sat back to enjoy the uproar. Objections erupted around the table, but FIVE, who spoke through an amplifier because her voice was almost non-existent, drowned them out with her sudden burst of laughter. She turned off the amplifier and laughed on in silence, with every tentacle and finger fluttering. “Nothing,” she announced finally, “would do less to foster pride in government than placing the members of this council on display.”
“Or any other council,” Darzek murmured.
SEVEN wheezed its agreement. E-Wusk grunted his.
THREE sputtered indignantly. “I had no intention of suggesting that, and the First Councilor knows it.”
“None of us object to ceremonies as long as we don’t have to take part,” Darzek said. “Would you like to look into the possibility of establishing suitable festivities, displays, and ceremonies for the edification and entertainment of tourists to Primores?”
“Certainly.”
“Please do. Is there any further business?”
Rok Wllon snapped to alertness and leaned forward. He said, in a soft voice, “I desire your counsel.”
Darzek turned instinctively to FIVE, the council’s medical authority. She was gazing at the Eighth Councilor in consternation. Never in Darzek’s recollection had Rok Wllon asked advice from anyone except when he was transparently attempting to manipulate it to some advantage.
“It concerns a poem,” Rok Wllon continued apologetically. “I have translated it, and I will render it to you as a song—to capture the spirit of the original.”
Now all of the councilors were staring at him. FIVE was completely engrossed. E-Wusk was flabbergasted enough to rise up out of his tangle of limbs and gape. SIX absently discarded her light shield and gazed at the Eighth Councilor with her three enlarged, tearing eyes. The others, including Darzek, were simply speechless.
Rok Wllon, still acting apologetic, looked about the table as though he expected someone to stop him. When no one did, he began to sing.
Death’s heavy shadow
unseen, unfelt, unsmelled
ripples no awareness
heeds no sanctuary.
It enters and touches
and departs
leaving no mark of passage
except Death.
His voice was not unpleasant, Darzek thought; but the grunted inflections and breathy melismas made the performance one that would have held more appeal for masochists than music lovers.
The other councilors remained speechless. There was in fact nothing that could be said, but as First Councilor Darzek was required to say something. After a pause, he asked, “Is it a song from your world?”
“It is not a song,” Rok Wllon said irritably. “I told you I had translated it and would render it as a song, but it is a poem.”
“From your world?” Darzek persisted.
“No. From the world of Kamm. The Silent Planet.”
Darzek had never heard of it. “What’s silent about it?” he asked.
Rok Wllon told them. Then he pronounced the phrase again, the Silent Planet, and the touch of horror in his voice suggested that there must be something uncanny about a world where no one, where no thing, could hear.
FIVE, with her instant interest in anything with medical implications, wanted to know more. Medical literature, she said, was unaware of the existence of a world where no life form had developed a sense of hearing.
“But they did develop senses of hearing,” Rok Wllon said testily. “And then they lost them.”
FIVE was incredulous. “You mean all the life forms on the planet had senses of hearing that disappeared through atrophy? That’s impossible!”
Rok Wllon was becoming increasingly agitated. Abruptly he got to his feet. “I only know what a scientist from my department told me. Perhaps he was—if you’ll excuse me. There is no important business left to consider, is there? I have many—my own work, you know, those of you who have no administrative responsibilities can’t be aware of how much—”
He turned uncertainly and walked away.
That, also, was unheard of.
There was a shuffle of feet, a twisting of torsos, a purring of motors as the councilors turned themselves or their chairs to look after him. E-Wusk struggled to an upright position and then sank back in astonishment. Darzek’s eyes were on FIVE, who was watching the departing councilor with obvious concern.
FIVE said, “I’ll call on him later today.”
“And I’ll see him tomorrow,” Darzek said. He turned to the others. “At your conveniencies, I want each of you to pay him a courtesy call before you leave Primores.”
“But why?” THREE demanded. “If the Eighth Councilor has lost his mental balance, Supreme should be informed. But surely there is no need for we seven to inconvenience ourselves.”
Darzek silenced a babble of talk with a wave of his hand. “The Eighth Councilor has not lost his mental balance,” he said. “We all know how he persists in seeing dangers where there are none, but we also know that he faces any danger with gusto.”
“That is true,” FIVE agreed.
“So I think all of us should call on him,” Darzek went on. “Try to learn what is bothering him and let me know what you find out. As you are aware, I have shared many real dangers with the Eighth Councilor. This is the only time I have ever seen him frightened.”
* * * *
FIVE reported to Darzek later that day. She had visited Rok Wllon and asked if he had more poetry from the world of Kamm. He had promised to send her some. He seemed as rational and as stodgy as ever—which meant that he had returned to normal.
Darzek thanked her.
He went himself the following morning, but the Eighth Councilor was not at home. He returned that afternoon, and Rok Wllon received him in the vast study that ornamented his official councilor’s residence.
In response to Darzek’s questions, he activated a projection that filled the room: a shallow slice of the galaxy reproduced three dimensionally just above their heads. Darzek consulted the key and orientated himself; and then Rok Wllon touched a control and set one of the suns flashing on and off: Gwanor, whose only habitable planet was named Kamm.
“What’s the problem with Kamm?” Darzek wanted to know.
“There’s a Death Religion,” Rok Wllon whispered.
“Surely there’s nothing unique about that,” Darzek said.
Rok Wllon hesitated. He whispered again. “I can’t say more than that. Not yet. Not here.”
Darzek studied him thoughtfully. This was the same frightened Rok Wllon he had seen at the council meeting. “When can you say more?” Darzek asked. “And where?”
“Perhaps tomorrow.” Rok Wllon leaped to his feet and paced the floor excitedly, disrupting the pinpricks of light that wheeled about the room’s axis. “Yes. Tomorrow would be better.”
The following morning, when Darzek called again, Rok Wllon was not at home. Darzek went at once to the Department of Uncertified Worlds.
This was the anonymous service of the Galactic Synthesis. It attracted people with the peculiar temperament that was especially suited for world watching—a turn of mind and personality that enabled them to fit into an alien society and play a role there through their entire lives and simply observe.
The Uncertified Worlds were those planets that were, for one or more of a multitude of reasons, ineligible to