by Ric Locke
“De’ze Korwits,” Peters acknowledged with a nod. The woman was beautiful, no doubt about it, with large clear-green eyes under winged brows, a smooth pale complexion, and symmetrically, even perfectly, formed features, but the beautiful face betrayed no hint of emotional involvement in the conversation. When she turned slightly to nod, returning Peters’s greeting, her gaze might as well have been directed at the bulkhead, or a star several light-years distant… not cold, or even abstracted; utterly dispassionate. He looked away quickly.
Troy produced another minimal smile. “Now, as I understand it, you give your race as khuma and your home planet as ‘Erth’; is that correct?”
“Approximately, ul’ptarze—”
“’Ze Troy’ is sufficient in normal conversation, once the initial courtesies have been exchanged,” the captain supplied.
Peters nodded. “Thank you, ze Troy. As I said, you have it approximately correctly. The word for our race in our language is human, and the plural is humans. The vowel in the name of our home planet is more extended: ‘Earth’.”
“Earth,” Troy pronounced, with a movement of his lips and tongue as if tasting the word. “Human. And where is planet ‘Earth’ to be found?”
“I don’t know,” Peters admitted. When the captain lifted his eyebrow he continued, “When we left Earth I was not involved in ship operation and therefore had no opportunity to observe. I am not a navigator or a student of the arrangement of stars in any case.”
“So you couldn’t return to Earth on your own, even if you had the means or perhaps our assistance?”
“No.” He hadn’t thought of that before. It was a little disquieting.
Ul’ptarze Troy leaned forward, tenting his hands once more. “And how did you come to be aboard a Grallt trade ship in the first instance?”
“The Grallt appeared in our skies and began trade negotiations,” Peters began, and related as much of the sequence as he knew. As he did so, he realized just how little of it he’d actually been informed about. “The Traders asked for advisers of little precedence, to assist in the work of preparing to receive the principal delegation,” he concluded. “My associate and I were selected from among the volunteers for that duty.”
“And you have been aboard for approximately two and eight zul?”
“Yes, that’s approximately correct.”
“That’s hard to believe,” Jons interjected. “It isn’t possible that you learned the language so quickly.”
Peters shrugged. “It’s scarcely credible to me. Most of my associates have had great difficulty; fewer than one in ten can say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ appropriately.”
Troy waved the ptarze down. “So among your own people you have ‘little precedence’,” he quoted. “What is your actual level of precedence among your own people?”
Peters thought for a moment, then sighed. Might as well be honest about it… “We use two structures. One is more or less parallel to the Grallt system or what I know of yours, and is called officer. The second is considered subordinate to the first, and is called enlisted; the Grallt have no similar system. I am of the fifth precedence in the enlisted system, out of one and eight possible levels.”
Ander Korwits said something. It sounded negligent and bored, but Elisin Troy cut off his line of questioning immediately and explained at length to her unresponsive face. The ul’ptarze then focused again on Peters: “I have explained to de’ze Korwits what we have discussed up to now. She finds it difficult to credit, but before we follow that line of thought I would like to clarify something. Your precedence is quite low among your own people, among khuman. Why do you claim higher status from your association with the Grallt?”
“I am faced with strangers of unknown status; naturally I claim the highest precedence I can legitimately assert.” Peters gestured at himself, indicating the suit pattern. “This is quite genuine, I assure you.”
Jons said “Pahp!” It sounded disgusted, which didn’t seem to follow, but the officer didn’t continue.
“Perhaps Horsig’s investigations can confirm or deny your assertions,” Troy observed with one of his thin smiles. “Horsig, what can you tell us?”
The two Grallt had been standing in a posture of alert ease during the conversation; they had not been offered chairs, and hadn’t taken them on their own. Horsig stepped forward a half-pace, and said, “Yes, ul’ptarze Troy. Shall I continue in the Trade, or report in Language?”
Troy waved negligently. “This man is either an honored guest or destined for confinement. In the first case he should hear your report; in the second it doesn’t matter. Speak the Trade, by all means.”
“Yes, ul’ptarze Troy.” Horsig glanced at Peters. “In the interest of expedition I took it upon myself to modify my orders,” he began. “I substituted Kheer for Doob, since Kheer is an experienced investigator and Doob is not. I decided that Kheer and I would proceed to Llapaaloapalla together, where I would remain to make inquiries while Kheer continued Down to check conditions there.”
“I consider that commendable initiative,” Troy told him. “Continue, please.”
“Thank you, ul’ptarze Troy,” the Grallt said with a deep nod. “With your permission, Kheer will summarize his findings first.”
Troy nodded, and Kheer stepped forward and nodded deeply. “To summarize: I discovered nothing that would contradict ze Peters’s story as I have heard it from Horsig and overheard here, and much that would tend to confirm it. Do you wish further details?”
“Yes. Succinctly.” Troy steepled his hands again.
Kheer nodded again. “I will try, ul’ptarze Troy… I was informed that a group of people, called by themselves ‘khuma‘ or something similar, was in residence, with a small number of Grallt sharing the experience. The group consisted of two subgroups: one of somewhat fewer than a square of persons, with status so exalted they neither dealt directly with the staff nor spoke to anyone, and a second group of three squares of persons. This second group was characterized as boisterous and exuberant, tending to extremes of behavior in some cases, but overall cheerful, cooperative, cleanly about their persons, and caring of the facilities. My informant considered them near-ideal guests.”
“Osfer and enlista, I would presume,” Troy observed.
“I did not hear those terms or any recognizable cognates, ul’ptarze Troy.”
“Never mind. Continue, please.”
“I took up a position where I might observe a group of the khuma at their recreation.” Kheer looked at Peters, then back at his commander. “Several of them enjoyed a game with a large ball. All were skimpily clothed or wearing airsuits. Strictly by physiology, I would have classed them as ferassi males in early to middle adulthood, except that—” he paused, spared Peters another glance “—there was a much larger variation in skin color and details of facial structure than in an equal-sized group of ferassi, ul’ptarze Troy.”
“How do you mean?”
“The bulk of the individuals had complexions darker than any ferassi I have seen—”
“Ridiculous,” Jons interjected. “Any ferassi exposed to starlight at the intensities found on a planetary surface will become dark. You are balancing shadows, Kheer.”
The Grallt looked apprehensive, and glanced from Peters to Troy and back again. Then he nodded deeply. “With all respect, ptarze Jons, I am familiar with the effect. One of the individuals I noted was such a dark brown as to be nearly black, with facial features much flatter and broader than found on any ferassi of my experience. The individual in question was wearing only a skimpy garment about the loins. I stand by my assessment, with all respect.”
Troy waved a hand. “Let him finish,” he said a little irritably. “We asked for his report. We should hear it.”
“Yes, ze Troy,” Jons said, a little abashed, and subsided. Peters chanced to glance at Ander Korwits, and surprised an actual expression on her face, so minimal as to be difficult to read, but seemingly alarm and a certain degree of interest.
She looked away quickly, recovering her impassionate mien. Apparently ul’ptarze Troy was capable of making the nice distinction between ‘does not’ and ‘cannot’.
“Did you speak to any of the khuma?” Troy asked the Grallt.
“No, ul’ptarze Troy, I did not. I attempted to do so, of course, but the most coherent reply I received was a fair rendition of ‘I don’t speak the Trade’. The khuma seemed to communicate by signs and a few words, but most of their needs were met by the few Grallt among them. I spoke with one such, a very attractive young woman called Se’en, who was keeping close company with a khuma whose name I believe was ‘Jacks’. If both had been either khuma or Grallt, I would have assumed them a mated pair—”
“Disgusting notion,” Jons growled, then subsided again at a peremptory wave from his CO.
Kheer nodded again. “Se’en confirmed that there were, or had been, two, eight, and three squares of khuma in the second group, and that one of those was called ‘Peters’ or sometimes ‘Peteris’ by the Grallt. She had a high opinion of ‘Peteris’. According to her, this individual learned the Trade in an incredibly short period of time, and had rendered assistance to the zerkre of Llapaaloapalla to the point of being granted precedence higher than her own, which she considered well deserved.” Kheer spread his hands, somehow submissively. “There is more, ul’ptarze Troy, but all confirmative or corroborative of the main points. Do you care to hear it?”
“No, that’s enough.” The Grallt nodded again, and this time Troy returned it with a short decisive jerk. “Good report, Kheer.”
“Ul’ptarze Troy,” Kheer murmured, and stepped back to his former stance.
“Horsig, your turn,” Troy commanded.
The senior Grallt stepped forward and nodded. “Yes, ul’ptarze Troy. The information I received expands upon and corroborates that obtained by Kheer, except for two points, one of which the human may not have wished to advertise, and one which Kheer might not have heard. What is your pleasure, ul’ptarze Troy?”
“Details of the two points, Horsig.”
“At your pleasure, ul’ptarze Troy… First, Llapaaloapalla experienced an attack by the dar ptith a half-zul ago. The attack was beaten off by the courage, abilities, and equipment of the human, with casualties.”
“Aha… and the second point?”
Horsig glanced at Peters. “The individual called ‘Peteris’ was attacked by a gang of hoodlums. He and his companion dispatched their attackers rather handily, by the account I was given, but Peteris disappeared shortly thereafter, and is still missing.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Ul’ptarze Troy focused on Peters for a moment, then glanced at Fredik Fers. “It would appear that ipze Fers has made a series of mistakes,” he remarked.
Peters smiled. “Juniors make mistakes; it is inherent in the concept.”
“You may be well respected among the Grallt,” Troy observed with one of his wintry smiles, “but I don’t need your advice regarding supervision.” He spoke with enough wryness to take most of the sting out of the rebuke.
“Just so, ul’ptarze Troy.”
“The assessment is accurate none the less.” Troy glanced at Ander Korwits. “Ipze Peters, I am now confident that your story is in the main true, although I’m uncomfortably aware that several important details remain to be elucidated. Are you satisfied that we are not of the dar ptith, who attacked your ship and killed your fellows?”
“Yes, I am, ul’ptarze Troy, although like you I am aware that not everything has been explained.” He considered the officer with a level gaze. “When may I expect to be returned to Llapaaloapalla?”
“Not for some time, I’m afraid.” Elisin Troy tented his hands before his face again, looking over the structure at Peters, and smiled, the expression failing to reach his eyes. “You claim to be of a race unknown to us, but externally you are identical to one of the two most common bloodlines of the dar ptith.” He waved down the sailor’s objection before it got underway. “You have unexpected skills, and things in your possession that we don’t know the provenance or use of. Further clarification is required.”
“I wish to register a protest, ul’ptarze Troy,” Peters said without heat. “You have attacked and abducted me without provocation, and offered minimal reparations if any. Return me to my previous environment, please.”
“That may well be possible in the future.” Elisin Troy glanced at Ander Korwits, received the most minimal of nods. “This meeting is at an end. Ipze Peters, please go with de’ze Korwits; she and her staff have questions for you, of a nature not suitable for open discussion.”
“What sort of questions?”
“I believe you might consider them philosophical.”
Peters thought back to the book he had been reading. “I may not be able to properly elucidate any really complex philosophy,” he warned.
“The level at which you are able to answer will be highly indicative… Fers, you will go along to interpret.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Ander Korwits in a musical voice, with a hint of amusement. The others were clearly amazed; Peters caught a glimpse of Jons, his jaw practically touching his chest, as the woman went on, “For a matter of this importance, direct communication is necessary.” She smiled and touched Peters on the chest. “Come along, ipze Peters, or Peteris, or whatever your name is. We will have tea, and discuss philosophy.”
* * *
“I have been behaving like an adolescent,” Ander said when they were seated in bowl-like chairs on thin stems. The chairs were grouped around a circular table with a white top; the table held a tea service, pot and cups made of glass so thin Peters was apprehensive handling them. The compartment sported a window, the first he’d seen outside the control deck, currently displaying Jivver in half phase.
“Why do you say that, de’ze Korwits?” Peters asked.
She laughed. Her voice was a clear alto, and her laugh was refreshing; the Grallt version seemed even more like choking or something mechanical in retrospect. “Don’t call me by my title,” she admonished. “Say ‘Ander’ or ‘Andy.’ What is your name among friends?”
“My friends call me ‘John’.” Peters smiled, a little apprehensively. “It remains to be seen whether or not I am among friends.”
She laughed again. “Never doubt it! And surely you noticed my behavior. Really, it’s disgraceful.” When he didn’t respond she—well, she giggled, and took a sip of tea, regarding him over the rim of the cup with a half-smile. “I believe you have indeed taken notice, and are too polite to be specific,” she observed.
Peters nodded. “I am among strangers, and wouldn’t care to be incited to inappropriate behavior.” The trip from ul’ptarze Troy’s office to here amounted to a hundred meters of corridor and two decks, and all during the walk she’d been touching him at any excuse, walking with a little too much hip-swing, glancing at him with averted sparkling eyes. He’d been on his guard. From the behavior of Troy and the others at the conference, this was a very important person, not someone to swing immediately into the sack… the prospect appealed anyway.
“Very wise, if not the best compliment you could have offered. I wonder what is affecting me? I assure you that I don’t flirt with every man who steps aboard.”
“I can well believe that.” Peters thought as he took a sip of tea. Late nights over pinochle came to mind… “I can offer a possible explanation, from the lore of my people.” Well, the lore of sailors’ bullshit sessions, anyway. They’d been talking about why it was that “pretty” didn’t matter much on liberty after a long cruise. He thought he remembered most of it.
“Say on,” she said with a smile. “Perhaps if I know what is happening I can counteract it.”
“Very likely, though as you mentioned the notion isn’t the best possible compliment.” She giggled again and gave a little wave, and Peters went on: “The highest imperative of an organism is to reproduce. That process is mediated by—” he searched for the word,
finally used the English “—genes, small components of our bodies which direct its development. Are you familiar with this theory?”
She frowned. “I have read something similar, but only as speculation.”
“Hm… Our—” again he was forced into English “—scientists have established that this is in fact the case. Our bodies give off secretions, byproducts of the genes, which are specific to the individual, but also carry general information about the sex and health of the person.”
When he paused she waved him on. “Continue, please. This is interesting.”
Peters shrugged. “Next to the eyes, the nose is the organ most closely connected to the brain,” he pointed out. “Our nasal organs detect these substances, and the information carried by them is delivered to the brain, where they induce many reactions, including desire.”
She frowned. “If I follow you, I should react the same to any healthy male. I don’t; your theory is faulty.”
“Not necessarily. All the males you meet are from the same population; their pheromones—the word in our language for the substances—are strongly similar. You have become acclimatized to them, and don’t react.” He smiled. “Our two populations have clearly been separated for a long time; my pheromones are not at all similar to the ones you are accustomed to. Therefore you react.”
“Plausible… do you find me attractive on the same basis?”
Peters laughed. “Ander, I would find you attractive if you were sealed in a gas-tight bubble.”
“That is good to hear.” She took another sip of tea, grimaced, and set the cup on the table. “The tea set is beautiful, but it doesn’t keep the heat properly,” she complained. “The cup I use normally is much less elegant, but my tea doesn’t get cold so quickly. I’ll fetch it.”
