"But their ability to resist our Magh' client-species is better than predicted. And if the confused reports coming from their media are to be believed, there is a possibility that our plans and works might be uncovered."

As always, that being its principal function, the High Five-spike was the voice of caution. The Ruling Five-high shifted in her waterbath.

"It is a low probability, considering the level of influence we have on their leadership structure. But nonetheless we must send in a clean-up squad. And perhaps step up supplies of materiel from the spawnship to our client-species. See that the Magh' are contacted on the closed beam, and given such information as the clean-up team can gather. As a final alternative there is always direct action. We have a large slave army, potentially, at our disposal."

The youngest of the inner-high flicked his spines in respectful assent. The slave had learned to read the clatters as clearly and easily as the soft-cyber implant had taught him the Overphyle's speech. The youngest of the inner-high was still diffident in his suggestions. He was only a sixth instar, after all. "Perhaps some chemical agents, Highest? And some more sophisticated delivery mechanisms, for the client-species?"

"Yes. And bring my snack, slave. Before I dine on you."

The slave did. Then moved cautiously away, as hastily as he dared. He was just in earshot when he heard one of them say something that made him nearly drop his bucket. "Do you think that there is any substance in the report that a Jampad was freed in this debacle?"

The slave desperately wanted to stay and listen. But he dared not. There were slaves of some seven different species on this ship. But he was the only one of his kind, and he had not believed there could be others, so many light-years from home. Had one of his people succeeded in breaking free?

Elsewhere in George Bernard Shaw City, in a space more cavernous but no less dark.