Page 10 of Sky Song
“This place isn’t supposed to have any,” Dr. Nura replied through the interpreter.
The Gaorz’s blue lips formed a tight bud of disappointment. “We were told this place is fun.”
“It is,” Cricket said, the corners of her mouth curling up. “If you’re into reading.”
“Forentertainment?”
“That, too.”
“You’re making fun of us.”
One of the Kessas, Irco, pulled at a glass cabinet door. It was very obviously locked, which didn’t stop Irco from yanking at the door and wobbling the cabinet.
“With all due respect! It’s a protected display!” A scandalized library attendant rushed toward the Kessa who, of course, didn’t understand her.
To avert an intergalactic conflict, Cricket promptly moved to their side and explained the issue to Irco in Universal.
“What’s the point of showing this paper scroll to us if we can’t touch it or sniff it?” Irco abandoned his attempts to get his hands on the fragile rare artifact and wandered off.
“We want to look at your history of extremism,” one of the other Kessas purred in a conspiratorial tone.
Cricket paused. Unbidden, Kim Creek’s dire warnings about the aliens being up to no good ran through her mind. “Why?”
“Extremism breeds fascinating action. We want to know how Meeus responds to its citizens’ dissent.”
“Meeus doesn’t have dissent.”
The Gaorz laughed. “It cannot be true, Earth female.”
“It is. If they’re unhappy, every citizen on Meeus has a right to complain, and every complaint is addressed in a meaningful way. The social system here is built by the people for the people.”
“Does it mean everyone gets their wishes granted?”
“No, not at all. Like everywhere, there are individual problems. There’s crime. But not dissent.”
The interpreter helped Dr. Nura understand what Cricket was saying, and they both looked pleased and nodded eagerly in approval.
“What about competitions? Do you hold competitions?”
Cricket frowned. “You mean, games? Sports?”
“Yes! When your people fight each other, and when the loser dies, his eyeballs are served at your ruler’s feast.”
“I’m afraid our games aren’t as exciting,” Cricket allowed politely.
Dr. Nura adopted a cheerful manner not inappropriate for a kindergarten teacher, and announced very brightly, “We can talk about the sporting events later. And now, let’s go to the medical archives. There are materials carried over from Earth by the first settlers. Pure history, folks.”
That sparked some interest, and the aliens obediently followed the doctor down a flight of wide marble steps. The interpreter took over.
Cricket tried to listen, but soon lost interest in this lecture on medicine. Frankly, she’d never been interested in the discipline, and her lab occupation evolved out of an opportunity, not choice. She wished to be home now, working on the drawing of a swan she’d started a long time ago and hadn’t been able to finish. Meeus didn’t have swans, and Cricket relied on her memory, tracing imperfect lines and trashing them, over andover. The drawing was for mama, for when she’d finally arrive. Mama had a thing for swans.
Mind wandering, Cricket hung back, her eyes skipping over the shelves full of tomes containing distinguished medical dissertations.
“Do you think there’s something of interest there?”
A thick arm reached over Cricket’s shoulder from behind and plucked a tome from the shelf. Flipping it open at random, Lyle held it up for Cricket’s inspection.
She looked and frowned, her mouth forming an O. Noticing her expression, Lyle turned the book over so they could both see.
