"And yet," Nimbus said pensively, "Las Fuentes maintain that embassy."

"I’ll bet they want to keep an eye on us savages," Uclod answered. "We lesser species may not be smart enough to contribute to these guys’ lofty existence, but there are probably ways we could screw them up. If we suddenly invented a way to mutate ourselves into the same kind of goo, Las Fuentes would damned sure want to know. Overnight, we’d change from harmless yahoos into direct competitors."

"That’s one obvious explanation," Festina agreed, "but it’s never smart to assume aliens think the way we do. Maybe there’s no such thing as ‘competition’ once you reach a certain stage of development. Maybe it’s nothing but sweetness and light: one big happy melting pot of cosmic love."

We all stared at her.

"Hey," she said, "it was a joke."

Plans Within Plans

"So what’ve we got?" Uclod said "The Pollisand spends most of his time badgering people about being idiots. But four years ago he broke with his usual modus operandi: he showed up on Melaquin, and instead of asking Oar why she jumped out a window, he simply patched her up."

"Is that unusual for him?" Nimbus asked Festina. "Providing medical aid in a crisis?"

"He’s never done anything like it," she replied, "and he’s been present at plenty of crises. I don’t think he’s ever showed up at a lethal accident — he seems to avoid fatalities. But he’s watched plenty of people crippled or bleeding, and he’s never tried to help a single one."

"All right," Uclod said, "so the Pollisand broke his pattern for Oar. We’ve also got the Shaddill getting upset when they find out Oar’s not dead. They say someone’s interfered with their plan. Obviously, the person who interfered was the Pollisand; he’s the one who took Oar away and brought her back to life. Do you think the Pollisand did that deliberately to screw the Shaddill?"

"Who knows?" Festina answered… but I thought I did know. The Pollisand told me he wanted to wipe the Shaddill off the face of the universe; if ministering to my health was a way to foil some Shaddill-ish scheme, he would gladly do so.

"I believe," I said, "that he helped me as a means of frustrating the Shaddill… though I do not know what role I play in all this."

Festina was looking in my direction, but her gaze was distant. "If the Shaddill thought you had died," she said, "and they still came to Melaquin… they might have been interested in your corpse." A light sparked in her eyes. "And why did they show up when they did? They must have known the navy was on its way to clean up evidence. Either the Shaddill wanted to examine your body before the navy took it away…"

"Or," Uclod finished her thought, "they wanted to remove missy’s body so the navy couldn’t check it out."

Festina nodded. "Both possibilities suggest there’s something special about you, Oar. Something that sets you apart from the rest of your people."

"Of course. I am more clever and beautiful."

Festina gave me a look. "It would be nice to find something even more distinctive."

"They thought she was dead," Lajoolie said softly. "That’s quite a distinction in itself." She looked at me with her mild eyes. "Isn’t it almost impossible for your people to die? You don’t age, you don’t get sick, you can’t drown or suffocate… short of falling off an eighty-story building, not much can hurt you. And if the Shaddill wanted a glass cadaver for some purpose, they couldn’t just kill one of your people; the League would never let them get away with outright murder."

Uclod smiled at Lajoolie. "My darling wife has put her finger on a fascinating possibility. If the Shaddill wanted your body to dissect or something…"

His voice trailed off as he caught sight of Festina shaking her head. "The Shaddill wouldn’t need to dissect Oar. They designed her race; they built her whole genome down to the last little nucleotide. What could a dissection tell them they don’t already know?"

"Perhaps," said Nimbus, "we should perform our own dissection to find out."

I glared at him and swept my fist through the place where his nose would have been.

"Settle down," Festina told me. "I assume Nimbus means we should give you a medical exam. See if there’s anything unusual."

"There is nothing unusual about me," I protested. "I am more healthy than anyone else on this ship."

"Then you’re unusual, aren’t you?" my friend said with a smile. "Anyway, I want you examined. If nothing else, we should know what the Pollisand did to you. Did he just fix your injuries, or did he do something else while he had you on the operating table?"

"What might he have done?" I asked.

"I don’t know. That’s why we’re going to check you out."

"I do not wish to be checked out," I grumbled. "Such treatment is only for damaged people."

"Humor me," Festina said, "it’s important. Your friends can keep you company… unless you’d rather be examined in private?"

"No," I told her. "I have had a good deal of privacy in my life. If you think I enjoy being alone, you are much mistaken."

Festina’s breath caught in her throat. She let it out slowly. "I’m sorry. But you aren’t alone now, Oar. I promise." She gave a small smile. "Go to sick bay, all of you, the sergeant will show the way." She glanced toward the door; the mook man nodded. Festina turned back to me, "I’ll join you as soon as I can, but I have to look into a few things. Okay?"

"Okay," I answered, using her own vernacular. Then, most bravely, I asked, "Do doctors hurt?"

"If he hurts you," Festina said, "you have my permission to punch him in the nose."

This made me very happy… but I still looked back with a lump in my throat as I went out the door.

Festina sat at the table, her eyes staring off into space as if she were thinking very great thoughts. I decided it would be pleasant to think great thoughts of my own; but the only thing in my mind was that I was walking away from my friend.

13: WHEREIN I AM THOROUGHLY EXAMINED

More Tiny Things Invading My Person

Sick bay did not hurt, but it tickled. I could not see what did the tickling, so I blamed Nimbus — I thought he was sending specks of himself to brush against me, making my nose itchy and causing awkward irritations all over my body. But the cloud man swore he had nothing to do with it; he claimed to be suffering personal disturbances of his own, because the air of the infirmary was filled with Analysis Nano.

I did not know what Analysis Nano was, but the navy physician was delighted to explain. He was, in fact, delighted about every conceivable aspect of existence: the opportunity to examine me was "fabulous"; my personal transparency was "amazing"; and the chance to carry out a task for Festina was "a great, great honor." His name was Havel, a paunchy watery-eyed human who seemed to perceive more reasons to laugh than anyone else in the room. Dr. Havel was constantly chuckling or giggling or snickering over things that seemed quite ordinary indeed. He also displayed much hearty enthusiasm about anything that passed before his eyes… which meant when he said, "Ho, ho, you’re a stunner, the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen," I was not so gratified as I might have wished.

Some men are too easy to impress. When they praise your ethereal crystalline beauty, you get the feeling they would be just as ecstatic over a glittery red pebble or a potato shaped like a fish.

On the other hand, Dr. Ha-Ha-Havel was a good person to approach for clarifications of important Scientific topics — he was so enchanted with the glories of the universe, he would gladly tell you whatever he could, and never suggest you were ignorant for not knowing. Therefore he explained that Analysis Nano was a swarm of millions and billions of tiny machines, so small they could not be seen. They buzzed around patients in sick bay, reading your pulse, your body temperature, and the composition of your sweat. At instructions from the physician, the little bugs could also delve beneath your skin, digging for blood samples or flying down your throat to examine the workings of your stomach.