Dirge - Alan Dean Foster [45]
“Intensity is good.” Leaning close, the Pitar tried to resolve her heads-up display. This put his head very near to her own. She could smell the flat but not unpleasant alien scent, could feel the gossamer caress of inhuman breath. Her fingers on the controls of the siter started to tremble, and she angrily thrust them down at her side.
“What are you doing here?” I sound inane, she thought angrily. An inane twelve-year-old; that’s what I’ve become. Conscious of the fact that she was bringing no credit either to herself or to her species, she fought to reestablish the kind of control that the alien’s unexpected appearance had shattered.
“Only having a quiet look around, as you humans say.”
Just as she was starting to recover some equilibrium, he smiled at her, and she found that she had to begin all over again.
“As you know, we are fascinated by the entire concept of leaving the comforting confines of a homeworld to settle upon another. It is a concept entirely foreign to us. But we want to see you succeed here, on Treetrunk. So in order to learn how to be of better assistance, we travel and we observe.” His expression flattened once again. “You do not mind if I observe you?”
“Suit yourself,” she replied indifferently. Within, she was yearning for him to observe her for a good, long time. Oh, how she wanted him to observe her! She had heard stories, they had all heard stories, about the…relationships that under just the right circumstances could develop between individual humans and Pitar. There were those who insisted these were nothing more than that—just stories. Rumors fed and fueled by the perversely imaginative. Though looking at this Pitar, tall and straight and so obviously muscular beneath his cold-weather gear, she could well believe that…
Stop it, she told herself! Male he may be, but he’s also an alien. Don’t ignore him, but don’t trade your dignity and self-respect for some unsupportable foolish flight of fancy. Respond to his questions, and to nothing else.
“You are doing what?” he inquired politely, and the slight grammatical deviation helped to remind her of who and what he was. She returned her attention to her instrumentation.
“I work for the planetary planning agency. It’s my job to search out and recommend the best locations for the individual components of a new development, as well as to design and suggest overall schematics. It’s a task that does require some intensity of purpose, as you observed.”
“I am very impressed,” the Pitar told her, and for utterly inexplicable reasons this perfunctory comment caused her breathing to accelerate. “I am only a simple observer and could never manage the complex interdisciplinary tools necessary to perform such a task.”
“It’s not that difficult,” she responded. “Having a new, state-of-the-art siter helps a lot. Here, I’ll show you.” Stepping aside, she allowed him to peer directly into the eyepiece that queued the heads-up display.
The Pitar asked several questions, struggling with his command of Terranglo, before stepping back. “It appears to be a very efficient device. Your technology is good.”
She could not decide if she was blushing or if her cheeks were simply reddened from having been exposed to the cold air during the climb. “I don’t make it; I’m just trained to use it. From what I read and see on the tridee, your technology’s good, too.”
“We have done well enough. Concentrating solely on developing the Twin Worlds has both helped and forced us to concentrate our energies. Our two local asteroid belts supply ample resources, and we are careful not to overexploit those that are not renewable. Of late our society has grown somewhat stagnant, but contact with your people has suggested ways and means of revitalizing our development, as well as solving problems that previously seemed insurmountable. For that we thank you, and are most grateful for the contact between our two species. We are especially glad to see you doing so well here on Treetrunk.”
“Your people