When Giyt arrived at the square in front of the portal the rain had nearly stopped, which was a good thing, but there was something less good going on. He had expected to find at least a couple of dozen people mere, waiting to greet the incoming VIPs. He didn’t. There was no one there at all except for a pair of Delt workmen, tinkering with a cart at the edge of the square in spite of the continuing drizzle. When he asked them what was going on, one of the Delts turned a single eye on him, the other still gazing at the exposed mechanisms of the cart. “You don’t hear?” the Delt said. “New word recently coming. Slug bosses being delayed, don’t say how long. Maybe twenty minutes, maybe who knows?”
“Never say how long,” the other one put in. “Slugs, you know? But maybe give us time to get this busted old junk pile juicy enough for delicate Slug persons before getting here, that assuming you let us go on with repairing task.”
The delay was news to Giyt. He wondered whether the fact that he hadn’t received the amended message was more of Hagbarth’s petty harassment or just simple inefficiency. It didn’t matter; either way he had time to kill.
He considered going back home to wait. It didn’t seem like a good idea. He might not be there long enough for any real purpose. He also might not get the word again in time to get back for the actual arrival and why give Silva Cristl something new to gossip about on her broadcasts?
He moved away restlessly. He had a lot on his mind, but it didn’t seem to want to concentrate on any one subject. As he wandered, he was thinking about the turgid wording of the Ex-Earth regulations and wondering whether the Slug workers had started to fix his drains yet and noticing the fact that he was getting wet. Was the rain going to get harder again? Giyt had had little experience of hurricanes. He had checked out the weather reports and understood that the hurricane itself had missed their islands by a couple hundred kilometers; all they were getting was the arc of storms that spiraled around its trailing edge. He saw a few people moving around in the street, mostly eeties; they seemed to assume the worst of the rain was over, at least…
Then he saw a pair of humans, and one of them was Hoak Hagbarth.
They seemed to be discussing something Hagbarth was displaying to the other man on his portable. When they looked up, Giyt looked away; he didn’t want to talk to Hagbarth. Evidently the feeling was mutual. Hagbarth gave him only a glance, then turned to the other man with a hand on his shoulder and led him toward the portal. Giyt stared after them, trying to identify the other man. Was it one of the people from the hypermarket? He wasn’t sure, and probably, he told himself, that was one more sign of his failings as mayor of the Earth community. A good politician would know all his constituents by now. Giyt admitted to himself that, whatever his other virtues, he wasn’t a very good politician.
A whirring behind him made him turn to see a doll-sized Petty-Prime cart drawing up. The Responsible One leaned out. “Apologies for not offering ride to portal,” he squeaked, “but you observe inadequate space in passenger side this my vehicle.” He seemed to be making a pleasantry, so Giyt tried one in response.
“It’s my fault for having too much growth hormone in my system,” he said.
The Petty-Prime gazed at him blankly for a moment, then exhaled in a soft, uncomprehending sigh. “Anyway,” he said, “express regret for potential for no longer sharing Joint Governance Commission duties, perhaps.” He waved a small paw and accelerated his cart away.
Whatever he meant by that. Giyt really had to get at those translation programs one day soon, he told himself, and then remembered that maybe he wouldn’t be present to have to worry about such things very much longer. Meanwhile, he had VIPs to greet.
When he got back to the square the keepers of the security switches were lounging by their posts, Hagbarth included, and a large group of Slugs were hooting one of their mournful hymns nearby. Other mayors were arriving, too. Mrs. Brownbenttalon poked her snout out of her can and beckoned to him. “My husband here say to tell you congratulations on excellent fall you took for new Kalkaboo stinky High Champion,” she said. “I share sentiment. Extremely well done, I say!”
“Thanks,” he said, nodding at the tiny male in his wife’s neck fur. “I hope I’m not late.”
“Be commoded, Large Male Giyt. Is last-minute decision of Slugs to arrive early, laster-minute to be somewhat later, typical Slug thing.” She paused to listen as her husband chittered in her ear. “Oh, yes,” she said. “Have sorrow about unfortunate forthcoming event—no, waiting a bit now, no time for discussing bad news. Hear warning dingle.”
The chime had sounded to announce the imminent arrival of the leaders. As Mrs. Brownbenttalon flopped out of her cart the waiting Slug delegation redoubled their hooting, the people at the security switches came to attention, and the golden glow began to surround the portal as the field built up.
Then it was all very quick. The chamber door opened. There was the pop of expelled air from inside, the glow cleared, and two large Slugs appeared, eye stalks waving. They were immediately surrounded by Tupelo’s own Slug delegation, escorted to the waiting damp-controlled carts, and borne away.
Giyt blinked after them. “That’s it?” he asked.
“That is the all of the it,” Mrs. Brownbenttalon confirmed, already getting back into the cart that had brought her. “No orations. No shaking of hands, no sniffing of noses, nothing like that. Only all us dignitaries required properly physically present here at time of peace treaty delegation arriving or will take offense. Is a Slug thing,” she added, looking around and lowering her voice. “Delts are even worse and, hey, you know all about Kalkaboos from own self’s experience already, right? Esteemed Giyt wife possess wisdom creating associations only with Petty-Primes and Centaurians such as self. Presume former-mentioned esteemed wife presently condoling.”
“Condoling?”
He heard a tiny chittering as Mr. Brownbenttalon poked his nose out of his wife’s neck fur and spoke confidentially into her ear. “Oh, is understood,” she said to Giyt. “You don’t know yet. Well, you hearing soon enough, only not from us. Centaurians don’t like telling bad news. We hope for seeing you in more happy time. Good-bye.”
On the way home Giyt reflected on yet another cryptic utterance. He couldn’t tell how much of the mystery was due to deficiencies in the translation programs and how much to simple eetie weirdness; but as the cart approached his house he got a hint of what Mrs. Brownbenttalon had been talking about. There were Petty-Prime kits playing happily in the mud of the de Mir yard with the younger de Mir children, and on the de Mir porch was their mother, with both of the de Mirs and his own wife, talking earnestly to each other while the children played. As Rina caught sight of Giyt she excused herself and came toward him, looking worried.
He was peering over her shoulder at the Petty-Prime female. “Isn’t that the wife of your farming friend?”
“Ex-wife, actually; they change partners a lot, I understand. But they’re friendly, and he told her something she came hurrying over to tell me. It’s Hoak Hagbarth, Shammy. He’s circulating a recall petition for you. He doesn’t want you to be mayor anymore.”
XXI
It’s official, all you misters and mizzes, they’re getting ready to jump! Our official delegation to the six-power meeting is getting final instructions from their governments, and they’ll be arriving here on Tupelo in three days. Let’s all be there to give them a good old Tupelo welcome when they come! Because, remember, these aren’t Ex-Earth people, these are the official representatives of the old United Nations, and that means they’re speaking for the head honchos of our whole damn home planet! So we want to look our best for them. Too bad there’s one little piece of housekeeping that we probably can’t have finished cleaning up by then—you all know what I mean! But there’ll be plenty of time to take care of that later on.