Two others entered the room: a blonde woman, tall, about the same age as Ander Korwits, with blue eyes so pale they were nearly white and hair cropped close to her head, and a shorter female with the same coloring as Korwits’s. The dark newcomer was older, mid-forties at a guess that was likely to be unreliable, but suffered not at all by comparison with her companions. The least that could be said of either of them was “beautiful”, barring their expressions and manner, which were as neutral and dispassionate as the de’ze‘s.
They seated themselves as Ander Korwits made introductions: “Here are Alper Gor—” the blonde nodded perhaps a millimeter in acknowledgement “—and Luter Ander.” The older woman unbent to the extent of a twitch of the mouth that might have been a smile if completed. “Together we constitute the Council of Ulze of this pa’ol. They have been warned of the existence of peromon, and in addition the tea contains substances which enhance alertness and diminish the libido. We should be able to confer without extraneous interruptions.”
“Pleasant greetings,” Peters offered, receiving micrometric nods in return. Luter Ander poured tea and sipped; Alper Gor addressed a remark to Ander Korwits, and the two held a colloquy. At length the blonde woman faced him and said, “Disrobe,” in a voice totally devoid of emotional content. “I wish to make an inspection.”
Peters sat back in his chair. “I’m reluctant to do that,” he admitted.
“Do you have secrets to conceal?”
“Not that I know of, but the situation seems, ah, asymmetrical.” He looked from one woman to another. “Will you allow me a similar privilege? I believe I am owed equivalent assurances.”
There was a long pause. “Considered as a matter of equity, there is no reason to demur,” Alper Gor stated. “Will one be sufficient?” Was that a glint of humor on Ander Korwits’s face?
If so, it was fleeting. “I believe one will be enough, if I am assured of equivalence.”
“We have individual differences, of course, but the significant features should be identical,” Alper Gor declared. “You may inspect, with myself as the subject. Disrobe.”
Peters stood and complied. Alper Gor did the inspecting, as cooly and impersonally as a doctor’s examination and almost as detailed. She ignored his natural reaction, seeming to take it as a matter of course, and he made no attempt to suppress it. At length she straightened. “Enough,” she said. “You may clothe yourself.”
He did so, turning his back for most of the process. When he faced her again he was confronted with an impressive specimen of blonde femininity, almost his own height and constructed on the principle that elegance of form took precedence over abundance of provision. Close visual inspection yielded no difference from human females of his experience. He made no attempt at dispassion in the tactile examination, in fact making it as provocative as possible without actual assault. Her face never varied from its neutral expression, but her autonomous functions had different notions; her responses were well within the norms as he knew them, including the flush that suffused her immobile features and a few other zones. “I am satisfied,” he pronounced, a considerable overstatement, and glanced at Ander Korwits, surprising an expression of minimal but definite amusement that disappeared as soon as she felt his regard.
“What do you conclude?” Ander inquired as Alper Gor seated herself.
“I am reluctantly persuaded,” Alper admitted. “I find no external differences between this individual and the males of my experience. At first I thought to detect a variation, but I conclude that the deficiency is the result of surgery.” She looked at Peters. “Is that the case?”
“Yes. The surgery is performed immediately after birth. It’s not done in all cases; I don’t know the precise statistics.”
“It isn’t important… what did you conclude from your own examination?”
“Much the same. I found no significant differences between yourself and the human females I have experience of.” He looked from one to the other. Luter Ander was definitely smiling, and Ander Korwits expressed amusement as well; Alper Gor’s eyes were fractionally narrowed, and the left corner of her mouth twitched slightly. “Pending a detailed internal examination, we are of the same species, however incredible it may seem,” he concluded.
“I almost fully agree,” Alper Gor pronounced. “Excuse me for a moment.” She stood and left the room, indulging herself in a backward glance as she went through the door.
Luter Ander leaned forward. “According to the information I have, you come from a planet far from here, but don’t yourself know precisely where it may be. Is this correct?”
“Yes, it is,” Peters admitted.
“What species are found in the near regions of space around your planet?”
“I don’t know that, either. I haven’t made extensive explorations.” He held up a hand to forestall comment as he thought. “The first species we saw after leaving Earth was the enkheil. Does that help?”
“It might narrow the possibilities somewhat,” Luter Ander stated. “How long did you travel before finding the enkheil?”
Peters shrugged. “A matter of two eights of llor.”
“That doesn’t narrow the possibilities much,” Luter Ander admitted.
“No, it doesn’t,” Korwits agreed. “Kheer suggested that your people vary more in skin color and details of physiognomy than we do. Is the present group a fair sample of your people?”
“Not really. A truly representative group would average darker than we do.”
“I see.” Ander Korwits glanced at Alper Gor, who was seating herself, setting a cloth bag on the table as she did so. “And how many human are there?” the de’ze inquired.
“I don’t know precisely; my best information is approximately—” he struggled, working out how to express three or four billion in the numbering system they would understand. The result was cumbersome, and when he got it out he thought he detected a twitch of Ander Korwits’s eyebrow. “There were more until about half a square of years ago,” he added. “We have had problems… How many ferassi are there? Is your home planet nearby?”
There was a long pause; the three women exchanged looks, their features impassive as always but seeming nervous anyway. “As with you, I don’t know precisely,” Ander Korwits admitted. “Certainly there are fewer of us than the number you describe. Very few ferassi live on planets. Almost all of us live on ships, or with the Makers.”
“I understand.” Peters leaned back in his chair, using the interruption as Alper Gor emptied her bag to think. The contents of the bag were the items he’d had with him when he was abducted: the book he’d been reading, the handheld, the earbug, a wad of ornh, a few coins, his financial documents, and the buckle to his kathir suit. Ander Korwits and Luter Ander took up the unfamiliar items for an examination, not reacting visibly. He looked at the buckle, considering things he’d heard.
There had been a number of references to “makers”, the intonations making the word a proper name rather than a denotation. “What are… ” he reformulated his question: “Where are the Makers to be found? Could I see one?”
“The Makers are far from here,” Ander Korwits said in her calm alto, and Peters thought to hear a slight vibration of—what? Some sort of agitation. “We are of the nuñe ptith; we are custodians of Makers of furnishings, lighting equipment, certain navigational instruments, and zifthkakik of the larger sizes, with High Phase capability.” She fingered the earbug. “I don’t recognize this device. What Makers do the human of Earth care for? Clearly their products are very different.”