but their faces look a little like sheep.»
«Perfectly suited for open-mouthed goggling,» Carialle said promptly. «I wonder what causes such diversity amidst the groups. Radiation? Evolution based on function and lifestyle?»
«Why would they need to look like sheep?» Keff said, shrugging out of the crash straps.
«Maybe they were behind the door when ape faces like yours were handed out,» Carialle said teasingly, then turned to business. «I'm reading signs of more underground heat sources. One habitation, three entrances. Ambient air temperature, fourteen degrees. This place is cold.»
«I'll wear a sweater, Mom. Here goes!»
As Keff waited impatiently in the airlock, checking his equipment carriers and biting on the implanted mouth contact to make sure it was functioning properly, Carialle lowered the ramp. Slowly, she opened the airlock. A hundred yards beyond it, Keff saw a crowd of the sheep-faced Noble Primitives gathered at the edge of the crop field, still gaping at the tall silver cylinder.
Taking a deep breath, Keff stepped out onto the ramp, hand raised, palm outward, weaponless. The IT was slung on a strap around his neck so he let his other hand hang loosely at his side.
«Hail, friends!» he called to the aliens huddled on the edge of the dusty field. «I come in peace.»
He walked toward the crowd. The Primitives stared at him, the adults' faces expressionless underneath the fur masks, the children openly awestruck. Cautiously, Keff raised his other hand away from his body so they could see it, and smiled.
«They're not afraid of you, Keff,» Carialle said, monitoring the Noble Primitives' vital signs. «In fact, they're not even surprised. Now that's odd!»
«Why does one of the mages come to us?» Alteis said, worriedly, as the stranger approached them, showing his teeth. «What have we done wrong? We have kept up with the harvest. All proceeds on schedule. The roots are nearly all harvested. They are of good quality.»
Brannel snorted, a sharp breath ruffling the fur on his upper lip, and turned an uncaring shoulder toward the oldster. Old Alteis was so afraid of the mages that he would do himself an injury one day if the overlords were really displeased. He stared at the approaching mage. The male was shorter man he, but possessed of a mighty build and an assured, cocky walk. Unusual for a mage, his hands showed that they were not unacquainted with hard work. The out-thrust of the cleft chin showed that he knew his high place, and yet his dark, peaty blue eyes were full of good humor. Brannel searched his memory, but was certain he had never encountered this overlord before.
«He is one we do not know,» Brannel said quickly in an undertone out of the side of his mouth. «Perhaps he is here to tell us he is our new master.»
«Klemay is our master,» Alteis said, his ruff and mustache indignantly erect on his leathery face.
«But Klemay has not been seen for a month,» Brannel said. «I saw the fire in the mountains, I told you. Since then, no power has erupted from Klemay's peak.»
«Perhaps this one serves Klemay,» Mrana, mate of Alteis, suggested placatingly. Surreptitiously, she brushed the worst of the dust off the face of one of her children. None of them looked their best at harvest time when little effort could be wasted on mere appearance. The overlord must understand that.
«Servers serve,» Brannel snorted. «No overlord serves another but those of the Five Points. Klemay was not a high mage.»
«Do not speak of things you do not understand,» Alteis said, as alarmed as that foolish male ever became. «The mages will hear you.»
«The mages are not listening,» Brannel said.
Alteis was about to discipline him further, but the overlord was within hearing range now. The stranger came closer and stopped a couple of paces away. All the workers bowed their heads, shooting occasional brief glances at the visitor. Alteis stepped forward to meet him and bowed low.
«What is your will, lord?» he asked.
Instead of answering him directly, the mage picked up the box that hung around his neck and pushed it nearly underneath Alteis's chin. He spoke to the leader at some length. Though Brannel listened carefully, the words meant nothing. Alteis waited, then repeated his words clearly in case the overlord had not understood him. The mage smiled, head tilted to one side, uncomprehending.
«What may I and my fellow workers do to serve you, exalted one?» Brannel asked, coming forward to stand beside Alteis. He, too, bowed low to show respect, although the germ of an idea was beginning to take shape in his mind. He tilted his chin down only the barest respectable fraction so he could study the visitor.
The male fiddled with the small box on his breast, which emitted sounds. He spoke over it, possibly reciting an incantation. That was not unusual; all the overlords Brannel had ever seen talked to themselves sometimes. Many objects of power were ranged about this ones strongly built form. Yet he did not appear to understand the language of the people, nor did he speak it. He hadn't even acknowledged Brannel's use of mage-talk, which had been cleverly inserted into his query.
Puzzled, Brannel wrinkled his forehead. His fellow servers stayed at a respectful distance, showing proper fear and respect to one of the great overlords. They were not puzzled: they had no thoughts of their own to puzzle them or so Brannel opined. So he took as close a look at this puzzling overlord as possible.
The male appeared to be of the pure blood of the Magi, showing all three signs: clear skin, whole hand, and bright eyes. His clothing did not resemble that which overlords wore. Then Brannel arrived at a strange conclusion: this male was not an overlord. He could not speak either language, he did not wear garments like an overlord, he did not act like an overlord, and he had clearly not come from the high places of the East. The worker male's curiosity welled up until he could no longer contain the question.
«Who are you?» he asked.
Alteis grabbed him by the ruff and yanked him back into the midst of the crowd of shocked workers.
«How dare you speak to an overlord like that, you young puppy?» he said, almost growling. «Keep your eyes down and your mouth shut!»
«He is not an overlord, Alteis,» Brannel said, growing more certain of this every passing moment.
«Nonsense,» Fralim said, closing his hand painfully on Brannel's upper arm. Alteis's son was bigger and stronger than he was, but Fralim couldn't see the fur on his own skin. He loomed over Brannel, showing his teeth, but Brannel knew half the ferocity was from fear. «He's got all his fingers, hasn't he? The finger of authority has not been amputated. He can use the objects of power. I ask forgiveness, honored lord,» Fralim said, speaking in an abject tone to the stranger.
«He does not speak our language, Fralim,» Brannel said clearly. «Nor does he understand the speech of the Magi. All the Magi speak the linga esoterka, which I understand. I will prove it. Master,» he said, addressing Keff in mage-talk, «what is thy will?»
The stranger smiled in a friendly fashion and spoke again, holding the box out to him.
The experiment didn't impress Brannel's fellow workers. They continued to glance up at the newcomer with awe and mindless adoration in their eyes, like the herd beasts they so resembled.
«Keff,» the stranger said, nodding several times and pointing to himself. He shifted his hand toward Brannel. «An dew?»
The others ducked. When the finger of authority was pointed at one of them, it sometimes meant that divine discipline was forthcoming. Brannel tried to hide that he, too, had flinched, but the gesture seemed merely a request for information.
«Brannel,» he said, hand over pounding heart. The reply delighted the stranger, who picked up a rock.
«An dwattis zis?» he asked.
«Rock,» Brannel said. He approached until he was merely a pace from the overlord. «What is this?» he asked, very daringly, reaching out to touch the mages tunic sleeve.
«Brannel, no!» Alteis wailed. «You'll die for laying hands on one of them!»
Anything was better than living out his life among morons, Brannel thought in disgust. No bolt of punishment came. Instead, Keff said, «Sliv.»
«Sliv,» Brannel repeated, considering. It sounded almost like the real word. Ozran was great! he thought in
