The tense little ne’ squirrel hovered between caution and gluttony as it approached once more to feed from Kault’s outstretched hand.

He should not be able to do that. Uthacalthing wondered why the squirrel trusted the Thennanin, so huge, so intimidating and powerful. Life here on Garth was nervous, paranoid in the wake of the Bururalli catastrophe — whose deathly pall still hung over these steppes far east and south of the Mountains of Mulun.

Kault could not be soothing the creature as a Tymbrimi might — by glyph-singing to it in gentle tones of empathy. A Thennanin had all the psi sense of a stone.

But Kault spoke to the creature in his own highly inflected dialect of Galactic. Uthacalthing listened.

“Know you — sight-sound-image — an essence of destiny, yours? Little one? Carry you — genes-essence-destiny — the fate of star-treaders, your descendants?”

The ne’ squirrel quivered, cheeks full. The native animal seemed mesmerized as Kault’s crest puffed up and deflated, as his breathing slits sighed with every moist exhalation. The Thennanin could not commune with the creature, not as Uthacalthing might. And yet, the squirrel somehow appeared to sense Kault’s love.

How ironic, Uthacalthing thought. Tymbrimi lived their lives awash in the everflowing music of life, and yet he did not personally identify with this small animal. It was one of hundreds of millions, after all. Why should he care about this particular individual?

Yet Kault loved the creature. Without empathy sense, without any direct being-to-being link, he cherished it entirely in abstract. He loved what the little thing represented, its potential.

Many humans still claim that one can have empathy without psi, Uthacalthing pondered. To “put one’s self into another’s shoes,” went the ancient metaphor. He had always thought it to be one of their quaint pre-Contact ideas, but now he wasn’t so certain. Perhaps Earthlings were sort of midway between Thennanin and Tymbrimi in this matter of how one empathized with others.

Kault’s people passionately believed in Uplift, in the potential of diverse life forms eventually to achieve sapiency. The long-lost Progenitors of Galactic culture had commanded this, billions of years ago, and the Thennanin Clan took the injunction very seriously. Their uncompromising fanaticism on this issue went beyond being admirable. At times — as during the present Galactic turmoil — it made them terribly dangerous.

But now, ironically, Uthacalthing was counting on that fanaticism. He hoped to lure it into action of his own design.

The ne’ squirrel snatched one last nut from Kault’s open hand and then decided it had enough. With a swish of its fan-shaped tail it scooted off into the undergrowth. Kault turned to look at Uthacalthing, his throat slits flapping as he breathed.

“I have studied genome reports gathered by the Earth-ling ecologists,” the Thennanin Consul said. “This planet had impressive potential, only a few millennia ago. It should never have been ceded to the Bururalli. The loss of Garth’s higher life forms was a terrible tragedy.”

“The Nahalli were punished for what their clients did, weren’t they?” Uthacalthing asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Aye. They were reverted to client status and put under foster care to a responsible elder patron clan. My own, in fact. It is a most sad case.”

“Why is that?”

“Because the Nahalli are actually quite a mature and elegant people. They simply did not understand the nuances required in uplifting pure carnivores and so failed horribly with their Bururalli clients. But the error was not theirs alone. The Galactic Uplift Institute must take part in the blame.”

Uthacalthing suppressed a human-style smile. Instead his corona spiraled out a faint glyph, invisible to Kault. “Would good news here on Garth help the Nahalli?” he asked.

“Certainly.” Kauh expressed the equivalent of a shrug with his flapping crest. “We Thennanin were not in any way associated with the Nahalli when the catastrophe occurred, of course, but that changed when they were demoted and given under our guidance. Now, by adoption, my clan shares responsibility for this wounded place. It is why a consul was sent here, to make certain the Earthlings do not do even more harm to this sorry world.”

“And have they?”

Kault’s eyes closed and opened again. “Have they what?”

“Have the Earthlings done a bad job, here?”

Kault’s crest flapped again. “No. Our peoples may be at war, theirs and mine, but I have found no new grievances here to tally against them. Their ecological management program was exemplary.

“However, I do plan to file a report concerning the activities of the Gubru.”

Uthacalthing believed he could interpret bitterness in Kault’s voice inflection*. They had already seen signs of the collapse of the environmental recovery effort. Two days ago they had passed a reclamation station, now abandoned, its sampling traps and test cages rusting. The gene-storage bins had gone rancid after refrigeration failed.

An agonized note had been left behind, telling of the choice of a neo-chimpanzee ecology aide — who had decided to abandon his post in order to help a sick human colleague. It would be a long journey to the coast for an antidote to the coercion gas.

Uthacalthing wondered if they ever made it. Clearly the facility had been thoroughly dosed. The nearest outpost of civilization was very far from here, even by hover car.

Obviously, the Gubru were content to leave the station unmanned. “If this pattern holds, it must be documented,” Kault said. “I am glad you allowed me to persuade you to lead us back toward inhabited regions, so we can collect more data on these crimes.”

This time Uthacalthing did smile at Kault’s choice of words. “Perhaps we will find something of interest,” he agreed.

They resumed their journey when the sun, Gimelhai, had slipped down somewhat from its burning zenith.

The plains southeast of the Mulun range stretched like the undulating wavetops of a gently rolling sea, frozen in place by the solidity of earth. Unlike the Vale of Sind and the open lands on the other side of the mountains, here there were no signs of plant and animal life forms introduced by Earth’s ecologists, only native Garth creatures.

And empty niches.

Uthacalthing felt the sparseness of species types as a gaping emptiness in the aura of this land. The metaphor that came to mind was that of a musical instrument missing half its strings.

Yes. Apt. Poetically appropriate. He hoped Athaclena was taking his advice and studying this Earthling way of viewing the worM.

Deep, on. the level of nahakieri, he had dreamt of his daughter last night. Dream-picted her with her corona reaching, kenning the threatening, frightening beauty of a visitation by tutsunucann. Trembling, Uthacalthing had awakened against his will, as if instinct had driven him to flee that glyph.

Through anything other than tutstmucann he might have learned more of Athaclena, of how she fared and what she did. But tutsunucann only shimmered — the essence of dreadful expectation. From that glimmer he knew only that she still lived. Nothing more.

That will have to do, for now.

Kault carried most of their supplies. The big Thennanin walked at an even pace, not too difficult to follow. Uthacalthing suppressed body changes that would have made the trek easier for a short while but cost him in the long run. He settled for a loosening in his gait, a wide flaring of his nostrils — making them flat but broad to let in more air yet keep out the ever-present dust.

Ahead, a series of small, tree-lined hummocks lay by a streambed, just off their path toward the distant ruddy mountains. Uthacalthing checked his compass and wondered if the hills should look familiar. He regretted the loss of his inertial guidance recorder in the crash. If only he could be sure…