"Ah!" Mr. Grumbles stepped out his hiding place. "Ah!" He reached out to Koen like a toddler demanding to be picked up.
Instinctively, Koen put out his arms too. Mr. Grumbles leaped into his embrace.
"I am amazed. You work fast!" said Graa as Mr. Grumbles rocked Koen back and forth. He was only the size of a ten-year-old, but surprisingly strong. Koen felt his feet leave the floor.
Mark cleared his throat. "Well, of course we have a great deal of experience with cases like this." Finally! Some tiny modicum of interpersonal success. Even if it was only success with a house-ape.
Now, to turn the political mill. "Touch is a very important part of, um, human bonding. You see how he's sniffing and grabbing Koen's hands? He's reaching for the emotional support he needs."
"I think he's looking for more potato chips," said Koen. "I'm sorry, Mr. Grumbles, I didn't bring you any food."
Mr. Grumbles squeezed his palm with both thumbs. "Huh? Huh? Eek!"
The steed and human both flinched as General Graa dropped like a feathery bomb onto Mr. Grumbles's shoulder.
Koen closed his eyes against the blast of musty air and opened them to find the Pick's gleaming beak mere centimeters from his right eyeball.
"A cook with no food." Graa's throat feathers vibrated. "I am mildly irritated."
Koen recoiled, but Mr. Grumbles wouldn't let him go. "We came straight here," he grunted. "We were outside the embassy when you called."
Regret seized Mark. What if Koen cracked? What if he ran away like he had at the party? Why couldn't they have stopped at the embassy for snacks?
Mr. Grumbles whined and hugged Koen harder.
On the steed's shoulder, Graa reared up, flashing his nictitating membranes. "I am dominant. I demand you both cease your anger."
Mark shared a glance with Koen. "We're not angry." He spoke truthfully, as far as he was conciously aware.
"The signs are subtle, but clear to an expert rider. I am dominant."
Mark imagined a hand squeezing the back of his head. He needed to get a grip on himself. He needed to not screw up this shot at success.
"You are still angry," Graa informed him. "I order embraces for you as well. Human Koen!"
"Huh?" Koen twitched. It was odd to hear his name, perfectly pronounced in his own voice, embedded in the middle of the cascade of twitters and gurgles. He was also wondering how to get Mr. Grumbles to let go of him. The steed's smell was very strong.
"Human Koen, embrace this other honored sophont. The one whose name I have forgotten."
"Mark?"
"Uh, I'm okay. It's fine." Waving his hands, Mark backed up and nearly fell onto his ass. The floor was some kind of wire mesh, and it gave like a trampoline. "I'm fine. We're here to cook? Aren't we?"
General Graa examined him with eyesight keener than any human's. "Very well. I will steal your suggestion and use it as my order. Human Koen, you will feed and comfort Mr. Grumbles and Human Mark, as well. I am dominant."
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Mark let out a relieved breath. Not too loud, though. The bird was watching him.
"Let satisfaction and
"Flocking-feeling?"
"Is that not the right word? Translator, find another!"
"Never mind," said Mark. "Koen, cooking?"
"But what will I…" Koen gasped under the pressure of another hug. "General Graa, would you please order Mr. Grumbles to let go of me?"
"I have a better idea." Graa gave a gong-like call. "Come here! Bend your head toward me, Human Koen."
Koen, thinking the Pick had something to whisper in his ear, obeyed.
General Graa hopped off his steed's shoulder and onto Koen's.
"Guh!" Koen said as talons dug into his skin. The bird was heavy.
"Grr! I like you, too. Mr. Grumbles, at attention!"
The steed released Koen and stepped back smartly. He raised both arms, making a T-shape. He'd make a better perch that way.
"Good boy. Good boy," said General Graa, and Koen wasn't sure which hominid he praised. "What was it you wanted?"
"What will I cook?"
"Something excellent."
"I mean, what ingredients do you have?"
Graa rasped. "How dare you ask such a personal question?"
Koen turned his face toward the Pick, but flinched away as that beak came into view. Graa was holding his silver needle.
Fear turned to anger. "I can't cook without ingredients. Give me something I can work with."
General Graa stretched his neck and gave another gong-call. "I will not take orders from you. But you may humiliate my secretary. I am amused."
"Secretary?" said Mark.
Wind gusted in the metal branches above there was a soft rap rap rap call. "Hello. General Graa, the Tensors have questions regarding our plans to make contact with the Parturitians. Oh, I see you have collected two more steeds. I am disappointed and resigned."
"Show respect! These are Human Koen and Human…what was it again?"
"Mark!"
"Cease your anger. Human Mark. His rank is higher than yours. I am amused."
"Yes, General," said the other Pick, sidled along a branch into a spotlight.
"This is my secretary," said General Graa. "His name is—" it sounded like "graa."
"This is why we don't name nonhumans based on sound," grumbled Mark.
"Is there anything that his name means?" asked Koen.
"No. It is his name."
"Does he have a nickname?"
"How about short-beak?" Koen suggested.
"That is an offensive reference to his short-sightedness."
Hold on, thought Mark to himself. Just hold on.
"Here's what we do," he said. "Translator, when they say the secretary's name, you render that in human languages as 'Secretary.' And vice versa."
"Secretary!" cried Graa. "I order you to take orders from Humans Koen and Mark. They will require you to fetch food, which they will prepare for Mr. Grumbles. You see how much better he's doing already. I am pleased."
"Yes, General."
"Yes!" repeated Mark, who had gotten a grip on himself. What was it he told his clients? Don't say "if only I had," say "next time."
"Next time, Koen will carry snacks in his backpack," he assured Graa.
"Okay?" said Koen. His shoulder was starting to hurt.
Mark clapped his hands together, startling Mr. Grumbles and Baroness Smoke Detector. "But for now, let's take advantage of this excellent opportunity for Mr. Graa to see Koen's skill in the kitchen."
Graa and Secretary's translator bugs clicked.
"Clarify: skill in the what?"