N'Sumu rented a suite of rooms on the second floor of an apartment block in rather a better neighborhood than that of last night's conflagration. The block included another thirty or so similar apartment suites, most of them broken up and sublet to other tenants. That the strange Egyptian was wealthy enough to occupy an entire suite of rooms by himself did not excite half as much curiosity as did the scandal that N'Sumu lived there without a single slave to serve him—at least, none had ever been observed to enter or depart, although at times questionable sounds were to be heard from within the Egyptian's chambers.
There was a window overlooking the courtyard, but it seemed to be masked with some sort of curtain, and no one could catch any glimpse of what was within even when the shutters were open. This was not surprising, since the screen that blocked out this sun's dangerous ultraviolet radiation also insured complete privacy from any human range of vision. Another field had been calibrated to trigger sensations of fear and unease in any human who approached too closely. If this would not discourage a potential intruder, there were other measures inside the apartment that would terminate any unwelcome visit. N'Sumu had returned one night to find the corpse of a thief, obviously one who had been too drunken to react to artificially induced fear but not so drunken that he could not reach the window. The body lay broken upon the stones of the courtyard, and when the other tenants assumed that the thief had slipped and fallen, N'Sumu did not disabuse them.
N'Sumu unlocked the door of his apartment with the cumbersome key he had been given—after first disarming his own security system by means of one of the devices from the belt he wore beneath his tunics. Once inside, he reactivated all systems. Heretofore his concerns were limited to the chance intrusions and prying curiosity of this world's aboriginal populace; since the night past he now harbored a very real dread in the form of a blue-scaled killer that now had sensed the presence here of its original captor. The situation on this assignment was definitely deteriorating.
RyRelee—or N'Sumu, as he was known to the natives of this world—dropped the corpse of the phile hatchling onto the floor of the barely furnished room and began to pull off the stifling folds of his native clothing. That accomplished, the emissary stripped off the most accessible portions of the bronze-colored protective sheathing he wore over his natural scales—sheathing both a disguise and a protection from the deadly ultraviolet radiation of this scalding hot planet. Carefully he removed the major segments of the mask that enclosed his head. He dared not attempt to make himself any less uncomfortable, as it would take too long to reassemble all of his cosmetic features, and RyRelee had too much to do before he rejoined his native helpers.
The emissary considered them. Their cooperation seemed to be as necessary as it was frustrating. It wasn't that they blundered badly, the two of them. On the contrary, their competence and the way they chose to apply it were dangerous to RyRelee's plans. That was the problem, after all: they made choices instead of doing as they were told, the way Class 6 natives ought to do when given orders by a civilized life form. The plump one, Vonones—he seemed to be soft and safe enough to deal with, but RyRelee had witnessed the aborigine's courage, and he now recognized the shrewd cunning behind the merchant's overt attempts to be conciliatory at all times. The other, Lycon, too often reminded the emissary of a phile; this native was competent, ruthless—and too dangerous for RyRelee's comfort.
No matter. The emissary had already decided that the two of them would not outlive their usefulness to him. If they survived the phile, RyRelee meant to finish them himself—or better yet, leave them to a slower death at the hands of their enemies among the other natives.
RyRelee examined the molds that had matured in his crudely improvised incubator. They were unpalatable, as were the bricks of refined native foodstuffs, but at least they had begun the process of breaking down the complex structures that otherwise would have made even the refined residues as digestible to the emissary as a mouthful of straw to one of this world's aborigines. He managed to ingest enough to help assimilate the fortified concentrates of his stores, then washed it all down with osmotically filtered water. Again he cursed the Cora for allowing him only minimal field equipment: no artifacts must be discovered by the autochthones.
His hunger less painful, the emissary decided to maintain a heightened level of consciousness for the present and adjusted the external metabolism controls of his support system accordingly. He was pushing himself too hard, but there would be time for rest once the current crisis was resolved. And that resolution, RyRelee knew, must be accomplished soon. The Cora awaited results with the same impatience as did the deranged chieftain who ruled this region of the planet.
It galled RyRelee that his own efficiency was in part to blame. He should have foreseen that the phile would already have begun to produce a brood—either she had mated earlier than his agents had reported, or her gestation period was a shorter interval in lighter gravity than anticipated. If he had not interfered in his zeal to see the phile safely housed in the Emperor's menagerie, another few days would have seen Rome infested with immature philes, capable of hunting on their own.
Still, the Cora might have observed this as well, and then would come the cleansing. For all their fine talk of protecting the natural development of intelligent life-forms, the Cora would be willing to obliterate this failure of their policy with thermonuclear destruction. Of course, the philes' savage homeworld had given the creatures the capacity for sudden intracellular changes which made them immune to toxins and even to genetically-tailored viruses.
But there was in any case a hard edge to the Cora, an arrogance perhaps necessary in a race able to rule the galaxy. The emissary had no idea as to exactly what had provoked the wrath of the Cora and brought about the destruction of another native civilization on an island close to here some fifteen hundred of this world's years earlier—Creta, he believed they called what remained of the place today—but he supposed someone had been supplying the aborigines with illegal advanced technology. The Cora might believe that such demonstrations would serve as warning to others who might be tempted to violate their policies of galactic peace, but RyRelee could almost feel sorry for the natives whose civilization had been thus sacrificed for the example.
RyRelee spread the corpse of the phile chick onto a table and laid out the instruments required for his examination. He had to work with only edged metal cutting tools—more obsessive caution on the part of the Cora—but he was nonetheless able to lay bare the concealed genital cleft in the creature's abdomen. But at this stage of its development, it was morphologically impossible to distinguish the immature ovipositor from the male organ, and RyRelee gave it up in favor of conclusive cytological examination. Cellular tissues introduced into the more sophisticated instruments provided by the Cora established that the chromosomal pattern of the dead chick was male.
RyRelee hissed in exultation—was brought back to reality as the normal pleased-laughter sounds were horribly distorted by the surgical modifications of the Cora. Still, that couldn't rob him of his triumph, for within another few days his mission on this primitive world would be accomplished—and to RyRelee's satisfaction.
The situation was rapidly deteriorating, and every hour the emissary remained here increased his danger. Despite his contempt for these primitives, if their Emperor lost patience and demanded his arrest, a thousand natives with crude weapons would inevitably win out over one intelligent being with superior firepower. And now that the phile was aware of RyRelee's presence here, the creature would certainly attempt to seek him out—and RyRelee knew that a phile was not easily deterred from its intended kill.
But the emissary's success in this deadly game was all but assured. RyRelee now knew that the phile could indeed produce multiple broods on this world—and that the natives here could mount no real defense to a widespread infestation of the creatures. Earth was truly the perfect breeding ground for philes, as RyRelee had originally supposed. All that remained was to make certain that his dangerously competent native hunters did not kill the phile through their blundering—and to assure the Cora that this phile had indeed been destroyed as ordered. After that, this region and soon this world would be overrun with philes—worth an untold fortune to those who would pay for healthy specimens—and RyRelee would be secretly reaping his profits in the comfort of his palace. Even if the Cora eventually discovered the presence of philes on Earth and reacted with characteristic finality, this dead phile hatchling would preserve RyRelee from their justice. Clearly the emissary had destroyed a male phile as instructed by his masters, and if a gravid female had also escaped the crash of the starship, RyRelee had been informed of only one phile to seek out and destroy.
RyRelee activated his communicator. It was a compact device—both for portability and to disguise it as no more than an incomprehensible objet d'art to an aboriginal mind—but its range was sufficient to reach the orbiting Coran starship.
"I have destroyed the phile," the emissary reported. "Fortunately, it was male. Stand by to receive transmission of chromosomal data."
After an unpleasant interval, the artificial voice of the Cora—presumably—sounded from the communicator: "You have done splendidly, RyRelee. Are you now prepared to reach the nearest rendezvous point for recovery?"
"There remain a few matters to pursue," RyRelee stated. "I wish to make certain that neither the phile's appearance nor my intrusion here has resulted in any cultural contamination. It will be necessary to make subtle inquiries, perhaps blank out memories in certain instances, in order to establish to these primitives that any unnatural phenomena they may have witnessed were merely the actions of their gods."
"How much time do you require?"
"Ten planetary days should be sufficient."
"How is your personal situation at present?"
"I am in some danger. These primitives are inclined to unexpected violence. Also the ultraviolet radiation here is of greater intensity than my suit can safely screen out. Ten more days is the maximum."
"If there is danger, we can recover you in much less time."
"I accept the risks."
"Your courage has been noted, emissary. Good luck."
RyRelee deactivated the communicator, then hissed with pleasure—however grotesque the sound was to his ears. In ten days the phile would either be safely cared for in the Emperor's animal pens, or else securely laired in some undiscovered sector of the primitives' city. Either way, the only two natives who posed any real threat to the emissary's project would be long dead by the time RyRelee boarded the Coran shuttlecraft for home.