“We have stories on Thuntun of sorcerers gaining power over their enemies by finding their True Names,” the alien said.
“Much the same here. In a small way, I have tried to guide his intellectual processes by encouraging his use of logic. Hence, our little game when you first arrived.”
The alien nodded. “I see. So, he uses ‘hoss—’ ”
“To indicate his acceptance of you as an equal. The human term is ‘nickname.’ ”
“Ah. We have another term for it, but it’s the same idea.
“You know,” the alien said after a minute, “you were right about the wealth that can accumulate in a family with a long lineage. If Bubba is successful, he will be amply rewarded; not all of my Progenitors sat easy with the council’s judgement.”
“He has very little need for money. He has more than enough for necessities, plenty for his indulgences, and his profession paid him enough that he’s got sufficient savings put by,’ as he says. Nor would he accept a monetary reward for what he considers a favor based on his principles.”
The big alien frowned. “There must be something he would accept.”
Mike thought for a few moments.
“There is something,” he said, and a series of photographs and diagrams appeared on the screen.
The alien leaned forward to see the images dancing in front of him, nodding from time to time as Mike explained what he was seeing. Finally, he sat back.
“Gotcha,” he had said, and chuckled.
When Bubba returned, he had an arm full of groceries and a determined look.
“Gather ’round, boys,” he said, “time’s a-wastin’.” He began putting the food away, including several quarts of seltzer, which went into the freezer.
“Now. What about this ‘Champion’ thing, hoss?”
“Wait,” the alien said, holding up his hand. “First, we must talk about this ‘hoss’ word.”
Bubba sat back in surprise, searching the other’s face for clues.
“Oh, dear. My apologies, friend. I surely didn’t mean you to take offense, but I can’t just say ‘hey, you!’ ”
“You misunderstand me, I’m not complaining. Mike and I discussed this earlier, and since I am currently a non-entity, I happily accept the.…” He glanced at Mike for the word.
“ ‘Nickname.’ ”
“ ‘Nickname,’ yes. We call it a ‘Name of Equals.’ ”
Bubba smiled. “Well, then, Hoss,” he said, “you got yourself a Name of Equals, and wouldn’t Pa Cartwright be pleased? Now, what’s involved in this fooforaw?”
Hoss sat gingerly on the kitchen chair, which creaked under his weight.
“Challenging the council and my Progenitors by myself would not only be useless but insulting, since one of the requirements is to show that at least one person accepts that I’m honorable.” Now that preparations had actually begun, the alien was becoming more and more positive.
“It can’t be a member of my family for obvious reasons, and my colleagues in the diplomatic corps have adopted a ‘wait-and-see’ attitude. I was engaged in searching the colony planet for a mercenary when I ran into the Nishians.
“The Trial will consist of three Tasks:” he continued, “a Task of Body, a Task of Mind, and a Task of Spirit.”
“Hmph,” Bubba grunted. “ ‘Task of Body’? That’s gonna be a bitch if they’re all your size back home.”
“You must best a warrior in single combat, with your choice of weapons.”
“How about Robot Commandos at twenty paces?” Bubba muttered.
“Neither battle suits nor mechanicals are allowed,” Hoss said seriously.
“Never mind, I’ll come up with something. What’s next?”
“A Task of Mind. You’ll be facing one of the Academics and attempting to give them a problem without a solution, or a logical conundrum that they cannot solve correctly. It must have an answer, and one they will accept, but not one they would think of.”
Bubba laughed shortly. “You don’t need me, you need a Talmudic scholar! Can I bring Rabbi Scheckner along?”
Realizing Bubba was joking, Hoss just looked at him sadly.
“The third trial is a Task of Spirit. You must prove your honor so that the council, governors, and my Progenitors can see that by your honor, you do me honor.”
“Dunno what to do about that one,” Bubba said shaking his head after a moment’s thought. “I’ll have to think on ’er.
“In the meantime,” he said, rubbing his hands together, “how ’bout some lunch?”
“I could use some nourishment, yes.” As Hoss nodded vigorously, the chair groaned underneath him, and he froze in alarm.
Bubba chuckled. “Bet you’ll be glad to get back to where the furniture’s built for you, huh?”
Hoss smiled. “With your help, maybe it will happen.”
“Well…” Bubba was clearly embarrassed. “Well, I’ll do what I can, Hoss.”
Busying himself with pots and pans, he considered the pros and cons of helping the Thunt. On the one hand, he was something of an old-style Country Gentleman; when a neighbor called for help, you grabbed your tools and started working. The Thunt might not be from Around Here, but he was in need of help, and Bubba thought the whole situation was pretty damned unfair.
On the other hand, if Hoss was a good example, these Thunts were big, hairy, and just maybe mean as a snake, and helping Hoss could end up costing more than tool-and-travel time and scraped knuckles.
On the third hand…
“Y’know, I’ve always wanted to see just what might be out there, Hoss. That saucer of yours got windows?”
“There is a means of viewing the surrounding area while we’re in flight, yes,” the alien answered.
“Then we’d best get an early start.”
The next morning, Bubba packed plastic containers with chili and sandwiches, along with several bottles of seltzer. Since Hoss said they’d be gone for several days, he adjusted the generator to run at minimum (the refrigerator, security system and little else), set the VCR to tape the upcoming Blackadder marathon, and locked the door behind him. Hoss was waiting, and after strapping in, they left the backyard and headed for the sky.
“This thing is cloaked, isn’t it?” Bubba asked.
“After a fashion,” Hoss replied. “It’s radar-transparent, and we’re headed into the Sun. I doubt anyone will see us.”
“And if they did,” Mike interjected, “don’t you think they’d be getting used to it by now? You’ve been visited by more aliens than practically any other human.”
“Yeah? How about the Grand Old Men of the contactees, Adamski and Menger? Menger’s the one who kept meeting B-Cubes.”
“ ‘B-Cubes?’ Or shouldn’t I ask?”
“ ‘Beautiful Busty Blondes.’ ”
“Well, to my certain knowledge, George Adamski never encountered any aliens of any kind whatsoever. His photographs were hoaxes perpetrated by a lonely old man who worked in a diner. Howard Menger I cannot discuss.”
“So, Dr. Fu Manchu,” Bubba hissed, “there is a limit to your insidious genius!”
“I never said that. I merely pointed out that I couldn’t discuss Howard Menger.”
Bubba was silent for a moment. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I could take that one of two ways.”
“And wouldn’t you like to know which?”
Space was wonderful. Bubba’s single flight to England to attend a UFO conference (which was singularly discomfiting; the Streiberists—those who blamed aliens for abductions and horrifying medical experiments—now far outnumbered the Adamskians, and he was dismayed at the number of people who would no longer welcome their Space Brothers) was the closest he’d come. They would soon be moving at a significant fraction of the speed of light, but Hoss had indulged Bubba’s request to view Earth in real-time as they moved away from the plane of the ecliptic.