Quam said harshly, "I don't care about the sleeth. Or the Reefer. What does Cliff Hawk have to do with all this?"
Rufe shrugged. "The Reefer brought him up. Brought his sick Mom here from the reefs before he was born, then sent him off to the stars to learn to be a transflection engineer. That's what my dad says."
"What else does your dad say about Hawk?"
"Says Hawk's building something for the Reefer. Contraband. Don't know what kind, but they smuggle in machines that humans aren't supposed to have without permission from the Star."
The smallest boy whined, "I want to go back down, preacher. I want to go to Starschool."
"Jay! You know we all said we weren't going to go . .
"Shut up, Rufe! I want to ask my Starschool teacher about the thing that hit the ridge. I'm scared, and Mark knows nearly everything. I want to see him!"
The redheaded boy looked at Andy Quam and shrugged. "Mark's a robot," he said. "But Jay's maybe right. Mark might know something."
Without thought Andy Quam's fingers reached out to the controls, but the flyer, listening, had anticipated his thought. They were already dropping to the ground.
"I'll take you there, Jay," said Andy Quam eagerly. "Provided you let me come along; I want to know too!"
They hurried up the graveled walk, under the multiple suns of Almalik imaged in the space-black dome of the church. The boy Jay guided Quamodian through hushed passages to Mark's schoolroom.
It was nearly empty, only a score or so brightly dressed children clustered at the front and a smaller, shabbier group lounging skeptically at the back. The robot paused to greet them.
"Come in, students. We are telling the wonderful story of the Visitants and the precious gifts they brought to the old human savages, centuries ago. Please take your seats."
The three boys slipped quietly into empty seats along a back bench, alongside the others who wore the worn and faded fiber clothing of the free people who have never accepted the Star. Quamodian walked past them, down the aisle to where the brighter garbed children of civilization sat on the front benches. He stopped and planted himself in front of the robot.
"Robot Inspector, I'm sorry to interrupt. . ."
The robot hung in the air before him, its tall black shining case reflecting the lights of the room and of its own oval of flame-bright plasma. The plasma flickered, darted half a yard toward him, flicked a dark, whiplike effector toward his face.
"Sir, you cannot interrupt," the robot intoned, its voice ringing like tossed pebbles against the low, blue dome.
"I can, Robot Inspector. I am your superior in the Companions of the Star. I am Monitor Andreas Quamodian."
"Even so, sir," pealed the robot, "you cannot control me today. Our new compact allows no official duties to interfere with voluntary religious activities on Starday. Teaching this class, Monitor Quamodian, i my voluntary religious activity."
Andy Quam stood his ground, disdaining the effector that tried to wave him away. "Robot, an emergency exists." He heard the ripple of excitement from the children and lowered his voice. "A very grave emergency, I'm afraid. Three plasma bolts from the sun have just struck near here. Human beings may have been injured, even killed."
Gently but firmly, the dark tip of the effector coiled around his arm, propelled him irresistibly toward the benches. "You must wait, sir," sang the robot as the staring children tittered. "Be seated. Be still. Be attentive, all of you, as I resume the wonderful story of the Visitants and their fusorian gifts to man."
Andy Quam muttered under his breath, but clearly it was no use. He stalked back down the aisle to the back benches, where Rufe gave him an approving grin. "You're okay, preacher! We don't like robots either."
"Hush, boy," said Andy Quam as severely as the robot. He sat glowering bleakly at the dark case of the robot, where its mark number was blazoned just under the bright-starred orbital pattern of Almalik. Perhaps the robot was hard to manage today, but tomorrow would be different.
"The fusorians," sang the robot melodiously, retracting its effector and floating higher toward the blue dome, "are older than the stars, and all of them are very wonderful. They are microscopic creatures that live by fusing hydrogen atoms, and they evolved in space—so long ago that they have divided into many millions of different species. The reefs of space are built of atoms which some fusorians create. The Visitants are a special race of fusorians which live like symbiotes, inside the bodies of creatures like man."
"Bugs!" hissed the redheaded boy to Quamodian. "My dad says they're nothing but parasites!"
"In the wonderful partnership of man and fusorian," the robot trilled, "each benefits, neither is harmed. For the Visitants are wonderfully wise and just. They have evolved transcience intellectic patterns which knit their colonies together and link them all with the sentient stars. And so we are all united, all joined into the great multiple Citizen named Cygnus, whose spokesman star is Almalik."
"Slaved, you mean," whispered the redheaded boy.
"That is," sang the robot, its oval of plasma pulsing rhapsodically, "so are we joined if we accept the gift of the Visitants. On the great day when we join the Star they will jump in a fat golden spark to your skin. Their colonies will penetrate every cell of your body. They will destroy all marauders and all wild cells, and keep you young forever. They bring you utter happiness, and utter peace. This is the gift of the Visitants."
"Hogwash," the redhead muttered. "Preacher, why don't you make him shut up?"
"And here with us on this Starday," cried the singing voice of the robot, "we are fortunate, children, blessed by the Visitants. For we have with us a Monitor of the Companions of the Star!" Like lightning, a pale effector stabbed forth and burst in a shower of light over Andy Quam's head as the children turned and stared. "For great Almalik can only help us and guide us, he cannot fight for his own right cause. So we Companions fight for him, Monitor Andreas Quamodian here as well as, more humbly, my poor robot self."
Quam swallowed angrily, torn between the desire to stalk out of the room and the yearning to leap to his feet and denounce this willful robot who spoke of duty but would not help him in the emergency that had blasted the mountains.
"Of course," the robot added delicately, "Monitor Quamodian and I do not view all questions in the same light. Sometimes we differ. Sometimes, perhaps, one of us is wrong. But that too is just and proper, for the peace of the Star keeps us free, while joining us in rewarding fellowship."
It bobbed soundlessly for a moment, as though entranced with its own words, while its pale oval of plasma blushed briefly blue. "Now we are finished," it said at last. "Children, you may leave. Monitor Quamodian, I thank you for being with us today."
Andy Quam pushed furiously down the aisle, through the knots of chattering children, to confront the robot. "Robot Inspector," he cried, "how do you fight for Almalik when you won't even help me in this important matter?"
"Patience, Monitor Quamodian," purred the robot. "There are evil men and evil stars who reject the universal good of all. I join you gladly in fighting them, but under our compact Starday is . . ."
"Just another day!" Quamodian shouted roughly. "Rogue men are plotting with rogue stars! There is great danger here, and it cannot wait on your convenience!"
The robot bobbed silently in its transflection field, as though it were considering what to do. Half-formed effectors budded around its case and were withdrawn; its plasma oval turned opalescent as pale colors chased themselves through it. It said at last, "The situation is grave, Monitor Quamodian."