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Their body language was impossible
to read, but their words conveyed annoyance—Endless Courage in particular
nagged Philippe to have a formal meeting with the Cyclopes as soon as possible.
The situation was not improved when Philippe said that he was reluctant to
pressure the Hosts; Endless Courage once again suggested that the humans not
rely on the Hosts for help and dismissed Philippe’s concerns that he might
offend them.

Philippe also spent time observing
the limited trade that went through the station. None of the planets traded
directly with each other; they all used the station as a trading post. This was
largely a practical matter: No species had developed ships fast enough to
travel from one solar system to another in any reasonable amount of time, so
they had to use the portals to the station.

In addition, while it was not
entirely unheard of for an alien to visit another’s planet, concerns about
disease and security made such direct visits rarities. The trade through the
station tended to be restricted to things like minerals and chemical
compounds—items that were both valuable and compact—rather than agricultural
products or technology, which presumably carried a higher risk of
contamination.

During that time, Philippe saw the
Magic Man only twice, in quick succession. The first time occurred just as
Philippe was stepping on an elevator platform. He spotted the alien, said
“Hello!” and waved. And when he stepped off the elevator, three floors up, the
second sighting occurred, because the Magic Man was standing right there.

When Philippe was just about to
pester the Hosts about his next meeting, he got a message that Max was waiting
at the door. Max, with much elaborate phrasing and a detectable air of
irritation, asked Philippe to come visit him and Moritz the next day. Philippe
expressed his utmost gratitude for the invitation and his profound pleasure in
accepting it.

The next day, Philippe, Mo, and
Sucre went to the Hosts’ living area. Sucre, who had promised not to prevent
people from entering, stood just outside the door, while Mo went in with
Philippe to meet the Hosts.

“We had hoped that we could have
you meet with the species in the order in which they came to the station,” said
Moritz. “But we fear that this is not possible.”

“The White Spiders and the Magic
Man will not respond to our requests, which is typical of their manner,” said
Max. “The Blobbos wish to meet with you, but again as is typical of their
manner, they do not wish to meet with you in their living area because of
security concerns.”

“We are terribly sorry, but unless
you wish to wait for the White Spiders or the Magic Man to respond, or for the
Blobbos to agree to meet with you in their living area—” began Moritz.

“Which would involve a very long
wait, reflecting upon their historic patterns of behavior,” Max interjected.

“—then we must alter the order and
begin contacting the Pincushions or the Cyclopes,” Moritz finished.

“That would be acceptable,” said
Philippe. “I am happy to meet the Blobbos wherever they are comfortable meeting
with me. I wish to meet as many species as possible, and if I fail to meet with
one species, I do not think that should prevent me from meeting with the
others. In addition, the Cyclopes have been asking me to meet with them, so I
would like to do so as soon as possible.”

“I do not think that would be
wise,” said Moritz. “The Cyclopes arrived at the station after the Pincushions
and the Blobbos, so I think the proper order would be: Blobbos, Pincushions,
and Cyclopes.”

“I respectfully disagree,” said
Max. “If the Cyclopes wish to meet the human diplomat quickly, then I think it
is our duty as friends to the Cyclopes and as friends to the humans to arrange
for such a meeting first.”

“I do not think we should further
act in opposition to the natural order,” said Moritz.

Max looked exasperated. “I think it
is more important for us to behave in a manner consistent with our fundamental
purpose, and not to damage that purpose in order to uphold this order, which is
not natural but is instead an artificial creation, as is demonstrated by the
fact that it is never possible to maintain this order.”

“How can you possibly believe—”
Moritz’s translated voice, as always, was bland in Philippe’s ear, but he could
see the aggravation of both Hosts growing into anger.

“Gentlemen,” he interrupted. “If I
may express my desires in this matter? Am I correct in assuming that you have
already contacted the Blobbos?”

“You are,” said Moritz.

“So try to arrange a meeting with
them first, so that they don’t form the opinion that I am offended by their
refusal to meet with me in their living quarters. As soon as you can, contact
both the Cyclopes and the Pincushions, and I will meet first with whichever
species is available to meet first. Is that acceptable?”

He went back into the common area
and was promptly waylaid by a Pincushion who had a very complicated question
regarding human locomotion that was apparently inspired by a somewhat garbled
account of their visit to the Snake Boys. Whatever the Pincushion was asking,
the translators were not quite up to the task, so Philippe wound up explaining
all the possible modes of human transport, from walking to crawling to climbing
to acrobatics.

There were several other
Pincushions nearby. Philippe noticed that they were exchanging genetic
material, and he didn’t know whether he should be embarrassed about that or
not.

The first Pincushion, apparently
satisfied, took his leave and joined the orgy. Philippe realized that he had
forgotten to tell him about swimming when Max hurried up to him.

“I apologize for the fact of that
meeting,” said Max. “I am afraid that Moritz can be overly rigid.”

“I am always happy to meet with
you,” Philippe replied.

“It was not necessary. We could
have served you more efficiently by contacting people that historically have
been responsive and eager to meet new people, rather than following this
irrational order.” Max looked perturbed.

“I get the feeling that you two
have had many disagreements about this,” said Philippe.

“We have indeed, our wife is always
complaining about it,” he said. “I believe that if something is not mentioned
in the sacred texts, then we should not behave as though it is sacred. But
Moritz believes that one can extrapolate and extend sacredness to sanctify all
elements of life.”

He gave a weird dip of his legs
that Philippe somehow recognized as a sign of exasperation.

“That is how Moritz historically
behaves. He wishes to be sacred in all his actions, which is a laudable goal.
But we also have a saying—I do not know if this will translate—that if you try
to use all six hands, your belly will touch the ground.”

“Which is a bad thing?” Philippe
asked.

“It is neither comfortable nor
hygienic. It means that if you try to be perfect, you will cause your own
imperfection.”

Philippe nodded. “We have a similar
saying, although it applies more to the need to be practical. The saying is:
‘Keep both feet on the ground.’”

“That must be a significant problem
for bipeds,” said Max, his irritation about Moritz suddenly eclipsed by
curiosity. “I hope this comment does not offend you, but I am surprised that
you do not fall more, to the front or to the back. You must have exceptional
balance. It is said that at least one human can walk upside down.”

“On his hands,” said Philippe,
putting out his hands and making hand-walking gestures for clarity. “But he is
a very special individual.”

“On his hands—I see,” said Max, looking
bemused. “That is not what I thought was meant by what was said.”

“Walking on your hands would not be
difficult for you,” said Philippe.

“No, that is what I am doing now.
But it is more difficult to walk on only the two front hands—” Max did so for a
short while, lifting his back end up into the air.

“Be careful—don’t hurt yourself,”
said Philippe.

“Such an action is unlikely to
cause pain, although I appreciate your concern,” Max replied, lowering himself
back down to the ground. “Thank you for conversing with me. I now must leave to
attend to other business.”

“It was a pleasure to talk to you,
as always,” Philippe said.

Max followed a visiting Cyclops
into the Hosts’ living area, the doorway of which was only a couple of meters
from where Philippe was standing. Philippe looked around, wondering whether he
should find a few other aliens to chat with. There were a quite a number of
Pincushions about, as well as the ubiquitous Swimmer drones. Then he saw a
multicolored, semi-transparent shape that was formed like a Host but didn’t
move like one.

He walked over. It was facing the
other way—Philippe wondered if that really mattered, but he decided to go with
appearances, and he walked around so that he was standing in front of its face.
“The Magic Man, I presume?” he said.

The “Host” blurred and reformed
into the smiling face and body of a respected elder statesman. “I am the Magic
Man,” he said, in that affectless voice.

“We met earlier. I am the human
diplomat, Philippe Trang.”

“I am aware of your identity,” said
the Magic Man.

Just keep trying,
Philippe
thought.

“I am hoping to meet with
representatives of all the species on this ship in order to become better
acquainted with them,” said Philippe. “I was hoping that you and I could
arrange a meeting, perhaps in your living quarters, if that is acceptable to
you?”

Philippe decided against
interpreting that as a threat, but he cast an eye out for Sucre and Mo. Luckily
they were several meters away; even more luckily, they were out of earshot,
engaged in a lively conversation with a Snake Boy.

“What in your living quarters will
kill me?” asked Philippe.

“The living quarters will kill
you,” said the Magic Man. His smile was beginning to creep Philippe out.

“I have protective gear that will
enable me to survive in a wide variety of atmospheres,” said Philippe, hoping that
would resolve the matter.

“Open to
space?
” Philippe
asked, suddenly comprehending.

“Yes, open to space.”

Philippe took a deep breath. He
wondered briefly if the SFers could arrange for him to meet in the vacuum of
space, but quickly decided that he should suggest an alternative meeting place.

The noise exploded into Philippe’s
brain, but he also
felt
the shrieking like a seizure going through his
body. It was panic, cold panic, rising from his feet through his gut into his
fingers.

It meant death, certain
destruction. It screamed
Run! Hide!

Without thinking Philippe ran to
the nearest wall as the Pincushions around him fled. Philippe ducked down next
to the wall, crouching on his knees and covering his head with both hands.

He felt his torso straighten out
and his legs shift as his suit went into hard mode.
Sucre and Mo must have—
he
didn’t finish the thought but looked up for a brief moment, hoping to see them,
hoping against hope that they were all right.

What he saw appalled him. The Magic
Man was standing there—
just standing there—
in the virtually empty common
area, that daft smile upon his face. There was a noise from the Hosts’ living
area, and like a child in the middle of a busy street who has no idea of the
danger, the Magic Man twisted the top half of his body around, keeping his feet
where they were, to see what it was.

I can’t let him die,
the
thought flashed through Philippe’s brain.

Staying low, keeping his hands over
his head, he ran over to where the Magic Man was standing. He heard Sucre and
Mo screaming his name, screaming for him to get back. He tried to grab the hem
of the Magic Man’s coat to drag him back to the wall, but it wasn’t really a
coat and his fingers couldn’t get a grip, they just slid off the alien’s
yielding body.