directive to give up any such feelings on the instant and not make a liar of her.
Mouche said, pleadingly, “We are really interested in helping, Corojum. Can’t we please get on with it?”
Corojum stared at them, looking from face to face, letting his eyes rest finally on Mouche, who held out his hands pleadingly. “I will ask Bofusdiaga.”
The Corojum went to the rock wall, leaned against it, and stared at the sky, his eyes moving, his body moving, various muscle groups knotting and relaxing, all in accompaniment to the communication, which was lengthy. Those closest could see that it had opened a seam along its side which had actually attached to the stone.
Finally, just as Questioner was running out of patience, Corojum pulled away from the rock and said, “Bofusdiaga says all right for now. Bofusdiaga will forget those others and cooperate with you. We have asked for all Timmys who danced to come here; some are here already. Every other creature who saw dance is coming, also. Some Joggiwagga, some Eiger, some others….”
“Then I think we’d better get started, because we’re running out of time!”
In the brief pause that followed, Questioner went to the cave and told the captives there to get themselves onto the high rim to wait for her, and if they wanted to avoid being eaten by the monsters, to do it without any talk whatsoever. Casting resentful glances behind them, they went, the last of them departing just before Corojum returned leading an assortment of creatures.
Questioner instructed the group: “Each of you take one of the portable data heads and record everything. Ask about the site, first. Where did they dance, where from, where to. Then ask about what they did, what they saw done by others. Corojum says when you are finished with the Timmys, they will translate for the others.”
So they began with the Timmys, their initial diffidence giving way to assurance as afternoon wore away toward evening. Questioner moved from place to place, feeding the data head information into the larger accumulator she carried in a compartment on her person.
“What is that thing, anyhow?” asked Calvy, alert to the possibility of profit.
“An IDIOT SAVANT,” she murmured. “An Improved Deductive Imager Of Theoretical Scenarios And Variations, Ambassadorial, Non-Terrestrial. It was invented by HoTA—the same department that designed me—for use by Council of Worlds diplomats. It has a data bank that includes most of what we know about intelligent races; it takes everything that is observed, fact by fact, and extrapolates a logical scenario that includes all observed realities. Then it does variations on the scenario. It helps me understand both mankind and nonmankind races.”
Sundown neared. Ellin gaped with weariness; Mouche slumped; Madame, impossibly erect and Eiger eyed, continued her slow accumulation of data, as did Simon. Calvy and Bao gave up for a time to take a nap in a cave. D’Jevier and Onsofruct worked methodically, occasionally rising to take a few steps, roll their heads about and wave their arms, restoring circulation. Bao returned from his nap and bantered with Ornery and with the last few Timmys who were translating for the Joggiwagga and the Eigers.
“Is your IDIOT SAVANT coming up with anything?” Calvy asked.
“Not so far,” Questioner admitted. Actually, a three-dimensional moving construct of the supposed dance had emerged, but it meant nothing to her at all.
During all of this, the ground shivered and subsided, shivered and subsided. They were all overcome with weariness, cold, and hunger by the time the last few interviews were concluded.
Evening brought dark and a chilly wind accompanied by stronger tremors, wave after wave, like a rising surf that brought falling rocks and a hail of gravel. Corojum told them to take refuge in a nearby cave, where the Timmys brought firewood and cooked up roots and greens, producing the same savory smells that had delighted Mouche at House Genevois.
D’Jevier and Onsofruct sat a little apart from the others. D’Jevier murmured, “Where’s the green-haired one? The one that enchanted Mouche.”
“I haven’t seen it. And why do you care. What is it with you and this Mouche?”
D’Jevier flushed and did not answer.
“You’ve been going to House Genevois!” said Onsofruct, in whispered outrage. “You’ve been …”
D’Jevier shrugged. “Someone has to play the part of patroness during their training. It’s our system. We’re responsible for it.”
“At your age!”
“I’m not dead yet, Onsy. And I like Mouche. Sometimes, talking with him—and mostly we just talked—you’d swear there was a sage inside that young head. Something’s affected him strangely and wonderfully,