“Why don’t you just swap your thoughts back and then your
They stopped their argument and stared at her, blinking, for some moments.
“Brilliant!” gasped Abigail.
“Such wisdom,” added Roger in awe, and they both ran off upstairs without another word.
“Good move,” said Ashley, clearly impressed. “We’d not have thought of
Mary was going to ask how it was possible
“My sister,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth. “
“Ash!” she exclaimed in a state of extreme fluster as she handed him the bow and glue gun. “I’m sooo late! Stick this on, would you? Hello, you must be Mary. I’m Daisy. Ashley told us all about you.”
She put out her hand, and Mary shook it, catching a glimpse of a great number of aliens all crammed into a Honda Civic and chanting Monty Python’s dead-parrot sketch in unison.
“Stand still,” said Ashley as he squeezed a blob of glue onto the top of Daisy’s translucent head, then placed the bow on it and held it while the glue dried.
“Is Ash a good policeman?” asked Daisy, wincing with the heat of the glue.
“Yes, he is.”
“Then why is he data-crunching down at the NCD and not out on the beat?”
“Training,” said Mary.
“Really?” replied Daisy scornfully. “I thought it was because no one wanted to work with him.”
“You’re done,” muttered Ashley, taking his hands off the bow,
“and try and keep your 1010111010101 closed, why don’t you?”
Daisy showed Ash the finger, skipped off to the front door and went out.
“You put her bow on backward on purpose, didn’t you?” asked Mary.
“Yes. Come and meet Uncle Colin. He fought in the First Zhark Wars, you know.”
Ashley led Mary through to the lounge, where a smaller alien with a slightly wrinkled appearance was watching
“Hullo!” he said. “Who’s this?”
“This is Mary, Uncle.
“No need to repeat yourself, young fella-me-lad. What do you think I am, deaf?”
“How do you do?” said Mary.
“Not at all,” he said genially. “
Mary frowned and looked at Ashley, who crossed his eyes and rotated a finger next to his head.
“I fought in the Zhark Wars, you know,” Uncle Colin continued, his eyes going all dreamy as he stared off into the middle distance. “I’ve seen things you would not believe. Zharkian battle cruisers massing near the Rigellan crossover—”
“Here we are!” said Abigail and Roger, who had just scampered back down the stairs. “Would you like a drink?”
“Thank you.”
“We’ve got most types of hooch,” said Roger cheerfully, opening the top of a globe that tastefully doubled as a drinks cabinet. “I like to keep the house well stocked. We’ve got diesel, castor, olive, groundnut, multigrade or sunflower.” He looked among the bottles. “I think we might even have some crude somewhere—
“I told you all this earlier,” said Ashley in a strained tone.
“Humans don’t drink oil—at least, not on its own—and only organically derived.”
“Are you sure?” replied Roger, sorting through the bottles in the cabinet again, as though hoping something suitable might miraculously appear. “We’re a bit short on everything else.”
“A glass of water would be fine for me—I could have one of those.” She pointed to an array of jars on the mantelpiece.
“Ah,” said Roger with an embarrassed cough, “those are our memory jars. We like to have at least one backup.”
“Oh,” said Mary, blushing at the faux pas.
“I’ll get you a glass from the kitchen,” said Abigail and scampered off.
“… and seen the Dorf army scatter in the wake…” muttered Uncle Colin, still to himself.
“A toast,” announced Roger as soon as Abigail had returned with Mary’s water and everyone had been handed an oil of some sort and Ashley told he couldn’t have multigrade but would have to stick to olive “until he was older.” “A toast,” he said again, “to the excellent bispecies understanding we currently enjoy.”
“10001010110,” said Abigail, raising her glass and downing it in a single gulp.
“10001010110,” said Ashley, doing the same.
“10001010110,” said Roger, winking at Mary.
“10001010110,” said Mary, and they all stared at her and blinked for some moments in silence.
“Well, I think you’re mistaken,” said Abigail eventually. “My mother
“What did I say?” asked Mary, looking at Ashley for support.
“… and fought through the spice mines of Kessel…” droned on Uncle Colin.
“Dinner, anyone?” said Roger as a timer pinged in the kitchen, and everyone sprinted for the table, leaving Mary to bring up the rear.
“Has anyone seen Daisy?” asked Abigail, bringing in a large basket full of chips.
“She went out earlier,” said Ashley a bit impishly, “with that 10010111110101 rabble from across the road.”
“She’ll come to a sticky end,” said Roger.
“I think that was her intention,” replied Ashley with an amused squeak.
“Ashley,” scolded Abigail, “I won’t have that sort of gutter talk at dinner. Mary, be a darling and pass the toothpaste.”
Mary picked up what she thought must be the condiment basket and passed it up the table. Abigail carefully chose some Colgate and squeezed it onto her chips with some diesel oil out of a jug.
“Would you like some more?” asked Roger.
“I haven’t had anything yet,” pointed out Mary.
“I mean, would you like your more
“Do you like Marmite?” asked Abigail quite suddenly.
“Not really.”
And they all applauded by tapping their sucker digits together. It sounded like twelve popguns going off in unison.
“Is this what Rambosians eat?” asked Mary politely. “Chips?”
“Goodness!” said Abigail, suddenly rising from the table and running into the kitchen, only to return a few seconds later with another plate. “I almost forgot the Pop-Tarts.”
Mary didn’t eat any Pop-Tarts but found some vinegar to put on her chips. The conversation was pretty mundane and centered on Roger’s and Abigail’s jobs in the library, with Uncle Colin’s recollections occasionally rising above a murmur in the background.
“…so we put it in ‘oversized books,’ which is a
“…outran a supernova in the Crab Nebula…”
“…so I memorized every word in every book, so customers can ask for anything with even the vaguest reference to their subject…”
“…suggested we taught binary as part of the open university’s language department—I ask you…”
