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    Abandon home, all ye who have grown here!
    No place to sink our roots!
    No place at all!
    We roam through airless voids!
    Again to dream of other worlds, other voices? Can we dream of other land?
    Dream a voice. Dream a voice. A sound of light .
    There is no voice. Only the grunting sounds of eaters .
    Too bold. Too bold. There are no roots in space .
    So very very bold .
    Neither is there soil in which to nurture a tomorrow .
    Can we no longer sense new scents upon the solar wind? Have our branches grown so stiff?
    There are no voices .
    And even so, is there not a hint of wonder. Can such things be possible?
    There is always room for wonder .
    Can there be a voice of light within the dreams? A ray of sun in which to grow?
    The dreams have all been fouled .
    Can we afford to send our seedlings into space to seek these other voices?
    Can the grove afford to risk the danger?
    And even as the dream comes down, can we not afford to take the chance?
    That is the root of the question .
    The root. The solid root .
    Can we not afford to take the chance?
    We must . . . negotiate .
    We must .
    My roots are cold .

An Offer of Employment
    The Ambassador cleared his throat for attention and the room fell abruptly silent. Yake was suddenly very conscious just how old the Old Man really looked. Maybe it wasn’t all performance. He felt embarrassed at the thought, as if he’d penetrated some private part of the Old Man’s self.
    But the then the Ambassador spoke, and his voice was as strong and commanding as ever—and all thoughts of the man’s fragility fell completely out of Yake’s consciousness.
    â€œAll right,” The Ambassador was saying. “We’ve begun receiving some responses to our, ah . . . inquiries about the possibilities of humanity’s service to the InterChange. I won’t comment on the ones that I’ve seen. I think that the, ah . . . acceptability of these will be self-evident. Nori?”
    Kasahara opened the folder in front of him and began reading slowly. “Yes, sir.” Kasahara looked around the table. His usual good-natured smile was missing as he turned to the first of the papers in his folder. “I’ll read these in the order received. The Nixies of Nn have offered a six percent premium for human service as larval incubators. We have to guarantee a minimum of five hundred thousand non-refundable individuals per mating cycle. Seven point one percent if we maintain a breeding station on-site. No colonial rights are implied. Severe penalties for failure to meet quota. Although the Nixies say they’re planning to colonize several new worlds, Intelligence suspects that they are actually increasing their breeding in preparation for a war to be held not less than seven years from now, probably thirteen.”
    Kasahara did not wait for any reactions to that. He turned the page and immediately began reading the next. “The Dragons are willing to purchase—that’s a flat-out purchase; we can apply the credits any way we choose—one to three million non-refundable individuals per year. Two credits per body, plus fifteen percent allowance for shipping. Live bodies only. This is a no-explanations, take-it-or-leave-it deal. The offer is a standing one, always open, but the terms are non-negotiable. The Dragons guarantee nothing but immediate payment.”
    â€œAnalysis?” asked the Ambassador.
    Kasahara held up a single flimsy. “Intelligence reports that the Dragons prefer to eat their prey live.”
    Someone at the far end of the table gasped. Yake resisted the temptation to look around; he kept his face impassive. He had a hunch it was going to get worse. Much worse.
    The Ambassador ignored the exclamation. “Go on, Nori.”
    â€œUm, yes—” Kasahara turned to the next document. “Um, there’s an inquiry here from a race of . . . I guess you could call them intelligent plants. Apparently, they’re having