T he Tuuqalian shuttle that carried the representatives of the five visiting species—human, canine, K’eremu, Iollth, and Niyyuu—to the surface was itself larger than some interstellar craft the travelers had seen. A lot of the interior seemed to consist of empty space. No doubt when it was transporting the much bigger Tuuqalians, it was packed full.

Similarly, the interesting high-speed, multi-wheeled ground transport vehicle that transported them from the landing site into the city of Karoceen was plainly not designed for visitors. Everyone except the solicitous Braouk had to be helped to reach the vehicle’s high entrance. Everyone, that is, except Sque. Using her suckerless tentacles, the most reluctant among the visitors was able to find sufficient purchase on the exterior of the transport to climb aboard by herself. This achievement had unintended unfortunate consequences, as her four companions were subsequently forced to listen to a patronizing discourse on the superiority of K’eremu physical as well as mental skills all the way into the metropolis.

Karoceen was of a size befitting the dimensions of its inhabitants. Far larger than any urban complex Walker and George had seen on Hyff or Niyu, it reminded them of the great metropolitan concentrations on Seremathenn itself. With one notable exception: few of the buildings were more than five or six stories (albeit they were Tuuqalian stories, he reminded himself) high. The Tuuqalia, Braouk explained in response to his question, were not fond of heights. So while Karoceen and its sister cities were enormous in extent, their skylines failed to impress.

Structures tended to have rounded corners, in keeping with Tuuqalian aesthetics, and large windows. Many appeared to be composed entirely of reinforced polysilicates or similar transparent materials. When the visitors exited the transport vehicle and were ushered into one notably tall building of five stories, Walker felt dwarfed by their native escorts. Being around one Tuuqalian, Braouk, had often been intimidating enough. Finding oneself on their world, surrounded by dozens of the multi-limbed, sawtoothed giants, would be enough to make anyone paranoid. He found himself staying close to the tall young Niyyuuan astronomer Habr-wec. The normally bold George was also intimidated to the point where he threatened to walk under Walker’s feet and trip them both.

Only Sque, who had not wanted to come at all, appeared unimpressed, traveling in the manner to which she had become accustomed atop one of Braouk’s powerful upper limbs, her own tentacles providing her with a grip Walker could only envy. She was spared the anxiety that afflicted him and the others by her unshakable innate sense of superiority, the knowledge that while all space-traversing species were sentient, the K’eremu were just a little more sentient than anyone else.

Senescent, more likely, Walker grumbled to himself even as he envied her feeling of invincible self-confidence.

Not knowing what to expect, he was taken aback when Braouk and their escort of four massive armed Tuuqalians finally halted before a pair of towering doors.

“We are here,” their friend informed them, before adding cryptically, “With luck, this will take a long time.”

Walker did not have the opportunity to ask what Braouk meant by that before the doors folded into opposing walls and they were conducted inside.

The chamber was immense, a gilded hall with a floor that sloped upward instead of down as would have been the case in a comparable human facility. There were no chairs. Like the Iollth, the Tuuqalians neither used nor needed such furnishings. Climbing the slight slope that appeared to be paved with a single continuous strip of something like varnished lapis lazuli, they approached a waiting semicircle of Tuuqalians. The distance between doorway and dais being equally Tuuqalian-sized, Walker felt as if he was hiking across the floor of a vast indoor sports arena instead of simply from one side of a meeting room to the other. Silence save for the muted slap-slap of their escorts’ lower limbs against the floor and a steady cool breeze whose source he could not discern made the distance to be traversed seem all the greater.

Braouk’s people had no more use for clothing than they did for chairs, though the dozen or so figures did flaunt various pendants and other identifying devices that encircled their uppermost limbs like massive bracelets. Twenty-four bulbous, unblinking eyes regarded the approaching visitors, bobbing and weaving at the ends of muscular, flexible eyestalks. The sight was as hypnotic as it was unnerving.

The last time Walker had been so intimidated by rank size was when he had been forced to confront the Ohio State offensive line his senior year at his university. There was no basis for actual physical comparison, of course. The smallest of the aliens squatting before him on its four lower tentacles massed as much as the entire State line. The number of writhing, gesturing tentacles arrayed in front of him reminded him of a horde of pythons leisurely contemplating potential prey.

One of the unabashedly curious officials bade the arrivals and their escort halt. Silence ensued while additional stares were exchanged. Standing in a hall that seemed large enough to manufacture its own weather, surrounded by alien giants, some of whom were even bigger than his friend Braouk, Walker waited for whatever might come. There was no backing out now, he realized. No changing one’s mind and asking to be returned to the safety of the Jhevn-bha. And he didn’t think offering to prepare dinner for the dozen officials squatting before him would allow him and his friends to avoid having to satisfy the still mysterious, unstated “requirement.” Right now, the only thing available to cut with a knife was the tension.

It was broken by the Tuuqalian squatting at the far left end of the line. Walker’s implant had no trouble translating the straightforward local singsong.

“Let the nearer biped begin first!”

With the representatives of the Niyyuu and Iollth standing to his right, it struck Walker that the speaker was referring to him. Dozens of eyestalks immediately coiled in his direction. He could have done without the attention.

Turning to Braouk’s familiar, reassuring shape, he whispered, “What are we supposed to do? What am I expected to do? How do we go about satisfying this demand of your people to prove that we’re sufficiently civilized and sensitive enough to be allowed to visit your world?”

Each nearly the size of his head, both eyes curved close to him. It was a measure of how far he had come and how much he had changed that their proximity did not unsettle him in the least.

“You must do, the same as I, friend Marcus.”

Seeking clarification, he’d hit upon only bafflement. Aware that he was now the focus of the attention of everyone in the vast hall, from Tuuqalian escorts and officials to his own companions, he struggled for understanding.

“Do the same? The same what?” He spread both hands. “You know as well as anyone what I can do, Braouk. I can broker trades, and I can cook.”

His massive friend was unrelenting. “You must do one more thing, Marcus. You must do as I.” A pair of tentacles swept down the length of the assembled. “Show them the level of your civilization. Show them your sensitive nature. Recite to them, as best you can, a saga. Intonation is important, inspiration is foremost, format is forgiving.”

Near Walker’s feet and oblivious to the significance of the moment, George was snickering. “Go ahead, Marc. Sing them a saga of humankind. You could use your own original kindly, polite, human profession as a springboard.”

“You’re not helping,” Walker hissed at his canine companion. Furiously, he tried to think of a subject that would satisfy the demands of those assembled to pass judgment not merely on him, but on his entire species. If he failed, it might not mean a crisis: one or more of his companions might proceed to satisfy the Tuuqalian requirement. But it would not be a good way to begin. Besides, now that he was here, he very much wanted to see something of Braouk’s homeworld. There was also a matter of pride involved. When faced with a challenge, he had never let his firm down. Could he do no less for his entire species? Fortunately, he didn’t have to sing—only to recite. Choosing his words carefully, modifying them to fit the traditional Tuuqalian saga-pattern, he cleared his throat, took a deep breath and began.

“Big blue blot, floating out in space, so far. Very far away, too far for me, to reach. Blue with water, green with growing plants, white clouds. One special city, by a big lake, my home. It miss it, the good and bad, so much. My heart hurts, every time I think, of it. It’s your help, that we really need, right now. To find Earth, and my friend Sque’s, homeworlds.”

He rambled on, sometimes without effort, at other times having to pause as long as he dared to think furiously (did speed count?). The longer he scribed the story, the easier the words came. Having lived alongside Braouk for so long made settling into the proper speech pattern simpler than he would have believed possible.

Amazing what one could pick up over the years, depending on the company one kept, he thought even as he continued to churn out words and phrases of parallel pacing. The longer he spun narrative without interruption or objection, the more confident he felt that he was at least being listened to, and the wider the field of acceptable subject matter that occurred to him. Then, with unexpected abruptness, he hit a mental wall. With no more reminiscences to share, no further hopes to declaim, and growing slightly hoarse besides, he just stopped. If the Tuuqalians who had been watching and listening to him had been expecting or waiting for a big finish, it was denied to them. The stress of fulfilling the demand had exhausted him physically as well as mentally.

A wet nose nudged his leg. George looked up at him with as solemn an expression as he had ever seen on the dog’s face. “That,” his friend informed him somberly, “was as eloquent a collection of words as I’ve ever heard dribble from your protruding lips, man.”

“Thanks, George.” Both the Niyyuuan and Iollth representatives also crowded around him to offer muted congratulations, while Braouk threatened to smother his much smaller friend with a complimentary lashing of tentacles. As usual, Sque vouchsafed offering anything like a direct compliment. But neither did she hiss her usual ration of denigration. In fact, when he happened to glance in her direction, the size and shape of the bubbles she was casually burbling from her flexible breathing tube suggested a certain modicum of nonverbal approval.

None of which mattered, of course. Ignoring the continuing congratulations of his friends, he shifted his attention to the line of massive, convened adjudicators. They, too, had been conversing quietly among themselves ever since he had finished. Now the Tuuqalian on the right end of the line, farthest from the one who had instructed Walker to begin, fluttered its single nostril as beartrap-like jaws parted.

“Is good enough, to allow for welcoming, your kind.”

Walker’s spirits rose as if he had just pulled off a three-way trade involving dollars, euros, and a shipload of raw mahogany. Since at present his kind referred only to him, he assumed he was in.

He was given no time to savor his accomplishment. It was the turn of the young Niyyuuan astronomer to saga-spin on behalf of his people. Having had time to prepare, thanks to Walker’s inspired bit of homesick spieling, Habr-wec declaimed in proper Tuuqalian the configuration of stars and planets, of his hopes for learning more about them, of how this journey was the fulfillment of a dream held by every fellow astronomer relegated to observing the heavens only from a planetary surface, and of his hopes that his counterparts on this beautiful world would help him and his friends to realize their goal of returning to their homes the victims of unwarranted abduction presently stranded in their midst. As he spoke, his neck frill flared fully erect, and like a quartet of furry metronomes, his tails kept time to his speaking. Nothing could be done about his Niyyuuan voice, however, the sandpapery nature of which grated even on the recessed hearing organs of the tolerant and attentive row of Tuuqalians.

Despite that unavoidable awkwardness, the concise saga spun by the unexpectedly expressive young scientist also passed muster.

In spite of having been granted far more time to prepare, De-sil-jimd of the Iollth seemed hesitant to begin. Not nervous, Walker thought. Just uncertain. As fidgeting became noticeable among the impatient line of Tuuqalian adjudicators, Walker and his friends gathered around the reluctant communications specialist.

“What’s wrong?” Walker whispered. “Can’t you think of anything to say?”

“Iollth good fighters, but maybe that all,” Habr-wec suggested tactlessly. Walker threw him a dirty look, which did no harm because it was not understood.

De-sil-jimd straightened on his powerful hind legs. “That is not the problem. I can think of much to say, and the form of speaking is not difficult for my kind.” Small dark eyes met Walker’s. “The problem is that I can only think of one subject to speak strongly about, and it is nothing like the subjects to which you or the skinny Niyyuu have spoken. I am worried it might offend our welcomers.”

Walker frowned. “What subject were you thinking of using as a basis for your saga?”

De-sil-jimd turned on his oversized feet to better regard the taller human. “Predation. The Hyfft would understand.”

Walker nodded knowingly. It was certainly a contrast with the serene, peaceful subject matter which he and Habr-wec had addressed. But if it was all the Iollth could think of around which to spin the requisite saga…

How would the Tuuqalians react? There was only one way to find out.

“Might as well give it a try,” he suggested to the bottom-heavy alien. “All they’re likely to do is refuse your people landing rights. Habr-wec and I are already in.”

The Iollth gestured tersely. Turning slowly, he faced the line of increasingly impatient Tuuqalians and, in a high-pitched voice that was a welcoming contrast to the Niyyuuan discordance that had preceded it, began.

To everyone’s relief, the pugnacious nature of the communications specialist’s short narrative was in no way off-putting to the attentive jury. If anything, they appreciated its robust nature more than did any of De-sil-jimd’s mildly appalled companions. Thinking back to the unrestrained ferocity Braouk had exhibited on board the Vilenjji capture ship, Walker realized he ought not to have been surprised. The Tuuqalians were as open to aggressive saga-spinning as they were to more tranquil reminiscing.

That left only two among the visitors to gain their hosts’ tentacle-wave of approval. Her initial reluctance to even participate now appeared in direct contrast to Sque’s dynamic verbal invention on behalf of her kind. In fact, after half an hour of tale-telling in perfect Tuuqalian form accompanied by much waving of tentacle tips and blowing of bubbles, those who constituted the imposing array of judges were starting to squirm once again, though this time not from impatience. It was left to Walker to approach the energetically orating K’eremu, crouch down to eye level, and make gentle shushing motions.

Halting in mid-declamation, four tentacles held aloft and preparing to gesture dramatically, she peered over at him. “Something is wrong, Marcus Walker?”

He had long since learned that delicate diplomacy was wasted on a K’eremu. “I think you’ve sagaed enough, Sque. Time to let our hosts pass judgment. Superb invention, by the way.”

“Of course it is,” she replied, lowering two of the four uplifted tentacles. “All of my vocalizing is superb. As to letting our hosts pass judgment, their approval of my modest efforts was a foregone conclusion as soon as I began. But I am far from finished.” She turned away from him and back to the line of exceedingly tolerant adjudicators. “In point of fact, I have barely concluded the introduction I have composed, and have not yet commenced the body of the recitation.”

“And a wonderful recitation it was!” Walker declared loudly, so that all present would be certain to hear him. At the same time, he was gesturing to Braouk. No other Tuuqalian would have understood the significance of that gesture. But to Braouk, who had spent as much time in the company of the K’eremu as had Walker, its meaning and significance were clear.

Stepping forward, he promptly picked up the paused Sque and raised her high. This was her favored mode of travel, carried aloft above everyone else by the prodigiously strong Tuuqalian. She therefore did not object to the unrequested ascension, until a second massive tentacle folded itself gently but firmly around her midsection, collapsing her speaking tube against the slick maroon flesh of her torso. The closest human physical equivalent of Braouk’s action would be pinching someone’s lips together.

Slitted eyelids expanded. Unable to speak or blow bubbles of protest, she remained elevated above her companions but quite speechless. A necessary interruption, Walker felt certain, lest they find themselves forced to endure her clever but interminable verbal invention for hours on end while trying the patience of the adjudicators.

Despite the surgical delicacy of the intercession, it did not go unnoticed by the assembled panel. Eying the effectively muffled Sque, a Tuuqalian near the middle of the line rumbled inquisitively, “Why is the small many-limbed one now silent, and why is she gesticulating so actively with her appendages?”

Looking back, Walker watched as Braouk promptly passed a second massive tentacle across Sque’s body, stilling much of the activity that had drawn the adjudicator’s attention.

“It’s part of a private ritual of hers,” Walker hurriedly improvised. “She likes to be carried. As you’ve been informed, the four of us who were abducted have been together for some time. Despite being of different species, we’ve come to an intimate knowledge and appreciation of one another’s needs and habits.” Gesturing in the direction of the now scrupulously restrained Sque, he lowered his voice slightly. “Our K’eremu’s high intelligence is balanced by an unfortunate addiction to certain herbal supplements. Nervousness at the need to satisfy the traditions of Tuuqalia probably led her to…well, surely you understand.” Repeatedly, he put the fingers of one hand up to his mouth.

Some discussion among the Tuuqalians finally led to the one on the far left announcing, “The presentation of the representative from K’erem is accepted. Only one remains.” All eyestalks promptly inclined in the direction of the only quadruped among the visitors.

Walker crouched down beside his friend. “You don’t have to do this, George. I know you didn’t really want to come.” He gestured toward the others. “Everyone else has satisfied the requirement. That means all the crews, from their scientific compliments, to the salivating media representatives, to those who only want to rest and do some sightseeing, have been granted access. You can go back up on the shuttle and relax on board until we’re ready to leave this system. You don’t have to stay down here.”

Cocking his head to one side, the dog looked over at him. “You think I suffered through another atmospheric roller-coaster ride just to turn around and slink back with my tail tucked between my legs? Now that I’m here, I damn sure wouldn’t mind a roll in the local grass, or its equivalent.” So saying, he took a couple of steps toward the row of expectant Tuuqalians. Walker straightened and, after one more glance to ensure that the irate Sque was still being held firmly in check, waited to see what the dog would do.

It was impossible to tell whether George had been rehearsing while everyone else had been addressing the Tuuqalians, or if his saga was spontaneous. Whichever, he did not hesitate.

“I’m alone here, if I get home, still alone. The only one, of my small kind, who speaks. Gave me intelligence, did our wicked captors, without asking. Gave me speech, not as a gift, or present. To help them, to easier sell me, to others.” Lowering his head, his ears falling limp, the dog pawed evocatively at the lapis-blue floor. “I can’t decide, if it’s a blessing, or curse. I can’t decide, if I should return, to Earth. Being a freak, however affecting and admirable, is hard.”

As George continued, the immense hall became utterly silent. The small dog-voice bounced off walls so distant the words barely reached, returning as echoes that rarely rose above a whisper. Even Sque, unable to do more than listen and watch, stilled the outraged writhing of her tentacles and paid attention to the small speaker.

When George finally finished and turned to rejoin his friends, it was all Walker could do to repress the tears that had begun to well up at the corners of his eyes. In their place, he did the only thing he was sure would not be misconstrued. Kneeling, he smiled and patted his companion gently on his head.

The Tuuqalian on the far right of the line spoke in a rumble that might have been ever so subtly different from all that had preceded it.

“An exemplar of sensitivity and saga-composing, the small quadruped is accepted, as are any others of his kind.”

“I’m the only one,” George replied quietly, clearly affected by his own wistful words. “But thanks anyway.”

Walker bent over. “That was beautiful, George. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Why not?” Shielded from view of all but his human, one fur-shaded eye winked unexpectedly at the man. “It was only a bit of doggerel.”

Grinning, Walker straightened and looked over at Braouk, who as a preventative measure still held the no-longer-struggling Sque in his grasp. “Then we’re done here, right? We can let Gerlla-hyn know that it’s okay to send his people down, and De-sil-jimd can inform his caste, who’ll so notify the rest of the Iollth.”

Braouk started to reply. Before he could, a Tuuqalian near the center of the line pistoned erect on his four supportive tentacles and shuffled forward. All four massive upper limbs thrust straight out, the tips coming together to form a pyramidal point. It struck Walker with sudden disquiet that the point was aimed directly at him.

Challenge! I claim challenge!” the Tuuqalian thundered. Unlike George’s plaintive opus, the stentorian Tuuqalian phrases boomed repetitively off the high, perfectly curved walls of the hall.

“Challenge?” Walker turned quickly to Braouk. “What is this? I thought we’d all, individually, satisfied your people’s requirement for admittance. What’s this ‘challenge’ business?” Though he spoke to Braouk, he found himself staring as if mesmerized at those pointing tentacle tips. There was no question about where they were aimed. When he moved toward Braouk, they followed him.

His hulking companion gently set Sque back down on the floor. Though the body of the livid K’eremu had swelled with fury to the point where her skin threatened to split, she somehow managed to internalize her rage. Only the serious nature of the demanding Tuuqalian who had trundled forward swayed her to contain the flood of vituperation that had been building up within. Her quivering restraint allowed Braouk to respond without having to raise his voice.

“It is a, right reserved to the, first greeters,” he rumbled apologetically. “It can only be made one time. A challenge between one representative of Tuuqalia and one visitor. It appears that you are the one to have been so honored.”

Walker swallowed, his attention switching rapidly back and forth between the Tuuqalian who was his good friend and the other who was—his challenger?

“Somehow I don’t feel especially honored. What does this challenge involve?” His tone was hopeful. “More saga-spinning?”

“I am afraid not.” Braouk explained as George, De-sil-jimd, Habr-wec, and even a softly sputtering Sque gathered around to find out what was going on. “By your excellent individual recitations, you have already demonstrated that your respective species are sufficiently civilized and sensitive. To complete the requirement for access, one of you must additionally demonstrate bravery. It is a great honor to be the one so selected to participate in such a demonstration.” Though it weighed forty kilos or so, the tentacle that reached out to rest kindly on Walker’s left shoulder did not seem half so heavy as the imponderable that continued to hover menacingly in the air.

“How do I do that,” he finally muttered uneasily, “if not by spinning a saga?”

“Is not complicated,” Braouk assured him, “and not take long, to accomplish.” While the one upper appendage still rested on the human’s shoulder, another pair indicated the Tuuqalian who had stepped forward and was waiting expectantly. “You and the adjudicator who has issued the challenge will fight.”