The machine apologetically repeated its question, and Beert finally bestirred himself. “I am Djabeertapritch of the Two Eights,” he said, sounding wretched but determined. “I was a captive of the Others. My ancestors were caught there when the Two Eights planet was invaded, and I am one of their descendants.”
The Christmas tree silently processed that information for a moment, then extended one branch toward Pirraghiz and me. “And what are these organisms?”
“They are my servants. Since I am from a lost colony, we have not had machine servers for many generations. I am used to using living species to work for me. The larger of the two was carrying the Wet One; the other is-a volunteer like the Wet One,” Beert said miserably, not looking at me. “He is to be transmitted to his own planet to resist the Others.”
The machine processed some more, and evidently did some unheard communicating. After a bit it said, “You are welcome here, Djabeertapritch of the Two Eights. The Greatmother of this nest instructs me to provide you with quarters and whatever else you need until she can come to welcome you in person.”
Since Beert hadn’t blown the whistle on me, at least not yet, my chances of making it back to Earth began to look a little better. That was when I remembered that I didn’t want to come back empty-handed. The little copper-mesh bag of goodies I had swiped from Beert’s lab was a good start, but I wanted more.
There wasn’t much more to be seen. The corridors we were scudding through were starkly bare. I remembered being told that this place, like the prison planet, had fairly recently been captured from the Others; no doubt there had been a lot of wreckage, but no doubt, too, that had been some time ago and the resident Horch had had time to clean up. Nestled in one of Pirraghiz’s arms, I had every chance to look around, but there wasn’t much to look at.
We, on the other hand, must have been an interesting spectacle for the locals. The two Christmas trees were making easy work of tugging the Wet One along, though the amphibian himself was emitting snuffling noises of discomfort and complaint. Pirraghiz had no trouble carrying me hand over hand along the cables, even though behind us Beert had glumly wrapped both his rubbery arms around one of her huge feet to be towed as well. The corridors weren’t entirely empty. Along the way we passed half a dozen of the Christmas-tree robots, who simply got out of the way but showed no sign of interest in us, and one or two living Horch, who did. But, although the Horch goggled at us as we passed, they didn’t interfere.
There was a mix-up when we got to our destination. It was in a better neighborhood-some of the rooms were occupied here, and a couple of infant Horch stuck their heads out of the doorways to see the sight-but the room the Christmas tree offered Beert was small. Heaven knows what cattle pen the robot had had in mind for us lesser breeds, but Beert was having none of it. “They must all stay with me,” he declared, in a tone that accepted no arguments. The robot didn’t offer any, actually. It communed with itself for a moment or two-probably really was communicating with higher authority-and then led us to a larger suite.
It wasn’t just large, it was handsomely furnished. It had a central reception area with those Horch bowl-shaped TVs and racks of the Horch glittery-tape books strapped in place so they wouldn’t float away, and webbing to hold an occupant in place while he watched or read, and lighting that could be brightened or dimmed with switches that looked like mushroom caps. A couple of short passages led to other rooms, also nicely arranged. Evidently nothing was too good for a Horch who had suffered captivity under the Others.
Our robot guide indicated that the largest of the sleeping rooms was to be Beert’s, so we underlings checked out the others. Each had sets of sleep-webbings attached to the walls, a good size for me but nowhere near adequate for Pirraghiz or the Wet One. Pirraghiz didn’t complain. The amphibian did. “It is very dry here,” it roared. “Is there no water anywhere? And why am I not already on my way to my home?”
I left Pirraghiz to try to placate him. I could hear Beert in his own room, talking to the robot, but I didn’t want to see Beert just then, so I explored. What I was really looking for was some small additional bits of Horch technology to add to the store in my bag, but there wasn’t much of that. I did find a nifty zero-G toilet-luckily, because the need was getting acute. Whether the technology was Horch or Beloved Leader, I couldn’t tell, but it was kilometers better than anything on Starlab. I would have been glad to take that along if I could. Since I couldn’t, I made do with another couple of the glitter-tape books.
When I got back to my room, Beert’s Christmas tree was relieving the Wet One of his weapons and gadgets to stow away.
Then it came to me, a branch extended meaningfully. I hesitated, but Pirraghiz commanded, “Give the weapon to it,” and I passed over my twenty-shot. When it had put the gun away I marked the place, but it was as well there as in my pocket, for the time being.
Then the Christmas tree ordered us into Beert’s room. I found him nervously rubbing at a stain on his tunic, his long, supple neck dancing all around his body as he checked his outfit-like a debutante about to be presented to the queen, I thought, and found out how close I was. “It is the Greatmother of this nest,” he told me. “She is actually coming here herself to see us! Be very respectful to her, Dan-and when she has gone, you and I have much to talk about.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
The Greatmother did not travel alone. First came a couple of new Christmas trees, dexterously scrambling along the cables and bearing gifts. One had a variety of capsules and clumps of what appeared to be the food Beert had requested, the other a rubbery ovoid the size of a pig. That contained water, and when the Wet One found that out, he begged to have some of it sprayed on him. There wasn’t time for that, for the next to enter was the Greatmother herself.
This one was even fatter than the Greatmother of Beert’s nest, and a lot more fashionably dressed. She wore silvery body armor that covered not only her belly but nearly her whole torso. It struck me that that had to be uncomfortably heavy. Garments and all, the creature had to mass at least a quarter of a ton.
But not, of course, here. She came floating weightlessly into the reception chamber, towed by a pair of glass robots to save her the bother of swarming along the cables herself. Her long neck was covered with bangles like a Ubangi’s, and it was dancing a hula of greeting. The Greatmother gave the most cursory of glances at the clutch of us lesser species, and addressed herself directly to Beert. “I welcome you, Djabeertapritch of the Two Eights,” she declared, touching her nose almost to his. “We are glad to have you in our nest, but how does it happen that you come?”
It was clear that Beert was the one she was welcoming. I was sure that if Pirraghiz and I had turned up without a live Horch as company, our reception would have been a lot less hospitable. For Beert, she was different. The Greatmother was thrilled to meet a conspecific who had endured the vile captivity of the Others. She wasn’t disposed to question Beert’s stumbling explanation of his nest’s history and the rapidly invented mix-up that had brought him here, either. Actually his rather creative description of the blunders that had made it happen amused her. She had a superior kind of tolerance of one planet in the Horch federation for another, reminding me of the way
