Then one of the sprookjes took a step forward, its gold crest and multicolored yoke brilliant in the patch of sunlight. "h.e.l.lo," said van Zoveel's voice; and the sprookje spread its hands (as van Zoveel had done) as if to show them empty of weapons.

The sprookje said nothing.

"h.e.l.lo," said van Zoveel again. "They have hands, Captain. They may have a language."

Tocohl had the eerie feeling that the sprookje was speaking, or lip-synching to van Zoveel's words.

This was the fifth time she'd watched the tape and hearing it through her implant didn't give the location of the sounds.

Maggy abruptly cut off the tape, thrusting Tocohl back into a jolting here-and-now as a shattering clap of thunder reverberated through swift-Kalat's room. The cup of winter-flame leapt in her hand and spilled across the table.

"My apologies, Ish shan," said Om im from the doorway.

"Not your fault," said Tocohl. "The thunder caught me by surprise, not you. I had hoped I'd grow accustomed to it after two days of continuous racket." She grinned. "That's not to say I don't like it, but a week of unending high would wear anyone out."

Om im Chadeayne bowed, dripping, and came to settle himself in the chair across from her. "I know.

I suspect that's one reason we've had so much trouble with personnel on this survey."

Tocohl wiped winter-flame from her stack of hard-copy and gave him a sidelong questioning look.

"Ionized air," he explained. "It evidently has the same effect on h.e.l.lsparks as it does on Bluesippans.

I've seen a couple of studies that show it to be an activator of sorts: creative people get more creative, and nuts get nuttier."

"Have you mentioned this to layli-layli calulan?"

"Yes," he said, "but she knew about it-there are certain advantages to shamanism. She says there's really nothing she can do, short of tranquilizing everybody, and-"

"She wouldn't advise that either," Tocohl finished. She leaned forward, folded her arms on the table.

(Maggy, have you got anything on that?) (Let me look,) Maggy said, much to Tocohl's amus.e.m.e.nt, and then there was silence. The pause was clearly provided for esthetic reasons, leaving Tocohl to wonder how Maggy would time its duration... by the length of time it would take a human to access the information from her by keyboard, perhaps?

She focused again on Om im. "Sorry," she said, for her moment of inattention.

"Don't be. It's worth consideration. Be aware that it might lead you into rash action."

Maggy broke silence, but only to comment, (It already has.) (Swift-Kalat gave the sprookjes a chance. lonization or no ionization, it would have been worth taking him up on it. What's done is done, Maggy; there's no point in nagging me about it.) Aloud, Tocohl said to Om im, "You think this ionization effect is responsible for the disturbances among the survey team?""Only partially," he admitted. "As you noticed, we were chamfered by a moron. But a number of us have worked together before, and I'm seeing edginess I've never seen. Take Kejesli: I've worked with him on two previous occasions. He's not a great captain, but he's a good one ordinarily. Now n.o.body wants to talk to him."

He drew his knife, considered the blade thoughtfully. There was no menace in the action, it was simply one of those things a Bluesippan will do when he wants to think. Reflecting in a blade, they termed it.

"No, I'm wrong," he said, tapping the flat across his palm, "n.o.body wants to talk to him unless he comes to them-or will meet them in the common room. I don't know why, but there it is."

"I can answer that one," Tocohl said. "The lowered ceiling in his quarters makes most of you mildly claustrophobic."

"Come now, h.e.l.lspark. You're right that he's lowered his ceiling-and that's unusual now that I think of it-but I'm hardly likely to b.u.mp my head...!"

Tocohl chuckled. "That has nothing to do with it. The ceiling in your own cabin is a good three feet higher than the one in Kejesli's. It's a matter of what you're comfortable with. Am I to understand that Kejesli's quarters on previous surveys have had higher ceilings?"

"Now that you mention it, yes. Are you seriously telling me that's why n.o.body wants to visit the captain?"

"Yes, the low ceiling makes you all uncomfortable... even if you aren't likely to b.u.mp your head. The point is, that low ceiling makes him comfortable, and if what you say is true this is the first survey he's felt he needed that. Perhaps that's his reaction to the ionization stress."

"Perhaps. But I think the haft of the matter is more likely what happened on Inumaru-or more properly what happened after Inumaru."

"Were you there?"

"Yes, for both." He frowned. "A lot of people were plenty angry when he refused to back Alfvaen, when MGE canned her."

"You?"

"No, not really. I agree with him that contracting Cana's disease hardly seems serendipitous. It was the rest of us he was trying to protect, after all. But..." Again he gazed into the fine blued blade of his dagger. "But. Who knows, maybe there was a serendipitous reason that she caught it with everyone else"-he tilted the blade toward her-"you see my point."

"I do. I also call your attention to the fact that she and I are both here now."

"Your presence, Ish shan, is certainly worth the trouble," he acknowledged. He spread his hands in offering. "What can I do for you today?"

"Today you can tell me about Oloitokitok, and about the sprookjes," she said. "I've seen the tapes; now I need some on-the-spot reports."

Om im tilted his head slightly to the side and said slowly, "Now, the moment before the cameras went on, one of the sprookjes-the one that gestured at van Zoveel-was tearing up a thousand-day-blue."

"That wasn't in any of the reports," said Tocohl.

"That's why I mention it: you said you wanted any information related to the sprookjes.-It probably wasn't mentioned because sprookjes don't eat thousand-day-blues."

"They just tear them up?"

Om im grinned. "No. That's what seemed worth mentioning. On that occasion, I found a recently pulled patch of earth and the shredded remnants of the blue, but since then I've seen perhaps a hundred sprookjes pa.s.s by an equal number of thousand-day-blues without paying them the slightest attention.

Which is a little hard to do. The tapes won't give you an idea of the smell of a thousand-day-blue either-it's raunchy."

"Interesting," said Tocohl. "Not very enlightening, but filed and noted." A flash of light crackled outside the membrane, and Tocohl waited out the thunder before speaking, then said, "Go on."

"The fact that the sprookjes have hands was what made van Zoveel so excited. You should haveseen him!" Om im Chadeayne's eyes sparkled. "Perhaps you did: that sprookje was like his reflection.

But, as you saw on the tape, those sprookjes didn't say a word and when van Zoveel got close, the sprookje nipped him. Everybody overreacted and the sprookjes got frightened and disappeared into the flashwood. n.o.body followed; we were all too concerned about van Zoveel."

Shifting forward in his chair, the Bluesippan continued. "Van Zoveel came to no harm, except for the reaming out Kejesli gave him for ignoring safety rules. "Evidently the sprookje didn't either, because the went on nipping everybody they came across." He smiled. "After a while, the pinp.r.i.c.k became Flashfever's badge of acceptance."

"But that came later?" asked Tocohl.

"That came later, when the parrots had moved into camp.-I wasn't around the second time van Zovee tried talking to the sprookjes, so you'll need another eyewitness."

Tocohl filled in from the tapes she'd seen: van Zoveel had used his vocoder and tried high frequency thinking perhaps that the sprookjes might be that one-in-a-thousand species that heard only in the upper ranges. The sprookjes had heard it, all right-heard and run!

"I can tell you," Om im raised his voice as a gust of wind outside brought a particularly heavy crash of rain against the north wall, "why they ran. We'd made some tapes-including the high-frequency range-of general flashwood noises. That's not as easy as you might think: we had to hang the tapers from poles or all they'd have picked up was tk-tk, tk-tk, tk-tk." He made the appropriate scolding face to accompany the sound of the paired tongue-clicks.

Tocohl grinned. "So that's why they're called tick ticks-you named them but no one else on the team can do the tongue-clicks."

"Yes," said Om im, "I should have left well enough alone, but you've heard them yourself and you know they sound like a chiding parent...!"

He grinned back before taking up his tale once more: "We-Buntec and Megeve and I-were taking advantage of an hour's sunlight. You'll find everybody does that here, sits outside and spreads her feathers for drying. We were studying our tapes but outside in the middle of the compound.

"And all of a sudden, the ugliest thing you ever saw-and believe me, I've seen some ugly things in my life-I've fallen on Stuckfish!-swooped out of the sky and ate the taper.

"It sat for a moment-it didn't turn bilious green because it already was a bilious green-but it gave two resounding belches and vomited up the taper. Then it flew away, cursing, or so I a.s.sumed from its tone. Timosie cursed just as much over the loss of his taper, but Buntec and I must have howled for twenty minutes. It was at least that long before we could tell the rest of the team what had happened."

He leaned forward, his expression turning serious. "But tape-belchers, we later found out, are nothing to laugh about. Megeve got a nasty slice taken out of his side when he got too close to one's nest. Even tape-belchers don't like tape-belchers: they tear each other up constantly."

Tocohl had seen hard-copy on that too. Evidently the tape-belchers were territorial and held that territory beak and claw, especially against other tape-belchers. According to swift-Kalat's notes, the taper-eating incident had probably been sparked by a recorded challenge of another tape-belcher that the live belcher had taken for genuine.

Om im gestured at her cup. "I know where swift-Kalat keeps his supplies. Would you like a refill, as long as I'm getting myself a cup?"

"Please," said Tocohl. As Om im crossed the room, she said, (Maggy? Are you getting all this?) (Of course,) said Maggy. (He's right about the ionization stress effects. It could be enough to account for your lack of sense.) Tocohl breathed a sigh. (But probably not,) she said. (Let's hear the short version of what you've found.) It took no more than a minute from Maggy's choice of quotes and displays for Tocohl to see that the exhilaration she felt was not merely an emotional reaction to Flashfever's gaudy displays of lightning but a genuine physical reaction to the ionization of the air. (I think,) she said, (I can probably tone down the effect a little with the Methven rituals.) (Then do,) said Maggy, (or who knows what you claim to be next. And I'm not sure I approve oflying. You did say not to lie to Jenji...) (I didn't. Not precisely. I said I'd agree to judge-never said I was one.) There was something akin to a m.u.f.fled snort. Tocohl squinted, as if she might see the speaker if she looked hard enough into her spectacles. (That's not my snort of disapproval, is it?) (No, it's Buntec's. Does it match the rest of my voice? Did I use it correctly?) (Yes, and yes again,) Tocohl said. Deciding it was time to change the subject, she added, (What are you up to?) (You mean what is the arachne doing?) (Mm. Yes. Even h.e.l.lspark doesn't have the proper words to cover all possible situations.) (Exploring the perimeter. Would you like to see?) (Please,) said Tocohl, and was rewarded by a portion of the arachne eye view of barbed-wire fence, no doubt the most interesting area in Maggy's opinion.

Heavy rain lashed a grove of frostwillows into frenzied display of light. Their ordinarily sweet tinkling sound had become a disturbing one of shattering gla.s.s that could be heard even above the rushing downpour. Something slithered past in the forground, and as it pa.s.sed through a clump of flashgra.s.s Tocohl saw that it was a lizardlike creature, as bra.s.sy as penny-Jannisetts.

(You might show that tape to swift-Kalat,) said Tocohl. (I don't recall having seen that particuli animal in their files.) (You're right. They don't have a picture of that one. Maggy had evidently checked while Tocohl was speaking. (They should,) she added primly.

Tocohl chuckled. (Perhaps they know enough to come in out of the rain; you and the lizard-thing don't.) (The storm is not yet overhead. The arachne is in no danger.) (No offense,) said Tocohl.

(None taken,) said the voice in her ear, and Tocohl said, (Perfectly put.-And, Maggy, you're making good choices about what needs an immediate response and what can wait.) To this last, Maggy made no response, but the vision of the camp perimeter vanished. Om im set a second cup of winter-flame before Tocohl and reseated himself, cradling his own cup for its warmth, an unconscious response to the dankness of the weather.

"Thunderstorms," he said, "are a time for talk. There's not much else to do on this world during one except drink winter-flame and cavil about the weather."

"I wish the sprookjes felt that way," said Tocohl, "about talking during thunderstorms, I mean. It's been two days now and I haven't gotten to talk to a sprookje-or gotten one to talk to me. What do they do during thunderstorms?"

"n.o.body is willing to brave that"-Om im flourished a hand in the direction of the door; a flash of lightning gave the gesture more emphasis than he had intended and he rubbed his fingertips in delighted surprise-"in order to find out."

Before Tocohl could open her mouth to comment, he said firmly, "If you're going to suggest arachnes and other robot probes, Ish shan, be a.s.sured we thought of that. And we promptly lost five of them to Flashfever's wildlife, most of which either gives electric shocks or feeds on them.

"As long as yours stays within the perimeter, you probably won't lose it, unless it gets. .h.i.t by lightning, but I wouldn't risk it outside if I were you." Om im paused, then went on, "And as for getting the sprookjes to talk to you when they're around, don't feel neglected. I'll finish my eyewitness account and you'll see what I mean."

"Do," said Tocohl, and raised her cup.

"After the episode with the high-frequency sounds, none of us saw much of the sprookjes, except an occasional glimpse in the distance that might have been one. Then, one day about six months later, a handful of the brown ones showed up in camp."

Once again, he drew his dagger. He peered critically at the blade, then drew a whetstone from his pouch and began to hone it, comfortably matching the rhythm of his words to the motion. "The ones that came to camp are all brown and all smaller than the crested ones. I never thought about it before, but Isuppose the camp sprookjes are younger, or a different s.e.x?"

"There are speculations to that effect in the hard-copy," said Tocohl, "though I did notice that no one did an anatomical study."

Om im stopped honing, shocked. "When half the survey team thought they were sentient? No way-"

"I only meant no one had found a dead sprookje to autopsy. You give me an undeserved reputation for bloodthirst."

"Sorry," said Om im, "I intended no offense. The situation makes us all a little edgy one way or another."

"And you lean toward defending the sprookjes. Why?"

This time the Bluesippan looked not so much shocked as surprised by her words, "You know," he said, "I do think along those lines, but I'm afraid I haven't any idea why I do."

With a faintly puzzled air, he went back to his story-as if he were listening for some clue to his own att.i.tudes. "After the handful, more and more trickled in, and three months later, we had one apiece. Now I had better be specific...

"For the exact date, I'd have to check my records, but it was late afternoon and I was sitting on a stool I'd brought outside, 'drying my feathers,' as I said before; and there was a sprookje, staring at me with those great solemn eyes of theirs. So I said h.e.l.lo. And it said h.e.l.lo-"

"Just a minute, Om im. In what language?"

"In GalLing'. It was too tall for a Bluesippan, after all. At any rate, I was stunned and it was stunned, or gave a good facsimile thereof. Finally I said, 'I'm pleased to meet you,' and went on to introduce myself. I got about halfway through my self-introduction before I realized that the sprookje was parroting me, word for word, inflection for inflection. I was so surprised I stopped midway through my name, and a second or two later, that's precisely where the sprookje stopped.

"By this time, a couple of other people had come over, slowly, of course, so they wouldn't frighten the creature. So I tried again. This time, I introduced Buntec. And the blunted sprookje kept pace again, just a little behind me.

"But when Buntec spoke, also in GalLing', it was as if she didn't exist at all. And that, children, is how your uncle Om im acquired his sprookje." The Bluesippan's puzzled look was replaced by an ironic one; his narrative had failed to give him the clue he'd been seeking.

"If it's any consolation," said Tocohl, "I didn't find anything either."

Om im lifted his gilded eyebrows and raised his cup to her. "Sharp as Tam shan's blade! You come by your reputation honestly, Ish shan."

"Hah! You established it in your own mind when you chose that nickname for me." She leaned back, then said, "I believe you have payment coming. What do I owe so far?"

"I think," he said slowly, as if in an effort to keep his voice light, "that you have more than repaid me.

You're right: I believe the sprookjes are sentient. Strongly enough at least to know they must be given a chance. The chance is yours."

Tocohl met his eyes with practiced misunderstanding.

He laughed, his eyes merry beneath his gilded brows. "No, Ish shan," he said, "that won't help. My h.e.l.lspark may not be the best, but I can tell a hawk from a handsaw when I hear it in your tongue."

It took Tocohl a moment to understand... In the Bluesippan translation the words were identical but for a si and a su, the difference between her name and her father's.

By the time she had grasped his meaning, she knew she had no cause for alarm. His dagger was on the table; he slid it, hilt-first, across to her. "My blade is at your service, Tocohl Susumo," he said. "That is the least I can do for Oloitokitok and for the sprookjes."

She laid her hand across the hilt, accepting his service and his silence.

Chapter Eight

A KISS ON the hand is worth all this? thought Buntec incredulously as she looked down at the table spread with Vyrnwyn delicacies. She didn't recognize any of these foods, but the Vyrnwyn obviously considered the visual side of eating at least as important as the flavor. Spread before her were a dozen separate plates, each a different size-here a delicate gold paste heaped high in a black bowl, topped with a sprinkling of something round and rosy; there, on a pale blue plate, semitransparent slices of something pure white arranged in the shape, yes, in the shape of a frostwillow.

Buntec stared at each wonder in turn... When she found her voice at last it was to say, "They're beautiful, Edge-of-Dark, beautiful! Surely you don't expect me to eat them!" Realizing this might be misunderstood, she added hastily, "If I eat them, they'll be gone. Shouldn't we at least take a picture or-!" Her arm flung wide, as if of its own accord, to encompa.s.s the entire display.

Edge-of-Dark smiled. To Buntec's surprise, it was not the patronizing smile she'd seen so many times before but a genuinely warm and open smile that suited her rich features so perfectly that Buntec was overwhelmed.

"Perfection never lasts," Edge-of-Dark said. "We eat them because they are beautiful. If they weren't, we shouldn't bother." Smiling still, she added, "We differ so much, you and I, I was unsure of your tastes in food. I'm glad to know that I am already partially correct."