Ling and Besh often had to drag him away when it came time to leave a sampling site, while Kunn muttered irascibly by his console, apparently happy only when they were aloft. On landing, Lark was always first to rush out the hatch. For a while, all the dour brooding of his dreams lay submerged under a passion for discovery.

Still, as they cruised home on the last leg — another unexplained back-and-forth gyration over open sea — he had found himself wondering. This trip was marvelous, but why did we go? What did they hope to accomplish? Even before humans left Earth, biologists knew — higher life-forms need room to evolve, preferably large continents. Despite the wild variety encountered on the archipelago, there wasn’t a single creature the star-folk could hope to call a candidate for uplift.

Sure enough, when he rejoined Ling the next day, the outlander woman announced they would return to analyzing rock-stallers, right after lunch. Besh had already resumed her intensive investigation of glavers, clearly glad to be back to work on her best prospect.

Glavers. The irony struck Lark. Yet he held back his questions, biding his time.

Finally, Ling put down the chart they had been working on — duplicating much that already covered the walls of his Dolo Village study — and led him to the table where machines offered refreshments in the sky-human fashion. The light was very good there, so Lark gave a furtive nod to a small man cleaning some animal pens. The fair-haired fellow moved toward a stack of wooden crates, used for hauling foodstuffs for the raucous zoo of captive creatures.

Lark positioned himself at the south end of the table so he would not block the man’s view of Ling, as well as Besh and everything beyond. Especially Ling. For this to work, he must try to keep her still for as long as possible.

“Besh seems to think you’ve found yourselves a first-class candidate species.”

“Mm?” The dark-eyed woman looked up from a complex machine lavishly dedicated to producing a single beverage — a bitter drink Lark had tried just once, appropriately named coughee.

“Found what?” Ling stirred a steaming mug and leaned back against the edge of the table.

Lark gestured at the subject Besh studied, complacently chewing a ball of sap while a contraption perched on its head, sifting neurons. There had been a spurt of excitement when Besh swore she heard the glaver “mimic” two spoken words. Now Besh seemed intent, peering through her microscope, guiding a brain probe with tiny motions of her hands, sitting rock still.

“I take it glavers have what you seek?” Lark continued.

Ling smiled. “We’ll know better when our ship returns and more advanced tests are made.”

Out the corner of his eye, Lark saw the small man remove the cover from a hole in one side of a box. There was a soft sparkle of glass.

“And when will the ship be back?” he asked, keeping Ling’s attention.

Her smile widened. “I wish you folks would stop asking that. It’s enough to make one think you had a reason for caring. Why should it matter to you when the ship comes?”

Lark blew his cheeks, hoon fashion, then recalled that the gesture would mean nothing to her. “A little warning would be nice, that’s all. It takes time to bake a really big cake.”

She chuckled, more heartily than his joke deserved. Lark was learning not to take umbrage each time he suspected he was being patronized. Anyway, Ling wouldn’t be laughing when shipboard archives revealed that glavers — their prime candidate for uplift — were already Galactic citizens, presumably still flitting around their own backwater of space, in secondhand ships.

Or would even the star-cruiser’s onboard records reveal it? According to the oldest scrolls, glavers came from an obscure race among the myriad sapient clans of the Five Galaxies. Maybe, like the g’Kek, they had already gone extinct and no one remembered them, save in the chilly recesses of the largest-sector branch Libraries.

This might even be the moment foretold long ago by the final glaver sage, before humans came to Jijo. A time when restored innocence would shrivel their race, peel away their sins, and offer them a precious second chance. A new beginning.

If so, they deserve better than to be adopted by a pack of thieves.

“Suppose they prove perfect in every way. Will you take them with you when you go?”

“Probably. A breeding group of a hundred or so.”

Peripherally, he glimpsed the small man replacing the cover of the camera lens. With a satisfied smile, Bloor the Portraitist casually lifted the box, carrying it outside through the back tent flap. Lark felt a knot of tension release. Ling’s face might be a bit blurry in the photo, but her clothes and body stood a good chance of coming through, despite the long exposure time. By good fortune, Besh, the glaver, a robot, and a sleeping rock-staller had remained still the entire time. The mountain range, seen through the open entrance, would pin down location and season of the year.

“And what of the rest?” he asked, relieved to have just one matter on his mind now.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what will happen to all the glavers you leave behind?”

Her dark eyes narrowed. “Why should anything happen to them?”

“Why indeed?” Lark shifted uncomfortably. The sages wanted to maintain the atmosphere of tense ambiguity for a while longer rather than confront the aliens directly over their plans. But he had already done the sages’ bidding by helping Bloor. Meanwhile, Harullen and the other heretics were pressuring Lark for answers. They must decide soon whether to throw their lot in with the zealots’ mysterious scheme.

“Then… there is the matter of the rest of us.”

“The rest of you?” Ling arched an eyebrow.

“We Six. When you find what you seek, and depart — what happens to us?”

She groaned. “I can’t count the number of times I’ve been asked about this!”

Lark stared. “Who—?”

“Who hasn’t?” She blew an exasperated sigh. “At least a third of the patients we treat on clinic day sidle up afterward to pump us about how we’ll do it. What means do we plan to use when we finally get around to killing every sentient being on the planet! Will we be gentle? Or will it come as firebolts from heaven, on the day we depart? It gets so repetitious, sometimes I want to— agh!” She clenched her fist, frustration apparent on her normally composed features.

Lark blinked. He had planned edging up to the very same questions.

“Folks are frightened,” he began. “The logic of the situation—”

“Yes, yes. I know,” Ling interrupted impatiently. “If we came to steal presapient life-forms from Jijo, we can’t afford to leave any witnesses. And especially, we can’t leave any native stock of the species we stole! Honestly, where do you people get such ideas?”

From books, Lark almost answered. From the warnings of our ancestors.

But, indeed, how well could those accounts be trusted? The most detailed had been lost to fire soon after humans arrived. Anyway, weren’t humans naive newcomers on the Galactic scene back in those days, worried to the point of paranoia? And wasn’t it the most paranoid who had boarded the Tabernacle, smuggling themselves to a far, forbidden world to hide?

Might the danger be exaggerated?

“Seriously, Lark, why should we fear anything a bunch of sooners might say about us? The odds of another Institute inspection team arriving at Jijo in under a hundred thousand years are very small. By the time one does, if any of you are still around, our visit will surely have dissolved into vague legends. We have no need to commit genocide — as if we could ever bring ourselves to do such a horrid thing, however strong the reason!”

For the first time, Lark saw beyond Ling’s normal mask of wry sardonicism. Either she deeply believed what she was saying, or she was a very skilled actress.