Such great hopes, such fine prospects they had had on setting out for this place, this planet, this forlorn speck in empty space. The Roost Masters had so carefully planned the right oven, the correct crucible, and just the right ingredients — three of the best, three fine products of genetic manipulation, their very finest.

We were sent to bring home a consensus, the new queen thought. And that consensus has come.

It is ashes. We were wrong to think this was the time to strive for greatness.

Oh, many factors had brought this about. If only the first candidate of Cost and Caution had not died… If only they had not been fooled twice by the trickster Tymbrimi and his “Garthlings.” … If only the Earthlings had not proven so wolfishly clever at capitalizing on every weakness — this last maneuver for instance, forcing Gubru soldiery to choose between dishonor and regicide…

But there are no accidents, she knew. They could not have taken advantage if we had not shown flaws.

That was the consensus they would report to the Roost Masters. That there were weaknesses, failures, mistakes which this doomed expedition had tested and brought to light.

It would be valuable information.

Let that console me for my sterile, infertile eggs, she thought, as she comforted her sole remaining partner and lover.

To the messengers she gave one brief command.

“Convey to the stoop-colonel our pardon, our amnesty, our forgiveness. And have the task force recalled to base.”

Soon the deadly cruisers had turned about and were headed homeward, leaving the mountains and the valley to those who seemed to want them so badly.

The chims stared in amazement as Death seemed to change its mind. Lydia McCue blinked up at the retreating cruisers and shook her head. “You knew,” she said as she turned to look at Athaclena. Again she accused. “You knew!”

Athaclena smiled. Her tendrils traced faint, sad imprints in the air.

“Let us just say that I thought there was a possibility,” she said at last. “Had I been wrong, this would still have been the honorable thing to do.

“I am very glad, however, to find out that I was right.”

“Goodall, how I hate ceremonies!”

The remark brought a jab in his ribs. “Quit fidgeting, Fiben. The whole world is watching!”

He sighed and made an effort to sit up straight. Fiben could not help remembering Simon Levin and the last time they had stood parade together, just a short distance from here. Some things never change, he thought. Now it was Gailet nagging him to try to look dignified.

Why did everyone who loved him also incessantly try to correct his posture? He muttered. “If they wanted clients who looked elegant, they’d have uplif—”

The words cut short in an “oof!” of exhaled breath. Gailet’s elbows were sure a lot sharper than Simon’s had been. Fiben’s nostrils flared and he chuffed irritably, but he kept quiet. So prim in her well-cut new uniform, she might be glad to be here, but had anyone asked him if he wanted a damn medal? No, of course not. .Nobody ever asked him.

At last the triple-cursed Thennanin admiral finished his droning, boring homily on virtue and tradition, garnering scattered applause. Even Gailet seemed relieved as the hulking Galactic returned to his seat. Alas, so many others also seemed to want to make speeches.

The mayor of Port Helenia, back from internment on the islands, praised the doughty urban insurrectionists and proposed that his chim deputy ought to take over City Hall more often. That got him hearty applause… and probably a few more chim votes, come next election, Fiben thought cynically.

Cough*Quinn’3, the Uplift Institute Examiner, summarized the agreement recently signed by Kautt on behalf of the Thennanin, and for Earthclan by the legendary Admiral Alvarez, under which the fallow species formerly called gorillas would henceforth enter upon the long adventure of sapiency. The new Galactic citizens — already widely known as “The Client Race That Chose” — would be given leasehold on the Mountains of Mulun for fifty thousand years. Now they were, in truth, “Garthlings.”

In return for technical assistance from Earth, and fallow gorilla genetic stock, the mighty clan of the Thennanin would also undertake to defend the Terran leasehold of Garth, plus five other human and Tymbrimi colony worlds. They would not interfere directly in conflicts now raging with the Soro and Tandu and other fanatic clans, but easing pressure on those fronts would allow desperately needed help to go to the homeworlds.

And the Thennanin themselves were no longer enemies of the trickster-wolfling alliance. That fact alone was worth the power of great armadas.

We’ve done what we can, and more, Fiben thought. Until this point, it had seemed that the great majority of Galactic “moderates” would simply sit aside and let the fanatics have their way. Now there was some hope that the apparent “inevitable tide of history” that was said to doom all wolfling clans would not be seen as quite so unstoppable. Sympathy for the underdogs had grown as a result of events here on Garth.

Whether there actually were more allies to be won, more magic tricks to be pulled, Fiben couldn’t predict. But he was pretty sure the final outcome would be decided thousands of parsecs away from here. Perhaps on old mother Earth herself.

When Megan Oneagle began speaking Fiben realized it was finally time to get through the morning’s worst unpleasantness.

“… ill turn out to be a total loss if we do not learn from months such as those we have just passed through. After all, what is the use of hard times if they do not make us wiser? For what did our honored dead give up their lives?”

The Planetary Coordinator coughed for a brief moment and rustled her old-fashioned paper notes.

“We shall propose modification of the probation system, which causes resentments the enemy were able to exploit. We’ll endeaver to use the new Library facilities for the benefit of all. And we certainly. shall service and maintain the equipment on the Ceremonial Mound, against the day when peace returns and it can be used for its proper purpose, the celebration of status the race, of Pan argonostes so richly deserves.

“And most important of all, we shall use Gubru reparations to finance resumption of our major job here on Garth, reversing the decline of this planet’s frail ecosphere, using hard-won knowledge to halt the downward spiral and return this, our adopted home, to its proper task — the task of breeding wonderful species diversity, the wellspring of all sentience.

“More of these plans will be presented for public discussion over the coming weeks.” Megan looked up from her notes and smiled. “But today we also have an added chore, the pleasurable chore of honoring those who have made us proud. Those who made it possible for us to stand here in freedom today. It is our chance to show them how grateful we are, and how very much they are loved.”

YOM love me? Fiben asked silently. Then let me outta here!

“Indeed,” the Coordinator went on. “For some of our chim citizens, recognition of their achievements will not finish with their lives or even with their places in history books, but shall continue in the veneration with which we hold their descendants, the future of their race.”