Part 25 (1/2)

That seemed to make sense. Why would three children come alone to the West Pole? The monster had to know it was important the moment they showed themselves.

”Hold something white aloft as you approach,” Lysander said. ”The Hectare will know the human parley convention.”

”Something white,” Nepe said, casting about and finding nothing.

”I have a slip Tsetse gave me,” Echo said. She lifted her skirt, took hold of the undergarment, and pulled it quickly down. It was suitably white.

”Thank you,” Nepe said. ”I hope I can return it.”

”That means nothing,1' Echo said. ”You and I will be on the same side either way.”

That was true. Nepe nerved herself. ”We must do it now; we do not know how long the game will take.”

Sirel and Alien stepped forward, retaining human form. Nepe suddenly realized that they made a nice couple, this way; it wasn't evident that they were actually wolf and bat-or, in their Proton ident.i.ties, robot and human being. Stranger liaisons had occurred; how well she knew!

Nepe took the slip and held it aloft. She walked around the tree and toward the Pole. Sirel and Alien fell into step behind her. The others neither spoke nor moved.

Soon they came into sight of the Hectare. Nepe had seen the creatures before, but this time she felt a special chill, because she knew she was going to have to brace this one directly, and that her freedom and planet were on the line. She had no certainty of winning the game; indeed, she didn't know what game it would be. Suppose they couldn't agree on one? Then the Hectare might simply capture the three, and it would be over.

The Hectare gave no sign. It stood there as they approached, unmoving. But the fact that it had not fired on them was a positive sign.

At last the three stood before the monster. The Hectare, indistinguishable from any other of its kind, loomed above the three children. Its eye facets were greenish, as were its central ma.s.s of tentacles, but its lower portion was brownish. It seemed to have no front and no back; it was a bit like a giant toadstool. She understood that the Hectare breathed the air, but this was not apparent; probably they pa.s.sed it continuously through hidden gills.

”We come to parley,” Nepe said. ”Do you understand?”

A single tentacle extended, and its end turned up.

”Do you recognize us?” she asked.

Three tentacles extended. The one pointing to Nepe turned up; the ones pointing to the other two turned down.

”Then we shall introduce ourselves,” Nepe said. ”I am Nepe. whom you are seeking. The boy is Alien, a vampire bat. The girl is Sirel, a wereb.i.t.c.h. Both are my friends of long standing.”

The tentacle toward Alien made a turning motion. Alien nodded, then a.s.sumed his bat form, hovering in place. In a moment he resumed boy form.

The tentacle toward Sirel gestured. She became the young wolf, then reverted.

Now all three tentacles turned up. The Hectare knew them as well as it cared to.

”We must go to the West Pole,” Nepe said. ”You must let us do this.”

The Hectare neither budged nor signaled-which was answer enough.

”I will play a game with you,” Nepe said. ”If I win, you will let the three of us do what we wish, and will not report our presence here. If you win, we shall join the Hectare and loyally serve your side against our own culture. We prefer not to lose our hands, but we shall be in your power for whatever you decide-if I lose.” And there it was: her offer of betrayal, which she would honor if she had to. The notion appalled her, but she believed Lysander: if she did not honestly put her loyalty on the line, she could not expect the Hectare to agree to let them pa.s.s, for its loyalty was also on the line. They were wagering for betrayal.

The Hectare did not even pause. The tentacles straightened, then turned up. It had agreed. Lysander was right, so far: they were gameoholics who could not resist an honest challenge, whatever the consequence.

”We must choose the game fairly,” Nepe said, her voice sounding controlled though she was fighting to suppress a feeling of terror. She had no commitment from the monster about the nature of the game; she should have put that in her initial statement.

But the tentacle turned up in agreement. It seemed that the thing desired a fair game.

Nepe used her foot to scuff a line in the dirt. She made a second line, and a third. ”We have no Game Computer,” she said. ”But we can place choices, and play the grid. One grid. Agreed?”

The Hectare agreed. It remained a bug-eyed monster, but its responses were so sure and just that she was coming to respect it despite her antipathy to its person and all it stood for. Actions did indeed count more than appearance!

”Is a grid of nine enough?” she asked as she made the cross lines.

Four tentacles extended. ”Four on a side?” she asked.

A downturn. ”A four-box grid?” she asked, surprised. ”Two placements by each?”

The tentacle turned up.

”Okay. That's fair. We can place our choices slantwise, and then choose our columns. Is there an even way to do that?”

The tentacle turned up again. Nepe didn't know what the Hectare had in mind, but was coming to trust it. ”I choose the game of marbles,” she said, and used her finger to write the word in one corner.

The Hectare extended a tentacle, reaching the ground readily. The tentacles looked short, but stretched. It wrote LASER MARKSMANs.h.i.+P in a box.

She would be lost if she had to compete in that! She knew how to do it, and surely the monster would lend her a weapon, but she knew that all Hectare were perfect shots with such weapons. Suddenly she doubted that her childish game of marbles was a good choice; those tentacles could probably also shoot little gla.s.s spheres with perfect accuracy.