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The taxi closed the distance to the station more quickly than she had expected. As it grew, the oversized habitat seemed to be drifting to the right. She glanced back toward where they had left the
Whale
and suddenly realized the reason. Rather than heading straight in, the pilot was taking them around to the opposite side of the station. As she watched, the small, dim star that was their ship slipped below the horizon of the large structure. Lisa felt a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the temperature in the taxi. As soon as they were out of line-of-sight, they were out of communications. Had the Voldar’ik planned anything nefarious, they were now free to proceed. The humans had no way to call for help. Her companions’ rigid postures revealed that they too recognized the danger.

The taxi made its way toward a large open airlock, one of several in the habitat’s skin. It looked large when they first saw it, and as they approached, it became massive. By the time they passed into the shadow of the station, the gaping maw had been transformed into a huge cavern that could easily swallow the
Ruptured Whale
and all the human starships at Brinks Base.

The taxi sailed into the vast open space and made for the far bulkhead in which there were rows of lighted windows. Around them were a number of dimly lit shapes that further inspection revealed to be spaceships. None of these looked exactly like the
Ruptured Whale
, although several had similar lines.

Some of the ships floated with their airlocks attached to tubes that ran into the cliff-like walls of the cavern. Others were swarming with machinery, either loading cargo or undergoing repairs. Still others had been extensively disassembled.

Obviously, the cavern was a busy spaceport, possibly even the crossroads of the Orpheus star system.

Since they had yet to learn what the locals called their star, Lisa continued to think of it by its human name.

As they floated past the spaceport tableaux, the humans craned their necks to take in the sights. Their Voldar’ik pilot sat immobile and appeared to take no notice of their curiosity. Perhaps curiosity was an emotion the Voldar’ik lacked, although Lisa could not imagine how a species developed intelligence without it.

As they neared the cavern wall, a snakelike tube came out to meet them. An amber beacon illuminated the end of the tube. The pilot rotated the ship and pressed its dorsal airlock against the end of the tube.

There followed a slight bump and the sound of rushing air. Then, the airlock opened and the pilot said,

“Go!”
in Broan trade talk.

That was the first and only sound he had made during the entire flight.

#

They found a Voldar’ik waiting for them as they pulled themselves single file through the station airlock.

Dan Landon was first out of the tube. He used a netlike series of cables to pull himself hand over hand to where the Voldar’ik was anchored.

“You are of the Vulcan trading ship
Wanderer?
”
their reception committee asked.

“We are. My personal label is Dan Landon and I am the One Who Rules aboard our ship. This is
Mikhail Vasloff; he is The One Who Trades. Behind him are Lisa Arden, a female of our species,
and The One Who Speaks for Others. Finally, we have Mark Rykand, the One Who Operates
Computers.”

“Greetings, Vulcans. I fear that we do not have your customs in our database, so I cannot greet
you in proper fashion. My apologies if this gives offense. It is not my intent.”

“No offense taken,”
Landon said.
“I apologize that we also lack knowledge of your species and can
therefore not give you a proper greeting.”

“It is not important,”
the Voldar’ik replied.
“My personal label is Zha and it is my function to aid
those who come to this system to exchange value with us.”

“We thank you for your aid, Zha.”

“It is not necessary. As I have told you, this is my function.”

“We are strangers here. How do we begin?”

A silence lasted three seconds, almost as though the Voldar’ik greeter was sizing them up. Then his tympanic membrane began to vibrate and he said,
“There is the matter of fees for use of our
facilities.”

“There are always fees,”
Mikhail Vasloff said in his most unctuous tone, which produced just the right effect, but which was unfortunately lost on the alien.
“How much?”

“One twelfth of your cargo.”

If the alien had intended to provoke a surprise response from the humans, he was not disappointed.

Vasloff pulled himself up to his full height (or rather, length, in microgravity) and said,
“If you will call
your little ship back, we will leave your system now.”

“Perhaps we can discuss it later,”
the greeter said.

“Perhaps we can,”
Vasloff agreed.
“What arrangements have been made for our visit? Do we
return to our ship each day after our discussions, or do you have accommodations for us?”

“We have quarters suitable for your species type, although you will have to provide your own
food. Without data concerning your dietary needs, it would be foolish for you to experiment with
our foods. Besides, it has been my personal observation that beings with an intake orifice such as
yours find our nourishment unpalatable.”

“We have our own supplies,”
Landon said.
“Space with the proper atmosphere control equipment
and a means of communicating with our ship will be all that we require while we are aboard.”

“That we can provide you. Will you be traveling to Klys’kra’t?”

“That depends on our discussions with Those Who Trade among your people.”

“Yes, I suppose it does. Be aware that we need at least four of our planetary days to arrange such
travel. Travelers do not appreciate the difficulty associated with introducing aliens into the
Klys’kra’t biosphere.”

“We will try not to be a bother. Shall we go to our compartment now and speak of our exchange
of value later?”

“If that is your custom.”

Lisa held up her hand as the captain had instructed her to do aboard ship.
“Don’t forget the offering.”

“Of course,”
Landon said.
“It would not do to forget the offering.”

“What is this offering?”
Zha asked.

“It is a custom among our species. Whenever we enter a new system, we make an offering to the
ruling administrator, some small gift to acknowledge his authority and to gain his good will.”

“What sort of gift?”

“Whatever the administrator judges has value. Perhaps we could discuss the matter with him or
her at some time during our visit.”

There was a long pause. Finally, with considerable waving of tentacles, the Voldar’ik said,
“We are a
distant system, at the end of a long series of stargates, and on the outskirts of Civilization. The
Overlords only visit us occasionally. There are none in the system now. I will be happy to accept
your offering and save it for the next time one of the Broa arrives here to oversee us.”

“I am sure we can work out something mutually beneficial,”
Landon said. The thrill that went up his spine at hearing the word “Broa” was evident only to his crewmates. They felt it too. They had been in conversation with one of the locals for less than five minutes, and they had already confirmed one important piece of Sar-Say’s story. Whatever else they were, the Broa did, indeed, exist!

#

With a little work, their quarters would have made a first-rate flophouse back on Earth. They consisted of a five-meter by five-meter bare cubicle with an overhead three meters above the deck. In addition to bare deck and bulkheads, they had a microgravity attachment for dispensing water and the same sort of waste disposal facilities that
Magellan
’s spacers had found aboard the
Ruptured Whale
that first time they boarded her. There were raised platforms that might (or might not) have been intended as anchor points for sleeping. There were no interior partitions, doors, or any hint that privacy was of concern to the Voldar’ik.

“Is this satisfactory?”
Zha asked after ushering them into the quarters.

“Is it possible to change the temperature?”
Mark asked the alien. Like Lisa, he was beginning to get goose bumps on his exposed skin.

“You may change the temperature, composition, and water content of the atmosphere using the
control panel on the bulkhead. I will demonstrate. Be assured that the safety constraints are in
place that will prevent you from making an adjustment that would be harmful to creatures of
your type.”

“Then we will raise the temperature to a level our species finds more comfortable and the
quarters will be acceptable,”
Landon said.
“What of communication?”

Zha gestured to an instrument that was obviously a communicator. It was similar in design to the communications stations onboard ship, and very like a number they had in their cargo bay.
“The station
computer is aware of your identity. If you activate the communicator and ask for “Wanderer,”

you will be able to speak to your crewmates.”

“Are such communications monitored?”

The Voldar’ik hesitated for long seconds before responding,
“I am afraid that I do not understand
your question. Could you please restate it using another formulation?”

“Never mind,”
Landon replied.
“I think you provided me with all of the information we need.”

“Is there anything else?”

“We would speak to those who wish to trade with us as soon as possible. When can it be
arranged?”

The greeter answered with a time span that was the equivalent of four hours.

“That is acceptable. There is one other thing.”

“What is it?”

“Because we are far from home, we wish to learn all we can about the local region of space in
order to see what opportunities exist here. He Who Operates Computers would like access to your
databases in order to explore the possibilities for exchange of value.”

“Such access is not without cost.”

Vasloff slipped smoothly into his role. “
We are a trading people, Zha. We understand the concept of
giving value for value, and will see that anyone who helps us is properly rewarded for both time
and effort. Now, how much will it cost to gain access to your database? Nothing confidential, just
the information that any Voldar’ik can access … and, of course, only those things recorded in
trade talk.”

“I suppose we will have to work out a rate of exchange between our two species’ products before
we can set a price,”
Zha replied.
“What sort of goods do you have to exchange?”

“It has been a long voyage and we have traded away our own products. Our current cargo
consists mostly of goods from the star system of Vith.”

“That is one star that I have heard of.”

“Our Shangri-La is twelve stargates beyond Vith.”

“Twelve, you say? That does put you a good distance to the other side of Civilization.”

“Yes, it does. It is a shame that it takes so long to reach your beautiful world. Obviously, if we are
to trade value for value, we will have to find something that is worthwhile shipping that far. That
is why we need access to your computers. Who but a Vulcan can predict what other Vulcans will
prize?”

“True,”
Zha said.
“One species’ prize is another species’ offal.”

“Very true,”
Vasloff said.
“However, there is no reason why individuals from both systems cannot
participate in a mutually beneficial arrangement if we are able to find the suitable items to
exchange…”

Lisa suppressed a smile. She did not think that he had ever heard a bribe offered so skillfully, and in an alien language to boot!

#

Mark Rykand floated in front of his Broan computer and rubbed eyes that were beginning to feel like boiled onions. It had been two weeks since he began searching the Zal’trel database for facts of interest to humanity. It seemed more like two years. For 20 hours out of 28, he watched the Broan symbology scroll across the screen. Save for periods when he hurriedly gulped down rations, or visited the Voldar’ik

“facilities,” or grabbed a few fitful hours of sleep, he had spent his time glued to the screen. Oh yes, there had been two glorious trips back to the ship to upload what he had recorded and free his portable instrument’s memory for new searches.

It had been a successful two weeks, but also frustrating. Initial success had come early. Almost from the moment he first input the symbol for “Broa” into the computer, he had been awash in details about Klys’kra’t’s place in the Sovereignty. There was no doubt in the Voldar’ik mind whether the Broa existed. The overlords occupied approximately the same position in their culture that Jewish culture assigned to Jehovah. Except, a heretic who doubted the existence of these particular gods learned the error of his ways much more quickly than anyone in the Old Testament had.

Indeed, not only had Sar-Say been telling the truth about the Broa, if anything, he had not painted them black enough. The Voldar’ik records were full of cautionary tales about what happened when the Overlords were displeased. Mark had recorded several hours of scenes showing burned-out cities and dead worlds. At first, he wondered why the Broa would allow such records to exist. Then he realized that were he the master of a million-star galactic empire, the one class of information he would not suppress was the fate of rebels and others who had displeased him. In fact, he would make it required viewing for all of his subservient species.