competent person who instilled trust. Certainly he had liked and trusted her and had thought that she, at least, was beginning to believe him, but she had turned out to be just like all the others.
“I did not call you a liar,” she said, apparently reading his mind, “only that at present I need more proof that you were telling the truth.”
He was about to reply when the voice of the communications officer cut him short.
“We have a signal that the ground vehicle with Major Stillman on board is leaving the base,” said Lieutenant Haslam. “He is estimating arrival in eighteen minutes.”
CHAPTER 16
Hewlitt watched with a mixture of surprise and professional interest as the stout, grey-haired man who was to be their guide unfolded from his tiny ground vehicle and came forward to meet them. Stillman was not in uniform and was wearing instead the native dress of short cloak, kilt, and soft, calf-length boots. The outfit looked comfortable and not without a certain style, even though, in this instance, the flowing line of the cloak was spoiled by the wearer carrying too much junk in the concealed pockets. Unlike the coveralls worn by Murchison, Fletcher, and himself, he could tell that the garments were not the product of a synthesizer. He was considering the possibility of introducing the Etlan kilt to a few of his more sartorially adventurous clients when Prilicla drifted forward to meet the other halfway.
“Friend Stillman,” said the empath, “I must begin by apologizing for meeting you at the bottom of the boarding ramp, rather than inviting you inside where you could satisfy the intense curiosity you are feeling about the ship, but I formed the impression that Colonel Shech-Rar did not want us to take up too much of your time.”
It had already taken several minutes for Stillman to recover from what must have been his first meeting with a Cinrusskin empath-apart from a brief, appreciative glance at the eminently noticeable Murchison, he had barely noticed the others-and to find his voice.
“I–I’ve retired, Dr. Prilicla,” he said, smiling. “My time is my own, not the colonel’s, so take up as much of it as you like. And yes, I’ve heard a lot about Rhabwar and would dearly love a look over the ship. But if it is all right with you, I think we should do as the colonel says first so that I will have more time left to satisfy my curiosity about other things.”
“As you wish,” said Prilicla. “What were the colonel’s instructions to you?”
“To visit the house first,” Stillman replied. “The present occupants work on the base, but they have been excused duty for the rest of the day and should have returned home by the time we arrive. There may be a problem if you want to meet the dentist in person. At present Dr. Hamilton is visiting our other base, on Yunnet continent, and is not due to return for another three days, but if you only need to talk to him he has instructions to contact you as soon as possible at the house or the ship. After that you will be able to spend as much time as you require in the ravine.”
They were being given full cooperation, Hewlitt thought cynically, but with such enthusiasm that they were being allowed the minimum time to think or guard their tongues.
The exterior of the house looked familiar except for the front entrance, which had been enlarged and its steps replaced with a ramp to allow easy passage to the Tralthan residents, who had seen their approach and were waiting just inside the door to welcome them. Stillman, who was obviously well known to the couple, introduced them as Crajarron and Surriltor. They exchanged names without, of course, performing the uniquely Earth-human custom of shaking hands. The interior of his once familiar home was completely unrecognizable.
Most of the room dividers he remembered had disappeared, as had all but a few chairs and relaxers needed for other-species visitors because Tralthans, who could not sit down, preferred large, unobstructed expanses of flooring. Remembering Patient Hossantir’s sleeping arrangements in Ward Seven, he recognized the double-sized, padded sleeping pit in one corner as the bedroom area. In contrast to the emptiness of the floor space, the walls were almost hidden by book and tape racks, pictures and woven hangings whose subjects were unclear, and narrow, cone-shaped containers of aromatic vegetation.
While he was trying to think of something complimentary to say about the place, Prilicla apologized for the inconvenience of having an ambulance ship land with no advance warning beside their charming home.
“Apologies are unnecessary, Dr. Prilicla,” said Crajarron, with a dismissive wave of one tentacle. “You are the first Cinrusskin we have met and we are grateful for this very pleasant break in our routine. Can we offer hospitality, solid or liquid sustenance, perhaps? Our food synthesizer has many other-species’ programs.
“Regrettably, no,” said Prilicla, “we have already eaten.”
Murchison, Stillman, and Hewlitt looked at the empath, knowing that it could feel their hunger. It had not told a lie, but neither had it said how long ago they had eaten.
“We came to apologize for the intrusion of our ship,” it went on, which is engaged on an investigation into an incident that occurred when friend Hewlitt was a child living here with its parents. While we were here it wished to visit its old home and, bearing in mind its sudden departure following the flyer accident, to ask if you knew what had happened to an entity to which it was emotionally attached at that time.
Hewlitt stared at the others in turn. Stillman looked as puzzled as he himself felt, but Murchison did not look surprised at all. His cat must have died of illness, accident, or old age years ago. Why was Prilicla asking questions about it now?
Crajarron turned two of its eyes in Hewlitt’s direction and said, “Do you mean the small, furry Earth-being of limited intelligence called Snarfe? It was adopted by another Earth-human household, but it refused to stay there and kept returning to its old home. When we came to live here we found it wandering about the house and garden. Later we learned that some members of its species form attachments for persons and others for places. It had a friendly disposition and, once we learned its dietary requirements and how not to step on it when it tried to attract our attention by climbing our legs, it remained with us as a house pet.”
Hewlitt blinked, remembering that well-loved cat when it had been little more than a kitten, and feeling surprised by his sudden feelings of sorrow and loss. But Crajarron was making a strange, irregular hissing sound that did not translate. He realized that it was a Tralthan’s attempt at making the push-wushing sound Earthpeople made when trying to attract the attention of a cat only when Fudge appeared in the entrance and stalked slowly toward him.
Nobody spoke as the cat stopped, looked up at him, then began to circle his feet, butting his ankles and gently lashing his lower legs with the thick, furry tail. It was a form of nonverbal communication that had no need of translation. He stooped, picked it up with both hands, and held it against his chest and shoulder. When he ran his fingers gently from its forehead along its back, the tail stiffened and it began to purr.
“Fudge,” he said, “I certainly didn’t expect to see you again. How are you.
Prilicla flew closer and said, “Its emotional radiation is characteristic of a very old and contented entity who is without physical or mental distress and is presently enjoying the stroking of its fur. If it could speak it would tell you that it is well, and to please continue what you are doing. Friend Murchison, you know what to do.”
“Yes indeed,” the pathologist replied, producing her scanner. “Crajarron, Surriltor, may I?” To Hewlitt she added, “This won’t hurt at all, just hold it steady for a moment while I scan. I’m recording for later study, if necessary.
Fudge must have thought that she was playing a new game, because it took a double swipe at the scanner with claws sheathed, then returned to the enjoyment of the petting while she completed the examination.
“Do you wish to reclaim your property, Earth-person Hewlitt?” said Crajarron. Both Tralthans were directing all of their eyes at him, and he did not need an empathic faculty or the sight of Prilicla trembling to know that the interspecies social relations were cooling fast.
“Thank you, no,” he said, returning Fudge to the floor. “Plainly the cat likes it here and would be unhappy elsewhere, but I am grateful for this opportunity to renew an old friendship.”
The atmosphere thawed at once, Prilicla regained flight stability, and Fudge transferred its affections to Surriltor by jumping onto one of the Tralthan’s massive feet. A few minutes later their polite exchange of farewells was interrupted by the house communicator’s double chime, signaling an incoming call.
