JOINT ACTION

J. BRIAN CLARKE






They were intelligent, prolific, and savagely antagonistic to all life other than their own. If there is such a thing as racial insanity, they were its victims. They were also beyond cure.
Because of their anti-life crusade, their planet had become a sterile world of steel and concrete. Nothing swam in the oceans, walked, hopped, or crawled on the land, or flew in the sky. Even clouds were anathema; orbiting solar mirrors burned them away as fast as they formed. Nothing was allowed to contaminate the pristine purity of what they had created. Food, adequate but dull, was synthesized from raw elements. The oxygen in the air was replenished by fusion plants scattered around the ocean shores.
Already their ships were swarming between the thirteen planets and countless minor bodies of their solar system. In an accident rare in nature's lottery, a second planet had supported an efficient though primitive life ecology. But ships bearing radioactive dust had fallen like metal rain out of space, and within days not even a living cell remained. The race was thorough.
There was no doubt what the future held. They had studied the stars and were aware of the possibility of countless solar systems with life-bearing planets. It would take generations of course, but they were an immensely patient people to whom time was never an enemy. So the Great Work began.
Perhaps there really is no such thing as coincidence. Perhaps there is a higher power who keeps a fond eye on things, who knows the correct antibodies to introduce against any disease threatening the galactic organism. It is certainly true that, even as scientists of this mad race fiddled strings of mathematical formulae toward what was known elsewhere as the phase-shift star drive, an actual phase ship came undetected into their system. . . .



"Jase, you are to go to Phuili and take up the post of Resident Expediter in our legation there."
"But that's crazy! I'm a security agent, not an expediter!"
The shuttle was racing northward over the Canadian Shield. Rocks, trees, water, and sky were the prime components of this rugged land, one of the last wild places on Earth. Hopefully it would remain wild, now that Earthgate was open and the galaxy beckoned. Ahead, the spreading glint of Hudson Bay. On the horizon, beyond the large island known as Akimiski, something flickered. The P.A. cleared its throat.
"Transfer in four minutes. Please take your queltabs and make sure your seat restraints are secure."
The flickering had become a pulsating sphere of pale light. Just below it, something enormous.
"I know what you are. This desk and the four walls of this room know what you are. But to every human in the legation, and especially to the Phuili outside it, you will be an expediter. Anyway, what is so magical about expediting? It's more meditation than science, so you will be all right. Meanwhile, I want you to do your damndest to find out which of the legation staff is trying to screw up Earth-Phuili relations."
Director Kreinhauser of the World Union Council's Security Service was known as something of a hard-nose, areputation which he himself had carefully fostered. The truth was that he was a gambler who so far had demonstrated an uncanny knack for holding the winning hand. But Jase Kurber. conscious of his own not-too-scientific background and more than a little doubtful of his ability to fool the dozen or so scientists who worked out of the legation, was convinced that this time the Director had gone too far. If I belly-flop on this one, Kurber reflected, it'll be more his head than mine. The lanky investigator popped the green queltab into his mouth, swallowed it with an effort, then braced himself as the thing sent searing waves of hot and cold through his system. Damn gut convulser. This so-called cure is worse than the disease!
The light, actually not much brighter than the background sky but somehow pulsing with a vivid contrast, now loomed a few kilometers ahead of the shuttle. Below the light, balanced delicately atop a frail looking pylon thousands of meters tall, was an enormous bowl with an inner surface of intense, mind-stunning black.
This was Earthgate.
Kurber had transferred often and was prepared. But even the easing effect of the queltab did not disguise the brutal wrench of splitting and reassembly which assaulted every nerve at the moment the shuttle entered the light. As his stomach unknotted and his eyes cleared, he became aware that the sky beyond the window was suddenly a much deeper blue. Then the shuttle shuddered as its jets roared and the wings extended to gain lift in the thinner air. Kurber's mind knew that within a breath the shuttle had somehow traversed six hundred light years, to a destination beyond the Pleiades. But even after having made the same trip a dozen times, his body and instincts still denied the fact. It was a normal reaction which he knew would be over within minutes. But he was also uncomfortably aware that of all the medical people who traveled through the gates into the galaxy, psychologists remained a stubbornly tiny minority.
The landscape below was all desert, varying shades of red splashed across flatlands and eroded highlands, occasionally fading to a dim fuzziness under the swirling sandstorms that were common here. This was a planet almost the twin of Mars; a dry and unprepossessing little world of a type common in the galaxy—big enough to have a tenuous atmosphere, close enough to its sun that its temperature extremes could be handled with only a modest technology, but not friendly enough to host even the most primitive life forms. Yet this was The Shouter, and a few kilometers behind the shuttle was Alien Artifact 6093, one of the remarkable structures which had given the planet its name.
A bowl two kilometers across, balanced atop a pylon three kilometers high. Above the bowl, a spherical glow radiating on frequencies that can be sensed clear across the spiral arm. And on this small world there are nineteen thousand six hundred and fifty-four AAs. No wonder it's called The Shouter!
The AAs were, of course, more than just monuments on a grand scale. Built by a mysterious race that had been old when the universe was still young, each of the gigantic structures was actually an instant portal to elsewhere in the galaxy. AA 6093 to Earth being but one.
A few hours flight time around the curve of The Shouter was AA 11852, the portal to Kurber's ultimate destination on Phuili. First, however, was the mandatory stopover (for most of the shuttle's passengers) at the Colonization Authority's Reception Center. For Jase Kurber, it was at PERU, the Permanent Earth Research Unit on this way station to the stars.
Ninety minutes later, the shuttle rolled to a dusty stop on a hard-pack runway. Two pressurized buses instantly coupled to the hull and began to absorb its load of chattering colonists and their families. Their destinations, after processing in the Reception Center, could be any of nearly ten thousand worlds assigned for human colonization: from Hubris, a mere three hundred light years from The Shouter; to Farhome, a garden world thirty thousand lights beyond the hub. Not that it made any difference how far or how close. The mere act of walking the length of the shuttle's main cabin took more time than it did to transfer to the galactic rim.
Kurber had to suit up so he could be driven to PERU aboard an open six-wheeled vehicle that was definitely not intended for passengers. After loading half a dozen crates from the shuttle's hold onto the vehicle's flatbed, the taciturn driver accelerated in the direction of the blocky four-story PERU building as if his air supply were about to run out. His passenger—apparently just another package—was eventually delivered, flustered but unharmed, into the presence of PERU's Deputy Assistant Research Administrator.
"Sorry about that." Esham Pitte apologized after wincing at Kurber's blistering complaint. "Budgetary restraints have forced us to use Ph.D.s as errand boys, and one or two are quite hostile about the situation." He shrugged. "Truth is, the A.R.A.'s much better at soothing ruffled feelings than I am."
"Where is she?"
"With Peter Digonness on Van Buren's World. Something big, apparently."
"Doesn't have to be that big to get those two together, Kurber mused. The relationship between Genevieve Hagan and the former head of Expediters was well known. And, in the current situation, awkward. "Dammit, I have to see her!"
"I don't think so." The Deputy A.R.A. grinned. "You know, I am rather enjoying this. It's not every day I get the chance to assign a cloak and dagger man."
Kurber was too experienced to react to this unexpected turn. He merely propped his chin in one hand and inquired gently, "Oh?"
"I know you are an S.S. operative assigned to Phuili, that I am to use this office to give you legitimacy, and that I am supposed to transform you into the semblance of an expediter before the next Phuili shuttle leaves." Pitte glance at his watch. "Which is in about twenty-three hours."
"I see." Kurber paused for a moment, his thin face thoughtful. Then he shrugged. "OK, so you are my contact. As far as turning me into an expediter is concerned, is that so impossible? Some of Expediters' best people came from Security."
"One or two only. And if you have the example of Gia Mayland in mind, you are barking up the wrong tree. Even she had to submit to a couple of years of field training after she transferred out of the S.S."
"Just do your best, huh?" Kurber asked, thinking of the woman who had gone from Security to Expediters, and then on to fame as the one who had opened up Earthgate and eliminated twenty-six dreary months of travel time between Earth and The Shouter. "Ah . . . . I beg your pardon?"
"When were you last on The Shouter?" Pitte repeated patiently.
"About nine months ago. I was passing through from a job on Markov Four."
"Hmm." Pitte rubbed his chin. "That means there are a few still here who might remember you. OK, we'll conceal the truth behind a half truth—to the effect that you are following in Gia Maryland's hallowed footsteps from Security to Expediters. You are still a trainee of course, which explains your lack of experience. How am I doing?"
"Pretty good," Kurber said, surprised. "Is it possible you yourself came out of Security?"
Pitte sighed. "You don't have to go that route just to learn deviousness. I can hardly remember the time when an expediter's job was simply to 'expedite' communication between scientists of varying disciplines. Now we are also required to function as diplomats and lobbyists, as well as paper shufflers. It's one reason why Peter Digonness got himself assigned to Van Buren's World, and why Jenny is with him right now. Those two are pretty close, you know."
"So I have heard." Digonness and Genevieve Hagan were famous for their role in the discovery of the purpose of the AAs, and for many people they still exemplified the true meaning of expediter. Kurber was beginning to realize this was one role he would not find easy. "Perhaps it would be better," he said, "if you simply gave me a few pointers on how to expedite."
During the next several intensive hours, as the Deputy A.R.A. drilled him on the history, objectives, and procedures of Expediters, Kurber began to understand the frustrations of those who currently belonged to that organization. Originally a communicator, with enough basic knowledge of several scientific skills he could meld a quarrelsome mix of specialists into a coherent scientific team, the typical expediter was now—as Pitte had sadly pointed out—anything but. The idea behind Expediters had been a good one, and indeed the demand for its services was as strong as ever. But science as now taught in Earth's schools was not as parochial as it used to be, and the current crop of graduates did not need middle men to help them interact constructively with each other. But they still seemed to need someone through whom they could interact with the 'outside' world; especially if that someone had the ability to be as much at home with a research project on the far side of the galaxy as he was seeking increased grants from politicians, or peacemaking between man and Phuili.
The canine-like Phuili had already been on The Shouter for centuries when the first human ship ventured out of the Pleiades shadow and detected the screaming radiation source a couple of hundred-lights beyond that nebula-hazed star cluster. Fortunately the Phuili were by nature an obsessively curious people, so they allowed the setting up of a human research station on The Shouter so that their own scientists could in turn study these clever primates. Instantly, the issue of human "intelligence" became a controversial one, cutting to the heart of the mystical concept of Phuili exclusiveness in the galaxy. The result was a schizoid compromise in which individual humans were accepted as equals, while humanity was condescendingly regarded as a lesser species which happened to have an unusual aptitude for technology.
The potential for conflict was consequently a factor from the beginning, setting human pride and assertiveness against Phuili pride and conservatism. But those who had created the AAs—though long departed from the physical universe—reached out from across eons of time and an infinity of distance, to nudge the two species toward a kind of awkward compatibility. It was understandably a precarious relationship, resting uneasily on a sub strata of bigotry and mistrust. Nevertheless, among individuals of both species, there developed a reluctant realization that in many ways human and Phuili complemented each other; that as far as the exploration of the galaxy was concerned, the sum was showing evidence of being greater than its parts.
But there were those, human as well as Phuili, who remained implacable in their hostility to the infant duality. Hence the reason for the increasing diplomatic role of Expediters, the only human organization having enough influence with high-level Phuili to prevent minor grievances attaining crisis proportions. But in cases involving deliberate trouble-mongering, diplomacy as a healing process could not be applied until the cause was expunged. "Which," Jase Kurber explained, "is where Security comes in."
"Comes in for what?" the Deputy A.R.A. asked, puzzled. "What is happening on Phuili anyway?"
"Are you familiar with a publication called Universe Realities?"
Pitte nodded. "I've heard of it. Makes the Jew-hating propaganda of Hitler's Nazis seem amateurish."
"Translated copies are currently being circulated on Phuili."
"My god." Pitte's eyes widened with shocked disbelief. "How the hell did that happen?"
"It's easy if you consider that one microchip can hold the text of a dozen issues. Someone in the legation is smuggling the chips in from Earth, then passing them on to a Phuili group with the rather unsubtle title of 'The Human Eaters.' The Eaters in turn handle read-out, translation, and distribution. The poison is slow-acting, but it is apparently working, if it is not stopped, and damn soon, Earth-Phuili relations are going to be right back to square one."
"Talk to the leaders—"
"We have. And we think they understand. Trouble is. they are bound by a code which was old when our ancestors were still huddling in caves. According to that code, any form of slander against their ancient society is what they call a 'supreme crime.' I'll leave you to guess what the punishment is. At the same time, however, the Phuili are solemnly committed to the protection of human lives and property on their world. The dilemma for them is obvious, and ultimately has only one solution."
"Kick all humans off Phuili."
"Exactly. My job is to find the mole and get him off Phuili while there is still time to defuse the situation. I can't go in as a cop, because he will simply suspend operations until after I have gone. But if I am just another expediter . . . ."
"Give me your ident," PERU'S Deputy Assistant Research Administrator said. He accepted the small disc and handed over another. "I guess we're one up on you, friend. This was coded directly from Earth even before you made the transfer." He smiled and extended his hand. "Jase Kurber, welcome to Expediters."



Sensors extended and computers humming, the ship floated inert in the ring system of the sixth planet, Within the long hull, beings known as Phuili studied the incoming data with emotions ranging from excitement to apprehension. The presence of intelligent life in this system was obvious, the advisability of contact not so. There was a strangeness about this new race and its swarming ships, about the slagged planets, moons, and asteroids that were being exploited with ruthless abandon.
Increment by minute increment, the visitors were painstakingly deciphering the signals being exchanged between the smog-shrouded second world and the hundreds of outposts scattered throughout the system. There was frequent reference to the "Great Work." a mysterious activity somehow tied in with the mad plundering of the system's resources. There was statistical Information, dealing with mundanes such as shipping requirements and production quotas. At no time or on no frequency could the Phuili detect the subtleties of culture or entertainment. Not even messages from home—those tenuous links of personal contact surely so necessary for warm blooded beings with roots in the soil of a home world.
The Phuili were uneasy, especially as they garnered further disquieting facts from the remains of a big brained, silver furred, and undoubtedly warm blooded biped they had retrieved from the wreckage of a small spacecraft on a nearby moonlet. To the logical Phuili, the contrast between this graceful being and its compact, efficiently designed spacecraft on the one hand, and the senseless rampage of its species through the system on the other, was too much akin to a flawed computer program which defied analysis.
There was menace here; subtle, unexplainable. yet as real as a slumbering carnivore. So the visitors withdrew to the edge of the great dark, where they prepared their ship for phase-shift into multilight.
But only milliseconds before the PS drive unleashed the tremendous energies necessary to thrust the ship and its contents beyond the constraints of normal spacetime. one of its hull sensors detected and recorded an event near the second planet . . . .



Welcome to Expediters, the Deputy A.R.A. had said. A happy if not unexpected phrase to the ears of one who has spent years preparing for the great moment. But Jase Kurber was not one of those: the plan had merely required that he act like an expediter—not actually be one!
He snapped the ident disc out of his wrist bracelet and looked at it. A small marvel of technology; imprinted with his personal history, health status, retinal identification patterns. And now his membership number and classification in Expediters. The situation on Phuili had to be drastic for Security and Expediters to go to such an extreme. Ident discs were sacrosanct, guaranteed and accepted by every military and law agency in human space, and they were not changed easily. In fact, they were hardly changed at all. No temporary expedient, this. Kurber was, now and for the foreseeable future, an expediter.
How did they get Kreinhauser to agree to it? the former security agent wondered. Some pretty persuasive arguments must have been used to get the old Director to agree to the permanent transfer of one his own to a rival agency.
How do I feel about it?
Actually, not bad. Despite Pitte's lament about how things had deteriorated since the old days. Expediters remained a prestige outfit right out there on the cutting edge of human progress. Nevertheless, Kurber felt an uneasy twinge as he thought about the humans on Phuili who would undoubtedly seek his "special" talents. And which of them was the mole? Though he had been briefed by Pitte, those people were still only a collection of names to him. All seemed competent in their field, none was extraordinary enough to stand out —which, of course, a good mole never does.
"Entry in two minutes," the P.A. said. Kurber glanced through the shuttle window at the rapidly advancing outline of AA 11352, popped the queltab, and braced himself. Later, as his insides rearranged themselves back to normal and his eyes cleared, he looked down on a broad blue-green plain and a city. He had barely time to notice the almost mathematical regularity of the city's alternating rings of towers and parkland before the shuttle banked steeply and glided to a gentle touchdown on a broad, smooth runway.
As soon as they stopped rolling, a ground tug hooked on to the shuttle and towed it alongside a pill-box shaped structure rimmed with circular ports. A boarding tube extended from one of the ports and thumped against the hull at the forward air lock. After a few seconds the inner door swung open and a thin, harried-looking human entered. "I am Barton Hale from the legation. Please follow me." Without waiting for a response the man disappeared back into the tube. The shuttle's eleven passengers obediently lined up and shuffled after him into a circular room about five meters across. The walls and floor of the room were heavily padded.
"You are aboard a car of the local sub-surface transport network," Hale announced. He was sitting on the floor, his back pressed firmly against the wall padding. "It is not a gentle ride, so I suggest you all assume this same position."
With varying degrees of difficulty everyone accepted Hale's advice, and hardly had the last one—a plump diplomat in an old-fashioned jumpsuit—groaned himself down, when the floor abruptly fell away from beneath them. After about five seconds of headlong descent, the vehicle decelerated, rotated, then surged in a horizontal direction. Kurber sprawled against his neighbor, who laughed and pushed him upright. "Is this your first time, Mr. Kurber?"
He looked at her. In her early thirties, neat and slim, with wide-eyed almost elfin features, she was not the type one would easily forget. "Do you know me?" he asked.
"Of you," she corrected. She held out her hand. "My name is Gia Mayland."
Her handshake was firm, impersonal. "Well I'm damned," Kurber said. Then he laughed. "I'm sorry. Honest, I won't ask for your autograph."
"Good. And I won't volunteer it." the woman once popularized by the media as the "Earthgate girl" replied. She went on, "I understand you recently saw our former boss. How is the old gentleman these days?"
"Fine," Kurber replied, wondering how much she knew. "He . . . ah . . . sent you his regards."
"I doubt that," she came back primly. "Director Kreinhauser was not exactly pleased when I told him I was transferring to Expediters. And now that you have followed along the same course, I doubt he likes you either."
Kurber was beginning to feel like an actor who had been thrown into a play without first seeing the script. "Yes. but I—"
"It's a bit unusual for one with your lack, of experience to be assigned to an important post such as Phuili. but I'm sure you can handle it. In any case I will be around for a while, and will be available if you need me—which I hope you won't. I am not on Phuili to expedite."
Because she was speaking in a conversational tone, audible to any of the others aboard the vehicle should they choose to listen, Kurber suspected Gia Mayland was not talking to him alone. She seemed, in fact, to be cleverly reinforcing his cover as the new Resident Expediter, though that was hardly proof she knew the real nature of his assignment on Phuili. "Why are you here?" he asked. "Or isn't that a proper question?"
She shrugged. "I'm here to renew a friendship. A Phuili I once knew as David."
"David?" And then an explosion of consonants: "Davakinapwottapellazanzis?" It was the plump diplomat, bearing a look of smugness on his apple-cheeked features as he came over and settled his broad rump next to Gia. "Forgive an old man's intrusion, but I know David quite well. In fact, it is because of his tutoring that I may be the only human alive who can properly pronounce a Phuili name."
"True enough," Gia agreed. "But who cares?" She turned to Kurber. "This rather large gentleman is Mason Dewitte. the legation's trade specialist. Mason, this is our new R. E., Jase Kurber."
"Splendid." The fat man beamed at Kurber. "And don't worry about your lack of experience, young man. The people here get on very well together, so I doubt there will be much demand for your services."
"That is nice." the recently appointed expediter commented, unsure if he should be grateful or disappointed.
"We're almost there," Hale called. "Brace yourselves." The vehicle shuddered, swung about, and then shot vertically upward. As it lurched to a stop, the padded entrance door slid aside to reveal a concrete walkway rimmed with slender, spike-leafed trees. The outside air was cool, damp, and so unpleasantly pungent it caused several people to gasp. "You'll get used to it," Hale said cheerfully. "If it's any consolation, the Phuili find Earth's air equally offensive."
The legation was housed in a modest tower behind which other towers rose in serried ranks against a sky that was a paler blue than Earth's. Though the Phuili did not seem to have much use for windows, the skyline was not unlike that of many modern cities Kurber had seen. The only obvious difference was the lack of noise. They could not even hear their own footsteps—the "concrete" walkway had a gentle resilence like good turf. So it was almost a relief to enter the comfortable human environment of the legation, to view the uninspiring furniture and decor of the entrance lobby.
A prim-faced woman appeared at Kurber's side. "Are you Jase Kurber?"
"That's right."
"This way, please."
"See you later," Dewitte called as Kurber followed the woman across the lobby. He looked around for Gia, but she had already disappeared. He was shown into a small room containing nothing but an ident unit on a small table. "Disc, please," the woman said.
So that's it! How the Phuili legation had suddenly acquired this Pri-A1 classification was a mystery, but it did explain why a mere impersonation would have bounced Kurber back to The Shouter even before he had a chance to draw breath.' He fingered the release on his bracelet. "Isn't this a bit unusual?"
"It is required." The woman held out her hand. "That is, if you do not wish to return on the next flight."
Kurber chuckled as he handed over the I-disc. "Succinctly put." He leaned over the machine and peered into the eyepiece. There was a wink of light and he stood up. Then the woman slid the disc into a slot at the side of the machine. A light flashed green, and then another.
The woman returned the disc and watched as he snapped it back into the bracelet. Her lips twitched as he asked politely, "So my particulars check out, huh?"
She pointed to a door on the far side of the room. "You will wait in there." The twitch became a stiff smile. "Please."
Feeling he had made a conquest of sorts, Kurber smiled back. "Of course." Then he entered the next room.
He was not overwhelmingly surprised to find Gia Mayland waiting for him there. But it required a trained reflex of dead-pan as he saw her companion.
"Gweetings, Kurber," the Phuili said.
The being was a little more than a meter in height, humanoid. with a pink-fleshed canine head which reminded the man of the bull terrier he had grown up with as a child. Large, beautiful eyes regarded the newcomer quizzically. "Pleese to sit," the Phuili invited.
Kurber sat, with a side glance at the woman. She smiled encouragingly.
"I am David," the Phuili said. "Once I work wiz Gia when we look for gates."
"Ah. You are the one who knows Mason Dewitte."
The long head inclined. "He zink he know how speak Phuili."
Recognizing sarcasm, Kurber wanted to laugh. Instead, "Why am I here?"
"About weason you come to Phuili. About need to stop bad information going to Human Eaters."
Again, Kurber looked inquiringly at Gia. "There are no secrets here." she told him. "David and I know you are on Phuili to smoke out the human who is causing this trouble."
Helplessly, he looked at the two dissimilar individuals. "But why me? Gia, you are ex-security—"
She laid her hand on his arm. Her touch tingled. "Aside from being out of practice, I am also too well known." Suddenly, a brilliant smile. "Besides, you happen to be good. If I had remained with the outfit, I don't doubt you would have been my sector chief by now."
Kurber frowned. "I am an expediter. I take that seriously."
"So you are—and should. But you should also know that it was Giesse Frobert who clamped Pri-A-one on this legation. The matter is serious, Jase. More than you realize."
Kurber was astonished. The Chairman of the World Union Council was known for his disdain of anything other than what he constantly referred to as "the larger picture," so he would hardly have intervened unless it involved far more than even a threatened debacle on Phuili. "Look, I understand how damaging the material from Universe Realities is to Earth-Phuili relations. But enough to get the Chairman involved? And why Pri-A-one anyway? There's no—"
Gia said. "There is another space-going race."
Kurber stared. So it has finally happened! "My god." he whispered. Then. "Has there been contact?"
"No. And we pray there will not be." Gia turned to the Phuili. "May I tell him? Time is limited, and we do share a common tongue."
The Phuili said gravely, "You tell. It best he know pwoper."
"Thank you, David." Gia produced a photograph of a graceful, silver-furred humanoid. The skull was obviously crushed, but enough remained to indicate a brain case of impressive proportions. "Pretty, huh? He was found by a Phuili expedition operating out of Groombra Four, about two thousand lights rimward. Millions of those beings are swarming about their solar system like maggots on a corpse—literally devouring everything from dust up to planetoids in an apparent lust for astronomical quantities of raw materials."
"Materials for what purpose?" Kurber asked, his attention diverted from the picture.
"God knows. The Phuili commander sensibly decided to pull out before he was discovered and wiped out. You see. enough had already been deciphered from the local radio traffic to determine that this new race represents a threat of awesome significance." Gia tapped the picture. "Jase. these lovely beings are anti-life!"
"It iss zeir holy mission," David explained, his alien features intent and solemn. "To zem, life not zeir own must be destwoyed. Alweady zey have stewilized zeir own world and anozer which once had life. Soon, zey look to stars."
When he was only five years old, Jase Kurber was accidently locked in an unlighted basement for more, than seven hours. He had not thought about it for years, but suddenly it was there like yesterday—a child's eternity during which he cowered in a corner and waited for unimaginable things to erupt out of the dark. Now, from the greater dark_____
Kurber sternly quelled his racing imagination and commented reasonably, "Looking to the stars is one thing, getting there is another. Neither of you has said anything about their having that kind of capability."
"Jase, what do you know about the history of the P.S. drive?" Gia asked.
"Other than that it. was a long and very rocky road between theory and practice, not much," Kurber replied, wondering what this was leading to. "I know there were some pretty spectacular accidents along the way, including the addition of a fair-sized crater on Luna farside." His eyes widened. "Wait a minute—are you telling me such an event was observed from the Phuili ship?"
She nodded. "A burst was detected just before the ship phase-shifted. What it signifies is not definite of course, but it's a pretty strong indication."
"A bloody powerful one, if you ask me," he muttered.
"So now you know why your assignment here is so important. The Silver People have to be stopped before they start, Jase, which certainly won't happen if we and the Phuili are squabbling with each other instead of acting against the common threat." Gia added passionately, "The supplier of that xenophobic garbage has to be-found and neutralized!"



Where to start?
There was no doubt there was open resentment at the presence of humans on the planet, but that was nothing new. Phuili life was largely ritualistic, based on a complex set of rules in many ways similar to the Jewish Talmud, though much older and certainly more extensive. Add a class structure even more stratified than the ancient Hindu caste system, and the potential against the free-wheeling humans was not only explosive but increasingly probable—as Kurber was reminded each time he tried to leave the legation on his own.
Mason Dewitte explained, "Old hands like myself must always be present to make sure nothing is said or done to offend any of the local people, while at the same time we expect the newer ones—like yourself—to perhaps recognize openings that in our caution we may have overlooked." The fat man had joined Kurber on one of the latter's first excursions into the city, a rather obvious chaperoning which Kurber accepted only because he had to. Dewitte continued, "It's like a sparring match with the other side having all the advantage: their rules and turf, our ignorance. Up to recently we humans seem to have held our own, but with that crud from Realities seeping in—"
"I heard about that." Kurber said cautiously. They were crossing an open area in which booths were set up in the manner of a street market, Buyers were circulating about in abundance, but there were no sellers. Instead, purchase seemed to be a matter of selecting an item, looking at its price, entering something into a counter-mounted keyboard, and then walking away with the item. It was an awesome display of honesty which further emphasized the gulf between Phuili and human. Equally disquieting was the lack of sound to accompany the visual bustle; an occasional Phuili guttural only intensified Kurber's sense of being a male Alice in an unreal wonderland. He winced as a Phuili family—an adult and two smaller ones—hurriedly moved away as the humans approached. "Did you see that?"
Dewitte nodded. "Sub Elites." He indicated the bright colors worn by the three. "I guess you'd call them upper-middle class. Moderately educated, economically comfortable, stalwart adherents of the ancient traditions. If they get stirred up enough, they are the ones who will get us kicked off Phuili—and the Elites won't argue."
"Elites?"
"The top brass; scientists mostly. Great theoretical people but slow on application—which is hardly surprising if you consider the built-in inertia of this ossified society. I suppose that is why the Elites are so uncharacteristically garulous when they are dealing with us humans; our constant adaptation to technological change must be pretty startling by their standards. David is an Elite of course, as are most of the Phuili you will meet. Nominally they rule, though always by the rules. The Subs make sure of that,"
"Elites. Sub Elites. Then what?"
"Everyone else. The proletariat or 'prols' if you prefer. Generally they are not too bright, programmed to a hereditary trade, conditioned to acceptance of their lowly lot. The most stable labor pool you can imagine."
"So the Czar thought before nineteen seventeen."
"Not the same, my boy, not at all the same. You see. on this planet there is no cross-class migration. None! Over hundreds of generations, the Phuili have consequently evolved to fit their roles—mentally as well as physically. The Elites have evolved brain power, the Subs evolved into natural administrators, the rest into machinists, farmers, shoe makers and so on. It's a helluva system, Jase. and until we humans barged into their universe, it was one that worked."
Implying, Kurber supposed, that the mere presence of humans had thrown a wrench into the machinery. But as he continued to watch the activity in the market, he somehow doubted that. Every Phuili in sight was, in fact, going about his business as if the two beings from another world did not exist. For Kurber it was not a pleasant experience to be so thoroughly ignored. The reaction of the three Subs, who had shown their dislike of the humans in the most obvious way, was at least understandable. But the absolute non-reaction of these others. . . .
He stepped aside as half a dozen of the drably clad prols passed close by, their large eyes blank and unwavering. Dewitte chuckled. "Don't worry, they won't walk over you. They are simply ignoring what they don't understand. In their well-ordered little minds, humans don't compute."
Kurber looked at the other sharply. "You speak as if they are biological robots."
The fat man shrugged and did not comment. But his silence said enough.
It was clearly apparent that Kurber had to be far more than just a tourist to unlock the Phuili enigma. Gaining the confidence of the "natives" was not in the cards for any human, at least not for the immediate future. Certainly the enormous bottom tier of the Phuili hierarchy did not care; for that ninety-five percent of the population, what humans did, said, or wrote simply did not matter. The "flat faces" were entirely peripheral to the scheme of things. Like the stars from which they had supposedly come, their effect on the ancient routines was no more than a container of water spilled into the ocean.
Conversely the Elites knew what was happening, and cared. But in their way they were as much bound by tradition as the masses, and would have no hesitation in ordering the humans off Phuili if the Subs demanded it.
Which, like an endless circle, always brought the problem back to the Sub Elites. Jealous guardians of the Phuili universe, their only reason for not objecting to the establishment of a human legation on Phuili was simply a restatement of the principle: "the devil we know is easier to handle than the one we don't." The extremists among them, since being formally established as the "Human Eaters," had of course gladly accepted the opportunity to circulate translated copies of the Earth publication Universe Realities, to prove beyond doubt what most Subs wanted to believe anyway—that humans and their inferior ideas represented an evil which had to be expunged, starting with the removal of every flatface from Phuili itself.
For once, the massive inertia of Phuili society was beneficial for the beleaguered humans: what had already been accepted would be difficult to turn around. But unless the flow of Earth-originated hate propaganda was stopped, what had at best been reluctant acceptance would inevitably degenerate into active hostility—and the malevolence currently germinating around a distant sun would, in the perhaps not too distant future, extract a terrible price.



Gia read, " 'All thinking beings will protect what is theirs. OK, that is natural for anyone with the concept of personal property. But what if that property is in dispute? What if one party has arbitrarily declared that all property is his, who refuses to change his mind even after another legitimate claimant comes on the scene?
'I am, of course, referring to the Phuili. You all know that. They maintain that the galaxy is theirs, that we humans are a lesser species who happen to live on their property. They find us interesting in a condescending sort of way. they even humor us by permitting minor scientific and diplomatic exchanges. But they also study us; intently. And when they finally realize the truth—that we humans are not only equal but are perhaps a superior species, they will act. They will attempt to destroy us!
'My friends, I hate to use the term "pre-emptive strike." It has too many ugly connotations from our turbulent past. But I do say we must prepare for the worst, that when the attack comes—as it must—we will be in a position to give the dog-faces a lesson they will never forget!' "
Gia disgustedly tossed the sheet aside. "And so it goes on, ad nauseam. Lector Fraser, number one bigot, recorded verbatim within the doting pages of Universe Realities.
"Which he owns." Kurber looked at the sheet of paper on the floor with distaste, "is it all like that?"
"Not all the time. Sometimes the lord and publisher of that muckrag sounds forth on his second favorite subject: creationism. I remember one issue in which he used only a few thousand words to say that man, being the exclusive creation of the Supreme Being, is therefore destined to occupy the universe."
Even David recognized Gia's sarcasm. "Same wiz Human Eaters." Sadly, he shook his long head. "Iss why some alweady pweach Jihad."
Startled, Kurber looked at the little alien. He did not know how David had picked up the Moslem word for holy war, but neither did he think to question its use. He had learned enough to be quite certain the Eaters would sacrifice themselves as well as half their world if they could be sure those who were left would resume the purity of the old ways. The same was probably true of the fanatics who belonged to Lector Fraser, though because of the diversity of human society . . . .
Kurber had an idea. "David, can you take me to the Human Eaters?"
The reply was prompt. "Not possible. Human Eaters not talk wiz humans."
"Then how do the Realities chips get to them?"
"Ozer Sub Elites make twansfer."
Gia nodded. "None of the Subs like us, but a few occasionally have business at the legation."
"Then assemble those few for me. I bet at least one will be a contact."
"What do you have in mind?"
"Communication," Kurber said.



"Zey must be stopped before weach gate on Toomis."
"Toomis?"
"What humans call Gwoombwa Four. Light twavel fwom zeir system, forty year."
"That close? That's only six weeks with a P.S. drive!"
"Iss twue. Zey not yet have phase shift, so still westwicted to zeir own system. But our ship see one P.S. expewiment, so I zink not long to first star ship."
"If they find that gate and figure out its function—"
"Many die. Worlds die."
"So we stop them. Do you know how?"
"Wiz sun seeds."
"Sun seeds? What . . .?"
"Known by Phuili long time. Two pwobes dwop into sun. First twigger weaction under photosphere, vewy big flares. When weaction at peak, second pwobe make sun nova. Not big, just enough destwoy life on close planets. Outer colonies die wizout support fwom home world."
"My god, what a weapon!"
"But must done quick. Human Eaters gwow stwong, soon not allow work wiz humans."
"Anything to stop that madness escaping into the galaxy! What do you want from us?"
"Two human ships and cwews. Ships go Toomis gate and zen to sun of Silver people. Dwop seeds and come back."
"I don't understand. Human ships—"
"Destruction of whole wace not possible for Phuili. Humans have big wars. Easy for you."
"Like hell it is! It's because of those big wars and what they did to us, no government would dare even to consider such a thing! Anyway, we honor our treaties. What happens in that area of space is strictly a Phuili affair."
"In zis case, not twue."
"Oh, I think so. You see, I was at the signing. Only Phuili . . . ."
"Only human . . . ."
"No . . . ."
"No . . . ."



Kurber had not heard of the deadlock, only that high level discussions were being held on The Shouter. But even if he had, his approach would not be any different. The menace of the Silver People was still in the future; the widening schism between Earth and Phuili was now.
He had already spent a couple of monotonous days studying the legation's personnel records, solaced by the occasional presence of Gia Mayland who had somehow obtained the printouts without arousing the suspicions of the dragon lady at the front desk. Not that the records, despite their considerable content, told him anything beyond what he had already learned from Esham Pitte's briefing during the stopover at PERU. Seventeen people from varying but unstartling backgrounds, individualists, healthy extroverts, each extremely good at his or her specialty, none with apparently the slightest reason to want to upset the delicate status quo which existed between the two races.
Aware that even during quiet times an expediter was supposed to remain visible to his potential clients, Kurber made a point of taking his meals in the small dining lounge, sharing complaints at the uninspiring quality of the prepackaged food, and sympathizing at the frustrations caused by the agonizing slowness of the local Phuili bureaucracy in answering requests to travel beyond the city.
Gia reacted with a smile when he told her about the frustrations. "Jase, you are the Resident Expediter. So why don't you expedite?" Then, seriously, "But you have other things on your mind. I will take care of it."
Two permits arrived within hours, and Kurber had to hide his embarrassment as the grateful recipients thanked him. Would they be as friendly if they knew how much he was into their professional and private lives, he wondered? Then he castigated himself for dwelling on irrelevancies. Other than Kurber himself, there was only one person attached to the legation who was not what he—or she—seemed to be, and that individual was buried so deep under one of seventeen increasingly familiar personae, Kurber was seriously beginning to doubt his chances of being able to identify the culprit by any conventional means.
So it was a relief when he answered a call within his quarters and heard Gia say cheerfully, "Remember you told me you would like to see a typical Phuili home? Well, it has been arranged. David and I will pick you up in one hour."
Kurber had not made any such request. But he had no difficulty translating, "We have set up a meeting with the Subs. Coming?"
"Great," he answered. "I'll be ready."
When he entered the lobby an hour later and found Gia and her Phuili friend chatting with Mason Dewitte and the prim receptionist, it seemed so innocent that for a moment he wondered if he actually had asked to meet a Phuili family. But as soon as they left the building and climbed into a Phuili ground car, he knew immediately this was not to be a social call.
"Three Subs are waiting for you in a residence unit a few klicks from here," Gia told him as David steered the low slung vehicle into an automated laneway which led directly toward the towers at the city's center. "We suspect at least one of them is a link between the legation and the Human Eaters, though if you challenge them with that possibility I doubt you will get any reaction other than a polite silence. Believe me, these people are conservative in a way that make our right-wingers look like Marxists."
"My mind is already made up," Kurber quoted. "So please do not confuse me with the facts."
"You have hit the nail on the proverbial head. And by the way, Jase, don't let on you are anything other than an expediter. If word of this meeting gets back to the legation—as it probably will—you are simply using your position as R.E. to try to counteract the effect of damaging, Earth-originated propaganda."
Kurber chuckled. "Don't worry about that. One thing I like about this assignment is that I am an expediter. So what is there to hide?"
Gia frowned. "You know what I mean," she said crossly.
It was an uncomfortable ride, sitting knees-up in a vehicle designed for riders the size of human children, so Kurber was not fully attentive to the passing scenery. But he did comment on the scarcity of street traffic.
"Day of Unforgetting," David said. "No work, people stay home and zink of Phuili way. Happen everwy twelve-day."
Gia explained. "It's the equivalent of our Sabbath, a sort of rededication using a common set of rituals at the same day and hour, all over the planet. It hasn't changed for thousands of years."
David nodded as he turned the vehicle into a parking area next to a slender tower. "More zan knowing." He added flatly, "Iss!"
One monosyllable encompassing an entire racial philosophy, though it took a few minutes—the time to reach a dim room on the lower's ninety-third floor—for Kurber to realize he had just heard the hard-core difference separating his own race from that of his small host. Belief, as humans know it, is a transient thing; gods became God, Zeus became Yahweh, unthinking subservience to invisible spirits became that modem co-pout known as agnosticism. Not so for the Phuili. For them, what had started as belief had with time hardened into fact, and as the centuries and then the millennia roiled by, into a knowledge literally encapsulated within the genes.
Realizing the impossible task he had set himself, Kurber wished he could exit the cramped elevator and even the planet, perhaps to find a place where security was the responsibility of the sheriff and where expediting was something done by the local mayor. It was too late for that of course, much too late. So as he entered the dim room, it was with a certain grim determination.
The three Sub Elites were sitting behind a low table at the far side of the room. Introducing them as Paul, James, and Edward, David said, "I twanslate," and also sat at the table. David's one-piece garment of soft gray was in dignified contrast to the garish colors worn by the Subs. Also noticeable, even in the sudued light, was the fact that compared with his compatriots, David's head was longer and his skin of a lighter shade—seemingly further confirmation of the evolutionary divergences wrought by this rigidly ancient culture.
Gia whispered. "It's your party, Jase."
Kurber shuddered. "I know." What followed, though not entirely fruitless, proved to be one of the most difficult interviews of his experience. Speaking through David, the three Subs could just have easily been one.
"I understand you all regularly visit the Earth legation," Kurber began.
"Yess."
"Also that you know of the bad writings which have been obtained and circulated by the group known as the Human Eaters."
"We know."
"Will you please tell me which of the humans brought those writings to Phuili?"
"No."
"I know the Human Eaters have no direct dealings with any human, so it has to be another Phuili who receives the microchips and delivers them to the Eaters. Is that Phuili one of you?"
Silence.
"Then I will examine the legation's records to determine which of you has the least reason to call there."
It was a long shot, and for a moment it seemed that the one known as Edward had shed his apparent indifference enough to betray a nervous tightening of his jaws. But in the bad light it could also have been a trick of Kurber's imagination, so the man continued.
"Actually it is not important which human and which Phuili is involved in this matter. What is important is that all the Phuili recognize the writings for what they are; the rantings of one human who certainly does not represent his kind. As a people we do not believe the Phuili are any threat to us, and we know we are not a threat to the Phuili. Neither does humanity and its leaders have any kind of plan to rule the galaxy. Such an idea is absolute nonsense, and can only be the product of a sick mind."
The reaction was immediate. "What One Phuili say. all Phuili do. What one human say, all human do. One sick, zen all sick. Human wace dangerwous. All must go back home planet fwom Phuili and Shouter. Phuili make galaxy safe."
The statement was so outrageous that for a moment Kurber was at a complete loss for words. Counter arguments raced through his mind, including the one in which he would describe the incredible variety of the human species; from Pygmy to European, Marxist to Monarchist, Technocrat to Mystic. But remembering a remark of Mason Dewitte, Kurber was quite sure anything he said would be rejected by the inflexible Subs because it "does not compute."
Damn you. I'm not done yet!
Kurber took a deep breath. "What about the builders of the A.A.s? Where do they fit into your scheme of things?"
The reply was bland. "Zey gone long time. Galaxy Phuili now."
Kurber felt he would strangle. Gia sensed the pent-up pressure and laid a hand on his arm. "It's not worth it, Jase. Don't play into the hands of the Eaters."
She was right, of course. Kurber took several deep breaths, letting the tension drain from him. with each expelled lung-full. "I think we had better go," he said.



It was only a straw, yet it was all he had. Kurber spoke about it as the still apologetic David drove them back to the legation. "Those three don't like humans, yet they were willing to talk to us. On the other hand, the Human Eaters feel soiled even if they see a human from a distance. Doesn't that suggest the Subs are not such a homogenous group after all?"
"It only suggests they are not machines, Jase." Squeezed beside him in the ground car. Gia was an attractive antidote for Kurber's depression. "Sure there are differences, though nowhere near to the same extent that we have on Earth. In fact, it is that fine balance between the Phuili norm and extreme which makes the Realities material so dangerous. In this society, push can all too easily become shove."
The sky was fading into evening. Ahead, the more modest towers of the city's perimeter were hard-edged shadows against a pink sky. In many ways Phuili was an attractive world, and now that Kurber's nose was becoming adjusted to its strange odors, he thought he understood why most of the humans stationed here were into their second two-year terms.
David had remained uncharacteristically silent as he guided the ground car through the darkening and silent streets. But the continuous flexing of his large ears indicated he was listening closely to the conversation of his human companions. He finally broke silence as they turned into the legation's approach lane. "Iss vewy bad. If Subs invoke law. Elites must go wiz same. Only way is for bad information to stop."
Sorry guys, it's in your court now. I sympathize, but the law is Cod and God is the law. So what can I do?
Not much, Kurber supposed bitterly, his brief consideration of the attractiveness of this world evaporating under a surge of anger. Yet in a sense revitalized by his indignation, he wasted no time after he entered the legation in finding a computer terminal.
"Records," he said.
RECORDS, the machine replied.
"List all items imported from Earth, by the Phuili, during the past twelve months."
LISTING.
He was impatiently drumming his fingers on the console when Gia entered the room. After watching a moment, she said quietly, "Jase, I do not know you too well, but I think I recognize the symptoms. You are mad as hell and ready to pounce on every anomaly in sight."
"OK, so you've been there. What did you do about it?"
She chuckled. "The same as you, I suspect. Fire random shots and hope one of them finds a target." Gia frowned as she peered over Kurber's shoulder at the rapidly scrolling display on the screen. "What are you looking for?"
"What I should have looked for as soon as I got here. The Phuili may have an advanced technology, but that doesn't make their computer systems compatible with ours. I'm guessing they have imported enough hard and software to analyze us humans right down to the last byte. I want to know what, when, and where."
"For readout and translation. Of course!"
"Of course," Kurber echoed, his smile sardonic. Not too successfully he was trying to ignore Gia's proximity; the faint yet powerful subtlety of her fragrance. "This could be the lead to whoever in the legation is delivering what chip, to which Phuili, who in turn is taking it to any one of god knows how many establishments that have imported Earthside equipment." He added dryly. "Our primitive technology is much in demand, it seems."
"Primitive is the word all right." Gia pointed at the screen. "Just look at that stuff. My young nephew was on to better things when he entered grade school."
"You sound surprised."
"Shouldn't I be?"
Kurber grinned. "You'll agree that most Sub Elites, though not as extreme in their views as the Human Eaters, are certainly sympathetic to the anti-human crusade. Right?"
"I don't see what that has to do with—"
"Fraser and his extremists probably number no more than a few hundred. But there are also thousands of borderline xenophobes, outwardly decent people who carry on their lives just like the rest of us."
Gia looked at the man puzzledly. "What are you saying?"
"Only that I suspect it would be quite revealing if we had access to the background files of a few people in the licensing division of the Off-World Export Office."
Gia was startled by the idea. "My god, if that is true—"
His attention still largely occupied by the information rolling across the screen, Kurber went on absently, "Despite their infinite wisdom, however, those same bureaucrats still have not realized how much their restrictions have played into the hands of the Phuili hardliners. Admittedly, the low level hardware they let through is adequate enough for simple readout, even for basic word-to-word translation. But for the hardliners, the advantage is that the imported equipment is primitive, in effect being a further illustration of human inferiority."
"Damn and double-damn!" Gia took a deep breath and added angrily. "Jase, it's all so bloody stupid!"
"Sure it is. A sort of mutual, self-reinforcing paranoia." Suddenly Kurber's eyes widened and he jabbed the key which halted the flow of data. He touched another key. reversing the display by a few lines. "Now why," he wondered aloud, "do they need that particular item?"



The Great Work was nearly done. All that remained was the transfer of millions of beings, and then the final order from the Apex in his tower above a smog-shrouded' sea. The other work would continue of course. What once had only been hypothetical was now a distinct possibility, and teams were already being diverted to the orbital research stations. Either way, the race's holy mission would continue until all things were pure and matter itself was returned to the rigid matrix of the Giver's Law.
Nevertheless the Apex was worried. He had seen the reports of the strange burst of energy from the outer system, the similarity of its spectral components to the explosion which had destroyed Station Eighteen and which had required him to order the termination of the hundreds of thousands whose usefulness had been compromised by the lethal rays.
He did not doubt that life existed among the stars. Time after time, the possibilities had been demonstrated by those who studied the enrichment effect of novae and their shock waves on the interstellar medium. What was in doubt was the nature of that life—was it merely a crawling scum on the bottom of shallow seas, or had it learned to manipulate matter to the extent of building ships that could violate the Holy Void? In which case, what had been the nature of that incredibly concentrated burst of energy? A random natural happening? Faulty detectors? Or had there actually been . . .?
The Apex dismissed the awful thought and sent for the Deputy Eight. "According to the current arrangements, when can I issue the Order?" he asked.
The Eight bowed. "At the Crossing of The Moons, your words will be the instrument by which every adult and lesser will at last know our race's holy destiny."
The Apex nodded, his gray-furred face thoughtful. "It would please me if it could be sooner. Indeed, much sooner."
Though the Eight was surprised, he did not show it. "It will be difficult. Already every available ship is committed. At each rendezvous there is so much to be transferred, so many to be prepared for—"
The Apex gestured impatiently. "That is only because we are organized for a simultaneous activation. Instead, what if we divert the ships to service only fifty-of the Units?"
The Eight was shocked. "But the Day! The Knowing—"
"Is a ceremony, nothing more. That need not be changed. Nevertheless, I happen to know it will serve The Giver's purpose if a few circles of time are sacrificed so that fifty can be activated . . ." The Apex glanced out at two patches of light in the mud-colored sky, ". . . at the Opposite of The Moons."
Committed by holy oath to make the necessary changes, the bemused official finally bowed his way out of the room. The Apex remained in the darkness, his, eyes glittering with an ancient hate as his thoughts pulled back the smog to reveal the lights of other suns. "Perhaps you are not there," he murmured softly, "in which case we will be a little premature. But if you are, very soon you will have much to fear . . . ."



It had taken several days of intense negotiating to set it up. Though all the humans were cooperative, the idea of Phuili Subs participating in such a meeting was so startling it required the direct intervention of David and other Elites before Paul, James, and Edward were at last persuaded to attend. Noticeably the three Subs separated themselves as much as possible from the humans, who chatted in subdued tones as they tried to ignore the unusual presences at the far side of the lounge.
At exactly nineteen hours, Kurber, Gia, and David entered and took their places behind a small table. Gia started the proceedings.
"First," she said, "I will not waste time with the obvious. You all know about the written trash from Earth that has been circulating among the Phuili, and you are certainly knowledgeable enough to realize the damage it is causing. Anyway, Earth judged the matter serious enough to send an investigator—" Gia held up both hands in a gesture for silence. As the noise died down, she lowered her hands and smiled. "Yes, it is Jase Kurber. No, he is not Security. He is is the Resident Expediter—with the additional mandate to identify and arrest the human who is responsible."
Mason Dewitte heaved his large bulk upright. "Young man, how long have you been an expediter?"
"Not long," Kurber admitted cautiously.
The fat man nodded. "I did not think so. All right, second question. Have you identified the miscreant?"
"I have."
"In that case Mr. Kurber, the floor is yours." Dewitte beamed and sat down.
Even the three Subs showed signs of interest, in that sense being one with the humans. You'd think I was about to announce who shot J.R., Kurber thought, remembering a recognized though obscure expression that had been in vogue during his college days. Looking at his audience of curious faces, human and alien, he prayed he was not about to transform some of that curiosity into hostility.
He cleared his throat. "Memory chips. That seemed the obvious means by which the Human Eaters have been acquiring extracts from Universe Realities. It was also apparent they could not be getting that material via the obvious route, through the Phuili legation on Earth. The legation's staff is, after all, exclusively Elite, and will certainly refuse any order aimed against the interspecies relationship the Elites themselves helped to create. That is why my instructions were to find a human who had the motive and opportunity to smuggle the chips through this legation on Phuili."
"You're wasting your time," Barton Hale interrupted from the floor. Kurber had had very little contact with Hale, since the hair-raising ride in from the shuttle terminal, though from what he had heard of the exo-biologist's love of the put-down, he was certain he was about to experience that particular irritation. Deliberately taking the bait. Kurber asked mildly, "Why am I wasting my time, Mr. Hale?"
"For the obvious and simple reason that our psychological profiles say so," Hale retorted. "My god, even a storefront operator can recognize a xenophobe, and we were examined by the best psychologists in the business. Sorry, Mr. Kurber, but perhaps you should go back to expediting!" To the sound of scattered applause, he smiled smugly.
Kurber waited for silence. Then, "Who said anything about anyone being a xenophobe?"
"You did! You are the one who implied—"
"Mr. Hale, do you like the Phuili?"
"What kind of question is that? Of course I do. I'd hardly be here if I didn't."
"How do you rate the Phuili against human kind?"
"I don't. As far as I am concerned, the Phuili are neither better or worse. They are simply . . ." Hale shrugged his thin shoulders; ". . . different."
"Very good, Mr. Hale. You have just expressed a sane, middle-of-the-road attitude that is undoubtedly shared by most of your colleagues. However, there is one person here who goes a lot further than merely liking the Phuili, who idolizes them to the extent of believing—exactly as the Human Eaters—that humans are indeed a threat to an ancient and perfect society. Now I do not know if the psychologists have a name for that aberration, but I suspect it is one they either overlooked or considered unimportant. Which do you think, Mr. Hale?"
Hale did not reply, though Kurber felt a small glow of satisfaction at the man's obvious discomfiture. Returning his attention to the main audience, Kurber continued, "I admit I was as surprised as anyone when I realized we were dealing with the opposite of a xenophobe. But for me, that was only the second surprise. The first was something I discovered just before I identified the person we have heard described as 'miscreant.' " Kurber signaled, the lights dimmed, and data began scrolling across the big monitor at the front of the lounge.
"Most of you have seen these lists before, itemizing hardware the Phuili have brought in to further their studies of Earth and human society. You will note there are at least a dozen institutions that now have the capability to read imported memory chips, which seems to support the theory that that is how Realities is getting to the Human Eaters. There is, however, a problem. Since Pri-A-one was imposed a few weeks ago, everything shipped to this legation has been examined and cleared by a special unit assigned from the Security Service."
Expecting a reaction, Kurber paused. What he did get, instead of indignation, was a stony silence; unexpected though illuminating. It seemed he had underestimated the intelligence of these people, who clearly had anticipated the intervention of the S.S. as soon as they heard of Pri-A-one and the reason for its imposition. Feeling uncomfortably like an adolescent trying to lecture a group of adults, the expediter sighed and continued.
"OK, we know two things. First, that someone here is the source of the Realities material. Second, that there is apparently no way for illicit chips to get through Earth's security check, let alone to the Eaters."
"So perhaps it ain't chips," someone suggested helpfully.
Despite himself, Kurber chuckled. "How right you are." He turned to the monitor. "What fooled me and everyone else is the use of a technology that predates computers." He pointed. "Optec Reader one-nine-nine-zero VX, delivered to Institution Three in this city. In plain language, I-Three has an optical microscope rigged for amplification and projection. An ideal instrument for reading microdots."
"I'll be damned," Mason Dewitte said.
Kurber looked inquiringly at the fat man. "Something familiar?"
"Speaking as a devotee of twentieth century mystery fiction, darn right it's familiar!" Dewitte raised his voice so everyone could hear. "A microdot is a piece of high resolution optical film, small enough that it can be disguised as the dot at the end of a written sentence." Dewitte wagged a stubby finger. "Jase, I think you are a nice fellow. But if you do not make the rest of it short and snappy, I may be tempted to revise that opinion."
Kurber chuckled. "Short and snappy it is." He held up a slim magazine, typical of a type of specialist publication that had held its own despite mass electronics. "Social Impact of Extra-Terrestrial Relationships," he read from the title page. "This little mag and others like it are also imported by the Phuili, though in this case they do not have to order through their people on Earth. Instead they arrange for photocopies of issues brought in by the legation's staff for their own use. So it's no problem for the person who makes those copies to attach a microdot according to a pre-arranged formula—such as the end of the seventh sentence on page four. By the way Ms. Doerker, how do you get the microdots in the first place? Letters from home?"
The only human who did not react sat with prim disdain among the stares and exclamations of her colleagues. Finally, as the excitement died down, Elise Doerker, the legation's receptionist, said calmly. "That is very clever of you, Mr. Kurber."
It was not quite the hysterical denial Kurber expected, and before he could respond there was an explosion of gutterals from the back of the room. No longer silent bystanders, the three Subs were at their full diminutive height as each in turn fired a verbal barrage at the Elite who shared the platform with Gia and Kurber.
David translated, "Zey not wish human female harmed. She fwiend of Phuili who agwee humans bad for Phuili ways. Zey say Human Eaters not act more if female stay and numbers of humans on Phuili not incweasc."
The offer was so unexpected that for a moment Kurber wondered if it was an implied threat rather than the concession it seemed to be. But it was a fleeting thought, dismissed in favor of the more probable explanation that the Subs were making the best of a bad situation. Without Doerker's active support they could no longer receive and pass on the grist for the Eaters' propaganda mill, and without effective propaganda the Eaters themselves were no longer a problem.
How about that. I have successfully completed my first assignment as an expediter!
Under normal circumstances Kurber knew he had reason to be at least a little euphoric. But there was still the fact of the Silver People, and from recent dispatches he knew that the human and Phuili negotiators on The Shouter had come no closer to agreeing on a course of action to end the threat. If humans and Phuili had anything in common at all, it was the incredible inertia of their bureaucracies—which permitted representatives of the two races to argue in useless circles while the margin between threat and disaster was becoming perilously narrow. Ethics were fine, an abhorrence against genocide a must for any civilized society, but against true savagery there could be no diplomacy. Humans, with their Caligulas, Hitlers, and Katryn Gervaks should know that. So should the Phuili. It was a Phuili expedition, after all, that had returned with the evidence of this horror in the making.
Perhaps there is another way.
With a rashness belying his natural caution, Kurber got David to ask the Subs, "Do you know if the Human Eaters believe that the human race should be destroyed?"
The reply, though indirect, was vehement. "Iss wong to destwoy wace!" Then, guardedly, "Human Eaters want humans not anywhere except planets of human sun. Human Eaters say galaxy Phuili."
"What if there is a third race, a race dedicated to the destruction of all life other than its own?"
"If attacked, Phuili defend."
"But if the Human Eaters knew of such a threat, would they wait to be attacked? Or would they move to destroy the attackers?"
If the Subs were human, Kurber did not doubt the provocative nature of his questioning would by now have involved him in a shouting match. But he was gambling on the higher flash point of the Phuili temperament, as well as their natural curiosity to know where he was leading. Nevertheless, the delay in the answering of this last question made him nervous. Finally, "Perhaps Human Eaters not wait. But Human Eaters not destwoy wace."
"What if the responsibility for such a pre-emptive act can be shared? What if others, equally threatened, offer cooperation?"
Gia hissed at him. "What others? Jase, you know damn well the government will never sanction such a thing!"
"Who said anything about the government?" Kurber asked innocently. To the Subs, "Well? If they are not required to do the job entirely on their own, would the Human Eaters do what is necessary to save Phuili and the galaxy?"
This time, mercifully, the Subs took only a few seconds to reply. "Wiz help," David translated, "we zink, . . . yess."
Kurber took a deep breath. Bingo!



It was clandestine but it had precedents. Historically, Earth nations had often used "client" stales or revolutionary movements to wage war while staying clear of the conflict themselves, and though the Phuili did not have that tradition they did seem willing to tread in Machiavelli's well worn footsteps. The separation of one ship from the inventory of each fleet was a minor matter, as was the disappearance of several of Lector Fraser's followers from their usual haunts, and a similar number of Human Eaters from Phuili. The removal of a pair of sun seeds from storage was not even explained, though if any Phuili chose to query the records he might wonder about a proposed experiment to induce instabilities in a minor star beyond the galactic hub.
After a short but intensive period of ship familiarization and training, the two dissimilar space craft lifted off from separate island continents on the planet Groombra Four and flared into the super-light-condition known as phase-shift. Forty years later, observers on Groombra Four (since renamed Harmony) saw a faint star become a little brighter and then slowly fade back to its original magnitude. The time gap was, of course, due to the forty light years of distance, and two of the observers had been present those four decades earlier, when one of the ships returned to its base on the Second Continent. The two observers remembered that the men and women who emerged from the ship had been strangely subdued. . . .



"Did everything go as planned?" Kurber asked anxiously.
The Captain's smile was tired. "Exactly. The dogfaces went in first with their egg, then we with ours." His face brightened. "My god, you should have seen that sun flare!"
"The Silver People—"
"The home planet is a cinder. There are still a lot of outposts of course, but they won't last long. No way they can recreate the necessary technology."
"So why the long faces?" Gia asked. "Have you discovered it's not so easy to obliterate a race after all, even one as unpleasant as the Silver People?"
The Captain held out a hand. "Look. Steady as a rock. No guilt here, lady, or with any of the crew."
"So what is the problem?" "You won't like it."
"Try us."
The Captain turned his eyes skyward, toward an insignificant speck amid the evening's dusting of stars. "I know we destroyed a hornets nest," he said quietly. "But I am not so convinced that we got all of the hornets."



On the First Continent, the Phuili commander said to Davakinapwottapellazanzis, "Our instruments detected the event as we were preparing to leave. It had all the characteristics of a ship going into phase shift."
"It must have been the humans."
The Captain shook his head. "We had just exchanged location data with the flat-faces. Their ship was on the other side of the system."



They had not had time to develop phase shift to an interstellar capability. But what they did know was enough to slingshot the fifty units to a distance of half a light year. They almost didn't make it: the last of the fifty flared out of normal space even as the home world burned and the outposts prepared to die.
The Apex had been right. Although the garden was destroyed, the wisdom of his planning had ensured that enough of its seeds were safely dispersed into the Holy Void.
Now they were spread across the surface of an expanding sphere nearly a light-year across. Inert and totally subject to the laws that move stars and galaxies, each was enormous: a complex of metal and rock, of concrete made from space dust and powdered moon-lets, and of hundreds of needle ships anchored to the surface like bristles on a brush. Deep under the surface, thousands of beings lay like death in great stasis chambers, waiting only for the signal that would prick their bubbles of timelessness and allow them to continue the Great Cleansing.
It would be more than a century before even one of the silently drifting arks came close enough to the triggering warmth of another sun. But space is so huge, a few tens of years was not much lime in which to find and destroy those dormant seeds—before they sprouted and began to spread anti-life into the universe.



For the xenophobes of Groombra Four, what was done had only been the beginning. . . .