“But the trolls of Ra are very fussy about allowing any entity to depart. Once there’s a contract—”

  “They won’t let go,” she finished grimly.

  “Not readily. Others in the galaxy have some very ugly suspicions about Ra. If too many prospective miners were to be released those suspicions would be amply confirmed. Then it would be almost impossible for Ra to buy up contracts at any price whatever.”

  “So I have to take up pick and shovel?”

  “Oh, no. They are very efficient here. You would work in your specialty, caring for the miners’ teeth. Better dentures allow them to consume cruder staples and that is more economical, you see.”

  “I see. I don’t approve the motive, though.”

  “Appreciation of Ra motives is an acquired taste. In certain respects, there is more need for medical and dental assistants here than for full MD’s or DDS’s, because only short-term measures are economical. The radiation, you know. And you would still be exposed to that.”

  She nodded. Had she really thought her prospects back on Earth were bad?

  “I have not relinquished the problem, Miss Galland. I merely wish you to comprehend its magnitude. Naturally we’ll find a way to remove you from Ra.”

  “I comprehend the magnitude. What do I have to do to escape?”

  “You have to obtain a sponsor who is able to influence the troll hierarchy. I can arrange temporary reprieve but my influence is limited. I’m only a diplomat. If I push my luck—”

  “The mines for you, too,” she said. “Will you teach the prisoners diplomacy as they perish from radiation?”

  “I doubt if would come to that but there could be awkwardness. However, I’ll see what I can arrange. I have had experience at a number of influential courts.”

  Judy smiled appreciatively but she had little hope.

  TRACH had been unduly modest about his resources. Within six hours there was an urgent call from the Monarch of Lepidop: he wanted an experienced dental assistant and he wanted this particular one. Since his subjects were resistive to radium poisoning, a task force of his navy traditionally transported Ra’s annual output of ten pounds pure to the galactic markets.

  He had, in short, influence.

  The troll hierarchy swallowed its gall and hastily made a gift of Judy’s contract to the Monarch, compliments of the honorable reputation of Ra. To make it quite clear where she had come from, they decided to brand her first. Of course, if she were willing to swear never to reveal what she had seen planetside even this small formality might be dispensed with . . .

  Judy contemplated the sizzling branding iron, thought about the difficulty she would have sitting down thereafter and she saw her courage go up in steam. She agreed not to talk.

  The troll released her hair and she fell to the floor.

  Trach took her to Lepidop himself. This was a favor she appreciated less than she might have, for his ship was a frightening rattletrap. But she suspected that this was Trach’s way of saving his own reptilian hide, for the trolls of Ra surely were aware of his part in Lepidop’s demand and would not delay unduly in attempting to settle scores.

  Lepidop, in contrast to Ra, was truly beautiful. Iridescent films decorated its esthetic continents and rainbows were reflected from its shining oceans.

  The ship jolted to rest on a platform mounted on a spire about two miles above the surface. Judy was afraid the weight of the ship would collapse the insubstantial edifice but there was no sag or tremor. She disembarked.

  “Butterflies,” Judy exclaimed. “What marvelous wings!”

  “This is Lepidop,” Trach reminded her gently. “Capital world of the declining Lepidopteran Empire. But you are right to compliment their wings; Leps are subject to flattery. Now the honor guard will insist on conveying you personally to the Monarch and I don’t see how you can refuse.”

  “An honor guard? I’m the one who’s flattered. And I want to thank the Monarch effusively for saving me from Ra. Why should I refuse?”

  “Well, their mode of transportation is not too every creature’s taste. I would prefer to walk, myself. But since I am not permitted within the palace environs I shall merely relay my compliments and depart for my next mission.”

  “You’re going?” Her original distrust of him was as though it had never been; Trach was as nice a dinosaur as she had ever met. “I thought—”

  “Some of the finer architectural structures are delicate and I’m rather solid,” he explained. An understatement; she judged he weighed several tons. “But the Monarch is basically a kindly fellow; don’t let his gruffness fool you. And beware of palace intrigues. I’m sure he’ll treat you well, provided—”

  “But how do I find Dr. Dillingham?”

  “I will notify the University. They’ll advise him in due course. You just stay put and wait for word. It may take a while.”

  She had other questions, suddenly pressing now that Trach was about to leave her—but the man-sized butterflies were upon them, a fluttering phalanx. “Provided what?” she whispered.

  “Miss Earthbiped?” a translator inquired. She didn’t see the instrument, but hardly needed to. There was always a translator within earshot on civilized planets, except for places like Gleep, where such machinery was inconvenient, and Enen, where they couldn’t afford the expense. She automatically associated the translation with the speaker, as she had once associated subtitles with foreign speech in Earth movies.

  “This is Miss Galland of Earth,” Trach said formally. She had to pick up the introduction through the translator, for he was speaking directly in Lepidopteran. He was a phenominal linguist. “Summoned by the Monarch for dental assistancy and hygienicy.” And privately to her: “Provided he lives.”

  “This way, honored guest,” the lead butterfly said, spreading his huge yellow wings as he turned. Judy followed him to an ornate and fragile little cage, the other butterflies falling in around her and matching her step. “Enter the royal carriage.”

  She hesitated, the Ra experience fresh in her memory. This thing had neither wheels nor runners and white bars encircled it. It reminded her of a lobster trap. But Trach gave her a thumbs-up signal from the far side of the platform and she had to trust him again. She opened the latticed gate and climbed in. The fit was tight, vertically, and there was no proper seat; evidently this had been designed for a reclining butterfly. A narrow section of the top was peaked: space for folded wings to project.

  The yellow butterfly closed the gate with one of his six small legs. She arranged herself half-supine, propped against one elbow so she could wave to Trach. Then the others circled the cage, picked up threads hanging from its sides and beat their white wings in unison, while the yellow called the cadence.

  “Hup—two—three—four—” Judy heard, not certain whether there was a translator, or at least a little transcoder, in the cage, or whether her own mind was doing it. “Hup—Hup—”

  Suddenly they were aloft: butterflies, cage and Judy—she clinging desperately to the bars. No wonder Trach had been nervous about the transportation. But it was too late to protest now.

  They flew over the edge of the platform and she closed her eyes against vertigo. Two miles in the air—with only butterfly wings and slender threads to support her! Did the Monarch often travel this way? Was that what Trach had meant by his last warning: the Monarch would treat her well, provided he lived? Let one thread be snagged, one wing falter . . .

  But the cadence was steady and soon she was reassured that they were not about to drop her. She watched the aerial life of Lepidop: brown-winged butterflies, gray ones, green ones and blue, gliding their myriad ways. A number carried bags in two or three hands, as though they had been shopping. Others clustered and whirled in dazzlingly swift mid-air games.

  Yet Trach had said the Lepidopteran Empire was declining.

  THE palace was a tremendous silken nest, massed strands forming gleaming geometric patterns that glowed prismatically in the slanting sunlight. At every nexus a pastelle-winged butterfly perched, gently fanning the air.

  The cage came to rest in a cushiony chamber and the bearers let go the threads. Judy disembarked cautiously and found the seemingly tenuous webbing quite strong. It gave a little under her feet, adding bounce to her step, and was in fact rather fun to walk on. Trach would have put a foot through, however.

  The yellow butterfly led the way to the throneroom. This was a splendid chamber whose lofty arches reached into a nebulous webflung dome and whose furniture was all of stressed silk. Upon the mighty yet delicate throne reclined the ruler of the planet and empire.

  The Monarch was old. His torso was stiff and scaly, his antennae drooped and his wings were dead white cardboard. Had he been human, she would have assessed his age at an infirm eighty. She knew immediately that he had no teeth.

  Why, then, had he wanted a dental assistant? Had his demand been made purely as a favor to Trach or was there more to it?

  “My dear, come here,” the Monarch whispered and the translator conveyed jointly benign and imperative tonality.

  She stepped up to him, impressed by his bearing despite his antiquity. It was no longer a mystery why Trach had been concerned for the Monarch’s life. It was as though the very act of speaking might terminate his span.

  “You care for teeth?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” she replied, deciding not to quibble again over descriptions. She was no dentist but she did take care of teeth.

  “You have experience with—” here he paused to regain his shallow breath—“Lepidop mandibulars?”

  “On my world, butterflies don’t have teeth.”

  “Interesting. On Lepidop (another breath) primates don’t have teeth.” He laughed—a painful rattle, even in translation. “But I suppose you (breath) don’t have genuine lepids, any (breath) more than we have real primates, (breath, breath) It is merely a convenience of expression.”

  Judy was happy to agree. This royal butterfly had no connection to any Earthly creature, just as Judy Galland had no connection to any galactic biped. The Monarch was not stupid but he was rapidly weakening from the effort of conversation. Gruffness was hardly the problem; a fatal oversociability might be.

  “Dismissed,” the Monarch snapped.

  Two small purple Leps hurried her out of the chamber.

  “He’s obnoxious when balked,” one confided to her.

  “But he’ll die soon, fortunately,” the other said.

  The words irritated her unreasonably. “Now, stop that. I think he’s very nice and I won’t have you saying such things behind his back.”

  The butterflies tittered and she realized that she had chosen a poor figure of speech. There was no “behind” for a butterfly’s back; there was only “above.” She had made a fool of herself to no purpose. Their remarks might even have been well intentioned—and were probably true.

  Well, Trach had told her to beware of palace intrigues. She had probably already put her foot in it by speaking out thoughtlessly.

  They showed her to a private chamber without further comment and left her. There was a galactic all-purpose unit that took care of all conceivable and some inconceivable physical needs and she had learned how to squeeze entertainment from a standard translator.

  “Sing me a ballad,” she directed it.

  And it did.

  THE Monarch summoned her to another audience next day. He was considerably more affable and she suspected that the court minions had dutifully relayed her remarks to him. She had spoken automatically but she had defended the Monarch. Had she been negatively impressed she might have said something entirely different, with no more thought. Little accidents like that could make all the difference, as she knew from her experience with patients on Earth. That was one reason dental assistants were usually personable and cautious about giving opinions. Usually.

  Now she almost felt guilty for speaking out, as though she had deliberately played politics. Maybe subconsciously she had.

  But still the Monarch had no teeth. She felt embarrassed, holding her little case of instruments. What politics was he playing?

  “My dear, I like your (breath) spirit. Most visitors praise me lavishly (breath) to my antennae but sneer (breath) behind their wings. How would (breath) you like to visit my past?”

  “Your Majesty, I don’t understand.”

  “I am forty-two years old,” he said. The translator had rendered the time span into her terms, just as the all-purpose unit had created light and darkness to match her Earthly pattern of day and night. But it was a surprise. The Monarch was just about the same age as Dr. Dillingham. “We Lepids have lesser lifespans (breath) than some of you landbound forms. But then we (breath) have greater abilities. So life is fair.”

  She had little basis to object, yet the Monarch’s abilities were obviously long past. “I don’t know how to—to visit your past. I’m sorry.”

  “Of course you don’t, my (breath) dear. I shall take you. Ten years; I (breath) have strength enough for that.”

  Whatever it was, if it required strength it was best discouraged. He could afford no superfluous expenditure of energy. “I don’t see what this has to do with dental hygiene, Your Majesty. Why take me?”

  “Give me your hand,” the Monarch said. “Oh, you have only (breath) two. Awkward, but I suppose you’re used to it.”

  “Yes.” Hesitantly she held out one of her few hands, and he took it with one of his stick-thin members. His grasp was so feeble that she was afraid to close her fingers; even her lightest grip might crush his chitinous appendage.

  He shuddered. Something like a mild shock went up her arm. Then there was a strange shimmer. A wave of dizziness passed over her.

  “Ten years,” the Monarch said with pride. “My subjects can manage no more than five even in their primes.”

  She disengaged her hand and looked at him, wondering whether he could be senile. A decade could not be wished away.

  His wings were orange. His body was full. His antennae were erect. He looked twenty years younger.

  Judy felt strange. Her clothing did not fit comfortably. Her blouse was loose, her skirt tight, her shoes wrong. She felt gangling and her face itched. What was wrong?

  “And now I have my teeth again,” he said, smiling. And he did. “Of course they are not in good condition and in five more years I lost them entirely. But with your care and advice I may be able to preserve them longer.”

  This seemed to answer an important question, but she hardly heard him.

  “I’m younger too,” she exclaimed.

  “Naturally. So is the palace, the planet, the galaxy. This is my past.”

  “Time travel? That’s impossible!”

  “Impossible for you, certainly. And for most species. That is why I was able to extend my empire so readily, though it is drifting away now that my powers have declined.”

  “But what about paradox? I mean—”

  “There is no conflict. We are ten years younger, and the universe is ten years younger, but we are not of it, precisely. The full explanation would be too technical for your comprehension. We merely experience, we do not affect, except for our own bodies.”

  Judy shook her head. “How could you conquer an empire if you couldn’t use your talent to affect it?”

  “Simple. I travel to a foreign planet. Then I visit its past and make notes. Then I comprehend its vulnerability and in the present I exploit it. No enemy strategy is a surprise to me, nor can it ever be, unless it dates from beyond my own lifetime.”

  “Your Majesty, it still doesn’t make sense. I see you younger and I seem to be about sixteen myself. But when I was really sixteen I was a high-school girl on Earth, ruining my teeth with cola. So this can’t be—”

  “It is my past, my dear, not yours. You became younger merely to stay in phase with me. I would take you to Earth and show you that high school of yours—but my migrating years are over and no ship will respond to our touch now. You may look at Lepidop instead.”

  “Don’t tell, me you migrated between planets without ships!”

  “Don’t tell you? Very well, you shall remain ignorant of that talent.” The Monarch preceded her to a silken parapet walling off a bulging room, so that they actually stood outside the body of the castle. Beyond it the colorful butterflies danced in the early dusk, whirling in columns of turbulence. “See, the chrono gives the date,” he said, gesturing toward a huge clock-tower about a mile distant. “Just over ten years ago.

  She saw the clock but did not know how to read its symbols. She was coming to believe that they had traveled back; nothing else explained the phenomena. She was younger; she could not be deceived about a thing like that. The Monarch now had plenty of breath and physical vigor—and he did have remarkable powers.

  A yellow messenger lighted on the parapet. Judy stepped back but the insect took no note of her or the Monarch. The yellow mouth parts were moving but she heard no translation. Naturally not, she realized when she considered it: the machines could not have been programed for English ten years before she came. They would be inoperative for her—and, of course, unnecessary for the natives.

  Then how, she wondered sharply, was she able to hear and comprehend the Monarch’s present speech?

  “My dear,” he remarked, “your thought processes are so delightfully open. The phase applies to the translators too, but only for you and me; we can not communicate with the creatures of this time, or indeed make ourselves known to them in any way. I heard no more than you did, just then.”

  “Oh,” she said, more perplexed than ever. .

  A thick-bodied, furry-antennaed drab moth arrived on foot. It gazed out over the parapet a moment as though envious of the aerial ceremonies beyond, then lowered its head to the wall. A tremendous tongue uncurled and brushed the tight strands that formed the parapet and all the castle/palace. She saw with shock that its wings had been partially clipped, so that it could not fly.

  “The menials come out at night,” the Monarch murmured distastefully. “We don’t associate with them, of course, but we recognize that they do have to clean the grounds sometime.”