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of the skull as its owner tugged his wide-brimmed rain hat tighter down on his naked pate. How did this Masurathoo feel about his adoptive home world and its native inhabitants? When they were cooped up together in a small skimmer Jemunu-jah knew he was likely to find out.
    Protruding beneath the hat, the speaking trunk uncoiled from the top of the Deyzara's head. “Please excuse me for pointing it out, but I can tell that you are not very personally pleased with this arrangement, though it shall prove financially and professionally advantageous to us both, I think.”
    “Heesa,” Jemunu-jah replied with curt courtesy.
    Round, baby-soft eyes turned to goggle up at him. “Do not think you are alone in your emotions. I am similarly less than happy with the present arrangement, and would have much preferred to contract this business with another of my own kind.”
    At least they had that much in common, Jemunu-jah mused. “I feel same way. Two Deyzara searching by themselves step out of skimmer in Viisiiviisii, that two less Deyzara on my world.” He waited for the other to disagree by retorting, “Our world,” but the two-trunk was either too preoccupied or too smart to respond overtly to the deliberate challenge. What he did say mildly surprised the Sakuntala.
    “As much as it pains me to admit it, you are most probably correct, sir.”
    Though it was at most a mild honorific, and a human one at that, it was not what Jemunu-jah had expected to hear.
    The Deyzara raised a hand and pointed. Following the line formed by the two soft opposing digits, Jemunu-jah found himself looking at what at first glance appeared to be a pair of transparent perambulating storage containers advancing up the walkway. As they drew nearer, he saw that each protective layer sheltered one of the other major partners in the Commonwealth, the hard-shells who called themselves thranx. They were progressing with agonizing slowness, as if (despite their use of four trulegs and two foothands to additionally steady themselves) they feared each step would send them tumbling into the water below.
    “Look at them.” Though he knew it was not a mature reaction, Jemunu-jah could hardly contain his amusement at the sight. “They step like newborns.”
    “It is well known that they are unable to swim, or even to float.” Above his eyes, Masurathoo's speaking trunk bobbed gently from side to side as he spoke. “One should pity these two, as it is most clearly evident they would rather be anywhere else than here.”
    As they came closer to the two thranx, Jemunu-jah experienced a sudden highly uncivilized urge to bump into the nearest and send it stumbling toward the walkway railing, just to see how it would react. Curious as to what Masurathoo would think, he voiced his desire to his shorter, softer companion.
    “Oh, Mr. Jemunu-jah, sir, that is thought most unworthy of a civilized being!” Hesitating, the Deyzara lowered his voice. “But one that, I confess, could prove highly amusing in its consequences.”
    Something else they unexpectedly had in common, Jemunu-jah realized. A little humor could go a long way toward defusing the tension each felt in the presence of the other. That was going to be increasingly important once they were both restricted to the limited confines of a small scout skimmer. Of course, he wasn't going to
actually
bump into one of the clearly terrified thranx. Still, if he should happen to do so (entirely by accident, of course) and if it did stumble toward the edge of the walkway, he could grab and steady it in an instant. No harm done. The two hard-shells were very close now.
    He had not yet decided what to do when the chigyese landed right on top of the alien he was unworthily contemplating nudging. The chigyese had a soft, flexible body that enabled it to squeeze into narrow clefts in the branches of trees. There it could swell itself with water, rendering it impossible for would-be predators to extract. To move about