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technology without aping the methods and paraphernalia of Interstel. Now we have orbiters of our own, if not light-trippers, and we did it by techniques and designs of Kieri origin.”
    Lady Turshebsel ignored the Point Marcher’s chauvinistic outburst. “But what do you know about the gosfi themselves, the people of Trope?” she asked Seth.
    “Their eyes—”
    “Yes?”
    “Their eyes are strange. But they are shaped in their bodies just as you and I are shaped.”
    “That’s what we suppose,” Lady Turshebsel conceded. “But Master Günter told me that Interstel recently induced the greatest Tropish nation to become a provisional signatory of its charter. By your own official classification system, then, the Tropiards are jauddebseb. ”
    By this word, Seth realized, Turshebsel meant “humanlike” or “humanoid”—but the silver-eyed priest made disapproving wheezing noises at her mentions of both Latimer and the Tropiards, and it was clear that in his view only Kieri were without question jauddebseb.
    Lady Turshebsel continued her argument: “Knowing these things to be true, and knowing that we on Gla Taus have been in contact for some months with the Magistrate of Trope by means of the communication system aboard the Dharmakaya, would you regard the Tropiards as quaz if you had to deal with them?”
    “No, Lady.”
    “You’d deal with them”—the Liege Mistress surprised Seth by saying her next three words in Langlish—“ human to human ?”
    “Yes, Lady,” he said, disguising his astonishment. Latimer must have taught her a great deal before his murder.
    “Good. Because at this moment, Master Seth, I appoint you my personal envoy to the Magistrate of Trope. His name is Ulgraji Vrai, and his nation is called by the name of his world.”
    “But what am I to do?” Seth craned his neck to look at Abel. There arose within him a panic occasioned by his own inadequacy.
    “As you’re told,” Abel said curtly.
    “Lord Pors,” said Lady Turshebsel, “while Master Seth soaks in the waters, please detail his mission to Trope. Leave out nothing, but be succinct.”
    Pors stalked about the laulset’s pool, his thongs crepitating rudely, and in fifteen minutes he outlined the economic basis of the Kieri plan and the nature of the protracted cultural conflict on Trope that seemed to make his strategy feasible: nothing but benefits for all concerned. But as Pors spoke, Seth glanced often into the ceramic glare nimbusing the white-robed priest.
    Clearly, Lady Turshebsel’s plan had grown out of priestly resistance to her trade agreement with Ommundi Company. The aisautseb wanted no one to exploit the very real resources of the Evashsteddan, but to acquire the basics of an interstellar technology Kieri scientists and industrialists were even now venturing into the Obsidian Wastes from Old Ilvaudset, the first such explorers in several centuries. They were looking for rare ores, insulating materials, natural conductors, and any other serendipitous loot the Wastes might contain. The aisautseb did not object to this expansion because it was northward, but because the Wastes could support neither crops nor livestock, the Liege Mistress was counting on Ommundi Company to establish food-producing strongholds in the islands of the Evashsteddan and a reliable supply line to Kier and the pioneers pushing poleward in the Ilvaudsettan. That hope had died with Günter Latimer. This stratagem involving
Trope—which Pors was now explaining—was a contingency plan, and its chief virtue seemed to be that it was acceptable, if only barely, to the aisautseb.
    “What do you think?” Lady Turshebsel asked when Pors had finished.
    “I don’t like it much, Lady,” Seth replied.
    “Why?”
    “It works hardships on us all, even if Gla Taus and Trope do ultimately stand to benefit.”
    “The Latimer isohets also benefit,” Lady Turshebsel said. “If you succeed, Master Seth, you return to your home world. If you