“Enough to make you want to dig up Charles Darwin and slap him silly, isn’t it?” the ship’s officer said.
Gordon nodded. The creatures in the compartments seemed to be living proof that there was no rhyme or reason to sentience or planetary dominance.
The first compartment contained a group of wicked-looking lizard-like creatures with long snouts that had several eyestalks at their ends.
“These are from Enid IV,” the young diplomat said.
“Yeah, I know,” said Carter. “Peepers.”
The next compartment held what might have been a coatrack covered in spiny balls that seemed to leap away from the coatrack, then snap back. No telling, Gordon thought, if that’s all one creature or a whole bunch and the coatrack is some sort of transport.
“From somewhere in the Echo systems,” Gordon said.
The ship’s officer nodded. “Tether balls,” he said.
In the next were a collection of what appeared to be dogs of various types. Their door was open. Most of them were sitting around a green-topped table, playing a card game. Several seemed to be smoking cigars.
“From Canus III,” the young diplomat said.
“Mutts,” said Carter.
One of the Mutts was lying on the floor, licking between its hind legs. It raised its head, and growled, “What are you looking at?”
The pair moved on.
“Was he doing what I think he was doing?” Carter asked.
“That’s nothing,” Gordon said. “You should take part in their traditional greeting ceremony.”
The next compartment contained the Gaspassers.
Next to them were what appeared to be a herd of cuddly lambs, until they smiled and showed rows of razor-edged teeth. When they lifted their feet, the humans could see they were taloned and not hooved.
“These are from somewhere down space, toward the core,” the young diplomat said.
“Cute little devils, aren’t they?” Carter said. “You can see why they’re called Lambchops.”
The Huskers were in the next compartment. Their door was closed. Gordon rang the doorbell with great reluctance.
The door flew open, and a Husker stood in the doorway. It gave off a series of squeaks and squawks.
“What the hell do you want?” the human’s translation program asked. The translation program was wired into each of the Xtee compartments, and was supposed to be able to translate among the aliens as well as between alien and human. Gordon had his doubts.
“Not exactly the most diplomatic opening, is it?” the ship’s officer said.
“It’s probably the program,” Gordon said. “We haven’t got all of the bugs worked out of it.”
“Oh, sure, say it’s my fault,” the program said. “Shoot the messenger.”
“We were wondering if all the members of your delegation are accounted for,” Gordon asked the Husker.
The Husker listened to the squeaks and clicks that came from the translation program. The middle of its body rotated away, then rotated back.
“We’re all here,” it said.
This wasn’t the answer Gordon was expecting. He didn’t know what to say next.
“Ship’s fourth officer John Carter,” Carter said. “I’m afraid we’ll have to come in and take a census.”
The Husker’s midsection swiveled away, then back again.
“Under the rules of diplomacy, this is our sovereign territory,” it said. “I’m afraid I can’t let you pass.”
“I’m desolated to have to tell you that the safety of the ship is involved,” Carter said, “and that takes precedence over protocol.”
The Husker went into its swivel routine again.
Gordon opened his mouth, but closed it without saying anything. The ship’s officer was a bold and smooth liar. He could have a real future in the Corps Diplomatique.
The Husker stepped back without speaking. The two men entered the compartment. The ship’s officer made a show of counting the inhabitants. “We brought twelve of you on board,” he said, “but there are only eleven here.”
“I am John Smith, the leader of this delegation,” the biggest Husker said. “You are correct. John Doe is missing.”
“John Smith?” Gordon said. “John Doe? Is that the best you can do?”
“It’s not my fault,” the translation program said. “These are common names on this species’ home planet, and that’s the way they translate.”
“Why don’t you just leave the names in their language?” the young diplomat said. “Fewer distractions.”
Which was how the two humans learned that it was Clickclickwhistle who was missing, according to Clicksquawksqueal.
“We think we know where Clickclickwhistle is,” Carter said. “Computer, would you show us the Unknown Origin 37 we removed from the deck?”
The computer threw up a scene on the opposite wall. The Huskers seemed to see in the same spectrum as humans, so Gordon figured they should be able to follow what was going on. Unfortunately, what was going on was that the two subengineers had the Unknown Origin 37 on the shuttle deck, the section that was open to space. There were wires running from it to a console some distance away where the subengineers stood in space suits.
“Computer!” the ship’s officer yelled. “Stop whatever they are doing immediately!”
Too late. One of the space-suited figures threw a switch, and there was a tremendous explosion. Pieces of Unknown Species 37 flew everywhere. The two subengineers were blown backward and dangled at the end of tethers, their suits leaking air in dozens of places. Other space-suited figures began moving their way.
Carter began whispering into the left forearm of his powered exoskeleton.
“Is this the way you treat visiting diplomats?” Clicksquawksqueal demanded. “You blow them up?”
Gordon moved closer to the ship’s officer, who seemed to have finished whispering. For a reason Gordon couldn’t quite name, the Huskers suddenly seemed much more dangerous.
“We didn’t blow up Clickclickwhistle,” he said. “We found him all folded in the hallway outside the diplomats’ area and his temperature was rising. Our computer told us he would explode on his own. Why is that?”
“All folded up?” Clicksquawksqueal said. “What do you mean?”
“Show him, Computer,” Gordon said.
The computer projected a photograph of the Unknown Origin 37-or, rather, the late, lamented Clickclickwhistle-in front of Clicksquawksqueal. The creature did the same swiveling routine as the doorman and was silent for several minutes.
“Clickclickwhistle was in decommissioned pose,” Clicksquawksqueal said. “He would have expanded to the universe on his own.”
“Decommissioned pose?” Gordon said.
“Hey, I’m doing the best that I can,” the translation program said.
“Is that how your species disposes of its dead? Explosion?” the young diplomat asked.
Clicksquawksqueal swiveled and was silent again.
“It is,” it said at last, “it is our way of returning our biological material to the planet.”
“Well, I’d hate to walk through one of your graveyards,” Gordon said.
“Graveyards?” Clicksquawksqueal said. “What are graveyards?”
“Perhaps we should turn our attention to what happened to Clickclickwhistle,” the ship’s officer suggested. “When did you see him last?”
Gordon thought about strangling the starspawn. The demise of an alien diplomat in his keeping was the last thing he wanted to talk about.
Clicksquawksqueal seemed to share that sentiment. It swiveled and was silent for so long that Gordon thought perhaps it’d gone to sleep.
“Clickclickwhistle was an adventurous sort,” the Husker said, when it had swiveled back. “He went out exploring and never came back.”
“Weren’t you worried?” Gordon asked.
The swiveling was shorter this time.
“Define worried,” Clicksquawksqueal said.
“Never mind,” Carter said. “Perhaps it would be better if we discussed this in more comfortable surroundings. Will you and your colleagues follow me?”