His stare was noted. “I broke my neck—oh, six or seven years ago,” the elder said pleasantly.

Embarrassed at having been caught, Ryo looked away.

“I was climbing a tree, if you must know,” the elder finished.

Ryo was startled. Yaryinfs climbed trees. Muelnots, shrins, and ibzilons climbed trees. Thranx did not. They were not built for it Not their legs or their truhands. Only the foothands were properly constructed for such an effort, and you could not haul yourself up a woody trunk with only two limbs.

“Why were you trying to climb a tree?”

The elder whistled softly. “Wanted to see what it was like from the top, of course.”

“But you could have been lowered into the treetop by a hoverer or raised on a picker arm.”

“You don’t understand—but neither did anyone else. You see, I am a poet.” He stepped forward, touched antennae to Ryo’s across the table. “My name is Wuuzelansem.”

“Ryozenzuzex,” he replied automatically. He thought back to a bit of recreational reading, or perhaps it was part of a conversation on current aesthetics. “The Eint Wuuzelansem?”

The elder executed a third-degree declamatory gesture. “I am the same.”

“I have heard of you. More than that, I recall some of your poetry.”

“Well, that’s not necessarily a good thing.” Wuuzelansem let out a deprecatory chuckle. “Nevertheless, I suppose I am gratified. What is your profession?”

Ryo immediately went on guard.

The poet noticed the reaction. “Oh, never mind. You needn’t tell me if you don’t wish to. I know one thing. You’re not a professional mugger.”

Ryo was startled a second time.

“That was your intention in central station, was it not?” After an instant’s hesitation Ryo performed a gesture of embarrassed agreement.

“Well, I suppose hunger can make one do anything.”

“How did you know I wasn’t a mugger?”

“Because of the way you went about it.” Wuu spoke matter-of-factly, as if discussing the plumbing. “You see, I know many muggers and robbers. They live in a state of perpetual danger and constant conflict. That can provide the basis for some interesting poetry. I document in rhyme. I am also fair with them, so many are my friends.

“The hive authorities frown on that relationship, of course. Such individuals are not supposed to exist in the wondrous capital of Ciccikalk.” Whistling laughter rose from the experienced throat. “My boy, the universe is full of things which are not supposed to exist but continually confound us by doing so. Places in space where reality disappears, suns that rotate not around one another but among dozens, Nullspace where things that are too small to exist suddenly become real, muggers and robbers—all difficult to believe in, all subjects for poetical discourse.

“Now then,” he settled himself into the saddle opposite Ryo, “since I’ve hauled you back here and cared for you, you can at least be honest with me. If I’d wanted to turn you over to the Servitors I could have done so earlier, more safely, and at considerably less personal expense.”