A silence followed. George muttered, “Uh-oh—I’d better get out there and start charming the locals,” and rushed out to mix with the crowd of Niyyuuan notables. Off to one side, Braouk prepared to lumber forward and launch into his chosen recitation for the evening, a personally abridged version of The Heroic Narrative of Darak-Dun the Third and how he crossed the Jaquarianak Range alone in the dead of winter, over which the Tuuqalian had been laboring for the past several days.
But despite his efforts, he wasn’t fast enough to override Sque’s reply.
“Certainly.” The K’eremu shifted her tendrils. “I will now discourse to you upon the relative differences in cognitive aptitude between your species and mine.”
Omigod, Walker shouted silently. He was preparing to instruct Braouk to physically remove Sque from her location in front of the assembled when the K’eremu began to speak. Listening to her, some of the tension eased out of him.
“It should be clear to even the most casual observer that the tripartite conflation of neuronic axes relate oblately to the peripheral adjudication of hierarchical logic functions in any discussion. We may therefore be safe in assuming that . . .”
Walker had to assume that his implanted translator was functioning properly. If that was the case, then the K’eremu’s rambling reply ought to be equally incomprehensible to the attendant Niyyuu. Glancing surreptitiously out at the assembled, he was able despite his unfamiliarity with local expressions to deduce that this was indeed the case. Initially mystified by the K’eremu’s response, they quickly returned to more mundane pursuits such as chatting among themselves and sampling the gastronomic treats whose creation Walker had supervised earlier with his staff. While “hors d’oeuvres” had no direct counterpart in the Niyyuuan lexicon, the notion of eating small bits of some food before the rest was straightforward enough.
Sque did not so much conclude her tortuous response as find herself shunted aside by the massive Braouk. Incomprehensibility shaded into uncomplicated recitation as the Tuuqalian launched into his half-spoken, half-sung version of yet another ancient fable of his people. Whatever half-perceivable insults the K’eremu might have delivered were subsumed in the giant’s performance.
Upon concluding her own impenetrable discourse, Sque turned to amble past the still-stressed Walker. “That ought to put them in their place,” she murmured contentedly. “It is a mark of their own intelligence that no objection was raised to my extensive stating of the obvious.” A bubble of satisfaction emerged from the end of her speaking tube.
“Yes, you sure showed them,” Walker assured her, forbearing from pointing out that even with the aid of their own translators it was likely that not one Niyyuu on the receiving end of the K’eremu’s intricate dissertation had been able to understand more than a word or two of what she had said.
Then it was time for him to go to work. Time to justify the faith Viyv-pym had placed in him and to cement the presence of himself and his friends on this first stepping-stone toward home. As his Niyyuuan assistants moved swiftly to fine-tune equipment, he took a deep breath and stepped out into public view. Wide, penetrating eyes turned to look at him as Braouk concluded the last of his entertaining but interminable recitation with a wave of all four upper tentacles. Surely, Walker mused, this audience could not be any more difficult to please than the many he had entertained on more sophisticated Seremathenn. The proof, as always, would be in how they responded to the products of his labor.
Cooking, he had already decided, was harder than brokering commodities futures, but ultimately far more satisfying.
He needn’t have worried. From the time he activated and took control of the stabilizers and manipulators, the previously talkative and occasionally downright rude audience followed his every move with rapt attention.
Who would not? Who would have expected the mass of carefully prepped vegetative and protein components to align themselves not with the cooking apparatus, but in the form of an advancing army, larger ingredients in the rear, smaller scattered to front and sides like so many edible scouts? Who would have expected the various heating and toasting and mixing devices to stack themselves not in a neat, traditional horizontal line, but vertically in the shape of a toy fortress? And with cookery and menu constituents thus confronting one another, like a kid playing with a box of toy soldiers, Walker began to bring them together.
Soulless but determined vegetables assaulted waiting preparation bins, and were consumed. Protein components flung themselves through the air, to be captured by waiting cylinders. Responding only to Walker’s directions, the persevering provisions found themselves diced, sliced, toasted, flash fried, waved, sautéed, puréed, and flambéed. Disdaining decorum several minutes into the presentation, someone among the spectators blurted aloud.
“It the fortress! The alien is replaying the battle of Jalar-aad-biidh—with food!”
The swelling tide of verbal appreciation rang in Walker’s ears as he fought to concentrate on the work at hand. Initially at a loss as to how to make the presentation of his gastronomic creations properly entertaining, he had hit on the idea of arranging his mobile cooking equipment in the shape of the ancient fortress that guarded the traditional northern approaches to Kojn-umm, and then “attacking” it with the ingredients he had chosen for the evening’s meal. At least he no longer had to worry if anyone present would realize what he was doing. Thanks to one enthusiastic spectator, everyone was now aware.
The dark tempest that swept over and brought the edible performance to a dramatic close was the capper, the punch line, to his presentation. The fact that it was composed of a swirling, raging, miniature storm of carefully selected local spices provoked an outbreak of hooting—the Niyyuuan equivalent, he supposed, of wild applause.
Following the conclusion of his presentation, portions of the finished dishes were distributed by live Niyyuu attendants operating under Walker’s instructions. He relaxed only when it became clear that the guests appreciated the taste of his food as much as they had its highly visual and dramatic preparation. There were compliments all around. And when the meal began to draw to a close, he found himself swept up in a whirl of dignitaries, all eager to thank him by stroking his head and upper body. The Niyyuu, he already knew, were a very touchy-feely folk. Fortunately, their complimentary and curious caresses weighed considerably less on his person than, say, Braouk’s did, so he did not mind.
Viyv-pym also came up to him to praise his effort. Her golden eyes were even more luminous than usual, he decided. The single piece of material she wore draped her like chiffon that had been used to strain flecks of gold from a running stream. Yet again he had to remind himself that, superficial aesthetics notwithstanding, it was an alien body that stood before him.
“Tonight yous all justify my decision bring you Niyu.” Touching the side of his face, the tips of the two long fingers of her right hand slid down to his shoulder, then his chest, before retracing their route and withdrawing. “Already this night I am commended many times for making that choice. Result is very good for me. Also very good for you.” Frilled head twisting around on its long, slender neck, she indicated the knot of figures that had surrounded Kinuvu-dih-vrojj, the premier of Kojn-umm. Saluu-hir-lek, the general officer who had been in charge of the defense of Jalar-aad-biidh, was there as well. Insofar as Walker could interpret Niyyuuan expressions from a distance, those of the two important officials appeared animated and content.
Then he saw that they were looking downward instead of at one another, much less at him. Searching, Walker located the object of their delighted attention. Between them, a small shaggy dog was standing on its hind legs, dancing in a circle while pawing the air, tongue lolling.
George didn’t need complex equipment or special skills to amuse and entertain, a knowing Walker reflected. Not that he minded. There were ample laurels to share this night. Abruptly, a number of insistent dinner guests crowded close around him, anxious to meet and converse with this alien master
of gastronomy, and he lost sight of his small friend completely.
Off to one side, Braouk lowered a single tentacle and effortlessly lifted the much smaller Sque up to a level where she could see over the heads of the milling after-dinner crowd. The K’eremu inspected the contented throng with typical condescension.
“Look at them all. A supposedly advanced species making all this fuss over something as simple as a meal.”
Braouk leaped to Walker’s defense. “It not simple, great skill was involved, in preparation.”
“Of a basal physical sort, yes, I suppose. Still, in the final analysis, the result was only nourishment. Our mutual bipedal friend brought forth a meal, not a small sun. However, I do expect his performance will increase our standing among our hosts. That is a certainly good thing, to be desired. Contrarily, it will also increase our standing among our hosts. That is not necessarily a good thing.”
Braouk’s eyestalks inclined toward the K’eremu, so that one globular orb hovered on either side of her. She was indifferent to the stereo stare. “You say the same thing twice but assign a different conclusion each time. I do not understand.”
“Of course you don’t,” the K’eremu agreed unhelpfully. “In the course of our enforced cohabitation, I have learned that subtle reflection is not a trait characteristic of your species. You are not to be blamed for this, naturally.”
A deep rumble rose from the depths of the massive Tuuqalian. “Am I to be blamed if I throw you against the opposite wall?”
“I would stick,” she responded, waving several tendrils. “To elaborate on what I said: It is good that friend Walker’s skills are appreciated by our hosts. But I worry that he is perhaps too accomplished. It might be better if subsequent explorations into the realm of Niyyuuan food preparation are less awe-inspiring, lest he be declared a national treasure or some similar foolishness, and denied the opportunity to leave.”
“Ah. I understand now.” Braouk’s eyes shifted, literally, away from the K’eremu he was supporting. Peering over the top of the crowd, the Tuuqalian found the human. Walker was still surrounded by admiring Niyyuu. Surely the K’eremu was only being her usual pessimistic self. Surely the Niyyuu would not become so attached to the human Walker’s work that they would refuse to let him go.
Did that matter? he found himself wondering. Suppose he and Sque and the quadruped George were given the chance to move on, nearer their homeworlds, but Walker was forced to remain behind? In such circumstances, what would he do? He knew what Sque would do. Of George he was not so certain. He was even less sure of himself. The resulting potential moral dilemma pained his thoughts.
No reason for that, he told himself, since it did not yet exist. Worry about it if and when it presented itself. Meanwhile, best to participate in the evening, share in the contentment of their hosts, and leave pessimistic brooding to the small skeptic with the many limbs.
Yet as the days stretched into ten-days, and the ten-days into not one but several multiples, the Tuuqalian found himself reflecting more and more on what the anxious Sque had told him that night.
It was not as if their time passed in misery or boredom. Just as there had been on Seremathenn, there was much to see, do, and learn on Niyu, albeit on a less overawing level of sophistication. But the longer they remained, and the more familiar they became with the sometimes seemingly contradictory but rarely dull culture of the Niyyuu, the farther into the galactic distances the dream of returning to the fields and forests and cities of Tuuqalia seemed to recede.
One morning when feeling particularly lonely he confronted the human directly with his concerns.
Walker was alone at his console, verbally organizing and arranging the components of a custom presentation that had been ordered by a private group centered in Ehbahr. The fact that, largely through his skill and expertise, he and his friends were no longer in any way reliant on the charity of the government of Kojn-umm was a source of considerable pride to him. George was sleeping nearby, curled up on a cushion. While it was not animate in the manner of the custom-made Seremathenn rug the dog had brought with him, its semiorganic contents did rise and fall as well as change temperature automatically according to the needs of his body. Eying the small quadruped, Braouk envied it. George needed very little to satisfy him.
Perhaps, the Tuuqalian thought, if only I did not have, as do so many of my kind, the soul of an artist. He could not deny, nor did he ever try to, that like many of his people he was inclined to melancholic brooding.
Nevertheless, despite his characteristic glumness, he did his best not to inflict it on the human, who as Sque frequently pointed out, was subject to wildly vacillating and unpredictable bouts of emotion. Having something of value to contribute to their efforts to return home, Braouk had observed, had noticeably improved the human’s disposition.
“I offer greetings, on this fine midday, my friend.”
Walker nearly jumped out of the narrow Niyyuuan chair, whose rail-thin support he had improved by adding a wide cushion of his own design. “Dammit, Braouk! Do you have to sneak up on people like that?” He eased himself back onto his seat. “I’m always amazed that someone your size can move around with so little noise. I’m afraid you’re going to amaze me once too often.”
“Apologies.” Eyestalks inclining down and forward, one orb peered over each of the human’s shoulders. “How go the preparations for your next culinary extravaganza?”
“Pretty good. There are some new fresh fruits just arrived from Dmeruu-eeb, the realm that borders Kojn-umm to the south, and I’m thinking of doing something tropical and sunshiny with them.”
Braouk was not certain precisely what the human’s explanation signified, but it did not matter. His interest of the moment was not on food. “Marc, I am no less beholden to you for the merit your skills have gained for us among our hosts the Niyyuu than are George or Sque.”
“You’re welcome.” Walker murmured the response without turning away from his intent study of images of food and equipment that floated in the air before him.
“But we have been here for some goodly time now, and we are no closer to continuing on our way homeward than when we arrived.”
That made Walker turn away from his work. Behind him, images of foodstuffs and cooking gear hovered patiently in the air, awaiting his attention.
“That’s not really true, Braouk.” In their time together Walker had learned to focus on one Tuuqalian eye and ignore the other when they were being held far apart, as now. “We’ve secured the goodwill of our hosts and have successfully established ourselves in their society.”
“Our goal though, I must remind you, is leaving. Our aim is to move onward from this place, not to set up a home meadow or become infatuated with the local culture.”
Walker glanced to his left. George had raised his head from his pillow. “The hulk is right, Marc. I’ve been thinking the same thing: that we’re getting a little too comfortable here. Maybe that’s just what our good friends the Niyyuu want.” The dog’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe you ought to spend a little more time looking for a way off this ball of dirt instead of drooling over the alien sylph you can’t have anyway.”
Walker stiffened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, George.”
The dog let his head flump back down on the cushion. “Uh-huh. And some of my best friends are cats that spray in my face.”
Braouk’s eyestalks moved uncertainly. “What is George talking about?”
“Nothing,” Walker replied irritably. “He considers himself an expert on the behavior of everyone but himself.”
“Speaking of butts—” the dog began. Walker cut him off.
“I’m doing all that I can, Braouk. Every time I meet with a government official I mention that we’d like to speak to some astronomics specialists. Appointments are being set up, but nothing’s come of them yet. You know how the Niyyuu like their protocol.”
“They like your cooking,” George interjected curtly. “And they
don’t want to lose it.”
Walker turned on his friend. “Come on, George. You’re not implying that the government is deliberately keeping us from meeting with those people?”
The dog stood up on the cushion. His tail was not wagging. “You’re right. I’m not implying it. I’m stating it. Think about it, Marc. We’ve been here how long? You and I and Braouk and Sque have initiated how many formal requests? What is there to keep local astronomics experts so busy? It’s not like the stars and nebulae that form the basis of their usual study are going to take a hike any time soon.”
Walker looked away, muttering, “I don’t believe it. The Niyyuu aren’t like that. They’ve been nothing if not helpful and courteous.”
George’s dog-logic was relentless. “Except when it comes to that one thing, that one particular request.” He glanced up at the looming mass of the Tuuqalian. “What about you, Braouk? Don’t you think it’s funny that the one kind of Niyyuuan specialists we can’t seem to make the acquaintance of are involved in astronomy?”
“It does seem odd.” A massive tentacle gently nudged Walker, pushing him back only a step or two. “We are all reasoning beings here, Marcus Walker. Does this avoidance, of one scientific type, seem deliberate?”
“One way to find out.” George growled softly at Walker. “Invite a whole slew of ’em to one of your special presentations. That’ll put your alien she-lollipop and her friends on the spot. They can’t claim every astronautics expert in this part of Niyu is swamped with work or out of the realm at the same time.”
Walker considered. There was nothing wrong with the dog’s idea. And it might settle the argument, one way or the other, once and for all.
“I’ll do it.” He sat back down at his console. “I’ll put the request to Abrid-lon personally.”