by Ric Locke
She stood and walked out, and Peters took the opportunity to take a deep breath—still laden with pheromones, unfortunately, as well as the perceptible odor of human female—and look around. Thank God for the table between them. The room was paneled in pale tan material with no surface features but the seams between sections, and was lit by the ubiquitous fluorescent tubes, here diffused by gridworks of mirrored bars. In addition to the table and chairs, the room was furnished with a settee and an overstuffed chair, both white, with smooth surfaces. Two doors led back to the corridor and to wherever Ander Korwits had gone, probably her quarters… no, better not to follow that line of thought.
She was gone longer than necessary to fetch cups, and when she returned she walked with her back straight and fluid minimal movements; her face had reassumed the neutral immobility it had displayed during the conference with the ul’ptarze. With her came another female ferassi, young, a short blonde with undistinguished features and a masculine-like haircut parted on the left. The blonde carried a tray upon which were a ceramic teapot and four thick ceramic mugs like the ones many sailors used. She distributed the set, collected the beautiful thin glass ones, and left with economical motions, her entire interaction with Peters being confined to a single flashing glance laden with suspicion.
De’ze Korwits seated herself and sat erect. “Further refreshment will be coming soon,” she said in a neutral tone. “This is likely to be an extended discussion. If your body functions require relief, make the necessity known and we will suffer a brief interruption. Serve yourself, if you would.”
Peters nodded and did so, reflecting that he was in no condition to suffer an extended interrogation. His headache had subsided, but he was conscious of an overall debility that would yield only to food and rest. Maybe the “further refreshment” would provide the first… he poured for himself and the de’ze. She acknowledged the courtesy with a bare nod, her expression not varying. Dolls were positively exuberant by comparison.
Two others entered the room: a blonde woman, tall, about the same age as Ander Korwits, with blue eyes so pale they were nearly white and hair cropped close to her head, and a shorter female with the same coloring as Korwits’s. The dark newcomer was older, mid-forties at a guess that was likely to be unreliable, but suffered not at all by comparison with her companions. The least that could be said of either of them was “beautiful”, barring their expressions and manner, which were as neutral and dispassionate as the de’ze‘s.
They seated themselves as Ander Korwits made introductions: “Here are Alper Gor—” the blonde nodded perhaps a millimeter in acknowledgement “—and Luter Ander.” The older woman unbent to the extent of a twitch of the mouth that might have been a smile if completed. “Together we constitute the Council of Ulze of this pa’ol. They have been warned of the existence of peromon, and in addition the tea contains substances which enhance alertness and diminish the libido. We should be able to confer without extraneous interruptions.”
“Pleasant greetings,” Peters offered, receiving micrometric nods in return. Luter Ander poured tea and sipped; Alper Gor addressed a remark to Ander Korwits, and the two held a colloquy. At length the blonde woman faced him and said, “Disrobe,” in a voice totally devoid of emotional content. “I wish to make an inspection.”
Peters sat back in his chair. “I’m reluctant to do that,” he admitted.
“Do you have secrets to conceal?”
“Not that I know of, but the situation seems, ah, asymmetrical.” He looked from one woman to another. “Will you allow me a similar privilege? I believe I am owed equivalent assurances.”
There was a long pause. “Considered as a matter of equity, there is no reason to demur,” Alper Gor stated. “Will one be sufficient?” Was that a glint of humor on Ander Korwits’s face?
If so, it was fleeting. “I believe one will be enough, if I am assured of equivalence.”
“We have individual differences, of course, but the significant features should be identical,” Alper Gor declared. “You may inspect, with myself as the subject. Disrobe.”
Peters stood and complied. Alper Gor did the inspecting, as cooly and impersonally as a doctor’s examination and almost as detailed. She ignored his natural reaction, seeming to take it as a matter of course, and he made no attempt to suppress it. At length she straightened. “Enough,” she said. “You may clothe yourself.”
He did so, turning his back for most of the process. When he faced her again he was confronted with an impressive specimen of blonde femininity, almost his own height and constructed on the principle that elegance of form took precedence over abundance of provision. Close visual inspection yielded no difference from human females of his experience. He made no attempt at dispassion in the tactile examination, in fact making it as provocative as possible without actual assault. Her face never varied from its neutral expression, but her autonomous functions had different notions; her responses were well within the norms as he knew them, including the flush that suffused her immobile features and a few other zones. “I am satisfied,” he pronounced, a considerable overstatement, and glanced at Ander Korwits, surprising an expression of minimal but definite amusement that disappeared as soon as she felt his regard.
“What do you conclude?” Ander inquired as Alper Gor seated herself.
“I am reluctantly persuaded,” Alper admitted. “I find no external differences between this individual and the males of my experience. At first I thought to detect a variation, but I conclude that the deficiency is the result of surgery.” She looked at Peters. “Is that the case?”
“Yes. The surgery is performed immediately after birth. It’s not done in all cases; I don’t know the precise statistics.”
“It isn’t important… what did you conclude from your own examination?”
“Much the same. I found no significant differences between yourself and the human females I have experience of.” He looked from one to the other. Luter Ander was definitely smiling, and Ander Korwits expressed amusement as well; Alper Gor’s eyes were fractionally narrowed, and the left corner of her mouth twitched slightly. “Pending a detailed internal examination, we are of the same species, however incredible it may seem,” he concluded.
“I almost fully agree,” Alper Gor pronounced. “Excuse me for a moment.” She stood and left the room, indulging herself in a backward glance as she went through the door.
Luter Ander leaned forward. “According to the information I have, you come from a planet far from here, but don’t yourself know precisely where it may be. Is this correct?”
“Yes, it is,” Peters admitted.
“What species are found in the near regions of space around your planet?”
“I don’t know that, either. I haven’t made extensive explorations.” He held up a hand to forestall comment as he thought. “The first species we saw after leaving Earth was the enkheil. Does that help?”
“It might narrow the possibilities somewhat,” Luter Ander stated. “How long did you travel before finding the enkheil?”
Peters shrugged. “A matter of two eights of llor.”
“That doesn’t narrow the possibilities much,” Luter Ander admitted.
“No, it doesn’t,” Korwits agreed. “Kheer suggested that your people vary more in skin color and details of physiognomy than we do. Is the present group a fair sample of your people?”
“Not really. A truly representative group would average darker than we do.”
“I see.” Ander Korwits glanced at Alper Gor, who was seating herself, setting a cloth bag on the table as she did so. “And how many human are there?” the de’ze inquired.
“I don’t know precisely; my best information is approximately—” he struggled, working out how to express three or four billion in the numbering system they would understand. The result was cumbersome, and when he got it out he thought he detected a twitch of Ander Korwits’s eyebrow. “There were more until about half a square of years ago,” he ad
ded. “We have had problems… How many ferassi are there? Is your home planet nearby?”
There was a long pause; the three women exchanged looks, their features impassive as always but seeming nervous anyway. “As with you, I don’t know precisely,” Ander Korwits admitted. “Certainly there are fewer of us than the number you describe. Very few ferassi live on planets. Almost all of us live on ships, or with the Makers.”
“I understand.” Peters leaned back in his chair, using the interruption as Alper Gor emptied her bag to think. The contents of the bag were the items he’d had with him when he was abducted: the book he’d been reading, the handheld, the earbug, a wad of ornh, a few coins, his financial documents, and the buckle to his kathir suit. Ander Korwits and Luter Ander took up the unfamiliar items for an examination, not reacting visibly. He looked at the buckle, considering things he’d heard.
There had been a number of references to “makers”, the intonations making the word a proper name rather than a denotation. “What are… ” he reformulated his question: “Where are the Makers to be found? Could I see one?”
“The Makers are far from here,” Ander Korwits said in her calm alto, and Peters thought to hear a slight vibration of—what? Some sort of agitation. “We are of the nuñe ptith; we are custodians of Makers of furnishings, lighting equipment, certain navigational instruments, and zifthkakik of the larger sizes, with High Phase capability.” She fingered the earbug. “I don’t recognize this device. What Makers do the human of Earth care for? Clearly their products are very different.”
Concepts blossomed in Peters’s mind. “We are not custodians of Makers in the sense I believe you mean—”
He was interrupted by a knock on the door. Ander Korwits pronounced a word, and two Grallt women came in, escorting a ferassi girl who could not have been over sixteen years old. The girl was short, dark-haired, and amply endowed, with the high taut breasts of the post-adolescent; she was also totally nude, with not so much as foot coverings. Her escorts—guides? captors?—stopped and urged her forward, and she stood, head erect, feet slightly apart, hands at her sides, an expression of mild apprehension on her face.
Alper Gor made a minimal gesture toward the girl. “So, ze Peters, we agree that you and I seem to be of the same species, based on external examination. It remains to prove that conclusively.”
“I don’t understand,” Peters said softly, although he thought he might.
Alper Gor nodded. “There is only one test available to us that will determine without ambiguity whether or not we are the same species,” she declared, and indicated the girl again. “Impregnate this female.”
“No,” said Peters.
“Do you doubt your ability to do so? If so, it casts doubt on your assertions,” Luter Ander observed without emotional content.
“Not in the least.” Peters looked from one woman to another and made a disgusted grimace. “My objections, if such they may be termed, are of an ethical nature.”
“How so?” Ander Korwits asked softly.
“Bah.” He gestured at the girl. “There she stands, brought here by a pair of servitors like a slab of meat for a meal, bereft of the least scrap of clothing to add either dignity or interest to the occasion, not comprehending what her purpose here is—”
“She knows very well what her purpose is,” Alper Gor observed, a certain dryness breaking through the otherwise emotionless statement.
Peters nodded. “So her expression and posture tell me, and it makes it worse, not better.” He caught the attention of the Grallt servitor nearest him. “I wish to tell her something. Translate precisely.”
“Yes, ze.” The woman nodded deeply.
Peters addressed the girl: “For personal reasons of my own, not any deficiency of yours, I must reject your services. You will not be disciplined for what may be seen in some quarters as a failure on your part, and in fact you have not failed in any way. Go and seek what happiness may be available to you.”
The woman waited until she was certain he had finished, then spoke to the girl in a low voice, leaning over slightly to do so. The girl’s face didn’t change expression until the end, when she looked directly at him for the first time and nodded, still patiently apprehensive.
Peters nodded back, then addressed the woman again: “Take her back to her quarters, and give her whatever reward may be suitable for good service. I meant what I said about discipline or punishment; if anyone suggests such, refer them to me.”
“Yes, ze.”
He folded his arms and sat, stonily regarding the group, as they collected themselves and left. The woman he’d spoken to looked back for a moment past the edge of the door panel, then nodded again and followed her charge into the corridor, and Peters turned to deliver a challenging look to the three women.
“Your ethical objections, if such they truly are, are clearly deep-seated, but they make no sense to us,” Ander Korwits remarked. “Do your traditions not teach that visitors should conform to the customs of their hosts?”
“They do, but consider the incident from my point of view for a moment.” Peters indicated the door with a wave. “That individual is, to my eyes, barely distinguishable from the unfortunate inhabitants of the slave quarters aboard the pirate vessel we defeated.”
“Ridiculous. The girls are well treated,” Alper Gor stated. “Certainly I recall my time in that service as one of enjoyment, even adventure.”
“The girls we found aboard the pirate ship were physically healthy. Emotional health is a quite different question.”
“Indeed.” Alper Gor leaned back in her chair. “In any case, the question of your species remains unresolved. Can you suggest how to proceed?”
“The basic concept is sound, but at the minimum I insist upon an adult who comes to the situation willingly, and with some enthusiasm for the project. Any of the three of you would serve, if you wished to do so.”
That surprised a whuff! out of Luter Ander, who broke her composure to smile and say, “Not I, I’m afraid, at least not if the object is pregnancy. I am beyond my time.”
“Are you? That surprises me, and is disappointing,” Peters told her. “You certainly don’t seem old enough to have lost enjoyment of the procedure. At the minimum I would be attempting to satisfy the desires of an adult, instead of indulging childish whims.”
She laughed, shortly but with genuine amusement. “I thank you for your compliment, ze Peters, and I find myself with more appreciation of the concept than I would have expected, but I must remove myself from consideration in this case.” When she spoke without affectation her voice was a clear contralto like cool smooth velvet.
“I genuinely regret that,” he said, and added enough shoulder motion to his nod to convert the gesture halfway into a seated bow.
“I find that I do as well,” she said on a wistful note. “But my two younger associates must be the favored subjects. Surely one of them will be willing to essay the experiment.”
A long pause ensued, during which the two younger women held one another’s gaze and Peters regarded them with a thin smile, arms folded. At length Ander Korwits said, “Do you have a choice between the two of us? Alper is somewhat the elder.”
Here’s a story I ain’t never gonna tell, Peters thought. Ain’t nobody goin’ t’ believe it anyways. “Any preference is so slight that it would disappear instantly if one or the other of you evinced a desire to pursue the experiment itself, rather than a simple wish to determine the outcome,” he said. “Purely from personal inclinations based upon aesthetics, you would be my choice. On the other hand, Alper Gor and I have already performed what might be considered the earliest stages of the procedure, with results that must be at least provisionally regarded as satisfactory; that might be a deciding factor.”
“So essentially you have no preference,” Alper Gor noted. Both women had lost their distant looks; she regarded at him with an expression that was half interested smile, half wry amusement. “That isn’t greatly complimen
tary to either of us.”
He spread his hands. “I will instruct you in male-female relationships at no extra charge: a woman is most attractive to a man when she appears to find him attractive. The principle was elucidated to me by my father’s father, and while my experience is neither protracted nor universal I have never found it wanting in applicability.”
“So the true root of your fastidiousness is vanity,” Ander Korwits interjected.
“Precisely correct. In the case of the young girl, the notion of engaging in actions which are different only in degree, not in kind, from those of the dar ptith is repugnant; it wounds my self-esteem. In the case presently before me, I wish assurance that your desire to proceed is not motivated by a sense of obligation or necessity, but rather derives from appreciation of my sterling personal qualities. ‘Vanity’ accurately characterizes both instances.”
Alper Gor laughed in a liquid soprano. “I find myself developing an inclination toward proceeding on that basis,” she admitted. “Our activities of a little while ago, considered in retrospect, add flavor to my growing enthusiasm for the prospect.” She had colored slightly, her fine golden eyebrows showing by contrast.
“Then you will find me not merely willing but enthusiastic.” He grinned. “We might begin by repeating the inspection procedure. Certain areas would almost certainly reward more study.”
Her flush deepened. “More detailed information is almost always useful,” she murmured.
Ander Korwits’s smile was now fully in evidence. “What would you do in the case where both of us wanted to continue?”
“I would respond with equal enthusiasm to both,” he assured her. “But here we encounter both a personal preference and a physical limitation. We have already determined that I am vain, but I assure you that I am not nearly vain enough to try to perform adequately with both of you at once; you will have to decide who has precedence. Furthermore, I am debilitated by exertion, stress, lack of nourishment, and not least by the aftereffects of my overindulgence. I would require a meal, and at least a few utle of sleep, before I could be expected to perform with more than minimal adequacy.”
