Free Star Rigger's Way by Jeffrey A. Carver Page B

pounding. "Do you want to bring Idi and Odi?"
    Cephean tossed his head in the direction of the riffmar, mulling. "H-no. Thake khair hriff-ffudss," he hissed.
    Carlyle peered at the two riffmar. They were fidgeting near the riff-bud cultures, taking care of the new "baby riffmar." Apparently they could manage without supervision. "Okay," he said.
    They left by the main spaceport exit. Carlyle wore a magenta rigger tunic, which provided him with a measure of physical security but also made him feel self-conscious—wearing his rank, and implicitly demanding privilege. Cephean padded alongside, sniffing and staring about. He hissed in approval at the sight of ships arrayed on the spaceport field; but once they were in the general traffic, he began to mutter. Carlyle tried not to imagine that he was walking with a long-haired, panther-sized housecat.
    The weather was sunny but cool, and Carlyle puffed up his windbreaker for greater insulation. They got on a shuttle which carried them two kilometers or so into the first shopping district of Plateau, where they got off and began prowling. There were no open markets with products visible from the street; here there were only small, closed-in shops. Carlyle went into the first one alone, since Cephean refused to cross the threshold. The store sold only synthetics, anyway, so he went back out. "Don't think so." he said. Cephean snuffled and hissed, and padded on.
    The next shop looked more promising. "Hyou ssee," said Cephean indifferently, when Carlyle gestured toward the door. Again, Carlyle went to look.
    The place was darker, cooler, and full of odors. He went back out. "Cephean, they have fresh-grown fruit and vegetables," he said. "Why don't you come in with me? There may be some things you'll like here."
    Cephean sniffed.
    "There are hardly any people in here now. It'll be all right."
    Finally the cynthian followed him in. The air held dozens of smells, and Cephean sniffed and snorted suspiciously. "Come on toward the back," said Carlyle. The shopkeeper, at the rear, noticed them suddenly and came forward disapprovingly. "My friend is a sentient and a cynthian," Carlyle blurted defensively, trying to forestall any comment. He would have added that they were both under Rigger protection, but the shopkeeper had already noticed Carlyle's tunic and waved an unenthusiastic acknowledgment.
    Carlyle looked over several open counters of produce and picked out a milk-bearing melon. He held it up for Cephean's examination. "How about this?" The cynthian's eyes glinted suspiciously. "Hmm." He put the melon back and picked up a yellow fruit. "How about this?" Cephean sniffed it, then took it in his jaws and bit deeply. "Yach!" he cried, spitting it out with a spray of saliva. "Whass sss iss?"
    Carlyle picked it up from the floor where it had rolled and put it back in the bin where he had gotten it. He shrugged.
    It occurred to him then that the thing to do was to have a whole assortment of foods sent to the spaceport and analyzed, and have a sample of Cephean's food analyzed, and see what came closest to matching. But they might as well try a few more items here. He showed Cephean the melon again, but the cynthian refused another trial bite. They went down the line, Carlyle holding each item for Cephean's inspection and the cynthian sniffing with disinterest. The floor creaked quietly as they moved, shuffling, toward the back. Finally Carlyle went to the counter and said, "I'd like two of everything, sent to us at the RiggerGuild Haven." The keeper looked at him skeptically but filled out the order and had Carlyle thumbprint it.
    When they were back on the street, Carlyle said, "Do you want to go down into the valley, see the mountains?"
    Cephean looked at him gravely. ( Alarm. ) "H-no. Noss wanss ssee k-k-horiff. Noss!"
    "No koryfs," Carlyle promised. "They're all in the wild country, anyway—not near the city." At least that was how he remembered it.
    "H-no," the cynthian insisted. "Muss