“Thus did I learn that five weeks ago allies from the sky arrived among them. I was astonished to learn that these newcomers look not like those who built the sky-station, but much like us.” That bit of news prompted gasps of astonishment from the Zanurals.

“You mean,” Guptinak asked, “that they are not as horrible to look upon as the large bug-things?”

“No,” said Kelwhoang, gratified by the reaction his revelation had produced. “They are much like Mai, only taller, taller even than a Tsla but not so large as a Na. They have more body hair and their features are sharper and more pronounced, rougher and not as beautiful. They suffer from our climate much as does a Tsla, unlike their bug-thing friends who are quite comfortable in the Delta. One male and one female, similar enough to us that at a distance one could almost think them Mai.

“I did not meet them myself, only saw them conversing with the Moyt of the station, the one called,” and he struggled with the difficult alien name, “Porlezmozmith. Later I was able to talk with her and she remarked on the similarity between us and the new visitors. Truly the resemblance is striking between us. These newcomers’ faces have smaller eyes, larger ears that are great curved winged things visible even at a distance. Oh yes, they have but five digits on their hands and feet instead of the normal six, even as the bug-things have but four, though they have that extra pair of arms and legs. It may be that these new visitors are more akin to us than the Tsla or the Na, with whom we share our world.”

“All fascinating,” de-me-Halmur said, “but how does this profit us?”

“Tell them what the bug-thing told you his new guests have planned,” Changrit prompted.

“Ah. I was told they brought with them a wondrous magical boat which walks upon the water more freely than the station the visitors first built. It does not depend on wind or muscle for power but carries its own energy inside it. I was told that it can travel at great speed Upriver, against the current of the Skar.”

More mutters of astonishment rose from the assembled members. “We’ve heard much of the wonders brought by the visitors from the sky,” de-me-Halmur said. “I sense your thought, Changrit, but surely they would not sell us this amazing craft?”

“Never,” the ambassador admitted. “I have been told many times by the Moyt Porlezmozmith that they can have only the briefest of contacts with us and that they are forbidden by their own laws to sell us any of the advanced tools and instruments they have brought with them.”

“No profit in that,” one of the Zanural grumbled. “Truly these visitors are alien.”

“These newcomers who are like us,” the ambassador continued, “are scholars, not merchants. They intend to make a study of the Barshajagad, the canyon which cradles our river Skar.”

“Now that makes sense,” de-me-Halmur commented. “There is always profit in good scholarship.” He made a sign to invoke the spirit of knowledge and insight, but finally had to ask, “What is in your mind, Changrit?”

“These visitors from the sky still know little of our world. Beyond the Delta they are ignorant, for all their knowledge. They know nothing of the ways of the Skar, or of the Hotiek or the Aurang or any of the lesser tributaries. They know nothing of the peoples who inhabit the canyon. They will need guides.”

“Ah!” De-me-Halmur’s expression was fed by enlightenment. “Friendly locals to show them the way.”

“Yes, to show them the way.”

“And good friends that we are, it behooves us as the rulers of Po Rabi to find volunteers to assist them?”

“Every chance we can find,” Changrit agreed firmly.

“How do we know that these strange creatures have any interest in traveling up the Skar farther than the town of Ibe?” a Zanural wondered aloud.

“We do not,” Changrit admitted. “How does one divine the intentions of aliens? Yet if they are as similar in appearance to us as Ambassador de-Kelwhoang says, who is to say that their motivations are different?” He looked away from the table. “You’ve no idea how far they intend to go Upriver, Kelwhoang?”

“No. The bug-Moyt was not too clear. He did say a long journey. Certainly farther than Ibe.”

“Then our course is clear, Zanural.” De-me-Halmur leaned forward the better to emphasize his words and gestures. “We must do our utmost to ensure that these visitors make use of our good intentions and accept the aid that the people of Po Rabi will freely extend to them.”

“Assuming they accept,” said another member. “What if they do not travel to the region of our hopes? What if they reach Kekkalong and decide they have journeyed far enough?”

“Then perhaps,” Changrit murmured quietly, “they might at that time be persuaded to loan us the use of their wondrous craft. I’m certain that the loquacious Ror de-Kelwhoang will employ all his admirable verbal talents to ensure that the immediate requirements of the Zanur are met.”

“I shall do my best, of course.” The ambassador performed an elaborate gesture designed to invoke the spirits of all the great diplomats of the past. He glanced sideways at the huge, gleaming mass of solid sunit.

“However, if I am to do my best, honored ones, it would help if you could explain to me the reasons behind my mission. Would I be remiss in assuming it has something to do with the astonishing wealth that lies next to a dead Mai in the center of this chamber?”

“You would not,” de-me-Halmur said. “Seat yourself.”

Gesturing his thanks at the honor, de-Kelwhoang joined the table as Changrit related the events of the morning.

The subsequent discussion and laying out of plans lasted well into the evening. The heat of day was followed by the heat of night and still the Zanur sat in extended session. Bureaucrats and guards gossiped and wondered, but still the rulers of Po Rabi remained sequestered in their chamber.

It was only when they finally adjourned in the early hours of the morning that someone thoughtfully directed attendants to remove the stiffened corpse of that soon to be memorialized merchant-explorer Bril de-Panltatol. Great care had already been taken to ensure that a proper share of his legacy was safely transported to the city treasury.

Greater care and craft might make possible the seemingly impossible task of securing for the Zanur of Po Rabi the rest of his legacy.

II

Etienne Redowl was sick of measuring current flow. He was sick of taking samples from the river bottom. Recording the ebb and flow of sandbars and, mudbanks no longer interested him, nor did watching the analyzer spit out graphs listing gravel composition mineral by mineral.

But there was nothing else for him to do at Steamer Station.

It seemed as if they’d been waiting for permission from the native authorities to begin their Upriver expedition since the beginning of time. Anyone who thought the bureaucracy of Commonwealth Science and Exploration difficult to penetrate should have to cope once in his life with the byzantine machinations of the Mai of Tslamaina. The station’s location between the rival city-states of Po Rabi and Losithi only made it tougher to obtain the necessary clearances.

There was no pushing the matter, however. Where a Class Four-B world was involved, Commonwealth policy was strict. Porlezmozmith, the officer in charge of Steamer Station, was sympathetic to the Redowls’ plight, but not to the point of challenging regulations. So the husband-wife team sat and sweated and waited.

Etienne paused on the ladder long enough to adjust the thermo-sense on his fishnet shirt and shorts. Minuscule cooling units woven into the material struggled to cool his skin. He checked his wrist telltale. A fairly mild afternoon, with the temperatures hovering around a hundred and twenty degrees and the humidity a mere ninety percent. He longed for the coolness of their quarters on the station platform above.

The thranx found the temperature a mite hot, but the humidity suited them just fine. That was why they’d been chosen to staff the only Commonwealth outpost. For them it was almost like home. For humans it was pure misery.

Survey should have named it misery, Etienne thought. Instead it had been named for its geology. That geology and the unique civilization it had produced were the reasons why Etienne and his wife Lyra had braved endless application forms and sweltering weather in order to be the first humanx scientists allowed to work beyond the boundaries of the outpost. Or such would be the case if the native authorities ever gave them the okay to travel Upriver. Until that happened they were stuck at the station. Months of waiting for permission to arrive, endless days spent battling the terrible heat and humidity had sapped his initial enthusiasm. Lyra was bearing up better beneath the day-to-day disappointment, but even she was starting to wilt.

He forced himself to see Tslamaina as it looked from high orbit. The refreshing, cooler image reminded him again why they’d come to the world its discoverers had named Horseye. Lyra had no room for flippancy in science and preferred Tslamaina, the native name, but the image certainly fitted.

Eons ago the planet had collided with a meteor of truly impressive dimensions. In addition to creating the vast circular basin that was now filled by the Groalamasan Ocean, the concussion had badly cracked the planet’s surface. That surface, high above the single world-ocean, comprised the Guntali Plateau.

Water running off the Guntali for hundreds of millions of years patiently enlarged those surface cracks, eventually resulting in the most spectacular river canyons ever encountered. The combination of geological and climatological factors necessary to produce such awesome scenery had not been duplicated on any other of the explored worlds.

Of all the river canyons by far the greatest was the Barshajagad, which in the Mai language meant “Tongue-of-the-World.” More than two thousand kilometers wide at the point where it finally emptied into the ocean, it reached northward from its delta some thirteen thousand kilometers to vanish in the cloud-shrouded north polar wastes. From the edge of the Guntali, a few hundred kilometers Upriver, to the surface of the slowly moving river Skar, the Barshajagad dropped approximately eight thousand meters in elevation. Where mountains rose from the plateau, the disparity was even greater.

So wide was the Barshajagad at its mouth, however, that a traveler on the surface of the river could not see where the gradually ascending slopes finally reached the plateau to east and west.

The result was an astonishing variety of life forms organized into ecological regions not by latitude but by elevation, as nature made use of the different temperature and moisture zones that climbed the canyon walls.

Three different intelligent mammalian races had appeared on Tslamaina, each confined to its own portion of the river canyons. The intensively competitive and primitively capitalistic Mai ruled the ocean and the river valleys. Above them in the more temperate zone between three thousand and fifty-five hundred meters were the Tsla. Clinging to the frozen rims of the canyons and freely roaming the Guntali were the carnivorous Na. Or so the locals claimed. None of them had ever seen a Na, and since Mai society was infused with a healthy respect for and belief in thousands of spirits, demons, and ghosts, Lyra Redowl, circumspect xenologist that she was, was reluctant to give instant recognition to the existence of this legendary third intelligent race.

Temperature and pressure and not national or tribal boundaries kept the races of Tslamaina separated. That made for a sociocultural situation every bit as unique as the local geology, as Lyra Was fond of pointing out to her husband.

Their hope, the dream that had brought them across many light-years, was to take a hydrofoil all the way up the Skar to its source, making a thorough study of the geology and the people of the planet as they advanced. But Tslamaina was a Class Four-B world. That meant they could only proceed with the natives’ permission, and that permission still was not forthcoming, despite repeated anxious requests.

So Etienne had been confined to examination of the delta soils and the geology around the station which was, in a word, flat. Lyra was better off, able to visit with those fisherfolk who sometimes stopped at the station to chat and to attempt to steal anything not bolted down. Station personnel never ventured reprisals for the attempts. For one thing the attempts were always unsuccessful. For another, it was part of the local culture.

Six months had passed since the shuttle had deposited the Redowls at Steamer Station and Etienne was close to calling off the expedition. Only the knowledge that they would be the first to make an Upriver journey kept him from booking passage out on the next supply run.

It would help if Lyra would learn to keep her frustration to herself, but no, not her. She’d declaim long and loud to anyone within earshot. The thranx were too polite to tell her to shut up, and Etienne had tried many times and failed. After the first month he simply gave up and tuned her out. It wasn’t hard. He had been doing it for twenty years. Eight or nine years ago the conflict might have ended in divorce, but now they had too much invested in each other. Convenience and familiarity balanced out a lot of bickering, though sometimes he wondered.