T hough it seemed the size of a small ocean liner, Walker knew the vehicle that was carrying him and his friends northward from the port where they had been granted entrée to Tuuqalia was nothing more than the local equivalent of a cargo and passenger truck. It was also an impressive example of advanced local technology. Built to accommodate Tuuqalian-sized freight as well as Tuuqalians themselves, it emitted little more than a sonorous hiss as it streaked northward barely thirty meters above the ground at some three hundred kilometers an hour.

Once clear of the city and its port, the craft traveled over terrain that alternated between gently rolling and pancake flat. Though he glimpsed them at speed, Walker was able to see enough of the occasional villages they passed to recognize that they were both larger and more technologically developed than their counterparts on either Hyff or Niyu, though for sophistication they were still surpassed by the stylish, organically integrated municipalities of Seremathenn.

They traveled for several days, stopping occasionally to discharge or take on passengers and cargo. Walker and George looked forward to these pauses, not only because it gave them an opportunity to step outside the confines of the transport, but because they were able to see and experience something of their friend Braouk’s homeworld outside a major city. Sque settled for studying through a port the numerous stops that were to her becoming increasingly repetitive. She was anxious to reach their destination, make her observations, return to the port where they had landed, and be about the business of finding her own way home. Xenology, she explained, was all very well and good, but it was no substitute for being among one’s own kind. Walker did not disagree. With Sque, it would have been a waste of time to do so anyway.

There finally came a morning when Braouk told them to prepare to disembark. Little in the way of preparation was required, since Walker carried everything he and George needed in a single small satchel of Sessrimathe manufacture. A change of clothing, some hygienic supplies, dried emergency rations, vitamin and mineral supplements, and a remarkable spherical storage device that contained, among other things, not only all the recipes he had pored over and devised himself but three-dimensional recordings of his cooking performances. Together, these comprised the bulk of his “luggage.” It made traveling easy, if not homey.

Led by Braouk, they exited the craft onto an unloading platform. It projected outward from two modest structures, a receiving building and a tall, windowless tower of unknown purpose. They were the only passengers to disembark at this stop, though they were joined by several large shipping containers. After a brief conversation among themselves, these split up and went their separate self-propelled ways, scooting along just above the ground on their own integrated propulsion units. When the transport craft finally departed, the four travelers were left alone on the dull bronzed, semicircular metal platform.

It was suddenly very quiet.

How the transport, or anyone else for that matter, could locate such unloading platforms was a matter of some interest to Walker and his friends. No roads led to it, no tracks or markers. It was completely surrounded by flat plains whose only distinguishing features were slightly different varieties of low vegetation. To the south and north, endless fields of something like three-meter-tall purple asparagus marched off toward opposite horizons. To the west, undulating rows of bulbous concave shapes thrust upward from manicured soil like thousands of nut-brown bathtubs balanced precariously on their drainage pipes. As Braouk explained, the bathtub-shaped growths consisted of solid, edible protein while the “pipes” were the stalks and stems from which they blossomed.

Eastward, the flora was neither as tall or as intimidatingly bizarre. The pirulek that dominated that direction was reassuringly green and no more than knee-high. However, the vine-like growths existed in a state of constant motion that was rendered more than a little eerie by the complete absence of any breeze. Despite their garish, unnatural colors and alien shapes, the asparagus trees and bathtub vegetation were less unsettling, Walker decided. At least they had they decency to remain still. Gazing at the twitchy, spasming field of pirulek was enough to unsettle even someone who had already spent time on several alien worlds.

A hum grew audible and suddenly Braouk was pointing excitedly. “My family comes, hardly daring to hope, so long.”

The vehicle that slowed to a halt and hovered level with the raised edge of the unloading platform consisted of three flat congruent discs whose alignment formed a triangular shape. Domed on top, flat on the bottom, a large passenger-cargo compartment bulged upward from the point where the three discs intersected. From it emerged a quartet of Tuuqalians who threatened to trample Walker, George, and a sputtering Sque in their rush to wrap powerful tentacles around Braouk. There was much fulsome spouting of poetry. So much so that by the time Tuuqalia’s sun had slipped below its horizon and a definite chill had begun to creep into the air, human, dog, and K’eremu had been rendered half-insensible by the interminable outpouring of greetings.

They were roused by Braouk’s introductions that, mercifully, were unusually brief for their usually loquacious companion. They were tired, he explained to his family members, and unused to proper recitation. At this explanation, his welcoming relations became by turns apologetic and solicitous.

Bundling the returned abductee (whom none of his thankful family members had ever expected to see again) and his alien companions into the unusual craft, Braouk’s relatives conveyed them to the family residence. Being built to Tuuqalian scale, this very modest (as Braouk had described it) center of cultivation struck Walker as no less than a small town. He was assured it was the home of only one family. On Tuuqalia, however, that was a more elastic term than on Earth. Some sixty multi-tentacled souls of varying age and experience lived and worked at the facility, and it seemed that every one of them wanted to personally congratulate not only the returning Braouk but his peculiar friends as well.

In addition to congratulations, much local food was proffered. Some of it his and Sque’s personal Sessrimathe analyzers pronounced fit for human, canine, or K’eremu consumption, some the compact units declared inedible, and some the guests themselves rejected for reasons of taste or visual aesthetics. As the Tuuqalian diet was now largely vegetable based, though with significant infusions of synthetic and gathered meat proteins, Walker found there was quite a lot he could eat. George pronounced a good deal of it not only suitable for consumption, but tasty as well, while Sque nattered on about the need to eat to survive regardless of the incontestable insipidness of the nourishment that happened to be available.

When the Tuuqalians were informed that one of Braouk’s friends was a professional chef whose talents had been recognized on multiple worlds, there was nothing for it but that Walker had to demonstrate his skills in a food preparation area the size of a small concert hall. By keeping it simple, he was able to prepare a couple of dishes using regional ingredients that did not outrage local palates, whereupon he was promptly anointed a hero as well as a guest. There was little the inhabitants of Tuuqalia enjoyed more than food, a trait Walker had recognized from the first time he had seen a hungry Braouk chomping down food bricks on board the Vilenjji capture ship. Little more, except the composing and reciting of a proper saga, of course.

It was when everyone had finished eating that Braouk was persuaded (without much effort, Walker noted) to tell something of the story of his experiences subsequent to his abduction from a sowing field one night years ago. As his implant translated his oversized friend’s reminiscences, Walker was reminded of his own last evening on Earth, when he had been taken from his campsite by those sucker-armed, pebble-skinned, pointy-headed dissolute creatures called the Vilenjji. His and Braouk’s experiences, if not the degree of resistance they had put up, were strikingly similar, notwithstanding that Walker’s abduction had taken place under one moon, Braouk’s beneath three, George’s below a flickering neon sign advertising a local beer, and Sque’s in relative darkness.

Having heard it all before, more times than any of them cared to count, the guests were excused from Braouk’s never-ending ramblings.

Though all were members of one extended family, each individual Tuuqalian had their own dwelling. No two, mated or otherwise, lived under the same roof.

“At last,” Sque commented upon learning the details of the local living arrangements, “some small hint of true civilization.”

They were given the living quarters of a member of the family who was presently away on business. As the huge resting depression in the floor with its computerized reactive underbase reminded George of a time when he had been caught in deep mud and nearly suffocated, they elected to sleep instead on strands of the self-binding material that was used to fasten bundles of the purple asparagus-like growths for shipment. The cosseting material was pale blue and tough as spun titanium. A pile of it was supple as silk. The trick, Walker told himself as he fluffed up his makeshift bed, would be not to toss and turn too much in his sleep, or he was liable to strangle himself with the stuff.

Perhaps it was the unexpected softness that woke him. More likely it was the noise. Blinking, rubbing his eyes, he observed in the dim light that issued from the floor that both Sque and George continued to sleep soundly. Surely he had heard something?

There it was again. Rising, shaking off several strands of the fluffy binding material, he walked over to the other side of the enormous resting room. As he approached the wall beyond which he thought he heard the noise, the barrier detected his presence and unexpectedly went transparent. Since he was still half-asleep, the effect startled him into taking a nervous jump backward. When he warily retraced his footsteps and extended an arm, the pressure against his open, upraised palm assured him that the wall was still there. He wondered if anyone outside could see in as easily as he could see out.

The resting chamber of the dwelling was located on the top floor of the residence they were occupying. Thus, the now transparent wall provided him with a sweeping view across the nearby plain. Collectively, the family dwellings formed a giant circle, so that each one looked inward to family meeting, working, and dining areas and buildings, and out onto the family’s extensive fields.

All three moons were up, with the result that it was quite bright outside. Though the light was wan and more than a little ethereal, he found that he could see clearly. One gibbous satellite was slightly larger than Earth’s while the other two were considerably smaller. They cast an otherworldly, tripartite alien glow on the pastoral scene spread out before him. Stretching to the far, unpolluted horizon was an impressive field of the tall, purple-tinged growths he had first seen upon arriving at the disembarkation station.

Lowering his gaze and working it along the interior of the building’s now transparent wall, he came to a softly radiant point of blue light that appeared to be fixed in place just above eye level. His eye level, he reminded himself. Fascinated by the steady glow, reasonably confident he was unlikely to encounter anything dangerous in an area designated for sleeping, he extended a finger toward it. A quick glance backward showed that George and Sque were still fast asleep, George nestled deep into a bed of silken wrappings similar to but less voluminous than Walker’s own, Sque atop material not unlike an oversized damp sponge that had been improvised for her comfort.

As his finger slid into the blue glow, cool air enveloped his nude form. Large enough to pass a Tuuqalian, the opening that appeared allowed him egress to a small, curved balcony outside the sleeping chamber. Whatever had rendered the wall transparent had done the same for the balcony area, but once he stepped outside, both the flat extension beneath his feet and the wall behind him turned opaque. He could not see back inside the sleeping area. Only the blue glow of the activator, or doorknob, or whatever it was, remained to show him how to get back inside.

While the mellow ruddiness of the three moons casting their magic on the endless field was what had initially drawn his interest, his attention was quickly caught by a rush of motion off to his right. Moving to the edge of the porch, whose spidery plasticized railing was fortunately low enough for him to see over, he stared in awe at the busy nocturnal activity whose distant sounds had teased him awake.

Several streams of tightly baled purple stalks converged on a large, dun-colored structure far enough out in the fields so that the noise of the activity was little more than a distant buzz. Even at a distance and watching by moonlight, he could tell that there were hundreds of stalks in each hefty bundle, and hundreds of bundles in each line. Each self-propelled bundle remained equidistant from the one in front of it and the one behind. Tuuqalians mounted on individual scoop-shaped vehicles soared and darted among and around the parading streams of trussed vegetation. That much he could comprehend. But what unseen mechanism was supporting the truck-sized bales?

Suddenly, one of the vehicles broke off and came toward him, both craft and driver rapidly increasing in size. Other than exposing him to the slight and not unpleasant chill in the air, his utter lack of apparel did not trouble him. Any alien interest that might be shown in his naked anatomy would be purely academic. For that matter, unlike the Niyyuu or the Sessrimathe, the Tuuqalians themselves had dispensed with clothing.

He considered retreating back into the sleeping chamber, or at least waking George. Was it possible he had inadvertently intruded, even at a distance, on some restricted ceremony? As a visitor, he decided to hold his ground and plead ignorance. Besides, he’d already been seen.

Then he recognized the figure riding astride the scoop ship, and relaxed. It was Braouk. Emitting a deep, unwavering hum, the powerful little vehicle pulled up alongside the porch where he was standing. Eyestalks inclined toward him.

“The human night, as I observed it, means sleeping.” A pair of huge upper appendages extended toward him. “You are awake and outside. This contradicts your normal activity. Is something the matter?”

“Not at all.” Strolling to the edge of the intricate railing, he raised an arm and gestured in the direction of the ongoing activity. “I heard a noise and got up to see what was going on.”

Touching controls, Braouk adjusted the scoop ship’s position. As it pivoted on its axis, Walker took the opportunity to examine the vehicle more closely. With its smooth ivory-colored surface and lack of external instrumentation or ornamentation, it was simple and straightforward. Even the concave forward portion where Braouk rode was devoid of all but the most basic instrumentation. The local equivalent of a bicycle, Walker mused. Or a motorcycle, or ATV. Working transport.

Like a fast-growing tree branch, a pale yellow tentacle fluttered skyward. “In sky together, Teldk, Melevt, and Melaft, are simultaneously. Here in the northern plains, that means it is harvest time for the mature chimttabt. A special time, for all who live, near here.” Descending, the limb gestured toward the ongoing streams of activity off to their right. “Would you like to see better?”

Walker didn’t hesitate. Over the past couple of years, he had learned not to hesitate. He who hesitates might miss something. Besides, for a commodities trader, who knew what opportunities might one day present themselves? Perhaps even the chance to trade in bulk chimttabt. He had never been one to pass on an opportunity to learn about a new raw material.

“Sure, let’s go,” he told his hulking friend.

Braouk made room for the human between his own mass and the upward curving control area that was built directly into the material of the scoop ship itself. Snugging back against the bristle-like yellow-green fur of his friend kept Walker warm and, surprisingly, Braouk’s hair was not as itch-inducing against his bare skin as it appeared. To think, he told himself, that at one time he would have fainted in terror if he had been compelled to endure such close proximity to a being like Braouk. Friends with him now for years, he had changed so much that he actually sought the close contact.

I have changed, he thought as the scoop ship accelerated toward the area of greatest activity. Changed in ways that as recently as three or four years ago he could not have imagined. But then, no one could. Three moons gazing down on him from high above, he sped in alien company aboard an alien craft toward a harvest of foodstuffs that more than anything else resembled lavender lightpoles. The food preparer half of him was intrigued by their culinary potential.

As they drew nearer, he saw that attached to the underside of each bale was an individual drive device that both propelled and guided it. Keeping perfect time and interval between one another, one bale after another made its way from distant field to local processing unit under the active supervision of scoop ship-riding Tuuqalians. The system was far more advanced than anything back home, he realized. Why load a truck with tomatoes and further burden it with a driver when you could set the load of vegetables to drive and guide itself to the intended destination?

A new sound reached him. Rising above the hum and whirr of technologically advanced reaping and processing machinery, it was at once familiar and new. New, because of the volume that was involved. Swooping and darting among the gigantic bales of recently harvested chimttabt, busy multi-limbed Tuuqalians burst out in boisterous song. No, not singing, he corrected himself. They were collaborating in an a cappella choir of alien saga-spinning. Their strangely pitched, collective voices boomed and echoed like velvet thunder across the unreaped vegetation below, rising and falling almost in concert with their vehicles as they managed the complicated business of chimttabt harvesting.

Massive alien muscles swelled against Walker’s back as Braouk joined in the joyous chorus. After a few moments, he paused. While the scoop ship hovered, both eyes hooked around in front of Walker to look back at him.

“Will you join, in the communal recitation, my friend? I will provide you with the words. Your system of sound-making is smaller than ours, but the mechanics are not so very different.”

“Why not?” After a few tries, listening and repeating, Walker felt he could mimic the Tuuqalian timbre near enough not to embarrass himself.

When next Braouk resumed his work, it was two voices that rose from the scoop ship: one local, the other imported. Human and Tuuqalian. Dipping and darting among the cumbersome bales, they occasionally passed close by other workers. Tentacles waved in their direction and astonished eyes extended fully on stalks as one worker after another goggled at the sight of the small, furless alien not only riding in tandem with one of their own, but joining lustily in the saga-spinning that accompanied the mechanical ballet of scoop ships and bales and multi-limbed operators. And all the while the three moons Teldk, Melevt, and Melaft beamed down from an alien sky on the festive commotion below, in which one lone and lonely human was a most unexpected participant.

The cool air, redolent of growing Tuuqalian things and pungent mechanical smells and the musky body odor of the methodical giant behind him, washed over his face and naked form. Moons and multi-limbed monsters, truck-sized bales of plum-hued plants and deep-throated processing devices, danced before his now night-adapted eyes. What was the expression? “Never in your wildest dreams…”

It was, he mused as their scoop ship shot close enough past another for him to note with glee the surprised reaction of the other’s operator, a long way from motoring boredly through the cornfields south of Chicago to visit friends in Springfield for the weekend.

Tuuqalia’s benign sun was just showing itself over the horizon when a jovial Braouk returned an exhausted but exultant Walker to the residence that had been assigned to him and his companions. As he stepped off the powerful little vehicle and back onto the building’s upper-level porch, Marc expressed his gratitude by giving the Tuuqalian a punch between upper and lower right-side tentacles, hard enough that he hoped his oversized friend might actually feel it.

“What a great night! I can’t thank you enough, Braouk. I’ve attended some all-night parties in my time, but nothing like this. The diving and swooping, the massed saga-chanting, the colors in the moonlight: it’s something I’ll remember forever.”

“Was just harvest,” the alien rumbled diffidently. “But I was, glad you could participate, friend Marcus. At such times, sharing is always best, with friends.” One huge appendage curled fondly around Walker’s shoulders, then withdrew.

Squinting against the rising alien sun, Walker waved as the scoop ship angled away from the balcony. Turning and walking back to the wall, he casually inserted a couple of fingers into the blue glow of the control and stepped through the opening it produced. As it sealed behind him, a familiar voice barked sharply from the dim depths of the temperate sleeping area.

“Where have you been all night? I’ve been worried sick.”

“Good dog,” Walker murmured as he made his tired way toward his crib of silken wrappings. Between the excitement of the nocturnal experience and a complete lack of sleep, he was thoroughly bushed. The makeshift cot with its glistening bale of alien padding called to him.

A fast-moving, small brown shape blocked his path and refused access to the beckoning bed. “Don’t ‘good dog’ me—bad human. Where were you?”

“Carrying out research on local agriculture. And making friends.” Lurching to his left, he tried to dodge around his companion. George scampered quickly to cut him off. Behind them, Sque slumbered peacefully on, oblivious to the overwrought confrontation.

“In the middle of the night? On an alien world?” Something caught the dog’s eye. Leaning to his right, he tried to peer behind his friend. “What happened to your back?”

“Hmm?” Half-asleep now, Walker tried to look over his shoulder and down at himself. “I don’t see anything.”

Trotting around behind him, George stood up on his hind legs and rested his forepaws against Walker’s thigh. “You look like you’ve been whipped by a dozen angry pixies.”

“What? Oh, that comes from leaning my bare back against Braouk’s front all night and being thrown all over the place. You know how bristly his fur is. Almost quill-like. It was to be expected after a night of hard riding.” Shrugging George off his thigh, Walker made a beeline for the looming bed and slumped gratefully into the mass of alien wrapping material.

“‘Hard riding’?” George was now able to look his prostrate friend in the eye. “If you tell me you were out rustling alien cattle, I’m going to have to raise serious doubts with Gerlla-hyn’s medical staff about the state of your sanity.”

“Not cattle,” Walker murmured sleepily. “Chimttabt. The big, purplish striated stalks we’ve seen growing in several regions. Self-propelled bales of the stuff.” He snuggled deeper into the welcoming mass of soft but strong pale blue strands. “During harvest time, the Tuuqalians of these northern plains work around the clock.”

“I see,” George observed dangerously. “Really dove into local custom, didn’t you? Next time I’d appreciate your letting me know when you’re going to do something like that. You might keep in mind that I, at least, have a reasonable phobia where unannounced disappearances are concerned. One you ought to empathize with.”

“Sorry.” By now almost asleep, it was all Walker could do to mumble a reply.

Standing up and leaning over, George dragged his tongue wetly across Walker’s eyes. It was sufficient stimulus to keep his friend awake. “What were you thinking, Marc? You doing all-night research because you’re planning on going native? Thinking about settling down, hiring a few tentacles, and raising some orange and purple outrages of your own? Or have you forgotten that we’re supposed to be focusing all our efforts and all our energies on trying to find a way home? Which right now means getting our four-limbed, flex-eyed hosts to dig through their astronomical charts and records in hopes of doing that?”

Raising his head slightly to meet George’s gaze, Walker responded irritably. “That’s what Sobj-oes and Habr-wec and their Iollth counterparts are doing. Our job is to continue diplomacy by further cementing our relationship with the locals. That’s what I was doing. That’s essentially what we did on Seremathenn, to a greater extent on Niyu, and to a lesser one on Hyff. Don’t fret, George. I’m sorry I made you worry about me. Next time I’ll wake you up.” He nodded in the direction of the still sleeping Sque. “Take a hint from our decapodal female friend and don’t lose sleep.”

“Sure,” George snapped. “Like she’d care if you went out in the middle of the night and never came back. In contrast, I do care.”

“I know you do, George, but I was never in any danger, and I know what I’m doing. I like these people, even if they do have twice the appropriate number of limbs, eyes that weave around on stalks like balloons on strings, mouths that run north to south instead of side to side, and enough mass and muscle to out-sumo a grizzly. You need to relax.” Lowering his head, he burrowed into the hospitable, cushioning alien material. “And speaking of relaxing, leave me alone. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I’m dog-tired.”

“Just don’t lose yourself, Marc.” George was more worried than he let on. “Just don’t let an appreciation for the new and exotic make you lose sight of our real goal.” Standing on his hind legs with his forepaws on the edge of the makeshift bed allowed him to poke his snout almost into Walker’s upturned left ear. “Steaks and pasta, Marc. Not purple and blue pâté. Ice cream and coffee. Football. The sights and smells of the river. Old friends talking. Making money. Going to the movies (unfinished and discarded popcorn being one of George’s own favorite snacks).” Using his snout and neck, he nudged the back of his friend’s head.

“Don’t forget all these things when you’re overcome by some new, alien sight or sound or sensation. Don’t forget about home. Females in heat,” he added as a last resort.

It did no good. His human was fast asleep, wheezing contentedly into the depths of the supportive alien pile.

Stay here if you want, then, he thought angrily as he turned and trotted away. Or go back to Niyu and try to establish some kind of relationship with your scrawny alien admirer. Or return to Seremathenn and live off the largesse of the Sessrimathe. I can get home without you.

But he couldn’t, he knew. Walker was the titular leader of this voyage, having so been anointed by the Niyyuu and accepted as such by the Iollth and the Hyfft. Without him, if only as a unifying figurehead, it was unlikely even Sque was capable of persuading the Niyyuu, in particular, to continue with the journey.

Probably he was worrying unnecessarily. Hadn’t Marc expressed an equally strong desire to find their way back home? The human had just enjoyed an exhilarating nocturnal experience, that was all. George began to feel he was being unduly suspicious. Doubtless it stemmed from all those years of being chased down back alleys by marauding abandoned rottweilers and bastard half pit bulls.

Dog-tired. Come to think of it, all the pacing and worrying about his two-legged friend had left him notably short on sleep himself. Wandering over to his own bed, which was nothing more than a much smaller, less densely upholstered version of Walker’s, he stepped into it, paced off three increasingly tight circles, and flumped down into a warm, furry, self-contained pile.

When Sque eventually roused herself, the first thing she did was spend several minutes pondering possible new ways to describe the unremitting laziness of the two semi-comatose specimens from Earth, whose respective consciousnesses she was unable to rouse despite the application of repeated prodding and inventive invective.

As Tuuqalians ate their communal meals only twice, once in the morning at sunrise and the other at night during sunset, the vast dining hall was empty save for a few stragglers when Walker and George eventually woke up enough to stumble in and request food. Having by now learned which local victuals were tolerated by their system and which would induce, among other things, uncontrolled vomiting, it did not take long to choose a couple of the smallest of the shallow divided bowls the Tuuqalians utilized. Despite the fact that it was not a recognized mealtime, there was more than enough leftover food to satisfy them both. Together, they ate less than a single Tuuqalian would consume as an appetizer.

Sque accompanied them. Not because she was hungry, which she was not, but out of the usual mixture of boredom and curiosity. One could only slumber for so long in the temporary sleeping quarters that had been assigned to them. Also, thanks to the nature of Tuuqalian cuisine, the interior of the dining hall was just moist enough for her to be comfortable. The cool, dry air of the atmosphere outside was much less to her liking.

Climbing up onto the now largely empty curved table, she settled herself down to examine her surroundings. Occasionally she would glance down at her primitive companions, marveling at their ability to consume almost anything with apparent enjoyment. But then, one could not expect even an educated food preparer like the human Walker to possess the educated palate of a K’eremu.

His snout buried in the bowl that had been placed before him, George lay on the floor next to his friend. Walker sat with legs crossed and the food bowl balanced between them. It did not matter that the Tuuqalians did not use chairs because the table was too high for him to reach comfortably anyway. Designed for grasping by massive, powerful tentacles, the single all-purpose Tuuqalian food scoop was equally useless. This deficiency did not trouble George, who had no grasping limbs anyway. As for Walker, he was content to eat with his fingers.

As he did so, he admired the gentle arc of the table edge above him. Its curvature was similar to that of the balcony on which he had stood last night, as well as the fluid lines of the scoop ship he had ridden with Braouk. Tuuqalian design was surprisingly relaxed and sophisticated, all gentle curves and smooth surfaces. It contrasted rather than clashed with the hearty, rough-hewn nature of the Tuuqalians themselves. Like the floor of every local building or room he had entered, that of the extended family dining hall rose gently toward the center. So did the ceiling, giving every Tuuqalian room the aspect of a fried egg.

He realized with a start that local architecture set out in physical reality the same kind of undulating meter that characterized Tuuqalian sagas. All of a unified whole, the subtleness of it had escaped him until this moment. It was something he would never have noticed back on Earth. His travels, his encounters, were sharpening his perception in ways he could never have imagined.

He was no longer the same person he had been when he had been taken, he knew. Whoever had said that travel was broadening could never have envisioned what he had experienced these past couple of years. Not that he had ever been prejudiced, for example, or looked on others who were slightly different from him with anything other than usual jaundiced urban eye. But even any subconscious vestiges of suppressed disapproval of other ethnicities or cultures had vanished due to the company he had been compelled to keep.

Look at the Tuuqalians. The first one he had encountered had struck him as a ravening monster, best to be avoided if not killed outright. True, Braouk had been suffering from the effects of his captivity and at the time had not been quite himself, but that still did not wholly excuse Walker’s initial revulsion. He had reacted without trying to understand, like a threatened chimp. Now Braouk and his kind were not only friends, they were, as the Tuuqalian had recently informed him, family.

Family. He munched on something bulbous and blue that back home he would instinctively have thrown into the trash. It was sweet and flavorful. What constituted family? Was it only blood? A straightforward genetic linkage? Or could it be expanded to encompass shared ideals, other intelligences, different desires? Who did he really have more in common with? His cousin Larry, who thought farting was the epitome of witty humor and who lived only for inhaling the fumes at Chicago-area racetracks? Or Braouk, thoughtful and creative, if characteristically long-winded? As he chewed, letting alien sugars satiate his system, his attention shifted to where Sque reposed on the table just above him.

Five serpentine limbs dangled lazily off the side of the table while the other five maintained a grip on its surface. From the center of these serpentine coilings rose a tapering, maroon-hued mass that gently expanded and contracted with the K’eremu’s breathing. Set in slots of silver, her pupils were horizontal instead of round or vertical. Like a butterfly’s siphon, the pinkish speaking tube lay coiled against her body, just above the round mouth. She was about as far from cousin Larry as anything animate he could imagine. And yet, for all the sarcasm and inherent condescension of her kind, she was a better friend and companion than his blood relation. On more than one occasion her intelligence and, yes, caring, had gone a long way toward sustaining his life. All Larry had ever done was borrow money.

How then should one judge intelligence and amity? By the number of limbs and eyes something possessed, by its manner of speaking, or by skin color or hair style? The more experiences he endured, the more he learned, the greater the shallowness of his own kind weighed on him.

When I get home, he vowed, it’s going to be different. I’m going to be different. He would not have to work hard at it, he knew. Travel was broadening.

They were almost finished when a familiar figure lurched into the hall, searched with scanning eyes, and found them. Lumbering over, Broullkoun-uvv-ahd-Hrashkin thrust one eye in George’s direction and the other at Walker.

“Still you enjoy, food of my family, for eating?”

Rummaging around in his bowl, an unsqueamish Walker held up something that back home he would have consigned to his condo’s garbage disposal. “The poatk is delicious, and so is everything else.”

His muzzle stained dark blue, George looked up from his bowl and burped reflectively. “Not bad, snake-arms. In fact, everything here has been good.”

Braouk’s fur-quills stiffened slightly with pride. “Everything you are eating is of local manufacture. Fresh food of the northern plains is the best on all Tuuqalia, and that of my family famed as among the finest. It is a shame you will not be able to enjoy it any longer.”

Frowning, Walker let his stained fingers drop to rest on the edge of the bowl. “I don’t follow you. Is something wrong?”

Flexible, muscular eyestalks brought both eyes so close to him that he could see little else. “On the contrary, everything is very right, for you.”

From the curving tabletop above, Sque withdrew from her contemplation of distant automatonic machinery to focus on their host. “You have news.” Bubbles of excitement burbled from her speaking tube. “Sobj-oes and the astronomics team have found something.”

Setting aside the bowl, Walker rose and wiped his mouth with the back of a sleeve. “They’ve got a direction! They’ve plotted a way for us to get home!”

Braouk gestured encouragingly. “I am led, to understand that is, the case. That by working together with the scientific opposite number among my people, our Niyyuuan and Iollth friends have managed to divine a Tuuqalia-K’erem vector.” Both eyes retracted. “I insisted on bringing you this wonderful news myself.”

On the table, every one of Sque’s limbs had contracted up against her body. “I am swollen with excitement. Given the inadequacies of those with whom I had to work, this is a moment I was not sure I would live long enough to see.”

“And Earth?” Walker asked eagerly. Sitting attentively by his feet, George was wagging his tail rapidly enough to generate a small breeze.

Both of Braouk’s eyes curved around to focus on him once again. Some of the initial keenness had faded from the Tuuqalian’s voice. “They have what they believe to be a Tuuqalia-K’erem vector.”

The kindly Braouk’s lack of a direct response spoke volumes. Walker slumped. The energetic back and forth flailing of the dog’s tail slowed. The Tuuqalian did not have to say anything else.

Everything of significance was contained in what he did not say.