The storm of emotions that swept over Athaclena was so powerfully contradictory that she remained frozen for a while longer. Also, part of it might have been the relaxed power in his arms. Only when Robert finally let go of her did Athaclena back away from him quickly, wedging herself against the bole of the giant tree, gasping.
“An… An-thwillathbielna! Naha… You… you blenchuql How dare you… Cleth-tnub…” She ran out of breath and had to stop her polyglot cursing, panting slowly. It didn’t seem to be penetrating Robert’s mild expression of good cheer anyway.
“Uh, I didn’t catch all that, Athaclena. My GalSeven is still pretty bad, though I’ve been working on it. Tell me, what’s a … a blenchuq?”
Athaclena made a gesture, a twist of the head that was the Tymbrimi equivalent to an irritated shrug. “Never mind that! Tell me at once. Are you badly hurt? And if not, why did you do what you just did?
“Third, tell me why I should not punish you for tricking and assaulting me like that!”
Robert’s eyes widened. “Oh, don’t take it all so seriously, Clennie. I appreciate the way you came charging to my rescue. I was still a bit dazed, I guess, and got carried away being happy to see you.”
Athaclena’s nostrils flared. Her tendrils waved, preparing she knew not what caustic glyph. Robert clearly sensed this. He held up a hand. “All right, all right. In order — I’m not badly hurt, only a bit scraped. Actually, it was fun.”
He erased his smile on seeing her expression. “’Uh, as for question number two — I greeted you that way because it’s a common human courtship ritual that I was strongly motivated to perform with you, even though I admit you might not have understood it.”
Now Athaclena frowned. Her tendrils curled in confusion.
“And finally,” Robert sighed. “I can’t think of a single reason why you shouldn’t punish me for my presumption. It’s your privilege, as it’d be the right of any human female to break my arm for handling her without permission. I don’t doubt you could do it, too.
“All I can say in my defense is that a broken arm is sometimes an occupational hazard to a young human mel. Half the time a courtship can hardly get started unless a fellow pulls something impulsive. If he’s read the signs right, the fem likes it and doesn’t give him a black eye. If he’s wrong, he pays.”
Athaclena watched Robert’s expression turn thoughtful. “You know,” he went on. “I’d never quite parsed it out that way before. It’s true, though. Maybe humans are crazy cleth th-tnubs, at that.”
Athaclena blinked. The tension had begun to leak away, dripping from the tips of her corona as her body returned to normal. The change nodes under her skin pulsed, reabsorb-ing the gheer flux.
Like little mice, she remembered, but she shuddered a little less this time.
In fact, she found herself smiling. Robert’s strange confession had put matters — almost laughably — on a logical plane. “Amazing,” she said. “As usual, there are parallels in Tymbrimi methodology. Our own males must take chances as well.”
She paused then, frowning. “But stylistically this technique of yours is so crude! The error rate must be tremendous, since you are without coronae to sense what the female is feeling. Beyond your crude empathy sense, you have only hints and coquetry and body cues to go on. I’m surprised you manage to reproduce at all without killing each other off well beforehand!”
Robert’s face darkened slightly, and she knew he was blushing. “Oh, I exaggerated a bit, I suppose.”
Athaclena couldn’t help but smile once more, not only a subtlety of the mouth, but an actual, full widening of the separation between her eyes.
“That much, Robert, I had already guessed.”
The human’s features reddened even more. He looked down at his hands and there was silence. Athaclena felt a stirring within her own deepself, and she kenned the simple sense-glyph kiniwullun . , . the parable-boy caught doing what boys inevitably do. Sitting there, his open aura of abashed sincerity seemed to cover over his fix-eyed, big-nosed alien-ness and make him more familiar to her than most of her peers had been back in school.
At last Athaclena slipped down from the dusty corner where she had wedged herself in self-defense.
“All right, Robert,” she sighed. “I will let you explain to me why you were ‘strongly motivated’ to attempt this classical human mating ritual with a member of another species — me. I suppose it is because we have signed an agreement to be consorts? Did you feel honor bound to consummate it, in order to satisfy human tradition?”
He shrugged, looking away. “No, I can’t use that as an excuse. I know interspecies marriages are for business. It’s just, well — I think it was just because you’re pretty and bright, and I’m lonely, and… and maybe I’m just a bit in love with you.”
Her heart beat faster. This time it was not the gheer chemicals responsible. Her tendrils lifted of their own accord, but no glyph emerged. Instead, she found they were reaching toward him along subtle, strong lines, like the fields of a dipole.
“I think, I think I understand, Robert. I want you to know that I …”
It was hard to think of what to say. She wasn’t sure herself just what she was thinking at that moment. Athaclena shook her head. “Robert?” she said softly. “Will you do me a favor?”
“Anything, Clennie. Anything in the world.” His eyes were wide open.
“Good. Then, taking care not to get carried away, perhaps you might go on to explain and demonstrate what you were doing, when you touched me just then… the various physical aspects involved. Only this time, more slowly please?”
The next day they strolled slowly on their way back to the caves.
She and Robert dawdled, stopping to contemplate how the sunlight came down in little glades, or standing by small pools of colored liquid, wondering aloud which trace chemical was stockpiled here or there by the ubiquitous trade vines, and not really caring about the answer. Sometimes they just held hands while they listened to the quiet sounds of Garth Planet’s forest life.
At intervals they sat and experimented, gently, with the sensations brought on by touching.
Athaclena was surprised to find that most of the needed nerve pathways were already in place. No deep auto-suggestion was required — just a subtle shifting of a few capillaries and pressure receptors — in order to make the experiment feasible. Apparently, the Tymbrimi might have once engaged in a courtship ritual such as kissing. At least they had the capability.
When she resumed her old form she just might keep some of these adaptations to her lips, throat, and ears. The breeze felt good on them as she and Robert walked. It was like a rather nice empathy glyph tingling at the tips of her corona. And kissing, that warm pressure, stirred intense, if primitive feelings in her.
Of course none of it would have been possible if humans and Tymbrimi weren’t already so very similar. Many charming, stupid theories had circulated among unsophisticated people of both races to explain the coincidence — for instance, proposing that they might once have had a common ancestor.
The idea was ridiculous, of course. Still, she knew that her case was not the first. Close association over several centuries had led to quite a few cases of cross-species dalliance, some even openly avowed. Her discoveries must have been made many times before.
She just hadn’t been aware, having considered such tales rather seamy while growing up. Athaclena realized her friends back on Tymbrim must have thought her pretty much of a prude. And here she was, behaving in a way that would have shocked most of them!