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  He was right about that, too. The meeting was a mess. The Petty-Primes' Responsible One was in the chair, and he appeared to be having a private feud with the Principal Slug. The meeting got off to a late start because the Principal Slug and the Petty-Prime were off in a corner squeaking and slobbering furiously at each other; and then, when finally the Responsible One climbed into his doll-sized chair and declared the meeting in order, Mrs. Brownbenttalon seized the floor to complain about the delay. "Have wasted expensively irreplaceable time of important and very busy persons here most shockingly," she declared—or so the translation button in Giyt's ear made her say. "Personally possess great forbearance or would propose immediate motion of censuring!"

  It went on like that. The pelt General Manager complained that the Slugs had damaged some of the electrical connections in digging sewers for the new houses; the Principal Slug announced the Delts were unreasonable, almost as bad as the Petty-Primes; the Petty-Prime in the chair declared the Principal Slug out of order. They were all at one another's throats—even the Centaurian, Mrs. Brownbenttalon, whom Giyt had regarded as the most sensible of his colleagues on the commission. He could not imagine why. Even the audience, surprisingly numerous this day, seemed restive, chattering among themselves. He caught a glimpse of Olse Hagbarth sitting with her arms folded over her chest, looking amused and unsurprised; she winked at him, as though at a shared joke. But Giyt didn't know what the joke was. So he sat there, listening in wonder, until the Kalkaboo High Champion got his chance to say that the proposals of the other races for reducing their wasteful use of power were totally unacceptable. Then Giyt managed to get in his announcement that the Earth humans had an expert coming to study the whole question of the power plant, the Petty-Prime declared the meeting adjourned, and everyone flocked for the door.

  By the time Giyt got to the exit the rain had slackened off to a steady drizzle and most of the waiting carts were already taken. Olse Hagbarth was waiting for another in the shelter of the doorway and she grinned at him. "Real catfight today, wasn't it?"

  "What was it all about?" he asked.

  "Oh, didn't you know? It's the six-planet meeting coming up. They're all antsy because they want to look good for the VIPs from home—ah, here's my cart," she finished as one last vehicle rolled up to the curb.

  She was heading for it before Giyt could react. He hastened after her. "Look, Olse," he said, "I need to get to the terminal."

  "Of course you do," she said sunnily, one hand on the cart door. "Have a nice time."

  "Well—what I mean is, any chance you could give me a lift?"

  She looked surprised. "I wish I could help you out, Evesham, but I'm going the other way. Anyway, it isn't that far to walk, is it? And, look, it's hardly raining at all anymore."

  Actually the rain had almost stopped by the time Giyt got to the Sommermen terminal and so he was only mildly soaked this time.

  What surprised Giyt was to see how many people, and nonpeople, had gathered at the terminal, most of them sitting warm and dry in the cars that had brought them. (Which explained how so few cars had been available at the Hexagon.) He caught sight of Hagbarth and Wili Tschopp standing by Hagbarth's portal control, but before he could go there, squeals from one of the carts attracted his attention. He turned to see the Divinely Elected Savior of the Centaurians, Mrs. Brownbenttalon, poking her long nose out toward him. The translator in his ear piped, "Apologetics, Mayor Large Male Giyt. Should have to offered the sharing of transportation from Hexagon. Trust you scurried well through raindrops."

  "Thanks. Actually I was glad for the exercise," he lied.

  It seemed to Giyt that Mrs. Brownbenttalon was giving him a skeptical look—as much as a curly-haired anteater could manage a look of that kind—but Wili Tschopp was shouting at them to stand back. The golden glow was beginning to surround the terminal. Almost at once it began to flash blue and white.

  The transmission from Earth was arriving. No, had arrived; the portal lights went out as the sharp puff of displaced air startled Giyt. He blinked, and when he opened his eyes again, fifteen or twenty large crates were stacked in the bay. A woman was sitting on the edge of one of them, tapping her feet and frowning impatiently, and behind her were three other rather worried-looking adults and a small child, all of them holding suitcases, purses, and each other's hands.

  It was time for Giyt to carry out his mayoral duties. He advanced on the newcomers, hand outstretched. "Welcome to Tupelo," he said. "I'm your mayor, Evesham Giyt, and this gentleman over here"—waving toward Hagbarth, hurrying in their general direction—"is your Ex-Earth representative, Hoak Hagbarth. Hoak will arrange for your housing, and all your other needs, so if you'll excuse me—"

  Hagbarth gave him a scorching look. "Stay here, Giyt," he ordered. "Keep these people company while I take care of Emissary Patroosh."

  "How?" Giyt asked, but Hagbarth was already most obsequiously greeting the woman on the box.

  So Giyt found himself doing the tour-guide thing for the new arrivals, while out of the corner of his eye he saw all the nonhumans getting out of their carts and swarming over the cargo. Mr. Brownbenttalon had leaped off his mate's back and was running the fabric of some new garments through his tiny paws; four or five of the Petty-Primes were concentrating on the luggage belonging to the immigrants. One of them sniffed at a bunch of grapes suspiciously, then bit one of them in half, stared at the interior and then spit the thing out. The woman Giyt was talking to cried out, "My basket of fruit!" They all abandoned Giyt to protect their belongings as Wili Tschopp came up behind him.

  "When they've got their stuff," he said, "you can take them to Olse's house. She's sorting out places for them to live."

  "I never had to do that before," Giyt remarked suspiciously.

  "No, of course not. Usually Hoak does it for you, but this time he's got the energy lady to take care of. And listen"—smirking again, in the way Giyt had learned to hate—"you be sure to give my regards to that really good-looking lady of yours."

  By the time Hoak Hagbarth had shepherded his VIP guest's luggage past the inspection—with much argument and raising of voices over the scientific instruments she'd brought with her—he escorted her to the waiting cart, pausing to introduce her to Giyt. "Dr. Emilia Patroosh, Mayor Evesham Giyt. Listen, Giyt, you'll have to take the new people to my place so Olse can—"

  "I know," Giyt said, politely shaking the hand of the energy expert.

  "Fine." Hagbarth started to get into the cart with his VIP visitor, then paused. "Hey, listen. I've got an idea. You were wondering about the power situation? Why don't you go along with Dr. Patroosh to take a look at Energy Island tomorrow? I'll have a chopper ready for you in the morning. Take your wife; it'll give the two of you a chance to see the sharks."

  "Sharks?" But Hagbarth only shook his head, grinning, as the cart sped away.

  IX

  The geological and paleontological history of the planet Tupelo is not well understood, due to the paucity of land areas available for digging. No fossils have ever been discovered. However, it is generally believed that sometime in the relatively recent past, perhaps circa 2 to 4 million years BP, the planet underwent an extinction event similar to the ones which on Earth ended the Cretaceous and other ages. The causative event—whether a bolide impact, an episode of very large-scale vulcanism, or something unique to Tupelo—is not known. However, the result is clear. Whatever large land animals existed on Tupelo disappeared at that time. Life in the ocean, however, is quite another matter.

  —BRITANNICA ONLINE, "TUPELO."

  It was a sparkly dawn day, with dew beaded on the "grass," the sun still hidden behind the great mountains to the east, the air cool but comfortable. Altogether it was just the right kind of day for a chopper trip to Energy Island . . . except that there was no chopper. Hoak Hagbarth apologized profusely to the VIP woman from Earth. The gyrocopter, unfortunately, was in the shop. So if Dr. Patroosh didn't mind, they would have to take a Delt skimmer to t
he island. Either Dr. Patroosh really didn't mind or she was being a good sport about it. "Let's just do it, all right?" she said.

  When they reached the lakeshore the Delt skimmer turned out to be a much larger ground-effect vehicle than the one that had taken Giyt to see the polar rocket land. Giyt's first look at it made his eyes pop. Startlingly, the thing was gleaming in metallic gold and ten or twelve meters long. It came complete with a Delt pilot sitting on the rail impatiently tapping his long fingers on his knee. When Rina politely thanked him for agreeing to transport them, the Delt turned one wandering eye on her, the other wavering between Giyt and Dr. Patroosh, and gargled something that the translator turned into, "Imposition no greater than expected, happening at all times without considerateness. Board now. Sit. Strap in for bumps."

  There weren't any bumps, though, at least not at first. The skimmer lifted on its air cushion and slid out onto the surface of the lake, heading swiftly for the hills at the far side. Giyt was glad for the moving air, which diluted that Delt aroma from the driver. Rina didn't seem to mind the smell. She was squeezing Giyt's hand in excitement, staring around at everything—back at the low buildings of the town; at the approaching hills; at the barely visible rim of the old Slug dam that long ago had created Crystal Lake for their own first colonists; at the fittings of the Delt skimmer. Those were pure nonhuman technology, all right: corrugated seats that pressed cruelly into human buttocks, double view screens for the pilot—one for each eye?—and an instrument panel that kept whispering and beeping constantly. Even the safety straps were woven of some kind of glass-like fiber, and where they rubbed against the bare skin of Giyt's throat they scratched.

  Then they were across the lake, the skimmer gliding easily onto the shore and entering the rude roadway through the woods Giyt had seen on his previous trip. There was plenty to stare at there.

  Ground-effect vehicles worked splendidly on flat surfaces. but they did poorly on grades. In order to ease the slope on the far side of the dam the skimmer roadway was a series of switchbacks, and yes, now there were plenty of the bumps the pilot had warned against. There was no real road there at all, just a bulldozed track littered with knocked-down logs. Every time the skimmer crossed one the jolt relayed itself to the bruisable bottoms of the human passengers.

  But it was a small price to pay. These were not the woods Giyt had seen on the slopes of the mountain. There were flickers of color darting about among the trees—barely glimpsed before the skimmer had left them behind; birds? insects? The trees themselves were not of any variety Giyt had ever seen before. Some were almost branchless until they expanded into an umbrella of fronds at the top, almost turning the roadway into a tunnel as they met overhead. Some hardly looked like trees at all; they resembled the stumps of even huger trees, four or five meters thick, no more than half a dozen meters tall. When Rina exclaimed over them, the VIP woman looked up from the palmtop she had been intently studying and said, kindly enough, "That's how they grow. It's what you get when you don't have any large animals to knock them down; there are trees like that where my grandparents come from, on the Indian Ocean islands of Earth."

  "That's right," Rina said sociably. "There aren't any large animals at all on Tupelo, are there?"

  "Not on land," the woman said. "But if you want to see large animals, wait till we're crossing the strait."

  Then they reached the bottom of the slope. The skimmer left the roadway to slide onto the surface of the river below the dam. A pair of huge steel whales were moored at the side of the stream. Though Giyt had never seen one before, he recognized them. They were the submersible cargo vessels that carried goods to and from the polar complex. The skimmer pilot, who had ignored his passengers as he concentrated on making the turns in the road, jerked a long thumb back upriver. "Place where Slugs live, under dam. They like wet." He thought for a moment, then added, "Slugs not so bad, though. Not like damn Petty-Primes, get all crazy when somebody comes near damn tiny young. Just the other day my ex-brother have much abuse from Responsible One—you know, you saw whole thing, right?"

  "I guess I did," Giyt admitted.

  "So you know. Totally without warranted crapola, right? Kit not hurt. Purely accidental stepping-on, anyway. Sure, he only ex-brother, but still kind of family, you know? So must stick up for." He shook his head judgmentally, the eyes wandering in all directions. Then he added warningly, "Gets stinky now."

  Giyt twisted his neck to peer behind them, but caught only a glimpse of igloo-shaped mud structures, far back. He was turning over in his mind the curious fact that a Delt would describe anything else as stinky. Then the odor hit them. "Christ," he said, gasping.

  Dr. Patroosh gave him a tolerant smile. "See that pipe?" she offered. It was a meter across, jutting out into the river, with an ooze of foul-looking sludge coming out of it. "Sewage. It comes from the town. Whatever you do, don't dabble your fingers in the water."

  At least on the river the ride was smoother than on that terrible jungle trail. Slowly the appalling stench dwindled to bearable proportions—or else, Giyt thought, they were getting used to it. The stream broadened. The woods surrounding it diminished and then disappeared. The skimmer left the channel that had been dredged out for the cargo subs and glided out onto a broad beach.

  Rina gasped in alarm, and Giyt saw why. The great waves of Ocean were pounding in on the pebbly shore. Creatures were riding them, like surfers on a Hawaiian beach. Big creatures. Nasty ones, some that looked like the "sharks" that Hagbarth had mentioned, letting themselves be thrown up on the beach and floundering around on their pectoral fins for a while before lumbering back into the water; some like lizards that dug in the pebbles with their long, sharp-toothed jaws—looking for something to eat?—and were careful to stay as far as possible from the sharks.

  "It's the sewage that brings them," Dr. Patroosh said, without pleasure. "You always see them here."

  And the pilot called, "You bet! Mean bastards. Eat you up, one bite, quick-quick. Get bad bellyache after, sure, but what you care? By then you dead. Now everybody shut up, must catch wave,"

  He had throttled back the skimmer's thrusters, though keeping the fans that raised them above the water level at full power. They idled for a moment in the shallows where the river broadened out to enter the sea. Then he poured on the power, the skimmer leaped ahead, and they slid over the froth deposited by one breaking wave and climbed the next before it crested. Finally they were in deep water.

  Nonchalantly the pilot stood up, swaying easily in the motion of the sea. From a compartment in the wall he took out a thing that looked more like a pocket camera than anything else and held it to one eye as he began to study the sea. Something in the control board began to hum and stutter; Giyt hoped it was an autopilot of some kind. At least, though the pilot was paying no attention at all to what the skimmer did, they seemed to be moving steadily toward a smudge on the horizon. Giyt supposed it was Energy Island, As the skimmer rose and fell over the vast Ocean swells, Rina began to look uncomfortable. The pilot took the thing away from one eye long enough to stare at her. "You think you going to puke? Okay, over side. Ocean don't mind; only don't lean over too far, Christ's sake. Got no way to pull you out before, you know, gobble-gobble."

  By the time they reached Energy Island—sliding right up into a dock as behind them a great steel-wire gate closed to keep the shore animals out—Dr. Patroosh had explained why she preferred the skimmer to the gyrocopter. Under its gold skin the skimmer was built of a sort of foam plastic, so light that if anything went wrong the vessel would simply float until rescue arrived. The chopper had its own flotation devices, but swells would overwhelm them quickly enough. Then it would sink like a rock, and, she said positively, nodding toward the hungry creatures on the far side of the gate, "You can see why you don't want to go swimming in Ocean."

  Whoever built the power plant seemed to like gold as much as the builder of the skimmer did. The plant was a collection of hemispherical golden domes. There was a twe
nty-meter-tall giant hemisphere in the middle and there were smaller ones, which gave off a sound of big engines running, nested around it. Every one of them was bright with a golden skin. The difference was that what the power plant's skin covered wasn't foam plastic. It was something hard and solid. Cement, maybe. Steel, more likely, Giyt thought.

  The Delt pilot was watching him. He tapped Giyt on the shoulder with a long-fingered hand and said with pride, "Good electric, true? You know who build plant? Us. Not stinky Slug, Centaurian, Kalkaboo; when we come they have zero but damn pitiful hydroelectric dam for power. Delts laugh and laugh. Too tiny. Us build good one here. Fuse atoms, fine Delt designings. Then plenty electric, you bet, except now so many immigrants coming in need more. Oh," he added quickly, not meaning to give offense, "not just you Earth-creature guys, you understand? Damn Petty-Primes even worse."

  Dr. Patroosh scowled at him. "Wait for us here," she ordered; and to Giyt and Rina, "Come on." And a moment later, when they were out of earshot, "You know what they want? They want us to dig the damn foundations for the new plant, while they supply all the high-tech stuff that we don't even get to look at. Like we were some damn Third World country that doesn't know anything about technology." She shook her head gloomily. "Anyway," she said, "I've got to talk to the head controller—he'll be another damn Delt, of course. You two can look around. There ought to be a few Earth people on the shift; maybe you can get one of them to show you what's what."