In any case, Chan Dalton was used to it. He nodded. “We understand. I will be the only human participant.”

“Then all are present,” the Angel said. “We can proceed.”

There was a silence, long enough for Flammarion to wonder if Milly had lost sound from the monitors. Finally the Pipe-Rilla writhed its limbs, produced a preliminary buzzing sound, and said, “Twenty of your years ago, the members of the Stellar Group were obliged to take an action that we much regretted. Humans, a known intelligent species, were denied access to all Link entry points except those close to your own sun. This quarantine was not imposed lightly, or for no good reason. It was done following more than thirty incidents in which ships with human crews undertook acts of piracy and aggression. Acts of trickery. Of treachery. Of violence .”

On the final word, the voice of the Pipe-Rilla rose in pitch, while surface components rose from the Tinker Composite and flew in an agitated fashion around it.

The Pipe-Rilla’s narrow thorax leaned forward. “Chan Dalton, we do not accuse you, personally, of such things. Your actions when you worked with our colleagues, so long ago on Travancore, showed you to be a simple, honorable being.”

Flammarion glanced at Milly. “Twenty years ago, maybe. Look at him now.”

Chan was nodding at the Pipe-Rilla. His weary and battered face wore an expression of cynical amusement. “Nice of you to say kind things like that.”

The Pipe-Rilla went on, “However, a species must take responsibility for the actions of all of its members. When humans showed no inclination to deal with the problem, we — Pipe-Rillas, Tinkers, and Angels — were obliged to act for you. We closed the interstellar Link system to human access.”

“Yeah. We noticed.”

Sarcasm was lost on the Pipe-Rilla. She continued, “Of course, the Link closure was never intended to be permanent. We would continue to observe, and look for beneficial change in human behavior.”