Sensing their discomfort, the alien moved to examine the interior of his capsule.

"Planning any more surprises like that?" asked Kingsley uncomfortably.

"I am not such a poor bargainer myself, that I would tell you everything at once," the alien thought. An unmistakable undercurrent of humor came with it, then faded. The voice turned somber again. "I shall endeavor to work as rapidly as possible. So much to be done!" A mental sigh accompanied the last. "I have a professional concern only in this. But I also cannot stand by and loose the thing again on an unprepared galaxy. Not while I have such a fine chance to destroy it once and for all."

Kitten, seeing that no one else was about to moved close to the alien. She reached out and touched the thick pelt that encircled the alien's waist.

"You speak of war as your race's favorite and foremost activity. Yet your actions indicate noble and altruistic motives. I don't understand."

"Noble? Yes, we were noble. Altruistic? On the contrary. 3f this were my race's time and not yours, you would unquestionably be an enslaved folk. War was not merely an activity with us. It was, as said, everything. Your enslavement would seem as natural to us as the freedom of others might to you. And there would be neither malice nor hate involved in the action."

"That's ghastly!"

Mental shrug. "All things in the universe are relative."

"But you're still helping us. And I don't believe that 'sacred duty' wave of yours, either. Not after millennia. And you put that engineer down carefully, as carefully as I'd handle a kitten. Why?"

"I happen to be a gentle person," came the soft reply. "I prefer life to death, peace to war, tranquility, order, plants that blossom, small beings that produce pleasant sounds, the feeling wind gives, all such things."

"More contradictions and none of the originals resolved," said Kitten.

The alien turned from its inspection and stared down at her with all four eyes. Involuntarily she took a step back, then angrily moved forward.

"Small female, what sort of being would your kind place in such a position as mine, to float in confined aloneness, aloneness, for eternity? What sort of .specimen, whose mind only is needed-the neural network, the electro-organic nexi? With only occasional voices of your own kind, in passing, for companionship. To be brother to a machine. To drift only, in ignorance of time and motion. Yet an important task now and then to be trusted to such ... A voluntary position, also, for such we were. One that had to be taken of choice and not order. Love, comfort, ease, rest; kindliness, smoothness, stroking, friendship, so pleasant ... Oh yes, I was quite insane...

"And you, rabbit-with-fangs." Kingsley started. "If you still need further proof of my words, I fear you will have it sooner than you wish." The alien turned back to face the interior of its capsule.

"Umm.. Well, for now, I'll see to it that you're supplied with what you need," the trader said evenly.

"Inform me, and I'll-"

"No."

"No?"

"No. A negative. I shall relay my needs and requests through another ... that one, I think."

An image formed alongside the wordpicture. Or maybe it supplanted them. It was difficult to tell. But it was not ambiguous. The others turned to stare at the subject of the thought.

Philip shook himself as though returning from a sleep. He looked very young again, suddenly. "Well, gee," he said.

"Now listen," began Kingsley. Mal put an arm on the merchant's shoulder.

"When a being confesses to insanity; even if he's sane by our standards, it might be in everyone's best interests to humor him, Chatham."

"All right. All right. I just don't like the feeling that things are slipping out of my hands right in front of my face. I just don't like it."

"Rabbit-with-fangs," came the voice, "things were getting out of your hands before your ancestors were conceived."

Pent connected a circuit unused for millennia. And thought.

A thousand kilometers away, the Vom jerked. Mentally. Outwardly it had not changed. Inside, it seethed. Somehow the Guardian had successfully been activated. Despite constant monitoring, the actual stimuli had completely escaped the Vom's scrutiny. Even now the ancient nemesis was preparing itself.

The Vom was not ready to act. Not yet. It was torn between two possibilities: to attempt an immediate, allout attack in hopes of destroying or crippling the Guardian, or waiting until it had reached the next level. The decision properly involved a million considerations, a hundred thousand details, a millimultiplex of calculation. Yet the great mind did not deliberate long.

It would wait.

Midmeal time. Sun directly overhead. On the Replerian AAnn chronometer, half past M. Relaxation and off-duty. Freetime.

Well, not for all. But the three on-duty AAnn technicians took a vote. It went unanimously for participating with most of the base. One, Cropih LHNMPGT, was thirteen point eight credits ahead. His two companions were not about to halt the Jinx game at that point.

So no one observed a certain gauge (measuring mental output of the thing below via bioelectrochemical scanners) jump from a fraction of ONE to over a HUNDRED. Jump once again, only this time off the gauge before settling back, the thin metal off the arrow-indicator bent at an angle from being slammed over so hard.

Nor did they notice the several sections of burnt-out wiring and melted insulation. They might have noticed the trickle of green liquid from a shattered fluid valve, but it evaporated while Cropih called six-twelve on an angle roll and it came up. No one turned until the liquid was but an insignificant stain on the sandy floor.

"It's a beautiful idea, isn't it, Malcolm?" Kitten murmured.

"Just Mal, if you please." The freighter-captain sounded pained.

Along with Porsupah, they were seated in the undersea view room. The magnificent sub-surface panorama shifted continually in front of them. They'd been given the run of the place "for the duration," as Kingsley had put it. He'd installed them in guest quarters on the eighteenth floor. Mal and Porsupah shared only one fear: that Kingsley's son Russell might put in an appearance when Kitten was around.

That happenstance would assure a variety of mayhem, none of which could be beneficial to anyone. So far, however, the young bastard hadn't put in an appearance, nor even a transceiver call for all they knew.

Philip was off performing some errand for the alien. Pent never seemed to rest-not that he hadn't had his fill of it, Kitten reflected.

They remained, enjoying the view, relaxing a bit. Kitten had said nothing for some time, her mind obviously elsewhere. She abruptly informed them where it had been.

"So I say again, I feet like a fool just sitting here? We can do something. Besides relaying information to Orvy ... the Major. If Peat is right-well, I think it ought to be checked out."

"I might have guessed," said Porsupah. "You want a look at this entity for yourself."

"Well, Pent could be mistaken. If he's not, visual observation still ought to be useful. Maybe he won't attack the thing now because he can't get near it yet, for some reason. Perhaps it can sense his presence the way he senses it. Maybe he's holding off for other reasons. But we ought to be able to get near it."

"Oh great," groaned Porsupah. "Here we have a creature that's survived half a million t-years plus. It supposedly has crossed intergalactic space, destroyed civilizations, and you want to hop on a raft and go sightsee it. Do I make arrangements to pack a lunch?"

"Don't be snide. Poet as much as said that it wouldn't do any harm yet. All the more reason for gathering what first-hand information we can, while it remains inactive. Are you saying that you're not curious and don't want to go?"

Porsupah sighed through his whiskers. "You always tie things together. I'm curious as hell. Of course I'm going."

"Me, I want to get back to my ship and forget this entire abomination," said Hammurabi. "But if you think you can manage it, I'm damned if I'll pass a chance to get a look 'at this thing. Might be some money in it, if Kingsley hasn't got this end sewn up too tight. Just one thing, though."

"What?" said Kitten.

"How do you propose to find it? I doubt Peot would tell you. He seems to feel strongly that humans should stay far away from it."

"But I don't think he'll stop us. You know how his 'voice' fades as you leave the chamber. His telepathic range, on our level, anyway, can't be that great. Even if he can detect the Vom at a distance ...

"As for locating the creature," she continued brightly, "that's simple. Poor said that the main body of his 'Machine' is always positioned directly above it. I can get the beacon's location from salvage authority without Kingsley or anyone else knowing about it. Drop a line downwards; plot map, find creature."

"You make it sound so easy," sighed Porsupah again.