"Well, the moment we landed on Calliokeh, I thought I had made a serious mistake. We came out of the airport, and almost immediately we saw an old woman with a Cybanian facial slash. Sharazade turned to run, and then we saw another. And then we both realized, of course, that Calliokeh had been a refuge for escaped slaves, throughout its history. These were Cybanian women: but there were others -- escapees from Demenchiadora Central, with their branding; the victors in the slave revolt on Circassix who simply turned their back on the Jaileroid, and left; and many others. And so it turned out that she was more welcome there than I. She was among friends.

I had this idea that there might be some Calliokeh singers somewhere around Destarlillo, given CallioPetey Jack's song, so we got two bus tickets on the Blorghound Express and headed South. Well it was North, really, but it felt like heading South, if you know what I mean. I think she slept all the way there, she was so tired, her head on my shoulder, rocking back and forth." He stopped. "Sorry."

They all just smiled.

"Anyway, we finally got to this town in the back of beyond, hot humid, the dogs sticking to the pavement if they didn't keep moving, and they didn't, as the driver said to us, pulling in to the depot. Now, Sir," said Boukey, "I don't know when you saw your daughter last -- "

The Elder said softly: "She was only a child when they were taken."

Boukey continued: "Well, Sir, she grew up into a beautiful young woman. She had a certain way about her -- she just smiled, and people would do things for her. I think that even in the few hours we had been on Calliokeh, she was getting stronger. I say that because while I was inside the depot, trying to talk to the officials about whether there were any musicians in the town, she had already sweetalked the locals sitting on the porch into directing us to the very home that CallioPetey Jack had sung about 80 years previously! We decided that before we tried to find somewhere to stay for the night, that we would check it out. We walked some distance in the heat, my recorder and other supplies weighing us down. And as we walked, she began to sing -- not an Earth song, or a Ternian song, but some jingle she heard on the bus, I don't remember what it was. That was the moment, Sir, for me. I could have walked down that road forever."

"So we walked, and she sang, and the houses got poorer and poorer, until we ran out of houses, and there were long fields of violet stretching out as far as you could see under the pink sky. Finally we came to a small house, couldn't be bigger than this room, and on the porch leaning up against a sofa with the springs half out was a little old Calliokeh woman, about 3 foot tall, wearing a workhat, and playing a 24 string guitar.

"'Good afternoon, Ma'am', I said. She likened as how that might be correct. 'I am a folk song and blues historian. This is my assistant.' Sharazade smiled that smile. The old lady smiled back.

"I am looking for anyone who might be able to remember anything about CallioPetey Jack, who was recorded here, oh, about 80 years ago or so".

"Sure, I remember him," she said, playing a reasonably complex Calliokan lick.

"You do?" I said, eagerly.

"Well", she said, "My memory isn't what it was. It is pretty foggy. I can remember some things. But my advice to you --" and here she turned her head -- "is to ask him himself. Hey, husband, there's some strangers here to see you. Non-government people!!!"