The Far Shore of Time

But not, of course, here. She came floating weightlessly into the reception chamber, towed by a pair of glass robots to save her the bother of swarming along the cables herself. Her long neck was covered with bangles like a Ubangi’s, and it was dancing a hula of greeting. The Greatmother gave the most cursory of glances at the clutch of us lesser species, and addressed herself directly to Beert. “I welcome you, Djabeertapritch of the Two Eights,” she declared, touching her nose almost to his. “We are glad to have you in our nest, but how does it happen that you come?”

It was clear that Beert was the one she was welcoming. I was sure that if Pirraghiz and I had turned up without a live Horch as company, our reception would have been a lot less hospitable. For Beert, she was different. The Greatmother was thrilled to meet a conspecific who had endured the vile captivity of the Others. She wasn’t disposed to question Beert’s stumbling explanation of his nest’s history and the rapidly invented mix-up that had brought him here, either. Actually his rather creative description of the blunders that had made it happen amused her. She had a superior kind of tolerance of one planet in the Horch federation for another, reminding me of the way Canadians talked about New Zealanders in the British Commonwealth. “Well, what do you expect of a bunch of Eight Plus Threes?” she asked jovially. She cast a mildly disapproving eye at the amphibian and me. “It is odd, however,” she added, “that Horch should concern themselves with the problems of lesser species.”

“They are more worthy than they seem, Greatmother,” Beert said humbly. “Permit me to introduce them-“

She shrugged that idea away impatiently, neck and arms all twisting at once. “My least of grandsons is interested in such other organisms. I am not. But tell me of your captivity, Djabeertapritch. You were allowed no machines at all? But how did you live?”

I am sure Beert had more urgent things to talk to her about than his nest’s tribulations, but he was not capable of denying the request of a Greatmother. “We were Horch,” he said simply. “We used what we had or could make. For building materials we took clay from the ground and long, thin shoots from the local vegetation-“

I didn’t want to hear it all again, so I took a chance. “Excuse me,” I said deferentially, addressing Beert. “The Wet One needs water, so if we may withdraw-?”

The Greatmother answered for him; it was the first time she had spoken to me directly. “Go, go,” she said irritably. “But leave food for Djabeertapritch; the poor thing must be hungry.”

We all crowded into one of the other rooms, or all but Beert and his personal robot, which remained behind to serve him his meal. I had two things on my mind. For one, I knew I was going to have that little talk with Beert before long, and I wasn’t looking forward to it. I was definitely looking forward to the other, though. However much I tried to warn myself that there were many hurdles still to get across, I could almost taste the nearness of my escape to Earth. While Pirraghiz was taking charge of the food we had carried away with us, sniffing and tasting each item, I looked around the room for things that might be useful when I got back. By the time she had approved a few things for my meal, I decided there weren’t any. But there might be information worth having.

Pirraghiz handed me a collection of fruits and spoke doubtfully to the amphibian. “I do not know if any of this is suitable for you, Wet One.”

The Wet One waved a flipper at her. The robot with the sack of water was carefully spraying his rubbery skin, a squirt at a time, like Spanish peasants taking wine from a goatskin, while a second robot was busy mopping up the droplets that splashed away. The Wet One was wriggling with pleasure as his skin welcomed the damp, but it did not distract him from his purpose. “I do not need to eat now,” he grumbled, in that thick, muddy voice. “I will eat well when I have been transmitted to my own planet. When will that happen?”

His bath boy-robot answered him. “The channels are being prepared. The Greatmother will give the order to transmit you when she wishes.”

I thought that was a good opportunity to try to get some information, so I interrupted. “Can you tell us what kind of a place we’re in?”

The spraying robot did not respond, but the one on mop-up detail stopped what it was doing and extruded a glittering branch of twiglets in my direction. “This is a nest of the Four and Ones, formerly occupied by the Others,” it said.

That wasn’t informative. I said, “I mean, what is it?” That was no better. The robot stood silent and impassive, only the glittering ball at its top flickering unhelpfully. Pirraghiz sighed, put down the loaf of something she was breaking into pieces for me and issued an order.

“Display the appearance of this artifact we are in,” she commanded the Christmas tree.