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Long, sinewy arms were for going over higher, rougher impediments, perhaps by swinging through vegetation. If he had the time and the inclination once he had fulfilled his purpose here, he decided, it would be interesting to spend a few days out in the backcountry closely observing the Tlel in their natural habitat. But not too closely. The malodorous body odor that emanated from them was more than merely conspicuous.
    Taking into consideration different senses and what they revealed about others, he found himself wondering what
his
personal electrical field “smelled” like to a being capable of detecting it. As someone who possessed a unique sense of his own in the form of the ability to perceive the emotions of others, he felt a sudden kinship with the Tlel who were at once blessed by the possession of such an inimitable facility while being cursed by the absence of a much more common one. When humans among them spoke of how things smelled, of odors and aromas and scents and stinks, how could the olfactory-deprived Tlel possibly respond other than with bewilderment?
    Unlike some corresponding facilities of municipal importance on more developed worlds such as recently visited Visaria, there were no guards at the entrance. Security was not entirely absent, however: only more unobtrusive. He knew this because a Tlel armed with both a humanx-manufactured sidearm and a traditional slim, conical knife approached as he entered and addressed him in the guttural wheeze of the dominant dialect. As Flinx fiddled with his translator, he reflected on the strangeness of meeting the gaze of a creature that had no eyes in the familiar sense: only a lens-like arc of photosensitive organosilicate material. The disc-shaped head was tilted back on the short neck, staring up at him. He had a brief, unconscionable urge to wonder if it would spin if he slapped it sideways.
    The wide mouth beneath the eyeband parted, and the grumbling challenge was repeated. While the gripping cilia at the ends of both arms splayed outward to help balance the stocky body, the tendrils beneath the chin area flexed in a fashion that could only be called impatient.
    “Just a minute—I’m getting it. Takes a moment for the presets to adapt to actual auditory input. There!” Speaking into the translator’s pickup, Flinx heard his own words transcribed into the aural gargle of pharyngeal and epiglottal consonants and hard vowels that passed for Tlelian speech.
    It transpired that the sentinel’s concern was not with the human visitor but with his much smaller, slimmer, and largely concealed companion. Noting how thoroughly the motionless Pip was buried beneath his jacket, Flinx found himself wondering how the Tlel had divined the flying snake’s presence. Peering past the sentry, he could not see any kind of obvious detection gear. That did not mean it was not present, he reminded himself; perhaps it was camouflaged as a reading device, a bit of décor, or the floor itself.
    He hastened to explain that Pip was his close companion, that she was under his complete control, and that she posed no threat to anyone. This confessional was at least half true. He did not outright lie and say that she was harmless. His swift explanation and genuine openness apparently sufficient to satisfy the sentinel and any unseen colleagues, the Tlel turned away, rumbling by way of parting something perfunctory that Flinx’s translator did not catch.
    As expected, the public terminals available for accessing the Gestalt Shell were located on the ground floor. Out of more than two dozen, only one was in use. That was not surprising. Though a sufficiency of such free terminals was mandated on every civilized world, most citizens preferred to use their personal communits to communicate, range their local Shell, and gather information.
    Always wary of standing out or drawing attention to himself, he settled into an empty booth at the far end of those that were not in use. A standard