“I’ll turn something in in a few days,” Rynason said vaguely.  His brain was definitely fuzzy now from the tarpaq.

Manning stood up.  “All right, don’t forget it.  Trick it out with some high-sounding guesses if you have to, like I said.  Right now I’ve got to see a man about a woman.”  He paused, glancing at Mara.  “You’re busy?”

“I’m busy, yes.”  Her face was studiedly expressionless.

He shrugged briefly and went out, pushing and weaving his way through the hubbub that filled the bar.  It was dark outside; Rynason caught a glimpse of the dark street as Manning went through the door.  Night fell quickly on Hirlaj, with the suddenness of age.

Rynason turned back to the table, and Mara.  He looked at her curiously.

“What were you doing with him, anyway?  You usually keep to yourself.”

The girl smiled wryly.  She had deep black hair which fell to her shoulders in soft waves.  Most of the women here grew their hair down to their waists, in exaggerated imitation of inner-world styles, but Mara had more taste than that.  Her eyes were a clear brown, and they met his directly.  “He was in a sharp mood, so I came along as peacemaker.  You don’t seem to have needed me.”

“You helped, at that; thanks.  Was that true about the governorship?”

“Of course.  Manning seldom brags, you should know that.  He’s a very capable man, in some ways.”

Rynason frowned.  “He could be a lot more useful on this survey if he’d use his talents on tightening up the survey itself.  He’s forcing a premature report, and it isn’t going to be worth much.”

“Is that what’s really bothering you?” she asked.

He tried to focus on her through the haze of the noisy bar.  “Of course it is.  That, and his whole attitude toward these people.”

“The Hirlaji?  Are they people to you?”

He shrugged.  “What are people?  Humans?  Or reasoning beings you can talk to, communicate with?”

“I should think people would be reasoning beings you could relate to,” she said softly.  “Not just intellectually, but emotionally too.  You have to be able to understand them to communicate that way—­that’s what makes people.”

Rynason was silent, trying to integrate that into the fog in his head.  The raucous noise of the bar had faded into an underwater murmur around him, lost somewhere where he could not see.

Finally, he said, “That’s the trouble with them, the Hirlaji.  I can’t really understand them.  It’s like there’s really no contact, not even through the interpreter.”  He stared into his drink.  “I wish to hell we had some straight telepathers here; they might work with the Hirlaji, since they’re telepathic anyway.  I’d like to make a direct link myself.”

After a moment he felt Mara’s hand on his arm, and realized that he had almost fallen asleep on the table.

“You’d better go on back to your quarters,” she said.