Page 8 of Sky Song
“Well, if you think so. Sure, Dr. Ragberg. I’d be happy to.” Like she’d ever say no to him.
A rider looking like it couldn't decide if it wanted to be a bus or a limo pulled to the side entrance to collect the alien group. Dr. Deja Nura, almost unrecognizable without her doctor’s overcoat, joined Cricket and the aliens as they headed for the rider. The interpreter shuffled along.
Yanet, looking perfect as usual, had her eyes bulging slightly from concentration as she scrutinized the screen of a tablet she held in her hand, reading, presumably, their itinerary.
“The first stop will be at the Hall of Knowledge,” Yanet announced and waved at the aliens. “Everybody, please get into the vehicle.”
“What is she saying?” The question came from the Gaorz’s blue lips that under the bright sun appeared almost purple.
Yanet turned and waved at Cricket. “You… translate. Hall of Knowledge. The rider. Go-go.”
“Allow me.” The interpreter cleared his throat. “We’re first going to visit,” he started translating and stopped. Frowned. Sputtered.
Cricket fought to keep a straight face. But in truth, she didn’t know the correct Universal word, either. In all her dark-streets-roaming, factory-working upbringing on Earth, she’d never had to discuss a library with an alien. Imagine that.
“You find him amusing?” said a quiet voice nearby.
Cricket turned around and regarded the speaker at length. “Not him but the situation. A little.”
Up close, he wasn’t what she’d expected. What she’d expected when she thought of a Rix was Simon, and this one was not him. At all.
Only a few inches taller than Cricket, he was well shy of the six-foot-eight that her mother claimed Simon to be. This Rix’s frame, clad in the silvery onesie under the overcoat, sported a healthy layer of chonk. If he had ever been in fighting shape, he must have long been assigned to a desk job.
“Do your people have buildings full of the written word? Like scripts?” Cricket found the closest way to explain the idea of a library that on Meeus was referred to as the Hall of Knowledge.
“You encode information in scripts?”
“Scripts and other writings. Information’s recorded in all kinds of formats and preserved for all to read.”
“What kind of writings?”
“Every possible kind. Historical and scientific. Reference materials. Biographies. Fiction, of course.”
“Like a knowledge bank?”
“Yes! A knowledge bank.”
“Then I know what it is. But to what purpose is therefiction?” He blinked once, a lazy blink that popped an inner third eyelid into view, dark blue and… cute. His huge black eyes twinkled merrily, and her unease lifted.
She grinned. “Fiction’s the best part. It tells stories, and makes you feel other people’s feelings. Fiction provides societal continuity so that each new generation doesn’t think it invented love or sorrow.”
His eyebrows flew up and his lips stretched in a small smile. “Is that so?”
“It absolutely is.” She smiled back and pretended to read his name tag. “Lyle.”
He acknowledged his name by inclining his head, making the silky waterfall of his hair ripple as if alive.
What virgin did he sacrifice to Rix gods for that hair?Cricket fought against self-consciously touching her own less-than impressive mane. Straight as straw and on the fine side, it hung flatly down her back to where she always ended up cutting it just below the shoulders. Mama claimed her sickness affected her hair, but Cricket knew it to be a lie for mama had hair just like her, and mama was healthy.
“Tell me your name,” Lyle said softly.
“Cricket,” she blurted, and immediately realized two things. One, she’d just given him the nickname that she shared withnobody. And second, he should have already known her name. The interpreter had introduced her yesterday.
Jaw hardening, Cricket looked him in the eyes, searching for a sign of trickery, but found nothing except good humor.
“It’s Emma, actually,” she self-corrected.
“Emma,” he repeated softly. He had a pleasant voice, neither too high nor too low, and his Universal was very good. They were conversing freely. “What does Cricket mean?”
