Caine was surprised by the next voice: Elena’s. “What is your customary greeting?”
The Dornaani’s upper arms drew in somewhat, the forearms went out at right angles from the body: the fingers-three very long tapers directly opposed by a rather stubby digit-splayed wide, like rays emanating from the ends of the sinewy arms. “‘Enlightenment unto you.’ It is an auspicious beginning, that you ask of our ways. However, we shall use your ways and language, for now: whereas we are accustomed to sentient species other than our own, you are not.”
Elena seemed ready to add something-possibly what she read about my experiences with Mr. Local on Dee Pee Three-but Downing put a hand on her arm and responded. “That is very considerate.”
“It is simply prudent. You may call me Alnduul, you may gender me as male, and you are free to ask any questions. You may also approach and inspect my form in greater detail, if you wish.”
Caine approached, reflecting that, after the Pavonians, the Dornaani hardly seemed alien. The two large, slightly protuberant eyes appeared pupilless at first-until Caine realized that a nictating inner eyelid was currently in place. The diminutive mouth seemed set in a permanent moue-until Alnduul lifted a wide-mouthed bottle of water to it. The mouth everted into an unsightly sucking protrusion, seeking the neck of the bottle much the way a tapir’s short trunk would snuffle after fodder. Caine repressed a shudder as small cutting ridges reminiscent of a lamprey’s clicked lightly against the container. Alnduul’s nose was almost nonexistent; a single nostril perched over the bony promontory that housed the mouth.
At the base of the almost pelicanate mouthflap and jaw arrangement, about where a human’s Adam’s apple would be, there was a set of slits or gills, above which there was a triangular flap: probably a foldable ear. The cranium itself-for there most definitely was one-was very rounded and smooth, and seemed to have a rearward extending shelf, so that if seen from above, the outline of the head would present as a teardrop.
Caine felt that mental image of a drop suddenly superimpose itself over everything on the Dornaani physiognomy, and even the motif of the room and the ship, and so he understood: “Excuse me, Alnduul. Are the Dornaani native to water?”
The nictating lids fluttered. “We are. We prefer to rest in water, but as we have evolved, more of our waking activity takes place in air-space. And thus I am reminded: if you agree, I would like to change the room’s environment slightly.”
Visser nodded. “Of course. What changes do you wish to make?”
“We prefer higher humidity and slightly higher temperature. However, while wearing this suit, I will be comfortable with approximately eighty-five percent humidity at thirty degrees centigrade.”
One of Downing’s eyebrows raised slightly; he tugged open his collar. “By all means.” Caine imagined him in a pith helmet and found the image an apt-and deserved-parody.
As Alnduul manipulated controls embedded in the table, Caine noted the profoundly sloped shoulders: evidently streamlined for arms-tucked swimming, but reaching overhead had to be awkward, at best. The short, high chest was perched upon an abbreviated abdomen that tapered quickly into what, in a human, would have been an absurdly waspish waist. Short and powerfully muscled “thighs” winnowed down into long, thin lower legs, which ultimately flared out into wide, spatulate duck-feet. In silhouette, Alnduul presented a broad parody of the female hourglass figure-but with fingertips that came down well beneath the knees, immense feet, and a total absence of hair. Even so, it was a more humanoid shape than any envisioned by the most optimistic predictions of xenophysiologists.
The room was already becoming warmer; Caine felt the first bead of sweat form at his hairline. He tugged open his collar, watched as Visser and then Downing went forward to shake Alnduul’s hand. They smiled, introduced themselves, muttered something low and congenial, were the very pictures of human decorum. And that’s the problem.
Caine stepped forward, tucked his elbows in against his floating ribs, rotated his arms out like stunted wings, spread wide his fingers. Alnduul seemed to stare for a moment, then his gills audibly popped open and he returned the gesture. Caine bobbed his head slightly. “Is it proper for me to wish you enlightenment?”
Alnduul’s nictating lids cycled slowly and his speech was measured, deliberate: “It is always appropriate for one sentient to wish another enlightenment. You do us honor. What is your name?”
“I am Caine Riordan.”
“Ah.” It was a confirmatory sound, as if Alnduul had just received the expected answer to his question. “And you are here in what capacity, Caine Riordan?”
Well, this was as good a time as any for introductions. “I am here as this delegation’s negotiator and-er, spokesperson.”
“So you are the leader of the delegation?”
“No, that would be Ms. Visser, our ambassador.”
“So your job is to communicate, not to deliberate?”
Caine was trying to figure how best to answer the question when Visser stepped in: “Mr. Riordan is our primary communicator, but he is also one of our most important advisors and plays a crucial role in our deliberative process.”
Caine turned to look at Visser, who once again crinkled her eyes at him. Good Christ, have I just been promoted? And is that a good thing or not?
Then she continued: “And this is Ms. Elena Corcoran, who is our specialist in xenocultural signification and semiotics.”
Elena stepped forward-Caine tried not to notice her dramatically long legs-and made the splay-fingered gesture. She carried it off with a sweeping grace that made it seem balletic.
“Enlightenment unto you, Alnduul.”
“And you, daughter of Nolan Corcoran. We are pleased you have come and that you sit at this table. Your father was much-appreciated-by us.” From the way the statement had begun, Caine had expected the concluding qualifier to be that Nolan was someone the Dornaani “admired,” rather than “appreciated.”
If Elena noted the same peculiarity, she did not reveal it: “I am happy to learn this. My brother-who is also here-and I both wondered at your request for our presence. How did you know our father?”
“How could we not? He was a famous human-and I foresee that his fame will grow, not diminish.”
“So you knew of him through monitoring our broadcasts?”
The nictating lids closed slowly, did not open immediately. “Let us speak of this later. I would invite you all to be seated, if you feel comfortable doing so.” Alnduul made a gesture with his fingers that looked like streamers waving in the wind. “Where is the rest of your delegation?”
Caine looked at Visser, who nodded. “After some discussion, it was felt that it would be difficult to keep our conversation focused if we had ten persons here. So the other six members of our delegation will be listening, and sharing their input, by radio, assuming we can make a connection through your hull.”
“Your radio will be allowed to operate. We are observing a similar protocol. Many are listening, but I shall be the only one speaking. Indeed, my role here is akin to yours, Caine Riordan.”
Caine smiled. “Perhaps. But I do not have your authority.”
“I have less authority than you might suspect. I am not at all among the first voices of the Dornaani.”
“Then why were you chosen to speak for your people?”
“Why were you made negotiator?”
“Because I am-supposedly-the member of my species most familiar with contacting exosapients.”
“My situation is analogous.”
“You specialize in first contracts?”
“Not exactly: I specialize in humans.”
“As a scholar?”
“That too. But mostly as an-an administrator.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“We-the Dornaani-are the Custodians of the Accord. Among us, I am one of those responsible for overseeing the Custodial policies and activities that involve your species.”