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was also true. Balancing a tray piled with steaming vegetation, Rissa tried to
use the "chair" and found herself half sitting and half standing, like
perching on the edge of a tall barstool. Lisele's legs were too short to reach
the floor; she could not maintain balance, so she had to stand.
Her tray, Rissa learned, fit onto a prong that came up from the front of the
device. She looked at her eating utensils-two, mirror images of each other,
like shallow spoons with one edge sharpened, and ending in three short tines.
And a thing like a small spatula riddled with holes. She shrugged-when in
Rome, watch to see how the Romans do it.
The three Shrakken and five humans were in a circle; elsewhere in the room,
Shrakken formed other
circles, some eating already and some still arriving. Looking at her tray,
Rissa could not decide where to start, and except for Rorvik, her friends
seemed in like case.
Jenise said, "This green spongy stuff is all right; tasty, too. Stay off the
leafy things with the dark-red veins-
oxalic acid, I think, like in rhubarb leaves." She chewed something else,
nodded and swallowed; then she set down her hardware. "Look, there's no point
in you all trying each item for yourselves. Why don't I check out everything,
and then if you're willing to go with my judgment-but of course if you don't
trust something I
okay, speak up and say so. All right?"
"Fine with me," Tregare said, so as the others watched, Rorvik sampled each
offering and gave verdicts. Six items approved, four thumbed down, the rest
doubtful and thus left alone.
Except for Lisele, who balked at an approved vegetable that reminded Rissa of
broccoli, everyone followed Jenise's decisions. But then, the child hated
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broccoli, anyway.
Nobody got sick. And the spatula, Rissa learned, was for squeezing juice from
a yellowish ovoid; small bits of something
59
else were dipped in the juice as a sauce, and the squeezed yellow pulp left
uneaten. All in all, Rissa liked Shrakken cuisine.
After dinner, other Shrakken joined the group and they all went to another
room, this one colored a soft umber and decorated with curved line designs in
black. Here, not unexpectedly, were drinks. Recalling Stonzai's tastes, Rissa
expected wines and brandies, and was mostly right. As she had done for
Stonzai, now the Shrakken offered open containers for the humans to smell or
taste. One reddish fluid, brandy or no, smelled much like bourbon, so Rissa
chose it. She would have liked some ice, but saw none.
Now Stonzai spoke. "All, to listen must." She stood with a Shrakken who was
short for its kind and moved stiffly; its facial markings were paler and less
distinct than most. Old? Possibly.
Being among her own people made Stonzai's English even less comprehensible
than usual, but Rissa understood that this Shrakken was named Sharvil. And
Sharvil was the one who "spoke for" the port of
Shtegel, and for the entire colony on Shaarbant.
Well. It was time they got down to cases. Rissa listened and stayed silent,
leaving it to Tregare to handle negotiations.
From the timing of some of Sharvil's responses, Rissa guessed the older
Shrakken had already been briefed on Tregare's proposals; certainly, Stonzai
had known of them. Yet Tregare had to tell the whole thing-through
Stonzai-from the beginning. All about the Hoyfarul Drive, and his intention to
give FTL travel to the
Shrakken.
Then came questions, and Tregare paused to consider his answers. Finally he
said, "Judging by what you showed us, here on Shaarbant you can adapt your
ships for FTL. But not right away." He squinted past
Stonzai. "What you have is the tools to make the tools to do the job. Two
years, I'd guess, if you're lucky."
Earth years, Rissa supposed he meant; she doubted that he knew the length of
Shaarbant's.
She did not.
"So we can talk your technical people through the specs, and leave you a few
sets to work with. But then everybody's best bet is for us to go to Stenevo,
as we'd planned-where we can get FTL conversions going in a hurry and on a big
scale. That's-"
Now as Stonzai translated, Sharvil made shrill protest. Shaarbant did not have
two years of safety, Stonzai relayed. No-the Earth ship must stay and be of
aid!
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With seeming patience, though Rissa saw the tension in him, Tregare went
through it again. Two years, to accomplish anything, and so few ships here for
conversion. Were more expected? When? And these here now-how many were
scheduled to leave soon?
"No." Stubborn now, Tregare shook his head. All Shrakken life, not just
Shaarbant, was at stake. To stay here might doom the species and still not
save this world. And when he finished, Sharvil raised a hand. Head moving in
the way Rissa could never interpret, Sharvil spoke. And Stonzai slowly relayed
the words.
"Then to go, you must. But by your saying, as much help as can be, leave with
us you will."
"Yeah, sure, Stonzai. And we will stay long enough to help you get started."
He turned to Hagen Trent.
"How long to get printouts of all the dope they'll need? I mean, you couldn't
have brought all of it, this time."
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Trent nodded. "I brought only the drive specs; they can have those now. The
rest-first I had to know what they have, and what not."
"Right." Tregare explained to Stonzai, then said, "Tomorrow we go back to the
ship, then soon as we can-two-three days, Hagen?" Again the man nodded.
"-we'll bring you everything else we can. Then I
guess we're off to Stenevo. Agreed?"
Sharvil complained no longer, but asked surprisingly germane questions. Rissa
felt her anxiety ease.
Then, soon, the meeting adjourned; the humans returned to the scoutship. All
were invited to spend the night groundside but only the three Shrakken
accepted. "Not that I don't trust them," was Tregare's comment as they entered
the scout and Rissa sealed it, "but having tried Shrakken chairs, I'm not sure
I want to risk what their beds are like!"
At least, thought Rissa, Shrakken beds might have had privacy; the scout's
bunks did not. Oh, they were curtained off from one another-but sounds
carried. So, while Rissa agreed with Tregare's desires, this was not the right
time and place. She could not make love silently; neither could she allow
herself to be heard by others. Well, Lisele was a different matter; from
infancy she had often shared even closer quarters, and simply took things for
granted. Jenise Rorvik, though, and Hagen Trent? No.
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So, when Rissa was dozing off and a touch woke her, she felt brief anger.
"Bran-no! I have told you."
For a moment, no answer; was this some intruder? But then he spoke. "Outside,
the weather's nice. Like to take a little walk?"
Suddenly she giggled. "Why not?" She rummaged and found her robe, got up and
put it on. Then, quietly, she followed Bran Tregare.
"Can I come too?" Lisele's voice was almost a whisper.
Rissa paused. Tregare squeezed her hand, leaned over to the curtain that hid
the child, and whispered back, "For a few minutes, princess; then you come
back inside. Because mainly we're going out to be by ourselves, a little
while."
Barefoot, all three, they went to and down the ramp, then a few meters away
from the scout. Tregare said, "Ground cover isn't damp, to speak of; let's
sit, shall we?" When they did, he pointed upward. "See-two of the moons
showing. Watch; you can see them move against the stars."
Neck craned, Rissa stared. Yes-one whitish disc and one orange, each slightly
larger than a star's twinkling dot, inching across the starfield. "Are they as
close together as they seem?"
"Not really," said Tregare. "On average, the orange one's half again as far
out. Eccentric orbit, though, and near perigee right now." A pause. "The white
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