Benita and Chad both detected concern in Chiddy's voice, as though he did not know or recognize the voice or person he was dealing with. Benita asked Vess if anything was wrong, and he shrugged, insofar as his normal shape could shrug. The Pistach didn't have shoulders that could go up and down. Their pseudo shrug was a kind of sideways nod accompanied by a slightly raised upper limb on that side.

As Chiddy spoke, more and more worriedly, his color betraying increasing concern, Vess, with an equally worried expression, unpacked clothing they had prepared for Carlos. He suggested that Benita get him up and dressed, which she did, though awkwardly, and with bad grace and much complaint on Carlos's part. This ship was not as tiny as the first one she had seen, one they called a quimish, a word that means, so said Vess, to scoot or buzz about, but still tiny so far as crew space went. Chad remarked that it was a good thing trips didn't last very long, because one could severely injure oneself trying to change trousers.

By the time Carlos was dressed, permission had been granted for the ship to land near the little community where Chiddy's family had lived for generations. Benita asked who was meeting them, and Chiddy replied that the Pistach regarded it as the height of arrogance and rudeness to confront a newly arrived person, or one who has just been given news of a possibly disrupting happening, or one who has suffered loss. "Your newsmen on Earth," said Chiddy, making a face, "would be regressed and reselected here on Pistach-home. I have seen them sticking their microphones into the faces of the bereaved and of the assaulted and of persons just arrested or survivors of disasters asking them how they feel, as though that were news! It is incivility of the worst sort. We would not tolerate it. One should be met, of course, and welcomed, but quietly, discreetly."

On Pistach home They expected modest if any greeting, in keeping with Chiddy's explanations of Pistach manners.

Chiddy blanked the view ports and set down. They arranged themselves to depart. The outer hull split vertically, the opening widened, and they walked out into a numerous assembly: a double rank of large Pistach in an arc around the ship, several even larger ones standing close, one particularly large one coming forward, his pincers extended. Chiddy stopped dead in his tracks, staring, his mouth parts slightly agape, and murmured in a shocked voice, "T'Fees!"

Chad gave Benita a quick look. They had heard much about T'Fees. His being here, at this time, with this number of quite large and able-looking Pistach did not bode well for their mission.

T'Fees spoke. Chiddy spoke. Vess murmured to the humans: "T'Fees is telling him not to be frightened, he intends no harm. Chiddy is asking if T'Fees will respect your status as visitors to whom hospitality is due. T'Fees says he is a rebel, not a barbarian, of course he will."

T'Fees came forward and bowed, announcing his name, which sounded just as Chiddy had said it, Tuh-FEEZ. Without prompting, Chad pronounced Benita's name, gesturing toward her, then introduced Carlos, then himself. As the highest caste among the three, this was proper etiquette, according to instructions before landing, given by Vess, who now suggested they bow, which they did, Chad dragging Carlos down by the arm.

T'Fees spoke, evidently questioning. Vess said he asked what the humans hoped to see while on Pistach.

Chad said they hoped to see the Fresco and the people of Pistach-home.

T'Fees spoke again, at length, and Chiddy turned pale. Pallor among the Pistach was a very light and sickish sort of green and was quite unmistakable. Chiddy was shaken.

"What?" Benita demanded of Vess.

"He says it is a good time for you to see the Fresco, for he and his people have come to clean it!"

Benita looked helplessly at Chad and he at her. At first it meant nothing to either of them, but then the words fresco and cleaning clicked in Benita's mind, reminding her of how Chiddy had reacted when she had spoken of cleaning the Sistine Chapel, removing, in the process, interpolations that Michelangelo had never put there.

She whispered to Chad, telling him about it. "Chiddy turned quite pale at the time. Could this threatened cleaning bode something similar? Some unexpected change?"

"How long," Chad murmured to Vess, "since the Fresco has been cleaned?"

"It has never been cleaned," he gargled, looking down toward his lower appendages. "It is too holy to clean."

"And do the people light candles before it?" Benita asked, still with the Sistine Chapel in mind.

"Oh," he moaned. "Yes. Yes. Quiria of candles, veritable jecaloms of candles, over ocalecs and ocalecs of years."

Chad didn't get it. He bent toward her, and she whispered again. He straightened up, looking stern.

"If it cleans up saying something different than they've always thought . . . ?"

"Chiddy and Vess evidently think something like that could happen," Benita muttered. "Remember the fuss over the Dead Sea Scrolls? There was all that secrecy and tabooing, remember? Because the orthodox religions were scared to death the scrolls might say something contrary to accepted theology!"

"I remember," he muttered out of the side of his mouth. "It might be taken as a desecration.

Remember what happened to Indira Gandhi after the attack on the Sikh Temple. And all the recent Moslem-Hindu riots . . ."

"I know," she murmured.

T'Fees spoke again. Chiddy approached him, and the two of them moved away, talking together.

Vess told the humans to stay where they were, beside the ship, as details of the visit were being worked out, then he went to join the discussion. Carlos had been standing mulishly between Chad and Benita, thus far silent but glowering with evident distaste at everyone and everything.

"I'm not going to waste my time standing around here," he muttered at his mother. "All these bugs can just stuff it."

Chad turned toward him, saying almost in a whisper, "The big one is a rebel, Carlos. The other big ones are soldiers. I'm sure they have weapons. If you do something out of hand, they will probably kill you."

Carlos tried to sneer, swiveling his eyes between Benita and Chad. Though Benita saw no reason for T'Fees to kill him, she knew the temptation. "He's right, Carlos. If we play it cool, nobody gets hurt and we'll be going home in a few days." She swallowed, hoping she was right.

"All this is your fault," he snarled angrily. "If you hadn't gotten me mixed up in this, I wouldn't even be here."

Benita moved to put herself between Carlos and the multitude, keeping her voice low. "Carlos, listen.

We're not in control here. The people in control are the people you're getting ready to insult. You can be charming when you choose to be. It would be a good idea to be charming now."

"Or what?" he growled.

Chad said quietly, over her shoulder, "When we return, those of us on this trip will be very important people. The TV shows will be bidding for us. The publishers will want to ghostwrite books for us. If you're smart, if you play it right and get in good with these people, you'll end up making a lot of money."

Carlos's face slowly changed, and Benita kept her face perfectly empty. Why hadn't she thought of that? Being a VIP would suit Carlos to a tee. Couple that with money, and it would be his idea of paradise! Being important, being first in line, had been on Carlo's agenda since he learned to walk and talk.

Benita turned her face away to hide her expression. Chad reached out and squeezed her hand.

Chiddy and Vess returned. The welcoming party gathered around the tall figure of T'Fees and then they strolled off, in no particular order.

"We have gained some time," said Chiddy, drawing Benita away from Carlos and Chad. "One has told them of the predators, of your son's capture, of your fear for his life. One has begged tolerance for his lack of manners, saying that time is needed for balance, for regaining equanimity. Please, Benita, may one speak to you sincerely?"

She nodded. He took her a step or two farther from the others and said, "T'Fees notwithstanding, Benita, one can help you with your boy, if you like."

"What do you mean?"

"One's hearing is keen. One heard his comments and saw his comportment. Such a demeanor is injudicious at this juncture."

"That's true," she admitted. "But he's still frightened. We gave him no time to get his balance after you saved him from the Fluiquosm."

"One knows. So one offers a way of re-balancing. It's a kind of therapy. A way of changing behaviors. It does work. Would you like one to try?"

She wanted to say yes. She wanted to say, he's broken, fix him. She couldn't. Suppose it made him happier? Suppose it made him a nicer person? Perhaps he enjoyed being unhappy, some people did.

Perhaps he chose to be miserable! She shook her head, whispering, "Not just yet, Chiddy. Give him a chance on his own . . ."

"One understands, dear Benita. Individuality is very important to your people. Vess and I have seen that some humans think of their pain as their own, whereas they think of happiness as something they should have been given and did not receive. They do not know that happiness comes from within. They rant at the world for not providing it while they keep it from ever emerging. Your son would rather play tragedy than comedy. It is an individual choice."

She wiped her eyes surreptitiously. "I do feel guilty. I should have controlled it, Chiddy. If I had married someone else, if I had not been impetuous, if I had waited until my judgment was better, maybe he wouldn't be like this. It makes me sorrowful."

"Ha. And would some other choice have produced some other result? Perhaps not. Your son would not have been like this, true. Also, he would not have been this son. Another son could have been happier only if this one had not existed. This argument is futile and silly. We will not discuss it further."

She flushed and nodded.

Chiddy said, "This idea of cleaning of the Fresco is more dangerous than I can say. If we had known T'Fees was here, we would not have brought your son with us. Now, Carlos is, as you say, a loose cannon, and we cannot risk his crashing about. Will you allow me to give him a slight euphoric? One that will keep him happy and quiet?"

"Of course, Chiddy. I don't want him to upset things. He just seemed to be so ... useless, and it hurts!"

Chiddy patted her arm. "Don't be so sure he is useless. The Pistach have a little saying: 'Goff requos bemin pequos.' From this shit may verdure come. All kinds of people turn out to have a use." He patted her again. "Enough of sadness. Welcome awaits at the guest house of the Cavita family."

The house was small and elegant. It reminded Benita of pictures she had seen of Japanese houses: sliding screens instead of walls, simple surfaces, beautifully finished, only necessary furniture, a few storage chests, a few mats. Obviously the Pistach did not use chairs, but they did have slanting boards they could lean their ventral sides on, leaving their arms free on each side. There were three sleeping areas, separable each from the others, with soft mats on the floors, and each human adopted one, putting their belongings on the simple chests.

The sanitary arrangements were out back, so to speak, except for the bath, an anteroom leading to a tiled booth with nozzles in every direction. A carved chest in the anteroom attracted Benita's attention, and without thinking she opened the lid. Something flew out of the chest and covered her, crawling under her clothing, into every seam and crease of her body. She screamed, and things crawled into her mouth.

She gurgled, hearing the rattle of Chiddy's feet on the floor.

Chiddy whistled, and the stuff came off her, rushing back into the box. It was . . . insects. Beetles or something. She leaned against the wall, shuddering. "What . . . what . . ."

"So very sorry," said Chiddy, his mouth parts shivering. "Oh, so very sorry. The iglak was supposed to be removed. I told them twice. Remove the iglak."

"What in hell is it?" asked Chad, standing wide-eyed behind him.

"They," said Chiddy. "A small life form that lives on the shed skin of other life forms. You have dust mites, too small to see. We have iglak, necessary to get under the carapace and around all the joints where water may not take away the soil. We open the box, they come out and go all over us, eating every dead flake of integument, then we whistle and they go back to the box, then we shower in water. Oh, I am so sorry you were frightened, dear Benita."

He left her there, and she took the opportunity to undress and shake her clothing. The iglak had all gone, but she still felt itchy. She put her clothes in a cabinet, stepped into the booth and turned on the water, if it was water. When she turned it off, it dried, almost at once, no towels needed. She realized for the first time that the Pistach were far lighter than water. They would float in a tub.

That evening, several members of the family came to the house to wish the visitors well. They stayed only briefly except for Chiddy's nootch, Varsi, who lingered to talk with Benita through her own translation device. She was very proud of Chiddy, Benita heard it in every word she said. "Ai has gone far," ke said. "Ai is the best one I have nootched, ever. Needed so little, ke did! Only a word, now and then. No sleep teaching. No removals of bad traits."

"You can remove bad traits?"

"Some. If they have not gone too deep. Nootchi in your race cannot do this?"

"Regrettably, no. I wish we could."

Benita was so touched by Varsi that she gave her the scarf from her own outfit, a red one, knowing this color could be worn by a second-level Pistach.

Each Pistach who came brought something pleasant to eat or drink. As the evening wore on, Benita guessed that Chiddy had spiked Carlos's tea with the proposed euphoric, for he became mild and mannerly, even seeming to be interested in what was going on.

"Are those iglak things trained?" he asked Chiddy. "I mean, do you train them to answer the whistle that way?"

Chiddy made his negative gesture, his half headshake, half lowered shoulder. "It is the sound their nootchi make, from the nest, recalling the workers. The box is their nest. Inside it is very complicated, with many chambers. Are you interested in such things?"

Carlos nodded. "I was just thinking, that'd go over great on Earth. At a spa, like. You'd have to have a cabinet that left people's heads out, though."

Chiddy said thoughtfully, "You may be right. They are very easy to breed and control. Perhaps we will attempt to export them."

Vess announced that they were invited to the House of the Fresco on the following morning, to see the cleaning, which was likely to take all day.

"You're terribly worried about it," Benita said to Chiddy. "Aren't you?"

"I have reason to believe," he murmured, "that the actual paintings may differ in details from what we have learned of the content."

"Would this be a tragedy? Which takes precedence, your teachings, or the content of the Fresco?"

"Ah, Benita. I have asked myself that question, over and over. The Fresco has given us legitimacy, the way your holy scriptures give you legitimacy. How often have I heard your legislators quoting Scripture to prove almost anything. I have heard your people speak of 'two millennia of tradition' or even, 'four millennia of culture.' Unlike your Scripture, the Fresco does not govern our belief about the universe, for Aiton is Aiton, no matter what being paints what or what writer writes what or what philosopher says what. In the nebulae, in the clusters, in the spaces between the galaxies, no matter what persons think, Aiton is still Aiton.

"But, the Fresco does define our belief about ourselves and our worlds. Your Scripture defines men and women as unique children of God and it defines the world as the center of God's attention. Because of your Scripture, you behave as though that is true, unfortunately from our point of view, for it leads you to destructive, hurtful excesses. Our Fresco defines us as a people who amend other worlds and bring them to peace, but I confess, we are that people only because the Fresco says so."

Chad said, "I'm a student of languages, and in our world, seminal works of ethics are almost always written. In fact, I know of no culture in which moralities are conveyed by picture, though certainly many histories are memorialized in that way. What is it that makes you so concerned?"

Chiddy came close and confided in them, telling them all about the dropped cleaning rag and the flap that followed. He told them about Glumshalak and the Compendium. He told them how the Chapter had refused to look any deeper at the Fresco itself.

"How far back does the cleaning taboo go?" Chad asked.

"To the time of Glumshalak," Chiddy said. "It was that athyco who forbade us to fiddle with the Fresco evermore. We have always believed that Glumshalak considered the possibility the Fresco might be changed by some political or tribal faction to gain power for themselves, and so ai forbade it."

Chad nodded, asked a few more questions, and looked exceeding thoughtful.

"Do you understand what's going on?" Benita asked him when they were alone.

"You reminded me about the Dead Sea Scrolls. The reason there was such a tizzy was that many religious groups really don't worship God, they worship the Scriptures. Christians, Jews, they both do it.

So do the Moslems. Even though the commandment says 'You shall have no other God before me,' the Scripture worshippers put the writings ahead of God. Instead of interpreting God's actions in nature, for example, they interpret nature in the light of the Scripture. Nature says the rock is billions of years old, but the book says different, so even though men wrote the book, and God make the rock and God gave us minds that have found ways to tell how old it is, we still choose to believe the Scripture.

"The Pistach could be like that. Totally governed by what's on that wall."

"That's a happy thought," said Benita, finding it anything but. If anything, the discussion amplified the atmosphere of pending danger, one sufficiently disturbing that none of them, except for Carlos, slept really well that night.

In the morning they were given a meal of tea and a fruit that looked like a spherical, faceted eggplant and tasted like nothing they had ever tasted before. Rhubarb, maybe, Benita suggested. Chad thought sweetened asparagus. Carlos merely smiled and ate it without complaint. Even as they climbed the stairs to the House of the Fresco, Carlos had a smile on his face and was humming under his breath. The stairway was wide and gracefully curved, with flowers growing along the edges of the terraces and flat areas where Pistach gathered and sang. Their singing, Benita thought, was like an evening chorus of crickets and night birds and frogs, repetitive and soothing and, after a time, so subliminal as to be totally disregarded. The House at the top of the stairs rose in a lovely domed line, like the breast of a young girl.

They went through the center one of three bronze doors.

She had expected dirtiness, dark colors, ominous shadings something akin to the look of the Sistine Chapel murals before they were cleaned, but it was far worse than she had imagined. The room was lofty, well proportioned and clean, but the painted panels were only dark smears, shapes barely discernable through a varnish of soot. Above the Fresco was a narrow circular gallery on which a number of Pistach were gathered. Though she wasn't sure what old age looked like among the Pistach, she got the immediate impression that these were very old ones. Perhaps it was the way Chiddy and Vess bowed to them and walked with their eyes down beneath the gaze of those above.

The humans were led to the center of the room, to the "Ground of Canthorel," a plot of fragrant leafed plants where a bench had been provided for them.

"The plants are actually grown in a greenhouse," whispered Vess. "They bring in fresh ones each morning, take the bottoms off the pots so the roots can actually touch the Ground of Canthorel, which is where his ashes were spread, thus sanctifying the plants. Visitors nip off a leaf as a remembrance. There'd be nothing left unless they put new ones in each day."

Several Pistach carrying buckets and mops were gathered between the center door and the one to the right, and a tall Pistach in blue apron and hood (a curator, they were told) stood behind a lectern. Benita thought he looked nervous, though she couldn't tell why she thought so until she noticed the tiny fringy bits around his mouth trembling, as though he had Parkinson's disease. T'Fees emerged from the group with the mops and signaled the curator, who began to read. Chiddy, beside her, translated.

"Panel number one," he said. "The Meeting. This panel portrays the welcoming of Mengantowhai by the Jaupati. We see the ship in the background, and in the foreground several of the Jaupati, gazing with wonder at the great vessel. In the middle distance, we see Mengantowhai approaching, carrying his staff.

Stepping forward from among the Jaupati is the person of Bendangiwees, leader of the Jaupati and first friend of the Pistach. To the rear, right, we see three amorphous figures assaulting wine jars. This is a teaching against drunkenness."

At this point in the reading, T'Fees shouted a command, and his minions began sloshing liquid over the amber/ocher haze that hid the subject matter. As the curator went on with the details of commentary, the liquid ran down the wall, carrying the soot away, disclosing the bright colors of the wall. Runnels of dark cleanser gathered on the floor to be sponged up by the cleaners and squeezed into empty buckets.

Again and again the mops stroked fresh cleanser across the panel between the doors, and the cleaning Pistach moved back and forth, taking buckets away and bringing new ones.

On the gallery, the old Pistach murmured among themselves, sometimes crying out in feeble voices.

Benita saw them point and shiver and point again, as though they saw some great disaster they were impotent to avert.

Since the cleaners worked from the top down, the first part of the picture to emerge was an expanse of bluish violet sky. The ship emerged next, coming out of the sooty haze as a great lumpy thing with what looked like gun turrets all over it. Next was Mengantowhai, a strong, stern-looking Pistach carrying . . . well, the curator had called it a staff, but it was obviously a weapon. The huddled things in the middle right background were not wine jars or any kind of vessels, but people, presumably Jaupati, who were being beaten by uniformed Pistach.