This is a fan translation of Envoy From the Heavens (Посланец небес) by Mikhail Akhmanov, currently only available in Russian and, because of the author's passing in 2019, unlikely to ever be published in English. This is the book in a series called Trevelyan's Mission (Миссия Тревельяна), which is a spin-off from the author's Arrivals from the Dark (Пришедшие из мрака) six-book series.

I claim no rights to the contents herein.

Chapter 18

The Great Mentor

At night, in the light of the Near Star, the water glowed and shimmered with a milky opal gleam that faded at sunrise. This effect, from which the Shimmering Sea had gotten its name, was called by the luminescence of tiny half-plants/half-animals called Viagrus spantanum, a distant analog to Earth's plankton. A great number of fish, seals, sea turtles, and crustaceans consumed this natural nutritious broth, bread and multiplied near the surface of the water, then ending up in fishing nets and cages. The sea was feeding the people of Tora and Pini-Pta, Udzeni and Transstraight, the enormous isle of Fadr, and even the proud Ing seafarers, who preferred meat to fish. They hunted turtles, seals, and creepy animals that could, with a stretch, be considered lobsters or crayfish, but, in Trevelyan's opinion, they had more similarities with a scorpion, only one that was a meter long. They had six claws, and Gin cooked them well: boiled them in seawater, them extracted the meat and stewed it with spices.

Trevelyan had gotten lucky with the ship and the crew, as Prince Kadmidaus, the ruler of Alamia, apparently respected his brother and treated his request with a complete understanding. Especially there were gold coins in Trevelyan's bag, a gift from Hugo Tasman, which supported the Magister's letter. The ship was small, about twenty meters in length, but with high sides, two masts, a spacious hold, and a high aft superstructure. The vessel was called the Night Wind and belonged to a family of respectable smugglers, who only ferried expensive goods: Tilimese fabrics, Peytakhan blades, and Torvalian wines. But the Wind had probably been loaded with spices for its most recent trip, as its hold, cabins, and even deck smelled so enticingly and sharply that Trevelyan occasionally gulped.

The skipper Shad, the head of the family business, was in his early forties, he'd been sailing since he was twelve and knew all the reefs, shallows, and currents from the shores of Sho-Ing to Pini-Pta to the south and Udzeni to the north. He was strong, a little gloomy, taciturn, and fairly tall for someone of the Western race, reaching up to Trevelyan's ear. Gin and Morni, his two nephews, were called sailors, but besides that Gin also acted as the ship's cook and supercargo, while Morni was also the navigator and first mate. Actually, these three, as was the custom in the West, bore long complex names, which ended on either "us" or "um", but it was an unaffordable luxury to use them at sea. At sea one had to think and act fast, orders had to be brief, as did names, even for the passenger chartering the ship. For that reason Ten-Urhi was now known as simply Ten.

Excepting this nickname and the masterful cursing when working the sails, the crew treated Trevelyan with respect. First of all, he was a rhapsod, a rare visitor to Sho-Ing, where even the Brotherhood didn't build homes; second, he'd been sent by the noble Kadmidaus himself, whose word carried as much weight as a boarding axe; third, he'd paid them a hundred gold, which turned out to be more important than the first two reasons. Gold was gold everywhere, even in Mancana, whose people had never seen it, as Shad was fond of saying, being full of contempt for the poor Easterners. Trevelyan could have countered him by telling about the cunning ruler Pagoush, about the mines in Ashanti Mountains and the precious stones that were going to enrich Mancana, but instead he sat next to a mast on the deck and, touching the strings of the lute, sang Ing sea songs, Island Kingdom ballads, and filthy lines about the greedy merchants of Transstraight. They listened to him with great interest, but only during the day; at night, during the most romantic time, the skipper forbade him to sing, as singing and the sounds of the lute attracted sea demons. Shad had no desire to encounter them.

Over the past fourteen days, the Night Wind had alternated between speeding at full sail and dozing on small calm waves and passed through the Shimmering Sea, which was long and winding, and reached the straight separating the isle of Fadr and the Island Kingdom from the northern seashores with the trading cities of Transstraight. For the Ings, the mercantile nation across the straight was their primary competitor, with whom they'd settled bloody scores multiple times in the past. In the current peaceful times, cutting and burning one another was forbidden, but Shad believed that Imperial law was strong on dry land but that anything could happen at sea. Especially since the Wind was a small ship, and a war galley with a hundred sailors could send her to the bottom of the sea in moments. Which was why they crossed the straight slowly, pressing against the southern island shore, whose people had no problems with the Ings. The people of Fadr, the ones who lived closer to seawater, were also doing well thanks to smuggling, and each Ing family had reliable friends and business partners there.

They passed through the straight with no problems. Its western portion was considered to be a part of Udzeni, and here, in several hospitable bays, there were ports, through which Sho-Ing received ship lumber, from palm oaks and pines for decks, masts, and hulls, to expensive rosewood, which was used to decorate captains' cabins. Here the ship lingered for a day, as they were taking in fresh water, meat, fruit, and wine.

Trevelyan, anticipating his departure from Osier, placed Gray onto his shoulder, went ashore, took a stroll through the city, stopped by the temple of the Three Gods, stood over the map of the continent, as usual made in a mosaic, and handed the priest a handful of silver coins. Different thoughts were floating around in his head: of Chareit-Dor in the distant Etland, who would never get a child from him, of the capricious Liana-Shihi, who, without a strong male hand, would still be burden to her princely uncle, of Kitty-Katahna on her paradise island, whom he would never see again, of the beautiful Ariena, whose dances on the sea-blue rug he wouldn't watch. He also thought of the highland brigands, how they would fly across the ocean with Magister Kadmiamun, and if not with him, then definitely with one of his assistants! They'd fly and take possession of free land, and they'd grow and multiply, plow the fields, build cities, learn to make paper, spyglasses, looms, and steam engines; maybe they'd learn all that themselves, or maybe Foundation experts would return to the Base and give the settlers a few valuable ideas. And if that happened, then Heitler's plan would still work, which meant that the ridiculed and exiled Dartakh hadn't restored his book for naught, Tasman hadn't stayed behind on this world for naught, and even he, Ivar Trevelyan, hadn't come here for naught. He thought about a lot of things while saying goodbye to Osier, he even remembered the prophecy that promised him either a way home or the bitterness of defeat and demise in a dungeon. But he was no longer bothered by the whims of luck. Something, maybe his observer's sharpened intuition, told him that he was doing the right thing, that events were unfolding the way they were supposed to, and that the galaxy, including Earth, Osier, and himself, was spinning in the right direction.

The following morning they left the harbor and with it the straight. Beyond the straight lay a cape, the westernmost point of the continent, and here the shoreline turned north at a right angle. This nameless cape marked a border; the waters of the Shimmering Sea were left behind them, and now the Night Wind's bowsprit was cutting through the waves of the ocean. A day passed, and the view of the shore had changed; the convenient bays with sprawling cities were gone, instead of wooded plains rose a ridge of hills, which soon turned into gray inhospitable mountains. The salt water roared and beat against their feet, rolling stubbornly wave after wave, but the stone wouldn't give, standing in an unmoving wall, protecting the land that lay beyond it. This was how the entire coast of Udzeni facing the Western Ocean and stretching to severe and uninhabited places, up to the northern swamps and ice, looked. Although, there was a bay three hundred kilometers from the border cape, which was suitable for ships, and a port city, one fairly large and lively and that served as an endpoint of a branch of an Imperial road. The city was called Petassa and acted as Trevelyan's reference point for searching the mysterious island.

They reached Petassa on the third night, saw the outlines of the distant shore, the burning lighthouse in the harbor, and turned northwest. Before sunrise, when they'd left a lot of distance behind them, Trevelyan ordered the sails lowered, a floating anchor dropped, and the crew to sleep. He decided to keep watch himself that night. His tired companions fell asleep quickly, while he, after waiting for the edge of the sun to appear over the sea, played the right tune on the lute and contacted the Base computer.

"Observer Trevelyan? I'm at your service."

Telling the computer to speak quietly, Trevelyan said, "I'm on a ship off the western coast of Udzeni. A small two-mast ship with lowered sails, about fifty kilometers from the shore in the vicinity of Petassa… Can you scan it through a satellite?"

"Done, Observer Trevelyan. Your precise coordinates—"

"I don't need them. Point me in the direction of the island, the one hidden behind a holographic veil."

"Fifty-two degrees from the northern meridian, at a distance of thirty-seven kilometers."

"I don't have a compass. Continuously scan the ship's position and send corrections. The task is to bring the ship to within a kilometer of the island."

"Understood, Observer Trevelyan," the lute rustled quietly.

Shad rose with the sun, shook his nephews awake, told Gin to start preparing the morning meal, then, waiting for Trevelyan's nod, picked up the anchor and began to set the sails with Morni. The Night Wind started moving, pushed by a light breeze coming from the land. The skipper examined the horizon, snorted, and grumbled, "I've never sailed in these waters so far from the shore, but I've been to Petassa. It's a snake pit! A single decent tavern in the entire port… And in that tavern they never said anything about an island here. I swear on the sail and the mast!"

"It's a magic land," Trevelyan explained. "Enchanted."

The skipper produced a few vague sounds, while Morni, who was standing by the wheel and was more trusting due to his young age, inquired, "What's magic about it, my lord? Is it a place of sorcerers, or spirits of the abyss, or monsters of some kind? Or," his eyes went wide, "is there treasure buried there? Gold coins or precious gems?"

"The island is invisible, that's all there is to its magic. There isn't any treasure, no sorcerers, just sand and a few trees."

"I'm not asking why you want that stinking hole, Ten, with nothing but sand and trees. That's your business, not mine, you've paid me with gold, so I'm staying out of your business. I have to bring you to the island, and that's it! How can I bring you, if the island is invisible? Where do I turn, where do I sail?"

"My lute will tell me," Trevelyan said. "The island is magical, but so is my lute. You have to know that only magic can overcome magic!" He bent over his instrument and whispered, "Course correction."

"Seven degrees west," came the barely audible reply.

"There!" Trevelyan indicated the direction with an outstretched hand. Shad stared at him like at a complete idiot, snorted, and said, "Morni, you fish guts, turn where the lord says. Git, is the grub ready?"

They ate, Gin took Morni's place at the wheel, while Trevelyan fed his critter with dried fruit, as Gray refused to eat crab and turtle meat. In the meantime, the Night Wind was moving fast. The ocean, stretching in every direction, was gleaming silver under the light of the morning sun, clouds floated through the sky, and the Near Stars, already barely noticeable over the horizon, was melting away. The wind was fresh and even, but not strong, and Trevelyan, after checking with the lute, learned that they were moving at ten-twelve kilometers per hour and had deviated west slightly. He corrected the direction once more.

The skipper handed him a wineskin, then took a swig himself and grunted, "I've never met a rhapsod before. Tell me, Ten, do all the patses from your Brotherhood have piss for brains? Or are you the only moron?"

"You don't believe in magic?" Trevelyan inquired. "You don't believe that an island can be invisible?"

"I do. By the rope and the oar, if you drink this entire wineskin, you won't even be able to make out the hole where you're supposed to relieve yourself! Go ahead, rhapsod, drink… If the island is invisible, the wine won't hurt a bit."

Gin giggled, Morni laughed, and Trevelyan figured that they only had a few hours of sailing left. At that thought, a chill ran down his spine and the wine suddenly tasted sour. But this time he wasn't alone, a grain of sand lost on an enormous world with no electricity, no communications, no fast skimmers, and not even a compass; right now he was plugged into the human technosphere and was performing an important role: directing and commanding. By his will the sensors of an orbital satellite were tracking the tiny ship, transmitting the signals to the Base with a duty cycle of five milliseconds; the computer was detecting them, tying the point in the ocean to the coordinate grid, and, once more through the satellite, replying with a brief report. All this hidden power, all this strength that had surrounded Osier in a real, not at all mythical, ring, was under his, Trevelyan's, control, serving him faithfully, quickly, and reliably, as was expected of machines, whose first duty was to humans. His safety, his wishes, his orders… Thinking of that, he was regaining his calm and certainty in himself.

Finally the lute said, "The target is at the specified distance. You are nine hundred and seventy meters from the island's southern tip and one thousand and fifteen from its northern. Awaiting further instructions."

"Remain on the line," Trevelyan whispered and, turning to Shad, said, switching to the Western dialect, "May the mercy of the gods and my gratitude be with you! You are the best of Sho-Ing seafarers, and your skill cannot be paid with money. However…" He took out the coin purse with his last coins from his bag and placed it in the skipper's hand. "Our journey is over, honorable Shad. Stop here and tell your nephews to lower the boat."

The skipper weighed the coin purse in his hand, nodded imperious to Morni and Gin, and said, "I hope you know what you're doing, rhapsod. I don't see an island here, not even a stinking rock, and we're half a day's trip from the shore on my tub. It's far! You won't be able to row back by nightfall… And with nightfall come sea demons… I'm afraid you won't see the light of day again!"

Trevelyan tossed his sack into the boat swaying next to the ship's hull, placed Gray into it, then slapped the skipper on his muscular shoulder, "Don't worry, Shad! You do remember that the island is invisible, don't you? So what surprises you?"

"The invisible can be touched, Ten. You can dig your feet into the sand, smash your nose against a tree… But you're leaving the deck in the middle of the ocean! Here, look!" Bending over the bulwark, the skipper poked the wave with an oar, "Is this sand or stone? Or pats droppings? This is water, liquid salt water!"

"There are shallows near the island, they're also invisible," Trevelyan explained, getting into the boat. "That's why I'm going alone. I don't want your ship to run aground. Give me the oars?"

"Here! Do you want food? Or at least wine?"

Trevelyan, sliding the oars through leather loops that acted as oarlocks, shook his head, "Thank you, Shad, but I don't need anything. I share your breath for the last time… and yours, Morni, and yours, Gin… When you see me disappear as if in a fog, turn the wheel and go east, to the shores of Udzeni. Don't get close to the island! There really are dangerous shallows here."

"By the anchor and the deck!" the Skipper said. "Either you're a very brave man or a complete moron! Not even bringing food with you! Well, I guess if you get hungry, you can always eat your critter!"

Smiling, Trevelyan waved to him and picked up the oars. The boat was tiny, meant for only two people, and was jumping on small waves. Gray got anxious; sprays were hitting his fur, he tried to lick them off with his pink tongue and squeaked involuntarily, as he clearly wasn't a fan of seawater.

"Hold on a little longer," Trevelyan said, having firmly decided to take the critter with him. "We'll be on the Pilgrim soon. Apples, pears, oranges, bloody steaks, all that will be yours… And at home you can fly in my garden, scare hedgehogs and squirrels. If we survive, of course."

There'd be less doubts had you brought a plasma thrower with you, the Commodore noted, but Trevelyan didn't reply, as he was looking at the shore that had just appeared out of thin air. As soon as he'd crossed the threshold of the mirage, green land was revealed in gold and vegetation before him, while behind him he could see the ship unfurling her sails. Tiny figures were busily moving on the deck, the Night Wind was turning and waving its yards, as if saying goodbye. Osier's final goodbye, he thought and, turning away, concentrated his attention on the island.

The island was exactly as the computer had described it: a kilometer-long oval, palms with feathery leaves, surrounded by golden sands, a small bay, as if a gap at the edge of land and water. The waves were licking at the beach with a quiet whisper, trees were rustling in the wind, the midday sun was shining, and he felt so calm, so serene from this picture, that even his heart was starting to beat slower, as if trying to match the rhythm of the waves.

Looks like your hierarch lives like Robinson, Trevelyan's Advisor noted, watching the shore with his eyes. Don't see any missiles or laser artillery. Shall we make landfall?

That's why we're here, Grandpa.

Trevelyan moved the oars, the boat slid forward, and buried its nose into the wet sand. He placed Gray on his left shoulder, hung the lute on the right, touched the strings, and called, "Computer!"

"I'm listening, Observer Trevelyan."

"Prepare a skimmer. Send it to the island on my command. The landing place is by the bay, next to the boat."

"It will be done."

Trevelyan stepped onto the shore and made the first steps. A tiny wave rushed after him, then pulled back with a hiss, filling his boot print with water. A scarlet crab the size of a fingernail ran across the sand and fell into this improved bath. The air smelled of the sea and fresh greenery. Birds circled over the palm canopies, but nothing else rose into the sky besides the trees, no streams of smoke, no masts with antennae, no other structures.

"A paradise!" Trevelyan said. "Even better than Tasman's. Serenity, just like on our island with the Base."

Maybe they also have everything buried underground, the Commodore said. A paradise on the surface, while below they've got plasma batteries, bombs, and a division of combat robots. Don't let your guard down, lad, and don't forget about the Dromi! Or about the Haptors and the Kni'lina!

I don't think they've been here, Grandpa. This isn't their style.

Trevelyan crossed the strip of the beach and, after looking around, walked along a path that had been made through the palm grove. There was moist soil under his feet, but it was loose rather than trampled, as if only one person had been walking here, and fairly rarely at that. The earth even retained his prints, although they weren't clear, so the only thing that could be understood was that this someone had walked here barefoot, and the walker's heel was round, while his toes were fairly long. Maybe they weren't toes at all, but tentacles, and in that case the alien occupying the island wasn't even humanoid.

To calm himself, he started counting his steps. He'd counted seventy-six before the seventy-seventh step brought him to a clearing, in the far end of which, under the trees, he could see something that wasn't a hut or a bungalow, but some kind of structure with latticed walls, interwoven by thick flowering vines, and topped by palm leaves. The walls seemed to be made of plastic and were leaning inward rather than standing straight; there weren't any doors or windows; instead a wide opening gaped in the front wall, covered by a mat. The roof was coming out far beyond the perimeter of the house, forming an awning that was supported by something that was either poles or thin trees with a smooth brown bark.

Trevelyan approached, trying not to breathe and step quietly. There was someone under the awning; there, next to a low table that looked like a product of Hai-Ta, stood a pair of stools and a wicker rocking chair that was moving to and fro and creaking a little. Over the chair's back he could see a hairy head, and the person sitting there probably knew about the presence of an uninvited guest but was paying no attention to him.

Squeak-squeak, squeak-squeak… And again, squeak-squeak…

Taking another dozen paces, Trevelyan swallowed and froze with wide eyes. It wasn't a human, a Haptor, a Dromi, or a Kni'lina sitting in the rocking chair. It was most definitely a pats! Not exactly like the ones in Osieran forests: its fur was grayish rather than red or brown, and it was clean and combed rather than dirty and unkempt. Besides that, the four-armed creature's forehead was fairly high, his jaw wasn't as massive, the gaze wasn't that of a mindless beast, and there was something like nails on all four paws rather than claws. And there was no smell coming from it at least Trevelyan couldn't sense any stink from two meters away.

But it was a pats! One hundred percent! Gripping the edge of the table with its lower limbs, it was rocking in the chair as if it was the most important thing in the world.

Trevelyan was staring at the pats, and the pats was staring at Trevelyan. Squeak-squeak, squeak-squeak… This went on for several minutes, then Trevelyan shrugged, turned away, stepped to the mat-covered opening, and called, "Honorable Ahhi-Sek! Great Mentor!" He waited a little, listening to the silence, then said, "Forgive my intrusion, but I think us two envoys from the heavens have something to talk about. Like the situation on Osier and, if you wish, of friendship between our star-faring races." More silence. "Well, if you don't want to talk about friendship, then we can speak about something else. I can tell you about the Pilgrim, one of our ships, and her molecular destructors. What do you say, honorable Ahhi-Sek? Does that interest you?"

"Not in the least," came a loud voice from behind him. "And there's no other Ahhi-Sek but me here, two-legged one."

Trevelyan spun around. The pats was looking at him and baring its teeth. Teeth, not fangs! This being didn't seem to have any fangs.

"You're surprised, I see." The one calling himself Ahhi-Sek was speaking in the dialect of the Seven Provinces without any accent. "Shameful, my young friend! It can be understandable for Ten-Urhi, a local rhapsod, but it's unforgivable for Ivar Trevelyan, a representative of a star-faring race and—how did you put it?—an envoy from the heavens! It proves that you two-legged ones are arrogant and far too proud. So full of hubris that you feel that you have a right show up on someone else's world and remake it the way you see fit, pretending to be like the gods from your own legends and tales. Speeding up this, pushing towards that… Faster, faster, faster yet! So that there were more of your two-legged brethren here and on other worlds, very many, billions upon billions! So that every piece of the ocean and dry land was under control, so that your machines bred like fleas in a dog's fur, so that these… hmm… molecular destructors were aimed at every living being." He stopped rocking and finished, "But faster and many doesn't mean good. As your own history proves, fast progress doesn't increase happiness."

By the middle of that monologue, Trevelyan got ahold of himself and sat down on a stool. The tension left him, his face smoothed out, his breathing became even. He was too experienced an explorer to be surprised at the alien's appearance, speech, or sudden turn of events. And he was also pleased, if not more, as he could speak with this being, which meant they could come to an agreement. The scariest thing was when they didn't try to talk, instead opening fire immediately from their destructors, plasma cannons, lasers, and other deadly machinery. But this case was clearly different. Fortunately!

After Ahhi-Sek stopped speaking, Trevelyan said with a gentle smile, "Judge not lest ye be judged… I think that applies both to two-legged and four-armed beings. As for the arrogance and surprise, which seem to have offended you, then you're wrong, honored sir. It's just that there are creatures living in the forests of this planet that aren't very smart but bear a semblance to your race, which shocked me, to tell you the truth. Please accept my apologies, and let's get down to business."

Opening his impressive mouth, Ahhi-Sek produced a deep hooting, seem to indicate good-natured laughter.

"That's better, much better, Ivar Trevelyan! All right, to business then. Do you want to compare our positions? I have no objections. Let's start with chronology."

"Yes, technically that's the most important factor. So, how long has Osier been under your patronage?"

"For over eighteen centuries. And I should note that the last two centuries were particularly troublesome for me."

"Eighteen centuries!" Trevelyan shook his head in amazement. "And all this time you—"

"No, not just me. We're long-lived, but even that's a long time for us. I'm the fifth Keeper. If you will, the fifth Ahhi-Sek, the Great Mentor and the head of the Rhapsod Brotherhood. The same brotherhood you've chosen to join."

"Created by you?"

"Let's say reformed. The organization existed before us, long ago. For the good of Osier, we expanded its functions, increased its influence, and adapted it for our goals."

"And those goals are?.."

Ahhi-Sek scratched his furry chest.

"Probably the same as yours, but differing in the concept of happiness. Your society sees it in technological progress, accumulation of material goods, power over nature, and in that power that is virtually adequate to violence. For us happiness is something else."

"Can you be more specific, Keeper?"

"The Osieran language is not very suitable for it, and I'm afraid that yours is a little poor. Not enough means of expression, insufficient terms, to say nothing of gestures and the auditory scale… But I'm an expert in two-legged beings, I know you better than my brethren and will try to explain." His facial expressions weren't fully understandable to Trevelyan; Ahhi-Sek seemed to be thinking. Then he said, "Life in harmony with the world, does that work?"

"It does. But we also strive towards that."

"You strive towards many other things too and want to get everything as fast as possible, whereas harmony is a result of slow and lengthy, very lengthy development. We, the four-armed ones, are prudent and patient, whereas you, the two-legged ones, are too fussy where you should wait, and your fussiness always turns bloody. Let's take your activities here on Osier… all these steam engines, combustible liquids, alloys with chrome and nickel additives, spyglasses, saddles, paper… In order to stabilize the situation, I had to do a lot of work, sometimes I even had to be cruel, and I don't like that. We, my entire race, don't like that!"

"I don't see what's so dangerous about paper and saddles," Trevelyan grunted, frowning.

"You start with paper and end with gunpowder, you start with saddles and end with battle cavalry!"

"Such consequences have been calculated, Keeper. We would have remained in control of the situation. We have plenty of experience on other worlds."

Ahhi-Sek reached one of his front paws, which turned out to be incredibly long, across the table and stroked Gray, who was sitting on Trevelyan's shoulder.

"Such a charming critter… Yes, Ivar Trevelyan, you do have plenty of experience, but this world is not under your control. So leave and don't interfere. Dismantle your base, remove your satellites… Let everything here move gradually, step by step, and happen in its own time."

"The word of a pioneer is sacred," Trevelyan agreed with a sigh. "I respect your opinion and will make sure it reaches my superiors, who will, in turn, bring it to the leaders of my planet. But there will likely be a need for more than one exchange of information, since you know so much about us and we know little about you. Besides, let's not forget that Osier is inhabited by our two-legged brethren. In other words, by humanoids, not…"

He broke off, and the Keeper, baring his teeth cheerfully, finished, "…not patses or monkeys, right? All right, you may keep an eye on our work by staying here as private individuals. Humanoids have a right to live with other humanoids, no one objects to that. So live on Osier, enjoy its beauty, hunt in its forests, sail its seas, drink its wines, love its women… But live the way the people of this world live, don't try to remake it, live the way your friend Hugo Tasman lives."

"Whom you've sentenced to imprisonment! Not a very diplomatic act, I should say! With great consequence for our pure and warm friendship!"

"Can one really feel oneself imprisoned if one has been given an entire world? And if your friend really, truly wanted to leave Osier, he probably would have done it."

"Despite your prophecy?" Trevelyan said insinuatingly, suddenly realizing that their talks were nearing the main issue. And that issue—which of them was stronger—was as yet unclear. After all, destructors, plasma throwers, and combat robots were child's play compared to predicting the future.

"Prophecies sometimes come true because people want to believe in them," Ahhi-Sek noted.

"I'm prepared to agree with that." A sly smile appeared on Trevelyan's lips. "I got to prophecies from you but didn't believe either of them. And here I am, sitting in front of you!"

"You didn't believe them…" his furry interlocutor drawled with obvious mockery. "As I said, sometimes people believe, and the prophecy comes true. But other times people don't believe, and it still comes true. You can't avoid fate, my friend! Recall what I predicted for you!"

Trevelyan's smile became triumphant.

"There were two options: either I leave the planet immediately, or I will end my life in a dungeon. But I didn't leave, and here I am, on your base… Neither of those things happened!"

"Are you sure about that? Are you not planning on leaving on your ship several days from now? And was that not one of the offered options?" Ahhi-Sek's grin was much wider than Trevelyan's faded smile. "You see, my dear rhapsod, 'leave immediately' is your interpretation. In fact, had you tried to leave immediately, you would have found yourself spending the rest of your life in that same dungeon. The other, far more acceptable option for events to develop is thus: you overcome certain difficulties and find me, we speak, and then you leave. Which is what's going to happen in the near future."

He got out of that one nicely! came the Commodore's silent voice. Bravo! He's a cunning devil, that one!

"Sophistry," Trevelyan said, "basic sophistry! Tricks, nonsense, bullshit! An attempt to turn the situation on its head! We two-legged ones call it putting up a good front. Does the expression make sense to you?"

"It does." Ahi-Sek was no longer grinning, and his tiny eyes under the bulging brow ridges were looking piercingly. "You two-legged ones are skilled in your craft, and we four-armed ones are skilled in ours… From this island I can sent a psychic signal to any of my assistants on the continent. Send it without any effort, right from here." He touched his forehead. "The signal will be perceived as either a worded message or a prophetic dream, and that's one side of my skill. There's another… You, Ivar Trevelyan, will leave Osier, but your life will go on, right? Would you like to see how it will end?"

He spread his furry fingers over the table, lifted the hand, and something metal, circular, and small glinted under it. A medallion! An oval with a holographic prophecy! It was lying face side down, so he couldn't see the image. Trevelyan could have sworn that the table had been empty a moment earlier.

"Turn it over if you'd like to learn your fate," the Keeper offered. "Will you die in your own bed, as your people say, or will you be killed on some alien world, buried under an avalanche or in the depths of an ocean, burned at the stake or in the fire of a volcano, crucified like one of your prophets, impaled with a spear, beheaded, mauled by a wild animal?.. You have a dangerous profession, Ivar Trevelyan, and none of these possibilities are out of the question. Where and how will you meet your death? Neither of us knows that. Yet! But as soon as I turn this over…"

That furry scarecrow is trying to scare you! the Commodore grunted, but Trevelyan knew, sensed that it wasn't the case. He wasn't being frightened, he was being warned! He suddenly realized that he wasn't facing a liar, a sly creature skilled in sophistry, but a being with the gift of foresight, which can either be normal for the four-armed race or as unique and rare as telepathy among the humans. In either case, Ahhi-Sek wasn't toying with him; he simply wanted to be believed and that, in the future, humans didn't forget that his race wasn't helpless. After all, in the end, the victor wasn't the one whose guns were bigger, but the one who knew where the shells would fall and explode.

Trevelyan glanced at the medallion and said, "We're not going to turn it. The knowledge you're offering me is far too heavy and bitter and will not bring pleasure to either of us. Let's agree that I believe you and wish to take my words back, the ones about sophistry and trickery. It's entirely possible that everything is happening exactly the way your predicted it."

Ahhi-Sek's huge lips quivered, and a cheerful glint appeared in his eyes.

"You're pleasant to deal with, Ivar Trevelyan. For a two-legged one, you're surprisingly tolerant."

"It's in my job description," Trevelyan noted modestly, bending over the strings of his lute. "Computer! The mission is over, you can come get me." He lifted his head and explained, "An aircraft is going to come here and land on the shore. It's time for me to leave, Keeper. I'm pleased by our meeting and regret that it didn't happen earlier. You and I, and the experts from our Base have spent a lot of effort and time. It was all wasted!"

Ahhi-Sek moved his hand over the table, and the medallion vanished. He shook his head in a very human way.

"Nothing is wasted, my young friend. Time passes, efforts are spent, and the hazy becomes clearer and more defined. You used to be strangers to us, and I doubt that a premature contact would have been useful. I also wanted to study you, watch you, think… You humanoids are so different!"

"Watch," Trevelyan picked up on the word, remembering that there were a few details still left unclear. "I know you were watching me. But how?"

"There are different ways. Sometimes I perceive information straight from the brain of the person I'm psychically linked to…"

"Like Orri-Shan?"

"Yes, like Orri-Shan," the Keeper confirmed, "but not just him. I collect information from the entire continent, and not only from people." He once more reached out and petted Gray. "This little critter isn't from Osier, it's from my home planet, but it has taken root here and has been breeding and multiplying for over a thousand years. A sherr, as the locals call it, is smart, can perceive the feelings of sentient beings, even some simple thoughts, and can serve as a relay." Trevelyan frowned, but Ahhi-Sek produced something that looked like a smile and said, "No, don't think of it as a traitor, that it was spying on you! It's just an animal… It really attached to you, don't sent it away, as it would very likely die of anguish without you. As for his contact with me, then I didn't know what you were thinking about, what you were feeling, only where you were. Only approximately, as a psychic signal can't be localized precisely at great distances."

He was speaking, and Trevelyan, while watching him, felt himself being taken in by the magic of the smooth resounding voice. The Keeper's face no longer looked like a frightening animal snout, the short thick fur looked like clothing, under which powerful muscles were bulging, the huge paws had become hands, and the eyes, oh, the eyes were so expressive, so calm and wise! It wasn't the Great Mentor sitting before him, not the hierarch of the Rhapsod Brotherhood, not the secret overlord of Osier, but an envoy from the stars like him. And there wasn't anything for them to divvy up and nothing to argue about.

Trevelyan rose, proffered his hand, and felt a firm friendly handshake. Ahhi-Sek's hand felt hot, so his body temperature was probably higher than that of a human.

"I know this human custom of yours," he said. "An open hand means that there's no weapon in it… Right?"

"Right," Trevelyan confirmed and handed him his lute. "Here, take this. There's a transmitter inside, if you like, you can contact the Base computer, send a signal, and request any information. Also…" He touched the strings, and the lute replied with a quiet chord. "Also it holds songs, all the songs of Osier and Earth. Too bad I'm in a hurry, or I'd sing them to you myself."

"May your journey be an easy one, Ivar Trevelyan. You two-legged ones are always in a hurry," the Keeper said, stretching out his huge mouth. It seemed to indicate a good-natured grin.

The skimmer landed by the bay and again lifted off with Trevelyan, his invisible Adviser, and a gray furry critter. Obeying an order, the aircraft circled up above, and the island could be clearly seen on its screens: yellow sand, green palms, and a dark figure under the trees with its head thrown back and inhumanly long arms. One of them rose, drew a circle in the air, then touched his chest. It seemed that Ahhi-Sek's heart was also on his left side.

"Goodbye, Keeper," Trevelyan said quietly, then called the Base computer.

"I'm listening, Observer Trevelyan."

"There's another human on this planet. Are you aware of that?"

"Affirmative. Hugo Tasman, Foundation employee, linguist and doctor of experimental history. But he hasn't made contact. Not a single call in about fifty local years."

"Try to reach him anyway. Tell him Ivar wants to talk."

A minute passed, another, and another… The skimmer was gaining altitude over the island in a spiral. When the sky darkened and the stars appeared in it, Trevelyan heard, "Ivar, is that you? It's Hugo. Are there any news?"

"Oh yeah. My work is over, and I'm returning to the Base, and the Pilgrim will arrive in a few days." After a pause, he added, "Well, what do you think about that, Hugo?"

There was silence. Piercing through the atmosphere, the skimmer was following a large arc that hovered over half of the planet, from the Western Ocean to the Eastern.

Tasman coughed.

"No, Ivar, no. You go alone. I… You see, you can't live for half a century without any attachments, obligations, friends, loved ones… I can't leave them, and I don't want to." He sighed. "I think I'm more Osieran now than human, Ivar. Someday I'm going to die, and they will sing funeral hymns over me, burn my body in a pyre, and throw the ashes into a river so that they reach the Rim… It's how it has to be. I'm staying."

"Long life to you, Hugo. I hope you don't go to the Rim any time soon."

"I wish you the same. Maybe we'll see each other again."

"Maybe."

Tasman cut the connection.

"The Keeper was right," Trevelyan said. "If he really wanted to leave Osier, he would have done that. But it's so calm here, and our world is so fussy!"

The Near Star was glowing over the skimmer, its emerald rays were stinging the eyes. Trevelyan squinted, peering into the darkness, filled with bright colorful sparks, as if expecting the Pilgrim to appear among them, surfacing from the timelessness of Limbo like a silver fish. But that couldn't happen, of course; the universe had its own laws, and the movement of star liners, even those for whom any road was short, had to conform to them. He'd have to wait, spend a few days at the Base… But that was fine, it would give him time to write his report! It wouldn't be a simple document… no one in the Foundation, or even on all of Earth, could have expected the mission to turn out this way… Humans hadn't previously encountered any sentient four-armed primates among the forty-two races known to humans. Especially ones so wise and patient…

The skimmer was speeding over the enormous continent, and somewhere below cities and countries were passing at an incredible rate, mountains, river, forests, and fields were blinking past. Udzeni, Sho-Ing, Tilim, Sotara, the Ringed Ridge and the Seven Provinces by the Tresh Sea… Lulled by the silence and the even glow of the stars, Trevelyan nodded off. He rarely saw dreams, but this time he saw a hot air balloon flying over a blue ocean, and in its basket sat Magister Kadmiamun and Chief Lacassa; they were floating high above and examining the shores of the unknown western continent through a spyglass, which they kept giving to one another. The dream filled him with joy, and Trevelyan, an unseen witness to their triumph, said wordlessly, "I share your breath." And in reply he heard, "May you be happy, envoy from the heavens! Your blood is our blood."

Four-armed beings were prudent and patient. Two-legged beings were brave and stubborn. Which was of them was right?