He turned his attention to the remaining three screens. Two of them provided nothing of special interest. They were land views, bare jagged rocks and ridges and graveled slopes. The final screen, though, made him forget the ache in his neck.

It was another land view, but in this one the hills and valleys were not bare. They were clothed with vegetation — odd-looking forms, all twists and spikes, but no stranger than many of the plants found on Earth or other worlds of the Stellar Group.

Friday snorted aloud. So much for that fat idiot Rombelle, and what he “knew” as scientific fact! No plants on the land surface of Limbo, because on a planet orbiting a blue-giant star they didn’t have enough time to emerge from the sea? Sure. Facts my ass. Those were plants on the display, and he, Friday Indigo, was willing to bet on it.

“Alien air-breather!” The sudden words from the translation unit brought Friday’s attention back to ground level. The black rock sat immobile as ever. The words were being translated from sounds emitted by Two-Four. “Pay attention.”

“I’m listening.” At least it had stopped all the “Abase, abase,” nonsense. “I told you my name, you know. It’s not alien air-breather, it’s Friday Indigo.”

“Air-breather.” The eyestalks waved, and the Malacostracan continued as though Friday had not spoken. “The One has been made aware of your proposal for cooperation. The One desires to know more, and is willing to discuss it with you. However, there are three problems. First, Level One speech is too advanced for your primitive device.” A black pincer reached forward and touched the translation unit. “Communication through this would be as unproductive as an attempt at reasoned speech with a Level Four. Something better is needed.

“Second, The One requires additional evidence that you and your kind have something to offer. We have observed your feeble attempts to spy on our surface activities, and are in the process of neutralizing those orbiters. We anticipate no difficulty in doing so. The One declares the orbiters to be undefended and therefore primitive. If that represents your best level of technology, it is of little or no value. Do you wish to comment?”

“No.” Orbiters? That was news to Friday. But it was good news. Somebody or something on one of the ships had found a way off the surface of Limbo and into space. All the riches in the universe were no good if you had no way of taking them home. On the other hand, “undefended” in the eyes of the Malacostracans apparently equated to “primitive.” That was a clue to their outlook on life, and not an encouraging one.

Two-Four was continuing, “Third, The One believes that you and your kind are in a poor position for negotiation of any kind. We created and we control the sea-sky portal that you refer to as the Link. Without the Link, you will remain here on this world until you and all your spawn are dead. Do you understand?”

Friday nodded, then realized that was no use to the translation unit and said, “Yes, I understand.” He wasn’t much worried about his spawn at the moment. More on his mind was his own immediate future and the split and dried bodies of the bubble people. “I think you’re wrong about our technology, though. It’s just not represented in the equipment we brought with us. There’s a tremendous amount of information in our ships’ data bases, about all sorts of things. Everything from astrophysics to zoology. It’s not possible that you already know all of it, and without our help you’d never be able to figure out how to get into the data bases.”

That led to another two-way stream of high-pitched whistles and grunts between The One and its Level Two subordinate. It went on for a while. Something in Friday’s last speech seemed to be producing excitement, and he wondered what it might be.

“It is possible that you are correct,” Two-Four said at last. “Although we could assuredly learn everything that you and your kind know, time is important to us. The One is willing to consider acceptance of your assistance. You will become the intermediary between us and your kind. In return, you will not be harmed. However, there is one additional condition. The One is not satisfied with this slow and possibly inaccurate method of communication, first through me and then through your machine. You must agree to receive Level One compressed speech directly, and be able to speak for the Malacostracans to your own kind. How do you answer?”

Friday thought about it. The deal sounded pretty clean and simple, but he had to be sure that his lousy translator wasn’t crapping out on some vital point.

“Let me make sure I understand you. I’m going to play back what I heard you say, and you can tell me if I have it right. I learn to understand The One’s speech, right?”

“That is correct.”

“How long does that take?”

“Very little time, with our technology. A small fraction of a day. At the same time, The One will learn your speech.”

“All right. After that, I become the interface between your people and my own and any other visitors from outside this world?”

“Again, that is correct.”

“The only interface?”

“Certainly. Only one is needed.”

“Ah, but what about your technology?” Friday thought he saw the catch. “Will you be willing to tell me about that?”

There was a pause, followed by another two-way transfer between the Malacostracans. Friday again wondered what he had said. It had sounded pretty straightforward to him. But Two-Four was finally replying, and the tones that came from the translator sounded puzzled: “Of course, all knowledge of our technology will be available to you. That, together with all other facts regarding our origins and our plans.”

“And I will not be harmed.”

“Why would we harm someone who is serving as our intermediary? We repeat, you will not be harmed. You will be our valuable interface.”

“Then — I accept.” Friday wondered what would have happened had he declined, and decided he preferred not to speculate.

There was a brief squeak from The One, and the translator said, “Excellent. We will begin at once.”

“Wait a minute!”

A pause, and a polite, “Yes? Do you have more questions?”

Did he? Friday couldn’t think of any, but things seemed to be going awful fast and easy. He reviewed everything he had been told, and finally shrugged. “I guess I don’t.”

“Very good. Then we will proceed.” Two-Four scuttled suddenly and sharply backward. At the same moment, six black hoses, each as thick as a human thumb, emerged from the holes as the base of The One and snaked in Friday’s direction. At their ends they divided into fine bundles of thin filaments.

He tried to jump backwards, the same as Two-Four had done, but he was too slow. Two of the flexible arms curled around his thighs, two around his waist, and they pulled him closer to the black rock. The other two moved to attach to the sides of his head, just above his ears.

Friday cried out, “Hey, you told me I wouldn’t be harmed.” Before he could complete the sentence, something much worse was happening. He felt the divided ends of the cables sliding down his skull. They were entering his ears. They were inside him. He opened his mouth to scream in pain and terror, but he was too late. And suddenly it wasn’t necessary. Instead of pain he felt the most intense ecstasy of his life. Nothing else — food, drugs, sex — nothing came even close. It was as much as he could stand.

Then it became more intense. Stronger, better. More than he could stand. Friday, safe in the protective embrace of The One, swooned into an ecstasy of unutterable pleasure.