It was all basically so simple. “We just locate this Brohwelporvot,” he’d explained blithely to the poet, “and he directs us from there.”

Wuu had executed a gesture indicative of third-degree naïveté mixed with fourth-degree intimations of absurdity. “My boy, you are bright and persistent, but there is still much you have to learn. Consider the second communication that was received by your premate, the one that went to such pains to deny everything which had been communicated before. If we inquire after this perplexing fellow we would doubtless discover that he has been transferred to a ‘rest’ position somewhere many light-years from here. That is, if we can find anyone or any machine willing even to admit to his existence.

“In addition, such an inquiry would attract unwanted attention from whoever compelled him to send that second negative communication. You must know, my boy, that I am not at all convinced there is anything to all this blather about alien monsters and such. I simply find the prospect of pursuing so outrageous a rumor attractive.

“But if the opposite should be in some manner true, then we are likely—unless we are very careful—to find ourselves shipped off to some distant resting burrow until we agree to drop our private search. In any case, we will not find truth. If we would discover the latter, we must be circumspect as we delicately circumvent.”

But even Wuu’s most persuasive manner and persistent questions drew nothing in the way of useful information. As the days passed Ryo was beginning to believe that Fal’s relative really had suffered a temporary mental breakdown.

Likewise discouraging to further inquiry was the condescension with which they were treated, because they came from a relatively undeveloped and unimportant colony world. This didn’t trouble the philosophical Wuu, but it rankled Ryo’s pride and went counter to everything he’d learned as a larva about the equality of all citizens. Clan- and hivemothers excepted, of course.

When a month had passed, even the normally indefatigable Wuu was beginning to show signs of losing interest. “We may have played the game to its conclusion, my boy,” he murmured one evening in their hotel room. The hotel ran from Level 75 to Level 92. It was comfortable and boasted an exit on each level, but its novelty had long since worn off for both of them.

It is only natural for the interest of a poet to wane, Ryo thought. Desperately he tried to find some way to convince his sponsor to continue the quest, for without Wuu’s knowledge and other resources Ryo knew he would never come any closer to the truth of the matter.

It came to them both as they boredly watched a fictionalized dramatization of the confrontation between Twentieth Emperor Thumostener and King Vilisvinqen of Maldrett over possession of the Valley of the Dead between the ancient cities of Yelwez and Porpiyultil. It was tense, stylized, and in keeping with proper anachronisms, militaristic.

“The military. Of course.” Ryo put aside his drinking spout, letting it slide back into the wall as he raised up on his sleeping lounge. “We have to contact the military again.”