I could have given exactly those orders. But I paid no attention.

  What am I paying no attention to now?

  Even as he was forming this question, he noticed that there was a second page to this minimal report. Since the first page had only three lines of text, and there was no reference to further material, Dabeet might have looked at this report a dozen times without noticing the existence of another page.

  He flipped to that page. It was full. Not of the data the investigator had been assigned to look for, but rather a complete description of what he had not found.

  You were better than I was, Dabeet said silently to this unknown investigator. Without orders, you documented all the gaps in all the surveillance systems.

  We couldn’t track when the deletions took place, but this investigator had tracked all the times and places that had been blanked out of the record.

  It was a kind of path. The start and end times of the deletions were identical, rounded to the exact half-hour on the start time, and to a sequence of end times that moved forward minute by minute until the last one, completed just seconds before Ken staggered out of his office.

  And now we know when the deletions took place. Ken couldn’t delete surveillance footage that didn’t yet exist. So every deletion had been marked from the same start time until “now”—the exact moment Ken performed the deletion.

  He could have grouped all the deletions into a single operation, so they would all have the same end time. Why didn’t Ken—obviously, because he didn’t know when he would die. He didn’t know if he could finish the deletions. If he started marking all the deletions in a group, but died before he finished, then none of the deletions would have taken place, and he would have been found with the group definition still on the screen. The files would exist, and Ken’s actions would have called particular attention to the very surveillance records he wanted to eliminate.

  So Ken had deleted them one at a time.

  Most important ones first. That’s how he would have done it. So which was the oldest deletion?

  The corridor outside Labs 3 and 4. Then the catalog room in the ALR. Then the entrance foyer. Then . . .

  Obviously, Ken had erased his trail from Lab 3.

  The last two deletions were unrelated to the path between Lab 3 and Ken’s office. Dabeet spent a while wondering what possible connection they had to anything else that Ken was doing, but then it occurred to him that Ken probably realized that his deletions also marked his path, so he was going on to delete other surveillance zones as red herrings. But then the pain got so bad, he was so close to death, that he gave up. He had done all that was possible. He blanked his computer, staggered out of his office, and then—was he trying to get help? No. He could have gotten help much faster by calling someone from his office. He just wanted his body to be found.

  He wanted his body to be found because he wanted the toxins to be found, before they broke down. He wasn’t trying to hide the manner of his death—just the manner of his acquisition of the venom that killed him.

  It was time to find out what was in Lab 3.

  The answer was simple.

  Nothing.

  The samples of alien life had been scanned in every way possible, with the data uploaded to many offworld sites. Scientists and students all over the Hundred Worlds were studying them, printing 3D and 2D models, analyzing the chemistry, and then writing detailed reports. And as each sample was scanned and uploaded, the physical sample was incinerated, unless it was flagged for another option, like “release into wild”—that was only for living samples—or “return to natural environment.”

  Dabeet saw that most samples had been tagged for return to natural environment. In other words, they were taken outside the compound and buried. Early on, some living samples were released into the wild—including a couple of scanned and recorded llops. Dabeet tried to imagine how that was handled, back in the earliest days of the E.S. survey. How did they know, before scanning, what tranquilizers, and in what doses, would be appropriate for the llop? And how did they get the other llops to let them take the tranquilized llops?

  Dabeet would have to look that up sometime. The fact remained that the llops were returned to the wild, presumably no worse for wear.

  What had this experience meant to the llop—the fact that humans had kidnapped a couple of them, taken them away, and then returned them? What sense had they made of this?

  Maybe they learned the only lesson that mattered: Humans can immobilize you whenever they want, but they don’t kill if you don’t force them to.

  Dabeet doubted that the earlier pirate colony had been so tender-hearted. They didn’t have the equipment anyway. Maybe the first lesson the llops learned was the bloody one: don’t fight the humans. You can tear human bodies to pieces, but only if you get close enough, which you never will. Dabeet thought back to his orientation as he approached Catalunya. Yes, the pirates had even called it The War of Dogs.

  The Catalan settlers had found their own names for everything. “Llop” just meant “lobo”—wolf. But the pirates would never have called the llops “wolf,” because among the names that their victims used for pirates were wolves, blood wolves, and void wolves. No doubt the pirates took pride in these vulpine names, so they couldn’t call their only enemy in their new colony by the same name. If the pirates were wolves, then these alien bone-splitters had to be called dogs.

  So by the time the E.S. arrived, the llops must have learned to regard human beings as bitter enemies—if not as prey. This meant that tranquilizing, studying, and returning llop specimens might have signaled a new relationship with humans. This group of humans isn’t interested in killing you.

  And that’s why Andrew Wiggin could be sitting out there among the llop, unmolested. So far. It’s why Ken Argon was able to live with the llop for days at a time, and, on two occasions, for several weeks at a stretch.

  Lab 3. Lab 3 was empty. All the remaining samples had been preserved using various methods, and were kept in Lab 2, the largest of the labs, where most of them were kept in refrigerated cases. Lab 1 was used for ongoing research, of which there was very little—only one full-time xenologist and a couple of techs remained at this installation to study any new samples that might pop up in the course of planetary exploration. Lab 3 was used for nothing.

  Was it possible that Lab 3 would still yield information about what Ken had been doing there?

  Dabeet almost got up and went directly to Lab 3 to satisfy his curiosity. But no, that would be a mistake. In all likelihood, whatever killed Ken Argon had been inside Lab 3. Perhaps someone had set a trap. Perhaps an alien sample released a toxin, or had toxins embedded in its surface, or on spines. Perhaps something had been put into the air.

  Surely someone was cleaning the lab regularly. It must be on the schedule, and if it wasn’t safe, we’d have a high attrition rate among the custodial staff.

  Except that the lab was listed as closed. Which meant that the door was locked, the space was not heated or cooled, and nobody ever went inside to clean.

  No, that’s what was supposed to happen to a closed lab. But a quick check revealed that not only was Lab 3 still connected to atmospherics and given a stable temperature, but it also had water connections that showed a steady slow use of water.

  Yes, Dabeet needed to go there, but not alone, because whatever Ken had been doing in there might still be going on. He would need witnesses, in case entering Lab 3 killed him.

  And, perhaps most important, he knew he had to play fair with Andrew and Valentine. They would share what they had learned today, all three of them, and then make a plan of action. They would do this together. If there was one thing Dabeet had learned in Fleet School, it was the fact that smart people worked together and pooled their resources—including their knowledge.

  They could talk during supper.

  * * *

  To Dabeet’s surprise, they didn’t seem all that eager to talk about anything substantive. Valentine spent a while telling Andrew about how Tarragonan fashions were a kind of living archaeology, the styles of the previous century still being sold to customers for current use. And Andrew answered with his llopological observations—how they were like many baboons in that their social hierarchy was entirely maintained among the females, while the males remained in many ways like useful children, sent out to bring home meat, but otherwise just tolerated until they went away.

  How fascinating, Dabeet wanted to say. But he knew that despite Valentine’s comedy monologue and Andrew’s amateur naturalist disquisition, they would be alert to any hint of mockery from Dabeet. If Dabeet ended up making a difficult or controversial decision about Catalunya, he could use the full support of two people with the kind of security clearances these two had. Somebody took them very, very seriously at the highest levels of government—probably above the level of anybody in the entire E.S. So if they backed him, this adventure might not ruin his career.

  Sourly he thought, I’m the careerist now that I always used to despise. But it’s not about ambition. I already have the job I want—troubleshooting the trickiest problems facing the Exploratory Service on the newest or most exotic worlds. If they took that away from me because they lost trust in my judgment after Catalunya and Ken Argon, then what would the rest of my life even mean? Yes, maybe I could find some woman who imagined she could put up with me, and we could raise a passel of children, while I figured out how to be the thing I never had—a father. That would be an exotic new world to explore.

  “We lost him,” said Andrew.

  “No we didn’t,” said Valentine. “He’s awake.”

  “But not listening to us,” said Andrew.

  “I am,” said Dabeet, “but I’m not remotely interested in anything you’re saying, because I need your help, and you’re withholding it by talking about . . . about—”

  “About the things that are a pleasure to talk about while eating,” said Valentine. “Serious conversations can give you indigestion. You’re older than we are now, surely you’ve discovered this.”

  “I have indigestion from not talking about anything,” said Dabeet. “I’m glad you find the provincials interesting. I’m glad you find similarities between hierarchical behavior among baboons and llops. I rejoice at your ability to amuse yourself in this sad little lump of a city, on this overstudied and underutilized planet.”

  “Well,” said Valentine, “it looks like somebody wanted a meeting instead of a meal.”

  “What do you want to know?” asked Andrew.

  “Since all outward appearances suggest you accomplished nothing—” Dabeet began.

  “Well, we weren’t trying to accomplish anything yet,” said Valentine. “I was just trying to discover how murderous the people are. If they killed one administrator, they might kill another. So for what it’s worth, they don’t hate you, Dabeet. They also didn’t really hate Ken Argon. They feared what he would do and they thought he was crazy, but he was a likable guy. No, I didn’t meet any murderers, and I didn’t meet anybody who was trying to cover up for a particular murderer. But I did find quite a few people who believed that someone in Tarragona murdered Kenneth Argon, and therefore they were apprehensive about what a speaker for the dead would uncover. They’ve never actually seen a speaking, but they’ve read about some of the more outlandish ones, including a couple of Andrew’s, though they didn’t know that. They’re afraid that Andrew’s speaking will reveal something that leads you, Dabeet, to evacuate the colony.”

  “Do they really love their lives here so much?” asked Andrew.

  “It’s the only world any of them have known. Their grandparents and great grandparents came from other worlds—mostly from Earth, in fact—but it’s all just stories to the people now. This is home, and they’re afraid to leave it. Especially because that crazy dangerous animal somehow might qualify in some idiot’s mind as ‘intelligent.’”

  “Smart as can be,” said Andrew. “But the question isn’t about ‘intelligence.’”

  Dabeet laughed grimly. “What is your definition of ‘intelligent.’ Or ‘sentient.’”

  “Oh, we don’t have to have one,” said Andrew, smiling. “That’s your decision.”

  Dabeet grimaced. “The E.S. has about six different definitions, all of them mutually contradictory and most of them self-contradicting.”

  “Yet somehow the E.S. makes decisions about the presence or absence of sentient species on every world we’ve settled,” said Valentine.

  “Because we’ve never found any,” said Dabeet.

  “Are you hinting that there might be a bias against declaring another species sentient?” asked Valentine.

  “Of course there is,” said Dabeet. “We’re in the colonization business now. I was openly told before I came here that my job was to clear things up well enough to give Tarragona continuing status. Which means I’m supposed to find that no matter how clever the llop are, they are not as smart as H. sapiens and his friends.”

  “Well then,” said Andrew. “What did you call for us for?”

  “Officially, to help resolve Ken Argon’s cause of death.”

  “Come on,” said Valentine. “You have the chemical formulae of several different toxins found in his body.”

  Dabeet rolled his eyes.

  “He can still roll his eyes,” said Andrew. “He’s not completely a grownup yet.”

  “Dabeet Ochoa,” said Valentine, “what I have found out is this: the people of Tarragona had nothing to do with the death of Ken Argon, but they fear that someone among them might have done it, and because of that, they’re circling the wagons to protect each other from the evil bureaucrats who will never, never understand them and their lives. I’m also reasonably sure that this is what you already believed.”

  Dabeet nodded. “I’m glad to know we’ve reached the same conclusion.”

  Valentine turned to her brother. “Andrew, what did you learn from the llop?”

  “They once knew how to do things they no longer know how to do,” said Andrew. “But they remember that they did them. They remember being smarter and more capable than they are.”

  Dabeet raised his eyebrows.

  “You’re such a relentless interrogator,” said Andrew. “But you’ve broken me down, I’ll tell you what I think. I think that the llop once knew how to speak.”

  Dabeet could not hear this in silence. “How can you tell that a creature once knew how to talk?”

  “By the way they listen. The females, not the males. And only the older ones. They attend to my speech and I think they understand me, even though I was speaking Common instead of Catalá.”

  “Ken would have spoken Common,” said Dabeet.

  “So would the pirates,” said Andrew. “But let’s stay with Ken. Let’s say he was the only human whose speech they learned. I watched as much footage as you had on my way in, and I have to say, whenever Ken was with the llop, he never stopped talking. This was not a case of sentimentalizing or anthropomorphizing the alien smash-beast. It looked to me as if Ken were carrying on sustained conversations, so I did the same.”

  “You mean they answered you?”

  “They never answered Ken, either,” said Andrew. “It’s not about getting answered, it’s about being understood. I asked them all kinds of questions and strung out all kinds of stories. They listened with some attention—the adult females, I mean, because the males and children grew bored quickly enough and left us alone.”

  “They never showed threat to you?”

  “Let me tell it in order, please,” said Andrew, smiling. “I saw that they understood complex narratives, and, like you, they sometimes disbelieved me.”

  “How did they show comprehension?” asked Dabeet.

  “They didn’t blink once for yes and twice for no, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m not offering you scientifically verifiable information, Dabeet. I’m offering you my perceptions and conclusions.”

  “Sorry,” said Dabeet. “That’s what I need from you.”

  “We’re missing something huge, still,” said Andrew. “About Ken, about the llop, and mostly about what Ken thought he had discovered about the llop. If he believed they were sentient, or had the potential to be sentient—that’s the standard, isn’t it?”

  Dabeet nodded.

  “If he declared them sentient, then the question of continuing status is moot. But think. He worked with them for years and certainly knew everything that I learned about them plus a lot more. Yet he never made a finding of sentience, did he?”

  Dabeet could only agree.

  “So even if he went native to some degree, he didn’t go so far as to impair his ability to assess intelligence. He did not think the llop, as they presently are, make very good candidates for the first sentient species since the Formics.”

  “As they presently are,” Dabeet prompted him.

  “I think that what Ken couldn’t get over were those tantalizing letters from some of the pirate colonists. That the dogs told them things. Where to find game. Where to plant crops. Just a couple of things, and by ‘told’ they might have meant ‘showed.’”

  “Or, as the consensus had it, must have meant ‘showed,’” said Dabeet.

  “What did Ken Argon believe?” asked Andrew. “I think it was those pirate-colony letters that made it so he couldn’t leave the llop alone, had to find out what those letters meant. But generally speaking, the llop neither tell us nor show us anything. They behave like a troop of hyenas or a pack of wolves—the constantly shifting game of king of the hill that the males play, and the quiet leadership of the females as they forage, feed the pups, and carefully observe whatever human has come along to bother them.”

  Valentine chuckled. “You observe them for one day, Andrew, and you’re already annoying them? They are sentient.”

  Dabeet didn’t appreciate the humor, mostly because hearing the sentence “they are sentient” gave him a shiver of excitement. Even though his assignment here was to certify continuing status for the colony of Tarragona as soon as possible, he was like everyone else in the E.S. He wanted to find a sentient species, especially a non-technological one that couldn’t come to Earth and attempt to destroy the human race.