Bubba plugged the filter and lens in place and set Mike on a shelf where he had an unobstructed view of the alien.
Aside from being covered in fur, it was wearing a harness made from a synthetic substance, plain and undecorated except for some sort of insignia or badge where it crossed its broad chest. The alien’s face was mostly hairless and wrinkled like a shar-pei’s, with a single nostril.
“Well, I can identify the species, at least,” Mike said. “He’s a Thunt.”
At this, the alien opened its eyes and looked from Bubba to Mike in interest.
“All I know,” Mike said after deliberation, “is that they are a forest-evolved species, intelligent and sophisticated. One inhabited planet, one mining colony. I don’t know much more about them; they didn’t fall within the sphere of the Parliament’s interest, and we had little reason to communicate with each other. They don’t travel much outside their own system, and never, in my experience, this far from home.”
Bubba sighed. “Musta had a reason to, then, and I doubt we’ll like it much.”
The chair creaked warningly as the alien began to stir. The alien’s eyes were buried deep in the folds of his face. Clear and brown, they met Bubba’s without blinking. Whatever else was true, the alien was certainly intelligent—highly so, if Mike’s comment about the ship’s range was valid.
Bubba broke the silence.
“Wanna beer?” he said, his voice steadier than his hands. “I’m partial to Anchor Steam m’self, but I got some imported stuff, too.”
There was an answering rumble as the alien cleared its throat. “I understand ‘beer.’ Yes, that would be pleasant.”
“You got it.” He walked into the kitchen, past the figure on the floor, and got two bottles out of the refrigerator. “Glass?”
“No. Thank you.”
“Ah, a real man. Here y’go.”
The alien looked quizzically at the bottle, then at Bubba.
“Just twist the top off, like this.” Bubba opened his bottle and took a drink. The alien tried to copy the movement and twisted the neck off the bottle, spilling beer on himself and the floor.
The effect of this was immediate; he leapt up and began furiously brushing at himself.
“Hang on, big fella,” Bubba said, tossing him a towel, “use this.”
The alien caught it in midair, then gingerly mopped at the beer. “I am sorry,” he said in agitation. “I must… do you have somewhere I can wash myself?”
After a moment’s thought, Bubba said, “Through that door,” pointing to the entrance to the garage.
“I must say,” Mike said quietly as the alien stepped toward the door, “you seem to be taking this very well.”
“You kiddin’?” Bubba replied out of the corner of his mouth, “I’m this close to losin’ m’fudge, but I’ve got a guest to see to.”
He followed the alien out into the garage area, instructed him to stand over the drain and strip off his harness. He then handed him the hose and explained how to use the spray nozzle.
While the alien was busy washing himself, Bubba (trying hard to hold his breath) took the one-piece garment, rinsed it out thoroughly in the basin, then threw it in the dryer.
When the alien was finished washing, he showed him the hot-air gun; in moments, the odor of wet fur was gone, and the large creature, made even bulkier by the blow-dry, sighed in relief.
“Better now?” Bubba asked, grinning.
“Yes. I am much distressed that I soiled your floor. We are… I do not like to be soiled.”
“Don’t fret, kitchen floors always need mopping—especially the way / cook.” Just then a buzzer sounded; the harness was dry, and the alien gratefully put it back on and reattached the badge.
“So, you’re a Thunt,” Bubba said casually as they went back into the kitchen. He opened another beer for the big alien, who sat gingerly in the chair.
The alien thought for a moment. “I am a Thunt, yes,” it said, looking from Bubba to Mike, “although I am not sure how you knew this.”
“Right. Well, that toaster with the attitude over there is an artificial intelligence I picked up in a swap with a couple of good ol’ boys who were having engine trouble.” He looked back at the alien. “He’s not from around here, but he’s a real square little feller. Well, rectangular, anyhow. Don’t be too impressed, though; he’s just encyclopedic, not omnipotent.”
The Thunt nodded. “An Intelligence. We have those, although the configuration is different. My name,” he said, “is V’rinn, son of Bish, son of Prath, son of Ian, daughter of Leens, daughter of Stel, son of Rinn.”
“Well, that’s a mouthful. So, what brings you to the Commonwealth of Virginia?”
“Your name is known to me from two functionaries of the Nishian Parliament, for whom you did a service. The ‘good ol’ boys’ you mentioned, undoubtedly. They spoke to me of you at a refueling depot near Thuntun.”
Bubba shrugged. “Yeah, well, I was always real popular at the truck stops.”
“I have come in hope that you can aid me as you did them. I am guilty of what my people consider a serious crime, one which I am unable—and unwilling—to correct, and for which I stand to lose a great deal.”
“Seems like a pretty harsh thing to do for making a mistake, old son. You fool around with the King’s daughter or something?”
“Explain?”
Bubba looked slightly flustered. “Well, what I meant is… did you make an attempt to seduce…?”
“I understand,” the Thunt interrupted, shaking his head. “No. Our body chemistry isn’t geared for recreational coitus.”
“Hmmm. Break a law, then?”
Now it was the Thunt’s turn to look uncomfortable. “The laws of Thuntun are complex and harsh, but based on a single principle: Do Not Shame Your Progenitors.”
“And I guess you’ve done something that embarrassed your folks?”
The Thunt didn’t reply for a long moment. Eyes on the floor, he nervously picked at his harness.
“The opinion of the Full Council, as handed down by the Triad of Governors, was that I had shamed not only my Progenitors, but all of Thuntun as well.” The big alien made a strangely meek gesture with one hand. “And,” he sighed, “that was the opinion of the majority of my Progenitors, as well.”
“Doesn’t sound good. What are they gonna do to you?”
“I don’t know. Sentence has yet to be passed. Under the circumstances, I thought it best to come looking for help as soon as I could.”
“You on the lam?”
“If you mean am I a fugitive, no; they know I’m here, and their determination will be relayed to me.”
“Well, hoss, please don’t take this the wrong way, but you must have done something pretty hellacious to have your family dump on you.”
The Thunt didn’t lift his eyes from the floor. “It is… difficult… for me to speak of it. And yet, you must know, if I am to expect you to help me.”
“Gotcha. You sit and think for however long you need. I’ll get supper ready.”
Bubba lifted a pot down from the rack above the stove and began throwing things into it.
“So, tell me about this law of yours. I’d think not shaming your parents might be a good way to promote good manners, not to mention keeping the peace. Seems pretty reasonable to me.”
“Take it to its logical extreme,” Mike said before the Thunt could answer. “Even if one’s parents accepted a potentially embarrassing incident, their parents would have to, as well, and their parents, and so on. If I recall correctly, the Thunt are very long-lived, and families live together on large estates.”
The alien nodded. “It is not unusual for there to be as many as five generations under one roof. My own Progenitors,” he said with quiet pride, “extend to six.”