Talk to Me
by Valerie J. Freireich
from Spec-Lit No. 2
I danced the geography of Able for Master Kissal. I had never been to that world, but I'd viewed tapes and read about it; as we approached it, I translated Able: the Newblue Mountains, the Vale, the Golden Sea and the Great High. It was glorious.
Able is a human world, so there are cities. I danced them, too, though conveying such population densities was strenuous. The largest settlement, New Port, was easiestóit was almost a natural feature of the landscape. Utmost, the major space station over Able, was simple to explain: I merely described the human station above the Beak world of Heden and then transcribed it to Utmost's location over Able.
Master Kissal signaled that he understood and that my recital was sufficient for his present purposes. After he took up residence on Able as the Beak trade emissary, he would need additional detail. I stopped dancing and settled onto my stool to await further instructions. I was hot from the exertion of the dance, but satisfied. More than satisfied; I was exultant. I had done my best work, and I knew it. I watched Master Kissal, so as not to miss his slightest movement. Most untrained humans find it disconcerting to have no point of reference when observing or addressing a Beakóthey have no facesóbut I have spent my entire life among Beaks and have been trained specifically to communicate with them.
Master Kissal was motionless for a long time. I could smell my sweat settling among the stale odors of Master Kissal's cabin. The air in his room seemed heavy and old, despite the ship's ventilation, perhaps because he had not left the room since we boarded at Heden. We were on a human ship, Earth Transport Corporation's passenger liner, Sidestep. Beaks have no interstellar ships of their own.
The room contained only two stools, of Beak manufacture, and a clutter of flethe sleeping covers in one corner. But even with all human furniture removed, the cabin was nearly too tiny for a Beak discussion, and the thick carpeting made the floor a tricky dance surface.
I watched as Master Kissal rose from his stool. The majority of his vision tendrils were oriented toward me, but his sharp-pointed stabbing beak, the feature from which humans had derived his species' name, was turned politely away from my direction.
"Ms. Desia," Master Kissal danced, formal as always. "I thank you for your services in this matter." Even in such a brief speech, his movements were fluid and graceful. His north and south arms rolled outward in a kind of trill that expressed satisfaction.
I smiled with pleasure and stood. "Have you no additional comment or request?" I queried.
"No," he signaled. "You are dismissed." I admired the firm lines of motion as his south arm sliced space and entered the negative. Master Kissal's dances always were clear, precise and beautiful.
I was disappointed that discussion was to be concluded. "Was my message understood?"
Master Kissal's regard become more pronounced. Beak visual tendrils move to follow the motion they are observing; the number focused on an object indicates intensity of observation. In this room of blank plastic walls there was nothing except me to hold his attention. I twirled a flourish, unnecessary but beautiful, delivered so rapidly that I could feel my hair, though cut very short, move as I turned.
"Yes. You are dismissed," repeated Master Kissal, "until such time as I require your further services in communicating with humans or (less important) Tasana." Master Kissal had no one with whom he could communicate aboard this ship except me.
I sighed, which he could not hear, since Beaks are deaf to sound wave vibrations. I did not turn to leave his cabin. Master Kissal continued to regard me, and signaled that he was puzzled, by a brief twist of his east hand. The tendrils surrounding his digits waved slightly, focusing.
"Talk to me," I danced. The movement I made was the signal to begin communication, the opposite of the dismissal sign he'd made to me. I had hoped that during this trip and once on Able, without the distraction of other Beaks, I would finally have the attention from Master Kissal I craved. At home on his estates he had little time for me.
"(Observe)," he signaled, as if to a youngling. "You are dismissed."
"Talk to me," I repeated. I began to dance a more complicated message. "We are alone on this ship, except for strangers; therefore, talk to me (favor)." I had added the signal younglings often use, a kind of plea for instruction from an adult.
"I have no further communications for you," Master Kissal told me. "You require no instruction. I do not need your services at this time. You are dismissed." His tendrils assumed the limp appearance of a Beak deep in thought, a turning inward, since Beaks cannot actually turn away. The Beak language of dance consists of both movement and position; they can "see" in all directions simultaneously by means of their covering of tendrils. Master Kissal stopped looking at everything, not only me.
I walked out of his cabin on heavy feet, turning back to face him as I opened the door. His posture was unchanged, elegant and aloof. "Please talk to me," I said aloud, like a child still in training at the crËche. I paused, then shut the door behind me as I left.
The corridor air smelled fresher. I was tired and hungry. I went to the dining facility in which I'd taken the occasional meals I did not eat inside my cabin. It was late, on ship's time. Only one other passenger, a human, was in the room. I knew his name, Simon Noguchi, because the Passenger Aide had pointed him out to me shortly after we came aboard, when the aide had still been trying to be friendly. I ignored Simon Noguchi as I would a youngling with whom I did not wish to be bothered, and chose some food with a high sugar content. I sat down on the other side of the room, with my back toward the man. I felt the letdown, physical and emotional, that so often seems to follow a long discourse with a Beak.
As I rested, I could not help but listen; the man was playing some alien instrument very quietly, but in the silence of the empty room the music was restful and rather pleasing. Simon Noguchi was a professional musician, I had been told. Judging from the attitude of the Passenger Aide and the other passengers aboard the Sidestep, he was well known. The music stopped.
I heard Simon Noguchi get up, but I was surprised when he came to stand in front of my table. He moved more gracefully than do most humans outside the Service. He asked if he could take the seat across from me.
I nodded an affirmative, although usually I avoid strangers.
He kept his instrument on his lap, as though he needed to be ready to play. "You're the interpreter for the Beak passenger, aren't you?" he asked. His voice was smooth as a breeze through an open window.
"Yes," I said, though I disliked that word, "interpreter," as being too limiting. I considered myself Master Kissal's human advisor, companion and friend, but interpreter is how we in the Service are designated.
"Must be an interesting occupation." He seemed to study me, my face and body, and he smiled as he did so. I know I'm an attractive woman; several men have told me so, though each suggested changes I should make to enhance my appearance. The only thing I've done is to wear loose fitting clothing ordinarily when among humans, but I had come from Master Kissal's room clad only in my leotard, so every curve was visible.
I made no response, since none was necessary. The man tilted his head in a rather flirtatious gesture. His long brown hair was tied behind him with a green ribbon that matched his eyes and clothing. He was pale, although he had tiny lines around his eyes, as if from too much sunlight.
"So you dance for the Beaks," Simon Noguchi said. He reminded me of Davy, one of the few interpreters ever to leave the Service. Davy had spoken with a similar detached amusement about the Beaks, though his light tone had been strained.
"I dance with them." I didn't like his comment, as if Master Kissal was an audience and I a performer. "I dance with Master Kissal, and speak for him to humans."
Simon Noguchi leaned back in the chair, relaxed. "What do Beaks talk about, among themselves?"
"What anyone does," I told him. "They talk about land and crops; they plan for the future and try to get ahead in their society; they discuss the weather and the relative merits of their younglings."
He leaned forward and whispered, though there was no one else in the room, "I understand the Beaks don't have sex." He sat back in his chair, studying my face with a slight smile.
I shrugged. "There are two sexes, just as for humans. The female's egg is fertilized by the male after it has left her body, though. If you mean the Beak males and females don't have sexual intercourse with each other, then you're right, they don't."
"Poor things," he said. "To have no fun at all." He did something to the musical instrument he was holding and a sound like a deep sigh came from it. That made me smile, although his comment had been moronic.
"And you're all alone with them." He gave me a smile that could have illustrated "charming" in a picture dictionary and said, "What's life like, being the only human among Beaks?"
"I enjoy my work."
Simon Noguchi leaned forward again and placed his hand over mine, resting on the table. "Don't you miss human company?" he asked. "There are very few humans on Heden; I know, I tried to get permission to visit."
"There are several hundred interpreters on Heden and a few thousand humans and Tasana at the trade center and Service crËche." I moved away from him, crossing my arms across my chest, sitting back in my chair. "The Service has installed holo stations for the Beaks all over Heden, so I can call other humans whenever I want."
He smiled again, it seemed to me with condescension, though I suppose he thought he merely looked amiable. More seriously than he had spoken before, he said, "Ms. Desia, I've wanted to meet you, but you've kept to yourself throughout the trip. I'm interested in Beak speech, the dancing. It's why I tried to visit Heden. I know Beaks have no music, but dance is a kind of music. I want to see it. Could you help me? Introduce me to the Beak?"
"There are tapes," I said. I spoke very coldly, and raised and tapped my left foot in an aborted and half unconscious signal of refusal to aid. The Service policy is to discourage informal contacts, or any unmonitored access to the Beaks.
"Tapes aren't the same," he said. Of course, he was right. As perfect as the holo imaging techniques are, there is always something missing: an image can never be touched. Perhaps there is something added, tooóan element of psychic distance that detracts from the impact of the event. The Service trains Beak interpreters by raising us on Heden among Beaks, not by using tapes. It is interaction, not observation, which is the best teacher.
"Please, Desia," he said. He took my hand again and gently pressed. "I've studied the tapes, but I want to see Beak communications first hand. Can't you introduce me to your Master Kissal?" He stared deeply into my eyes and smiled.
"No," I said. I looked away, then stood and took my tray to the disposer.
He jumped up and followed me. "If I can't meet the Beak, then will you dance for me?" He touched my arm, very lightly, but I could feel the warmth of his hand. "I'd like that very much," he said.
I dumped the garbage in the disposer and put the tray away as I considered. I am not an entertainer, but I have been a teacher; all of us are allowed our turn working in the crËche. "What do you intend to do with the information you obtain?"
He settled back on his feet. I watched his face and knew he was searching for the right answer, the one that would obtain my cooperation. I turned toward the door.
"Use it to improve my music," he said quickly. "I believe there is a way of combining the soundsóno, the patternsóof all intelligent life into a new artistic framework. Look, I've studied Tasana music." He thrust his musical instrument in my direction. "This is a codar, the basic instrument for their music. It's wonderful, a whole symphony in one box. But combine it with a piano and both improve. I want to see what the Beaks know about patterns and music, in its broadest sense. Some things must be universal; I want to know what they are."
"You want to create emotion," I said, my voice neutral.
"Yes. I suppose so."
"Then, no." I began to walk away.
He caught me again; this time his hand was rougher. I became conscious of his height advantage and his bulkier frame.
I stepped away and made the signal, "(Observe)." "Beak dancing is not music," I said aloud. "It's not emotionóit's speech. What I do when I dance with Master Kissal could be considered gymnastics as accurately as dance. It's graceful only because we perceive it that way. To Master Kissal, it's no more than our speech is to us. Useful, not beautiful."
"Speech itself is a kind of singing," Simon Noguchi said softly.
"And walking is a kind of dance," I said. "Go study your tapes." I left the room, and this time he did not follow.
I slept poorly that night, but it didn't matter because I was not called by Master Kissal the next day. I felt restless, but I stayed in my cabin. I didn't want to meet any of the other passengers. Being stared at, as I often was, becomes wearying.
In ship's evening I went to Master Kissal's cabin with his meal, brought to my cabin each day by the Passenger Aide, who seemed grateful he need not enter a Beak's room. Master Kissal was perched on a stool, apparently withdrawn deep in thought.
I handed him the food; he became alert and held out his east and south arms to accept the tray.
He focused a few tendrils on me, but did not acknowledge my presence with a communication. He began to eat, feeding the mouth above his south arm, at the moment the most convenient of his two orifices. I watched for awhile, then stepped closer. I took a morsel from the tray and extended it to Master Kissal. He opened his mouth and waited; I fed it to him, pleased that he was allowing this intimacy. Master Kissal even feeds me occasionally.
When his meal was finished, he handed me the tray and stood. "We will go out," he danced.
I placed the tray in the pick-up slot in the door. "We have not arrived at Able," I replied. "Outside is the death of emptiness." Sometimes it is difficult to know how much a Beak comprehends, their thinking is so concrete. Vacuum is a difficult concept.
He signaled understanding. "I intend only to travel within the ship. I intend to see it better." There were undertones of boredom in his movements, and also fear.
I signaled acquiescence without agreement. "There is nothing to see," I told him. "Humans, walls, machinery."
"Then I will see humans, walls, machinery," he danced, shaming my effort at grace. I have too few limbs for much of what I try to say.
"Why?" I signaled.
A Beak Master rarely answers such a vague question, but Master Kissal did answer, although indirectly. "What shall I do if you are ill? How should I ask for food? For instruction? I have been concerned since your strange behavior yesterday."
"Strange behavior?" I repeated his movements, with an additional query gesture. I felt uneasy.
"Talk to me," he danced. It was a quote, not a request.
I hesitated. "I desired discussion," I finally danced for him.
"But you made no request for specific instruction (puzzlement)." Master Kissal was heavily focused on me now.
"I desired your attention and approval," I told him, though in Beak communication that made no sense without a statement of subject matter, and I could not bring myself to add I wished his approval of me. I could feel my embarrassment work its way into my movements, and wondered how Master Kissal interpreted my words and the stiffness of my gestures.
"You are a good dancer, for a human," Master Kissal danced. Such praise filled me with pleasure. "I believe that I understand the thoughts you have conveyed to me, and expect you have transferred my intent to humans, when requested. You have offered intelligent and interesting insights on occasion, and some of your suggestions, though seeming bizarre when presented, have worked well when adopted. However, now we are in a place where I am the youngling and you are my only instructor. Can I depend upon you to remain steady on your feet?" He watched me.
"Master Kissal, yes," I replied, dancing it with fervor.
I contacted the Passenger Aide assigned to us. He met us in the corridor, and guided us through the ship, carrying on an anxious monologue of facts and statistics. In order for me to see Master Kissal, he had to precede me through the corridor. He was therefore closer to the Passenger Aide, who rushed through the ship nervously. Although Master Kissal kept his intimidating beak carefully upright and unthreatening, mature Beaks are slightly larger than humans and much quicker. The passages were too narrow to permit real conversation between Master Kissal and me, and we had to content ourselves with abbreviated signals. Despite the walk having been his idea, Master Kissal asked few questions and commented only infrequently on my translation of the remarks made by the Passenger Aide.
Some passengers saw us, and more gathered as word spread that a Beak was touring the ship. Even some crew members were trailing us, all at a fair distance. By the time we reached the dining facility there was quite a crowd, at least fifty humans and all six of the tall, darkly handsome Tasana passengers. In front of the group stood Simon Noguchi.
"Thank you," Simon Noguchi said to me as we entered the room. I noticed he was carrying his codar. His glance went first to me, then briefly to Master Kissal, then he smiled uncertainly at me.
I shrugged. To Master Kissal I danced, "This particular human (I designated his position) has an interest in Beak dance." Several humans clapped their hands as I made my dancing statement, which was extremely annoying. "He believes it may be related to human and Tasana noncommunicative soundmaking activities."
Master Kissal laughed, a rippling of his tendrils. The humans closest to him, including Simon Noguchi, quickly moved farther away. When he stopped laughing, Master Kissal said, "Tell him to dance his noncommunicative sounds." He laughed again. I smiled.
"Master Kissal says, dance your music," I told Simon Noguchi.
The man jumped to obey. He and some helpers dragged the dining tables out of the center of the room, to make a larger empty space. Simon Noguchi harangued the group of passengers, asking their helpóhe wanted them to dance what they felt from the music. Apparently, he knew the Tasana and a few others; he particularly implored the graceful Tasana to use their best efforts to convey the music through dance. He turned to me and said, "Please explain to Master Kissal that none of us are expert dancers, that my friends here," and he gestured broadly at the Tasana, "are musicians, like me, not dancers. It's the concept we want to test, not the entirety of possibilities." He touched my arm, as he had the previous evening. I could not help but think of Master Kissal's watching the physical contact, a very personal and rare intimacy among Beaks, but I resisted the impulse to look at Master Kissal. "Please, Desia. If the music moves you at all, then please dance it for him. You're the best hope we have of conveying music to the Beak."
I said nothing, and moved quickly away from the man when he let go of me, to stand beside Master Kissal.
Simon Noguchi began to play his codar, and one of the Tasana played another. Another man started his synthesizer. The blend of sound was odd and appealing. At first no one danced; Master Kissal probably thought they had not begun. He remained in the posture of patient attention, unable to hear any of it.
The Tasana went into the open area and began to move about, presumably their dancing. They seemed uncomfortable with their role and were clumsy. While their motions kept to a rhythm consistent with the music, their movements were repetitive and meaningless.
Master Kissal was watching them, but of course he was watching me as well. I signaled a query.
With brief, circumscribed gestures, he said, "Worse than newly hatched younglings." Beaks have a great deal of their language of position and movement built into themóhardwired, rather than learned. They can talk, at least in simple forms, from the moment of hatching. It is another reason they are so inept at learning even fragments of the communication elements of other races, I suppose; devices to compensate for their lack of hearing have been tried and were unsuccessful.
Some of the human passengers were beginning to sway and a few joined the Tasana on the dance floor. Master Kissal turned several additional clusters of tendrils to me. "Ms. Desia, do you dance in this style when alone?" he asked. The nearest humans shrank away from his dance. I was flattered at his personal interest.
"No," I told him. I noticed Simon Noguchi watching both Master Kissal and me from across the room as he played his codar. "And I have no particular desire to do so now. It has no message for me."
"Let us depart then," Master Kissal suggested. "I find this babble confusing and slightly unpleasant. Does noncommunicative soundmaking strike you so, also, when contrasted with true sound wave speech?"
"No," I admitted. "It has enjoyable elements; it is only the dancing that is disconcerting."
Everyone was staring at us. A few were clapping, but they stopped as Master Kissal and I began to leave the room. The music fluttered to a halt.
"Where are you going? We've just started!" Simon Noguchi shouted. "Hey!" He ran to us and grabbed my shoulder. I spun around. Master Kissal stood motionless, watching.
I disengaged myself from the man's grasp. "This is not enjoyable to us," I said.
He gaped at me. "You're not a Beak, Desia," he said. His voice was flat. I turned away. As the door closed behind me I heard him yell, "Bitch!"
Back in Master Kissal's room there was a companionable stillness between us. He broke it, leaving his stool and dancing, "The Tasana also experience the noncommunicative soundmaking as pleasant?"
"Yes, (so I have been informed)," I replied.
"This is a concern: I ask your opinion," he danced. "Why are humans and Tasana more similar to each other, by great amounts, than either are to Beaks?"
"I do not know," I told him. "But it is fact. Some guess there was an intervention on one or both worlds, but not on yours. Some say our type must be a common product of evolution, and that others like us will be found. Some say it is chance." Greatly daring, I added, "The extent of difference between Beaks and humans should not be overstated. We two can still communicate." I danced close to him, much closer than was proper, even within the confines of the tiny room. I could feel the flow of air between our two bodies, smell the acrid scent of Master Kissal as I stopped.
"Imperfectly," he signaled. His motion was nearly a negative and it took him farther from me.
"We dance together," I insisted.
"No." Clear and precise. "I cannot dance together (simultaneously) with you; you are unable to assimilate my speech while performing yours. Even when consecutive, there are limits of understanding: you must see them, too. Your best use is in communicating with other strangers."
I felt myself flush. "We dance together." My movements were stiff, as clumsy as when I was a child. Suddenly I recalled the abandoned youngling I had hidden in my bed and cubby for two days when I was eight. The youngling's Master had probably turned him out as a runt; there is always a surplus of younglings. I'd stolen food for him, fed him, but he'd never talked to me; I'd thought it was because I could not dance well enough for him to understand. The crËche mother had discovered my Beak friend, and sent him out to die, showing no more compassion than had her Master. I'd cried for days, and tried for weeks to find him. I stared at Master Kissal. "You talk to me (fact imparted)," I danced.
"You aid me in talking to strangers (correction)," Master Kissal said, very calm. "You aid me in learning about strangers. This is useful and appreciated."
"Talk to me (command)," I said. Never before had I used that mode with Master Kissal.
"You are dismissed," he said, appearing agitated.
"(Observe) (command)." I danced firmly and even arrogantly. I extended my right hand, but did not quite touch him. We have had physical contact, other than feedings, only twice in the five years I have been assigned to his estates.
Master Kissal watched my hand like it was a diseased thing, wholly focused on it. I withdrew my hand from him.
"You are ill (certainty)," he said.
"No."
"You are dismissed. Dismissed." He sat down on his stool and attempted to withdraw, but was unable to refrain from watching me with large clusters of tendrils. I danced.
I danced a different geography. I danced the geography of Desia. I danced hills of joy and valleys of defeat in my understanding of Beaks. I danced desires that I couldn't name for him, that would translate, perhaps, as curiosity to a Beak, who have no gesture meaning love. I danced a belief that two intelligent creatures must be able to care about each other and I ended, saying, "Talk to me (favor)."
Master Kissal was no longer looking at me. I screamed at him, which made no impression, of course. He remained limp and unresponsive. I left his room, tears running down my cheeks. In my own room, I flung myself down on my bed, and cried my frustration until I eventually fell asleep. I dreamed that I was unable to speak, and no one grieved.
I stayed in my room throughout the next day. Master Kissal did not summon me. Simon Noguchi attempted to contact me, but I refused to accept the message. I told the Passenger Aide to bring our meals to my room, as usual. That evening, when he set Master Kissal's tray on my table, I left it there. Every other night it had been my excuse to visit Master Kissal.
After finishing my own meal, I tried a piece of the Beak food, but it was as foul tasting as I remembered it. I stuffed the food down the disposer and placed both trays in the pick-up panel of my door.
The next day Master Kissal summoned me. "Get my food," he danced. The shape he made with his hands would have no natural meaning to a human or Tasana, who would expect a gesture to a mouth, or perhaps the stomach area.
"Talk to me," I danced, plain and simple, with no flourish that could be misunderstood.
"You are instructed: Get food for me."
I turned away and left his room.
Twice more that day he summoned me; the last time I didn't respond. It was after his meal had been delivered to me. I let it sit on my table all night, and in the morning, I dumped it into the disposer, as I had the other. The light from his summons was still glowing above my door; I struck at the device with the trays before setting them in the pick-up panel, but the light stayed on.
There was a new message from Simon Noguchi asking me to contact him. I did.
"Desia!" he said. "Thank you for responding. I'm sorry about the other day; the encounter with the Beak was so impromptu, we couldn't get it set up properlyóit wasn't a good arrangement. I'm sorry, too, for my temper. I was just disappointed." I think if we had been in the same room, the musician might have gotten down on his knees in front of me. "Please, would it be possible for me to see you dance with the Beak? I want it as much as ever." His green eyes stayed on my face; his voice reminded me of the appeal in Davy's voice when he asked me to leave Heden with him.
"All right," I said. "Meet me at Master Kissal's room immediately."
He appeared stunned, then gave a wild shriek. I cut the connection and he disappeared in mid-shout. I crossed the hallway to Master Kissal's door and stood outside it, waiting. Very shortly, Simon Noguchi appeared. He was carrying a portable holo recorder; he had put on a leotard, as though he intended to dance.
"You can't bring the recorder inside," I told the man.
"Why not? I'll want a tape of the session to study."
"No recorder, or no dancing." He looked at my straight back, my steady eyes, and I believe he knew I would not relent.
"I'll leave it here," he said, and obediently placed the recorder on the floor outside Master Kissal's door.
We entered the room. Master Kissal was motionless, sitting on his stool. He watched me and Simon Noguchi simultaneously. Then he stood and began to dance.
"Ms. Desia, you do not perform your duties; your behavior is erratic. I have instructed you, repeatedly instructed you: get my food. You do not come with it. You dance in strange patterns; you say nothing coherent. I instruct you again: Get my food (emphasis)." In the tiny room, the broad movements of Beak dance consumed most of the space.
He paused, awaiting a response, his beak carefully oriented away from me. I did nothing, as if he was a player in a stage production, put there for my amusement.
"Wow!" breathed Simon Noguchi under his breath. "Impressive. What is he saying?" But his expression was tense. Since much of the speech concerned me, Master Kissal had made me the focal point of his movements, and Simon was beside me.
I looked at Simon Noguchi rather than Master Kissal, a great rudeness from a human to a Beak. "Can't you tell? I thought you believed Beak dance was like music, that you could interpret it." My tone was nasty, but I couldn't prevent it.
He licked his lips and looked at Master Kissal and then back to me. "I need a key," he said. "I have to catch the tone of it, you understand?" He stared as Master Kissal refocused his tendrils to view more of Simon Noguchi. "It seems to have great emotion, though. Am I right?"
"Wrong. I told you, Beak dance communication is information, not emotion. There is no love or hate. They don't dance affection. He was talking about food. He's hungry."
Master Kissal began again, startling Simon Noguchi into moving backward, toward the door. "Is this a mating problem for you? Is this your mate? I know of such things (to a degree). Humans are said to act in peculiar patterns then, though I have not known you to do so on previous occasions. How long will this behavior continue? (Tension) When will you resume your duties? I require food as soon as possible, Ms. Desia. (Urgency)."
"What was that all about?" Simon asked me. "God, those vine things are weird up close."
I kept my eyes on Master Kissal this time, as I answered the man. "He was talking about you. He thinks we're lovers."
Simon Noguchi didn't laugh.
"He wants to know if our relationship will delay my getting him some food," I added.
"Maybe we ought to get him something to eat," Simon said, as if he feared being bitten.
"Don't you want to stay? I thought you were so interested."
Master Kissal was not accustomed to being ignored. "Answer (command)," he signaled, agitated. It was a modified version of the phrase I called "Talk to me." I felt bitter. He ended with an extravagant flourish, more elaborate than those I am able to do, and terminated the phrase not far from Simon Noguchi.
"This is bizarre." Simon edged closer to the door. "And this room smells like shit." He looked at me, hard. "Are you telling the truth about what he's saying?"
"Absolutely." I met his gaze. "Do you want to leave?"
He looked once more at Master Kissal, perhaps realizing that he was seeing a true alien. He opened the door. We left. Master Kissal was dancing something behind us as we exited, but I do not have eyes in back of my head, so I don't know what he said. I didn't look.
I closed the door behind us. The corridor air smelled clean. I wondered if Master Kissal would chase us out into the hall, but he didn't.
Simon Noguchi looked much less like a frightened child outside of Master Kissal's presence. He picked up his recorder. We stood facing each other.
Finally, he spoke. "You're a construct, aren't you?" His voice was even, devoid of disapproval, but when he said the word "construct" his eyes shifted away, then back, as though he thought it would embarrass me to answer.
"I'm a planned person, yes," I said. The other term sounds like an android or machine; the only difference between me and any other human is that my talents, appearance and desires were mapped out before I was conceived, rather than being the result of random selection by mating. "All of the Beak interpreters are."
"No parents, no children," he said. We interpreters have our reproductive functioning blocked. The Service didn't want the Beaks trying to breed us, controlling their own access to humans and Tasana. Simon touched my cheek, without affection. "No wonder you're so cold."
"You've never seen me dance," I said, and looked at him through upraised eyes in a downcast face, provocative.
He laughed. "Is that an invitation?"
"I'll see you in my room in an hour. I have to feed Master Kissal."
"Sounds like a pet cat, or something." Simon shook his head, as if ridding himself of the memory of fear in the presence of the unknown. He touched me again, possessively. "An hour."
When I brought his food, Master Kissal ate greedily. He let me feed him. I did so, finally accepting that this was as close as I would ever come to what I wanted, and that what I wanted was incomprehensible to him.
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