Free A World of Difference by Harry Turtledove Page A

Shota,” Katerina remarked.
    That had comebacks obvious even to Tolmasov, but Rustaveli was, for once, pure business. “Hush,” was all he said. He bent, set the knife on the ground, and stepped back from it. Then he pointed to it and to Fralk and waved an invitation to the Minervan. “Go ahead; it’s yours,” he said, though Fralk could not hope to understand his words.
    The gestures got through, though. Fralk moved toward theknife, hesitantly at first but then with more confidence as Rustaveli and Bryusov backed farther away to show that it was all right. The Minervan grew short and wide and picked up the knife—by the handle, Tolmasov saw, which meant it knew what a knife was. Well, Lopatin had as much as said that.
    Yes, Fralk knew what a knife was. It held the blade in one hand and tested it with the fingers of another. It must have approved of what it found. It pointed to the knife, then to itself, and made a noise that Tolmasov mentally translated as, “For
me
?”
    Rustaveli must have read it the same way.
“Da, da,” he
said. When he did not try to take away the pocket knife, Fralk must have gotten the idea.
    Tolmasov heard faint contralto cries in the distance. The Minervans sounded angry. His face quirked into a smile, almost against his will. Angry Minervans sounded like angry sexy women—an unexpected perk of the job. The American slang threatened to make his smile wider. He forced himself to seriousness.
    Katerina also heard the locals approaching. She took cover behind one of
Tsiolkovsky
’s huge tires. That made such good sense that Tolmasov crouched behind another one.
    He watched the Minervans approach. They were within a couple of hundred meters now, carrying spears and stones and other things less easy to identify. The Kalashnikovs could make bloody hash of them—and of the Soviet mission. If the Americans made peaceful contact while he got into a firefight … he shuddered. He would not end up a Hero of the Soviet Union when he got home. He would end up begging for a bullet, more likely.
    Bryusov did not seem to have noticed the—army? gang? posse? He gestured vehemently, like a man in the grip of an overpowering itch. Maybe he was getting through to Fralk, though; the native had three eyes on him, for whatever that was worth.
    “I suggest you come to the point, Valery.” Shota Rustaveli was on his belly on the cold ground, behind a stone that would give him some cover. He knew the Minervans were coming. So did Fralk, who kept an eye on them.
    Evidently Bryusov did come to the point. Fralk hurried out toward its—countrymen? Probably, Tolmasov thought. If they were enemies, it would have run the other way.
    Fralk shouted something. The onrushing Minervans came toa ragged halt. A couple of natives emerged from the crowd and hurried up to Fralk. They made themselves short and wide, then resumed their usual shape. If Bryusov had gone through contortions before, they were not a patch on the ones Fralk put on now. Of course, having six arms and eyestalks gave it an unfair advantage there.
    One of the natives who had approached Fralk said something. Fralk broke in loudly. The other native went short and wide again. “That must be a token of submission, like a salute or a bow,” Bryusov called.
    Fralk shouted to the whole group of Minervans. They set their weapons on the ground. “Valery!” Fralk called in that thrilling voice.
    The linguist had put down his rifle when he started trying to communicate with Fralk. “Cover me,” he called to his companions, and walked, empty-handed, toward the Minervans. Fralk widened himself as the human came up. In delighted reply, Bryusov bowed from the waist.
    That set the Minervans off again. “They’re not used to anything that can bend that way,” Katerina guessed.
    “No,” Tolmasov agreed. He knew he sounded absent-minded, and he did not care. The relief washing through him was too great for that. First contact was made, and made without