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By Root 270 0

built to fit her hands, or at least Kirse hands; the toggles and sliders that had been so awkward to his touch were perfectly positioned for her use. The robot slid smoothly into motion, the tether that connected the skid to the end of the harvester tightening gently, without the clash of metal. Paris sighed, impressed and a little jealous, and the combined machines moved off into the last stand of grain. They weren't much like the robots he'd worked with in the Federation, were oddly-unnecessarily-humanoid in their construction, a roughly Kirse-shaped torso rising above the harvester's maw, the multiple arms at each shoulder looking like an afterthought. Most of the robots he'd seen in the Federation were boxy, distinctly mechanical shapes, formed by their jobs rather than any sense of aesthetics. And I'm really just trying to distract myself from the problem at hand, he thought, and turned to Grayrose.

"Do you think the Andirrim are really here to trade, or are they planning a sneak attack?"

Grayrose shrugged with her wings, never taking her eyes from the robot in the field. "They have attacked before, when they said they wanted trade. But I can't read their minds."

"Sorry," Paris said, startled, and Grayrose gave him an apologetic glance in turn.

"No, I'm sorry. I meant that it's hard to judge their intentions-the customs of animals are hard to comprehend."

In the field in front of them, the harvester pivoted at the touch of paired toggles, began its next pass. Paris said, "So you tested the Andirrim like you tested us?"

"Yes." Grayrose was again intent on the harvester, her eyes narrowed as she maneuvered it into a second turn.

"And they-ate the food you'd put out?" Paris went on. "The banquet in the hall?"

"They ravaged the gardens," Grayrose said, and there was no mistaking the bitterness in her voice. "They didn't even get as far as the citadel." She controlled herself with an effort. "But that was a long time ago."

The harvester had finished, was trundling back toward them, and Paris glanced again at his tricorder. Another twenty minutes, if Laek had estimated right, and then they could begin transporting supplies up to the ship. He squinted at the other harvesters, trying to judge how much they'd done, and his communicator beeped again.

"Chakotay to Paris."

"Paris here." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Grayrose take a step away, not quite out of earshot, but a polite gesture.

"We've run an analysis of the Andirrim approach vectors, and their intention is, well, ambiguous. The captain wants the away team back on board before the ships reach orbit."

"How much time do we have?" Paris asked.

"Two hours. Three at the outside."

Two hours. Paris grinned, swiveling on his heels to take in the fields he had marked for harvest. In two

hours, they could cut most of the plants he'd selected-already he knew which crops to leave out to make the best use of the time left, the berries that took time to shake from their branches without damaging the parent plant, the tubers that had to be cut free of their roots and stalks and then dug out of the ground. They could be left for later-assuming there was a later, of course, but the Kirse were friendly, and they had already survived attack by the Andirrim- He shook himself, made himself answer calmly, "Very good, Commander, but I want to go on harvesting up to the last minute."

"The captain says two hours," Chakotay answered. "And she means it, Mr. Paris."

"Acknowledged. Paris out." Paris stared for a moment at the fields, plotting the most efficient use of the machines.

"Is it good news?" Grayrose asked, and he started.

"Not exactly, I guess, but not bad, either. The captain's given us two hours to finish this before we have to beam up."

"It's a sensible thought," Grayrose agreed. "Shall I begin the orchard?"

Sensible, Paris thought. This from a person who lands shuttlecraft on a moving runway. He said, "If you would, that would be great. I'll join you in a minute."

The Kirse nodded, and started for the stand