The Sirens of Space
between all the races, by giving science
the chance to study new life forms.”
    Zatar cut her short. “We are not
talking about your cadaver proposals, G’ela,” he snapped. “We are
still talking about the border dispute. And that idea may take a
long time, in any event. The Terrans are still primitives in many
ways. According to the anthropology texts our friend Khu’ukh has provided, they still
bury their dead.... ”
    Suddenly the Crutchtan’s head snapped up, as
if stirring himself from lethargy; Zatar suddenly remembered that
their allies also buried their dead, but continued undaunted.
    “ And they and have a rather mystical
attachment to the bodies of their loved ones. I’m afraid it will be
hard for them to adopt a more practical approach to the needs of
science.
    “ Now, does anyone else— ”
    The Crutchtan learned forward, toward the
rest of the group. The light from the fire illuminated one side of
his face, giving a reddish glow to his leathery brown skin. The
slits of his pupils, which had contracted to almost nothing while
he was deep in thought, now dilated to full circles, and on either
side of his neck his gill slits, vestiges of an earlier stage of
evolution, flushed with the green of churning Crutchtan blood.
    “ You have been curious as children,”
he said, in the hissing, image-rich tones of his native language.
“You have been wondering why we of the g’Khruushtani so quickly reject the ideas of the
longnoses; why we do not jump with child-like glee at the prospect
of agreement with the strange ones from the West; why thoughts of
peace with these newcomers....”
    Zatar sighed wearily. Crutchtans kept their
own counsel longer than he found comfortable, but when they finally
did speak they tended to ramble a bit, and often took a while to
come to the point.
    “… and why we approach the ten-fingered
simians with the caution of songbirds, and not the boldness of
raptors.”
    The Veshnans leaned forward, listening
intently. Although only Munshi could speak the Crutchtan
language—and with difficulty at that—all but G’ela could understand
it.
    “ Friends of the g’Khruushtani , this is the reason.” Still seated
on the floor, the Crutchtan seemed to rise until he towered above
the smaller Veshnans nearby. But he had merely straightened his
back, as Crutchtans often did before beginning a lecture, or one of
their epic ballads. He placed his hands together in his lap. The
lights in the room flickered briefly, as the dust storm raging
outside toyed with the city’s power system. The Crutchtan continued
without a sideward glance, as if the fury of the Terran weather
were of trifling significance compared to imparting understanding
to his friends, now that he knew his own mind.
    “ When the Sheregal roamed only the
hills of home, the g’Khruushtani were like the children of Spring. We knew but of hope and
gladness, with the ocean of dreams nourishing our spirit as the
river of life nourished our fields.
    “ But the Sheregal would not remain in
the hills, though game was plentiful and flavorful fruits abundant.
Their wandering spirit watched birds soar beyond the horizon, and
they heard the call of distant hills and fertile valleys. So they
left their own river behind them, and trailed a river of death
flowing thick with blood, following the setting sun to the land of
our fathers.
    “ And I tell you, friends of the g’Khruushtani , and I tell you Truth:
the Sheregal were not done until the sea itself flowed with the
blood of innocents, and the heavens cried with the screams of
murdered children.”
    “ But surely,” said Munshi, in her
finest Crutchtan, “the Terrans are of a different world. And as
wise a race as the g’Khruushtani cannot let prejudice cloud their eyes. The resemblance is
strong, that I will grant. When the longnose males let the fur pour
from their bodies, a Terran mother could not pick the Sheregal from
among her own offspring without difficulty. But the

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