Space Stations Part 22

Ab'nere kept a corner of one lens reserved for Number Fifteen and his minor repair. Like his father, he could repair anything and breathed HO liquids as readily as OH gases. But he was of an age to question everything and withdraw into his own head for amus.e.m.e.nt to the exclusion of all else.

A Glug, oozed into ONH 323, rotating its midsection to indicate its search for a new contact.

Frequent visitors like the Glugs had terminal jackswired directly into their brains. The creature bellied up to the bar-that is if the amorphous blobs of sludge had a belly-and plugged in to the translation port of the central system.

Those species not interested in hardwiring their brains usually carried portable jacks that fitted in or over whatever pa.s.sed for ears.

Ab'nere prided herself on not needing a jack. She learned the new languages as quickly as communications opened up new worlds. Each of her eighteen mates had communicated in a different manner, some of them most interestingly.

But then Labyrinthines tended to have DNA as flexible as their tongues, their ears, and their double-jointed limbs.

"Methane, straight up. Double shot," the Glug ordered.

Ab'nere suspected this one was Ghoul'gam'esth, their chief negotiator. Glugs were a communal species. What one ate, thought, suffered, the rest of the colony thought, suffered, ate. Identifying any individual proved a challenge to non-Glugs. Only slight differences in coloration separated them.

Shape and size constantly varied within each individual. If this one was the Ghoul, then they sent the big guns for the negotiation, showing a bit of desperation. Methane was getting harder to find in its raw state. The greedy Glugs recklessly sought out infant species in search of new sources of theirprimary food. Often they violated contamination protocols in their never-ending quest for methane.

(Galactic scientists had yet to figure out how the species thrived on methane but breathed oxygen.) Rumor had it, this new infant species had an excess of excrement that broke down into large amounts of methane. (Most inefficient.) A trade agreement would benefit them all.

And Ab'nere would collect the commission on the trade agreement, and the docking fees for the transfer of cargo, and library fees for dispensing information on both species. Not to mention what the traders spent on comestibles and ingestibles.

Hopefully, the bankers had not heard of this infant yet and would not know how to compute the trade agreement to their own benefit. How long could Ab'nere keep it hidden?

About as long as she could hide a pregnancy by a Magma Giant. But for now, both were her secrets.

She placed an enclosed globule of methane with a straw and a bright green swizzle stick in the shape of a plumbing plunger on the bar where the Glug could reach it. The useless decoration added refinement to the noxious brew. The new species liked useless ornamentation, too.

A tendril of sluggish brown ma.s.s wove up to the bar. The vessel disappeared within. A moment later it reappeared. The Glug expanded to three times its normal size, becoming a denser brown. Ab'nereducked behind the bar, bracing herself. The Glug belched like a thunderclap followed by a gush of air as strong as the atmosphere from an entire arm of the station rushing to fill a vacuum. The accompanying stench had been known to revive those on the brink of pa.s.sing on-or cause healthy athletes to drop into a dead faint. The automatic air scrubbers kicked in. Ab'nere emerged from her crouch with a misting bottle. She sprayed the s.p.a.ce around the Glug to make sure the odors died an ign.o.ble death. Her favorite acidic sweet smell, the computer said the infant species called mint, replaced the stench of the Glug. Actually this "mint"

smelled a lot like the pernicious "sweet on the tongue" or sott plant that had started on Ab'nere's home world and grew on every known oxygen atmosphere planet, with or without gravity. A horticulturist had once told Ab'nere that if she wanted to start an herb garden in Labyrinth's hydroponics lab, she should plant a little sott and step out of the way.

"Another, please." The Glug's voice appeared on the translation monitor even as Ab'nere's mind processed the grunts and moans into language.

Ab'nere set out another double shot of methane, keying in a nice tip for herself on the Glug's tab.

She had just cleansed the next belch when the door whooshed open. A tall, loose-jointed being ambled in. Its lower limbs were encased in a st.u.r.dy fabric of dark blue with hints of white in a complex andinteresting weave. A finer fabric in a complementary paler shade of the same weave covered its upper body. It removed a large head covering made from some kind of animal leather. It had an amazingly small head for the size of the body. Not much brain capacity there. Pale fur with golden highlights tumbled to where the creature's neck and arm joints met. It 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.' Anaccepted 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 s.p.a.ce faring nation as an indicator for star systems that supported planets andcivilizations capable of s.p.a.ce travel. Rather arrogant of the infant species to sport this design on its first excursion into civilized s.p.a.ce.

"Body too big for efficient s.p.a.ce 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 's.e.xy.' "

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 digitsstraight 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 gla.s.ses 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 s.p.a.ce station looks like a tin can with straws sticking out of it at odd angles from s.p.a.ce. 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 s.p.a.ce.

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 l.u.s.ted 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 wa.s.succ.u.mbing 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 as.e.xual robe that covered her from shoulder to heel. Polite species did not flaunt s.e.xuality.

Only selected mates could tell the s.e.x of a Labyrinthine, and then only by smell during estrus.

All relationships were built on as.e.xual 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 att.i.tude toward life that makes us both female and new mamas. I got one incubatin'

myself, due in about seven of our moon cycles. We're kindred spirits."

"Kindred spirits," Ab'nere repeated dully, not certain she wanted to pursue this relationship any further. Lexie du Preh had jumped from aninteresting primitive to a formidable observer in one quantum leap.

"So, tell me: what am I up against?" Lexie du Preh asked.

"The Glugs consume methane. That is the primary objective of all of their trade agreements."

Preliminary contacts should have established that.

"Methane. Sure. We got enough chicken s.h.i.t and hog p.o.o.p to feed their whole planet for a year or two.

But what can we get from these living sewage disposal plants that would benefit us?"

"What do you need."

"Tech advice. That ship we built moves faster than anything we've ever had. But from what I've seen of the ships docked around the First Contact Cafi, it's a slug. If we want to become a presence in the galaxy, we got to have some speed."

Ab'nere suspected that an Earther presence in the galaxy just might prove dangerous to all concerned.

She made a calculated decision. Profits came from alliances with the strongest races.

"The Glugs have access to a better FTL drive than you have."

"Sure they don't just propel themselves by belching a little volatile gas?"

Both Lexie du Preh and Ab'nere spread their mouths upward at the image.

"The Glugs have invented many wonderful things in their quest for new food sources." Ab'nere kepther demeanor sober as she leaned forward confidentially. Keeping one eye on the computer terminal to make sure the Glug hadn't jacked in to eavesdrop, she whispered, "Frankly, I don't like the Glugs. They stink. Right now their odor upsets the baby. That violates several rules of etiquette. I'd like to see your people get the best deal they can."

She repeated the same phrase in every negotiation she handled regardless of her personal preferences.

Etiquette and profit sometimes did not mesh.

"Sure 'nuff, honey. I grew up on the chicken ranch. I know what I'm dealing with. Now how much s.h.i.t can we unload for a new FTL drive?"

Ab'nere told her.

"That much?"

"Will that impoverish you?"

"Ah, I don't think so. But it will be a stretch.

Might have to start mining the cattle ranches as well as the hog farms for that much. What about an artificial gravity. How much would that cost? We could cut the size of the ship down by fifty percent if we didn't depend upon rotation. Or increase the cargo holds by that much if we kept the same size.

Think the Glugs would let us have that?"

Ab'nere prodded the Glug with a judicious jolt of electricity from the floor beneath it. The Glug jacked in. It replied to Ab'nere silently by way of the machine.