shook the mane so that it flowed tangle free halfway down its back. But its paws and face were not furred. Curious.
And those lumpy organs on its chest? Could the infants have sent a female to negotiate for them? These negotiations could become fierce.
Ab’nere prepared to double her fee.
The infant’s bright eyes, that matched the clothing in color, moved restlessly (warily?), searching the room. Its gaze lighted on Ab’nere. Something akin to lightning flashed across the eyes and it curved a narrow facial opening upward. It bared no dentalia.
Good. It had at least read the first page of the etiquette book.
“Howdy!” the being nearly shouted. A violation of etiquette rule #57A, no need to raise one’s voice with the translator jacks.
Ab’nere ran the greeting through her vocabulary. Nothing computed in her head. She keyed the computer to check with vernacular references.
The explanation scrolled across the screen. “Howdy: a contracted form of ‘how do you do.’ An accepted polite greeting in portions of the central sector of the northern continent of the western hemisphere.”
Great. Not only was the language unstructured and incredibly illogical, it varied from region to region. Maybe she should jack in now and avoid a headache.
The infant’s pointed-toe boots with slightly elevated heels made little clicking sounds against the ceramic floor. Ab’nere clenched her jaw. Etiquette rule number 57B, no untoward noise while moving. This might distract from full comprehension of speech.
“This here the ‘First Contact Cafi’?” the being asked as it moved toward the bar in that curiously graceful, loose-jointed procedure.
Ab’nere contained her distaste at the new name for her beloved Labyrinth.
At least the infant spoke at a lower volume now. It enunciated each word slowly, drawing out many of the syllables. Another politeness to make certain the computer and listeners understood the language.
The infant species plunked its head covering on the bar and spun it. A curious device of two equilateral triangles, one with the apex up, and the other with the apex pointing down, adorned the front. The geometrical symbol of a six-pointed star had been adopted by every space faring nation as an indicator for star systems that supported planets and civilizations capable of space travel. Rather arrogant of the infant species to sport this design on its first excursion into civilized space.
“Body too big for efficient space travel,” the Glug muttered and disconnected from the language computer with a little belch that hardly stank at all.
“Maybe inefficient for conservation of resources aboard ship, but an estimable source of methane,” Ab’nere replied sotto voce in Glug. She gave him another double shot of methane on the house.
The Glug downed the drink and contained his belch—he must be nearing saturation. Or was too intimidated by the infant to properly digest. He shifted into a different amorphous shape rather than reply.
He made a curious form that invited the infant to perch atop him.
“Welcome to Labyrinth. You have found your appointment,” Ab’nere replied to the infant. She tried to imitate the up-curving facial gesture. She could not manage it without revealing a few teeth. Definitely bad form.
“Lexie du Prei, Abilene, Texas, in the good ole US of A. That’s on Earth. Folks just call me ‘Sexy.’” She thrust out a slender paw as if it expected physical touch.
Another breach. Rule number 23. No offer of physical contact on first meeting.
The paw remained outthrust, all four digits straight and stacked neatly one atop the other. The opposable thumb sticking out at a right angle must make it very dexterous.
Ab’nere stared at it with envy. Her own three-digit paw managed quite well, especially with suckers on each digit, but one more and an opposable would be ever so useful in manipulating glasses and counting credits at the same time. Perhaps her next mate should be from this infant species.
Ab’nere drew a deep breath and slowly extended her own forelimb with its suddenly inadequate three digits. She brushed flat surfaces, skin to skin. The being from Earth wrapped its digits around hers in a warm clasp. A curious feeling of well-being coiled up Ab’nere’s forelimb. The curving mouth gesture came more naturally to her.
Ab’nere gave her name in both her own language and the infant species’ according to appropriate protocol. The Glug appeared inert, removed from the language interface and therefore the proceedings.
Initial negotiations fell to Ab’nere. Not the first time she had stepped in. Mentally she added another ten percent to her fee.
Lexie du Preh folded her limbs to perch on the nearest object—The Ghoul. She leaned against the bar, both forelimb joints resting on the polished surface. Ab’nere grimaced at the cloudy marks its body heat left there.
“Sorry I’m late, Abner. But I went up to the observation bubble on this spoke to make sure my ship was locked down tight and I kinda got lost looking out at the stars. That sure is a purity view you got there.”
Purrty: colloquial form of pretty, slightly less than beautiful, the computer prompted Ab’nere.
“Your space station looks like a tin can with straws sticking out of it at odd angles from space. I got the lay of the land a bit. But, you know, from five million klicks away, it’s just another little blip on the sensors. I like looking at the stars better. You got quite a view here.”
“Yes, the view can be entrancing.” Ab’nere eyed Lexie du Preh’s stool and foot placement suspiciously. A bubble of mirth almost escaped her mouth. But that would be impolite to all parties involved.
Ab’nere served her new client a beer, one of the brews specified in preliminary communications. Actually fermented grain mixtures seemed to be a universal beverage; along with fermented fruits and vegetables—even the Glugs’ methane was a
fermentation of a sort. Only infant species indulged in distilled spirits and then not for long. Strong alcohol rotted brains and produced hallucinations faster in space.
At the last moment she remembered to plunk a pink parasol into the foamy head of the beer.
Lexie du Preh curved her mouth upward again and drained most of her beer in one long swallow. She held the parasol against the side of the drinking vessel with one of those marvelously jointed digits. Then she wiped her mouth daintily with a square of pristine white cloth she removed from her pocket. Some sort of floppy thread decoration edged the piece.
Ab’nere suddenly lusted after the attractive adornment.
Something in the delicacy of the gesture and the cloth did not mesh with the crude image the infant projected. Ab’nere watched Lexie du Preh more closely.
“But I see that I’m not the only pardner ridin’ in late,” Lexie du Preh said.
Pardner: colloquial of partner, used to indicate acquaintanceship or similarity of profession rather than those engaged in an actual partnership.
Ridin’. Ab’nere keyed into the computer quickly.
Ridin’: colloquial of riding, a euphemism for any kind of transport.
Lexie du Preh looked around the seemingly empty bar once more. “So, tell me, woman to woman, what can I expect from these Glugs? Are they canny as rattlers?”
Shrewd negotiators, the computer translated in shorthand.
Uh-oh, even the language program was succumbing to the infant’s abbreviated speech.
“Woo… woman?” Ab’nere gasped. “You can tell I am female?” She looked at her blunt, hairless body that only reached Lexie du Preh’s shoulder. She was clad in her customary asexual robe that covered her from shoulder to heel. Polite species did not flaunt sexuality.
Only selected mates could tell the sex of a Labyrinthine, and then only by smell during estrus. All relationships were built on asexual friendship before mating could even be considered.
“Shoot, honey, I can tell you’ve got a bun in the oven, and ain’t no man kin do that!”
“No one knows that yet. Not even the father. Are you a telepath? Your visitor profile did not mention telepathic abilities.”
“Nah. No hoodoo voodoo thought waves. Don’t believe much in that stuff. Every once in a while we’ll get a throwback who can see some strange stuff that ain’t really there. But we haven’t figured out how to make them breed true or train those we can verify. We just rely on observation. There’s something in the attitude toward life that makes us both female and new mamas. I got one incubatin’ myself, due in about seven of our moon cycles.
