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Corley—and a whole lot of luck. Could she do it? All by herself? She pushed the answer away.
    The surroundings changed as human-style shanties gave way to the clean, carefully groomed streets typical of Zid Town. They were crime-free, thanks to the fact that those who lived there had nothing to steal, and fairly well populated. Morning prayers had been over for an hour now, and communal work was underway. Some swept, some searched for errant bits of litter, and others slapped coats of white paint onto already pristine walls. Most wore black body stockings, white ankle-length overrobes, and sturdy boots.
    Mary could see why so many humans were attracted to Zid culture and religion. Both promised a simple, well-ordered life. Not to mention the fact that there had always been those who feared technology, or were suspicious of it, even among the starfaring colonists.
    In spite of the name "Zid Town," most of the locals were human, serving their time as "shepherds" until proclaimed "ready in the eyes of the Lord," when they would join hundreds of fellow converts for the long march over the mountains and into the "holy lands."
    One of the workers, a woman with a round face and luminous eyes, saw Mary and hurried over. The greeting of strangers, especially those who joined the flock, was an important part of God's work. "The Lord loves you ... how may I help?"
    Mary had been through the drill many times before, and knew that patient determination was the key to success. "Thank you ... but no. I'm here to visit Sister Kora."
    The woman looked doubtful. The Zid hierarchy frowned on random fraternization. Contacts, if any, require authorization. "Does the Sister expect you?"
    "Yes," Mary lied, "but thanks for asking."
    Mary assumed an air of confidence she didn't feel and marched down the street. She could feel the eyes on her back and was determined to ignore them.
    Mary ignored the converts, took a right, and headed for Sister Kora's dome. The roboticist had no concept of how the Zid ranked within her culture, or how she felt about Mary's occasional visits.
    The connection, tenuous at best, had been established more than a year before, when Mary had seen a gang of street toughs knock Kora down and had rushed to her rescue. Not because she harbored any particular affection for the aliens, but because it was the right thing to do.
    Kora was shaken, and bleeding from a cut, so it was natural to escort her home, and once there, to perform first aid. One thing led to another, and through a combination of trade talk and sign language the two females managed to communicate. Subsequent visits had strengthened the bond—and Kora had agreed to seek information about Corley's whereabouts. Mary wondered if the Zid wanted to help or to make a convert. There was no way to tell.
    Mary felt her pulse quicken as she approached the hut. What if Kora had news? The very possibility brought a lump to her throat. Or what if she didn't? She had experienced such disappointment many times before, and knew it would leave her depressed.
    Mary didn't know how Kora detected her arrival, but supposed it had something to do with the hundreds of wrist-sized holes that dotted the hut's surface. Open when the occasion demanded, they functioned as windows, skylights, and vents. Wood plugs, all sawed from the same diameter log, served as corks. Many were hand-carved, decorated with quasireligious scenes, and handed down through the maternal line.
    The entrance to the hut was protected by a patchwork quilt of hand-tanned leather. A six-foot-long slit ran down the center of the cover and could be sealed from within. Once reserved for deepest winters, these barriers now served year round. A booted foot appeared, quickly followed by a thickly muscled leg, and Kora herself.
    The female's skull was radically different from its human counterpart, a fact that had given rise to derogatory names such as "T's" or "clam heads."
    Both names stemmed from the fact that the