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“Oh, hello,” Dr. Y said, coming onto the shuttle.
“Greetings,” Plep said.
Y hesitated, turning his head. “I do not eat breakfast, though I understand it is quite good.”
The Qlerning nodded slowly, as if mulling this over. “I quite understand.”
Apollonia watched the exchange with a frown. She, He That Squats on Yellow Sand, and the Qlerning were not the only ones on the shuttle re-boarding the Craton, but they were the only two she knew. Most of them simply filed back aboard, talking and laughing with each other.
Among her group, Plep had insisted they go last. Why, she did not know. He had only answered with another of his riddles, something about he who went last was most memorable.
She didn’t particularly like being memorable, but she also was still glad to be in Squats on Sand’s company. He was so honestly alien, the kind she’d always seen on shows as something exotic. Also usually bad, but she’d never really taken to that; different didn’t inherently mean good or bad, in her view. She just found herself fascinated.
And he had felt the same way. He’d told her how this was his first Detachment Training, how Abmon did not often mix with other species for a lot of reasons.
“We’re full members of the Sapient Union. Not as numerous, as our higher gravity needs makes it harder to build stations for ourselves, and there are less worlds that meet our needs – not to mention the bill for leaving said worlds! But . . . well, our strength can be an issue. We’re very physical with each other.”
“As the dew caresses a leaf as it falls, so too do I say there is truth in his words,” Plep had said. Apollonia had found the allegory strained, but got his point; the Qlerning’s arm looked bruised when he’d rolled up his sleeve.
“Yes, broken arms are common among humans who transfer to our ships! It’s all very unintentional. And then there’s the fact that our skin flakes are sharp. And, well, our breath is somewhat toxic to Sepht.”
“. . . But not humans at all, right?” Apollonia ventured.
“Not at all! But . . . better not touch too much. You’re practically sterile compared to how many bacterial colonies we carry! They’re quite vital to our biology. Usually safe, just . . . don’t get careless.”
She made a mental note not to touch him, and had resisted the urge to slide a little further away.
Now, though, as they all made their way back onto the ship, she was surprised to see Dr. Y waiting.
He made his greetings to Plep, who then left without a word to her and Squats on Sand, which she took to be a rudeness.
Dr. Y made a rumbling sound to the rock pillar, who rumbled back his own pleased greeting.
“Your accent is quite pleasant!” the being said to the machine.
“Why thank you,” Y replied. “I worked quite hard to make it so. It took me minutes.”
Squats on Sand bounced his rumbling laugh again and started to trundle away. “It was a pleasure, Ms. Nor! I hope we speak again soon!”
“Yeah!” she called after him. “Me too!”
Dr. Y watched the being leave, then turned to her.
“You seem to have a knack for making non-human friends,” he said lightly.
She smiled a little. “Good to see you too, Y.”
“Ah, quite the same. I beamed back in not long after you left. I trust your journey was pleasant?”
“In a way. Squats on Sand is cool, but Plep . . .”
Y nodded knowingly. “A notable minority of humans have difficulty in social relations with Qlerning. Plep is . . . a particularly rigid example of his people. He knows quite well that his people’s manner of casual conversation does not translate well and is quite odd. But he persists.”
“Why?” she asked, feeling frustrated. “It was like talking to an amateur poet.”
“Their culture is ancient, deep, and rich,” Y replied, seeming surprised by her question. “And drenched in blood. Complex rituals of speech long ago replaced open violence.”
“. . . and the banjo?”
“Ah, so he brought it out! There are many varieties, but Plep’s is a geshin, a type known from a region of the third-largest continent-“
“But what was that about?” Apollonia interrupted, not caring to hear all the details.
“In social situations it is passed around. One’s skill in playing it in a musical way is unimportant, it is used for conveying mood and context in a more aesthetically pleasing way than verbal structures.”
“Oh,” she replied. She could sort of see a logic there.
“Qlerning social interactions are extremely ritualized and fascinating,” Y continued. “For example, questions about such universal things as a first meal of one’s day are a way of denoting a likeness, and to therefore build a connection.”
“So when I said I skip breakfast . . .” she said.
Y laughed. “It was an unintentional insult. Do not worry, however. He knew you meant nothing by it.”
She shook her head and started further in, saying nothing. Part of her just wanted to go back to her room and sleep. Another part wanted to ask about Brooks. She hoped that she hadn’t ruined it for him.
Guilt settled over her like a blanket.
“Nor,” Y said gently. “You did nothing wrong.”
She twitched. How the hell did he even know how she felt . . . ?
“Okay,” she said. She didn’t know what else to say.
Y was quiet a moment longer, walking alongside her.
“Perhaps we-“
“I’m sorry,” she said, interrupting him again, even though she knew it was rude. “I’m kind of tired. I’m just gonna go nap. Perhaps we can . . . talk later.”
If Y could have looked surprised, she thought he was showing it.
“Ah, of course Nor. Have a good rest! Feel free to contact me at a time of your choosing.”
As she walked away, she felt a new guilt added to the old.
Other Terrestrial 