“The concept does not translate,” declared one of the officers. His superior gestured eloquently.

“I am afraid that it does.” To show that she indeed understood, her peculiar mouth twitched. “We certainly do not have that of which you speak.”

“How about chili? Mesquite-grilled steaks? Longnecks? Biscuits and gravy?”

“Alas, no.” This time the commander gesticulated simultaneously with all three hands. “Perhaps some of which you speak might be synthesized. Our nutritional chemists are renowned for their inventiveness.”

“What about football? Deer hunting? Bass fishing?” These invocations produced the same sorrowful negative. “See? That’s why in spite of all the great things I couldn’t see in a hundred lifetimes, I don’t think I’d have a very good time if I went back with you. Not even with twenty worlds in twelve systems to choose from.”

“I see.” The commander deliberated. “The Twelve Systems count among their orbiting bodies several small inhabitable moons. Considering the service you have rendered, it might be possible to make you master of your own world.”

“I don’t think so,” Ross Ed replied immediately (well, perhaps not immediately, but after a moment’s thought). “I’ve been around long enough to know that I’m not the executive type. Also, the few masters I know about don’t seem to have many friends.”

The commander was obviously disappointed. “Very well. You may meditate on these proposals while we conduct repairs. When they have been completed we will do whatever you desire, though should you chose to return to your world, I will miss the opportunity of introducing you to the Twelve Systems. This I would personally regret.”

“Hey, you can give the rest of the Shakaleeshva my best wishes.”

“As is common, I have under my command the usual scientific complement. They will want to carry out cursory studies of your world before we depart. This is nothing for you to concern yourself with. Rest assured their exploratory vessel is equipped with the latest camouflage equipment.”

Ross Ed smiled. “Glad to hear it. Tell ’em to keep a close lookout for weather balloons.”

“We shall, whatever those may be.”

He and Jed were escorted to a private room, the equivalent of an officer’s suite. It was more than comfortable, provided he was careful not to bump his head on the ceiling. Jed was able to help explain the operation of unrecognizable devices, most of which Ross had no use for anyway. One he did enjoy was the control that expelled bubbles of ice water in midair. Sipping through a magnetic field was a new experience.

Now if they could only do it with beer, he mused.

The food that was provided was pasty and soft, not surprising when one realized that the Shakaleeshva had no teeth. After being reassured by a biochemist that his body would find it nutritious, he forced himself to swallow a few patties. Relatively tasteless, it cried out for pepper or Tabasco, neither of which he expected could be found among the ship’s stores.

Having learned the trick of inhaling water globes without getting any up his nose, he sucked down several in the wake of the paste.

“So you decided you were burned out and came to the conclusion that the best way to recharge your creative juices was to maroon yourself on some primitive planet like Earth.”

“Yeah, only I didn’t make a very good job of it,” the deceased one muttered. “‘Earth.’ What an egocentric appellation. Believe me, Ross Ed, it’s tough being the Enlightenment. You have a lot more privacy and much more of a real life if you’re just a little flash that blinks on and off once in a while. I had to get away. I was desperate.” From the artificial larynx came something that sounded almost like an oath.

“Now I’m dead, and thanks to the Culakhan recharging this suit, I have to decide if I want to stick out this specious existence for another fifty or so of your years.”

“There are those,” the Texan replied quietly, “who would be glad of the opportunity.”

“What do you expect me to do? Be grateful? I’m a writer, dammit! They’ll take me home and venerate me. I’ll become an honored exhibit. Supplicants will badger me in hopes of obtaining original creations. I’ll have no peace, least of all in my own mind. Once the spigot is turned on, there’s no shutting it off. Some of our philosophers believe the creative energy lingers even after extermination. There is a formula for it.”

“You think you’ve got problems?” Ross Ed toyed with a bowlful of blue paste. “When I go home I’ve got to find a way to gel the army off my back. Talk about being badgered and bothered! Then there’s that Hollywood woman and her friends. I’m sure they’re looking for me, too. And there’ll be others.”

It was quiet in the room for a long time. At last Jed asked, “Is there nowhere you could be comfortable and free of harassment, noplace else on your world that you would like to experience? Someplace similar, perhaps, to your beloved Texas?”

“There is one place that might work. Just one. I’ve heard a lot about it.”

“Then tell me, and I will see that it is arranged.”

“That’s mighty fine of you, Jed. A change of scenery might do me a world of good. I just don’t want to change to a whole new world. Who knows? It might even help me to forget about Caroline.”

“Take it from me, my friend. She wasn’t right for you

Ross snorted. “As if a dead alien knew what kind of woman was right for me.”

“Don’t underestimate me just because I’m a dead member of another species. I’m very perceptive, as you know. Now, if you will provide me with your chosen coordinates I shall see to it that the commander is properly informed.”

Ross Ed rolled his eyes. “Coordinates again! How’s about I just use another one of those slick map globes. If the Culakhan had ’em I’m sure your people do, too.”

“Complete with full relief, moving cloud patterns, and circulating ocean currents,” Jed assured him. “Look at the wall behind you. There is a series of small depression …”

When Ross had finished isolating and describing his chosen locale, the deceased Enlightenment pondered the result thoughtfully.

“I perceive that this locale is even bigger than your Texas.”

“Yeah,” Ross Ed conceded grudgingly. “Not many places are.”

“You’re certain you will be comfortable there?”

“Hey, nothing’s certain. One time I thought I’d be comfortable in Snyder, until a tornado ripped through town and scattered everything I owned between Abilene and Austin.” He fingered the slowly rotating globe, his hand wholly encompassing the region he’d isolated.

“I heard the folks hereabouts are a lot like Texans, and the country itself is damn interesting. One thing’s for sure: I don’t think U.S. Army Intelligence is going to look for me there. Not for a while, anyways.”

“I’ll take care of it,” the deceased Enlightenment assured him.

TWENTY-FOUR

It was with considerable fanfare that Ross Ed found himself placed early the next morning in a small, automatically piloted vehicle that had been programmed to deliver him safely to the site he had chosen. Directions had been installed in the craft by the Enlightenment himself, operating in tandem with the flagship’s systemology and utilizing the remarkable capabilities of his survival suit. The tiny craft could be dropped from the camouflaged scientific survey ship during its first orbit of Earth.

As he lay prone in the harness which was designed to support three Shakaleeshva but which had been modified to accommodate his single, far larger human frame, Ross contemplated what had been a most remarkable relationship. He was going to miss Jed. Certainly the Enlightenment was the most interesting dead person he’d ever known, even if he wasn’t human.

It was a good thing he wasn’t claustrophobic, because the drop craft was only a little bigger than a single-engined plane. His shoulders barely fit the confines of the life-support compartment.

Something clicked softly and he was suddenly falling, the tiny vessel hcing much too small to support any kind of artificial gravity. For several minutes he was afraid he was going to spew partially digested blue paste all over the interior, but as the craft entered the earth’s atmosphere and gravity resumed, so did control of his stomach.

Considering the size of his vehicle and the velocity at which it was descending, it was just as well that there were no ports or windows. He had to rely entirely on the Shakaleeshva, though even if he could see where he was going he couldn’t affect the outcome. If he slammed into an ocean there wasn’t much he’d be able to do.

The feeling of falling at great speed lessened. There was a bump, then another, and then all sense of motion ceased. Hidden servos whined and the top of the little vessel slid back. Moist, thick air filled his nostrils, then his lungs. It stank of green growing things.

A single touch released the restraining harness, allowing him to sit up. The ship rested on damp soil, surrounded by tall trees and stately palms. Strange bird sounds fluted the air. An iridescent blue butterfly the size of his palm investigated his face before moving on. It was rain forest, but very unlike the Yucatán. The trees and palms were too widely spaced, the undergrowth utterly different. No monkeys gibbered in the canopy, and while plentiful, the local insect life seemed less aggressive.

Climbing out, he was careful to step over a line of green ants traveling single file. As he bent to inspect an indifferent pair of bright green golden-eyed tree frogs squatting on a nearby log, a panel popped open in the drop ship’s side.

Gliding out under its own power was a singular figure. The survival suit was of different design; a little sleeker, a touch more elaborately instrumented. No doubt it was some of the latter which granted the unit mobility. As it inclined to the vertical he got his first look at the contents.

Three eyes shut tight, arms and legs hanging limply, Jed the dead could not stare back at him. But he could perceive, and he could talk. Somehow the artificially reproduced voice succeeded in conveying amused delight.

“Hello, Ross Ed.”