She blinked, her brow furrowing, and waited.
Max boldly faced his audience. “Perhaps you did not realize that my, ah, wife, was raised knowing she and I would marry for political reasons…”
Eyestalks peered intently as he spoke. Sharon made herself smile, although the look she fixed on Max was piercing.
“…And so she has always known that I am sterile. Therefore we do not engage in coitus.”
“Coitus?” one guest asked, his translation unit a rich bass.
“A birthday celebration that does not involve sexual union?” another guest added in a lighter tone. “Who ever heard of such a thing?”
“Oh, but we do have a mating ritual,” Max assured the guests. He glanced at Seven Tentacles With Spots. The Segoori’s eyestalks were quivering. Not a good sign. Going to Sharon, Max pulled her to him and said, “Let us proceed.”
She avoided the staring Segoori eyes. “What are you going to do?” she whispered, her voice low enough to evade the translation units.
“Just play along,” he whispered back.
“Be careful,” she warned.
“Shut up.”
She gave him a sharp glance, which he ignored. More loudly he said, “You are my mate.” He reached into a pocket and withdrew his wallet. Handing her several sizable bills he added, “Since I cannot impregnate you, I give you this currency so you may obtain fertile sperm from a physician and— uh—”
The astonishment and dismay on her face were quickly chased by rage—all immediately masked by a diplomatic smile.
“I mean, donor sperm, to be medically placed in your uterus, so we may later celebrate the joy of a new life, just as we today celebrate the life of our gracious host, Seven Tentacles With Spots.”
For a moment the room was locked in a stunned silence. Max glanced from one set of eyestalks to another. Slowly, the stalks began to bend.
“Then let us go quickly, husband,” Sharon said. The pressure of her fingernails on his wrist informed him of her disapproval as she dragged him from the room.
Max turned to smile and wave before she yanked him through the door.
On the way to the shuttle airlock they heard a loud noise from the party room. It took them several seconds to realize it was the sound of Segoori translation units cheering wildly.
Sharon sat with her arms and legs tensely crossed as the shuttle disengaged from the Segoori ship. Nervously, Max pretended to be busy with his pocket computer.
What had she expected him to do? She hadn’t exactly been a fount of helpful suggestions, had she?
Some time later she said, “Well, at least they liked our little show.”
Max untensed. “I hope I didn’t embarrass you too badly. I just didn’t know what else to do.”
She nodded. “There’s so much we don’t know about the Segoori. It’s hard to deal with them.”
“I’d call it impossible.” Max rubbed his neck. “You see why I wanted your help.”
She nodded, but then a touch of anger darkened her eyes. “I can’t say I cared for the way you said ‘shut up,’ though.”
“Sorry. It wasn’t intended as an insult. I was afraid the Segoori might see that we were improvising.”
She snorted. “I’ve no doubt they knew that much from the start.”
“Eh?”
“The Segoori are throwing us into bizarre situations to see how humans react,” she explained. “Like we’re rats in complex mazes. They want to see how clever we are.”
Max was about to laugh in agreement when he realized she was serious.
Funny; he hadn’t thought of that before.
Then again, maybe it wasn’t so funny. Man was no threat to the technologically superior Segoori. How better to learn an alien’s psychology than to toss it into confusing scenarios and watch how it reacted?
Sharon was watching him with concern. “Max?”
He smiled to reassure her. “Your comment about rats in mazes really bugs me.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure who the Segoori guests were applauding. Was it Seven Tentacles With Spots, for creating the maze, or us, for figuring out how to get out of it?”
She smiled thoughtfully. “Both, probably.”
“Yeah.” He stared at the floor. He was supposed to be a diplomat; why hadn’t he seen that? He focused a frightened glance at Sharon. “I don’t like the way your theory affects my relationship with Seven Tentacles With Spots.”
“All of a sudden he doesn’t look so harmless.”
“He never looked harmless, but at least he seemed to like me.”
She laughed sharply. “Welcome to xenopsychology.” Placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, she added, “Don’t feel bad. This is only your second encounter with the Segoori. You’re doing quite well. Seven Tentacles With Spots wouldn’t have invited you to his party if he didn’t like you.”
“Or think I’m an interesting specimen,” Max grumbled.
She removed her hand and shrugged. “Does it matter?”
“It does to me.”
“How unprofessional.”
Max blinked. She was right. As a diplomat, his prime duty was to establish steady relations with the Segoori, not to seek their approval.
But then, did the rat-in-the-maze theory even apply? Or was it a paranoid notion that could poison his future dealings with the Segoori?
The stakes were much too high.
He was about to voice his thoughts when the shuttle signaled its arrival to their ship. Moments later the airlock chimed, and they exited into the corridor leading back to the living quarters.
“Would you like to get some coffee?” Sharon asked. “I can tell from the look on your face that you need to talk.”
“Talk? Woman, you have me so confused I can hardly think!”
She chuckled. “Just doing my job, mister.”
“How professional.” But he smiled at her sideways. Glancing down at his tuxedo he said, “I’ll take you up on the coffee, but we should probably change clothes first.”
Agreed.” She nodded up the hallway. “I’m over in the next wing. Meet you here in ten minutes?”
Max agreed, returning the smile, and then went in his room. Once inside he shrugged off his jacket, loosened his tie—and gasped, noticing the message light on his computer.
Fearing the result, he punched the PLAY button.
Sharon’s friendly expression fell as he stepped into the hall to meet her. “Max! Is something wrong?”
“Oh, nothing a small antimatter implosion wouldn’t cure, at least temporarily.”
“Hm?”
“Seven Tentacles With Spots called.”
“Uh-oh…
“To thank us for making his party such a success.”
Her shoulders, which had been tense, relaxed. “That’s not so bad,” she said cautiously.
“…And to invite us both to his niece’s bris.”
She frowned. “His niece? Is that possible? You mean, on them, the females have…?”
He shrugged emphatically. “How would I know?”
“Are we expected to… participate?”
He shrugged again.
“Oh, God.” She stared thoughtfully at the floor. “When?”
“Tomorrow morning. At 2:30 a.m. Sharp—so to speak.”
She cringed, whether at the pun or the time he couldn’t tell. “That isn’t even four hours!”
“I know.” Insanely, he found himself starting to laugh.
She grabbed his shirt sleeve and yanked him in the direction of the cafeteria. “Come on. We’re going to need that coffee.” Giggling, he let her drag him along.