This file is a part of Elf Sternberg's Collected Works on ASSTR.  The
complete archive of Elf's work can be found on his website at:

http://www.drizzle.com/~elf

The author can be contacted at:

mailto:elf@drizzle.com

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                               Movie Night

Journal Entry 209 / 01028

Anar, Yavar 14, 01028

Arizona, United States

In the cold Arizona desert, a small, one-story construction sits on a high
hill and cuts an unnaturally perfect rectangle out of the sun setting
behind it. Next to the structure stands one of the testaments to man's
curiosity-- a 50 meter-wide radio telescope pointed heavenwards. Inside,
two young students idly stare at black and white computer screens
that slowly scroll upwards. The lines of text jump upward in spasms of
output.  The room is poorly lit, crammed with computer equipment put to
indescribable purposes, and over the heads of the two students a string
crosses from one bank of hardware to another, supporting Christmas Cards.
Pink Floyd's Delicate Sound of Thunder plays loud in the background
as one of the students tosses a can of Coca-Cola over the head of the
other. It lands with a resounding clank in a trashcan.

  "It would have been nice if they'd bothered to get their history
  right," I groused. "Delicate Sound wasn't released until a couple of
  years later."

"Man, it's dull." The speaker, a bony young man of pale complexion in
a flannel shirt that has seen better days, leans back in his chair and
puts his feet up on the desk next to the computer. "I finished reviewing
last night. There's nothing there."

"Did you expect anything?" The other, a slightly shorter man in a light
jacket, asks. "There ain't nobody out there who wants to talk to us."

"I don't think there's anybody out there at all," the first replies.

"Then what made you sign up for SETI?"

The man in flannel shrugs. "I like radio astronomy. This is just a filler
for me anyway."

"Hell of a filler doin' the graveyard shift. I'm goin' outside for
a smoke."

"Okay. I'll be here if ET calls."

The second student smiles at the old joke, his teeth shining in his
African face as he digs a cigarette out of his pocket and heads outside.
He looks up at the stars and mutters, "Merry Christmas aliens. I hope
you are out there. I could use someone to talk to." He takes a drag
on his smoke. The stars, more here than he had ever seen in his native
city of San Diego, shine down on him without ever having to acknowledge
his existence.

  "What is he doing?" Jaqui asked.

  "Filling his lungs with smoke," I asked. "It's called a cigarette. That
  one probably had tobacco in it, which had a really addictive component
  called nicotine."

  "Eww." The five-year-old gets it right every time.

He smokes for another minute until the door to the telemetry building
is thrown open. "Get in here! I've got a translunar radio source!"

There is a frenzy as the two of them stand in front of a cabinet of
equipment and examine the output of a single machine, watching a strange
red line draw itself down a strip of paper. The line is rhythmic and
solid. Excitedly, they examine another set of machines in sequence,
the man in the jacket examining a checklist of possibilities. They hand
clipboards back and forth, reading off a set of numbers and examining a
large, thick printout. "No satellites listed in the area. We're pointed
in the right direction. We gotta call the Doc."

The man in flannel nods his agreement enthusiastically. "Now."

Washington DC, United States

In a white room decorated with symbols of authority, an elderly gentleman
who could be anyone's grandfather sits on a wide couch. He is surrounded
by other men in impeccable suits, some civilian, some military. "Well,"
he says in a voice both calming and breathless at the same time, "Who
else knows about this?"

One of the men in a suit responds. "The entire astronomy class at the
University of Arizona, sir. The media will know by the end of the day."

"And we're sure that the signals are coming from outer space?"

"Um, yes sir," a military man responds. "We have checked. We don't
have any satellites out there and if the Soviets did, we'd know about
it. The signals originate within our own solar system, but they are not
of human origin."

  "Sez you."

  "Hush, Ken," P'nyssa said. "They didn't know any better."

There is a knock at the door. A younger man walks in and hands a note to
the suited man who spoke first. "Mr. President, we have a confirmation
that the aliens are coming here. They have spoken."

"What does it say?"

"It says-- I'm quoting here, sir-- 'Representatives of the Pendor star
system would like to meet with representatives of the planet Terra. We
are here for peaceful purposes. We would like to make arrangements to
land a vessel at John F. Kennedy airport and meet with the Secretary
General of the United Nations the afternoon of January 1st.'"

"Was the message in English?" someone asks.

"According to this note, the message was sent in ten different languages.
English was the fourth used."

"What where the others?"

"In order, the first was unrecognizable. So far, no translator has
identified it so it may be their native tongue. The second was ancient
Greek. The third was French, then English, then Arabic, Japanese, Russian,
Mandarin Chinese, Navajo, and Tutsi."

"They seem to know quite a bit about us," the first military man says.
"Their intelligence is quite good if they know that many languages. What
the Hell is Tutsi?"

"A sub-Saharan language, sir," the aide replies.

"Do we know anything about them other than what they've sent us?"

"We have some pictures of their approach; the rockets they use don't
seem to be very bright, but they are quite hot and that heat is visible
through infra-red telescopes. There are two vessels headed this way. The
'hot glare' from the rockets prevent us from seeing what the ships might
be on the other side."

The President looks up at his men. "Do we have anything that can stop
them?"

"Sir, these aliens have come from somewhere else over light years of
distance. At the moment, I would say that we can make life very difficult
for them down here if they want to invade, but up there? No, sir, there
is nothing we can hit them with."

"Then I guess we're going to have to let them land."

Lima, Peru

  "Watch this guy," I said. "He's the only one who really understands
  what's at stake here. "

"It is simply out of the question," a man with a light South American
accent says. Wearing a bathrobe, he appears to be in his early sixties,
with light grey hair. A woman walks up behind him and places a hand on
his shoulder, and he gives her a patient smile. "It is New York. They
want to know if I can return tomorrow."

"Of course not, Javier'. It will be the New Year the day after. It can't
be that important."

The man places the telephone up against his ear. "Why do you want me back
tomorrow?" He listens for a little longer. "Is this a joke?" he demands.
He listens further. "Amelia! Turn on CNN!"

New York City, New York, United States

"I think it's the perfect irony," a man bundled against the cold winter
weather is saying into a microphone. "Here we are right on the verge of
George Orwell's year and the aliens are coming. It couldn't have happened
any other way."

The scene on the television screen changes. "They've been watching us
for years," a woman is saying. "Now they want to talk."

"I'm not really interested," a third man says. "It's all a hoax. You
know, ten years ago it took a million dollars to make effects like those,
but these days anyone with a computer could do it."

"Maybe they'll tell us what they did with Amelia Earhart."

"How about Elvis?"

"I wonder what they look like. Are they human or do the look more like
those giant bugs in that movie, uh, Alien? Maybe they're here to eat us,
like in V."

  "My, what big teeth we have!" Cordelia joked.

  "Hush, Dear. You're hardly alien to these people."

A man more authoritative than the rest holds the microphone before
himself. "It's hard to judge, Bernie, quite what the collective mood
is down here. Lots of shoppers taking advantage of the after-Christmas
sales seem to know that something momentous is happening but opinion
appears to be highly mixed and uncertain."

"Thank you, Roger. That was Roger Clemens in New York. We turn now to
NASA scientist George Kilpenny, who has studied the images coming from
just outside our solar system. Dr. Kilpenny, do we know any more about
these aliens?"

A heavyset man wearing corrective glasses and an ill-fitting tie appears
on the screen. "Well, we know a few more things. A voice analysis of the
message they sent indicates that they have fluent speakers in English
and Archaic Greek, and their native language of course, as well as many
other Terran languages. Whether that means they have speakers of those
languages or just good computers, we can't say.

"We also know a little more about their technology. People have been
talking about the extraterrestrials having some kind of 'warp drive'
because their rockets don't appear to be putting out any light. But
scientists know that many reaction puts out a lot of energy without
creating light. They have very narrow spectrums of output. We've analyzed
their engines and they appear to be using some form of advanced fusion
reactor to drive their ships. It's beyond our engineering skill to
build something like that at present, but the science behind it is
well understood."

"Fusion, like in a thermonuclear bomb? Do they present a threat to us?"

  "We want your women!" Tails, who usually wanted very little to do with
  women, said with a chuckle.

  "Grown-ups are so weird," Jaqui opined.

"Well, yes, like a fusion bomb but much more controlled apparently. It's
not a threat unless they try and use it in the atmosphere."

"Thank you, Dr. Kilpenny. Coming up on CNN, reactions from Washington. I'm
Bernard Shaw."

Cape Canaveral, Florida

"Good morning. The scene behind me is the runway that the US shuttle uses
when returning to Earth. In just under half an hour this strip of concrete
will be the site for the most momentous event in human history-- the
arrival of people from another world. Although they originally requested
landing space in New York City, negotiators managed to convince them that
for the sake of the one of the world's busiest airports in one of its
busiest cities, it would be better if they landed someplace more remote.
This is that place.

"At the far end of the runway stands Javier de Cuellar, the Secretary
of the United Nations, the man the aliens have come to meet, as well
as representatives from over a hundred countries. The Vice President
is standing next to the Secretary as you can see. We are not sure where
the president is today.

"The United States Marines have set up several control stations and
soldiers are patrolling the area. We are not sure who they are here
to protect-- the aliens or us-- although a representative did say that
they were here to keep the peace in the event that something unexpected
should happen.

  "Yeah, people arriving from another world happens every day,"
  Sheja said.

  "Sometimes, that's a good thing," Cordelia responded.

"Spectators have been lining up along the fence to watch the landing of
the alien spaceship since before dawn this morning. A base officer told
me that a few were here before dusk last night.

"I am informed by my producer that we are going to turn on the feed from
the Canaveral radar station and follow the descent of the alien ship as
it lands here, at Canaveral."

A new voice comes on the speaker. It is scratchy and somewhat distant.
"Radar contact at eighty miles and closing; vertical distance
approximately six miles. I have one signal, loud and strong. Range at
seventy-five miles." There is a strange pause. "I have two signals,
one breaking off, one heading straight in to Canaveral. I repeat, I have
two strong signals. Only one is inbound. The other is breaking off."

The reporter's voice returns. "Ladies and gentlemen, what you are hearing
is the voice of the range radar operator as he reports on the track of
the alien spaceship approaching."

"Inbound signal is slowing. Signal about twenty miles out and approaching
at about a hundred miles per hour."

The man who had appeared earlier in a military suit is standing on the
edge of the runway, a pair of binoculars in his hands. "What the...
Seargant! Find out what damn fool is flying a helicopter out there and
tell him to bring it down!"

A young man sitting over a circular visual display looks up. "Sir,
there's nothing out there but the ship we were tracking earlier."

"I'm looking right at... it." Awareness seems to dawn on his features.
"I'll be damned."

For an airship the vessel appears very large. Four rotors extending from
hubs that barely protrude from the roof of the ship spin intermeshed
blades so quickly they are almost invisible to the naked eye. The
wind stirs up grass, sand and even small stones as the ship slowly
settles down onto the end of the runway closest to the ocean, landing
gear extending out to reach for the ground. It is a dull white color,
streamlined and organic. On its side is a symbol that appears to be a
flag: On a dark-blue background, an eight pointed star surrounded by
a narrow ring set at a slight angle. The rotors slowly turn to a stop,
collect themselves to align with the spine of the vessel, and sink into
recessed pockets as doors close over them. At the nose of the vessel can
be seen a smaller symbol, looking almost like a hastily drawn numeral "5".

  "Hmph. It did not have an eldar on it as I recall."

  "Yes, it did, and you know it," P'nyssa replied.

Now on the ground it looms even larger. "That thing's almost as big as
a 747," one man standing with the dignitaries drawls appreciatively.
"Amazing."

They wait. Two hatchways open on opposite sides of the vessel, great
bows of metal turning upward to expose their contents, which are then
lowered to the ground. Two robots nearly ten feet tall walk forward on
the runway, taking up positions by the nose of the vessel. They are quite
clearly meant to be menacing: blobs of gunmetal gray, all sharp angles
and rigid features but for the featureless face, they carry large square
rifles in their hands. A black and yellow triangle is visible on their
backs in one corner, clearly a warning of some kind. They are impassive.

"Not very friendly."

"It could be a show of strength," another voice replies. "They're telling
us that they're cautious and they're willing to protect themselves if
they have to."

"I believe them already," the first says.

From the nose of the ship another door opens, this one smaller than
the other two. The floor descends, a shaft of metal in the center of
the disk-shaped platform holding it steady as it drops two humanoid
figures slowly to the ground. Both are dressed in uniforms of white
decorated with striping along the seams of their pants and along the
lines of their jackets. Over the left pocket appears the star-and-ring
symbol in gold on a navy-blue background. One is clearly male and very
human and although the uniform was apparently tailored to him he seems
ill-at-ease wearing it. The other is clearly female, quite beautiful and
far more comfortable in her clothing. Although her face appears human
the camera gives her some reservations. Both have long hair restrained
by some sort of tie in the back. She walks with a curious, lilting gait.

They walk towards the robots. The male pauses, speaks to one of the robots
which appears to respond, although at this distance no words can be heard.
He seems satisfied as they approach the party.

"Secretary General." She speaks with a voice these people have
heard before. She is the one who sent the message in English. "I
am Representative Genalina Difranz of Pendor. I am grateful for the
hospitality of your people."

"Representative Genalina Difranz, I an Secretary General Javier de
Cuellar of the United Nations of Earth. I welcome you to our world." He
bows. She returns the gesture although she seems awkward at it, then
stands straight and offers her hand. It is the Secretary General's turn
to be awkward but he recovers with the speed and aplomb of a diplomat
and the handshake is returned.

"Secretary, I understand the press is here. I have a message for the
people of your world, if I may."

The Secretary, nonplussed, gestures towards the cameras and microphones.
Genalina seems momentarily intimidated by the wall of equipment that
approaches her as an army, but she soon recovers. She smiles to the
cameras as if enjoying a private joke. "I have a message for the people
of Earth. A long time ago an alien species for reasons known only to
it came to one of your own and gave him tools and knowledge far beyond
what either you or we have here today. With those tools he was allowed
to do whatever he wished for a period of time, and what he wished was
our existence. We, the eight united species of Pendor, are the children
of a child of Earth.  We are your grandchildren.

"We come from a star 6.38 light years from here, a star that until two
days ago was not even visible in your sky. How we came here is a legend
even to us, and we are as a people only a century old.

"That is why we are here. We are only a century old-- we have no past,
we have no history, we have no traditions of art, or literature, or
performance, but what we have created for ourselves.

"We are, by any stretch of the imagination, a people of abundance and
prosperity, wanting for nothing in the way of food, shelter, or health.
Our world is full of vistas and adventures as rich and varied as anything
that can be found on Earth. We ask that you, the people of Earth, welcome
us into your museums, your concerts, and your classrooms. In exchange
we offer you fair trade in both our material wealth and our sciences."

"We do not know what happened to the alien race that gave our Vatare',
our father, the tools with which he created us. Although we have some
indicators that they do not exist anymore, we cannot say for certain
either way. The tools they gave him have also gone and are no more. He
is still with us and we still love and believe in him, but he in no way
leads us for we lead ourselves as was his intent.

"As I said, there are eight Pendorian species. My assistant, Kennet,
and I are representatives of two of them. In total, representatives from
six of the species are here today with us; the other two could not make
the voyage from Pendor in the starships we currently have, although we
hope to change that soon. Kennet here is a Human, and I am a Satryl;
the differences would be better visible if I were wearing much less,
but this is not the time, place, or weather for such revelations."

  "Och, horrible," I sighed. "That's not even the right speech. She's
  compressing months of revelations into one speech."

  "It's only a movie," Tails offered.

Behind her, the ship is opening up as more doors bow outward and more
discs drop more passengers to the ground. There are five distinct groups.
Two have been seen already, the humans and the satryl, who now can only
be identified by their peculiar gait. Of the others, one is built on
the frame of a human, but is clearly feline in appearance; the head is
that of a housecat, as is the coloration of the fur that is visible on
the exposed hands and face. The second is built large, around seven
feet tall or more for the largest, again appearing feline but much
more ferocious. One grins as he walks towards the camera, a mouthful
of teeth revealed in the sides of thin, black lips. Their fur is bright
white with spots of dark grey or black distributed in a somewhat random
pattern. The third is the most peculiar-- humanoid, like the other two,
each is covered in a uniform blue fur, but the shades vary from the
four individuals seen from a light blue to the deepest indigo. They have
large, almost dish-like ears. Their eyes have no visible corneas but are
an unbroken monochrome of yellow or green.  Their arms do not sway as
others would when they walk and it soon becomes obvious that the arms
are not arms but tentacles ending in a fingerless mitten. Some of the
attendees seem even more intimidated by them than the others. But slowly,
even they start to make contact with the waiting, anxious Terrans.

  "Well," I said, stretching, "That's the end of part one. Okay,
  everybody. Bathroom, food, drinks, whatever you need to do do it now.
  I'm starting back up again in ten minutes."

  "Ken!" Jaqui protested.

  "Ten minutes," I repeated for her. "No more, no less. You're not back
  in ten minutes, we start the movie without you." I stood up, yawned,
  and stretched some more. I hadn't realized this flick was quite so long.

  "Where did you find this?" P'nyssa asked.

  "In the library. Lance pointed it out to me the other day and I figured
  we should have a movie night together, just us and some friends." 'Some
  friends' had ended up at fourteen people or so. "I'm not sure what it
  is. It calls itself a 'fictionalized documentary.' It's definitely
  fiction-- while the meeting on the tarmac might be accurate, some
  of the details are certainly way off. Those powersuits weren't even
  being made that year-- we had a much older model. For another thing,
  I remember Genalina being much prettier than that." P'nyssa, who had
  also been there, smiled quietly to herself. Genalina had resisted all my
  charms, later admitting that she had mostly been testing me to see if
  she could keep her role' as ambassador without sleeping with me. "It's
  not even a drama, is it?" Tails asked. "I'm sure the events were very
  dramatic for everybody there but was it really, I mean, exciting?"

  "Sure, there was some excitement that year," P'nyssa replied.

  "Mostly caused by misunderstandings. Anyone want something to drink?" I
  asked, heading towards the 'fridge.

  "Cola!" "Root beer!" "Orange juice!" I took the orders, carefully filing
  them away in a small corner of my brain. Opening the door I heard the
  quiet crinkle of metal as the innards of the machine began to equalize
  in temperature with the changed environment outside. I found some
  example of what everyone had asked for except myself-- I was out of
  cream soda. "Lance, can you send me a six-pack of cream soda?" "It's
  warm," the AI replied as it appeared on the SDisk. I sighed. While
  I'm not a fan of ice in anything carbonated, it was a lot better than
  drinking the stuff warm. I carried the various bottles of requested
  stuff back out to the waiting audience. Then I went back for my own.
  "Are we ready?" I asked. There were nods of assent. "Good."

New York State University, New York, United States

A young man sits at a wide, institutional-style table reading a book.
Before him are the scant remains of a meal on an equally institutional
tray. He is large and hirsute, yet despite his bulk he appears to be
withdrawn from those around him, entranced by his reading. Around him
the clatter of silverware and the mingling of many voices reveals the
comings and goings of a school cafeteria. He has companions who are
chattering among themselves, respecting the space he has built between
himself and his book.

The clatter comes to a slow halt. All heads turn, including the young
man's, to the door where two Pendorians, a female Tindal and a male Uncia,
have appeared. It is hard to determine if they are equals for he seems
protective of her. They talk among themselves for a moment and the young
man turns his attention ever more towards the two newcomers. He stands.
"Where are you going?" one of his friends asks.

"To try something," he says.

"You're going to go talk to them?"

"Sure," he replies, skirting around the table. He is muttering to himself
as he walks towards them, as if trying to come to grips with what he is
about to do or say. He steps up to them both. The whole room is watching
as he holds out a hand, to which is not clear. He swallows. "Mellon. Esseo
na Joel. Tuleoesse. Quenevan..." His voice trails off as he fumbles for
a word; he resorts to gestures, holding his thumb and forefinger very
close together. He smiles.

The other two do as well, and the ferocious-looking Uncia takes his hand.
"Naiman, Joel. Esso D'Chrofft na.. Mellon!"

"Naiman," Joel agrees.

The Tindal holds out her mitten. "Esso na Minsha. And I speak more
English than you Quen I think."

Joel takes her mitten in his hand. "I hope so. That was almost my entire
vocabulary right there."

"Practice," she suggests. "Chrofft knows--" and she deliberately pauses,
holding her mitten out, thumb very close to the pad-- "English."

"Noluvan pello!" the Uncia objects.

Joel's friends have now joined him. One, a short woman with large breasts
barely restrained by her clothing says, "You speak their language?"

"Just a tiny amount," Joel replies. "It's a little like Finnish, I think."
He has a secretive smile as he speaks. "She speaks English, he doesn't."

She pulls on the sleeve of Joel's clothing, and Joel bends down to hear
her whisper. He whispers something back to her. Now she turns to the
big cat. "Chrofft? Esso Lisa na. Nailye vancana."

The Uncia is startled, then smiles. "Naiman, Lisa. Naquen 'canavan'."

"What's that mean?" Lisa asks.

"It means that you pronounced it wrong," Joel replies. "I gave you the
wrong word."

"Your words are limited. You said so," Minsha says. "Someone told us:
The food at the school center is awful. We came to taste for ourselves."

"Now that's adventure for you," Joel replies. His friends chuckle. "The
cafeteria, the final frontier. To boldly eat what few humans would call
food. I don't recommend the Jello."

There are more laughs.

He sees them walking across the campus, laughing and joking. Even the
tall one that does not speak English is having a good time, and he is
walking with the short girl. A dark snarl crosses his face and he walks
towards the cafeteria, walking around the side and entering a wooden door,
unnoticed. Inside is a smoke filled room. Someone at a table waves to him.
"Gary!" one shouts above the din of a pinball machine performing its
attraction routine with all the duty and noise of a peacock questing
for a mate.

He joins them, accepting a glass of beer from the one who caught his
attention. "Thanks."

"What gives? You look down."

He leans on the table conspiratorially. "It's those damned aliens. I
don't like 'em."

The other leans back in his chair and pushes his hair from his eyes. "It's
not like they're here to eat us."

"I say we still don't know that. Besides, I just saw them walk by with
some of the wedge rats. Lisa and the big one were like, like--" He too
gestures, holding his first two fingers close together.

"God, are you still hung up on that one?" the who has not yet spoken
now speaks. "Forget about her man."

"Yeah, easy for you to say," Gary responds. "You don't know what she's
like." Gary removes a cigarette and lights up.

"Yeah, I know the whole story. You two had chemistry in bed. Big deal. She
didn't like the way you smoke and the way you drink. When you finally
cracked up your 'Z' she dumped you. She's a wedgie, Gary."

Gary sighs and puts his drink down. "Yeah, I know. It's just really
hard, y'know?"

The others nod.

Joel and Lisa are sitting in a dimly lit restaurant. Behind them is a
once-colorful mural of what look like elves handling pitchers of beer
and tossing about the components of pizza. Between them sits a pitcher
of soda, thus far untouched by either. "Joel?" Lisa asks.

"Hmm?"

"What do you think of me and Chrofft?"

Joel thinks. "I don't know, Lisa. It's an interesting proposition, that's
for sure. He's picked up English almost as fast as I've been learning
Quen. It's nice to have a complete dictionary for once." He pours himself
a drink, then one for her. "What do you want me to think of him?"

"I don't know," she sighs, accepting the glass he holds out. "I mean, I...
Okay, I'll say it. Do you think he wants to sleep with me?"

"Do you want to sleep with him?"

"I don't know that either," she says. "I think I do, but it's so...
scary."

"He is kinda big compared to you."

"And rangy looking," she agrees. "But that's not it. Did I tell you I
ran into Gary yesterday?"

Joel looks up sharply, clearly recognizing the name. "That loser?"

"He's not that bad a loser," she protests. "He just drinks too much."

"And he smokes. And he's a racist underneath it all. Just ask him about
his attitudes towards Indians."

Lisa nods. "I've heard it, Joel." She sighs. "I miss that one part
of him."

"Learning to live without sugar was hard for me, too," Joel says
unexpectedly. "Diabetes does that to a man. You have no idea how much
I hate diet Coke."

She smiles in a sad way. "So how about you and Minsha? Is that working?"

"Sometimes I think I'm doomed to be the best friend of all women and
not actually get to date any of them. Minsha acts like my little sister
sometimes." He looks up. "Speaking of whom..." Lisa turns to see Minsha
walk through the door, Chrofft stooping to follow. The room goes silent
for a moment.

"Uh, hi." Minsha says. "Anyone mind of we eat here? Our friends are here."
She points in the direction of Joel and Lisa.

Nobody says a word, so she and Chrofft make their way over to Joel and
Lisa's table. Chrofft has considerable trouble wedging his bulk into the
booth, but eventually he manages. He is head, shoulders, and then some
over Lisa, but they smile when they greet and they seem to get along fine.
Minsha sits down next to Joel and gives him a brief kiss on the cheek.
Joel seems startled but doesn't object verbally.

A waitress approaches cautiously and asks if they're ready to order
or do they need more time. "I don't recognize anything on this menu,"
Minsha says. "Joel, you order for me."

"Do you like more meat, or vegetables? Do you like anything spicy?"

"Spicy is okay but not a demand. And I do eat meat."

"I eat meat," Chrofft offers.

"I figured that," Joel says. He looks up at the waitress. "Okay. Two
medium pizzas, one pepperoni and sausage, one half bacon and pineapple,
half mushrooms and olives."

The waitress takes the order. "Anything to drink?"

"Soda. Not diet," Minsha says.

"Be right back with your drinks," the waitress says, seemingly grateful
to be out of there.

Lisa leans against Chrofft momentarily but he moves away. Lisa looks up,
hurt. "Chrofft?"

"I met a man this day. His name is Gary. He said he is your, uh... melar?"

"Boyfriend," Joel suggests. "Not anymore."

"Not for a long time," Lisa agrees. "We broke up a month before Pendorians
arrived."

Chrofft smiles, looking relieved. "He seems very upset."

"Why? Because I'm interested in you?"

"That would seem to be," Chrofft says. "I do not want to make things
bad here."

"You won't," Lisa says. "Gary and I were very good to each other one way,
but he drank too much and smoked too much."

"How can one 'drink too much?'" Minsha asks.

"Alcohol," Joel replies. "When we say he 'drank too much,' we usually
mean alcohol."

"So he was out of control often?" Minsha asks.

"That's a good way of putting it. It didn't look like it, though. He
could drink a lot and still seem sober. But he wrecked his car a couple
of months ago driving drunk and got his license suspended."

The drinks arrive, followed shortly by the pizza. They eat in pleased
silence. Around them it is obvious that others are watching them closely,
but they ignore it and try to enjoy their meal. Minsha has some difficulty
with the pizza and resorts to a knife and fork, looking very much the
lady in manner if not in appearance as she eats.

As they eat, they are joined by some of their friends seen in the
cafeteria. These friends are dressed scruffily but they are smiles as
they take the booth across the aisle from the four. Jokes and laughs are
exchanged; there is a hint of envy in the eyes of some but the general
air is one of acceptance and respect. Clearly there is a sense that
the Pendorians belong among these people, of all that they could have
met on campus. One wears a fishing vest festooned with insignia from a
half-dozen different science fiction stories; another is dressed as if
she were a medieval peasant.

Dinner ends, the meal is paid for, the party gets up to leave. "Joel,"
Minsha says, "Stay for a minute."

"Hey, Farmer!" Joel shouts at the retreating backs of the crowd. One
turns. "I'll be along in a little while. Go on without us!"

A young man with red hair and beard nods. "We'll be waiting for you."

They are left alone. "Joel," Minsha says quietly. "Are you attracted
to me?"

Joel is surprised by the question. "If I say yes will it ruin our
friendship?"

Minsha shakes her head. "I do not think so. I do not hope so."

Joel looks into the oily swirl of his now flat soda. "Yeah, I am. I
guess you would notice sometime."

"No," Minsha says. "I did not notice. That is why I asked. I could not
tell and I was surprised. You have been so friendly that I wondered if
something was wrong with me. I thought maybe you were, um, eroile'."

Joel looks puzzled and digs in his jacket pocket for a small book. He
flips through it rapidly until he comes upon the word in question. "No,"
he says, "I'm definitely not gay. I mean, erolie'." He appears to be
amused at the idea. "Why did you think that?"

"Because you have not indicated any interest in me."

"I thought it would be rude," Joel says. "We don't just come out say,
'I'm interested in you,' here on Earth. Are you interested in me?"

She seems uncomfortable answering the question. "You are very large, Joel,
and you have a genetic disease. On Pendor, these problems would have
been fixed long before now because genetics is our principle science,
but I understand that we are not on Pendor. You are very different from
any human I have met before because of your difficulties and because
you are a Terran and I am here to have an adventure of learning." She
places her mitten on his hand. "I would like to learn from you."

Chrofft and Lisa are walking through the dormitory area when Gary appears
from around a corner. "Lisa," he says, "You can't be serious about this.
Come back to me."

"No, Gary," she objects. "We have been over this. That was six months ago.
You cracked up your car the day before Christmas, and I swore in the
hospital that it was over. It is over."

"But you can't be serious about hanging out with this-- thing."

Chrofft leans over. "Lisa is with who Lisa wants to be with." He gives
Gary his most menacing smile. "She says is over. Is over. Nunule?"

Gary growls and says, "You can't come here and just take what you want."

"Take what?" Chrofft asks. "All I take is Lisa's time which she gives."

Gary looks back and forth at the two of them. He is clearly interested
in a fight but the Uncia outmasses him by too much. He leaves, cursing.

"I'm sorry, Chrofft. That can't be too common on Pendor."

"It is common enough. Not so jealous of time because we live so long,
but jealous of attention." He grins. "I like your attention."

"I like yours. And you speak better English when you are not under
pressure."

"He make me angry. I started to forget."

"He made you angry."

"You are right. He made me angry. I am not angry now that he is gone."

"Good." She takes his hand and pulls him down. He lowers himself to one
knee and is eye-to-eye with her. "Can I ask you something?"

"You can."

"Is it possible for us to-- you know-- melchar?"

He laughs. "It is very possible. Why? Do you want to?"

She blushes.

He smiles and touches her face. "I want to as well. But I must be truthful
with you. I am not so young as you think." A look of puzzlement crosses
her face. "I am ninety years old."

"Ninety? In your years that's what?"

"Ninety in yours too," Chrofft explains. "If I am not killed in an
accident or by someone else I can live to be a thousand. Probably more."

"Oh." She says. "You were born in 1894?"

He nods. "It is a good year. Hershey's Chocolate founded that year.
Marconi discovered radio telegraph but he waited until 1895 to get
patent." He smiles. "I am a history student."

"I remember. Why are you telling me this, Chrofft? Are you trying to
tell me that this won't last?"

"I have two friends, humans, who I am melar with back home. Lovers? Yes.
Good friends. Terrans mate for life we are told. I am worried. Reputation
is so important to Pendorians. It must be important here too?"

She nods. "It's important here. But if we're going to become, uh, melar
it won't do damage to my reputation in that regard." She takes his
hand. "And if we do, I don't think it could last forever. Mellon?" she
asks, giving him a broad smile.

"Mellon a Melar," he responds. "Friends and lovers."

Joel is lying on his back, a sheet brought halfway up to cover his torso.
A languid tentacles lays across his belly, tensing briefly as Minsha
hauls herself up to look into his eyes. "I'm sorry, Minsha," he says.

"For what?" Minsha asks.

"I'm not very good at this. I, um, I've never done this before."

"Nobody on your world has."

"I mean, have sex."

A cross look swiftly moves across her features. "Why didn't you tell me? I
would have been a lot less ferocious. I've been on this world for six
months without having anyone pay that much attention to me. I thought...
Oh, Joel, I'm sorry. I've made a terrible assumption. I expected you to
be someone who really wanted and knew how to..."

"I do!" Joel responds quickly. "I like you, Minsha. I'd like you to stay.
Please?"

"I won't make it worse if I do?"

"No, no!" he says. "You'll make it better. I guess I just... feel like
I should know what I'm doing. I'm too old not to."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty two."

"And I am fifty one," she says calmly. "And I do not know everything,
Joel." She kisses his cheek. "Listen, I would like try again." She kisses
his throat. "You can try again, can't you?"

"Yeah... " Joel says.

"Practice makes perfect, Joel. Isn't that what humans say?"

Lisa is lying atop Chrofft, her head on his chest. His arms are over
her, obscuring her apparently large charms. She has her eyes closed and
a smile on her face. "Oh, Chrofft... That was good."

"Good," he says. "I am happy. I hope this will not hurt your relationship
with your friends."

"The ones I care about will be envious," she says with a smile. "You
may find some of our friends paying much more attention to you." She
crawls up the length of his body to look into his face, then bends her
head down to kiss his nose. "My big, loving kitty."

Chrofft's arms tense momentarily in a hug. Lisa gives a goodnatured "oof!"
as he does so. "I hope this is a good beginning."

"The best," Lisa agrees.

  ----------------------------------------------------------------------

I stood up and stretched. "Well," I said, "That's the end of that." I
glanced about the room and found that about a quarter of the visitors,
mostly the children, had fallen asleep. "Jaqui," I said. "Time to get up.
Melad, you too." The kittens rouse themselves slowly. "Time to get ready
for bed."

"Is it over?" Jaqui asks, fluttering open those lovely, strange eyelids
of hers. The Han's eyelids fold up and out slightly, giving the eyes
some shelter from the overhead glare of their desert "homeworld."

"Yes, it's over," I said with a laugh. "Come on, head for bed."

With moans and groans people picked themselves up off the floor. I
shrugged at Tails. "Mostly a docudrama, and not very dramatic. There are
about forty of those; this isn't one of the better ones." I chuckle. "But
it's actually quite accurate in showing the landing scene, except for
that speech." I laughed. "That speech. Uuch. If I could, I'd do the
original all over with a better writer, too."

"You did the best you could at the time," P'nyssa offers. "Don't feel
bad about it. I was there and it had the desired effect. People were
surprised. And we left fifty on Terra and brought some home with us. That
was an interesting year."

"The translight speeds kept getting faster and faster those years. I
remember in the space of sixty years we dropped the transit rate from six
months to six days." I chuckled. "Nowadays it's something like six hours."
Eventually the movie night crowd managed to break up, leaving P'nyssa
and I alone. "Bed?" I asked.

"Mmm. I'm tired."

"Me too. G'night, Lance."

"Goodnight, Ken. Goodnight, P'nyssa."

  ----------------------------------------------------------------------


Original document is available from:
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The Journal Entries of Kennet R'yal Shardik, et. al., and Related Tales
are Copyright (c) 1989-2000 Elf Mathieu Sternberg. Distribution limited
to electronic media not-for-profit use only. All other rights are reserved
to the author.
