A picture of a male Quotidian: a creature with four limbs around the beak on the underside of a head with a single eye. Above the eye is a body like the bag of a vacuum cleaner. Unlike a female quotidian, the male has decorative flanges on his leg and a fibrous plume at the top of his body. [https://64.media.tumblr.com/ab1e49f60a0409696cd05f5f42edc393/43758fc90ad8985c-09/s250x400/fe65c88f6ec727c42d8491ebd13aaa0cf37c68e6.pnj]

Picture by Tim Morris

"Hello, y'all," said Mark. "Thanks for taking time out of your busy days to greet our newest colleague."

Mark scanned the faces in his screen and massaged his twinging stomach. This reminded him of the anxiety of remote work during the Pandemic and his early career, but he wasn't aware of that. Mark believed he was just professionally keyed up.

He checked each participant's expression for boredom or resentment. He had to make sure that nobody was thinking why do we have to do another teambuilding?

None did. This was where Mark really excelled. He could make people enjoy themselves. Protection, Belonging, Influence, Intimacy. Those were the four basic psychological needs, and Mark could make sure they were met.

"Because of Koen's profession," he said. "Today's first exercise will be food-related. This is an exercise in listening in order to form a human connection…" his thoughts skipped. Was that human-centric? What about nonhuman connections? But what could he say instead? A sophont-connection? Would this choice of wording come back to bite him?

Fortunately, Mark had delivered spiels like this often enough that his mouth could continue while his brain chased itself in circles. "…in pairs. The person whose family name starts with a letter that comes earlier in the alphabet, you'll turn your back on your computer screen. The other person, you'll try to attract your partner's attention by describing the best sandwich you ever ate. You'll have 60 seconds. So, you all have your partners and your breakout rooms? Which of you is going first? Think about that sandwich for a moment. Go!"

Mark sat back and watched the partners. The note of desperation in the sandwich-descriptions. Why aren't you listening to me? Don't you like me? The rising anxiety of the one with the turned back. Yes, I do like you! I just can't show it. Please believe me. Chimpanzees might have felt this way if had been unable to groom each other.

When the minute was up, each listener whirled around in their chair, palms up, grinning, pleading with their partner to believe them. Thank you! I really wanted to tell you! That sounds like a fantastic sandwich.

Then they switched. Everyone, struck to the core of their social instinct, overcompensated and showered the milk of human kindness on their partner. It was a smaller, more controlled version of what happened at a party where everyone got drunk. I know I've transgressed against you. But you transgressed against me, so let's make it up to each other.

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Plus, now Koen would know what kind of sandwiches everyone liked.

"You are Koen?" asked Severo of her partner. "How do you say your name?"

"Koen."

She waved a hand. "Your name is too difficult to say. Cone? Kern? It's short for Conrad, right?"

Koen had had this conversation many, many times in Brazil. "'Conrad,' is the English name. Mine is Koenraad, but it's okay – "

Severo held up a finger. "Conrad," she repeated. "Conradinho. Radicchinho! Ha!" she clapped with a sound like a sniper's bullet.

Koen jumped back in his chair. "Ha?"

"Radicchio? Those Italian salad greens. You cook with them, don't you?"

Koen felt as if anything he said might be used against him, but honesty compelled. "Sometimes?"

A dazzling smile. "It's perfect. Radicchinho. I'll call you that. How did your baby Quotidian male taste, Radicchinho?"

"They were fully grown and there were only three of them."

Which Li, Mark, and Laura had had to consume, in their entirety, under the unimpeachable cameras of the translator bugs.

Mark had pinched himself for ten minutes before and threw up after. Laura had distracted herself with a TV drama while she ate. Li, who had grown up in a family that valued thrift, gnawed every bit of meat off the mandible-derived skeleton of the Quotidian male and cleaned his plate afterward. He was glad of every ounce of social capital he'd spent to bring Koen here.

"But surely you tasted them a little," said Severo, leaning in to her camera. "How could resist?"

"I was cautious." Koen made pushing motions with his hands. "I wasn't sure if eating an, uh, un-intact male would be legally binding." That had meant no disguising the meat. No stews, force-meats, or wraps. He'd decided on simply boiling them for 10 minutes in water and white wine, then serving them with a highly spiced (but clear) sauce. He wished he'd been able to do the slaughtering himself. The Ambassador had used a shoe to kill his meal.

"I was told that they're a bit like squid, but without the rubbery texture," Koen finished.

"What does that mean? What is a squid without its texture?"

Koen shrugged. "We'll have to sign more contracts with the Quotidians."

Now that everyone was laughing, coming down from the tension and feeling closer, Mark moved into the meat of this meeting. With a clever arrangement of breakout rooms and network diagrams, he set up a schedule that gave each person three minutes of conversation with each other person. Everyone was supposed to find something out about each successive partner, something that the partner might have in common with Koen.

Thus, as they rotated by, each of Koen's partners told him about someone else in the embassy. "Ahmed loves the work of Van Gogh." "Chadwell also once collected that same line of dinosaur toys." "Nelly knows all about stroopwafels." "Severo likes big dogs, too."

By the time of the wrap-up conversation, everyone felt as if they had known Koen for years. The conversation turned, as Mark had predicted, to food, and a plan crystallized for a party. Koen would come out of quarantine, and they'd welcome him in style. Of course Koen would be thrilled to cook for them. And it would be hygge! Yes, Ambassador, very hygge indeed.

Nobody had the courage to tell Li that hygge was actually a Danish concept, not Dutch, but Koen didn't care.