to me, “He said, ‘I told you we are samples.’”
Daiur said, in Karst One, “Where’s Karl? I’m hungry.”
I was as surprised as I’d been when the guard beast had Spoken. Marianne said, “Karl’s visiting friends tonight.”
“We’ve got enough for everyone,” I said.
Hurdai said something. Thridai translated this time, “He’d like to cook.”
“I’d rather he didn’t get near the burners,” I said. Thridai spoke again in Sharwanisa, then Hurdai said something more and they talked a bit without translating.
Hrif moved his joints and legs again and came after us, head down, sputtering about duty, his bobtail swinging like a club. I wondered if his kind naturally knew speech or if a computer translated animal sentiments into speech. He settled by corner cabinets we didn’t use that much. Marianne said, “Fine. Good.”
“Hungry, too,” Hrif said, without raising his head.
Thridai asked, “Is this a standard living quarters layout?”
“Yes,” Marianne said. She went out, leaving me with all these people, and brought back Quara food like dog kibble in a plastic can. Hrif ate while she ran water into a bowl for him.
“Shouldn’t you feed us first?” Chi’ursemisa asked. Thridai talked to her and then said, “We’re from the same group Shar. Shar means The Planet, but I expect everyone calls their planet that before space travel.”
I wondered if they knew each other before capture. “Who will cook?” Marianne asked, beyond caring whether the Sharwani knew each other before or just went to the same museums.
“If you’ll let me, I will,” Thridai said. “We need an oil suitable to us and a shallow pan.” He took the food that we’d been feeding Hurdai and Chi’ursemisa, with the same oil, and did entirely different things with it than we’d been doing, crisping vegetables I’d boiled, leaving the meat almost raw, and rolling out their bread into big floppy wafers much like the plastic discs they’d used to pick up their food. When he made tea, he left the leaves in.
Marianne said, just to me, “Obviously, what we’ve fixed for them has been like prison fare.”
Worse, I thought. I wondered what Ahrams or Barcons would have done with corn meal and beans if they’d tried to feed me what I usually ate back in Virginia. Beans baked hard as stones?
Chi’ursemisa took the first plate and touched the food with her fingers, then began babbling to Thridai between scoops of food on her flat bread. He looked at us, hair flaring on his head slightly, then handed Hurdai and Daiur their plates. Chi’ursemisa kept talking.
“What is she saying?” I asked Thridai.
“She’s just talking,” he said. “Nothing strategic.”
“We didn’t mean to fix their food wrong,” Marianne said.
“I told them you didn’t,” Thridai said. He fixed his own plate, and the Sharwani all sat on the floor to eat. He looked up at us and said, “The platform you have is too high and not big enough.”
He was looking at the table. “Oh,” Marianne said. I microwaved some human food pouch stews, and we both sat down on the floor to join them, eating with spoons. Chi’ursemisa kept talking, sometimes articulating when she inhaled.
Marianne finally interrupted and said something in Sharwanisa. Hurdai’s eyelids swelled, but Thridai stroked under Hurdai’s lashes with his thumb.
Hrif went rigidly alert, utterly silent, his club tail raised off the floor.
Daiur said, “Mother hates us around all the time.” Chi’ursemisa stopped talking and stared at her son.
I wasn’t sure whether she understood or not. Thridai spoke Sharwanisa to Hurdai who spread his fingers and moved his hands at the wrists side to side, a wider movement angle than a human ulna and radius could make against human wrist bones. They both looked at Chi’ursemisa, who put her hands over her eyes, palms against the flesh under the eyes.
Hurdai looked at Marianne and spoke Shariwanisa. She answered him and said to
Daiur said, in Karst One, “Where’s Karl? I’m hungry.”
I was as surprised as I’d been when the guard beast had Spoken. Marianne said, “Karl’s visiting friends tonight.”
“We’ve got enough for everyone,” I said.
Hurdai said something. Thridai translated this time, “He’d like to cook.”
“I’d rather he didn’t get near the burners,” I said. Thridai spoke again in Sharwanisa, then Hurdai said something more and they talked a bit without translating.
Hrif moved his joints and legs again and came after us, head down, sputtering about duty, his bobtail swinging like a club. I wondered if his kind naturally knew speech or if a computer translated animal sentiments into speech. He settled by corner cabinets we didn’t use that much. Marianne said, “Fine. Good.”
“Hungry, too,” Hrif said, without raising his head.
Thridai asked, “Is this a standard living quarters layout?”
“Yes,” Marianne said. She went out, leaving me with all these people, and brought back Quara food like dog kibble in a plastic can. Hrif ate while she ran water into a bowl for him.
“Shouldn’t you feed us first?” Chi’ursemisa asked. Thridai talked to her and then said, “We’re from the same group Shar. Shar means The Planet, but I expect everyone calls their planet that before space travel.”
I wondered if they knew each other before capture. “Who will cook?” Marianne asked, beyond caring whether the Sharwani knew each other before or just went to the same museums.
“If you’ll let me, I will,” Thridai said. “We need an oil suitable to us and a shallow pan.” He took the food that we’d been feeding Hurdai and Chi’ursemisa, with the same oil, and did entirely different things with it than we’d been doing, crisping vegetables I’d boiled, leaving the meat almost raw, and rolling out their bread into big floppy wafers much like the plastic discs they’d used to pick up their food. When he made tea, he left the leaves in.
Marianne said, just to me, “Obviously, what we’ve fixed for them has been like prison fare.”
Worse, I thought. I wondered what Ahrams or Barcons would have done with corn meal and beans if they’d tried to feed me what I usually ate back in Virginia. Beans baked hard as stones?
Chi’ursemisa took the first plate and touched the food with her fingers, then began babbling to Thridai between scoops of food on her flat bread. He looked at us, hair flaring on his head slightly, then handed Hurdai and Daiur their plates. Chi’ursemisa kept talking.
“What is she saying?” I asked Thridai.
“She’s just talking,” he said. “Nothing strategic.”
“We didn’t mean to fix their food wrong,” Marianne said.
“I told them you didn’t,” Thridai said. He fixed his own plate, and the Sharwani all sat on the floor to eat. He looked up at us and said, “The platform you have is too high and not big enough.”
He was looking at the table. “Oh,” Marianne said. I microwaved some human food pouch stews, and we both sat down on the floor to join them, eating with spoons. Chi’ursemisa kept talking, sometimes articulating when she inhaled.
Marianne finally interrupted and said something in Sharwanisa. Hurdai’s eyelids swelled, but Thridai stroked under Hurdai’s lashes with his thumb.
Hrif went rigidly alert, utterly silent, his club tail raised off the floor.
Daiur said, “Mother hates us around all the time.” Chi’ursemisa stopped talking and stared at her son.
I wasn’t sure whether she understood or not. Thridai spoke Sharwanisa to Hurdai who spread his fingers and moved his hands at the wrists side to side, a wider movement angle than a human ulna and radius could make against human wrist bones. They both looked at Chi’ursemisa, who put her hands over her eyes, palms against the flesh under the eyes.
Hurdai looked at Marianne and spoke Shariwanisa. She answered him and said to
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