Moralewas high. The veterans of three months' hard battles askedwhen their leaders would find a way to lure more Gubru upinto the mountains within reach. Athaclena and Robert laughed Iand promised to do what they could about the lack of targetpractice.

Still, they found themselves hard pressed for ideas. Afterall, how does one invite back a guest whose beak one hasrepeatedly bloodied? Perhaps it was time to try taking the war !to the enemy, instead.

The problem was lack of good intelligence about matters !down in the Sind and Port Helenia. A few survivors of theurban uprising had wandered in and reported that their orga- Inization was a shambles. n.o.body had seen either GailetJones or Fiben Bolger since that ill-fated day. Contact with a ifew individuals in town was restored, but on a patchy, piece- meal basis.

They had considered sending in new spies. There seemed i to be an opportunity offered by the Gubru public announcements, offering lucrative employment to ecological and uplift experts. But by now the avians must certainly have tuned their interrogation apparatus and developed a fair chim lie detector. In any event, Robert and Athaclena decided against taking the risk. For now, at least.

They were walking homeward up a narrow, seldom-visited valley, when they encountered a slope with a southern exposure, covered with a low-lying expanse of peculiar vegetation. They stood quietly for a time, looking over the green field of flat, inverted bowls.

"I never did cook you a meal of baked plate ivy root," Robert commented at last, dryly.

Athaclena sniffed, appreciating his irony. The place where the accident had occurred was far from here. And yet, this b.u.mpy hillside brought back vivid memories of that horrible afternoon when their "adventures" all began.

"Are the plants sick? Is- there something wrong with them?" She gestured at the field of plates, overlapping closely like the scales of some slumbering dragon. The upper layers did not look gla.s.sy smooth and fat, like those she recalled. The topmost caps in this colony seemed much less thick and st.u.r.dy.

"Hm." Robert bent to examine the Nearest. "Summer's on its way out, soon. All this heat is already drying the uppermost plates. By mid-autumn, when the east winds come blowing down the Mulun range, the caps will be as thin and light as wafers. Did I ever tell you they were seed pod carriers? The wind will catch them, and they'll blow away into the sky like a cloud of b.u.t.terflies."

"Oh, yes. I remember you did mention it." Athaclena nodded thoughtfully. "But did not you also say that-"

She was interrupted by a sharp call.

"General! Captain Oneagle!"

A group of chims hurried into view, puffing along the narrow forest trail. Two were members of their escort squad, but the third was Benjamin! He looked exhausted. Obviously he had run all the way from the caves to meet them.

Athaclena felt Robert grow tense with sudden worry. But with the advantage of her corona, she already knew that Ben was not bringing dire news. There was no emergency, no enemy attack.

And yet, her chim aide clearly was confused and distraught. "What is it, Benjamin?" she asked.

He mopped his brow with a homespun handkerchief. Then he reached into another pocket and drew out a small black cube. "Sers, our courier, young Petri, has finally returned."

Robert stepped forward. "Did he reach the refuge?"

Benjamin nodded. "He got there, all right, and he's brought a message from th' Council. This is it here." He held out the cube.