"I do not know so much about babies," I told her, "for I have only learned about them from the teaching-machines in my village. However, it should not be necessary to cause the child pain — just to frighten her to the point where she cries out."

"Oar," Festina said, "can we think about this a minute?"

"Of course," I replied. "We must think very hard how to produce an appropriate amount of terror. My own suggestion would be to create a large fire and drop the child into the middle… for it turns out Zaretts fear blazing infernos but are not at all harmed by the heat. If we are lucky, the flames will actually bestow Starbiter with excellent invigorating energies, so her cries will carry farther. Is that not a clever scheme?"

I looked around proudly, believing I would receive heartfelt congratulations from those assembled… but I did not see the expected expressions of approval. Indeed, the Vachead crew members appeared horrorstruck. Meanwhile, Lajoolie had covered her face with her hands and Uclod wore a scowl so fierce, one might think he wished to punch somebody.

"What is it?" I asked. "What?"

Festina took me by the arm and led me from the room.

I Am Ignominiously Berated

It seems humans have a foolish taboo against setting infants on fire. Festina took me down the hall and explained this to me in low but intense tones. It does not even matter whether the flames actually hurt the child; this is simply a thing which must not be done.

I tried to tell her the situation was different on Melaquin. Immersing oneself in fire is actually a pleasant experience: it causes no harm or pain, and surrounds one with tasty toasty light. Moreover, it burns off the dirt and stains one inevitably acquires from daily activities. One can have too much of a good thing — flames tend to dry out the skin — but to anyone of my species, a session of self-immolation combines the virtues of a hot bath with a good meal.

Was it not the same for Starbiter? Who was also a Shaddill creation, and who was also nourished by flame? Though she might initially fear to be immersed in fire, was that not just the fussiness of a baby who did not like to try new foods?

Festina said this might all be true, but there were Lines One Does Not Cross. Therefore I must not suggest my plan again, for fear that persons who did not know me would think me a horrible monster.

I almost said, I do not care what others think. But that would not be true. I did not want Festina to consider me a bad person, nor did I wish to be despised by Uclod or Lajoolie. I especially did not want Nimbus believing I intended to harm his child… for if he and I were siblings in Shaddillhood, I did not wish to alienate his affections.

In my youth, I had often contemplated how much I would like to have a brother — even when I did not always like having a sister. A brother would be different and interesting: a comrade rife with maleness, but with no lustful urges to complicate the friendship and ultimately make one sad. I would, of course, have to persuade the cloud man to view me as a sister… but were we not partway there already? Back in Starbiter he had tried to boss me around, and I had responded with instant resentment; therefore we were practically family, and all that remained was for him to acknowledge it.

Besides, if Nimbus was my brother, that would make me young Starbiter’s Auntie. The thought of that pleased me most greatly.

Auntie Oar. It had an excellent ring.

My Induction

"I shall do as you wish, Festina," I said. "In future, I shall not suggest putting babies into fire — not even a little fire that would make the child stronger and healthier than before. However, we still need Starbiter to cry, do we not? So we must find another method of inducement. What would be more palatable to Earthling tastes? Shaking her fiercely? Jabbing her with pins? Piling weighty objects on top of her?"

Festina glared at me a moment, then broke into a grudging laugh. "All right, Oar, I see your point. I’ve been letting my human prejudices get in the way of figuring out how to treat an alien. And I should know better — I run around pretending to be a hard-headed Explorer, but you’re the one who’s unflinchingly practical."

"I am excellent at unflinching practicality," I told her. "I would also be excellent as an Explorer."

As evidence for this statement, I held up the coattails of my jacket. Perhaps there is more to being an Explorer than wearing black clothes, but I have never noticed anything else. And the jacket fit very well.

"You’re right," Festina said, "you would make a good Explorer. If nothing else, you’re bulletproof." She took a deep breath. "By the power vested in me as a duly appointed admiral of the Outward Fleet, I hereby grant you the rank of cadet in the Technocracy Explorer Corps. That is, if you accept the position."

"Of course I accept the position. I have been oppressed and exploited by so many Explorers, it is high time I was empowered to do the same to others. When do I receive my stun-pistol?"

"Uh, later," Festina replied. "Much later. It’s time we got back to the others."

So that is what we did.

The Compactification Of A Cloud

When we returned to Nimbus’s cabin, the cloud man had shrunk to a shadow of his former self… which is to say, he had compressed his little flying bits into a much tighter ball around the baby Starbiter. Father and child combined were now just the size of my fists pressed together; the outer Nimbus-y shell looked as hard and dense as quartz.

"Why is he like that?" I demanded. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," Captain Kapoor replied. "He just suddenly clumped down around the kid as solid as a rock. Maybe to protect his daughter from getting thrown in a bonfire." The frowzy captain gave me an accusatory glare.

"No one is getting thrown into a bonfire," Festina said. "If that’s what you’re worried about, Nimbus, you can let the little girl go."

We all stared at the rock, waiting for some response. Humans must have slower metabolisms than I, for they were still waiting patiently when I cried, "He is just doing this to vex me! He is acting obnoxiously as a blatant plea for attention!"

"Well, he’s got my attention," Festina said. "He looks like an egg."

She smiled to show she was joking, then knelt beside the chair that held both Nimbus and Starbiter. "Hey," she said to the condensed cloud man, "we won’t hurt your daughter, I promise. But we’d like her to send a distress call, if that’s physically possible. The call doesn’t have to be loud — the Cashlings on Jalmut have some of the best communications technology in our sector, so they’ll hear the tiniest peep."

Festina paused; there was no sign that Nimbus was listening. "You know our situation," she said, still using a soft persuasive voice. "At this second, the Shaddill are out of commission, and unfriendly elements of the navy are far away… so we’ve got a window of opportunity to call for help from someone else. If we leave it too long, though, the Shaddill might get themselves repaired; and you can be damned sure the Admiralty has already dispatched one of their dirty-trick ships to track us down. Then there’s the added complication that we’ll soon use up all of our oxygen. Baby Starbiter may not care, since she’s designed to survive in space, but the rest of us are air-breathing. Including you, Nimbus. Sooner or later, you’re going to get woozy… which means you’ll pass out when your daughter needs you most, unless we call for help now."

To me, this was excellent logic; but Nimbus remained stony in the face of Festina’s arguments. I wanted to poke him (quite gently, with a finger), but did not know how others would view such an action. Anyway, I doubted if prodding would have much effect — the cloud man appeared to be as unresponsive as granite. At last, Festina grimaced and stepped away from him.