“Will they permit you to ask them a question, or transmit a suggestion?”

“It would not be appropriate for a slave to do so.”

“But suppose that a human were to order you to do it?”

Kallik stared up at Julius Graves with bright, inscrutable eyes. “If the Zardalu were told that the human concerned was my former master, they might understand if I were to ask a question on his behalf. Or—” She paused.

“Yes?”

“Or they might be violently enraged, thinking that I offer less than total obedience to them. They might choose to kill me, as a being of divided loyalty.”

Julius Graves shook his head. “Then let’s forget it.”

“However,” Kallik went on, “I do not think that is the most probable outcome. They know that I am their only avenue of communication with you, and with the other humans. They will not want to lose that channel. What is your message?”

“I would like to propose that I be used as an emissary to Captain Rebka and the others. Tell the Zardalu that I can explain the need for rapid action by the other group, and I can point out to them why the Zardalu must leave this place as soon as possible. I would like you to emphasize that my role in human affairs has always been that of an intermediary between species. Ask them if I may serve in that role now.”

Kallik held another brief, whistling conversation with J’merlia. “Wait here,” she said at last. “I will try.” She crawled away toward the tight cluster of Zardalu, keeping her stubby body always close to the floor and her yellow sting fully sheathed.

“And I thought one traitor was bad enough,” Birdie Kelly said softly, as soon as Kallik was out of earshot. “You’re worse than she is. At least she was raised to be a slave.”

“You know me better than that, Commissioner. Or you ought to. I’ve spent my life working on interspecies problems. That’s what this is, you know. I can’t just sit back now and watch.”

“So you want to sell out to them, be another slave.”

“Of course I don’t. But at the moment we’re just bargaining chips as far as the Zardalu are concerned. That’s not good enough. We have to establish some form of direct communication with them. They need to think of us as people — reasoning, intelligent beings, the same as they are.”

“Them, think of us that way. Fat chance! What makes you think they respond to reason?”

Graves nodded to where a group of midnight-blue bodies had moved to cluster around Kallik. “Improbable, perhaps. But look over there. Maybe it is working.”

One of the forms had towered up onto its powerful tentacles and was moving toward them, followed by the little Hymenopt.

In front of J’merlia it stopped and bent down to stare at him with cool, pale-blue eyes, each as big as the Lo’tfian’s head. Then it turned to offer the same inspection of Graves and Birdie Kelly.

A soft fluting and a series of clicks came from the cruel, sky-blue beak. Finally the Zardalu rose to its full height and stalked away across the chamber, back to its companions.

“Well?” Graves asked. “What did it say to us? Did they agree?”

Kallik was shaking her head. “With all respect, I think that perhaps it was a mistake to rouse them by asking your question. They say that I am quite adequate to provide all the communication that is needed with humans, and that if necessary J’merlia can communicate with his master, the Cecropian Atvar H’sial. Further, they say that the other group will be permitted just one more hour, to hold a meeting with the beings who control this place and arrange for the Zardalu to leave for a destination of their own choosing. If nothing is done in that time, actions will be taken.”

Birdie Kelly glared at Graves. “I told you. A washout! So why did that thing even bother to come over here? What did it say to us, Kallik?”

“Not one word to you, I fear. But certainly words about you. It told me that a decision had been made. In one hour, the Zardalu will again contact the other group. If at that time no satisfactory arrangement has been made for the Zardalu to leave this place, another hostage will be sacrificed.” The Hymenopt gazed at Birdie with dark, unblinking eyes. “With great regrets, Commissioner, the decision was made that you should be that sacrifice.”

Birdie stared at Kallik, unable to speak. It was Julius Graves who jumped to his feet. “You go right back there, and tell them we’ll all fight them to the death, before we let something like that happen.” Graves’s radiation-scarred face became pale with rage. “Commissioner Kelly is as valuable as any of us! He has as many talents as I do! We won’t let them think of any of us as expendable.”

“With respect, Councilor Graves.” Kallik’s ring of eyes had turned away to avoid Birdie completely. “The issue was not talents, or who is expendable. You and the commissioner appear to have been judged equal in that regard.”

“So what the devil was it?”

Kallik’s eyes moved to Julius Graves, still avoiding Birdie. “It was something much simpler, Councilor. The Zardalu young are growing and becoming more demanding.

“You are very thin. Commissioner Kelly is undeniably better fleshed.”

Birdie Kelly had never thought of himself as a hero. Quite the opposite. When other men went looking for trouble, Birdie was already looking for cover.

But this time it was different. He was the target, and there was no cover. He had to do something.

Birdie’s minor shift toward bravery began as a horrified inspection of the Zardalu, particularly their hungry young. They seemed to be forever peeking out from under the protective umbrellas of tentacles, begging for food. They light-orange beaks were small, only half an inch across, but there was no doubt about their sharpness. They cut easily through any food fragment, even the hardest shells or rinds, and they made the adult Zardalu jump when the infants, dissatisfied with what was offered to them, nicked the tough flesh at the base of their parents’ bodies.

After the first morbid fascination of that sight wore off, Birdie shuffled quietly over to Julius Graves. “Councilor, what are we going to do? You heard Kallik — another hour and we’re done for. Me first, then all of us.”

Graves was nodding, the great bald head furrowed with worry. “I know, I know. We won’t let them take you, Commissioner. They’ll have to fight all of us before that happens. But what can we do? They refuse to listen to me, or allow me to act as an intermediary with the others. If only they would sit down, and talk…”

Talk was not what Birdie had in mind. In his experience, people who wanted to sit down and talk were the ones who were going to lose the argument. What he would have preferred was more along the lines of a nice 88-gauge automatic cannon.

He nodded and crawled back to his place. Julius Graves was full of talk, but he was not going to do one damned thing. Certainly he would not be able to stop the Zardalu from using Birdie as baby-chow any time they felt like it.

Birdie stared again at their captors. His inspection moved from a horrified stare at the young ones to a general survey of all the land-cephalopods.

They certainly had that look of invulnerability. But he knew it was an illusion. Eleven thousand years earlier, species who had been trained from birth to believe in Zardalu superiority had risen to fight their tyrant masters — and won. They had exterminated the Zardalu, except for these last few remaining specimens.

There had to be some chink in the armor, some flaw that had been exploited at the time of the Great Rising…

It was certainly not easy to see one. Birdie had watched earlier, when two of the Zardalu picked up empty food containers and squeezed them to form rough clubs. Now he wandered over to a food container himself, and put all his weight on it. It did not budge a millimeter. Birdie sat down again with a new respect for the power of those three-meter ropy tentacles. They could pulverize him without putting one of their nonexistent hairs out of place.