By this time I was past caring about how scared I was.

I said, "I suppose, Star Lords, you will as usual not bother to explain what you mean."

No answering laugh, a bubbling chuckle, hung on the scented air.  I had thought that perhaps the Star Lords retained still some elements of a human sense of humor.  But the feeling of coldness drove out laughter.

"We do not need to explain, Dray Prescot.  It Is not a case of bothering."

Well now...!

"Why do I have little time?  Do you intend to send me..."  My voice trailed.  I did not want even to put into words the thought that I might be dispatched back to Earth.

The voice, in my ears and in my head, said, "We do not have a task for you to perform at the moment.  We summoned you here to acquaint you with our desires for the future.  Also, Dray Prescot, we wish you to know that we are well pleased that you have driven back the Shanks."

There was so much astonishing information in those few words, I sat back in the chair.  The straps confining my arms had fallen away, and I had not noticed.

"You -" I said.  Then: "You are thanking me?"

By Zair!

The Everoinye, omnipotent superhuman overlords, descending - condescending - to give a mere mortal human being a word of thanks!

Astonishing!

The Shanks, who by a variety of names were bad news, came raiding up over the curve of the world from their unknown homelands.  They festered along the coasts of Paz.  And they had tried to invade and settle, and we had beaten them and driven them back in the Battle of the Incendiary Vosks.

The voice whispered, "Yes, Dray Prescot.  You beat the Shanks.  But the Fishheads are not finished."

"That I know only too well."

"We thank you - and your astonishment offends us.  Much has happened since you were first brought to Kregen by the Savanti.  We are pleased that we discovered you and took you into our service.  You have performed well.  But if you think that your days of toil are numbered -"

"No, Everoinye," I said.  And I let rip a gusty sigh.  "I know I am a fool, an onker of onkers, but I'm not onker enough to believe that."

"We do not dispute your self-judgment that you are an onker."

I just let that ride by.  At least, it did show that the Everoinye might still have a shaky grasp on a shoddy sense of humour.

"We said we were pleased you beat the Shanks.  We did not thank you."

So that was one in the eye for me.  I had presumed, and had presumed wrong.

"But we do thank you, as you pointed out by your astonishment.  We are offended at ourselves, that we have fallen away from a humanity of which once we were proud."

"Once?"

The voice sharpened.

"We will not say - 'still.'  We are no longer human."

"You can say that again."

"We are not, Dray Prescot, less than human.  We are super-human."

Some note, some timbre, something, made me say, "You poor devils."

For a time, then, there remained silence between us.

At last the voice whispered: "Look at the -"

The word used meant nothing.

"Look," said the voice, and there was strained patience in its tones.  "Look at the pictures on the wall.  The right-hand picture."

I looked.