Birthright

major Atrian thoroughfare. And then, with nothing to blot out or muffle the sound, he sneezed.”

“So?” asked Braque.

“So fifty-seven Atrians shattered like so much fine crystal,” said Khalinov. “Then, when confronted with the civilian police, he panicked and decided to come back here.” “How did he get away?” asked Braque.

“He threatened to remove one of his protective gloves. The heat of his body would have killed every Atrian within two hundred feet of him. He'd have died too, of course, but that doesn't help his case any. So they let him go, radioed ahead, and we took him into custody the second he landed. I've spent the better part of two weeks cajoling and threatening Henderson over at Extradition, but it's no go: we can't keep him. Seems we're cultivating the Atrians’ friendship, so he's got to stand trial.” “Won't you look cute, though,” said Kominsky, “standing there in fifty pounds of protective covering and having all those delightful histrionics come out so soft and tinkling through your T-pack.” “Don't remind me,” said Khalinov, wincing. “Anyway, the trial is set for three weeks from now.” “The Atrians don't waste any time, do they?” said Braque. “They seem to like their justice swift and sure,” said Kominsky with a grimace. “Indeed they do,” agreed Khalinov. “Which means that we've got a lot of work to do and not much time to do it in.” He turned to Braque. “I want you to arrange accommodations for the three of us, half a dozen reporters—not all friendly—and at least two cameramen. If they need any equipment to muffle the heat and noise of their cameras, or even the scratching of their pens, see that it's supplied. Also, if I need any special outfit to enable me to stalk around the courtroom or stamp a foot or anything like that, get me two sets of it. Then find out the political situation there and if we can offer a couple of gifts to the lord high mufti without offending anyone else. Figure out what an animated chandelier would like and get something appropriate. If possible, have us stay on Komornos; it'll probably be more comfortable for us, and we won't have to worry about accidentally shattering any more Atrians. Finally, find out what form their visual media take and hunt me up a couple of experts in it.” He dismissed Braque with a wave of his hand, then turned his attention to Kominsky. “Okay,” he said. “Fill me in.”

“It may come as a shock to you, Ivor,” said Kominsky, “but even I don't have fingertip data on every race in the galaxy.”

“Then tell me what you can about methane-breathers in general before you run off to the library, or wherever it is you run off to when you're trying to convince me you're a genius.” “In general,” began Kominsky, “about ninety percent of all methane-breathing races are crystalline. They're extremely sensitive to sound and heat, but beyond those two forces they're just about unkillable. If you could hit the average methane-breather with the force of a small grenade but without the accompanying heat, he probably wouldn't even feel it. Another interesting point is that since they are virtually indestructible, most methane beings are extremely long-lived, usually surviving thousands of years. This tends to make them pretty placid and contemplative, which is one of the reasons they haven't