Forge of the Elders by L. Neil Smith

Author:L. Neil Smith [Smith, L. Neil]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Science Fiction
ISBN: 0671319825
Publisher: Baen Publishing Enterprises
Published: 2001-04-28T05:00:00+00:00

THIRTY-NINE Two-legged Footwork

As the asteroid rotated into the night, and the canopy darkened overhead, Sam returned to the temporary quarters he shared with Eichra Oren, thinking about his unproductive interview with Aelbraugh Pritsch and of one or two similar conversations that had followed it.

Chief of Security Tl*m*nch*l was one of the sapient crustaceans Soviet Americans called "giant bugs with guns." Asked what he knew of the nautiloids' purpose on 5023 Eris, he had expressed a belief that, after a hiatus lasting fifteen thousand years, the Elders were again seeking other alternate-world beings. On the other limb, Clym Pucras, the machine-tool designer that Eichra Oren had heard in a professional capacity, argued that if the mission were seeking anything, it was traces of a vanished species of sapients even older than the Elders, now extinct in all known versions of the Solar System. Neither being had offered much in the way of evidence to support his position.

At the moment, Sam was wondering whether Eichra Oren had given him this unproductive assignment simply to keep him out from underfoot with regard to Toya. They would soon leave this impersonal apartment, he thought, and not a moment too soon. He wondered whether Eichra Oren would be coming home tonight. The dog was too proud—or he wasn't sure what—to contact the man and ask. When not actively assisting his human companion, he often succumbed to periods of lonely meditation. It appeared he might have another night of it ahead of him to look forward to.

"Hello, Sam."

Someone was waiting at the door when he arrived. "Hello, Dr. Nguyen. Eichra Oren isn't here right now, and I don't know when he'll be back." Sam liked her. She was small and soft and golden-brown. Despite a lingering hint of disinfectant perceptible only to his canine senses, she always smelled good. He waited for her reply before going inside.

"That's all right, Sam. It's you I wanted to see, anyway. I wish you'd call me Rosalind. May I come in, please?"

"Follow me." He was surprised and pleased. Scutigera's wry observation was correct to an extent. He preferred the conversation and company of human females to that of his own kind, although it had never gone further than that and never would, despite the centipede's innuendo. "Can I fix you something to drink?"

She was looking around, but it didn't take long because there wasn't much to see. "In a little while, perhaps. There's something I'd like to ask you about first, if you don't mind."

Another thing Sam liked about her was that she didn't ask, as many of her fellow humans had already, how he could accomplish something like fixing her a drink when he didn't have any hands. "I will if I can. Please find a chair." He hopped onto a corner of the bed, lay down on his belly, and crossed one paw over the other. "What's all this about—Rosalind?"

Across the little room she smiled, but her tone was grim and there was no relaxation in her posture.

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