It’s foolish to project human emotions onto aliens, but, anthropomorphism or no, I could have sworn that Hresah was flabbergasted. He said nothing. He kept making little abortive movements as though he was about to say something, but nothing came out. While I waited for him to sort out his thoughts, I amused myself by contemplating the expressions on the faces of the contact group when they found out what I’d just done to their carefully manicured, coiffed, and pampered egos.
I wondered if I should start filling out paperwork to join Onalbi society, even if it was only until my execution. Regardless of my personal opinion of their worth as human beings, the contact group had very real power, including the ability to override the captain under certain circumstances. They could have me boiled in oil and chopped into little bite-sized pieces for the Onalbi to pick apart. To say I had just burned a few bridges was an understatement.
Finally, Hresah mastered himself. “You do not consult—” And here the computer was unable to translate the word; it passed it straight through. The word was anwabi.
“Try that one again, Hresah. It didn’t come through.”
After jockeying for a while, we finally had to admit defeat. It was frustrating, because Hresah clearly thought that the concept was important enough that it merited the effort, yet was at a loss to define something that to him seemed so obvious that he had never had to define it.
I was of little help. The cold had seeped so far into my bones that my shivering was continual. As much as I enjoyed our conversation, I had to get back to my hut and the warmth of my fire, or I would save the Onalbi the trouble of killing me.
We agreed to part. He promised to throw down more fuel for my fire.
My strength was gone, and I lost my grip going over the edge, falling down the sloping wall of the valley.
Hresah could not come to my rescue. The Onalbi cannot negotiate steep inclines. Indeed, my incarceration in what would be a high-security cell for an Onalbi was mainly symbolic; my frequent visits to the rim were proof of that.
What Hresah did do was to summon help via the kiosk. Several Onalbi showed up, but under the circumstances, mainly as observers. Fortunately, it wasn’t long before humans arrived and scrambled down to where I had fetched up on a rock ledge. Hasty examination and conferring led to the conclusion that I had broken an arm, a leg, and probably a rib, plus sundry contusions, lacerations, and other indignities. I endured their poking and prodding with as much stoicism as I could. When I ran low on stoicism, I substituted groans. During the trip back to my hut, I ran out of groans and began cursing as a means of expressing my discomfort.
The doctor, a fellow named Lamon, was the practical sort. Hickok fumbled ineffectually at rekindling my fire from the coals for ten or fifteen minutes while Lamon worked on getting me patched up. After achieving a state of supreme frustration over having to share the tight quarters inside my hut with the bumbling Hickok, Lamon shooed him out and had the fire up and going in less than two minutes. He then went back to working on me, leaving Hickok outside cooling his heels, along with the rest of his body. Since I was in no mood to put up with Hickok at the moment, that raised Lamon several notches in my estimation.
He clucked and fussed over me for a while longer, then pronounced me as fit as I was going to be for a bit. He started in once, wishing that he could get me back to the medical bay on board the ship, but I told him that I’d rather be where the Onalbi put me and that I felt that the precedent was important enough that I’d chance things the way they were. He looked distinctly unhappy, but desisted.
He left me some pills to deaden the pain, then crawled out the door, promising to check in on me later in the day, and again in the morning. I thanked him just as Hickok barged in.
Hickok wasted no time on pleasantries now that Lamon was gone. “Just what did you think you were doing, Paul? Do you think that being a cook makes you more qualified to negotiate with the bugs than the contact team?”
I’d heard people refer to the Onalbi once or twice as bugs before, so I wasn’t surprised to hear the term. Given his position on the contact team, however, I was a little surprised to hear it from him. “I didn’t negotiate anything.”
“No,” he spat sarcastically, “you just did your dead level best to undermine everything we’ve achieved in the last three months.”
“Undermine what? You yourself said you’ve gotten nowhere. Hickok, you and I—and for that matter, the Onalbi, as the recordings clearly show—are under no illusions as to how much progress you’ve made. Hresah as much as said that you’re fools.”
“Ohhh… so Hresah is qualified and authorized by the Onalbi to conduct their side of the negotiations? A prison guard? Well, please be so kind as to inform the rest of us once the two of you get this all figured out. We don’t want all of the contact team’s time to be wasted, not to mention our years of training for this very moment. This is a very delicate process, you know. What did you think you were going to accomplish as a cook? Trade recipes? How quaint!”
What I wanted more than anything in the world was to take a deep breath, but my rib precluded that. Spears of pain rewarded my attempt. I briefly considered telling Hickok to buzz off, but decided that, since it was coming sooner or later, I’d just as soon get it over with. “You can talk all you like, but you’ll never get anywhere because the Onalbi have seen through you. Pretending otherwise is nothing more than ego inflation.”
“What? You think the Onalbi are going to tell a mere prison guard what’s going on in their negotiations with the humans? You know what, Walker? You’re stupider than I thought. Hell, it’s probably just a ploy on their part to flank us and see if they can get inside information on our position. And you fell for it! If that’s the case, you’re as good as a traitor!”
And with that, he left.
I held off as long as I could from taking a pain pill, as Lamon had told me that they’d make me drowsy and I wanted to think.
Was it possible that Hickok was right? Had I been played for a fool? Were the Onalbi just using me to get confidential information on our side of the negotiations? Once again, Hickok had deftly played on my lack of self-worth, reminding me that I was only a cook, and that I had no training for dealing with the situation.
I had rashly alienated the only humans who might be able to help me. At this point the contact team was going to do everything in their power to distance themselves from me. For all I knew, they would throw me to the Onalbi as a sacrificial offering. Effectively, I was now alone against the Onalbi… and against my own species.
As promised, the pills knocked me out. I had the vague impression that Lamon came in, checked me, stoked the fire and left, but was unsure whether it was real or just another dream.
Sometime late in the night, I became aware that the fire had died down to the point where I was getting cold. Some part of my mind kept telling me that I had to get up and put more wood on, but I was too tired and hurt too badly to actually follow through.
Sometime later, I became aware that the fire was burning steadily. I remember thinking that Lamon must have dropped in again to check on me. I made a mental note to thank him, and nodded back off.
The next morning I came fully awake to a crackling fire. It was a little too big, but the excess smoke that was pooling in the ceiling didn’t bother me where I lay on the floor. Clearly, Lamon had made his promised morning visit.
I enjoyed the warmth for a while, then dozed off again. Drifting in and out of sleep, I thought I heard a dry snick, snick sound. My first impression was that Lamon was breaking twigs to add to the fire.