with the dead or heard the heroes sing their own songs or had a vision of the creation, but I have no doubt that Malu has."
"I thought you were a scholar," said Peter.
"If you want to talk to the scholar Grace Drinker," she said, "read my papers and take a class. I thought you wanted to talk to me."
"We do," said Wang-mu quickly. "Peter's in a hurry. We have several deadlines."
"The Lusitania Fleet, now, I imagine that's one of them. But not quite so urgent as another. The computer shut-down that's been ordered.
Peter stiffened. "The order has been given?"
"Oh, it was given weeks ago," said Grace, looking puzzled. Then: "Oh, you poor dear, I don't mean the actual go-ahead. I mean the order telling us how to prepare. You surely knew about that one."
Peter nodded and relaxed, glum again.
"I think you want to talk to Malu before the ansible connections are shut down. Though why would that matter?" she said, thinking aloud. "After all, if you can travel faster than light, you could simply go and deliver your message yourself. Unless --"
Her son offered a suggestion: "They have to deliver their message to a lot of different worlds."
"Or a lot of different gods!" cried his father, who then laughed uproariously at what certainly seemed to Wang-mu to be a feeble joke.
"Or," said the daughter, who was now lying down beside the table, occasionally belching as she let the enormous dinner digest. "Or, they need the ansible connections in order to do their fast travel trick."
"Or," said Grace, looking at Peter, who had instinctively moved his hand to touch the jewel in his ear, "you're connected to the very virus that we're shutting down all the computers in order to eliminate, and that has something to do with your faster-than-light travel."
"It's not a virus," said Wang-mu. "It's a person. A living entity. And you're going to help Congress kill her, even though she's the only one of her kind and she's never harmed anybody."
"It makes them nervous when something -- or, if you prefer, somebody -- makes their fleet disappear."
"It's still there," said Wang-mu.
"Let's not fight," said Grace. "Let's just say that now that I've found you willing to tell the truth, perhaps it will be worthwhile for Malu to take the time to let you hear it."
"He has the truth?" asked Peter.
"No," said Grace, "but he knows where it's kept and he can get a glimpse now and then and tell us what he saw. I think that's still pretty good."
"And we can see him?"
"You'd have to spend a week purifying yourselves before you can set foot on Atatua --"
"Impure feet tickling the Gods!" cried her husband, laughing uproariously. "That's why they call it the Island of the Laughing God!"
Peter shifted uncomfortably.
"Don't you like my husband's jokes?" asked Grace.
"No, I think -- I mean, they're simply not -- I don't get them, that's all."
"Well, that's because they're not very funny," said Grace. "But my husband is cheerfully determined to keep laughing through all this so he doesn't get angry at you and kill you with his bare hands."
Wang-mu gasped, for she knew at once that this was true; without realizing it, she had been aware all along of the rage seething under the huge man's laughter, and when she looked at his calloused, massive hands, she realized that he could surely tear her apart without even breaking into a sweat.
"Why would you threaten us with death?" asked Peter, acting more belligerent than Wang-mu wished.
"The opposite!" said Grace. "I tell you that my husband is determined not to let rage at your audacity and blasphemy control his behavior. To try to visit Atatua without even taking the trouble to learn that letting you set foot there, uncleansed and uninvited, would shame us and filthy us as a people for a hundred generations -- I think he's doing rather well not to have taken a blood oath against you."
"We didn't know," said Wang-mu.
"He knew," said Grace. "Because he's got the all-hearing ear."
Peter blushed. "I hear what she says to me," he said, "but I can't hear what she chooses not to say."
"So... you were being led. And Aimaina is right, you do serve a higher being. Voluntarily? Or are you being coerced?"
"That's a stupid question, Mama," said her daughter, belching again. "If they are coerced, how could they possibly tell you?"
"People can say as much by what they don't say," answered Grace, "which you'd know if you'd sit up and look at