What am I doing? Trying to see a glyph?

He closed his eyes and let the un-thing approach. Uthacalthing opened a kenning.

"Puyr'iturumbul!" he cried.

Kault swiveled. "What is it, my friend? What . . . ?"

But Uthacalthing had risen. As if drawn up by a string he stepped out into the cool night.

The breeze brought odors to his nostrils as he sniffed, using all his senses to seek in the acherontic darkness. "Where are you?" Uthacalthing called. "Who is there?"

Two figures stepped forward into a dim pool of moonlight. So it is true! Uthacalthing thought. A human had sought him out with an empathy sending, one so skillful it might have come from a young Tymbrimi.

And that was not the end to surprises. He blinked at the tall, bronzed, bearded warrior-who looked like nothing but one of the heroes of those pre-Contact Earthling barbarian epics-and let out another cry of amazement as he suddenly recognized Robert Oneagle, the playboy son of the Planetary Coordinator!

"Good evening, sir," Robert said as he stopped a few meters away and bowed.

Standing a little behind Robert, the neo-chimpanzee, Jo-Jo, wrung his hands nervously. This, certainly, was not according to the original plan. He did not meet Uthacalthing's eyes.

"V'hooman'ph? Idatess!" Kault exclaimed in Galactic Six. "Uthacalthing, what is a human doing here?"

Robert bowed again. Enunciating carefully, he made formal greetings to both of them, including their full species-names. Then he went on in Galactic Seven.

"I have come a long way, honored gentlebeings, in order to invite you all to a party."

83 Fiben "Easy, Tycho. Easy!"

The normally placid animal bucked and pulled at its reins. Fiben, who had never been much of a horseman, was forced to dismount hurriedly and grab the animal's halter.

"There now. Relax," he soothed. "It's just another transport going by. We've heard 'em all day. It'll be gone soon."

As he promised, the shrieking whine faded as the flying machine pa.s.sed quickly overhead and disappeared beyond the nearby trees, traveling in the direction of Port Helenia.

A lot had changed since Fiben had first come this way, mere weeks after the invasion. Then he had walked in sunshine down a busy highway, surrounded by spring's verdant colors. Now he felt bl.u.s.tery winds at his back as he pa.s.sed through a valley showing all the early signs of a bitter winter. Half the trees had already dropped their leaves, leaving them in drifts across meadows and lanes. Orchards were bare of fruit, and the back roads devoid of traffic.

Surface traffic, that is. Overhead the swarm of transports seemed incessant. Gravities teased his peripheral nerves as Gubru machines zoomed past. The first few times, his hackles had risen from more than just the pulsing fields. He had expected to be challenged, to be stopped, perhaps to be shot on sight.

But in fact the Galactics had ignored him altogether, apparently not deigning to distinguish one lonely chim from others who had been sent out to help with the harvest, or the specialists who had begun staffing a few of the ecological management stations once again Fiben had spoken with a few of the latter, many of them old acquaintances. They told of how they had given their parole in exchange for freedom and low-level support to resume their work. There wasn't much to be done, of course, with winter coming on. But at least there was a program again, and the Gubru seemed quite satisfied to leave them alone to do their work.

The invaders were, indeed, preoccupied elsewhere. The real focus of Galactic activity seemed to be over to the southwest, toward the s.p.a.ceport.

And the ceremonial site, Fiben reminded himself. He didn't really know what he was going to do in the unlikely event he actually made it through to town. What would happen if he just marched right up to the shabby house that had been his former prison? Would the Suzerain of Propriety take him back?

Would Gailet?

Would she even be there?

He pa.s.sed a few chims dressed in m.u.f.fled cloaks, who desultorily picked through the stubble in a recently harvested field. They did not greet him, nor did he expect them to. Gleaning was a job generally given the poorest sort of Probationer. Still, he felt their gaze as he walked Tycho toward Port Helehia. After the animal had calmed a bit, Fiben clambered back onto the saddle and rode.

He had considered trying to reenter Port Helenia the way he left it, over the wall, at night. After all, if it had worked once, why not a second time? Anyway, he had no wish to meet up with the followers of the Suzerain of Cost and Caution.

It was tempting. Somehow, though, he figured that once was lucky. Twice would be simple stupidity.

Anyway, the choice was made for him when he rounded a bend and found himself staring at a Gubru guard post. Two battle robots of sophisticated design whirled and focused upon him.

"Easy does it, guys." Fiben said it more for his own benefit than theirs. If they were programmed to shoot on sight, he never would have seen them in the first place.

In front of the blockhouse there sat a squat armored hover craft, propped up on blocks. Two pairs of three-toed feet stuck out from underneath, and it did not take much knowledge of Galactic Three to tell that the chirped mutter-ings were expressing frustration. When the robots' warning whistled forth there came a sharp bang under the hover, followed by an indignant squawk.

Soon a pair of hooked beaks poked out of the shadows. Yellow eyes watched him unblinkingly. One of the disheveled Gubru rubbed its dented head frill.

Fiben pressed his lips together to fight back a smile. He dismounted and approached until he was even with the bunker, puzzled when neither the aliens nor the machines spoke to him.

He stopped before the two Gubru and bowed low.

They looked at each other and twittered irritably to each other. From one there came something that sounded like a resigned moan. The two Talon Soldiers emerged from under the disabled machine and stood up. Each of them returned a very slight but noticeable nod.

Silence stretched.

One of the Gubru whistled another faint sigh and brushed dust from its feathers. The other simply glared at Fiben.

Now what? he tried to think, but what was he supposed to do? Fiben's toes itched.

He bowed again. Then, with a dry mouth, he backed away and took the horse's tether. With affected nonchalance he started walking toward the dark fence surrounding Port Helenia, now visible just a kilometer ahead.

Tycho nickered, swished his tail, and cut loose an aromatic crepidation.

Tycho, pu-lease! Fiben thought. When a bend in the road at last cut off all view of the Gubru, Fiben sank to the ground. He just sat and shook for a few moments.

"Well," he said at last. "I guess there really is a truce after all."

After that, the guard post at the town gate was almost anticlimactic. Fiben actually enjoyed making the Talon Soldiers acknowledge his bow. He remembered some of what Gailet had taught him about Galactic protocol. Grudging acknowledgment from the client-cla.s.s Kwackoo had been vital to achieve. To get it from the Gubru was delicious.

It also clearly meant that the Suzerain of Propriety was holding out. It had not yet given in.

Fiben left a trail of startled chims behind him as he rode Tycho at a gallop through the back streets of Port Helenia. One or two of them shouted at him, but at that moment he had no thought except to hurry toward the site of his former imprisonment.

When he arrived, however, he found the iron gate open and untended. The watch globes had vanished from the stone wall. He left Tycho to graze in the unkempt garden and beat aside a couple of limp plate ivy parachutes that festooned the open doorway.

"Gailet!" he shouted.

The Probationer guards were gone too. Dustb.a.l.l.s and sc.r.a.ps of paper blew in through the open door and rolled down the hall. When he came to the room he had shared with Gailet, Fiben stopped and stared.

It was a mess.

Most of the furnishings were still there, but the expensive sound system and holo-wall had been torn out, no doubt taken by the departing Probies. On the other hand, Fiben saw his personal datawell sitting right where he had left it that night.

Gailet's was gone.

He checked the closet. Most of their clothes still hung there. Clearly she hadn't packed. He took down the shiny ceremonial robe he had been given by the Suzerain's staff. The silky material was almost gla.s.s-smooth under his fingers.

Gailet's robe was missing.

"Oh, Goodall," Fiben moaned. He spun about and dashed down the hall. It took only a second to leap into the saddle, but Tycho barely looked up from his feeding. Fiben had to kick and yell until the beast began to comprehend some of the urgency of the situation. With a yellow sunflower still hanging from his mouth, the horse turned and clomped through the gate and back onto the street. Once there, Tycho brought his head down and gamely gathered momentum.

They made quite a sight, galloping down the silent, almost empty streets, the robe and the flower flapping like banners in the wind. But few witnessed the wild ride until they finally approached the crowded wharves.

It seemed as if nearly every chim in town was there. They swarmed along the waterfront, a churning ma.s.s of brown, callipose bodies dressed in autumn parkas, their heads bobbing like the waters of the bay just beyond. More chims leaned precariously over the rooftops, and some even hung from drainage spouts.

It was a good thing Fiben wasn't on foot. Tycho was really quite helpful as he snorted and nudged startled chims aside with his nose. From his perch on the horse's back, Fiben soon was able to spy what some of the commotion was about.

About half a kilometer out into the bay, a dozen fishing vessels could be seen operating under neo-chimpanzee crews. A cl.u.s.ter of them jostled and b.u.mped near a sleek white craft that glistened in cliquant contrast to the battered trawlers.

The Gubru vessel was dead in the water. Two of the avian crew members stood atop its c.o.c.kpit, twittering and waving their arms, offering instructions which the chim seamen politely ignored as they tied hausers to the crippled craft and began gradually towing it toward the sh.o.r.e.

So what? Big deal, Fiben thought. So a Gubru patrol boat suffered a breakdown. For this all the chims in town had spilled out into the streets? The citizens of Port Helenia really must be hard up for entertainment.

Then he realized that only a few of the townfolk were actually watching the minor rescue in the harbor. The vast majority stared southward, out across the bay.

Oh. Fiben's breath escaped in'a sigh, and he, too, was momentarily struck speechless.

New, shining towers stood atop the far mesa where the colonial s.p.a.ceport lay. The lambemV monoliths looked nothing like Gubru transports, or their hulking, globular battleships. Instead, these resembled glimmering steeples-spires which towered high and confident, manifesting a faith and tradition more ancient than life on Earth.

Tiny winklings of light lifted from the tall starships -- carrying Galactic dignitaries, Fiben guessed-and cruised westward, drawing nearer along the arc of the bay. At last the aircraft joined a spiral of traffic descending over South Point. That was where everyone in Port Helenia seemed to sense that something special was going on.

Unconsciously Fiben guided Tycho through the crowd until he arrived at the edge of the main wharf. There a chain of chims wearing oval badges held back the crowd. So there are proctors again, Fiben realized. The Probationers proved unreliable, so the Gubru had to reinstate civil authority.

A chen wearing the bra.s.sard of a proctor corporal grabbed Tycho's halter and started to speak. "Hey, bub! You can't ..." Then he blinked. "Ifni! Is that you, Fiben?"

Fiben recognized Barnaby Fulton, one of the chims who had been involved in Gailet's early urban undergound. He smiled, though his thoughts were far across the choppy waters. "h.e.l.lo, Barnaby. Haven't seen you since the valley uprising. Glad to see you still scratchin'."

Now that attention had been drawn his way, chens and chimmies started nudging each other and whispering in hushed voices. He heard his own name repeated. The susurration of the crowd ebbed as a circle of silence spread around him. Two or three of the staring chims reached out to touch Tycho's heavy flanks, or Fiben's leg, as if to verify that they were real.

Barnaby made a visible effort to match Fiben's insouciance. "Whenever it itches, Fiben. Uh, one rumor had it you were s'pozed to be over there." He gestured toward the monumental activity taking place across the harbor. "Another said you'd busted out an' taken to the hills. A third ..."

"What did the third say?"

Barnaby swallowed. "Some said your number'd come up'"..

"Hmph," Fiben commented softly. "I guess all of them were right."

He saw that the trawlers had dragged the crippled Gubru patrol boat nearly to the dock. A number of other chim-crewed vessels cruised farther out, but none of them crossed a line of buoys that could be seen stretching all the way across the bay.

Barnaby looked left and right, then spoke in a low voice. "Uh, Fiben, there are quite a few chims in town who . . . well, who've been reorganizing. I had to give parole when I got my bra.s.sard back, but I can get word to Professor Oakes that you're in town. I'm sure he'd want to get together a meetin' tonight. ..."

Fiben shook his head. "No time. I've got to get over there." He motioned to where the bright aircraft were alighting on the far headlands.

Barnaby's lips drew back. "I dunno, Fiben. Those watch buoys. They've kept everybody back."

"Have they actually burned anybody?"

"Well, no. Not that I've seen. But-"

Barnaby stopped as Fiben shook the reins and nudged with his heels. "Thanks, Barnaby. That's all I needed to know," he said.

The proctors stood aside as Tycho stepped along the wharf. Farther out the little rescue flotilla had just come to dock and were even now tying up the prim white Gubru warcraft. The chim sailors did a lot of bowing and moved in uncomfortable crouched postures under the glare of the irritated Talon Soldiers and their fearsome battle drones.

In contrast, Fiben steered his steed just outside of the range that would have required him to acknowledge the aliens. His posture was erect, and he ignored them completely as he rode past the patrol boat to the far end of the pier, where the smallest of the fishing boats had just come to rest.

He swung his feet over the saddle and hopped down. "Are you good to animals?" he asked the startled sailor, who looked up from securing his craft. When he nodded, Fiben handed the dumbfounded chim Tycho's reins. "Then we'll swap."

He leaped aboard the little craft and stepped behind the c.o.c.kpit. "Send a bill for the difference to the Suzerain for Propriety. You got that? The Gubru Suzerain of Propriety."

The wide-eyed chen seemed to notice that his jaw was hanging open. He closed it with an audible clack.

Fiben switched the ignition on and felt satisfied with the engine's throaty roar. "Cast off," he said. Then he smiled. "And thanks. Take good care of Tycho!"

The sailor blinked. He seemed about to decide to get angry when some of the chims who had followed Fiben caught up. One whispered in the boatman's ear. The fisherman then grinned. He hurried to untie the boat's tether and threw the rope back onto the foredeck. When Fiben awkwardly hit the pier backing up, the chim only winced slightly. "G-good luck,' he managed to say.

"Yeah. Luck, Fiben," Barnaby shouted.

Fiben waved and shifted the impellers into forward. He swung about in a wide arc, pa.s.sing almost under the duraplast sides of the Gubru patrol craft. Up close it did not look quite so glistening white. In fact, the armored hull looked pitted and corroded. High, indignant chirps from the other side of the vessel indicated the frustration of the Talon Soldier crew.

Fiben spared them not a thought as he turned about and got his borrowed boat headed southward, toward the line of buoys that split the bay and kept the chims of Port Helenia away from the high, patron-level doings on the opposite sh.o.r.e.

Foamed and choppy from the wind, the water was cinerescent with the usual garbage the easterlies always brought in, this time of year-everything from leaves to almost transparent plate ivy parachutes to the feathers of molting birds. Fiben had to slow to avoid clots of debris as well as battered boats of all description crowded with chim sightseers.

He approached the barrier line at low speed and felt thousands of eyes watching him as he pa.s.sed the last shipload, containing the most daring and curious of the Port Helenians.

Goodall, do I really know what I'm doing? he wondered. He had been acting almost on automatic so far. But now it came to him that he really was out of his depth here. What did he hope to accomplish by charging off this way? What was he going to do? Crash the ceremony? He looked at the towering starships across the bay, glistening in power and splendor.

As if he had any business sticking his half-uplifted nose into the affairs of beings from great and ancient clans! All he'd accomplish would be to embarra.s.s himself, and probably his whole race for that matter.

"Gotta think about this," he muttered. Fiben brought the boat's engine down to idle as the line of buoys neared. He thought about how many people were watching him right now.

My people, he recalled. I ... I was supposed to represent them.

Yes, but I ducked out, obviously the Suzerain realized its mistake and made other arrangements. Or the other Suzerain's won, and I'd simply be dead meat if I showed up!

He wondered what they would think if they knew that, only days ago, he had manhandled and helped kidnap one of his own patrons, and his legal commander at that. Some race-representative!

Gailet doesn't need the likes of me. She's better off without me.

Fiben twisted the wheel, causing the boat to come about just short of one of the white buoys. He watched it go by as he turned.

It, too, looked less than new on close examination -- somewhat corroded, in fact. But then, from his own lowly state, who was he to judge?

Fiben blinked at that thought. Now that was laying it on too thick!