"I am Ormthol, here to learn and speak for the Ormthu as you speak and seek to learn for the Earthani. Shall we inquire together. Barton of Earth? What would you know? I shall ask much, for to learning there is no end."

Barton thought-hell, either the blob knew its English or it didn't "Is Ormthol your personal name or your job description?"

"The question surprises. I had not considered the concept-with us there is a joining, not a difference be- tween the two thoughts. And which thought does Barton serve?"

206.

No doubt about it; the alien was quick. "Barton ap- plies to me, not to what I do. I've done a lot of different things. Right now I work for Mister Tarleton here. He's in command of our ships and I run the show when he's busy." It struck him that he had never before called Tarleton "Mister". . . .

"Earth has not previously traveled ships to visit oth- ers. What does Earth seek?"

There was only one answer. "The Demu."

"And with the Demu, what does Earth wish?"

"We wish"-oh, the hell with diplomacy!-"an end to raiding, an end to carving people into imitation lobsters.

Live and let live."

"Your view is admirable. Likely, the Demu will not share it."

"Ormthol, what do you know of the Demu?" Tarleton was motioning for caution, but Barton shook his bead- it was time to shit or get off the pot.

"Much," said the Ormthan, "that would aid you, but that it is long promised we do not say to any. Ask, though -ask and ask, for it may be that you find questions I am permitted to answer."

"I take it you're not really great buddies with the Demu?"

"Long ago our races met, competed, and reached lim- ited accord. A major factor of our agreement is that we do not have contact." The >blue eyes closed; the mouth disappeared. The pseudohead -became a vague, blind sculpture. The Demu hadn't lost a lot, thought Barton, by agreeing to leave this race alone-they'd play hell trying to carve a pink egg into lobster form.

The Ormthan wasn't helping much, but Barton couldn't afford to let the talk end. If Tarleton had handed him the ball. he'd better run with it- "What does your agreement allow? What can you tell us?"

Eyes and mouth reappeared. "Not what you need to know. That matter is sealed-you roust learn it, if indeed you do, as did the Ormthu."

"The hard way, you mean."

"You state things aptly. But your askings are less apt."

Rack your stupid brains. Barton-it's your move, noA body else's. Rummaging through his pockets he pulled out a print of a star map, showing the segment of spiral Arm between Earth and the planet-bare space below the Demu. He pointed to the Demu sector.

207.

"Is that accurate? Is that where we must come to terms with the Demu?"

The Ormthan gazed, and extruded a thin tendril; its tip moved on the star map. "I may say as much as this. The major Demu planet is here, as you show it. But here"- the tendril moved-"on this planet, was accord reached between Ormthu and Demu. Not elsewhere."

"And you think that's important?" No answer. "All right, you do." He looked more closely at the map. "The planet is in that dust cloud? Hey, Tarieton-that's the cloud we plan to rendezvous at, out of sight of the Demu guard planets t" The big man nodded, but said nothing.

"Not in dust cloud-the planet and its sun sit indented in a clear pocket of space, seen only from one view-so."

A little toward the inside of the Arm, from Tilara, Barton noticed-and directly opposite to the side of the cloud that faced the rest of Demu territory.

"You say that's where we should go, then? Can you say why?"

"Only that something there is to the Demu of great im- portance. What it is, I do not know entirely and could not say in any case. But one who sees, it is said, cannot fail to know its importance. And you will go as you choose, not as I direct you-for I do not."

"Right. We'll think about it." That dust cloud-the pocket-would be one bad place for the fleet to get caught in a trap. Barton thought. Especially if the Demu saw them coming ....

But it was a lead, a start. Another thought: "Do you know what weapons the Demu have, besides their Shield and sleep-gun-and weapons copied from the Tilari and others?"

"On such matters, I am not informed."

Well, so much for that. Barton hitched up his guts- here came the big one. "The blank space-the belt with- out habitable planets-on the other side of the Demu . . .

they say they made it, in war. Did they?"

Without shoulders, the Ormthan managed to shrug.

"We do not know. The Demu, know you, were here be- fore us, in this reach of the galaxy. And so also was the dead space.

"It has been thought that if the Demu could do so, we the Ormthu would have suffered it. Yet we live, and thrill of life and learning."

Barton started to answer, but with a pseudoarm the 208.

Ormthan waved him to silence. "The Demu are a puzzle we long ago agreed, reluctantly, to leave unsolved. You wish a solution-the Ormthu, who by nature speak as with one mind, share your wish. But whether you reach truce with the Demu, overcome them with your weapons, or cease to exist and your worlds also, I cannot see. What my next-day holds is clear from what my this-day pro- duces. But what your next-days hold. I do not see. Go with the joy of learning."

No booze, no coffee, tea, or dancing-girls-time to split, thought Barton. No way to shake hands without a pseudopod showing, and be-damned if he'd reach first.

As he'd thought earlier-the hell with diplomacy. Not that the creature had been unhelpful ....

One thing he had to ask. "About the ceiling . . . . "

"You admire it?"

"It is neither high nor colorful. Is there a reason?"

"You came to ask of the Demu. Within bounds, the sur- roundings were made appropriate." Barton couldn't be sure whether he saw the hint of a smile on the disappear- ing mouth, but he was sure of one thing-the Ormthan had a sense of humor-and his mind relaxed.

On their way out, he thought of another question, but waited until they were back in the groundcar. Then, "Tarieton-Vertan-all the time we were in there- how come neither of you said one goddamned word?"

Vertan looked blank. Tarieton frowned, then said, "I'm not sure. Every time I felt like speaking up, sud- denly I didn't. Does that make sense?"

"Maybe," said Barton. "You know-I think that Ormthol is really one strange cat." No one answered him.

They arrived at the conference building m time for lunch. Barton greeted Slobodna. "How's it going. Slow- boat?"

"Fine as frog fur. The prototype of the lightweight- model personal Shield has a few bugs in it, but we're working on them. For a fact, planning and implementa- tion are getting to be almost routine-I wouldn't have be- lieved it" A

"That's because we're dealing with some truly hign"

grade people," said Tarieton.

"Yeah, I'd noticed. Hey-you and Barton try some of this sticky soup here. It looks like an unhatched rubber boot, but wait 'til you taste it."

209.