Brother To Shadows

WAYRIGHT WAS A CROSSROADS FOR THE STAR LANES. The many differences between races, species, sentient beings, which Jofre had been introduced to at the spaceport hotel on Asborgan, were here set forth even more plainly. He had to keep tight rein on himself not to turn and gape after the passing of what might be a vast lump of dough riding on a small antigravity plate and putting forth now and then eyestalks to survey something which caught the fancy of that particular traveler. Even an imagination honed and trained by issha teaching could not supply an idea of the world from whichTHAT had come.

Though the humanoid form was the more prevalent, there were also insectoids, some scuttling along on six legs, others, taller even than the Zacathan, progressing on powerful hind legs alone, using their upper and middle limbs in quick gestures to augment their click-clack talk. He caught a glimpse of one of the crested males of the bird people and, next to him, a warty-skinned, broad-bellied creature which resembled one of the pond dwelling amphibians of Asborgan. What passed here began to be like a nightmare in which eye refused to accept what was to be seen. Jofre fell back on an issha's refusal to be tricked even by his own senses.

The street was divided down the middle by a board rail of what gleamed like metal. Down that glided seated platforms which picked up or dropped passengers along the way. But Zurzal had chosen to walk. The Zacathan was apparently absorbed in his own thoughts. He had not spoken since they left their quarters.

This thoroughfare was lined on either side by many-storied buildings of an architecture new to Jofre. The first floors were square, as were those above; however, each was smaller as the structure rose floor by floor. And that larger section so left as a balcony surrounding each floor was occupied by potted and tubbed vegetation interspersed by seats and tables of different sizes and shapes to accommodate very dissimilar bodies.

This was a way planet, a meeting place for several of the major star lanes. Its principal industry and the livelihood of its natives was based almost entirely on serving the needs and desires of travelers en route to hundreds of different worlds. Beyond the inner city there were parks, carefully landscaped to catch the eye and tastes of a very mixed lot of visitors and there were amusements in plenty to fill any idle waiting hours.

The building towards which Zurzal headed was one of the more imposing ones. There was a deeply set insignia over the wide door and the automan that stepped aside when the Zacathan showed his identity disc was, Jofre was certain, armed.

The door opened automatically and they were in a wide hallway with many doors along each side. Zurzal did not halt his confident advance until he had reached the third of those on the left side. Again a door slid at their approach to admit them into a room thickly carpeted, containing several easirests and a wide table behind which, half-crouched, half-resting its thorax on a high cushion, was one of the insectoids.

As Zurzal approached, the alien, with one of its middle limbs, pushed into place between them a square box crowned by an upstanding, fan shaped attachment. The insectoid's claw tip touched a button at the same time it chittered its unintelligible speech.

'Welcome, Histechneer Zurzal. Our resources are at your command.' The words clicked mechanically from the direction of that fan, and Jofre realized it was a translator.

'Rest and refresh yourselves, far travelers,' the insectoid continued.

Jofre, however, did not follow Zurzal's example as the Zacathan seated himself in one of the eastrests, rather he stationed himself in a proper guard position by the door, a point from which he could keep the whole room and its occupants in constant sight.

'Greetings to you, Fifthborn,' Zurzal spoke directly to the fan and was echoed by a series of sharp clicks. 'It is well with hive and hatchlings?'

'Well. And with you, Learned One?'

'Well.' Zurzal's return was as terse as the other's. 'I would take now that which is mine.'

The insectoid's middle limb clawed at another of a range of buttons running down one side of the desk. 'There has been an asking—' The fan squawked.

Zurzal shifted in the seat which instantly accommodated itself to his body. 'Sssssssooooo?' The hissing which underlay all his speech suddenly was more apparent. 'What kind of an asking, Fifthborn?'

'From one of power, Learned One. This one also has dealings with the Hivehold and to no small profit. He is one to be listened to.'

'Sssss—' again that hiss. 'And the name of this powerful one, Fifthborn?'

'He is—' the insectoid appeared to hesitate, 'well-known enough—the Holder of Tssek.'

The metallically sharp words brought silence. Jofre moved a half step forward. His issha sense caught that silent tensity in Zurzal's body, a sudden rigidity of spine. The Zacathan was not pleased by that answer, rather he found it disturbing.

'The Holder of Tssek,' he answered now, slowly, spacing his words as if he would keep all emotion which might underlie them carefully hidden, 'is known. I am not. What does he want with one who has been discredited even by his off-world peers? There is no reason to be interested in me.'

'The hive repeats only messages given for the relay, Learned One. There is one named Sopt s'Qu, who is a highly placed follower of the Holder. This one is now at the Inn of the Three Fountains and wishes speech with you. He left the message some five daybreaks ago. There was no other message save that that one would see you as soon as possible.'

'Well enough.' Zurzal had relaxed a fraction but still it was apparent to Jofre that he was disturbed. 'My thanks to the hive for the courtesy of message passing.'

The insectoid made a gesture of assent and then pushed another button. 'That which you left to hive care we return to you, Histechneer Zurzal.' The words bore some of the formality of a ritual.

'I have been out of touch with many things for a space,' Zurzal remarked. 'There have been changes which a prudent being should know?'

The insectoid placed the sharp elbows of its higher pair of arms on the desk and latched that set of claws together. The feathery antennae on its head inclined towards the Zacathan.

'Changes? Not many and minor ones only, such as occur with the passing of time and can never be countered against nor truly foreseen. There are rumors of Jacks operating in the Alaban system, and there is the usual unrest on Vors— but there they are never happy unless they are unhappy—a most strange people. Of course Tssek is about to celebrate its Holder's Fiftieth.'