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“He said to come on!” Bro B hooted angrily, swept Sam off his feet, and tucked him under one pair of arms. Sam had a brief glance at Oncccc, who was held tightly under the other two arms as Bro B thundered down the hall on all four legs, scattering lesser Bingnagians to each side as if they were kettle pins.

The outer door to the compound was standing wide open. A steady procession of Bingnagians carried papers and boxes from the keep and threw them into a line of waiting vehicles.

Bro leaped into the first vehicle they came to and dropped Oncccc and Sam onto the seat beside him. He stomped a pedal with one foot, grabbed a handle projecting from the floor with his minor claws, and pulled on the overhead cord with his huge fore-claw. With a scream of steam, the vehicle lurched into motion, nearly running down the squad of guards that still marched stolidly to and fro under the direction of their befuddled officers. The vehicle roared out of the compound and raced down the road toward the field and Oncccc’s waiting shuttle.

“I think this is a mistake,” the translator whispered to Sam. “Flight from adversity is never a wise course.”

“So what?” Sam replied. “I come from a long line of stupid people who ran away from danger and had kids. The wise ones who didn’t run dropped out of the race long ago.”

“One cannot flee when wrongly accused,” the translator countered.

“Better to be wrong and alive than dead right!”

“The explanation and your vindication are at hand. You have only to recognize it to clear your name, Sam.”

Sam was about to reply when Oncccc shouted. “That’s it, the gray one!” The Peq pointed at a large, bulbous monstrosity that looked as if it were the bastard offspring of a spaceship and a rutabaga. “Get us as dose as you can.”

All across the field ships were taking off, rising into the sky on columns of the muddy brown smoke that were the by-products of phloomb-activated propellants.

“News of the D’ret’s arrival must have spread quickly,” Sam said. “It looks as if we aren’t the only dumb ones who want to get the hell out of here!” He held one hand over the translator’s speaker to prevent a reply.

Oncccc jumped from the truck the instant it stopped and raced to spin the locks on the ship’s hatch. No sooner was the hatch opened than he was inside. In seconds they heard the sounds of the ship’s readiness. “Come on,” Oncccc hummed loudly enough to be heard over the racket.

Sam and Bro B stood on the tarmac at the foot of the ship. “After you,” Bro B said and waved a claw at the waiting hatch.

There was something about the way Bro B was standing, something about the tone of his hoot that made Sam suspicious. “You aren’t going with us, are you?” he said. “You are going to stay here to help them deal with the Clerk.”

Bro B nodded slowly. “I was the M-Ditsch’s successor. I have the responsibility to help my people. I can’t desert them at a time like this. It wouldn’t be honorable.”

“He’s right; honor is very important,” the translator chirped independently. “What are you going to do, Sam? Think about your contract to help the Bingnagians. Think about your honor.”

“I’m going to get on board and get the devil out of here!” Sam said as he took a step toward the ship. “There’s no way I can help the Bingnagians now.”

“So you will allow the Bingnagians to revile humanity forever? Aren’t you concerned about your reputation?” the translator chided.

“The only way you can enjoy a good reputation is to be alive, which I intend to remain for considerable time to come. What good would my unblemished reputation be if I get stomped by the Bingnagians or wiped out by the D’ret?”

That seemed to have stopped his conscientious translator for a moment, Sam thought as he clambered up the ladder to the hatch. Just before climbing inside he turned to wave farewell to Bro B.

The sight of the huge Bingnagian standing by the vehicle, steadfastly remaining on the planet of his people while knowing that he faced certain death and disgrace, touched Sam. “Duty, honor, country,” the translator whispered as strains of tinny martial music played along. “It is a far, far better thing...”

“All right, damn it! All right!” With a sigh Sam slammed the hatch closed, climbed back down, and walked over to the truck. He and Bro B stood there and watched Oncccc make his escape. “Home, James,” Sam said as he climbed aboard the truck.

“My name’s Bro B, Sam,” the Bingnagian replied as he threw the truck into gear and turned it around. “I really appreciate you helping us even though we are going to have to really stomp you when the D’ret gets through with us.”

“Service is my middle name,” Sam said disgustedly with a backward glance at the departing ship.

As they drove through the massive confusion surrounding the field, Sam thought about what the translator had said. The answer to everything was in his grasp, was it? Well, let’s see: Motivation, access, and size were the keys to the mystery of the M-Ditsch’s death. Somehow, the translator must know that solving that murder would resolve all of the other issues. It was nice that the little machine had such faith that Sam would put it all together.

He wished that he had as much faith in himself.

There was a hubbub around the entrance to the Ditsch’s keep when they arrived. A dozen Bingnagians were helping the group of Adrinns load their sled. It appeared as if the little aliens, like any other sensible being on this benighted planet, were about to depart. Sam couldn’t blame them for not wanting to meet the esteemed Clerk of the Court in person. He thought that this behavior displayed a degree of intelligence and grasp of the subtleties of the situation far in excess of what they had formerly displayed.

Bro B joined the crowd, hooting a storm of directions that organized the others into a smoothly efficient line. Sam could barely hear the translation of the tiny barks of the Adrinns’s protests through the din of thundering instructions.

“We are in a hurry,” one of them chattered.

“We have a ship to catch,” another added.

“Our business is at an end. You must deal with the Clerk now,” a third one barked.

“I see no reason that you should stay,” Bro B huffed loudly. “You did your best.”

“Yes, yes. Now please move aside. We are anxious to leave this terribly wet planet. It is very unhealthy for us,” the smallest one said as the Bingnagians threw the last box on the sled and stepped back to let the Adrinns continue on their way.

Wet planet. Something clicked in Sam’s mind: Weren’t these the same aliens who had splashed about in his pool with such abandon just the night before? “Just a minute,” he said as he stepped in front of the Adrinns’ sled. “I think that you have something of mine.”

“Out of the way, you murderer,” Adrinn One barked as Sam reached into the sled and pulled out a large box. “Hey, stay out of there. That’s ours.”

Sam opened the box and pulled out the uneven lump that Dratte Five had left for him. “Now what is this?” he said, turning it over in his hands so that everyone could see.

“That’s the thing you had in your room,” Bro B huffed. “Why do the Adrinns have it?”

Sam examined the lumpish sphere. Had it changed since he saw it last? Were those scales in the same place?

“I think we all need to return to my room,” Sam suggested. “I think I know how to stop the Court Clerk and...” The thunder of stomping feet as the Bingnagians raced them to the room drowned out the remainder of Sam’s statement.

The Adrinns and Sam were carried ungraciously but efficiently by Bro B and several guards. “Now, explain yourself, human Sam,” the large Bingnagian said once they were all inside.

“There are three elements to who killed the M-Ditsch,” Sam began as he tossed the sphere into the pool. “The first is motivation,” he explained as he turned back to the crowd. “Who, I asked myself, would benefit from the death of the M-Ditsch on the eve of an agreement?”