Grail - Elizabeth Bear [86]
She got a sense that their culture focused a kind of ritual attentiveness on food. They ate in small bites, carefully timed, and both of them inspected each mouthful before consuming it. Perceval hoped it wasn’t out of fear of toxicity. She’d had Nova analyze their metabolites—it wasn’t invasive, so she didn’t feel she needed to ask permissions—and it appeared that, within detectable tolerances, they could eat what she ate.
Could eat. Whether they habitually did eat it seemed questionable, given the scientific rigor with which they investigated their dinners. Perceval expected questions, but they did not quiz their hosts, just inspected, chewed, considered, and swallowed. Tristen and Mallory supported the conversation, the necromancer especially putting forth efforts to be sparkling, but Perceval could sense the awkwardness hovering between the two groups of diners.
And it was hard indeed to find common ground for conversation when gossip about common acquaintances and family business were off the table. Perceval had never realized before how much of what went on at the average meeting was devoted to navigating the complex relationships that linked Conn and Engine.
Mallory managed a fair trade in humorous anecdotes about long-dead Conns and Engineers, leaving enticing pauses in the narrative, but Perceval could not help but notice that Danilaw and Amanda seemed completely at a loss as to how to handle them. Finally, she set her utensils down, folded her hands in front of her mouth, and said, “I wouldn’t force conversation on you, but this feels awkward to me. Is there some manner in which the hospitality could be improved?”
Her alien guests did a lot of talking to each other with their eyes. They shared a glance now, lingering enough that she wondered if they were telepaths or had some sort of implant that allowed silent communication. Amanda finally looked back at Perceval and said, “It’s another of those cultural differences. We’re socialized from a young age to believe that eating is serious business, requiring attention and gratitude. Cookery is the performance of an art, and like any ephemera, it should be savored. Also, there is the matter of honoring the former existence of the food, and acknowledging the lives that go to feed us.”
Tristen frowned, but it seemed like the study of concentration rather than one of disagreement. “You honor the sacrifice?”
“That,” Amanda said, “would imply complicity on the part of the lunch. And in general, I suspect anything we eat would prefer to continue existing as something other than a source of fuel. No; we merely try to recognize our impact, so we may manage it.”
“Oh.” Mallory chased the rubbery coil of a steamed snail around the plate before cornering it in a small puddle of herbed oil. With fork tines poised before painted lips, the necromancer said, “We are insufficiently reverent of the dead.”
The aliens did that eye thing again. This time, Danilaw nodded and spoke. “After a fashion, though I might have left out the value judgment. We are attempting to engage with you without discrimination.”
“Or relativism,” Tristen said. “And we very much appreciate your consideration of the long centuries our people have been separated, and the time it will take to negotiate those alienations.”
“Not to mention,” Amanda said, “the time it will take even to identify them.”
Perceval let her fork lie alongside the plate, unwilling to risk disturbing the delicate balance of actual communication taking place. She leaned forward, minding her manners and keeping her elbows by her sides—it would have made her mother proud, she thought, with a pang—and started to say something that would continue the diplomacy that had somehow, organically, commenced.
Only Nova spoke in her head, soft and definite. “Cynric is about to enter the Bridge.”
16
a girl who had no wings
“These,” he said gravely, “are unpleasant facts; I know it. But then
most historical facts are unpleasant.