Dirge - Alan Dean Foster [36]
HoOdam murmured while scanning the privatized contents of her reader. An invisible beam from the reader periodically bounced off her retinas and back to the device, indicating that the individual gazing down at it was lawfully entitled to do so. If that proved not to be the case, the print on the screen would have remained as invisible as the security beam.
“What do you think, Api? Will they be difficult?”
He shrugged, and the movement took measurable time to travel from his columnar neck all the way down his enormous shoulders to his upper arms. “There’s no way to tell in advance, Mandy. So far it’s our government that has been doing most of the giving. The Pitar have been more than friendly; they’ve proven themselves amenable. But this is the first time we’ve proposed anything on this scale.” Reaching forward, he poured himself a glass of water. Since there was no established protocol for dealing with the Pitar, he had no basis to fear that his simple gesture might be breaking it.
“What if they refuse?” Recorder at the ready, Ymir was running a hand repeatedly through his short, blonde hair. Saluafata recognized the nervous habit but did not point it out. Everyone was edgy, and it was a harmless enough release. The Pitar were not like the thranx, who saw every gesture, no matter how inconsequential, as the equivalent of a verbal comment. When dealing with the insectoids, a person had to be conscious of his every movement lest unexpected confusion or, worse, unintended offense be given. The Pitar did use their hands occasionally, but not as a component of interpersonal communication. That a hardworking handful of them had already become fluent in Terranglo only added to the ease of interchange. They were much better at it than the thranx.
Of course, he reminded himself, their speaking apparatus was far better suited to the task. Technically, the higher compliments were due the thranx who had mastered human speech. As always, when compared to the Pitar, the insectoids came off looking bad. But who wouldn’t, the minister mused? Alongside the Pitar, everyone tended to appear ungainly and graceless.
He had resolved that the conference would not be affected by such superficialities of aspect. Personalities would not become involved. The forthcoming talks were too important, the matter at hand too consequential, to founder in a sea of perfunctory perception. He would not allow himself to be distracted. Besides, if not as attractive as the Pitar, he could be much more charming.
A soft musical tone chimed twice. Pushing back the specially ordered oversized chair, he and his colleagues rose as the Pitarian delegation entered. He recognized Urin-Delm and Jpar-Vhet from previous encounters. Both males were tall, muscular, perfectly formed, and wore the familiar blank Pitarian expression of noncommittal. They were clad in simple gray jumpsuits unadorned except for embroidered insignia that identified them as to both name and function. They flanked a mature female who…They flanked…
The minister swallowed hard as humans and Pitar alike took their seats more or less simultaneously. To his secretary he whispered, “Close your mouth.”
Even by Pitarian standards of beauty the female was extraordinary. Hair the hue of turquoise framed her face like the ultimate expression of the Zuni silversmith’s art. Her eyes were a deep royal purple. Lips that did not belong in any species’ diplomatic service were lightly parted, and the molecules of air that rode in and out of that exquisite mouth were repeatedly blessed. As for the rest of her, perfection was too mild a word to serve as an adequate description. In a space of less than a minute, Apileaa Saluafata, minister for Extraterrestrial Affairs, virtually forgot who he was.
A nudge in his capacious side rudely induced his fall from heaven. Though much taken by the appearance of all three Pitar, Undersecretary HoOdam had retained a semblance of self-control.
“You’re staring, Api. And we have business to do.”
Indeed,