Nazareth dropped her eyes swiftly to the smooth plastic surface in front of her and fought not to let her delight show on her face. It would never do for the bitch linguist to betray her pleasure in finding herself in this situation — there would be scathing complaints to her father about the undiplomatic manner in which she had approached this diplomatic crisis.
There was a soft tap on the back of the booth, which did not surprise her — after all, they couldn’t just all sit there frozen as if the sun had been brought to a standstill, someone had to do something — and she said “Yes?” without looking around, carefully bringing the expression on her face under control before she had to show it to whoever this might be.
“Mrs. Adiness… I hope I didn’t startle you.”
She turned, smiling politely, just as the man slipped into the booth and took the seat beside her. Not a government man, then… who was he? He was handsome, and he must have been twice her age, but he wore no uniform or insignia by which she could identify him.
“Mrs. Adiness, I’m going to speak very quickly here,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I’m sorry to be so abrupt, but you will understand the necessity for bypassing the amenities. My name is Jordan Shannontry, of Shannontry Household, and I was supposed to see if I could be of service here in some peripheral fashion… we had word that you were completely on your own today, and REM34-5-720 has been a kind of hobby of mine. Since I was free, and it was obvious that you would have your hands full, I came on over — but I wasn’t expecting this.”
“Neither were the government men,” said Nazareth in her most carefully noncommittal voice.
“How could they possibly not know better than this?” he asked her.
“They?”
“The Jeelods… surely they know the Terran culture better than this! They’ve been negotiating with us, trading with us, for nearly fifteen years.”
“Oh, they know better,” said Nazareth. “This is a deliberate tactic to stall negotiations… and to insult the American negotiators.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure, Mr. Shannontry.”
“Well, damn them, then!”
“As you say, sir.”
“The arrogance… not to mention the just plain bad manners…”
“Oh, yes. The Jeelods are not noted for their exquisite manners, Mr. Shannontry. And I thank you very much for wanting to lend a hand, by the way — I didn’t know there was anyone to call on.”
Shannontry shrugged carelessly. “I’m not much to call on, my dear,” he said. “I can say hello and good-bye and thank you, and very little more; and I say what little I can say with an accent that will have you in stitches. But I read the language easily enough, and the Department thought I could at least help with translations, look things up for you in the dictionaries, that sort of trivia.”
“It was kind of you to come,” said Nazareth.
“Well… it was my pleasure. I was looking forward to actually hearing the language in use, frankly. But I don’t know what we do now, Mrs. Adiness, and it’s very obvious that those men don’t know either.”
Nazareth permitted herself one smile, and said “Well, there is certainly nothing I can do, Mr. Shannontry.”
“No… under the circumstances, there certainly isn’t. Good God… now what?”
Nazareth looked bewildered and helpless, and waited. She was having a wonderful time. The government men could not possibly begin negotiations with female Jeelods; that was out of the question. No female, by definition, had adult legal rights, which would make any decisions vacuous in any case. Furthermore, it would set a precedent and lead to the potential for endless repetition of this tactic from other Alien peoples. There were quite a large number of extraterrestrial cultures which allowed the females of their species what appeared to be equal or roughly equal status with the males.
On the other hand, the government men had no way of knowing what precisely they could do, without causing an interplanetary diplomatic crisis. And the longer they just sat there, the worse it was going to get.
There went one of them now, scuttling for the door, to get some instructions from somebody higher up. Nazareth chuckled, hoping he’d run into somebody from the team that had so proudly announced a few years back that they had cracked one of the REM18 languages by use of a computer alone; it had been necessary to send a linguist to tell them, very gently, that the word they had translated as English “friend” in fact meant “one whom it is permissible to eat, provided the proper spices are used in preparation of the corpse.” Nothing like a government “expert” to liven up one’s already marvelous nineteenth birthday!
As the man left the room, the Jeelod negotiating team went at once into the posture of ritual absence, and Jordan Shannontry said, “Look at that, now — what does that mean?”
“They are insulted,” Nazareth told him. “When they perceive an insult they will always do that. It slows things down very effectively.”
“Lord help us all,” sighed Shannontry. “Is there anything at all that we can do?”
“I’m afraid it isn’t my place to propose a course of action,” said Nazareth, quite properly. She had not trained as a wife, but she knew her role as woman linguist as well as any woman in the Lines. Her place was to interpret and to translate, to respond as best she could to direct questions posed to her regarding the language and the culture of the Aliens involved in the negotiation, and otherwise to be silent. It most emphatically was not her place to suggest strategies or diplomatic policy to anyone present.
Shannontry studied her carefully, and she flushed slightly under his steady glance, and looked away.
“This is completely unfair to you,” he said emphatically. “You’re far too young to be put in such a position, and I resent it deeply… it’s unkind, and it’s inexcusable.”
Nazareth had no idea what to say, and she didn’t dare look at him. He sounded as though he were genuinely concerned about her, but she knew better than to rely on that — any moment, he might spring the trap he was constructing with the feigned gallant words, as Aaron did, and then she would be in trouble. She kept her silence, and waited, wary as any burnt child with an unfamiliar fire to contend with.
“Mrs. Adiness,” he said gently, no anger at all in his voice that she could spot, “this just won’t do. My dear, if you will tell me what to say, I will go over there and say it. Abominably, of course — but I will say it. Just write it down for me and model it for me a time or two, and I’ll take care of the matter.”
“Would you do that?”
“Of course.”
Nazareth was charmed. He really was going to help.
“We have plenty of time, then,” she said.
“We do?”
She explained about the absence rituals lasting eighteen minutes and eleven seconds, and he made an impatient noise.
“I suppose in this case it’s just as well,” he muttered.
“Probably.”
“Well… what shall I say to them?”
Nazareth thought a moment. First there would be the narrative frame that would shelter the direct sentence, and the triple particle that would disambiguate the three embeddings. Then the very simple message… WE WILL BE MOST HAPPY TO WAIT UNTIL YOUR MEN ARE ABLE TO COME TO THE NEGOTIATION. The other half of the narrative frame… some honorifics…
“It will be long,” she said dubiously.
“That’s all right,” he answered. “I’ll manage. And if my barbarous accent offends their ears, it’s their own damn fault. Just write it out.”