Free The Last Starfighter by Alan Dean Foster Page B

to interpret these alien expressions.”
    “I’m sure. He doesn’t look very enthusiastic to me. He looks rather frightened.”
    “Not at all, not at all,” Centauri insisted. “He’s rarin’ t’go. Surely you’ve heard of the combative nature of these Earthfolk?”
    “Rumors to that effect circulate in occasional command transcripts, yes,” the officer admitted. “But somehow this particular one doesn’t look the part of the battle-ready berserker.”
    “What’s he saying?” Alex finally asked.
    “He’s explaining how delighted he is that you’ve come, and how anxious they are to show you around.”
    “I see.” Alex subsided again and let his attention drift to the numerous and extraordinary life-forms circulating through the chamber.
    “What did he say?” the officer demanded to know.
    “He’s getting bored with all this inactivity and wonders how soon he can leap into battle.”
    “Hmmm.” The Rylan made it sound like a stoned honeybee. “You personally guarantee this one’s abilities?”
    “I told you, he was chosen by my own special testing system. His reflexes are inherited, not learned, and he’s just primitive enough to know how to apply those abilities instinctively. He’ll do the League proud.”
    The officer hesitated a last moment, then sighed breathily. “All right. I suppose I’ve no choice but to give him a chance. We need all the help we can muster, and if he’s checked out on gunstar fire control . . .”
    “Brilliantly, brilliantly.”
    “. . . then I guess we have to give him a chance to show what he can do. Auwar knows it’s time to try the unexpected. I’ve been surprised by the abilities of primitives before. Perhaps this is to be another time. I’ll give the necessary orders.”
    “Excellent! I’ll inform him. I know how pleased he’ll be. He can’t wait for his first firefight, to bring forth blood and destruction.” He turned back to Alex and switched easily from Rylan to English.
    “Good luck to you, my boy. May the luck of the seven psions of Gulu be with you at all times.”
    “What’re they?”
    “Never mind that now. Just hope that they’re with you.”
    “Why? Where are you going?”
    “First, to the john. After that, elsewhere. Don’t worry, you’re in good tentacles . . . hands.” He glanced up at the thoughtful officer.
    “Someday you cheapskates will thank Centauri. Trust me on this one.”
    “As I’ve said, we’ve little choice.” He watched Centauri stride toward the far doorway. “And when I’m broken in rank for listening to you, rest assured I’ll find you.”
    “Hey, come back!” Alex called. A hand came down on his shoulder. It was gentle but insistent. He looked up to see the Rylan face staring sternly down at him. “Okay, so what now?” he asked the alien.
    Evidently the decision had been made to move him along. The first female Rylan he’d encountered at Centauri’s ship appeared and conveyed him to an elevator. Once inside Alex stumbled and had to catch his balance as unexpected acceleration sent him toward a wall. The Rylan barely glanced in his direction but he resolved not to stumble a second time.
    It was a hard resolution to keep, since the elevator behaved more like a runaway motorcross bike than a normal lift, bucking and twisting as it traveled through a series of interconnections that ran sideways and backward as well as up and down.
    They finally stopped and the doors slid apart. The Rylan nudged him out into another hangar. This one was much bigger than the place where Centauri had parked his ship, and a hive of activity.
    Creatures of varying shape and size worked on ships that were strange because they were so recognizable. Sealed behind a transparent wall at the far end of the cavernous room was a waiting area filled with seats of exotic design, created to accommodate exotic backsides. Beyond the seats lay a semicircular chamber alive with lights and glowing screens. Some of the images appeared to