The Bond had begun pouring its own headquarters less than a week ago, after most of the Harrier fleet departed, leaving the Preceptor and his chosen pleniary-superior behind. She was named Tura, Kinsey knew. He still did not know the name of the Preceptor. Even in those few days, the structure was already complete. True, it was not as large as the kochan-house. The Bond favored austerity in all things, including their own quarters. But it was still impressive.
* * *
Kinsey did not know why he had been summoned. But, as soon as he was ushered into the Preceptor's private quarters, at least one minor mystery was resolved.
"I am called Ronz," were the Preceptor's first words, spoken in English, as soon as the aide who had led Kinsey there passed back through the doorfield. He gestured toward a nearby divan, designed in the low Jao manner. "Please, Doctor Kinsey, have a seat. I apologize that I have not yet been able to acquire human furniture. But I think you will find that reasonably comfortable."
Kinsey could not have cared less about physical comfort. Despite his nervousness, he was too fascinated by the Jao's demeanor. First, the easy grace with which the Preceptor moved. Here, in private, there was not a trace of that un-Jao-like neutrality of posture which Bond members exhibited in public. Instead, the Preceptor was exuding a certain kind of restrained graciousness. A polite host, welcoming his guest.
Even more fascinating, was his command of English. Grammatically correct, fluent—even the usual heavy Jao accent was barely noticeable.
That seemed as safe a place to start as any. As soon as he sat down, Kinsey said: "Your English is excellent, sir—uh, if you'll forgive me saying so."
"Why should I forgive a compliment?" The Preceptor lowered himself to a seat nearby. "It should be excellent. I have spent twenty of your years mastering the language. Along with several others."
Kinsey stared at him. Twenty years? When most Jao, even resident on Earth, barely managed to learn a passable pidgin?
The Preceptor's whiskers twitched. "Why are you so surprised, Doctor Kinsey? By the way, is that the correct title?"
"Uh—yes, sir. Well . . . To be honest, although it's become the custom, I personally think it's a bit silly. To me, at least, sir, a 'doctor' is a medical specialist. A purely academic scholar like myself should more properly be called just 'professor.' " His nervousness led him to attempt a witticism. "There's an old joke, sir, about someone at an academic conference having a heart attack and his wife calling for a doctor. And then the paramedics having to fight their way through the mob to do the poor fellow any good."
The moment he finished, he felt like an idiot. What would a Jao new to Earth understand about that joke?
But, fortunately, the Preceptor didn't seem annoyed. "Very well, then. 'Professor' it shall be." Again, his whiskers waggled. "And you needn't feel it necessary, by the way, to keep peppering your speech with 'sir' every other sentence. I assure you I am not easily insulted. Certainly not by acts of omission."
Peppering your speech. For Christ's sake, he even knows colloquial expressions.
Kinsey drew a deep breath and decided—caution be damned—to take the plunge.
"Well, I think one rumor is confirmed. You did plan for this, didn't you?"
Not to his surprise, the Preceptor even managed a fair approximation of a human shrug. "Yes and no, Professor Kinsey. Yes, in the sense that, twenty years ago, once we studied the reports of the Terran conquest, the Bond realized that we had both a crisis and an opportunity on our hands. That was obvious, even reading the very—ah, what's the correct English term? Yes—the very slanted reports. If I'm not mistaken, I think you would also call it the 'Narvo spin.' "
The Jao leaned back in his chair, spreading his hands on the very humanlike armrests. "No, however, not in the sense that we foresaw exactly what would happen. Nor, even, exactly how to proceed to a proper solution. We certainly never foresaw the final developments, which were shaped and driven entirely by Aille and his service. What was obvious to us, from the beginning, was simply the problem itself—and, more important still, the great opportunity."
"Which was? The 'great opportunity,' I mean."
The Preceptor gazed at Kinsey solemnly and calmly, for a few seconds, before replying with a question.
"Tell me, Professor Kinsey—as a student of human history—what do we Jao remind you of? From your own past, I mean."
Kinsey hesitated. Ronz lifted a hand. "Please, Professor, speak freely. I am not trying to trap you into anything."