---Dragon---
*Thud* is the sound of [4.5m] of bright blue, serpentine beast hitting Victor in the chest in the reception hall of Xīn de Qín’s ODR Consulate.
It’s a miracle he was able to stay standing after that impact!
He laughs “He’s playful, ain’t he!”
The galaxy’s finest martial artist smiles and nods “It seems he likes you… I’m pleased.”
This ‘Chinese myth dragon’ (as Jennie called him) is the pet of this master and the ability to bring him was a stipulation of his agreement to come.
Of course, the rules I set mean that, so long as he can guarantee that Qīnglóng is not aggressive to sapients, then he’s free to bring him!
“I can’t believe there was a species of myth dragons on this planet and I didn’t know about them!” exclaims Jennie, clearly having trouble restraining her reaction to the cute “Can I pet him!? Please!” she asks Dǎo Yuán.
He gives a mirthful smile and gestures for her to go ahead.
Rather than throwing herself at the beast (the way she clearly wants to) she extends her hand to his snout.
Victor has explained to me that letting animals get your scent is a good way to get them to trust you… interesting that humans figured that out, when their sense of smell is one of their few attributes that isn’t particularly impressive. Only moderately above galactic median average for sapients(!)
The creature gives her an inquisitive sniff, then makes toward her shins, coiling himself around the tiny Terran woman, until his head rests over her shoulder with a contented, rumbling purr.
As her hands move to the creature’s head and begin stroking his azure fur, she emits a high pitched keening sound through closed lips, her eyes wide. If I didn’t know any better I’d assume she was in excruciating pain… rather than just emotionally overwhelmed.
“I think I’m gonna cry! He’s so soft!” she says as a long prehensile sensory whisker brushes over her face, two aquatically adapted forelimbs gripping her shoulders “I’m gonna call him Chinchin and he’ll be my best friend(!)” she adds… seemingly, half serious(!)
“You think he’ll get along with Fluffy?” Brunhilda asks Victor while reaching out to let the newly dubbed ‘Chinchin’ get a scent of her hand, then scratching his chin.
“Should do… Fluffy likes to play… knows how not to hurt things smaller than her too, given how she plays with us and Sam(!)” he answers.
“Apologies, who are Fluffy and Sam?” interjects Dǎo Yuán, stroking his elegantly maintained facial hair with a thumb and forefinger, his brow creased quizzically.
“Sam’s my dog… he’s half samoyed, half huskie with a tiny bit of Tibetan mastiff on his mum’s side… it really shines through in his size... he’s enormous… like someone looked at a normal samoyed-huskie mix and said ‘but what if he was twice as big?’(!) He’s also the best boy in all the galaxy!” smiles Brunhilda “…As for Fluffy…” she looks quizzically at Victor “…we can tell him, right? He’s not gonna be in Triple M… also, Emi, Thran, Xon, Kas and Fliss all knew before they became Triple Ms.”
Victor nods “Yeah, no need for a Fluffy Test… Fluffy’s my pet… she’s an a’Teksian mirkbeast…”
The martial artists eyes widen in clear recognition before he chuckles “Well… I can certainly see I won’t be in want of entertainment for this voyage… your crew appear to have no end of surprises!” that latter addressed at me.
I dip my head and smile “I shall choose to take that as a compliment, Sir!”
He returns the smile “I certainly meant it as one.”
At this point, Emiko and Hunter enter with four Terrans and one gardenworlder in tow.
Having had a briefing from her, including pictures, name and professions, I don’t technically need an introduction but elect to introduce myself anyway, for politeness’ sake.
“Greetings, all of you! My name is Captain Tcakqaal and I look forward to having you aboard my ship.” I say with a smile and a welcoming extension of both wings.
The full figured, half Denisovan from Saeloun Hangug, with relatively short hair (bar the fringe she maintains over her right eye) steps forward and extends her hand to me, smiling “I’m Jae, Jae ‘Peach’ Stone, the Sociologist. I’m delighted to meet you!” I take her hand with my wingclaws and we shake.
Next, the woman from Yisra’el HaChadasha with hazel brown eyes, tan skin and curly dark hair steps forward, along with the average height man from New Colorado, with hair dancing on the boundary of blond and brunet… they don’t particularly look like spies, either of them, but I suppose looking like a spy wouldn’t be a particularly desirable trait in a spy(!)
“Ziva ‘Whisper’ Pereira…” smiles the woman “…UTC Intelligence Officer, and this is Leon ‘Kennedy’ Byrne, the same.”
The man shakes his head mirthfully and says “I wish you’d let me introduce myself, Pereira(!)”
I extend my wingclaws first to the hand of Pereira and then Byrne before asking “Should spies be introducing themselves as such?”
They both give an amused smile before Pereira answers “I don’t know… have you been doing anything you think the UTC would want you spied on for?”
My natural eyes widen “I sincerely hope not!!!” the thought of the UTC having any interest in me that wasn’t purely positive is quite terrifying!
Pereira playfully smirks “Then you have nothing to worry about… and neither do we(!)”
I respond uncertainly “I’ll… take your word for it…”
Next to step forward is the gardenworlder, from Kyklos, with purple hair and a single, enormous eye, with a light pink iris, dominating the middle of her face “Enas, just Enas… I’m a Statistician.” she says, shyly extending a three fingered hand for a handshake that I’m fairly sure her species doesn’t have as a standard greeting.
I smile warmly at her before turning my attention to the last; a man who, I’ve heard, was born, raised and educated in an enormous reserve, on Novyy Les, meant for Terrans who wish to carry out an ancestral lifestyle of hunting and gathering.
I was forewarned about his potentially distressing choice of attire. He wears a coat, trousers, boots and gloves… all, apparently, sewn together, not from lab grown leather and fur but from the skinned hides of animals that he himself has hunted.
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He makes no move to introduce himself so I extend my wingclaws… trying not to dwell on the provenance of the material I’m volunteering to touch.
He hesitates before holding out a leatherclad hand… his face is as unreadable as Ms. Hunter’s usually is.
“Tymancha Nulgynet…” he says, simply, not offering his epithet ‘Eagle’ or his profession.
“I… I’m told that you’re the galaxy’s best tracker… Mr Nulgynet…?”
“Apparently…” he says, eye’s fixed on me, face, voice and body entirely unreadable.
Unreadable Terrans are incredibly unnerving! Their default mode is so raucous and expressive but this man might be plotting the unmaking of all that I hold dear… or daydreaming about tomorrow’s lunch… I’d have no way of knowing, either way(!)
I need to remember that ‘unnervingly unreadable’ does not equal ‘unsavoury’ and that ‘terse’ does not equal ‘insidious’. He may be a lovely individual… once I get to know him… if I get to know him…
My (admittedly limited) experience of unsavoury and insidious Terrans is that they are as bad at concealing their true nature as decent and honourable Terrans are… though that might be complacency on my part… I should not rely on that supposition.
In any event, the ODR have deep enough pockets and enough sense that I’m certain they will have thoroughly vetted all their hires… it’s therefore extremely unlikely that he’ll turn out to be hostile!
It’s at this point that Ms. Stone notices the creature wrapped around Jennie and emits a squee of delight “Oh my god! He’s so cute! Is he yours?” she says, rushing over to the encoiled woman.
Jennie shakes her head and gestures to the azure creature’s owner.
Stone opens her mouth but the jovial martial artist preempts her “Go ahead, Ms. Stone.”
Everyone, who hasn’t yet had a turn, takes the next few minutes to shower the creature with much appreciated pets… well, the timid little Kyklo woman does take a while seeming to work up the courage… Hunter just stands behind Emiko while the latter pets the ‘myth dragon’… Nulgynet makes no move to pet him… again, with his inscrutable expression… he might want to or might not.
Eventually, Emiko announces to all present “Alright everyone, now that we’ve introduced and bonded a little, who’s up for dinner and drinks?!”
There’s a general chorus of agreement.
“That’s what I like to hear! Does anyone have a recommendation of a place they thing could take…” she starts counting the now enormous group but quickly shrugs and just gestures around at everyone “…all of us?”
---later---
We managed to find a relatively empty restaurant that was happy to give our contingent the use of the first floor loft for our impromptu party.
Victor and Byrne are having an alcohol fueled, lively, good-natured debate about a conflict, involving Byrne’s cultural forebears destroying an enormous and extremely valuable quantity of tea… either owned by or protected by Victor’s cultural forebears.
From what I gather, this conflict took place more than [nine centuries] ago… Titan! Terrans can hold a grudge(!)
What does it matter when neither of these two polities have existed for nearly [five centuries]?
“No taxation without representation(!)” declares Byrne, affectedly, before standing, placing his right hand over his singular, left-side heart and singing a song (which my translator helpfully informs me was the [national anthem] of the [American States]) prompting much mirth from the rest of the table… it’s a good thing we have the room to ourselves as we’d definitely be disturbing other patrons otherwise!
Having finished the improvised meal of [lychee] and [persimmon], I decide that now is a good time for taking in the scenery. I stand from the low table we were sat around and begin making my way to the balcony, reassuring all that I’m not uncomfortable and just going to take in the sights.
“No moderation of your behaviour is necessary… so long as the privacy field stays up(!)” I chitter wryly, prompting every head to swivel to make sure that it is, in fact, still engaged.
I stride to the balcony door and wave it open before stepping out, the privacy field instantaneously cutting off all noise behind me.
The night time drop in temperature has cleared the humidity of the day, leaving the air crisp and clear.
I inhale deeply.
It’s still novel for me to attend a party like this entirely sober… but Tcakak is still crop feeding and it would be a terrible shame to force Qorak to pull double duty feeding her for the weeks it would take me to detoxify… not to mention something would feel wrong with not being able to give her my crop milk… so I’m sober, for the foreseeable future.
I look up at the stars, noticeably brighter and denser than they were on Zanzibar, from closer proximity to the galactic core, resulting in the average distance between them being reduced.
I’m just looking out, to admire the valley-bottom city on this latest addition to the roster of deathworlds I’ve visited, when the door briefly slides open behind me.
I turn to see that it’s Emiko.
“Mistress Miyazaki(!) To what do I owe the pleasure?” I tease.
“Don’t you start with the ‘Mistress Miyazaki’(!) I get enough of that from Thran!” she retorts with mock sternness before her face softens “…I was just checking that you were OK?”
“I’m perfectly fine, Emiko, just enjoying the view and thinking.”
“What are you thinking about?” she smiles, stepping to my side to admire the view with me.
“Oh, you know… life… the universe… everything(!)”
“Hmmm… have you considered 42?”
I laugh at her continuing my reference to old Terran media.
We stand in silence for a few moments before I venture “Am I right in thinking that Mr Nulgynet has the same condition as Ms. Hunter?”
“Uuuuhm…” she considers, screwing up her face and baring her teeth “Yes and no…”
*Sigh*… Terran doublespeak, I swear! “How yes and how no?” I respond with mock exasperation.
She turns to me and says “OK, Tcakqaal, this is confidential and need to know… alright? I’m going to tell you because it’s your ship he’s coming aboard but this is not to become shipboard gossip, alright?” her sternness genuine, now.
I gulp slightly and nod “On my honour…”
“It’s a similar outcome from a different route… Thran’s is genetic, his is… social…”
I frown “I’m afraid I don’t understand the implications of that…?”
She sighs “From what I’m told, the one’s who were in charge of finding the galaxy’s best tracker were initially directed to his father… only for his father to tell them Tymancha had exceeded his skill, some time prior… I understand, he was quite difficult to find as his father no longer had contact with him… it turns out he’d spent 2 years living almost entirely in the wild, only occasionally coming to towns to trade for things he needed but couldn’t make. It seems, his father was the sole caregiver and instructor in his education right up to university equivalent level (all in hunting and tracking, of course)… the result is that he’s really only had any significant relationship with one person and it’s a person he seems to be estranged from… therefore, my guess, he’s never learned how to socialise…”
“Well… that’s… unfortunate. Is there any upshot of that that would be obvious to a Terran but is not obvious to me?” I query.
“None that spring to mind… he’s not dangerous, in case you’re wondering. By all accounts he seems like a perfectly pleasant young man… just one who’s never learned how to smile and say ‘hello’… I think I’ll recommend him to the therapist, when we get one…”
“It still looking like Nova Fennoscandia we’ll have to meet this therapist? And, I assume, from the short notice, they won’t be the finest therapist in the galaxy?”
She chuckles “We haven’t entirely given up on finding one to meet us on Neonesia… as far as being the ‘finest in the galaxy’ I’m afraid that concept doesn’t track with therapists… even if we found the therapist with the finest results in their track record, it might be that their personality just isn’t a great fit for Victor, Thran or any of the other crew who wish to engage them for sessions… People compare finding the right therapist to searching for ‘the one’, only minus the romance… unfortunately, we don’t have the months of active searching it might require to seek out the perfect ‘one’ for this group, so we’re having to settle for getting one with a decent track record and a bio that seems like they might be a good fit for the crew… it’ll be too bad if they get 6 sessions in and decide that they just aren’t working well…”
Appraising the woman I say “You know, I believe I’ve come to a conclusion about your minds…”
She chuckles “Oh, do tell! I’ve heard all about your famous outsider’s perspectives on Terrans!”
I puff, mirthfully, through my nostrils before answering “I’ve come to the conclusion that Terran minds are put together the same way Terran machines are(!)”
Cocking an eyebrow in a way that suggests, for the first time, the quantity of alcohol she’s had, she prompts “Do go on…”
“No thought has been given to lastability, to the long haul… the all consuming nature of your species’ cradleworld means that the long haul has, historically, not been worth considering, so you build your machines for power. Output… now! You assume that when the long haul comes along, you’ll either not be there to worry about it or you’ll be able to just patch what has broken… it’s… really only just occurred to me that the Terran approach to engineering might be a reflection of evolution’s approach to you(!)”
She thinks a moment before bursting into giggles “You know… you might be right!... Honestly, I’m a little ashamed, on behalf of the ODR, that none of us thought of including a therapist on the staff roster!"
A few moments more pass as we appreciate the vista… before I say “Let’s get back inside… we’ll miss the party, otherwise.”