Isabel

Isabel hurried through the door as soon as she saw Ghuh’loloan through her office window, patiently waiting in front of her desk. ‘Good morning,’ Isabel said. She tapped her hud to bring up the time. ‘I’m sorry, were we supposed to meet early?’ She didn’t recall that they’d arranged that, but then, she had so much on her plate that things were starting to fall off the edges.

‘No, no,’ Ghuh’loloan said. She stretched her dactyli reassuringly. ‘I simply had much on my mind and wished to speak with you.’ She pointed a tentacle at Isabel’s desk, where two mugs of mek stood waiting. ‘I managed to brave that contraption of yours, but I’m afraid I was too cowardly to try for a brew as hot as you make.’

‘That’s not cowardly.’ Not at all, Isabel thought, considering the Ensk-labelled temperature dial and smooth knobs built for human hands. ‘That was very kind.’ She rather disliked starting her day with mek, but she wasn’t about to turn down a drink made by someone who’d risked a nasty burn. She sat, and sipped. Stars, but Ghuh had made it strong. ‘So, what brought you here?’ She put her scrib on the table, ready for whatever questions about musical traditions or food storage or toilet technology her colleague had today.

But the Harmagian surprised her. Ghuh’loloan did not have her own scrib out, and she did not launch forth with a ravenous barrage of queries. Instead, she did something Isabel had never seen: she hesitated. ‘Dear friend, I’m not sure how to begin,’ Ghuh’loloan said. Isabel took immediate note of the change in address. Not dear host. Dear friend. ‘The topic I wish to discuss is positive, but I worry it may cause difficulty, or worse, insult.’

Isabel set down her mug. She knew Ghuh’loloan understood smiling, and so she smiled. ‘Dear friend,’ she said, hoping her echo of the phrase came across as sincere. ‘I very much doubt you’d insult me, especially since you’ve told me at the outset that it’s not your intent. You trust me to be honest with you, right?’

Ghuh’loloan’s tentacles relaxed. ‘Indeed. Still, if my profession has made me aware of anything, it is that cultural bruising is often worst when done accidentally.’ Her body quivered from front to end – her species’ equivalent of a shrug. ‘But now, at least, if insult occurs, you will know it was not by design.’

Isabel sipped her lukewarm mek and nodded, patiently awaiting the end of the Harmagian song and dance.

There was a great sucking sound as Ghuh’loloan filled her airsack. ‘You know my writings of my time here have gained a sizable audience.’

‘Yes.’ Isabel didn’t know how she could’ve responded otherwise. Ghuh’loloan had been downright euphoric over the messages she’d received from her readers. Modern life in the Fleet, it seemed, had struck a chord in the niche world of ethnography, and her colleague was happily spending her sleepless nights responding to as many questions as she could until Isabel woke up.

Ghuh’loloan forged ahead. Her friendly concern was absent now, having given way to matter-of-fact explanation. If there was one thing a scholar was good at, it was laying out a case. ‘There has been a particularly strong reaction to my mentions of the Fleet’s technical capabilities and resulting challenges. I’m sure you can imagine the sort I mean.’

Isabel gave a tight smile. ‘They think we’re a little backward, hmm?’

‘To some, yes. Please do not take it personally. Cultural arrogance is depressingly universal, particularly among my people.’ Ghuh’loloan paused, waiting.

It took Isabel a moment to catch on. ‘I don’t take it personally,’ she said. ‘Not to worry.’

The Harmagian was satisfied. She continued. ‘Those responses, I pay no attention to. But there are others . . .’ The hesitance returned. ‘Others who wish to help. Not because you are incapable of helping yourselves,’ she added quickly, ‘but out of a real desire to provide resources that would be of benefit.’

Isabel leaned back in her chair. ‘We’re still a charity case,’ she said. She felt that twinge of ego once more.

‘Again, to some. But I wouldn’t look at it as an act of pity. For many, it’s out of a genuine wish for you to gain equal footing.’ She wrapped a tentacle around her own neglected mug of mek. ‘The reason I have decided to share this with you is that I have had a few letters that offer some intriguing possibilities.’

‘Such as?’

Ghuh’loloan conducted the retract-face-open-mouth-pourliquid manoeuvre, then cradled the mug against her porous bulk. ‘Such as oshet-Tasthiset esk-Vassix as-Ishehsh Tirikistik isket-Haaskiset.’

Isabel blinked. Full Aandrisk names were nothing if not a mouthful. ‘Who’s . . . that?’

‘Have you heard of Ellush Haaskiset?’

‘No.’

‘It’s a comp tech developer, based in Reskit. Their entire managing council is comprised of a single feather family, and they represent a staggering amount of wealth. Tirikistik is one of the more public faces in their circle. She’s also an amateur enthusiast of alien cultural study, and I’ve seen her in attendance at various symposiums at the Institute. It was quite exciting to receive a letter from her directly.’

Ghuh’loloan paused again, and Isabel took the cue to compliment her on a prestigious happening. ‘That does sound exciting,’ Isabel said. ‘It speaks well of your work.’