“Allergies,” she said, as she scooped spoonfuls of small white beans into Ray’s bowl. “My body stopped producing some enzymes a few years ago, which means I can’t digest dairy products and most grain products. Plus my immune system freaked out on me, so I’m allergic to even more things.”
“That must be why you’re so underweight,” Ray said. “Malnutrition, right? It doesn’t do you any good to eat things if you can’t digest them.”
She nodded. “A lot of things are as nutritious as sawdust to me—or worse. Sawdust wouldn’t start a histamine reaction, or inflame my small intestine, which keeps me from absorbing whatever nutrients I can get out of food—and as a bonus, that inflammation makes everything, uh, speed right through me. I’d eat some bread, or an egg, or have a soft drink, and be sick for days. After a while it seemed everything I ate did that to me.” She looked wry. “At times I thought I’d have to eliminate food from my diet.”
Ray nodded thoughtfully. It was the same problem humans had on all alien worlds; evolution had fitted Terran organisms to one specific environment, which did not include exotic biochemicals. On different worlds alien bacteria poisoned the roots of plants in unEarthly soils, insect bites touched off histamine reactions, and airborne spores blighted lung membranes as they were inhaled. Compared to most worlds, Kya was a benign place for unprotected humans. “I’m surprised that you’re not allergic to kya food,” Ray said.
“Thank the pills,” Elizabeth told him. “They digest all the nutrients, and the human immune system doesn’t react to the break-down products. When I found out about that it made moving to Kya look like a good idea. Now I’m not sick all the time, I don’t have to wonder if there’s some allergen in what I’m eating, and I’ve gained twenty pounds.”
“And you can eat in restaurants,” Ray said.
“Exactly.” She looked him over as she refilled the glass. “Not many people would think of that.”
“It seems obvious,” Ray said. “You can’t expect a chef to be a dietitian, too.”
She nodded. “I really missed going to restaurants, and calling out for a hoagie. That’s one reason I like Kya; I can dine out. Plus, the kya are a blast, and trying to understand their history is fun—I’m taking four classes this semester and enjoying every minute of it.”
“I heard your lecture the other day,” Ray said. “You seem to enjoy teaching them, too.”
She nodded vigorously. “Explaining human history to them is fun. And with the way they look at things, I’m getting some new perspectives on human history.”
“I think you scared the daylights out of your class,” Ray said.
“I know.” She looked unhappy. “I try not to frighten them, but it isn’t easy. I have to give them an idea of what we’re like, and I can’t make it all sugar and light.”
Ray nodded; explaining the human predilection for dictators could be awkward. However—“You need a lighter approach,” he said. “It might help if you told them about one of our evolutionary cousins.”
“You think so?” She looked interested. “Which one? Gorillas? Baboons?”
“Lemmings.”
She looked startled, then laughed.
Ray spent the next morning at Ghorf’s office. The executive was only able to speak with Ray for a moment, but after he left his assistants outlined the Easthills Combine’s business needs and investment resources. Ray wasn’t certain just how far their money would go. While wealthy by kya standards, the Combine was handicapped by an unfavorable exchange rate. The kya had few products which were worth importing to Earth, and that made their currency almost worthless.
As Ray left Ghorf’s office he realized that the kya had an untapped resource. With their sense of smell, they might have agricultural techniques unknown on Earth; they might be able to smell the differences in soil types and nutrients, or sniff out pests and diseases. He decided to consult with the agricultural experts at Vrekle University, and see if it would be worth sending a few of them to Earth to sweeten any trade agreement.
With that in mind, Ray paid Dean Zelk a visit. The possibility of making a good deal had placed him in a pleasant mood, but his cheer faded as he entered the dean’s office. Nyquist stood in front of Zelk’s desk with a folder of fax papers, while the dean looked unhappy. “Well, Mr. Bennett,” the ambassador said. “This is an unexpected pleasure.”
“I imagine it is,” Ray said. “What brings you here?”
“A client of yours, one Richard Faber. As I was just telling Dean Zelk, there are irregularities in his grades. I have the facts here.” Nyquist gave the folder to Zelk, who silently looked through the papers. Ray looked over her shoulder and saw an assortment of transcripts, letters and news-fax clippings. Heisman Candidate May Face Criminal Investigation, one headline declared. “During his sophomore year in Colorado he had a GPA of 2.6, but he didn’t earn it. His higher grades were given by some complaisant instructors who wanted him to remain on his school’s football team; his actual GPA was 1.1. Faber himself may not have been knowingly involved in any criminal actions in this matter, but—”
“I get the point,” Ray said.
“—His hasty departure from Earth suggests that he was not as pure as the driven snow,” Nyquist concluded. “Especially as his uncle bribed a few people in Immigration to turn a blind eye to the situation. Dean Zelk will have to expel him, since he was admitted under false pretenses. It’s a pity that your business arrangement will collapse, especially as GSN will want its advance payment returned—I believe the contract requires that? Pity.” He left.
“Sneeze on him,” Zelk muttered after the door had closed. “Being the dean, nobody tells me how to run my school.”
Ray nodded. “Is there any way you can keep Faber in school?” Returning his commission on the advance, he reflected, would bankrupt him— which was probably what Nyquist wanted. Now that it was too late, he saw that he had a lot to learn about his business.
“There must be a way to keep Faber in,” Zelk said grimly. “Having already spent the advance, we can’t afford anything else. This being a new situation, however, I’m not sure what we can do. There aren’t any rules or guidelines.”
“Then you can make them up as you go along,” Ray said. “How long will it be until Faber earns some grades here?”
“The primary exams are in another twenty days or so,” Zelk said. “I suppose we could judge him on their basis. But if he does badly—” She exhaled grimly. “He’s out.”
“He’s out, we’re out, everyone’s out,” Ray said. “I’ll make sure he understands that conjugation.”
Ray consulted his notepad as he left the dean’s office. It told him that Faber should be in bagdrag practice now. Ray let the pad lead him to the hexagonal field, where the student players had divided into three teams and were avidly hauling the bag across the grass. Even wrapped in the helmet and quilted pads which the players used for protection, Faber’s bulk and erect posture stood out amid his kya teammates.
A short, chunky kya with grizzled fur and a heavily wrinkled muzzle approached Ray as he watched the practice. “Coach Znayu,” he gronked. “Can I help you?”
“I’m here to see Faber,” Ray said. “How is his playing?”
“The terror from beyond the ozonosphere?” The coach shook his head in what seemed like amazement. “Reek Hard’s the best offensive player I’ve ever seen. Point him at a goal line and he’s unstoppable. Just watch him.”
Ray watched as the teams shoved and ran their way through several more plays. He could make nothing out of the plays and Faber’s activities; sometimes the teams dropped the bag and began to push one another around, and sometimes a group of kya stampeded over the bag, pushing away the players who carried it. At other times most of the players stood around while a few of their teammates ran back and forth and talked with one another. “Who’re they?” Ray asked the coach.