“What the hell do you want?” the human’s translation program asked. The translation program was wired into each of the Xtee compartments, and was supposed to be able to translate among the aliens as well as between alien and human. Gordon had his doubts.

“Not exactly the most diplomatic opening, is it?” the ship’s officer said.

“It’s probably the program,” Gordon said. “We haven’t got all of the bugs worked out of it.”

“Oh, sure, say it’s my fault,” the program said. “Shoot the messenger.”

“We were wondering if all the members of your delegation are accounted for,” Gordon asked the Husker.

The Husker listened to the squeaks and clicks that came from the translation program. The middle of its body rotated away, then rotated back.

“We’re all here,” it said.

This wasn’t the answer Gordon was expecting. He didn’t know what to say next.

“Ship’s fourth officer John Carter,” Carter said. “I’m afraid we’ll have to come in and take a census.”

The Husker’s midsection swiveled away, then back again.

“Under the rules of diplomacy, this is our sovereign territory,” it said. “I’m afraid I can’t let you pass.”

“I’m desolated to have to tell you that the safety of the ship is involved,” Carter said, “and that takes precedence over protocol.”

The Husker went into its swivel routine again.

Gordon opened his mouth, but closed it without saying anything. The ship’s officer was a bold and smooth liar. He could have a real future in the Corps Diplomatique.

The Husker stepped back without speaking. The two men entered the compartment. The ship’s officer made a show of counting the inhabitants. “We brought twelve of you on board,” he said, “but there are only eleven here.”

“I am John Smith, the leader of this delegation,” the biggest Husker said. “You are correct. John Doe is missing.”

“John Smith?” Gordon said. “John Doe? Is that the best you can do?”

“It’s not my fault,” the translation program said. “These are common names on this species’ home planet, and that’s the way they translate.”

“Why don’t you just leave the names in their language?” the young diplomat said. “Fewer distractions.”

Which was how the two humans learned that it was Clickclickwhistle who was missing, according to Clicksquawksqueal.

“We think we know where Clickclickwhistle is,” Carter said. “Computer, would you show us the Unknown Origin 37 we removed from the deck?”

The computer threw up a scene on the opposite wall. The Huskers seemed to see in the same spectrum as humans, so Gordon figured they should be able to follow what was going on. Unfortunately, what was going on was that the two subengineers had the Unknown Origin 37 on the shuttle deck, the section that was open to space. There were wires running from it to a console some distance away where the subengineers stood in space suits.

“Computer!” the ship’s officer yelled. “Stop whatever they are doing immediately!”

Too late. One of the space-suited figures threw a switch, and there was a tremendous explosion. Pieces of Unknown Species 37 flew everywhere. The two subengineers were blown backward and dangled at the end of tethers, their suits leaking air in dozens of places. Other space-suited figures began moving their way.

Carter began whispering into the left forearm of his powered exoskeleton.

“Is this the way you treat visiting diplomats?” Clicksquawksqueal demanded. “You blow them up?”

Gordon moved closer to the ship’s officer, who seemed to have finished whispering. For a reason Gordon couldn’t quite name, the Huskers suddenly seemed much more dangerous.

“We didn’t blow up Clickclickwhistle,” he said. “We found him all folded in the hallway outside the diplomats’ area and his temperature was rising. Our computer told us he would explode on his own. Why is that?”

“All folded up?” Clicksquawksqueal said. “What do you mean?”

“Show him, Computer,” Gordon said.

The computer projected a photograph of the Unknown Origin 37-or, rather, the late, lamented Clickclickwhistle-in front of Clicksquawksqueal. The creature did the same swiveling routine as the doorman and was silent for several minutes.

“Clickclickwhistle was in decommissioned pose,” Clicksquawksqueal said. “He would have expanded to the universe on his own.”

“Decommissioned pose?” Gordon said.

“Hey, I’m doing the best that I can,” the translation program said.

“Is that how your species disposes of its dead? Explosion?” the young diplomat asked.

Clicksquawksqueal swiveled and was silent again.

“It is,” it said at last, “it is our way of returning our biological material to the planet.”

“Well, I’d hate to walk through one of your graveyards,” Gordon said.

“Graveyards?” Clicksquawksqueal said. “What are graveyards?”

“Perhaps we should turn our attention to what happened to Clickclickwhistle,” the ship’s officer suggested. “When did you see him last?”

Gordon thought about strangling the starspawn. The demise of an alien diplomat in his keeping was the last thing he wanted to talk about.

Clicksquawksqueal seemed to share that sentiment. It swiveled and was silent for so long that Gordon thought perhaps it’d gone to sleep.

“Clickclickwhistle was an adventurous sort,” the Husker said, when it had swiveled back. “He went out exploring and never came back.”

“Weren’t you worried?” Gordon asked.

The swiveling was shorter this time.

“Define worried,” Clicksquawksqueal said.

“Never mind,” Carter said. “Perhaps it would be better if we discussed this in more comfortable surroundings. Will you and your colleagues follow me?”

He turned his exoskeleton and walked out the hatch into the hall. Gordon was right behind him. “What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed at Carter.

“Solving a mystery,” the ship’s officer said. “Watch and learn.”

After a few minutes of what had no doubt been furious swiveling in the compartment, Clicksquawksqueal emerged, followed by the rest of the Huskers.

The two humans led them down the hall. When they reached the Lambchops’ quarters, one of the creatures was standing in the hatchway.

“Where’s the party?” it asked.

“No party,” Carter said. “We are simply going somewhere more comfortable to continue our discussion with the Unknown Origin 37 delegation about the demise of one of its members.”

“Cool,” the Lambchop said. “Mind if we tag along?”

Gordon opened his mouth to tell the Lambchop, as diplomatically as possible, to mind his own beeswax, but the ship’s officer beat him to the punch. “Not at all,” he said. “The more the merrier.”

“What are you doing?” the young diplomat demanded in a fierce whisper. “Do you think I want the whole galaxy knowing about the blot on my record?”

“I said watch,” Carter said. “I didn’t say talk.”

He stopped his exoskeleton opposite the hatchway to the Gaspassers’ quarters. He pressed the doorbell. No response. He tried the handle. Locked.

“Computer,” he said.

The hatchway popped open. The Gaspassers were all huddled in one corner.

“We’re having a meeting,” Carter said cheerfully. “Diplomats love meetings. Come along.”

Without waiting for a reply, he moved on. When he reached the door to the Mutts’ compartment, he stopped again. “If you creatures can tear yourselves away from your card game for a minute, there’s a discussion in the common room you won’t want to miss.”

“Says who?” one of the Mutts growled.

“Believe me, you’ll want to be there,” Carter said pleasantly, “and so will the Unknown Origins next door.”

“Josef Stalin!” Gordon said. “Are you going to invite the entire diplomatic corps to this meeting?”

“Nope,” Carter said. “That’s it.”

With that, he led his group down the rest of the hallway and into the common room.

“Table,” he said, and a long, rectangular table rose out of the floor.