"Did that belong to someone you knew?" Uclod asked.
"I do not think so. But Festina spoke most fondly of the Explorer’s black uniform. It was a Valuable Important Thing; she felt quite sad she had not thought to pack a spare outfit when she came to this planet."
"I guess she had other concerns to worry about," Uclod said. "Considering how she thought Melaquin would be a suicide mission."
"But many other Explorers thought to pack uniforms. They were warned they might be marooned here, so they brought important equipment and valuable personal treasures." I looked at the trash strewn about the square. "It seems those treasures were not so valuable after all. When the Explorers were ready to go, they did not care what they left behind. They just tossed everything away to rot in the street… to get cold and wet and snowed on, because they did not really care about anything except themselves."
I stared up into the cold wet snow, suddenly feeling sad. "Even Festina went away," I whispered.
Uclod patted my hand. "Hey," he said in a soft voice, "I read your friend’s statement about what happened here. Ramos didn’t leave your planet willingly; and anyway, she thought you were dead."
"But I told her I could not die! I told her my people go on and on."
"Oar," Uclod interrupted, "you looked dead. Ramos couldn’t find a heartbeat, not even with topnotch Explorer sensing equipment. She decided to leave you among your own people, because that’s what shethought you’d want."
"But I was not dead! Not even a little bit!"
"Yeah, okay," the wee orange man said, "Ramos got it wrong. But even so, she didn’t just desert you — she took you back to that tower and laid you out all pretty. Hands folded, eyes closed, ax across your chest." He gave a little smite. "That’s what I thought I’d find when I came looking for you: a nice glass corpse I could photograph. I was even debating whether to lug your remains back to New Earth, so’s the lawyers could use you as Exhibit One. But when I got to where Ramos said you’d be, lo and behold, you were breathing. That’s why I asked if you were really Oar."
"Which I am!" I told him, suddenly feeling bright again. "You may rejoice, for I am not deceased after all."
The little man shrugged. "I’m thrilled for you, toots, I really am; but I gotta say, you were worth more to me as dead meat. A good-lookin’ gal, all battered and broken — that would have played big-time with the viewing public. But if you’re still alive and kicking, what can I sell to the network news?" He kicked at the rusty hunk of debris lying in the street. "You think they want pictures of this boring old junk? They’ll flash it on the screen for five seconds, tops; then they’ll move on to some interesting story, like a dachshund who juggles goldfish."
"But it is better me being alive," I said. "I will play with the viewing public very big-time indeed, for I shall describe all the awful things that were done to me. I am excellent at Sensationalized Descriptions Of Emotional Trauma."
"Uh huh." He looked me over from head to toe. "I have to admit, toots, you’d wow ’em on the news. And the nets will be much happier putting your face in the headlines than Festina Ramos."
I nodded sympathetically. Festina is a very nice person, but she does not have a Dazzling Regal Beauty.
"The more I think about it," Uclod said, still gazing at me, "this could work. It really could. I’ve got the footage I need from this world — pictures of the city, the Explorer equipment, the missile crater in the roof. That’ll be fine for the courts. But for the media, you’d add that extra level of authenticity to make this story zing."
"I am most zingfully authentic," I assured him. "I am an extremely credible witness."
"Yeah, I can imagine Mr. and Mrs. Slack-jawed Viewer saying, Look at the credibility on that babe!"
He paused and his face grew more somber. "Now, toots, I gotta warn you: this could get pretty ugly. Those buggers on the High Council are vicious bags of shit — that’s damned obvious from reading York’s files — and if they decide murdering you will solve more problems than it creates, they’ll hire some dirt-wad to shatter your glass caboose."
"Hah! I am not the type of glass that shatters into cabooses. If any dirt-wads try, I shall make them very sorry."
Uclod scowled. "You gotta take this serious, missy. Bad people will want you dead. And no matter how unbreakable you think you are, those navy shits can dream up something to put you in a coffin. Blow you up, crush you under a dozen steam-hammers, then dump whatever’s left in an acid bath. If you treat this like a game, you’ll die… and maybe take other folks with you. Me and my family, for instance." Hepeered sharply into my eyes. "If I let you come to New Earth, are you going to be smart? Because if you aren’t, to hell with you. I’m taking enough risks already, and I don’t need someone who’s just a liability. For all I care, you can go straight back to that tower and let your brain rot to tapioca."
I attempted to return his gaze with righteous indignation — I truly did my best. But I will tell you a thing: there are times I am not so strong as I want to be. When humans or other aliens tell me, "Oar, you must behave the way we say" I am not always wholly defiant. I am, after all, perfectly able to conform with Conventional Rules Of Propriety; under the tutelage of human Explorers, I learned Earthling modes of conduct as quickly as I learned the Earthling language.
But I am not an Earthling. I do not wish to be one. I do not wish to be mistaken for one. As the last of my kind, I refuse to betray my species by submitting to alien dictates. When I am strong, I therefore comport myself in a defiant fashion of my own choosing.
At that moment, however, I was not strong. If Uclod went away, perhaps no one would ever come to my planet again except navy persons endeavoring to eradicate evidence of humans on my world, and I knew better than to approach them. I would end up forever alone… and in time, I might go back to the Tower of Ancestors, and I might lie down, and I might not get up.
"I know this is not a game," I mumbled to the little man. "I know there is much at stake. Much. I will not act crazed and irresponsible."
Uclod stared into my eyes a moment longer, then nodded. "This way," he said, "The spaceship is down here."
The Jacket
He started along one of the streets leading off the square. I threw away the Explorer jacket I had been holding and followed him a few steps… then went back and picked up the jacket again. It was damp and smelly and pierced with insect nibbles; but I knew certain people in the Technocracy thought you were stupid and disgusting if you Walked Around All Day With Your Bare Ass Hanging Out.
I am not such a one as cares about surly people’s opinions; but as I have said, at that particular moment I was not possessed with great strength of spirit. And perhaps, I thought, there were important Science reasons why one had to wear clothes on other planets. Perhaps there were dangerous cosmic rays or poisonous atmospheric substances, so one had to don jackets to protect oneself from peril.
Wearing clothes might not be a cowardly concession to the small-minded prejudice of hateful persons. It might be a sensible precaution.
Yes.
Clutching the jacket, I took a deep breath. Then I hurried along behind Uclod, following his tracks through the light sheen of melting snow.
3: WHEREIN I AM SWALLOWED BY A LARGE CREATURE
The Diversity Of Spaceships
The spaceship was three blocks away, still well within the snow zone. Uclod had set it down in a wide intersection where two streets met; there was not so much landing room as if he had chosen the central square, but I suppose he had not wished to disturb the Explorer evidence back there.