Synapo said nothing further for the rest of the short charge. He was already exhausted by the endless days of talk and the surfeit of poisonous oxygen that he felt compelled to hold in his sacs. But he continued to carry his hook aft so that Sarco would know that his silence was not intended as an affront. He could afford to allow Sarco to dominate this brief morning charge. But that was all he could allow him.

They balled and dropped as Sarco's people were forming up for construction. Synapo had not intended for Sarco to get ahead of him, but from habit set by the short time the aliens had been on their world, Synapo opened on glide path in his usual manner, which took him on a high circular pass around the dome.

Sarco chose to go in directly. By the time Synapo realized that Sarco was not following, it was too late to correct his error, but he circled tight, high up, and began to dive well before he had completed half the circle. Synapo watched him through the transparent dome as Sarco made a fast, powered approach and an aggressive landing: a powered stall a half-meter above the ground with his wings spread to their full ten-meter breadth as he came to rest only two meters from the aliens.

Synapo mentally cursed Sarco, but restrained himself and did not radiate his feelings as he might well have had he known the aliens could not receive his broadcast. A cloud of dust obscured Sarco and the aliens as Synapo came in on a flat gentle glide path and settled to the ground well inside the cloud. He knew he was more majestic in the air, but he also knew his approach would be obscured by Sarco's dust, so he chose to come in closer even than Sarco. Still, his approach was executed so adroitly he added not a whit to the ball of dust that was already rapidly dissipating.

There were three aliens: Wohler-9, a nonmetallic being a head shorter, and a third being as tall as Wohler-9 that Synapo took to be nonmetallic until he detected the neutrino radiation that characterized Wohler-9 and microfusion in general. He had to conclude that despite the deceptive appearance, the third alien must be of the servant tribe, although he knew that quick generalization might be diplomatically embarrassing if it proved wrong.

Sarco at least had the good sense not to open his oxygen vent prematurely. And it was apparent that Wohler-9 was confused and not able to distinguish between Synapo and Sarco. The robot's eyes kept flicking back and forth between the two of them.

“Good morning, Wohler-9,” Synapo said.

There was no hesitation, no ignoring Synapo this morning. Wohler-9 swiveled his head and rolled his eyes around ahead of that motion so that they came to rest on Synapo well before the head caught up.

“This is Miss Ariel Welsh,” the robot said as he gestured with a rather grand motion toward the diminutive alien, who stood hardly as high as Synapo's shoulder joints.

And with a nod, Wohler-9 dismissed the other alien as a servant beneath consideration, a fact confirmed by his words.

“And this is the humaniform Jacob Winterson, Miss Welsh's personal robot.”

The validity of Synapo's generalization was reassuring as was his initial reaction to the small alien's unimpressive appearance. But Wohler-9 had failed to introduce Synapo, a breach of etiquette not easily forgiven, which was not reassuring.

Still, the robot was only a servant and perhaps not as well schooled in diplomacy as the small master, who was a she, a member of the subordinate clan of the dominant tribe. Synapo had guessed she would be from his earlier conversations with Wohler-9.

Yet that was also disappointing since he would still not know, after all the interminable discussion that would surely take place, how dominant that other clan was and whether that other clan would also dominate the tribes of his world if this Miss Welsh did not prove to do so. She was certainly not very imposing.

But her personal robot was imposing, and he was only a servant. That left Synapo with nothing to go on at that point but superficial appearances, which he knew from long experience to be untrustworthy.

And then, to Synapo's astonishment, Sarco was talking.

“Welcome to our world, Miss Ariel Welsh,” Sarco said. “My name is Sarco, which is as close as we can come to a translation into your language. I am leader of the Myostria.”

That caught Synapo by surprise. He had not really expected Sarco to be fluent in the language. Sarco had a better command of the language than Synapo would have thought possible from the brief radiated lessons he had given the Cerebrons. Sarco had obviously monitored those lessons, but he could only have picked up the audio patterns by special tutoring from one of the Cerebron elite.

And that, too, disturbed Synapo. Someone of the elite must be striking for dominance, and hard enough to risk undercutting Synapo in his rivalry with Sarco.

Synapo was so caught by surprise that before he could say anything, Sarco, with a gesture every bit as grand as Wohler-9's, said, “And this is Synapo, leader of the Cerebrons. “

Sarco's introduction could be taken two ways. Synapo hoped the small alien placed Sarco's relationship to him in the same pattern as Wohler-9 to her. Had Sarco intended that to be the case? Had he misjudged Sarco's behavior during charge that morning?

“Yes, Miss Ariel Welsh. Welcome to our world,” Synapo said.

The small alien turned away, shaking allover, after suddenly putting her hand over her primary and secondary vents. She was obviously caught in a fit of ague.

Wohler-9 studiously ignored her condition. The only reaction of the other, the humaniform, was a slight upward curvature at the corners of the robot's primary vent. Her behavior and theirs confused Synapo and led him to wonder about the efficacy of the robots as suitable servants. Surely one of them should have done something to ease her paroxysm.

She recovered quickly, however, and turned and said, “I am pleased to meet both of you,” and then she put one hand to her front, the other to her back, and doubled over at the waist, which led Synapo to wonder if she had now suddenly been caught by a cramp like that which sometimes caught him when he was carrying too large an inventory of oxygen, as he was at that moment. But unlike her, if a cramp hit him in this situation he would suffer through and ignore it. That gave him a nice feeling of superiority.

Ariel finally got control of herself and with a sober face, turned back to face the aliens. Their frightening appearance had almost paralyzed her until that first one, Sarco, had spoken.

Wohler-9 had pointed them out before they began their drop, while they were still lazily circling above the center of the dome.

And then that first one had landed, coming in so fast it seemed like he could not possibly stop in time, and then unexpectedly spreading his wings so wide he engulfed them all in a jet black space absolutely devoid of any detail, as though they were suddenly and inexplicably thrown into the featureless black concavity of the dome.

When he retracted his wings, they seemed to melt into his sides and disappear in the soft blackness. The contrasts of color -or lack of it-heightened the disturbing appearance of the alien: the vicious white hook that could obviously disembowel a human in one neat stroke, and the disconcerting red glow of the sunken eyes that gave her the feeling she was peering deep into the bowels of hell.

Then the other one arrived, much more decorously than the first, and when he opened his mouth, she was immediately transported back to Earth, to Webster Groves, one of the caves of steel that she and Derec had once visited. And then the first one so confirmed that impression, she could hardly contain herself.