He laughed. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, yes, yes.”

  *

  Twelve gave a cry of ecstasy as joy flooded his pleasure centers. Glory, he called. Glory. Alien memories were driven from his mind. For a long moment he hung at the end of his umbilicus, his brain and body blazing with rapture.

  The pleasure faded. Twelve, his hearts thundering, tried to collect his scattered thoughts.

  You have met with the outsider.

  It was the bossrider in person, Twelve reported. Anger flared as he thought of an alien entity on Beloved’s vessel. Contamination! he reported. A foreign intelligence!

  Be at ease. Beloved’s thoughts were soothing. I have buffered Myself well. And I trust to you as My first line of defense.

  Twelve filled with pride. Glory! he cried.

  There is little need to feel in awe of the intruders. I have analyzed their language and drawn conclusions concerning their nature. They are inferior entities indeed.

  Of course. Loyally.

  I have every confidence in your capabilities. You are fully their match. A roar of Beloved-induced pleasure blanketed Twelve’s mind.

  Glory!

  We must proceed carefully.

  Glory!

  We must never let them know our weakness.

  Glory. Glory. Glory.

  Tell me everything.

  *

  Ubu hovered in the bare audience chamber, his golden holographic greetings floating above his head. His lips writhed behind his transparent faceplate. “I believe we could be of benefit to one another,” reported the golden letters.

  Twelve composed his body into an attitude of polite attention. “Clan Lustre desires nothing else.”

  “As we both represent trading companies, perhaps we might be of use to one another in the matter of trade.”

  Twelve waved his palps in salute. “I tremble at this revelation of your perspicacity, bossrider.”

  There was a pause at this. A nonvolitional jumped for Ubu and attached itself to the side of his helmet. Ubu ignored it.

  “I do not know what of ours may be of use to you.”

  Twelve’s eyes dilated in pleasure. The bossrider’s statement had been unsubtle. To admit ignorance at all was to place oneself at a disadvantage. Ubu continued his message.

  “I thought perhaps one of our artificial intelligence systems might prove of use to you.”

  Twelve referenced the alien concepts in his mind. Computers, primitive nonvolitional brains of inorganic origin. “Of what use could these be to us?” he asked.

  “We have some of the finest human computers aboard our vessel, the very fastest models available. They can move data rapidly, perform swift calculations. As, for instance, the speeding of communications between Clan Lustre vessels, or performing the calculations necessary to guide a singularity ship in its leaps from place to place.”

  “This vessel,” said Twelve, “already possesses a navigation intelligence. And our data transmission appears to be faster than yours.”

  “Our transmission was slowed considerably by the fact that our systems were incompatible. Our AIs may still be... of particular use for making interstellar jumps. Our computers allow us to make jumps of up to ten light-years with inaccuracy computed at less than one thousandth of one percent.”

  This was, Twelve considered, a preposterous amount of candor. Beloved was more than justified in assuming that Twelve was capable of negotiating with these grossly limited beings.

  Twelve took a long moment to process Ubu’s information into terms he could understand. He was not a navigator, and he was not entirely at ease with the concepts and terminology employed; but he had participated in negotiations in which Beloved purchased new navigators or modifications for navigators already purchased, and he had a broad idea of the capabilities of those aboard Beloved’s ship.

  Lightning surprise darted through him. His palps trembled. Twelve took a fevered moment to recheck his calculations.

  The figures, if true, were astounding. The human computers possessed greater accuracy than the latest-model navigators by a factor of almost ten. Joy and skepticism warred in his senses.

  “This-individual conceives, out of friendship for Runaway, we might possess some slight interest in these devices,” he reported.

  “I am pleased that you might find our devices useful,” Ubu said.

  “Blessed is Beloved,” Twelve agreed.

  *

  Ubu contained his laughter. Twelve’s hands and feet were twitching, something Ubu had seen before, and he knew Twelve was excited. The intruder ship had made one correction burn after another as it flew to Maria the Fair, and Ubu suspected that if their singularity governors were no more accurate than their other navigation systems, they could probably use even computers configured for mining robots.

  Beloved’s drumming beat percussive patterns into his skull. His memories told him the drumming was different from the time before, but the pattern was too complex to follow.

  Okay, he thought. Now he knew what to offer them. What was he going to get for it all?

  Another of the strange little hopping creatures flung itself from the wall to his right, aimed for his helmet, but it missed him by a few inches and tumbled past the faceplate. Apparently its guidance system wasn’t any better than Beloved’s.

  What, he thought, if everything they had to offer was as pathetic as this? He might be dealing with the morons of the Milky Way.

  In that case, he thought, get Runaway back to civilization and sell the alien trade rights for as much as he could. He cleared his throat.

  “Although Runaway should be more than pleased to present the AIs to you out of our enormous regard for Clan Lustre, we nevertheless do not wish to insult Clan Lustre by offering something without valid exchange.” Trapped you there, he thought.

  “Your wish does you credit.”

  Glee bounded through Ubu. After he realized the formal nature of Twelve’s speech, his mind had busied itself trying to work out a way to offer his deal in an indirect way that couldn’t be refused.

  Twelve worked busily with his stylus. “We can offer you cultures enabling you to grow a supply of fine nonvolitionals, each adapted to its purpose.”

  “I thank you for your generous offer,” Ubu said, “but we already have devices that fulfill such functions, and there is also the problem of keeping your nonfunctionals alive. We may not have that capability.”

  Twelve’s eyes dilated. His feet trembled. Ubu wondered whether this was in reaction to Ubu’s turning down his offer, or to the revelation that their life-forms might not be compatible with the human environment.

  “This-individuall,” spelling badly again, “is distressd that he can offer little that is not based on our own intrinsic natures.”

  “I am certain that Beloved’s resources are many.” Or so he hoped.

  “Glory to Beloved.”

  “Glory,” Ubu repeated. Jesus Rice, he realized, these people can’t even sell us curios. If he came back to civilization with a hold full of weird alien arts and crafts, at least that might be worth something. A bunch of little slugs adapted to keeping resinous walls free of dirt were not in high demand back home.

  Maybe he could give them the AIs on consignment. Maybe they could shoot back to wherever they came from and trade them for something of value, then hustle back to Maria the Fair while Runaway continued its prospecting.

  ”Maybe we should conclude this meeting,” Ubu said. “Perhaps we should give our exchange some further thought.”

  “The bossrider is wise.”

  “Glory to Beloved.”

  It seemed the proper polite response.

  *

  While Ubu shot across the gap between the alien ship and Runaway, he pointed a microwave antenna at Runaway and, using a frequency other than that he used for communication with the intruders, fired a blip transmission to Runaway’s receiver dish containing his full recording of the meeting. By the time he’d gone through decontamination, taken off his suit, and showered, Maria had viewed it twice. When Ubu joined her in the lounge, her eyes were dancing.

  “We’ve got something he wants,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “But what do we want?”

  Ubu grinned. “What do they have?”

  She bit her lip. “We don’t know. You haven’t seen enough of their ship.”

  “They’ve got me well insulated. Everything goes through Twelve, and the corridor where we meet is sealed off.” Ubu took a flask from the rack and stepped to the bar. Beloved’s drumbeats rumbled through his mind, echoed his words.

  From the galley’s readouts Ubu saw that Runaway was running low on veal. He would have to feed the cloned meat some nutrients, generate some more. He charged the flask and joined Maria on the couch. She looked at him. “Those computers won’t give the accuracy you’re claiming for them. They won’t be very efficient at bossing a shoot.”

  “They’re designed for humans. I’ll point that out.”

  “And our stim projectors won’t work with them, so they won’t get that edge. I assume.”

  Ubu threw up his hands. “We don’t have spare stims anyway, so that’s not a problem.”

  “It could be.”

  “We’ll see.”

  He took the laptop keyboard from its folding rack and ordered the projector to run the meeting one more time. He needed some ideas.

  *

  Glory, glory. General Volitional Twelve chanted his Beloved’s praises, waiting for her response to the latest negotiation.

  Beloved’s voice rang in his mind. Do you have confidence in this claim?

  Twelve’s mind lurched in surprise at the thought that Beloved did not have the answer to so critical a question. She perceived his distress and carefully soothed it. You are my interpreter, she said. To keep my own mind inviolate, I must learn to trust in your impressions.

  Glory. Pride rose in Twelve at the thought of his guarding Beloved from thought contamination.

  Carefully he considered the humans’ claims. “Artificial intelligence” itself seemed a preposterous contradiction in terms. How could one detach an intelligence from its organic case? This-individual does not know the answer, Beloved, he finally confessed. Though the humans possess a large and specialized vocabulary relating to artificial intelligence, still the claims are without foundation in my limited experience.

  And in mine. Through their neuronic link Twelve could sense the intensity of Beloved’s cogitation. The power of her mind was terrifying, and he trembled.

  There is a limit to the speed by which chemical means can transmit information, Beloved said. The human computers claim to exceed this limit.

  Then the claim is nonsense. Pleasure danced in Twelve at the certainty of his answer.

  Not necessarily. Consider the nature of human terminology. Artificial intelligence implies a nonorganic basis.

  Twelve was awed by this conclusion. This-individual is humbled at your wisdom. My concept of the outsiders’ language was insufficient to perceive this. Twelve was disturbed. That the humans possessed such unnatural abilities was powerfully unsettling.

  We must find something that will prove worthy of exchange. We must test the human capability.

  Glory.

  You are authorized to offer the humans anything short of a child.

  Shock reverberated in Twelve at this news. Anything. Would Beloved risk so much in pursuit of her plan?

  Glory, he repeated.

  Opportunity, she repeated, the grandest word of all.

  To this there was no possibility of reply.

  *

  Drumming throbbed through the alien space, a different rhythm this time, less urgent but more complex. Layered. Damn this, Ubu thought. Twelve can receive information from Beloved this way, but I’m isolated here.

  Words printed themselves across Ubu’s faceplate as Twelve worked with his stylus. Twelve’s movements were more assured, Ubu thought. Maybe he’d been practicing.

  “Though Beloved is glorious and powerful beyond measure,” Twelve reported, “the capabilities of a single Lustre ship are nevertheless limited.”

  “I have every confidence in the abilities of Beloved,” Ubu said.

  “Glory.” The force of the automatic response was mitigated somewhat by Twelve’s stylus-work.

  “Glory.”

  There was a pause. A nonvolitional leaped across the room, stuck to Ubu’s chestpack with a wet smacking sound that carried into Ubu’s vac suit. It chirped, apparently having found something to eat. A few other nonvolitionals bounded toward him, most missing.

  Twelve began to work with his stylus. I’m going to give this guy a keyboard, Ubu thought. This is agony.

  “Bossrider Ubu Roy, Beloved’s desire is for nothing but an exchange of value.”

  “Glory to Beloved.” Which seemed a safe answer to this promising opening.

  “Glory.” Ritually. “Beloved wishes not to insult Runaway with an offer of insufficient value.”

  Better and better, Ubu thought.

  “Beloved wishes to offer an inventory of her capabilities, that Bossrider Ubu Roy may indicate an appropriate choice.”

  Delight blazed through Ubu. “I am cognizant of the honor Beloved offers to Runaway,” he said.

  Cognizant, he thought. He’d never in his life used that word in conversation. Here it seemed natural.

  Sweat poured down his nape. The circulating air had pushed Twelve to one wall. Twelve put out a long-fingered foot and stabilized himself, then pushed off gently. He slowly moved across the room as he tapped his communicator. Ubu, with bursts from his maneuvering jets, rotated in place to face him. Twelve used first his forward pair of eyes, then his left pair, to keep Ubu in focus.

  “Beloved has the capability to create many servants,” Twelve reported. “There is a wide variety of nonvolitionals capable of a large variety of automatic tasks, including the synthesis of habitations and ship hulls. Nonvolitionals can maintain atmosphere, synthesize and prepare foodstuffs, build communications equipment to order, maintain and create ship systems. Photoreceptive nonvolitionals are very efficient generators of electric power. Semisentients include servants capable of handling large loads with great precision, operating ship systems, and certain types useful in war.”

  War, Ubu thought. So things aren’t all rosy in Beloved’s home sphere.

  Twelve continued as he touched the opposite wall, stabilized, gently pushed off again. “Fully sentient nonvolitionals include navigators and those capable of highly refined sensing activity. Sentient volitionals include general-purpose servants such as myself, navigators for singularity jumps, maneuvering, and small craft, and servants built for war and capable of command.”

  Ubu considered the list. If nothing else he could return with a holdful of general volitionals and cargo movers and offer them for sale.

  But this was Runaway’s chance for the big score, and for that Ubu needed to keep the discovery secret. No marching with a battalion of semiautonomous entities into Bezel Station.

  “I should add,” Twelve said, “that some of Beloved’s servants are not at present available. Some of the specialized varieties are carried in embryo only, and though our ship contains some servants intended for war, we possess only the bare minimum necessary for our own defense.”

  “Runaway has no intention of aggression,” Ubu said. “We decline with thanks.”.

  “Perhaps the bossrider wishes time to consider.”

  Ubu thought about the richest cargoes carried by his ships over the years. Drugs were at the top of the list in terms of value-per-tonne. So was heavy, specialized machinery, including construction robots. AI systems. Semiconductor material. Sometimes profit could be made cramming syster ships and atmosphere craft in Runaway’s cargo holds. Also prebuilt habitats for miners.

  Beloved had demonstrated no capability for AI. Any craft she could build would not be configured for humans. She seemed to have scant knowledge of machinery beyond that necessary to move cargo.

  In his vac suit Ubu could smell sweat and failure. There had to be something, Ubu thought. Something of value he could find in all this.

  “Beloved possesses nonvolitionals capable of maintaining and regenerating the air,” Ubu said.

  “And synthesizing it if necessary,” Twelve clarified.

  Fairly complex biosynthesis, then, assuming the weird organics floating around in here were considered part of the atmosphere. Ubu felt a stirring of hope.

  “Can these nonvolitionals synthesize anything else?”

  “We are self-sufficient in all necessary compounds.”

  “Ahh...” Ubu hesitated as he worked at the way he wanted to phrase this idea, and then laughed as his holo projector printed AHH in the air above his head. The dictation program wisely refrained from transcribing his laughter.

  Beloved’s drum pattern rang off Ubu’s helmet. He could recognize that five-beat measure again, mixed with the 5-5-5-3-3 pattern, but the third line was different. Was it six?

  He looked at Twelve. “If I present you with a substance, could you inform me if you are capable of synthesizing it?”

  “Possibly.” Twelve’s reply seemed hesitant. “Can you give an indication of what manner of substances you might require?”

  “Pharmaceutical compounds,” Ubu said. “Used to stimulate healing, growth, neural function. Consisting of long-chain proteins, polypeptides, complex and charged molecules.”

  “It is possible in theory.” Ubu’s heart leaped. Twelve’s reply was not delayed by any internal translation of the specialized terminology. Twelve’s stylus tapped his communicator. “I would have to have a clearer comprehension of the structure of these pharmaceuticals before I could make proper reply. Also I grieve to report that my own knowledge of these matters is imperfect.”

  “I can provide samples,” Ubu said.

  “That will enable this-individual to provide a more concise answer, bossrider.”

  “Perhaps we should end this conference. I will return with samples.”

  Twelve’s mouth structures waved bravely in the air. “My, this-individual’s, mind is relieved that we will not sully the reputation of Clan Lustre in not offering gift for gift.”