Whatever slim chance the planet had of not being assimilated was now down to zero. As soon as Grayfield filed his report, the Areopagus would send a fleet of excavating machines hurtling through space, staffed by a crew of geologists of the Computer Generation, their heads full of rocks and dreams of motherlodes. But first came the formality of diplomatic contact.

And Grayfield's own private mission.

"What do you think of our city, Imperius Grayfield?" Exa asked.

"Why, I've never seen anything so beautiful." He had used the exact same words on every planet he had set Areopagan foot on, but this was the first time he really meant it. The sky was a rich cobalt blue and moist silver clouds drifted in gentle circles. Then he pictured the black industrial smogs that would soon be fighting those clouds for airspace, and turned his attention back to the ground.

"You have such splendid architecture," Grayfield said, rubbing his fingers over the smooth polished wall of a building. The marble was cool to his touch. "Solid and durable, yet highly aesthetic."

"You are most kind, Imperius."

Peacehands passed them on both sides as they walked through the orderly golden streets. A sweet honeyed odor of distant meadows wafted in the faint breeze like notes of music. Soft dusts blew in from the far hills and powdered the edges of cut stone and doorframes. Even the insects floated passively about, as if afraid to offend.

"Tell me of your people," Grayfield said, with an unconscious note of command in his voice.

"We are simple people. We work for the greater good of each other. We aspire only to happiness."

"Yes, yes," he said impatiently. "But what about industry and economic structure?"

"We are each industrious and we all are rich."

"Surely you must have some political organization. After all, you are representing your people."

"We are each ambassadors of our way of life. I had no other work today."

"But someone must decide how things are going to be done. You can't build a city with good deeds."

Misunderstanding clouded her many eyes. "We built it with our hands."

Grayfield was getting nowhere with his questioning. This was a delicate chore, this probing, and so far a computer did not exist that could do the job better. It was a skill that had propelled Grayfield up through the ranks of the space fleet.

The Areopagus could easily send down fire from the spaceships, then let their machines sift the rubble. But merely crushing and sluicing wasn't satisfying enough. Wealth was also found in the souls of species, and souls could be wrung dry in search of valuable spiritual knowledge, another weapon to be added to the Areopagan arsenal. Grayfield's interest in this abstract discipline had made him a mental guerrilla, a philosophical spy.

He tried another approach. "Well, what of crime? Stealing, for example."

"Stealing?" Exa shook her head, causing the stalks of her eyes to wiggle.

"Taking the property of another."

"There is no need to take what already belongs to you."

"Well, does your race kill? Even if only for food?"

"Food is provided. We eat of the bread of life. We value all living things even as we do our own bodies."

"You mean to tell me, as far as you know, one Peacehand has never slain another?"

"We would as soon slay ourselves."

"Then certainly you lie," Grayfield said.

Every species Grayfield encountered had lied at one time or another, usually in their first translated sentence when they said "Pleased to meet you." Lying was a universal truth.

"We have no reason to lie, because lying is done for gain of some kind. We already have the wealth of spirit, and the wealth of materials naturally follows."

"Sex, then. Much evil is committed in the pursuit of lust."

"We do not reproduce in the genetic manner you are thinking of. Our bodies have evolved to function eternally. Our physical pleasure stems solely from mental harmony. We have no desires."

Grayfield was irritated. Such virtue could not exist among creatures of flesh and consciousness. "And hate? Not a single bad thought among any of you?"

"That I cannot truthfully deny. We are on constant guard against such things, but, to us, it is not the thoughts themselves that are wrong. They spring unbidden, as natural as breath. It is acting upon evil thoughts that we each have the power and responsibility to avoid."

"But how do you police those actions?"

"It is not our place to punish. It is our place to strive for goodness, or at least avoid any evil action."

This was maddening, Grayfield thought. They were halfway through the city and he could see the basalt dome from which they had started walking. It towered above the white stone slabs of the shiny buildings. The marble structures that lined the streets were interrupted by more of those too-high arched doorways set at intervals among the tidy squares of the other doors.

He was about to ask about the irregular doors when his Command-implant clicked and a shipboard message filled his head: "High Command computer advises that it is time for Diplomatic Corps to reassemble."

"Exa, would you be so kind as to escort me back to our meeting place?" Grayfield said, flashing his worn smile and extending a gentlemanly arm. "Such a beautiful creature at my side in such a beautiful city would make me feel like a god."

"I would be honored," Exa said, hooking her blunt arm with his. All of her blue eyes sparkled, at least the six that Grayfield could see at the moment. Had she suffered, however briefly, from the sin of pride?

"What is a god?" she asked.

Grayfield had no answer for her.