Monitor: Insentient autochthon of the planet Aster Colora. It has the appearance of a Terran monitor lizard, but is a kilometre long and weighs an estimated 4.5 million tonnes. It is a silicon-based lifeform with an alien physiognomy . . .

Dragon . . . Monitor . . . What connection?

Why does Dragon want an ambassador?

Questions.

Answers?

Damn!

The two kilometres unrolled and eventually Cormac came before the curving edifice of tegulate flesh within an amphitheatre of pseudopods. He noted, to one side, a piece of machinery that could have been the comlink for Dragon / human dialogue: the one exception to its rule about machines. It was scrapped. He looked up at the pink-and-red-stippled sky, half cut by the cloud-tangled flesh mountain, and he waited.

‘Ambassador.’

The voice came from the undershadows of the sphere, resonant but conversational.

‘Ian Cormac . . . yes.’

‘Names. All things can be named.’

As of skis on granular snow, a hissing issued from the undershadows. Cormac saw a swirl of movement, then a monstrous head shot towards him, propelled by a ribbed snake body. He stumbled back, fell. It rose above him; a pterosaur head with sapphire eyes.

‘Are you afraid?’

Cormac choked back his immediate reply and said, ‘Should I be?’ His tone betrayed nothing of what he felt.

The head lunged at him, then jerked to a halt two metres above him. It smelt of cloves. Milky saliva dripped on him.

‘Answer my question.’

‘Yes, I am afraid. Does that surprise you?’

‘No.’

The head moved up and away. Cormac stood and brushed himself off.

‘I fail to see the purpose of that little scene,’ he said.

‘You represent your race,’ Dragon replied, ‘and you can die.’

More than personal, then. Cormac did not react to the implications, but steadily returned the stare of those sapphire eyes.

‘Why did you send for an ambassador?’

‘Ah . . . you are human then?’

‘Of course.’

‘You do represent your race?’

‘Such is my position, though I cannot speak for every individual in it.’ He emphasized individual—why? He did not know; it had almost been instinctive. The Dragon head swayed, then twitched, shaking off an accumulation of snow.

‘Running round the inside of your skull is a net of mycorhizal fibre optics connected to etched-atom processors, silicon synaptic interfaces and an underspace transmitter. Evolution is a wonderful thing,’ it said.

That gave Cormac pause. Smoothly he said, ‘They are the tools of my trade. I am human. I am a member of the races of homo sapiens, meaning “wise man”, and a wise man will use what tools he can to make his tasks easier.’

‘I am glad you are sure of your integrity.’