Free Edward M. Lerner by A New Order of Things Page B

reactions to the repetitions, but dialoguing through AIs filters out much of the cultural context.”
    In short: no. “They came six light-years to be here. When do they plan to actually talk about it? I mean, how did they do it? How long was the trip? Why visit us , rather than, say, the equally close-to-them Centaurs … or did they also send a ship to Alpha Centauri? Where do they want to visit in our solar system? What was the accident? What help do they need?”
    The sulfur dioxide-tainted atmosphere nearly balanced the pressure inside their spacesuits; this time Keizo accomplished a recognizable, if awkward, shrug. “Patience, Art. In many cultures, including that of my Japanese ancestors, to open a discussion with business matters is extremely rude.”
    “I’ve dealt for years with Pashwah, from whom this translator was evidently cloned. She is always direct and business-like. Hell, she’s brusque by my standards and I have no manners.” Just ask Chung. “The ICU was told that she is based on Snake psychology and culture, the better to represent them.”
    “The K’vithians may have multiple cultures, just as we do,” Keizo suggested. “Perhaps the Foremost is from a tradition less mainstream than most. Ambassador Chung, after all, maintains a quaint resistance to the use of neural implants.”
    “Whatever differences exist between the team members, we all represent the UP as a whole. No one’s behavior differs radically from that of Talleyrand,” the UP’s trade agent to the Snakes, Pashwah’s distant counterpart. “It just seems odd to me that these Snakes behave so different than their own long-term representative.” Art zapped yet another unsolicited message to Chung, urging specific topics to be raised.
    The curt response came quickly: not now.
    Rambling introductions continued until Chung began squirming in his seat. “I’m afraid we must return soon to our shuttle. Our oxygen tanks have a limited capacity, of course.”
    “How unfortunate, Mr. Ambassador.” The Foremost gestured towards the door. “As fruitful as this has been, I will not keep you. Please, let us escort you to the lock.”
    Fruitful? Try “certifiably content-free.” Their closest approach to an accomplishment, interpreting that term generously, was an in-passing conceptual agreement on the merits of cultural exchange. Art dismounted from the uncomfortable stool, a foot long ago fallen asleep prickling in protest. Had the Snakes wanted a session this boring and unproductive? Could they have been wasting time until the humans had to leave?
    Why had they come so far only to be reticent?
    At the doorway, the Foremost stopped. “Ambassador Chung,” the Pashwah clone said on the alien leader’s behalf. “There is one final matter I had hoped to address today. You will recall our radioed mention we would require help. You have seen the injury to our hull; you can understand how such a need has arisen. There are replacement supplies we wish to acquire.”
    Oxygen warning lights on several spacesuits glowed amber, Chung’s among them. They had to leave. “Yes, of course,” Chung said hurriedly. He pointed to an assistant. “Mr. Caruthers will facilitate your resupply. Please let him know your needs.”
    Substance, finally! How interesting that the Foremost had waited until his human counterpart was rushed and distracted. “I’d like to help. My ICU connections should prove useful in expediting commercial arrangements.”
    Art got a very public and disapproving glare. On the private radio band, Chung added, “Caruthers picked his own staff.”
    Which, while surely intended as a rejection, wasn’t explicit. Good enough.

CHAPTER 9
    Space near the starship began thinning out for the most mundane of reasons: consumption of maneuvering fuel. Helmut grunted his approval. It had gotten far too congested out here. As ships continued to leave, he decided that station-keeping was finally within the capabilities of the Odyssey