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“Well, that’s just perfect,” said
Philippe, sitting down on the floor while keeping his hands on the platform.
“For I have heard something very disturbing, and I wanted to speak to you about
it.”

“How terrible,” said the Host,
looking concerned. “If there is the least thing that I can do to make you less
disturbed, I will most assuredly do it.”

“I am pleased to hear that. You
see, I heard that a Host is being punished for being of service to me, and it
is greatly distressing to me to think of someone being made to suffer as a
result of being a friend to my people.”

Max looked uncomfortable. “I
believe I know of which individual Host you speak, but in order for me to be
certain, please tell me more details.”

“A few days ago,” Philippe said, “I
ran into a Host priest who has been very open to us—many of my people consider
him a genuine friend. He was with three merchants who were unhappy because they
did not have translation gear. They said there was a shortage of such gear, so
because of the friendship that exists between our people, I offered to give them
some of the devices you gave us earlier as gifts. I now hear that this Host has
been recalled to your planet and may be punished because of what I did.
Naturally, this news grieves me, and I am greatly concerned about his
well-being.”

Max hesitated, obviously thinking
hard about what he was going to say.

“This individual has been recalled
to our planet by his priestly order, and they are conducting an inquiry into
his actions,” he said. “Your friend’s well-being would not be compromised,
however. Even if such an inquiry were to find that his actions were not
appropriate, the worst that would happen to him is that he would not be allowed
to return to this station.”

“But why not?” asked Philippe. “Why
did our friend’s actions trigger an inquiry at all?”

“It is complicated, but I will try
to explain it,” Max said. “There is a limited quantity of translation gear
available, and as a result it is reserved for priests—that is true. But the
shortage is not accidental, and the priest involved in this incident knew that.
It is not typical for a merchant to have translation gear because merchants do
not undergo the training priests undergo. As a result of this training a priest
will understand the limitations of the translation technology and will be
accepting of the mysterious behavior of other people. A merchant who has not
had such training cannot be expected to behave in a manner toward other people
that will benefit our divine mission.

“Some merchants are accepting of
this logic, but some are not. The merchant involved in this incident is not—he
believes that it would benefit his business to have the translation gear. His
business is not our mission, so he has been frustrated.”

“So Ptuk-Ptik is in trouble because
he helped out a merchant?” asked Philippe.

Max looked puzzled. “I apologize,”
he said. “That did not all translate correctly.”

“Our friend,” said Philippe,
realizing that the name would not have translated. “Our friend the Host priest
is in trouble because he helped a merchant.”

“There is not trouble at this point;
there is an inquiry,” said Max. “This individual is a priest in an order that
has taken the position that Hosts who are not priests should be given the
opportunity to interact with other people. As a result, the issue is not that
he helped someone who happens not to be a priest.”

Max paused.
He doesn’t think I’m
going to like this,
Philippe realized.

“The issue,” the Host continued,
“is that he performed an action of significant service to this particular
merchant. The merchant who along with his son and nephew received the
translators is part of a very wealthy family. His wife and four brothers-in-law
run a very successful business that manufactures foodstuffs.”

“Just to clarify, because this has
been confusing me,” Philippe interrupted. “When you say, brothers-in-law, what
does that mean?”

“I understand,” said Philippe.
It’s
different, but I understand.

“This merchant,” Max continued, “is
married to a woman who is a very successful business owner. As a result, he is
sufficiently influential that his family received the duty to provide the Snake
Boys with provisions, which is a duty that contains an extremely high status.
It is obvious that he is very successful, for his nephew works and lives with
his uncle’s family and not his mother’s family, which is very unusual among our
people.

“The priest who obtained the
translation devices for this merchant, his son, and his nephew is also married,
and his wife is a maker of policy. She has many ties with the merchant’s
family. The concern of this priest’s order is that there is a possibility that
this priest arranged for this incident to take place in the hopes that it would
benefit his wife.”

“So, um, I just want to make sure I
understand this correctly,” said Philippe. “You’re saying that the merchant is
married to a businesswoman.”

“To a maker of policy,” said
Philippe, wondering briefly what the difference was. “So the concern is that
the priest did a favor for the merchant in hopes that the merchant’s wife would
somehow repay the favor to
his
wife.”

“Which would be a betrayal of his
sacred responsibilities,” said Max.

“A conflict of interests—one hand
washes the other,” said Philippe to himself. There was certainly a lot more
going on here than he had suspected.

Max started. “What did you say?”

Philippe was pulled out of his
reverie. “Um, it’s an expression on my planet, one hand washes the other. It
means an illicit exchange of favors,” he said, miming hand-washing.

Max was looking at him like this
was the most brilliant piece of wit he had ever heard, but Philippe did not
want the conversation to get sidetracked into a discussion of human clichés. He
dropped his hands, almost touching them to the floor before he realized what he
was doing and stopped himself.

“That’s what the expression means.
But that’s not what happened here,” Philippe said. “This friend of ours never
asked me to provide translation gear to the merchant and his family.”

“He may not have asked you
explicitly,” said Max. “But his order is disturbed that you were attempting to
hold a conversation with a merchant who badly wanted translators and whose
family is in a position to benefit the priest’s family.”

“Our friend the priest did not
introduce me to the merchant,” said Philippe. “I initiated that conversation on
my own.”

Max looked surprised and a little
skeptical

“You initiated a conversation with
people who you could not understand and who could not understand you, without
any direction from anyone else,” he said. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“It’s true—I’m not just saying this
to protect my friend,” said Philippe. “My reason for doing it is actually
pretty silly. I had a dream about a Host who looked like that merchant, so I
when I saw him, I wanted to speak to him.”

Max looked shocked. “Cannot
translate,” he said, then collected himself. “I apologize for that remark, but
I am utterly amazed. You had a vision?”

“I had a
dream,
” said
Philippe. “Everybody dreams.”

The stunned expression on Max’s
face indicated otherwise. “Your people, you all have visions when you sleep.
Cannot translate. You see the future?”

“No, no, no, no, no,” said
Philippe. “No. They’re not visions or prophecies.
They’re
dreams.
We see stuff when we’re asleep, but it doesn’t mean anything. They aren’t
visions of the future or anything like that.”

“Yeah, that’s a pretty good
description of it,” said Philippe. “For example, I had a dream that we were
having a party in our living quarters, and a Host was there. That doesn’t mean
that we will have a party or have had a party or are having a party—it doesn’t
mean anything. It’s just a dream. Everyone has them on my planet—I think even
animals have them. You can’t see the future in a dream or anything like that. They’re
usually about things that are worrying you or things that you wish were true.
It’s how the brain takes out the garbage.”

“But you had a dream where you saw
a Host, and then you met that Host,” said Max. “Is that not a vision of the
future?”

“Not really,” said Philippe. He
thought for a moment about how best to explain it. “The merchant just sort of
reminded me of the Host I saw in my dream—he didn’t really look like him. The
Host in my dream looked quite different from any Host I’ve seen here, actually.
He glowed, you know, which is pretty funny, and he wasn’t the same color as you
guys, he was more yellow.”

Max looked, if possible, even more
dumbfounded.

“Come with me,” he suddenly said,
taking off toward his living area.

Philippe trotted after him. The
Hosts could really move when they wanted to, and he and Max had already reached
the doorway of the Hosts’ living quarters when Five-Eighths caught up with
them. The soldier and Philippe jogged along for a little bit after Max until he
reached a door. The Host turned around and noticed Five-Eighths.

“This is a very delicate matter,”
he said. “I would prefer if the human diplomat came alone.”

Five-Eighths looked quizzically at
Philippe, who shrugged.

“I apologize, but I must insist
that the security expert not enter this room,” said Max. “I swear by the sacred
song of cannot translate that I intend no harm to the human diplomat.”

“One minute,” Five-Eighths said to
Max. He pulled Philippe back down the hall, away from the Host. He hit his own
translation mike and Philippe’s, turning them off, and began scratching his
chest where his suit’s camera was—something the SFers did when they didn’t want
their surveillance equipment to record very well.

“Relax,” said Five-Eighths,
finishing with his mike. “I’m in monitor mode. Anything goes wrong, you take
that knife, and you stab yourself.”

“What?” asked Philippe, incredulous
but still whispering.

“You stick yourself, or cut yourself,
whatever. The lonjons will protect you, and it will set off their alarm.”
Five-Eighths looked out toward the common area. “I’ll get Ofay in here. If your
alarm goes off, we’ll bust in and blow the shit out of these motherfuckers. All
right?”

Philippe stared at him for a
moment. It was, of course, totally against the rules for a member of the
DiploCorps to carry a weapon of any kind. On the other hand, Five-Eighths was
certainly bending a few rules to accommodate Philippe. . . .

“OK,” he said, turning toward Max.
He turned back to Five-Eighths. “Maybe it would be best if we didn’t let Shanti
know we did this.”

“No shit,” said Five-Eighths,
slapping his com mike. “Ofay, get your ass in here.”

Philippe turned his translation
mike back on and walked over to Max. “My security experts have agreed to remain
outside the door,” he said.

“I very much appreciate their
cooperation,” said Max.

He slid open the door, and they
went in, with Max closing the door behind them. Philippe realized with a start
that the room was an office, much like his own. Moritz was working at a
platform that bore a strong resemblance to Philippe’s desk, and there was
another platform, which Philippe thought was probably Max’s desk.

“Greetings, human diplomat and
Max,” said Moritz. “This is most unexpected. Of course it is a pleasure always
to see you, human diplomat, regardless of the time or the lack of warning.”

Max ignored him, and walked across
the room to a panel on the wall. It was made of a different, lighter material
than the rest of the wall, and Max purposefully pushed on one side of the
panel.

“Max, what is the purpose of this
action? You are not supposed to do that,” said Moritz, clearly upset.

The panel turned on a pivot to
reveal a portrait. It was of a familiar-looking Host, who was a particular
golden color. He had a glow about him.