There was a wonderful bustle of busyness, a splendid to and fro, not unlike to art. Not unlike at all, Edger considered, watching the hasty humans dart up and down the wide hallway. The art of which his youngest of brothers, Val Con yos'Phelium Scout, was a master.
He tarried by the door some noticeable time, by human counting, his brother Sheather at his side, absorbed in the spectacle.
Not all was hastiness within the hall. Here and there, at appropriate and artful intervals, were arranged islands of stillness: a counter, a computer, and a human sitting behind a table. It was these still islands which, in a soaring of art, inspired the most of the hastiness, Edger saw, noting with a connoisseur's eye the flow of tensions, light and human plain song between and among the stillnesses.
He could have tarried in contemplation yet some while, save that the introduction of himself and his brother into the fringes of the work did subtly alter the flow, and exerted compulsion upon one of the centers of stillness, requiring the human seated behind the table to rise and throw himself into the hasty human river. In a very short time, indeed, by Clutch standards, he emerged and engaged in that activity known as "salute."
"Sirs. I'm Sergeant Ystro Ban. Is there some assistance I can offer you?"
"I thank you, Sergeant Ystro Ban, and honor your inquiry. We come seeking a soldier and were told she might have left word of her whereabouts with kin at this hall."
The Sergeant's face knotted up most wonderfully and his eyebrows went up and down rapidly.
"Well, sir, we don't normally just give out the whereabouts of one soldier. If you like, you can leave a message for her here and I will personally make sure she gets it, when she reports in."
"I regret that our need is more pressing than that, Sergeant Ystro Ban," Edger said, and with no real astonishment then heard his brother Sheather's voice, questioning most mildly.
"I wonder, Sergeant Ystro Ban, is it always so bustling in your hall?"
"Huh?" He looked over his shoulder as if he had forgotten the bright, busy clatter in the course of their discourse together, then shook his head.
"Naw, this is something special. Got a blood war on our hands and everybody who can carry a gun is signing into the rescue team."
"Forgive me," Sheather said. "A blood war? What has gone forth?"
Sergeant Ystro Ban shrugged. "What it looks like is a Yxtrang invasion force came into Lytaxin system and set up housekeeping. Trouble is, there's mercs trapped on the planet, and we don't aim to let 'em fight this one without backup."
Edger exchanged a glance with his brother Sheather, who blinked solemnly and asked yet again.
"Which mercs are these, Ystro Ban, who are trapped upon Lytaxin?"
"'Bout half of the Gyrfalks, is what we heard here." He moved his head from side to side. "Word is Suzuki's on Fendor, which is fine by me. Wouldn't want to be on the same planet with Suzuki right now."
"It is these Gyrfalcons who are kin to our sister, Younger Brother?" Edger asked slowly. "Brother, I believe they are."
"Ah." Edger turned his saucer eyes to Sergeant Ystro Ban. "Can you tell me if this hastiness we observe here will be replicated upon Fendor Mercenary Headquarters? And perhaps in other like halls?"
"Damn straight," said Ystro Ban.
"I understand you," said Edger and again sought the eyes of his brother, which were bright with the same thought, he would swear, that illuminated his own mind.
"I detect the hand of a great artist, Oh, my Brother," Edger said.
"I also," Sheather returned.
"And what more like our sister, that she should aid her kin in peril?"
"Nothing more," said Sheather.
"So." Edger turned back to the still and patient human and lifted a large three-fingered hand.
"I thank you for the gift of your time, and the jubilation of your news, Sergeant Ystro Ban. Do you go yourself to Lytaxin?"
"Couldn't keep me away with a battalion."
"I am gratified to hear it. Perhaps we may see you there. Come, Younger Brother, and reflect upon the depth of our brother's art, who inspires us to ever hastier action!"