"Is this what it appears to be?" I asked the Pollisand.

"Yes ma am," he answered, "that’s the one and only Starbiter."

"The real Starbiter is much larger."

"Clearly, she thinks of herself as smaller. I’m not creating her image, she is. In fact, I didn’t expect her to show up at all; but since I’m using her to project bumpf into your brain, she must have decided to get in on the act. And this is how she sees herself."

The Pollisand tilted his neckhole downward as if he wanted to look more closely at the little Star-bouncer. She must have noticed the red glowing eyes in his chest cavity, and found them a source of allure; skittering away from me she bounced toward those eyes, squashing flowers as she went. I could see the Pollisand’s eyes blaze more brightly… just before Starbiter made a tremendous leap and jumped straight down the Pollisand’s throat.

Starbiter, The Cannonball

It is most amusing to see a haughty alien with a small energetic creature stuffed into his neck. Starbiter made happy squeaky sounds as if she were proud of her mischievous accomplishment; she wobbled back and forth inside the throat cavity, thudding against the sides and giggling each time she bounced off.

As for the Pollisand, he seemed frozen in astonishment: he did not move for a full count of five. Then with a great shudder, he raised his shoulders and filled his lungs full of air. His breath made tempestuous sucking sounds as he inhaled around the Zarett crammed down his throat; I could see his ribs expand wider and wider, until suddenly he blew out with all his strength.

Starbiter shot from his neckhole like a cannonball. She squealed something that sounded like "Wheeeeee!" as she flew in a perfect arc, hurtling far across the garden and landing precipitously in a patch of blood-flowers. For a moment, I worried she might be hurt; but almost as soon as she splashed down she bounced up again, making joyful peeps and whistles.

"Look," I told the Pollisand. "She wants to do it again."

"Tough titty," he said. "Do you know what would happen if certain folks saw me with a Zarett down my maw? I’m supposed to retain my dignity, for Christ’s sake — some species worship me like unto a god. A fat lot of good it would do my reputation if people knew I’d been used as a basketball hoop."

"Perhaps it would help your reputation. Perhaps you would not be considered an asshole if it were known you played cheerfully with others."

"What do you mean, cheerfully? I’m not cheerful — I’ve got Zarett guck in my mouth."

He made another loud hawking sound and spat out a blob of stringy gray and white. "Besides," he continued, "I like people thinking I’m an asshole. Being an asshole is my life’s vocation; I’m a goddamned asshole professional. When other people act like assholes, they’re doing it on their own time, but me, it’s my job."

"Is that why you have come then? Someone is paying you to annoy me? Because you are very most irritating indeed, and I do not wish to spend time with you unless you promptly explain what you want."

The glowing eyes in his throat burned brighter. Before speaking, he glanced toward Starbiter; but the little Zarett had got herself distracted with the two-headed slugs that swam in the lava pools. It appeared she was bouncing on the vermin with great delight, splashing up fierce hissing splutters of magma each time she smacked the boiling surface. The heat did not bother her a bit… but then, she had already traveled through a sun, so how could she be harmed by there molten minerals?

"All right," the Pollisand said, turning back to me, "let’s talk business. I don’t often make deals with lesser species, but you’re in a unique position, even if you don’t know it." The Pollisand’s eyes flared brightly. "Oar, my sweet, my sugar, my sucrose-based carbohydrate, suppose I had a way that your brain would never get Tired? Would that interest you? Hmm?"

Temptations

I stared at him speechless for several heartbeats. More out of reflex than conviction, I said, "My brain never will get tired, you foolish beast. I am not such a one as succumbs to mind-numbing ennui."

"Unlike your mother?" the Pollisand asked. "And the hundred generations before her? They all swore they wouldn’t turn into mental rutabagas, but now they’re cluttering up a thousand glass towers."

He stomped his foot and suddenly the world changed. There was no garden, no lava, no scarlet-ash sky; we were back in Oarville with mute snow swirling through the air.

The Pollisand and I stood atop the Tower of Ancestors where I had suffered my great fall. Some distance off, near the edge of the roof, the small figure of Starbiter gave a surprised yelp, then bounced speedily toward us. Within seconds, she was pressed fearfully against my leg, clearly disturbed by the sudden change of scenery.

I knelt and gave her a reassuring pat. A tiny amount of goo came off onto my hand, but I could not feel it — this was still a simulation, giving me sight and sound but not touch. Continuing to stroke the worried Starbiter, I glared at the Pollisand. "Why are we here?"

"Just a visual demonstration, lass." He stomped his foot again, and the city changed. Instead of the many different buildings it had held before, now it was filled with Ancestral Towers exactly like the one beneath my feet: tens of thousands of them, shining brightly but somehow not illuminating the cavern around us.

"Oar," the Pollisand said, "this is your world and your people. Damned near comatose — as good as dead. Only a few dozen of your species haven’t gone zombie; and how soon before they give in? How soon before you do?"

He lifted one foot and waved it casually at the vista: tower after tower, stretching back as far as I could see, much farther than the actual wall of the cavern. "Up till now," he said, "there’s only been one way to keep your gray cells from turning to zucchini — throw yourself over and go KERSPLAT. Smash your body to mush before your brain mushes out on its own. You’ve taken the high dive once, Oar, it’s still there for you. Cast your cares to the wind and die a decent death. This time I promise I won’t sew you back together. Nor will angels appear to bear you up safely."

I stared at him. "Why would I imagine angels should appear? That is a most absurd notion."

The Pollisand gave an ostentatious sigh. "Classical allusions are just lost on you, aren’t they? I suppose there’s no point my even suggesting you turn stones into bread."

"You may suggest such a thing, but I cannot do it. Can you? I would be most happy if you did, for I have not eaten in quite some time. But if you do bake bread from stones, make sure it is good bread — not the horrid opaque substance Explorers are so proud of cooking."

"Okay," the Pollisand muttered to himself, "scratch the three-temptations scenario. Didn’t work the last time I tried it either. On to Plan B."

He stomped his foot more forcefully than ever, and in the blink of an eye, we were back where we started: in the garden, surrounded by steaming lava. Starbiter bleated with excitement and bounced off to bother the wildlife. Meanwhile, the Pollisand kicked the heads off a couple flowers and ground the blooms under his heel. "All right," he said, "We were talking business. Deals." He gave the plants one more whack, then turned back to me. "I was proposing you could avoid rampaging senility, if only you play ball with me."

"What sort of ball do you wish to play?"

"It was only a metaphor, damn it!" The Pollisand squashed another patch of flowers, leaving his foot red with their jukes. "I’m suggesting a simple agreement. An exchange of favors. My favor is to ensure your brain doesn’t go Tired."