"Well-I suppose so, mister. He's quite nearby, as it happens-"

"He's still here, then?"

"Oh, yes indeed."

"Saved," Magnan breathed in relief. "Can you direct us, Herby?"

"Certainly. Just press on meenie, bearing a little to the miney after you cross the stream, then hard moe at the lake. You can't miss him."

Magnan looked startled. "How did you know?" He frowned at Retief in puzzlement. "I thought we named the local directions..."

"Oh, indeed," Herby spoke up. "I merely employed your own nomenclature."

"You must have a fantastic ear," Magnan said wonderingly. "That discussion was held miles from here."

"I don't miss much," Herby said complacently.

"He's remarkably sophisticated for such a modest bloom," Magnan commented as they started off.

"I suspect most of Herby is underground, Mr. Magnan," Retief pointed out. "There's no room for a speech center in the part we saw."

"Gad-a subterranean cerebrum-like a giant potato?" Magnan said uneasily, treading lightly. "A spooky thought, Retief."

Twenty minutes' brisk hike brought the two Terrans to the sh.o.r.e of a small, gurgling brook overhung with majestically arching foliage. They followed the bank to the right for a quarter of a mile, at which point the waters spilled down in a foaming amber cataract into a placid pond half a mile across.

"So far so good," Magnan said uncertainly. "But I see no signs of habitation, not even a hut, to say nothing of a ship..."

Retief moved past Magnan toward a dense thicket which obtruded somewhat from the smooth line of trees edging the lakesh.o.r.e. He parted the broad, copper-colored leaves, revealing a surface of rust-pitted metal curving away into the dimness.

"Lousy Ann II"-he read the corroded letters welded to the crumbling hull plates. "Looks like we've found Renfrew's ship." He pulled a low-growing branch aside. "And here's Renfrew."

"Splendid!" Magnan hurried up, halted abruptly to stare in horror at the heap of moldering bones topped by a grinning skull still wearing a jaunty yachting cap.

"That's... Renfrew?" he quavered.

"Quite so," said a deep voice from somewhere overhead. "And take my word for it, mister-it's been a long, lonely time since he sat down there."

6.

"Two hundred years, give or take a decade or two," Retief said as he climbed out through the derelict's sagging port, brushing the dust and rust-scale from his hands. "She was a Concordiat-registered racing sloop, converted for long-range cruising. What's left of the crew quarters suggests she was fitted out for one-man operation."

"That's right," agreed the resonant baritone-which, the Terrans had determined, emanated from a large, orchidlike blossom sprouting amid the foliage twenty feet above their heads. "Just Renfrew. It was a small world he inhabited, but he seemed content with it. Not that he was stand-offish, of course. He was as friendly as could be-right up until the difficulty about his leaving."

"What sort of, ah, difficulty?" Magnan inquired.

"He seemed quite upset that his vessel was unable to function. I did my best to console him; regaled him with stories and poems, sang merry songs-"

"Where did you learn them?" Magnan cut in sharply. "I understood Renfrew was the first Terran to visit here."

"Why, from him, of course."

"Good lord-imagine having your own chestnuts endlessly repeated back at you," Magnan whispered behind his hand.

"Did you ever tell a joke to an Amba.s.sador?" Retief inquired.

"A telling point," Magnan conceded. "But at least they usually add a little variety by garbling the punch line."

"How did Renfrew happen to crash-land here?" Retief inquired.

"Oh, he didn't; he came to rest very gently."

"Then, why couldn't he take off again?" Magnan demanded.

"I believe he described it as foreign matter in the warpilator field windings," the voice replied vaguely. "But let's not talk about the past. The present is so much more exciting! Heavens! There hasn't been such activity here since the last glacial age!"

"Retief-there's something slightly piscine about this situation," Magnan murmured. "I'm not sure I trust these garrulous gardenias. Herby said he was the only one of his kind on the planet-yet here's another equally verbose vegetable."

"Oh, that was quite true," the voice above spoke up promptly. "Why in the world would I lie to you?"

"Kindly refrain from eavesdropping," Magnan said coldly. "This happens to be a personal conversation."

"Not as personal as calling me a potato-brain," the orchid said a trifle coolly.

"Goodness-I hope you don't listen to irresponsible gossip," Magnan replied with dignity. "Do I appear the type to employ such an epithet?" He put his mouth to Retiefs ear. "The grapevine here surpa.s.ses anything I've encountered, even at a diplomatic reception!"

"Now, let me see," the voice from on high mused. "You mentioned something called a parking lot. I'd like to know more about that, and-"

"I suppose Herby told you that, too!" Magnan snapped. "If I'd known he was such a blabbermouth, I'd never have confided in him! Come, Retief-we'll withdraw to where we can have a modic.u.m of privacy."

"As to that, Mr. Magnan-" Retief started.

"Not here," Magnan interrupted. He led the way a hundred feet down the sh.o.r.e, halted under a spreading bough. "It's apparent I was indiscreet with that Herby person," he said from the corner of his mouth, without moving his lips. "I see now he was a rumor-monger of the worst stripe, in addition to being of questionable veracity. Sole representative of his race, indeed! Why, I suspect every shrub in sight has a wagging tongue!"

"Very probably," Retief agreed.

"There's nothing to do now, quite obviously," Magnan said, "but select an honest-looking plant and approach the problem afresh, impressing the vegetable with our sincerity and benign intentions. Then, when we've wormed our way into its confidence, we can determine how to make use of it to our own best advantage. How does it sound?"

"Familiar," Retief said.

"Excuse me..." Magnan jumped a foot as a voice squeaked the words almost in his ear. "What does 'sincerity' mean in this context?"

"Very little," Retief addressed a cl.u.s.ter of small, russet buds almost invisible among the roan leaves overhead.

"Is there no privacy to be found anywhere in the confounded wilderness?" Magnan inquired with asperity.

"I'm afraid not," the miniature voice piped. "As I was telling you a while ago, there's not a great deal I miss."