Free Foreigner by Robert J. Sawyer Page B

Others all sported copper jewelry,
    but some were also wearing vests made of a material that looked too pliable to be leather.
    The Other with the metal tube was near the front of the crowd. He held the tube in such a way that he could raise it
    again in a fraction of a beat.
    One of the Others stepped forward and spoke, a string of nonsense syllables emanating from its mouth.
    At the back of the crowd, Toroca could see someone trying to get through. Incredibly, he was actually tapping people
    on the shoulder to get them to move, or gently pushing them aside. On Land, this fellow’s throat would have been
    ripped out by now, but people were gladly making way for whoever this was. Once he’d gotten to the front, Toroca saw
    that this Other also was brandishing a metal tube, but it was smaller and more compact. He was wearing black bands
    around both his arms; no one else had such bands.
    “Hello,” said Toroca, and then he bowed. The moment seemed to call for some sort of speech, but if the Others’
    language sounded like gibberish to Toroca, his words would likely sound the same to them. “Hello,” he said again,
    simply.
    The Other with the armbands said “Hello” back at him. For a moment, Toroca thought that the Other understood him,
    but it was soon clear that he’d simply repeated the sound Toroca had made.
    If this Other had been a Quintaglio, he’d have been a good piece younger than Toroca, but none of the Others seemed
    as large as an old Quintaglio. Either this wasn’t a location frequented by the elderly, or Others simply didn’t grow as
    fast or as big as Quintaglios.
    Toroca made a gesture toward the city, indicating, he hoped, that he wished to go there. The Other with the black
    armbands looked warily at Toroca, then stepped aside. Toroca began to walk down the pier, and this Other walked
    silently beside him. There was a hubbub among the spectators. Some had claws out; others had them sheathed. If
    these were Quintaglios, that would mean some were frightened and others were just curious — exactly the mix of
    emotions Toroca himself was feeling as he continued down the pier.

*7*
    “Normally, I sit where the patient can’t see me,” said Mokleb. “Otherwise, they spend too much time watching for my
    reactions. Therapy is not a performance, and I am not an audience. Also, there may be times when the most effective
    response to something you say may not in fact be the truth. By sitting out of view, the patient cannot see my muzzle.
    In any event, since you are blind, it doesn’t matter where I sit. However, you should be as comfortable as possible.
    That rock you are straddling is your favorite, yes?”
    “Yes,” said Afsan.
    “You should relax as much as possible. Rather than sitting up, you may find it more comfortable to lie on your belly.
    Why don’t you try that?”
    Afsan obliged, settling himself down on the top of the boulder, his arms and legs dangling a bit over the sides and his
    tail, semi-stiff, sticking up into the air.
    “Good. Now, I’m going to sit on another boulder. I take copious notes; using a system of simplified glyphs, I can
    record both sides of our conversation verbatim. You’ll occasionally hear the sound of my fingerclaw dipping into a pot
    of ink or solvent, or the sound of me getting a new sheet of paper. Pay no attention, and don’t worry about whether
    I’m writing something down or not. I assure you, I will dutifully record everything — there’s no telling what is important.
    And I further assure you that my notes will be kept confidential. Do you understand all that?”
    Afsan nodded.
    Mokleb dipped her left middle fingerclaw into ink and started writing. “In our early sessions, I may do a lot of talking,
    but as the therapy progresses I may go for great lengths without saying anything. Fear not: I am listening intently,
    and if I have something to say, I will. You must adopt the same principle: if you have something to say, don’t worry
    about