Free Mission Mistletoe by Jessica Payseur Page B

Calling out an ambassador was not a good way to smooth relations. But a’dlen Jhex smiled.
    “True,” he said. “But ‘working together’ is an interesting concept. It can mean many things, correct? Such as that your crew works together with you, Captain Pfeil, but you give the orders.”
    “Are you saying you want me to tell you what to do, Ambassador a’dlen Jhex?” asked Archer. The ambassador was beginning to work the clay with his hands, and it was difficult not to fidget. He needed to end this conversation soon.
    “Please. ‘A’dlen’ is too formal. Just Jhex.”
    His hands caressed the lump of clay, and Archer swallowed.
    “And I could be the one giving you orders. How does that strike you?”
    That was striking Archer very well at the moment. Of course he could say nothing of the sort to an ambassador. He had not even bothered to look up whether the Nler’sh’eh had sex like humans did, or whether they even had sex at all.
    He should not be thinking of such things. He focused on his irritation and on getting out of the room as quickly as possible.
    “I think what our governments had in mind was more of a give and take arrangement,” he said.
    Jhex smiled again.
    “Give and take. I like that too. A satisfying way to handle issues.”
    Archer did not want to linger in this conversation. It was too much like flirting, and he very much doubted that was the ambassador’s intention. He moved toward the door.
    “Well, I’ll leave you to think about what you prefer. We’ll discuss this again later.”
    He escaped into the corridor without giving Jhex a chance to reply.
     
     
    H E WAS always alone in the art room. Ilin could never understand it, not when the reports the Terrans sent boasted images of their architectural designs and statue-studded parks. This should mean creation played a substantial role in their lives, but his experience indicated it was more likely a status symbol or a portrayal of superiority.
    He licked his lips as his hands worked the clay. He had created several artistic documentations of his moods on this voyage, but what he was feeling now he could not translate to the clay. It frustrated him, this draw he felt around Captain Pfeil. He was so short of temper, and yet Ilin stirred at him.
    The ambassador wanted the captain. This was inappropriate behavior for his position. He had several other Nler’sh’eh back home he could call on whenever his bodily needs grew too strong, but a Terran…. He had little doubt his judgment would be questioned in that regard. Still, he knew he could make a good argument about testing to see just how well Nler’sh’eh and Terrans could get along.
    He was staring helplessly at his blob of clay when the door to the room opened.
    “You’re difficult to find, Ambassador.”
    He looked up at the voice and smiled at Nadine, who entered carrying a tray of food. She was one of the ship’s chefs who printed the food or sometimes even cooked with it, and she and Ilin had struck up a kind of friendship during his time here. He had to eat at regular intervals to take his pills, an unfortunately necessary requirement since the Terrans kept the nitrogen levels so high in their air. His body needed the ability to more efficiently extract the oxygen.
    “I lost track of the time,” he said as she brought the tray over and sat across from him. “Thanks.”
    Nadine pushed the tray toward him as he set aside his failed sculpture and smiled his thanks at her. Her skin was a natural bronze, darker than Archer’s. He wondered what she thought of his smile. He had perfected it over the days, unused to how much the Terrans employed it. It was strange for a species that gave so little physical contact. It almost felt false, but he was not here to judge customs.
    “Having problems?” she asked, indicating the lump of clay with a nod. Ilin stirred his soup and reached for the slice of bread.
    “I can’t seem to put anything into it,” he said, shrugging.