“You are quite correct, Computer,” the young diplomat said aloud, bowing slightly to the ship’s officer. “Can you tell me how this object got here?”

The object, somehow thoroughly anchored to the deck, was an oval, thicker in the middle than at the ends, its surface divided into segments by snaky lines. To Gordon, it looked like the shell of an earth tortoise with the leg and head holes filled in.

“I can,” the voice drawled. “It was rolled out the hatchway leading to the diplomats’ quarters. I’ll show you.”

The air in front of the two humans congealed into a replica of the hallway. The hatch opened, and the object rolled out on its side, wavered and fell, ever so slowly, to the deck, where it remained.

“Attila the Hun!” Gordon said. “If it came out of the diplomats’ quarters, it’s my problem. Computer, can you tell us who moved it here?”

“No can do. Before any of the alien species came aboard the captain ordered me not to snoop in their quarters. Something about diplomatic immunity.”

More likely worried about the Xtees bringing bug detectors and catching him red-handed, the young diplomat thought. Gordon looked at the object on the deck. “Computer, we didn’t take on any aliens that look like this, did we?”

It was Fourth Officer Carter who answered.

“We took on thirteen species, all oxygen breathers, none of which looked like that.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “But one that could. It’s a Husker.”

Gordon snorted. “That’s no Husker, starspawn, “he said, flipping his cape so that the synthmaterial rippled. “They’re eight feet tall, and they have all those arms, or fronds, or whatever they are.”

“Which one of us was it that smoked spatial geometries, mudfoot?” the ship’s officer asked. “Oh, that’s right. It was me. That’s a Husker.”

The Huskers were a recent contact. They were from a system in Clarke’s Cloud, a raft of stars in toward the center of the universe. Or so they said. They called their home star “the sun” and their home planet “Earth,” just like every other sentient species, which drove the translation program crazy. It also made it hard to locate their home planet. They were officially designated Unknown Origin 37s. But they looked like nothing so much as walking-sort of-talking-after a fashion-stalks of corn. So it didn’t take fifteen minutes after first contact for some wag to hang the nickname on them.

The young diplomat opened his mouth to argue, but the computer interrupted. “Fourth Officer Carter is right. Look.”

A full-grown Husker appeared in the air in front of Gordon’s nose, then folded itself slowly this way and that until what was left was an object like the one on the deck.

“Vlad the Impaler!” Gordon said. “How am I going to explain this to Second Assistant Undersecretary Tulk?”

“Who’s that?” Carter asked.

“My boss in the Corps Diplomatique,” Gordon said.

“Aren’t you going to have to explain it to the chief Husker first?”

Gordon’s answer was cut off by a throat-clearing noise.

“Actually, fellas,” the computer said, “there’s a more pressing problem.”

“What’s that?” the young diplomat snapped. “And why in the name of Jeffrey Dahmer do you talk like that?”

The computer’s drawl sounded aggrieved. “There’s no need to keep using foul language,” it said. “This is the authentic dialect of pilots from time immemorial, and is thought to have started with the mid-twentieth-century test pilot this ship is named for.”

There were several loud sniffs, followed by silence.

“Whatever you do, don’t irritate the computer,” the ship’s officer said. “The HAL 2750s are touchy as a hair trigger, and if it gets a case of the sulks, we won’t be able to get anything out of it for hours.”

“Ted Bundy!” Gordon said. “You mean I’ve got to apologize to a machine?”

Carter nodded.

The young diplomat thought about refusing, but he was in a tight spot and needed all the help he could get. So he sucked in a deep breath, and said, “I’m sorry, Computer. I didn’t mean to offend.”

“Thanks for that handsome apology, Probationary Intern Gordon,” the computer said. “I’m pleased as punch you gave it, because I’ve got something important to tell you. The internal temperature of the object near you that we believe to be an Unknown Origin 37 has been rising steadily.”

The two men looked at one another.

“Uh, computer,” Carter said. “What is the significance of this information?”

“Why, Fourth Officer Carter, I’m surprised at you,” the computer said. “Given your physics studies, you should know what happens when heat builds up in a self-contained vessel.”

“Jack the Ripper,” Carter said, “the thing’s going to explode.”

“Explode?” Gordon said. “It isn’t bad enough one of my diplomats is dead, it’s got to explode, too? How do you think that’s going to look on my record?”

“Computer,” the ship’s officer said, “can you tell me what the force of this explosion will be?”

The computer displayed some numbers in front of Carter, who gave a low whistle.

“We’ve got to get that thing out of here before it goes off,” he said, “which will be when, Computer?”

“Thirty-three minutes,” the computer said.

The young diplomat turned, grabbed the edge of the Unknown Origin 37, and heaved. Nothing happened.

He looked at Carter, who wasn’t exactly rushing to help.

“It’s stuck to the deck,” he said. “Can’t you give me a hand?”

“Not a lot of muscle to lend,” the ship’s officer said. “Haven’t been spending much time at gravity recently. But I’ve got something better. Computer, have engineering send us a couple of hands and their decking tools. Tell them it’s an emergency.”

In a matter of minutes, two young men who didn’t look very different from Carter turned up. Unlike him, however, they were wearing powered exoskeletons.

“Subengineers Seamus Harper and James Scott,” one of them said. “What’s the trouble?”

“This object,” the ship’s officer said, “is going to explode in about half an hour.”

“Twenty-eight minutes,” the computer said.

“Okay, twenty-eight minutes,” Carter said. “The explosion is likely to be powerful enough to be inconvenient.”

“You want us to disarm it?” one of the engineers asked.

“Can’t,” Carter said. “It’s organic. Biological. For some reason it’s building up heat. Enough heat and ka-blooie.”

“Roger that,” the other engineer said. “We’ll just pull up the deck plate it’s hooked to and carry it… well, what do you want us to do with it?”

“Space it, and fast,” Carter said.

“Hold on,” the young diplomat said. His normally dark complexion had turned almost as white as those of the ship’s crew. “You can’t just space a diplomat from another species. There will be letters of protest. Speeches in the all-creatures assembly. There might even be an exchange of notes!”

“And just what do you think will happen,” the ship’s officer asked amiably, “if this thing explodes and damages some more of the Xtees?”

Gordon thought about that. Finally, he said, “Go ahead and get rid of it.”

The two subengineers slapped screwdriver tips onto the end of their power arms and began unbolting the deck section. As they worked, Gordon took out his hushphone and spoke into it for a few minutes.

“Shouldn’t you go confer, or whatever it is you do, with the Husker delegation?” Carter asked, after the young diplomat ended his communication.

“I thought about that,” Gordon said. “But I don’t want to be haggling with a diplomat many grades my senior over this. Enough time would pass for a hundred of these things to go off before I got anywhere.”

Carter gave him a considering look. “Well, at least you’re not completely stupid,” the ship’s officer said. “My old granny always told me it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission.”

“Besides,” Gordon said, “I just sent a laser burst to the office on Ricketts. Maybe I’ll hear from Tulk before I have to meet with the Unknown Origin 37s.”