Read Online Transgalactic by James Gunn - Free Book Online Page B

Seeing none she waved her hands in front of the doors and its frame in the way she had learned to control the mirror/receiver and the cabinet-wall, but there was no response. If she was mistaken in the building, its occupants were Squeal people conditioned from birth to avoid the night.
    But she was not, and she pounded on the door with her fist. The sound echoed across the empty plaza, stirring echoes that might in normal circumstances have brought a crowd of curious or alarmed spectators or uniformed guardians of the peace. No answer. She pounded again. Finally she heard a muffled voice from the other side of the door. “Go away!” it said in the squeal language.
    â€œI can’t,” Asha replied. “I need your help.”
    â€œGo away!” the high-pitched voice repeated. “You don’t exist!”
    â€œYou must let me in. I invoke my rights as a Federation citizen!” She had no squeal words for “rights,” “Federation,” or “citizen,” so she substituted words in Galactic standard.
    â€œGo away!” the voice said once more, sounding plaintive.
    Asha switched to Dorian grunts. “I invoke my rights of asylum!”
    The voice was silent.
    A moment later the doors swung open.
    *   *   *
    Inside was a small Squeal person. It might have been Eenie or Minie, but it was terrified of her or the night, shrinking back into a wood-paneled foyer on a slick stone floor. Dark corridors extended in each direction to the left and the right and a door in the farther wall was closed. In the center of the foyer stood a tall vase—what was it with these people and their vases?—and she wondered what story its inscribed figures told and if she ever would have the chance to decipher it.
    As she was making those observations, she was closing the doors behind her. The Squeal person’s agitation eased, as if assured that no more creatures of the night would enter after Asha. The sandalwood aroma of this world and the person in front of her was tinged with the hint of methane common among grazers, and she knew she was in the right place.
    â€œYou are the Chosen One,” the Squeal person said, with what could have been a touch of awe or reverence if Asha had been capable of making such distinctions.
    â€œSo I am told,” Asha said. “But now I am a citizen of the galaxy,” she continued, again substituting words in Dorian, which, apparently, the Squeal person could understand even if its delicate vocal chords were unable to emit Dorian grunts. “You will wake the Ambassador,” she said imperiously, hoping that the Dorian word for the Galactic Federation representative was appropriate and that her status among these little people would justify her tone. “And you will take me to a place where we can meet.”
    The Squeal person looked bewildered and then, apparently deciding that it could not leave Asha standing in the entranceway, led the way to the farther door. It opened as they approached. The Squeal person stood aside as Asha entered, and then departed, to get the Ambassador, Asha hoped, and not guards who would evict her, or worse.
    The room was a study or office, with a massive standing desk, suitable for a species that stands more than it sits or reclines, at the far end. It was a big room, as if the person who used it felt more comfortable in open spaces. The wood-paneled walls were adorned with paintings of long vistas of rolling grasslands dotted with clumps of trees surrounding ponds or pools, but the pictures moved as she watched, the grass waving and the leaves tossing as if blown by a gentle breeze. Asha could almost smell the grass, and then she realized that she could smell the grass. The room must have been of significant comfort to a creature far from its ancestral home and treasured childhood.
    There were no chairs. Any creatures seeking conference with the Ambassador stood as he did and without any