"So," said Cleve, leaning back and in his chair, "consider this. Telecasting or otherwise recording or broadcasting such a meeting could violate any number of formal taboos, rules of protocol, amba.s.sadorial dignity. Need I go on? It's happened on Earth, before. Why couldn't it happen here, worse?"

"You mean," said Hinkel, "our broadcasting the meeting might insult them somehow?"

"I don't know, Hinkel. I don't know. Look, for the last time, please try to understand my position-our position." Vandermeer noticed that long grooves had appeared in the soft wood of the pencil the commander was holding.

"This is the first meeting between mankind and another intelligent race. From what my improvised linguist and philologist and part-time amateur xenologist tell me, that's not the case with the Murrin. Apparently they have encountered at least two other s.p.a.ce-going races prior to finding us. You see? They have an established procedure for this! We don't. We'll be judged not only according to how we act, but how we act in comparison to at least two other intelligent species. We haven't the same basis for establishing common ground that they have. If we only had one thing completely in common, everything else could proceed in logical sequence. But we don't. So we must take care to do the right thing at every second, until that first commonality is established. The most crucial moment in the human race's history, sir!"

"Precisely why it must be simulcast," said Hinkel. "Precisely why I cannot permit the risk of turning this into a circus!"

Hinkel was honestly shocked.

75....

"Circus! Do you have the infernal gall to sit there and call the 25th Hour-the highest-rated newscast for five consecutive years, winner of over a hundred prizes for journalistic excellence-a circus1?"

"G.o.dd.a.m.n it! I just said it, didn't I? Yes, and with a special vote for exceptional cretinism to the lead elephant!"

Hinkel rose with great dignity. "I see." His voice approached a verbal equivalent of zero Kelvin. "Thank you, Commander, for making your feelings in this matter perfectly clear. Good day."

He left.

Cleve snapped the abused pencil in two and threw the halves at the ceiling. "Well, that tears it!" he said.

"I could instruct engineering not to allow his people transfer facilities for Earthside beaming, sir," offered Vandermeer hopefully.

Cleve rubbed both eyes, tiredly. "No, no ... let's not be so overt, Lieutenant. Let him contact his influential friends. If the idiots, dirtside, think he should be allowed to cover this meeting, they deserve whatever results result. I pray the Murrin react favorably. No, better they don't react at all! Now go away. Oh, here . . ." He handed Vandermeer the script Hinkel had given him. "I can do one thing. Find a Disposall, Lieutenant, and file this. Discreetly, of course." "Yes, sir."

The Murrin, as the scrambled videocasts revealed, were a large, ursoid race, clearly mammalian. They resembled the terran brown bear in a fortunate number of respects. Fortunate, because it alleviated Hinkel's first fear. Namely, that the extrasolar visitors would turn out to be ten-foot-wide spiders with slavering fangs and green eyes. Fuzzy aliens inspired little xenophobia.

The Murrin had been on the homeward leg of a normal exploring trip. They'd been examining the 76.s.p.a.ce Opera planets of the sol system one by one. While circ.u.mnavigating Saturn, they'd pa.s.sed close to t.i.tan while the Reykjavik was pa.s.sing information toward Mars station. They had presented nothing but a friendly continence since the initial contact.

Still, Cleve reflected, there was no mistaking the cautious, defensive approach the aliens had used, coming in low over the horizon and with little warning. A carefully developed military tactic, using mountains as cover. While they might be all for exchanging dirty stories over a beer, they weren't quite ready to hail the terrans as long-lost lodge brothers.

Perhaps they were just naturally cautious. On the other hand, it was conceivable that someone had taken a potshot at one of them before. In any case, they'd dropped in on the Rey before anyone could have loaded even a blowgun. Which was just as well.

So the two ships squatted across the narrow valley from each other while the amateur linguists on the ;' Reykjavik and the professional ones on the alien ship tried to talk turkey with the help of several miles of electronic circuitry.

.>Being prepared for the chance of happening onto an-.;.;* other intelligent race, the Murrin acquired basic Eng-

. lish a good deal faster than the terrans could pick up j guttural Myll, The aliens had given every indication of being highly pleased at discovering another intelligent species (if a bit blase about the whole thing). Particularly in such an otherwise unpromising system, thought Cleve as he adjusted his exoskin.

Of course, outward manifestations of friendliness $L were exhibited by numerous terran carnivores-prior to making the kill. The Murrin might play buddy-

- buddy, but they weren't foolhardy, either. Besides their defensive approach, the lethal-looking objects which projected toward the Rey from the alien's midship line were excellent proof of that. The Key's single big industrial laser looked puny by comparison.

77.. ..

The human party was a.s.sembled in the now airless lock, ready for surface EVA. They were composed of a select group of scientists, officers, and engineers. For purposes of negotiation, Cleve had been granted what amounted to emergency amba.s.sadorial status by the Council.

There were three other members in the party. One interpreter, one chaplain (against Cleve's wishes), and one volunteer ensign whose sole a.s.signment was to slam both hands together should the Murrin exhibit obvious signs of irrational bellicosity. Said action would trip several circuits, which would speed both groups rapidly on to the next plane of existence.

As expected, Hinkel's broadcast clearance had come through, along with a gruff statement from Admiralty which stopped just syllables short of being a reprimand.

The lieutenant at Cleve's side-not Vandermeer, who had been left in command of the ship-recited for the last time the short list of names. Subdued replies of "Here!" answered each. When that was completed, everything was completed. Cleve tried to think of something appropriate to say, failed, and led the men down the ramp to the surface.

A few might have wished for trumpets and dancing girls, but the natural setting was quite inspiring enough. Sharp hills rose on either side of the narrow vale. At the far end of the valley, the awesome bulk of Saturn was just rising. The acute angle at which they viewed the rings showed gold, speckled with black gaps. The planet itself was all rose and swirling b.u.t.ter clouds.

In the Saturnlight, the frozen atmosphere of t.i.tan glittered ice-blue. Cleve dimmed his visor a grade. Millions of miles from home was no place to go s...o...b..ind. Here and there, lichens-of as yet uncla.s.sified varieties-and a few incredibly tough low scrubs poked up through the powdered crystals.

Language difficulties and the lack of proper struc- 78.s.p.a.ce Opera tures simplified the meeting arrangements. Whenever they felt ready (letting us work up to it, Cleve thought), the terrans were merely to leave their ship and proceed en ma.s.se to a point halfway between ships. There they would be met by a party from the alien craft.

Sooner than anyone expected, the halfway point was reached. For more than several minutes, nothing happened. For once, no one stared at the shining glory1 of Saturn. All eyes were fixed on the alien craft. Curious, Cleve switched over to the frequency Hinkel was using for his broadcast. He hurriedly switched it off. The man's style was definitely hypnotic. It was hard not to relax and pretend that he was an observer of what was about to happen, and not a prime mover.

The Murrin ship was bright yellow, twice as long as the Reykjavik, and bulked at least five times the ma.s.s. In similar tense situations, Cleve would have been moved to crack a joke, hoping to ease the tension. Now, he just swallowed. He doubted Columbus had joked, nor had Armstrong, nor Mallard.

Fear was not a factor. He was too consumed with curiosity. What would it actually be like to meet something that had matured under another sun? And intelligent, besides. What would be his reaction those first few seconds? Disgust? Terror? Worship? And what would provide that first, all-important commonality?

A port opened in the side of the alien ship. A single figure detached itself from the dark opening and moved rapidly toward them at a waddling gait.

Cleve a.n.a.lyzed it and prayed that no one would be insane enough to laugh at the comical method of locomotion. Those same waddling feet might contain long, needle-sharp claws especially designed for chastising disrespectful inferiors. He had a sudden, horrible thought that the Murrin might be telepathic, but dismissed it almost as quickly. They'd given no indication 79.. ..

of it, and, if they were, there was absolutely nothing that could be done about it.

Soon the alien was standing in front of him. He could have reached out and touched the maroon metal suit. Surprisingly, the creature was nearly a foot shorter than Cleve's six-two, but it was built far stockier. From inside a transparent plastic or gla.s.s helmet, two jet-black eyes stared up at him.

No time like the present, he thought, and held out both hands palm up. The psychologists had told him this ought to express trust, friendship, and a hearty welcome. Cleve hoped so.

The alien reacted by removing a roll of paper-thin metal from a jacket pouch and slapping it in Cleve's outstretched right hand. It spoke rapidly over the preset wave-length.

"I am Crift, Apprentice-to-Talker." The commander noticed that Hinkel and one of his camera crews were slowly edging closer from the left. He silently d.a.m.ned Hinkel, the inventor of the camera, the film, the lens, and all channels two through sixty-eight.

The alien continued: "Captain Othine extends his regrets that he cannot join you for as yet," the alien hesitated for a moment, then continued: "for approximate timeparts yours, two, yes two. Crew and captain are absorbed entirely whole in crucial broadcast from home planet now by way of interstellar relay."

The ursoid then indicated the rolled metal, which Cleve had gripped unconsciously.

"The Dryah. Official greeting, us-to-you, it is. Extends friendship, h.e.l.lo, et ceteras. Also explanation in depth for awkward delay. Also apologies, in depth, appended. Okay? Must excuse I now, please, thank you, forgive."

The creature turned abruptly and headed at high speed back toward his ship.

They stared dumbly after the departed alien until the vast craft swallowed the single dark opening in its 80.s.p.a.ce Opera side. One of the engineers, who had completely forgotten his a.s.signment (which was to observe the details of the alien's suit), said, "Well!" He repeated it several times.

That was the signal for a mild explosion of intersuit communication, mostly inane. Cleve examined the roU of metal, found its function anything but esoteric. It was a simple scroll, in clean English block lettering. He read.

"Excuse me ... make way, please . . . pardon us, there..."

Leading two sound men, a gaffer, and the camera, Hinkel was making his way toward Cleve. Now that the actual contact was completed the telecaster apparently felt perfectly at ease cutting in on the heretofore forbidden frequency.

He panted breathlessly, and needlessly, since his suit's self-regulating respiratory apparatus would not permit him to get out of breath. It sounded quite dramatic.

Halting in front of Cleve, he made an indecipherable gesture, in place of having a microphone to wave under the commander's helmet.

"Commander Zachary S. Cleve, we are now both on intersystem hookup. Three billion humans are awaiting your first words at this historic moment. The presidents of all nations as well as the entire membership of the Council are awaiting the first results of mankind's initial face-to-face meeting with another intelligent race!"

Cleve finished the scroll and rolled it up. He looked absently at Hinkel. Then, very much to the surprise of the ship's officers in the party, he grinned a dis-armingly boyish grin.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began. "As far as it has gone, the first contact with the race that call themselves the Murrin has been successful. They express then- hopes for long-term friendly a.s.sociation between species to our mutual benefit. Details will be ex- 81.WITH FRIENDS LIKE TH^SE . ,.

plained in a second meeting which will take place in about two hours. In addition, a common basis for understanding has been transmitted." He started to turn toward the Rey.

"Commander," said Hinkel. "We all saw that the Murrin sent only a single representative to meet your party. Is this their accepted procedure?"

"Why no, it is not," replied Cleve, his grin widen-big. "There appear to have been extenuating circ.u.mstances."

"Is that what the ship's commander said?" pressed Hinkel.

"Sort of, and it wasn't the ship's commander. It was an interpreter. An apprentice interpreter." The grin was charming.

Hinkel feigned surprise, then concern.

"That seems rather odd, Commander Cleve. Did they-it-give a reason for proceeding in such a manner?"

"Matter of fact, they did. One which you in particular, Mr. Hinkel, ought to understand and sympathize with. It seems they could not spare the time to meet with us just now because the entire crew is absorbed in taking in a broadcast from their home planet."

"Incredible! Think of it, ladies and gentlemen! A beamcast across light-years! Something important enough to draw them into postponing this delicate moment between species; important enough to be boosted at heaven knows what cost across trillions of miles of naked vacuum! Commander, did'the alien reveal the nature of this broadcast to you? And if so, are you at libery to repeat it?"

"I don't see why they'd mind," said Cleve. He was watching Hinkel, not the three bilhon pairs of eyes the camera represented.

"As near as I can make out, the commander of the alien vessel, his entire complement, the contact team, everyone, are deeply immersed in the two thousand four hundred and twenty-sixth episode, segment, or 82.s.p.a.ce Opera quadrant of something ent.i.tled 'At Nest With the Vorxes.'

"It would appear, ladies and gentlemen, that the human race has been temporarily pre-empted." And he turned and walked back to the ship.

83.The Empire of Pang Lang When I heard Steve Coldin was putting together an anthology of stories which would deal with only the alien's point of view, I tried to think of the most alien being imaginable. I was sidetracked immediately by the alien universe thriving in my backyard.

In your backyard, too, if you ever bother to look.

For my central character, I chose the most obviously self-confident, independent, handsome, intelligent-looking inhabitant of that pocket universe. If you've ever met Tang Lang, or any of his cousins, you'll know immediately who I mean.

If not, you're not looking over your shoulder hard enough.

It was not the sun that woke Tang Lang. Concealed as he had been for the night, the sun would be well intA fhe heavens before he rose. It was the growing warmth of the air, pa.s.sing maternally across his body, 84.The Empire of fang Lang the heat in the soil, the pitch-change in the world. In a hundred ways, he smelled Day.

Which was as well. Sunrise was not the best time to move a-hunting. The night-men were long asleep, the day-folk not yet stirring.

In truth the sun had been skyward for some time. Nearby, two of the city-builders were inspecting the sh.e.l.l of a small armored Crawler. The Crawler had given out recently. Probably it had failed to return to its resting place in time and was caught by the night. Not fragile, it still had not coped with the extreme change in temperature by daybreak, young as it appeared to be.

It would have been a pretty prize for the city-dwellers. But they saw Tang Lang awake. They were not cowards, no: not the city-builders. But they were wise. They turned and rail, leaving the ruined Crawler for whoever might chance on it. Wise ones took no chances with T'ang Lang. He was not famed for Ms pleasant humor.

He, of course, had no interest in the dead thing. A being of his temperament disdained such carrion. He would kill for himself.

It was true that the city-dwellers thrived-in their own fashion. Their superefficient towns and cities exploited the possibilities of the environment better than anyone. But it seemed a pitiable way to live. All city-builders were enslaved by their own system, their precious regimen. T'ang Lang had never tried one of their well-fortified centers. He could do so if he wished, of course. But such was not the way of his folk, as it was not their way to build cities.

He yawned, if such it could be described. Jerkily, he climbed to his feet. It had been rather a wet night. He could erma the dampness in his joints. Carefully he washed his face, cleaned his eyes, then preened himself, making sure his sensors were clear of grime and dirt. As befitted his talents, T'ang Lang was a fastidious killer.

He did this without bothering to glance behind, un- 85.. ..

concerned. Tang Lang did not feel much need to guard his rear. There were none in his realm who would try him unless terribly, terribly desperate. Only the Great Sky People troubled him. They could drop down almost silently, without warning. An unsporting way to fight. But most of the sky-folk he feared not at all.

The Rite of Clean Knives followed. Each stiletto .had to be kept honed and spotless. It was important to make a clean penetration the first time. T'ang Lang took great pride in his skill. True, even he missed BOW and then. But not often. And when he struck home, his victim always died. He rinsed his mouth and cleared some mud from his feet. It had been a damp night. *

He stretched, and looked around. His magnificent senses could erma movement and life all about. It was a fertile, green world. The vibrations hi the earth beneath his feet, the odors trundling past on the humid breeze-he could read them all. The sun was getting higher, the air hotter, he hungrier. There was little wind. A good day for hunting.

Should he stay and wait for clumsy ground-dwellers? It was not a particularly good place. And the city-folk would rarely approach him. What to do?

Well, it was a lovely day to bask in the sun. Why not combine both? And there was always more challenge to hunting the sky-folk.

There were several great light-eaters about, in addition to the one whose body he'd borrowed for shelter. On a whim, he sauntered casually over to the next one, testing the footing around its somnolent body. The night's dew had left it chill and moist here. But T'ang Lang, an expert and experienced climber, would have no trouble. He began to wend his way upward.

This particular light-eater rose about a hundred times T'ang Lang's height. But he was not subject to vertigo. Heights held no more fear for him than his neighbors. He had other reasons for not climbing to 86.The Empire of Tang Lang the very top. The platform there was usually unstable. So while it afforded a better view of his lands, the increased wind and smaller blind made prey harder to come by, strikes more difficult.

He rose slowly, patiently, without the hurry that afflicted most climbers. Others who shared the light-eater's body gave him plenty of room.

About twenty body-lengths up, he pa.s.sed a Retia-rius. The gladiator had snuggled himself comfortably across the way. He waved to T'ang Lang as the other pa.s.sed. T'ang favored the creature with a long stare, putting only token power into it. He was clever with his net, was the Retiarius. But it was not intended for the likes of T'ang Lang and the Retiarius knew it. Even despite it, T'ang could still kill the gladiator and shred his precious net.

T'ang moved higher. For a moment, a plump tube-man crossed his path. But the clumsy being was moving rapidly in the opposite direction. He was on a far platform with too much open s.p.a.ce between them. Perhaps it sensed T'ang Lang's presence. Perhaps not. T'ang stared hard at it, opening his mind and focusing the strange power behind his mesmeric eyes. But the tube-man was out of range and knew it.

It turned once, to glance back at where Tang fumed impotently on his temporary platform. The ultimate insult.

For a moment, maybe, Tang Lang was angry. Then he sighed. Let the tube-man have his one moment of triumph. If ever he came within range of the smallest and lightest of Tang's weapons, he would die faster than he would be born.

It was not long thereafter that T'ang located what he wanted. An open -platform, with the sun to one side, well-screened from above but open below and in front. A cl.u.s.ter of foodstuffs rested just ahead, on a slightly lower level. They would serve as excellent bait, attracting fliers and airborne city-folk.

Perhaps a young one would drift by, propulsors 87.. ..

humming, straining with the awkward unit to stay no-' ground. Close by.

Tang Lang settled himself, making an elaborate ritual out of it. Once set, he would not move again until it was time to kill. He tested the footing of the platform, found it pleasantly firm. T'ang was old and knowledgeable. This would be a good place. He carefully spread out and arranged his weapons, ready for instant use. Then he a.s.sumed the Ben-na, the position of contemplation. For T'ang was also something of a philosopher and had no intention of wasting away his waiting time.

It had been claimed by others, probably even the city-folk, that if Tang's people had ever decided to pool the wisdom they'd acc.u.mulated over the millennia, they could form the most destructive society their world had ever known.

But there was a spark in T'ang Lang, an unquenchable streak of individualism that precluded any such cooperation. Fraternizing was discouraged. Besides, were they not rulers individually? How much better than to submit to a central authority, as the city-builders had done! Tang's people knew they were superior. And each considered himself superior to his brother.

A small base on which to try and raise a social order.

T'ang found much of interest and pleasure in the harmony of the world. The sun rained down steadily, wombishly wannthful. An occasional breeze trekked across his platform. Across the great Green Plain that was the most dominant physical feature of his world, other light-eaters were busy at their work.

Placid and content in their stolid existence, they were rulers in their own way. But they could be killed. T'ang had yet to meet anyone who could not. Probably even the sun could be killed, but it was even further away than the end of the Green Plain. The opinion was held by some that the light-eaters were the stupidest of aU living creatures. Another school thought them the most intelligent. a.s.suredly they were 88.The Empire of T'ang Lang dedicated pacifists. The light-eaters themselves did not contest these arguments either way.

Possibly this in itself was a sign of that very disputed intelligence.

T'ang Lang wondered, and stared.

One of the lancers flashed by. The lancer-folk owned the finest propulsive systems on Tang's world. Superbly engineered, they could move at tremendous speed across the sky. Their equally amazing detection systems could spot prey many thousands of body-lengths away. They were capable of twisting, diving attacks few could avoid.