Mike added, “ ‘Reasonableness’ is debatable, considering the potential for emotional damage. It stands to reason that with that much family to keep happy, a large number of offenses could bring about consequences far more serious than any intrinsic harm. I must assume that some never regain their honor, and die indigent and alone—and, possibly, by their own hand.”
The Thunt looked a little uncomfortable at this. “There are customs against suicide. It happens, but only in the most extreme cases. Mostly, the Nameless simply go mad.” He shrugged heavily. “It’s not pleasant.”
Bubba shook his head as he chopped an onion. “Not my kind of life, but I’m just a simple country boy.”
“The closest analog in human culture is the Amish custom of ‘shunning.’ And since when were you ever a simple country boy ?”
“Well, I was raised polite.”
“In any case,” Mike added, “we can only speculate. What little I know of the Thunt relates primarily to their more public social structure. Any other information must come from him.”
“Figures. I ’spect we’d better let you get to the heart of this thing at your own pace,” Bubba said, glancing at the alien. “I’m reluctant to pry where I’m not welcome.”
“I will share with you whatever information you find necessary,” the alien said quickly. “Embarrassment is not an option.”
“In the meantime, let’s see if we can figure out something about your planet. Mike?”
“ ‘You know my methods. Apply them.’ ”
“Hate it when you do that,” Bubba muttered as he scraped things off the cutting board into the pot. “OK. Long-lived species, limited to one planet, more or less. That means… low breeding rate, so’s the food don’t get all et up. Families can pile up a reasonable amount of wealth in five generations, so nobody’s terribly poor.” Garlic—lots of garlic—followed the onions into the pot.
“Yes,” the Thunt said, nodding. “Poverty is unknown on the Estates; it is found mostly among the off-planet miners.”
“Must be a pretty crowded planet with all those old folks around.” Beef, beans, and tomato sauce joined the vegetables, and the aroma of spicy chili filled the kitchen. There was a rumbling that could only have come from the alien; apparently, borborygmus is universal.
“Not terribly. We have mechanical ways of limiting the population, as well as a natural estrus cycle.”
The pot bubbled merrily as Bubba stirred with a long wooden spoon. “I love it when you talk dirty. Listen, Mike,” he said, turning away from the stove, “This is all well and good, but we got the main fount of Thuntic knowledge in here with a bad case of the gut-rumbles. Let’s table this until we hairy types have gotten on the outside of some food, OK?”
“Is that what that noise was? I thought the storm had returned.”
“It’s SOUP!” Bubba yelled. “Last one to the table gets what the littlest pig got.”
The Thunt rose, his nostril flaring as he sniffed. He looked in the pot. “This is ‘soup’?”
“In this case,” Mike answered, “ ‘soup’ is a generic term for food. I counted too many habanero peppers for it to be genuine soup.”
“Chili, big guy. Just the thing to have on a late night with a beer if you’re in trouble with your local Progenitors—assuming you don’t mind risking a little indigestion.”
The Thunt was standing over his shoulder, whuffling the steam as it rose from the pot.
“Hope you don’t mind a little fire in your food.”
“I like strong flavors very much. May I ask what is in this?”
“You’ll find out. This and that for flavor, sweet Vidalias, a jot of garlic. And with the peppers in there, you might want to taste a bit before you put it down your neck. Wouldn’t want you to tuck in without some kind of preparation, lest you spew my six-alarm all over the walls. Don’t think the dry-wall would stand it.”
Bubba handed the Thunt a large bowl piled high with chili, a serving spoon, and a hunk of sourdough-rye bread.
“Take it on back in the living room. I’ll bring you another beer, and we’ll watch some TV while we eat, just like you was fambly.”
They proceeded to the other room, Bubba carrying Mike under his arm and a tray containing his own food, the beer, and the pot in his hands.
“Give ’er a shot, big fella, and lemme know what you think of good old Virginia cookin’.”
The Thunt nodded and tried a bit of the chili. He chewed, swallowed… and his face lit up with delight. He dipped his spoon again and again, until the bowl was empty, and then looked hopefully at Bubba.
With a grin, Bubba ladled another healthy dollop of chili into the bowl, added some grated cheddar, and again the Thunt fell to it. Turning the television on, Bubba switched channels until he found a station showing Destination Moon. The Thunt watched with interest, shoveling prodigious amounts of chili into his mouth.
“You like this one?” Bubba asked him.
The alien swallowed before speaking. “Seen it. We used to wonder why, with the level of technology your news programming indicated, you weren’t all over the known Galaxy. Then we realized we were watching adventure fictions.” He shrugged. “A lot of things became clear once we could tell the difference.”
After his bowl was gone, he laid down his spoon, sat back, and delivered a heartfelt belch that rattled the kitchen blinds.
Bubba laughed out loud. “I do like a man who knows how to pay a compliment.”
The Thunt shook his head. “The Nishians didn’t exaggerate your hospitality. They said you’d treat me well, and you have. But, I’m afraid I have to ask you to go further, as ungrateful as that may make me seem.”
“Damn, you talk purty. How’d you learn so much English? Star Trek can’t be right about universal translators.”
“I am a diplomat trained to learn languages quickly. When I knew I would have to find you, I took the time to learn English from the records made of your broadcasts.”
“You learn more from PBS or from Fox?”
The alien shrugged. “All your frequencies are equally confusing.”
Bubba cackled. “Can’t debate the obvious. Something else: why, although I certainly don’t disapprove, are you such a neatnik?”
The alien began absently wiping his hands against his knees, clearly uncomfortable with the question.
“We just are,” he said a bit plaintively. “Well, lemme see if I can figure it out.” Bubba scratched behind his ear in thought. “Let’s see… You’re hairier than Alabama bacon, and furries generally have to groom to stay clean. How’s your skin under all that foliage? As wrinkled as the skin on your face?”
“In general, yes.”
“That explains it, then. All kinds of bacteria and parasites could hide in there if you didn’t sluice yourself down every so often.”
“Forgive me, the subject is a distasteful one for me. Could we…?”
“ ‘…Get on with it’? Sorry, hoss. You came a long way with a lot on your mind. Just start at the beginning, get through the middle, and stop when you come to the end.”
After a moment’s thought, the Thunt spoke.
“I am a mid-level attache at the embassy in our capital. There was a conflict between my city-state and another, more powerful one. It hadn’t become physical, but it was doomed to. I knew, because of my position in the embassy, that a treaty could be forced on both sides if certain information was made known. This information was given to me by a representative of their embassy, in confidence.” He rose and began to pace, head nearly brushing the ceiling.
“I was acting as the courier in this instance. I broached the container and read the document. I then realized that there was no way for us to win short of a dishonorable betrayal of that information. Had the embassy revealed the contents, my city-state would have been dishonored beyond any hope of redemption, and planetary war would have followed. An un-winnable war,” he said matter-of-factly, “which would have reduced the population of Thuntun by more than half, and rendered most of the arable land unable to support life for centuries.