Part 2 (2/2)
The straw man seemed to take notice of them. He turned, greeted them indifferently, hands still jerking and darting as if hunting for a rest never to be granted.
”May I help you, sirs?” His eyes narrowed slightly then and he concentrated a touch more intently on them. ”I don't think I know either of you.” He had as-sumed a faintly disapproving air. ”I thought I knew everyone in the outpost.”
”We didn't arrive via the usual channels,” Sep-tember said.
Ethan tried to make himself sound important. ”We'd like to see the Resident Commissioner.”
The man wasn't impressed. ”Concerning?” He spoke to Ethan, but his gaze remained fixed on September.
Ethan thought a moment. ”Possibly crucial de-velopments involving native affairs.”
”What kind of developments? Are you two attached to the xenology team here?” A hand brushed back straight blond hair, rubbed at the side of a small sharp nose, moved down to pull at the hem of his s.h.i.+rt and work up the other side to brush once again at the unruly hair.
Actually, the itch was concentrated not in hair, nose, or s.h.i.+rt. Instead, it was permanently located in the man's mind. Since he couldn't scratch that very well, he settled as did many others for rubbing parts of his anatomy that had nothing to do with his condition.
”We'd rather tell it to the Commissioner,” said Ethan, trying his best not to sound difficult.
”Do you have an appointment? I don't recall any appointments scheduled for this afternoon.”
”Blessed!” snapped the woman at the other desk, speaking for the first time. She was a stout lady who looked slightly older than September, and she sounded exasperated with her colleague. ”If they're strangers here, then they must have come in on that big native s.h.i.+p.” The straw man showed no reaction.
”Didn't you hear about it?”
”I've been at my desk for the last several days, Eulali. You know I don't listen much to post gossip.”
”No wonder you never learn anything,” she sighed. ”Anything they have to say could be important.
Never mind that they came in on that s.h.i.+p. Just the fact that they're strangers.”
”Okay,” the man replied doubtfully. ”I guess they can see Trell. But I won't break procedure.”
”You and your d.a.m.n procedure.” Eulali turned back to her own complex instrumentation resuming her work.
”Procedure says you've got to have an appointment,” the man insisted, rubbing the other side of his nose.
”Oh, all right.” Ethan couldn't keep the impatience from his voice. ”We'll make an appointment.”
Turning back to the console before him, the man punched a b.u.t.ton. Scribbled words appeared on a dis-play screen. ”Don't get excited. I said I wouldn't break procedure, and I won't. You can have an appointment for- five minutes from now be okay?” He smiled. It changed his face completely.
”That'll do,” Ethan admitted.
”The nature of your business involves native af-fairs, right?” Ethan nodded once. ”Names please?”
”Ethan Frome Fortune.”
”Your home world or planet of origin?”
”Terra.”
”Profession?”
”Salesman, general manufactured goods, small, re-presenting the House of Malaika.”
”Thanks.” He glanced perfunctorily over at September. ”Name?”
”Skua September.” The words were grunted out, reluctantly.
”World of origin or birth?”
”I don't know.”
”Now look here-”
”I'm telling you honestly, son. I don't know.”
”Well, what does it say on your cardmeter?”
”It identifies me as a Commonwealth citizen. That's all.”
”I've never seen an ident like that.” The skinny interrogator chewed his lower lip, moved to tug the hem of his s.h.i.+rt and decided not to.
”Profession?”
”Freelance fehdreyer.”
Again the youth hesitated. ”That's not a Terranglo word, is it?”
”No, it's not a Terranglo word,” September a.s.sured him.
”What is it in Symbospeech?”
”There's no Symbospeech direct equivalent. It's a phonetic rescription of an old Terran word from a language called yidish.”
”Oh well, it doesn't matter anyway.”
”When do we go in?” Ethan eyed the large wooden door nervously. September's replies were likely to provoke the skittish clerk if they continued much longer.
”I'll check.” He touched another switch. ”Sir?”
”I've been monitoring since you keyed me, Avence,” a rich baritone responded. ”They can come in.
Be care-ful, Mr. September. You may have to duck. Our ceil-ings are designed for average human beings and thranx, not athletes or sifters.”
Ethan looked startled^ but September simply smiled, pointing to a spot in the ceiling between the Commonwealth symbols and the top of the wooden door.
”Don't worry. I'm used to duckin'. And I'm neither athlete nor sifter.”
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