Kejesli tightened his grip on his desk, as any Sheveschkem captain might grip the bolted furniture for support. "h.e.l.lspark, you can stay as long as you wish. Half the survey has made a point of requesting your continued presence." He was clearly not pleased about that. "If you find evidence-beyond swift-Kalat's sleight-of-tongue-that the sprookjes are sentient, you can always appeal to the Comity's courts."

Tocohl's hand swept to one side, a derisive gesture on Sheveschke. "It would take years in court-and by then irreparable damage may have been done to the sprookjes, to their world. Veschke's sparks, man, will you be responsible for genocide?" She shot the word at him, and he flinched.

Just for a moment, Tocohl thought she had struck home; both knew how Veschke would take such an act.-Then Kejesli stiffened and said, "I don't know they're sentient."

"That should be sufficient reason to allow us more time."

Kejesli's knuckles whitened. "I rely upon what my people decide; and, in this case, all their evidence points to nonsentience."

"-All?"

"We hire people to do specific jobs in specific areas. They have done them." His beaded hair swung to the side, past stiffly set jaw.

No Sheveschkem sea captain could have said that: In an emergency, the cook lowers the mainsail.

Tocohl frowned, and saw Kejesli suddenly for what he was. He was a man trying not to be Sheveschkem, without conscious knowledge of what being Sheveschkem actually entailed. He spoke GalLing' but danced Sheveschkem; he wore worlds' motley, but lowered his ceiling. Not comfortable with the cultures surrounding him, he was no longer comfortable with his own, so he subst.i.tuted the rule book for culture. If I can give him a way out by the rule book...

Under her scrutiny, Kejesli once more gripped the desk. "I would like to oblige you," he said, "one should always be obliging to h.e.l.lsparks... But in this case I cannot. The thunderstorms have already left us behind schedule. Now MGE has pressed me for a quick decision."

He loosed his grip on the desk and rose. He did not reach for the ceiling; the storm was over as far as he was concerned. He had reached his decision. Tocoh knew she had lost the battle.

As he showed her to the door, it occurred to her that he had, at least, agreed to let her remain or Flashfever. Here, it might still be possible to follow Oloitokitok's lead, and present a fait accompli.

Perhaps because of her silence, perhaps because, for him, the emergency was over, Kejesli's manner softened. As he drew the membrane aside and stepped into the wan sunlight, he said, "Come, h.e.l.lspark-for you it is only a theft at Festival. For me, it is a good deal more."

She did not reply. If her oblique appeal to Veschke's good opinion had not worked, then the only way around him was by the rule book. Her quarantine ploy would have worked-could still work. A glance at her hand showed redness remaining; it would take her only minutes to reestablish her spuriousinfection with layli-layli calulan's a.s.sistance.

Tocohl plunged through the crowd that had gathered outside Kejesli's quarters in antic.i.p.ation of the ritual that marked the end of their job. Alfvaen swift-Kalat, and van Zoveel turned anxiously to her but she brushed them aside absently. "I can stay," she said, "but the report goes."

The news brought a mixed reaction. Swift-Kalai turned abruptly and walked a short distance away, anger and disappointment stiffening his gait. Tocohi automatically caught Alfvaen's arm to prevent her from following him: an angry Jenji is, by definition, unreliable. He would not appreciate her company at the moment. Still without conscious thought, Tocohl drew Alfvaen along with her.

Watchful, the shaman stood quietly apart, a jievnal stick laced through her hair. Her eyes followed the sprookje that wandered among the humans. Only layli-layli calulan had the power to grant the sprookjes a stay of execution, Tocohl thought. Would she?

Thrusting Alfvaen forward-a talisman of serendipity to influence a shaman-Tocohl folded her arms across her chest and stared long and hard at layli-layli calulan, willing her to speak.

"Tocohl Susumo!" swift-Kalat's voice and instantaneous sprookje-echo rang with such command that all, Kejesli included, turned to him.

Caught by his tone, Tocohl responded formally. "Yes?"

Swift-Kalat's bracelets flashed as he leveled his arm at the sprookje. The sprookje, feathers ruffling, imitated his gesture with frightening accuracy. And, as swift-Kalat spoke, it echoed word for word: "I accuse the sprookjes of the deliberate premeditated murder of Oloitokitok. Will you agree to judge?"

At Tocohl's side, Alfvaen gave a short, sharp gasp. Tocohl caught her shoulder and gave her a look of silent command. Alfvaen held her tongue.

"Yes," said Tocohl, "I agree to judge."

Maggy pinged furiously for attention and, when Tocohl ignored her, said, (The penalty for impersonating-) (I know, Maggy, now just shut up.) "You can't," said Rav Kejesli. It came out like a plea. "The sprookjes would have to be sentient in order to commit murder."

"Yes," said Tocohl, "they would." She could not help but grin. "I will first be obliged to make a judgment on the sentience or nonsentience of the sprookjes.-Would you be kind enough, Captain Kejesli, to have your team put their files at my disposal?"

For a long breath, Kejesli said nothing; his face had the look of a man in great pain. Then, slowly and almost implausibly, he smiled.

"In that case, I will hold my report until you have made your judgment." His eyes shifted from her face to the pin of high-change in her cloak. "-In Veschke's honor!" he finished.

Chapter Seven.

FORTY-TWO MEMBERS OF the survey team crowded the common room with excitement, jostling each other and speaking in whispers. You'd think, and Tocohl did, that surveying an unchartered planet would be enough excitement for anyone, but obviously it was not so. News of a judgment, coupled as it was with the accusation of murder, stirred even the oldest and most blase of the team members.

Tocohl scanned the crowd for the reactions of those she had already met. Om im had been accorded a position in the front, in deference to his size, and he grinned at her and winked broadly, gesturing across the room to Edge-of-Dark. To her costume of the night before, the programmer had added a second victoria ribbon, this one pale green, which crossed her breast at right angles to the first, and tall laced softboots of Ringsilver fashion. Tocohl flashed a wink at Om im; her pictures of Madly had worked.

Captain Rav Kejesli made a grudging formal introduction and the room became silent but for the monotony of rain.

"By now," said Tocohl, "you've all heard that the sprookjes have been accused of murder; and mostof you realize we've an unusual situation on our hands. In essence, in order to judge the guilt or innocence of the creatures, I must first know to my own satisfaction whether or not they are sentient."

The whisper of noise became a surprised chatter of voices, and Tocohl raised a hand. "Wait and hear me out."

When the noise quieted once again, she continued, "I know that your primary specialists all seem to have reached the conclusion that the sprookjes are not sentient, but I would like to keep an open mind on the question. Some of the secondary specialists are not so convinced, and a secondary specialist is not mere backup. Survey teams were designed to have as many talents and specialties available as possible, and I believe that the original intent was to take advantage of the synergistic effects among the surveyors as well.

"So I'm asking for your cooperation in an experiment. Let us for the moment forget authority. If anyone has anything to say on the subject of sprookjes, I want to hear it. I don't care how wild it is, I don't care if it's totally out of your field of expertise-I want to hear it anyway. I'll even listen to anecdotes about the sprookjes." She flashed a grin at Om im. "Story for story," she finished, to add a bit of a bribe for their effort.

Once more, she scanned the group-surveyed the surveyors, she thought with a smile. By virtue of the novelty of the situation, she'd get her cooperation and then some. As for slighting the primary specialists-each primary specialist had a secondary or tertiary specialty; given the chance she offered, they'd be delighted to show off.

"One last thing," she said, "before I send you all off to dig out material for me. Has anyone here fallen on Pasic?"

There was a t.i.tter of amus.e.m.e.nt-obviously some had.

It was John the Smith who pushed forward to say, "Pasicans are the closest things I've ever met to the Hershlaing in the flesh. They're as nontechnological as they come, at least within the known human realm. They don't even have, oh-matches or flints!"

Within the known human realm, Tocohl observed with satisfaction, you're thinking already.

"True," she said aloud. "Now, a Pasican once told me the difference between himself and an orival-that's a small native animal. 'An orival does not know how to put branches on the fire when it is dying, therefore a Pasican is human and an orival is an animal.'"

It brought a chuckle of superiority from the crowd. Tocohl waited for it to pa.s.s, then she said, "I may not be human to a Pasican."

That got their full attention. Spreading her cloak for the added drama of the gesture, she went on, "My 2nd skin provides me with all the warmth I need. My spectacles can push for available light. A fire is of no particular use to me.-Not knowing I must prove myself human in this one fashion, I may let the fire go out!"

"See here!" It was John the Smith again, and this time he was angry. "Are you saying that the sprookjes may be so advanced-."

Tocohl said, "No. I'm saying that they may be so different that we don't recognize one of their artifacts when we get our noses rubbed in it... And I'm saying that even h.o.m.o sapiens within historical time have had difficulty in proving their humanity to other h.o.m.o sapiens. I'm asking that you all consider the circ.u.mstances in which you would be hard put to prove your sentience, especially if you were unaware that you were being tested."

Enlisting Buntec and a daisy-clipper, Tocohl and Alfvaen made a quick trip out to the Margaret Lord Lynn. Maggy, for once giving no warnings and predicting no doom, taped Tocohl's subvocalized message on the way and waited with open door when they arrived.

Buntec stowed their belongings in the daisy-clipper amid cheerful obscenities and colorful blasphemies. And Alfvaen said, in Siveyn, "You told me you weren't a judge."

Tocohl said quietly, "I lied to you."

"But why? We'd only just met; you had no reason to lie to me." The small hand flew lightly outward, dismayed."No offense intended," said Tocohl easily. "I like to keep in practice. In Veschke's honor."

Tinling Alfvaen frowned up at her, as if squinting into the sun. Tocohl could almost read the thoughts as they rippled through the Siveyn's mind: anger, then suspicion, and, finally, concern.

"All right," said Alfvaen. "You lied to me. No offense taken."

Alfvaen would keep her own counsel; but the concern in the Siveyn's green eyes did not fade.

Buntec bellowed from the hatch, "All stowed! Let's move-Flashfever looks about to do its act again!"

As they sped toward base camp, Alfvaen maintained a pensive silence as Buntec cajoled and cursed the daisy-clipper along its way.

Behind them, the Margaret Lord Lynn rose solemnly into the sky and disappeared. Tocohl watched the ship go, and answered Buntec's query with an economical, "Geosynchronous...o...b..t. Better for communication."

"Oh," said Buntec, "if I'd known you had one of those top-line computers, I'd've stuck around to watch. You have an implant too?"

"Yes," said Tocohl, and Buntec said, "Before you run out on us, give me a guided tour, will you?

Talk about technological toys... !"

Tocohl grinned. Not only did Buntec have a pa.s.sion for technological toys but, Tocohl suspected from the way the Jannisetti handled the daisy-clipper, she was a gifted player as well. She hadn't seen any research on the subject, but she'd always suspected that there was an espability relating to machinery that was kith and kin to the more common "green thumb." A "metal thumb," perhaps; whatever it was, Buntec was a prime example. "If you'll keep Maggy's abilities to yourself for the duration, Buntec, I promise you a chance to talk to her yourself."

"Talk to her? That top-line?" Buntec raised her eyebrows, simultaneously demonstrating her pleasure by raising the daisy-clipper in a neat arc as well. "A nosy-poke computer?"

Tocohl laughed; she'd never heard the Jannisetti term for a computer of Maggy's capabilities, but she was willing to bet that a literal translation. "A nosy-poke computer," she repeated, "that she most certainly is."

(Should I resent that?) Maggy asked. Tocohl couldn't help but repeat the query for Buntec's benefit.

"Resent it?" said Buntec. "s.h.i.t, no! Wow! And h.e.l.lo there, Maggy! I meant it as a compliment."

(Tell her thank you for me.) Tocohl relayed the message.

"You're on, Tocohl. My mouth is st.i.tched shut. But I do warn you there are a couple-three smarta.s.ses in the crew might spot a nosy-poke faster than me."

"Just don't give them any help."

(Stabilization of orbit in three minutes,) said Maggy, sparing her the details. (I launched the message capsule, and it should reach Sheveschke in about six days, unless something goes wrong.) (Fine,) said Tocohl. (Now if Alfvaen asks you whether or not I'm a judge-though I doubt she will-if she does, you are to tell her that I am.) (You want me to lie?) Maggy somehow managed to sound outraged.

(That's it exactly. I want you to lie.) (I can't lie.) (Nonsense. Of course you can. That's a direct order, so I'll have no more of your lip.) (Suppose Captain Kejesli asks his own computer: it won't lie. I tried to talk with it, and it's too stupid to lie.) (Nicely phrased, Maggy.-And no doubt it does contain a list of byworld judges. In which case it will contain the name Tocohl Sisumo.) Maggy made a rude noise, and Tocohl almost choked with laughter. (That's your father,) said Maggy. (That won't help at all.) (The rude noise,) said Tocohl, (was not quite appropriate, but I'm glad you've added it to your repertoire-at least, I think I'm glad. In any event, if Kejesli sees Tocohl Sisumo, he'll a.s.sume it's a lousy transliteration into GalLing'. Stop worrying, Maggy; Kejesli would stand for a higher garble-factorthan that.) (That's not what I'm worried about,) Maggy said primly.

(Okay, okay. But keep your worries to yourself,) Tocohl finished, and turned her attention back to Buntec, who said cheerfully, "Gossip away. Don't let me interrupt. Move a.s.s, you dopes!"

This last was shouted out the window, as Buntec steered the daisy-clipper into the compound, spraying all those who hadn't turned and run with a comprehensive layer of red mud. Directly opposite swift-Kalat's door, Buntec grounded the daisy-clipper with feather lightness.

"You're not interrupting," Tocohl said. She slid from the craft, caught at the door frame abruptly.

"Watch your step," she cautioned, "it's slippery out here."

"Always is," said Buntec. "Makes a fine mess of things, doesn't it?" She landed beside Tocohl with a splash. "I've been thinking," she said as she s.n.a.t.c.hed luggage from the daisy-clipper, "swift-Kalat says he's got a biological artifact-Hitoshi Dan say it's not an artifact, but he can't figure out how it propagates, right?"

"Right," said Tocohl as she took her parcels from Buntec. "What do you have in mind?"

"Suppose," said Buntec, hefting the last of the parcels herself and following them up the steps into swift-Kalat's quarters, "Suppose we just a.s.sume it's an artifact and go from there. Where does that get us?"

"Good question: by Comity standards, we've got to prove the sprookjes have language, artifacts, and art or religion. It could be argued that language is an artifact-and has been, in fact. As I recall, both dolphins and whaffles whistled by on the strength of their poetry. And that," said Tocohl, dropping her bundle, "means that art and artifacts overlap as a category."

"So all we have to do is prove to our mutual satisfaction that the sprookjes are sentient," Buntec observed. She glanced about and, failing to find a spot to stow the parcel she carried, raised an interrogatory hand at Alfvaen. "All!" snorted Alfvaen, misunderstanding the query.

"What I'm getting at," Buntec said, handing the Siveyn the parcel and turning again to Tocohl, "is that perhaps we should a.s.sume all their artifacts will be biological. We haven't found anything else, after all."

Tocohl stopped in the act of stowing to give Buntec her full attention. "You think we should be looking for other biological artifacts?"

"Why not?"

"Why not, indeed," Tocohl agreed. "Do you have anything particular in mind?"

"I came straight off the farm." Buntec grinned and lifted a foot. "That's not mud you see, honey.-We had our share of gene-tailored crops and animals. Now that's a biological artifact right there, but it's not one you could spot. But even with all the high-order stuff, we did the basics. Grafting is about as basic as you can get, aside from the simple switch from hunting-gathering to genuine agriculture."

"The sprookjes appear not to have made that switch," said a new voice.

"Neither did dolphins," said Tocohl. She looked at Buntec questioningly.

Beckoning in the newcomer, Buntec said, "Timosie Megeve, Tocohl Susumo, and Tinling Alfvaen."

Timosie Megeve was Maldeneantine, from the severe wind-red of his oversuit to his earpips, held as they were by a thread about the cap of each ear-Maldeneantine frowned on violation of the body. His GalLing' held a slight but distinct accent, as did his hands, held close to his body as he spoke, making his gestures tight and spare. "Please, go on. I hadn't meant to interrupt-"

Buntec swung her hands wide, encompa.s.sing all three of them in the arc. "You think of cultivation as nice neat rows and the same sort of plant in each row, but you can get much better results in some cases by mixing plants. Using a second crop to keep out weeds or pests, or to nitrogenate the soil. And why bother with nice neat rows?" She turned to Tocohl. "Maybe the sprookjes don't like nice neat rows."

"Maybe not," Tocohl agreed. "I admit that's a possibility; one I hadn't thought of." Choosing a spot of rug, she crossed her legs and sat, to consider the problem. "Let's find out what they do like. Do you think you could spot a graft?"

"Bet your a.s.s I can spot a graft, if I can find one new enough! I plan to start immediately." Buntec hauled over a chair and sprawled her chunky body into it, immovable. As if on cue, rain roared againstthe roof in earnest.

Alfvaen, still stowing her belongings, glared up at the sound and said, "Immediately isn't possible on Flashfever, is it?" She brought her eyes down to bear on Tocohl, where the glare softened to resignation.

"I wish there were something we could do now."

"Now," said Buntec, "Tocohl can tell me all about cosying up to Vyrnwy." The p.r.o.nouncement drew a startled look from Timosie Megeve. Buntec waved an arm at him: "Edge-of-Dark got decent. If there's anything I can do to keep her decent, I'm for doing it. Bet your a.s.s it's worth the trouble to me."

"... Cameras on!" said Kejesli.

A blurring of motion as the camera swung upward, and a moment before the image focused.

Another voice said, "Don't make any sudden moves; you'll scare them."

Three tall sprookjes filled the center of the frame, taller than the ones in camp by perhaps a foot, if the stand of tick-ticks was any guide. They craned their smooth flexible necks forward, and their cheek-feathers ruffled. No sound came from the humans off-screen, only the gla.s.slike tinkling of frostwillows graced the tape.