Burazo knelt by the curving rows of potatoes, obscured from view by tangled brush. He felt the leaves with fuzzy fingers. The plants were healthy, with clusters of blooms. There would be a good crop very soon. There should be plenty to store before the freeze.

 A boom filled the air, louder than thunder straight overhead. Burazo crouched low, his ears laid flat. He sniffed the air. Sulfur.

 A shadow crossed the field. Burazo looked up to see a huge silver ship propelled toward the ground by angry fire. Perhaps it was another of Soza’s failed flying contraptions. Burazo watched the decline and judged the angle. It would miss the village, but it might hit the river and sink. He shoved his shovel into his pack and stood.

He whistled three times, then waited. Answering whistles came from six directions. His men were safe and they would make their way to him. They rustled through the brush and stepped carefully around hidden crop rows.

Screeching metal and cracking timbers assaulted the senses. There was a whoosh, then a sudden gust pushed Burazo and his men back several paces, trampling their plants. Burazo frowned at the broken stems and crushed flowers. “This time Soza owes us more than an apology and a few goats,” he grumbled. “Let’s go make sure the nobles haven’t singed off their whiskers.”

Yani snorted. “I’d love to see that.”

Burazo led his men past the camp to the arched bridge and across. Wreckage was strewn for a couple miles, but the main body of the ship was mostly together. Some of Burazo’s cousins were already on site, smothering small fires with damp earth.

Burazo looked up at the massive wreck. It was a monstrosity, too big for Soza forges. A curved glass wall tilted upwards, larger than the great hall. It was not made of the reddish opaque glass made from the black sands. It was clear and reflective. 
Red light flashed from inside a crooked tear across the length of the vessel. A squealing noise echoed over and over, throbbing with the flair of the light.

“Spread out. Look for survivors.” Burazo shoved a tree branch aside and carefully stepped through the jagged opening in the ship’s hull. The whole structure was at an angle. He had to walk where the floor met the wall, stretching out his tail as a counterbalance.

He found ladder rungs and climbed upwards, emerging in a room of gigantic metal pods. As he moved forward, the structure shuddered and the floor shifted. He slid across smooth metal and slammed into a wall panel.

The panel bleated out a string of beeps, then lights began to come on. The ceiling lit up, and then the banks of pods began to glow.

Burazo crept carefully to the nearest pod. Something banged the lid from the inside of the case. “Someone in there?” He examined the controls, but the symbols made no sense. He wiped his spotted hand across the glass window and peered inside. There was a strange creature, pale and nearly hairless. Its small eyes were bulging and it mouthed as if to speak. It looked like a terrified child.

Burazo looked at the controls again. “Don’t worry, little one. I’ll get you out.” He guessed that red was dangerous and hit a glowing blue button. Air hissed and a dank odor drifted upward, smelling of pond water and spearmint. The top lifted, like a box lid.

Inside, the creature shrank back and clutched at itself with thin fingers. It chattered as its eyes darted around. Burazo cooed and whispered, “You are safe. You are alive. You are safe.”

The creature was quiet for a moment, then put one hand to its chest. “’awrenz,” it seemed to say.

Burazo nodded, guessing it was a name. He put a hand to his own chest. “Burazo.” He offered the creature a hand, and it reached out. Its thin hands were clammy and shaky. Burazo assumed from its form that it must be male. It took some effort to pull him out of the pod. Though thin, the survivor was almost the height of a young man.

The creature scurried across the floor to the control panel and hit several buttons. The screeching noise subsided. Hidden doors in the wall opened to reveal racks of towels and clothing. He grabbed a stack of towels and ran back to the other pods. He hit blue buttons and handed towels to other survivors. He cried out openly when he found bodies that would not respond. There were many.

Burazo grabbed a stack of towels and helped open pods, though his presence seemed to terrify the survivors. He lent an arm to many who could not climb out alone and directed them toward the ladder. “Out. Out now,” he said over and over again.

The survivors began calling out to each other and repeating instructions in their own language. They were small and frightened, but they were not children after all. They moved with the organization of adults. They grabbed clothing and supplies, passing them down the ladder.

Burazo opened one pod to find a sleeping female, wrapped in ebony black hair. She sighed in her sleep. Burazo lifted her out carefully, then looked around for a place to set her down. ‘awrenz ran over and helped lower her to the floor. He wrapped her in a blanket, toweled her hair and whispered to her. “Chi. I’m here.” When she woke they laughed together and hugged before they parted to help others.

~     ~     ~

Lawrence Banister was an assistant anthropologist by trade, an intern who had been lucky to gain a seat on a research vessel like the Lexicon. After the crash he played nurse for months, following Chi Ming’s instructions. A variety of illnesses swept through the colony where the crash survivors were quarantined. Two hills over, there was a quarantined village of local inhabitants. They had helped free the humans from their crashed ship but became ill themselves from human contact.

Banister spent hours tending patients at their bedsides, administering medicine and cooling fevers. He learned to help Ming in the lab, prepping and testing specimens. In the third week when Ming fell ill, Banister ran between the lab and her sick bed for days. He made himself feverish trying to keep her safe.

When Ming recovered and Lawrence was too weak to work, he wondered, delirious, up a hill and sat staring at the horizon of the new world. Water lapped at a shore in the distance. Birds spiraled in the sky, too much like vultures. Could they smell the sickness?

Lawrence watched as Captain Harding sent revolving crews to both guard and strip the carcass of the Lexicon. The ship was named for the great wealth of human knowledge it had brought with them. The captain intended to keep a tight control on that advantage.

Occasionally a figure appeared on the neighboring hill, raising a spotted hand in greeting. Lawrence waved back at Burazo and watched his tail swing from side to side. Lawrence was glad the man who had pulled him out of the wreckage had survived. When the plague passed, they would trade medicines and learn about each other. For now, Lawrence was stuck staring at a beautiful culture from a few hundred yards away. It was like being trapped in a snow globe, staring out at paradise.

~     ~     ~

Lawrence ran a hand over the smooth concave surface of the observation deck window that now adorned the Lexicon University’s grand hall. Soft music lilted overhead and a dozen couples swayed in the center of the room.

Chi Ming-Banister squeezed his arm. “It’s a celebration, not a funeral. You need to mingle.”

Lawrence smiled and kissed her forehead. “I know. I just wanted a few minutes to take it all in.”

“It’s not every day a man surpasses his mentors?”

Lawrence shook his head. “It’s not the doctorate or the tenure. It’s the fifteen years of being just outside of a goldmine of culture, staring in. There is so much we can learn here. I want to be out in the world.”

Chi’s eyes narrowed. “Just because we can finally live together without fear of the plague doesn’t mean you can just go on walk-about. There is still so much we can learn right here.”

Lawrence caught sight of Dean Meredith Brandt over Chi’s shoulder. She’d been listening. He looked back down at Chi. “We want to be useful. For you, that is in a medical lab saving lives. For me, that is in the field learning how people live their lives. I love you. That is why I wouldn’t pull you away from the hospital for anything.”

Chi let go of his arm and glared. “A guilt trip? Nice. Well, Doctor Banister, why don’t you go use those mad social skills by interacting with your own people.” Chi turned her back to him and waited a couple of seconds before walking away.

“She’s gorgeous when she’s angry.”

Meredith sighed as she stepped next to him. “And she knows it. But you didn’t have to be so hard on her.”

Lawrence shook his head. “I have to be a jerk or she won’t let me leave. If you really want me to play diplomat, she’s the one you’ll need to convince.”

Meredith nodded. “Consider it done. Now take the lady’s advice. Go mingle.” Meredith set off after Chi and Lawrence decided it would be a good time to check out the other end of the hall.

Captain Harding waved Lawrence over to the old boys club, a group of bridge crew veterans. Captain Harding patted Lawrence on the back, saying, “Glad to hear you’re on our side, son. We need an inside ear at the capital.”

Lawrence raised an eyebrow but didn’t question whose side was whose. Harding still hadn’t gotten over his us-verses-them attitude in dealing with the locals. “The Dean made an offer I couldn’t refuse and I think I can do us some good in the Eyan Capital.”

After much handshaking and compliments, Lawrence let Harding pull him away from the group. Lawrence didn’t let him get in the first word, however. “So what is concerning you about this trip, and how do you want me to proceed?”

Harding coughed out a laugh. “Well, first of all, you know not to let any of our secrets or technology out into the general public. The local culture is centuries behind us and we wouldn’t want to interrupt their natural development.”

Lawrence cringed inwardly but smiled. Harding never had attended his lectures or he would know how egocentric and wrong that entire statement was. “Of course, I will not do anything to disturb the aboriginal society. I will be there to learn, and to acquire a land deal.”

Harding nodded. “And no technology is on the table for that deal.”

Lawrence smirked. “Only the medical technology already available to the Eyan people through Market Town, which we need them to have for our own survival.”

“Ah, very good. And keep an eye on that hot-head engineer. He cannot let anything slip.”

Lawrence nodded. “Jospeph Ryan is a good man and a brilliant architect. I can’t approve a land deal without his expertise, or we would be sorely disappointed. I’ll keep him close.”

Harding snorted. “I guess you know how important…”

Harding was interrupted by a young girl tripping behind him. She fell against his leg. Harding turned with a growl and put a hand on his belt where his pistol used to sit.

The girl’s eyes grew wide and filled with tears. “Sorry sorry sorry!” she stammered.

Lawrence stepped beside Harding and reached out his hand. “It’s alright. It was an accident. Jami, isn’t it?” The girl nodded.

Harding frowned and turned away. “I told Meredith this was no place for children.”

Lawrence steered her away from Harding, glad for the chance to escape the uncomfortable politicking. “Have you seen Joe’s model of the observatory we’re going to build? Let’s go have a look.”

Jami stood on her tiptoes and strained to see the model. Joe strolled over and knelt down next to her. “How about a piggyback ride?” Jami giggled and bounced up and down. On Joe’s shoulders, she examined the observatory model from above and made it swivel in a circle.

~     ~     ~

A massive furry fist caught Lawrence’s right ear. He careened backward and crashed to the tiled floor. Blots of stars filled his vision. “It wasn’t me!” Lawrence shouted in English. A hiss of disapproval spread over the Duas Estrellas Pub from the other patrons. “Not me,” he repeated, imitating the coastal Eyan dialect. Lawrence glared at his companion. Can’t take him anywhere.

Joe Ryan dodged the burley fist of a fisherman, but slammed into the broad cotton-clad chest of an advancing gray eyan man. The eyan’s triangular ears laid back and he shoved Joe off. “Scum.” His long tail whipped back and forth.

The fisherman growled and punched Joe in the nose, sending him sprawling on the floor. The eyan bouncer, Rovi, a tribesman with a muzzled face and brilliant white fuzz, dragged Joe to his feet. Rovi pushed the fisherman away. “That’s enough, boys.” Joe held his nose, but blood slid down his face and dripped off his chin.

Lawrence’s attacker circled the oval table. “He is with you; he is your charge.”

Lawrence prepared to back away. “How could you know that?”

The towering brown eyan workman opened and closed his furry fists. “You have a thick sandy braid. He has short roan hair. Easy.”

Lawrence’s brow furrowed. Blond outranks redhead? How does that work?
 The human bouncer, Tom, blocked the angry workman’s advance and grabbed Lawrence’s shoulder. “And because you didn’t deny it,” Tom added, glaring.

Lawrence slapped himself in the head. “No, I guess I didn’t.”

The rough eyan man waved a hand at Lawrence’s slacks and brocade waistcoat, adding, “You are twice his age and twice as fancy. You should keep him straight.”

Lawrence blinked twice in confusion. Does he mean keep him in line? Yeah, that has to be it. “I can try, but it’s his first day in mixed company. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.” Mental note: status equals long braided hair, age, and style of dress. I better pay attention, if I ever make it to the capital.

Tom and Rovi dragged Lawrence and Joe to the menu platform by the door. The hostess stared icily into them, her ears flat against her head and her broad mouth a thin-pressed line. After a couple seconds, the bouncers shook their charges, rattling teeth.

Lawrence nudged Joe with his foot. “Apologize.”

Joe took in a ragged breath. “I’m sorry ma’am. I was just trying to be friendly.”

Patrons hissed and the human bartender shouted, “Yeah! That’s the problem.”

The hostess snorted, unimpressed.

Lawrence shook his head at the ground then looked up. “Joe was admiring your beauty – as a boy might. He doesn’t understand your figures of speech. He did not mean to make rude offers.” It sounded horrible, even to his ears. It was still difficult to edit out words like childlike from his vocabulary. It would make no sense, because the indigenous eyan people don’t use the l-sound. “I have to teach him better.”

The hostess’ face softened a little and her ears moved forward again. She blinked, and Lawrence realized it was the first time he’d seen any eyan blink in two minutes. The patrons relaxed and turned their attentions back to each other, human and eyan alike. It appears the show was over. “The judges will see that you do teach him better.”

Joe cringed, but Lawrence looked her in the eye and nodded. “I understand.” In Market Town, human and eyan law blended, so anyone wronged could choose to forgive or to refer the matter to a higher authority. The hostess was referring them to the courthouse. At least that’s better than Joe trying to make apologies to her father.

Tom loosened his grip and patted Lawrence’s shoulder. “Better. Now hope the judges had a nice, quiet brunch on the other side of town.” Lawrence’s insides twisted around a lead weight. It had been a three-hour boat ride to get to Market Town and another hour to sort out the cargo. He’d been starving on the walk over and he hadn’t even ordered. The hostess had been bringing them water and she’d thrown that in Joe’s face.

Tom steered Lawrence toward the door.

Rovi showed less compassion than Tom. He grabbed Joe around the waist and carried him under one arm, facing backwards. A short cheer went up at their departure. Blood drips left a trail as they strode across the street. It was only half a block to the “Admissions” door on the side of the courthouse, so named because “Jail” sounded like the Eyan word je, which meant to urinate and labeled bathrooms.

Rovi dropped Joe on the doorstep, who huffed and rubbed his backside. A couple blue-uniformed officers gestured everyone inside. The officers exchanged words with the bouncers, and then examined passports. There were no restraints for prisoners in Market Town. The two companions were simply asked to sit and wait for processing.

Joe shook his head at Lawrence. “All I said was she had pretty hands.”

Lawrence scowled, as did a very hairy brown eyan man in tattered coveralls with a nametag that said Harper. Lawrence leaned in close to Joe. “From the crowd’s reaction, I think you asked for a date, which is illegal by the way. No cross-species hanky-panky. Just stop talking to women until we understand the rules.”

Joe snorted. “Bet you can’t do better.”

Lawrence thought a moment. If he didn’t get Joe to see the fault was his, they’d both be locked up for ages… or whipped. Public beatings were a legal option too. “And what if one of those men said your sister had a small, grab-able waist?”

Joe punched Lawrence in the arm. “I’d knock ‘em out!” Harper snorted and chuckled.

Lawrence nodded. “Well, your assumptions aside, he would really mean your dad’s a poor provider. It wouldn’t be a come-on. It would be an insult to your family’s work ethic. We’re not always saying what we think we’re saying.”

Joe glowered at the floor.

Lawrence leaned over to look Joe in the face. “I think you asked that nice, respectable lady to put her hands on you.” Harper nodded agreement.

Joe kicked at the tiles. “That’s just awful.”

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

An officer walked over and handed a document and pen to Lawrence. He was being booked as “Doctor Renz Banister, Xicon University,” and Joe as “Joseph Ryan, Engineer and Assistant, Xicon University.” Lawrence looped his best signature and passed the form back to the officer.

“Well, that seals it. I’m responsible for you.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I am guiltier for your actions than you are. It also means that if you ever do anything like this again, I will reinvent duct tape.”

Joe bounced the toes of his boots off the floor. “I wouldn’t blame you.”

~     ~     ~

Suvira paced the second-floor waiting room of the courthouse, clutching her document folder in her furry fingers. Her ears laid back on her head and her amber eyes scanned the room. Three other people had been waiting longer than she, two eyan and one human, so she might not be called down today at all. She was stuck in this bland, banal, unnatural box of a room until she had her public service assignment.

One little disagreement with Justice P. Richter and she would spend the next year paying or she was nobody. It was obscene. Her mother ran the city of Frey, but she was nothing if she didn’t gain that pompous human bureaucrat’s forgiveness.

If she succeeded, she would regain her noble title and rights. If she failed, she would be paroa. She would disappear, become nothing. She could live as a homeless beggar, roam the wilds as a hermit, or commit suicide. According to Justice Richter, the humans even had a similar word for it: pariah. It was a nauseating idea to say the least, for a court-born city girl.

She’d rather join the steelworkers’ guild than beg on the street.
 An officer called Mr. K. Porter. Suvira watched his small shuffling form cross the room, as fearful of taking his punishment as Suvira felt anxious to get it started. Her tail twitched, ruffling her skirts. What odd notions humans had. Suvira mumbled out loud, “The sooner you get started, the sooner it’s over.”

Porter glanced back at her, his eyes shifting quickly. “Sure, but you’re not the one getting a thrashing.”

Suvira didn’t see what difference that would make. She would have preferred a beating and a fast cart back to a real city. This complicated frontier justice was stealing a year of her life.

~     ~     ~

Doctor Lawrence “Renz” Banister and Joseph Ryan were read their charges, which consisted of public indecency and inciting a riot. The two justices sat side by side at the front raised desk, listening intently. On the right sat the staunch, balding figure of Justice Paul Richter, former first officer of the Lexicon ship that crashed on this world fifteen years ago. On the left was the towering eyan noble Justice Lord Arror Bardor, a head and shoulders above Richter.

Bardor asked Doctor Banister to explain the situation to the court. Banister swallowed. “My assistant and I have just arrived in Market Town and are – having trouble understanding some of the customs. Mister Ryan attempted to be courteous but came across as improper and rude. He did not intend to be offensive, but what he said was offensive. Three men came after us, and two of them beat Ryan.” Banister gestured to his companion’s swollen nose. “The pub staff intervened before there was any chance of a riot.”

Justice Richter asked, “What about the offended?”

“The hostess accepted the miscommunication but asked the court to make sure that we don’t make any more offensive mistakes.”

The justices referenced their notes, flipping papers and tapping a view screen. Bardor nodded his long head several times and whispered down to Richter, who nodded back. Bardor addressed the accused. “We are taking your honesty into account. We are dropping the riot charge, but we are accepting your admission to the indecency charge. Your passports say that your destination is Nodae Eya, and if you are to be the first diplomats to represent your tribe in the heart of the Eyan Empire, you have to know the customs and expectations.” It was the first time Banister heard the humans referred to as a tribe. It was an interesting interpretation.

Justice Richter passed an index card to an officer who left through a side door. Richter addressed Banister directly. “Doctor Renz Banister, when you are past the city of Bardor, you must speak Eyan. No human tongues are to be spoken outside of the Northeast, except in private. We don’t want any more violent misunderstandings. Do you agree?”

“I do, your honor.” The purists on both sides of the human/eyan dispute had agreed on that law ten years ago. No human had gone as far south as the capital yet.

The officer returned through the side door with an eyan woman, a lean creature with golden and chocolate stripes. Her ears were up and forward as she scanned the room. When she looked over at the accused, her nose crinkled, but it was fleeting. Banister couldn’t tell if it was disgust or confusion.

Richter nodded to her and continued. “You will be assigned a guide who knows enough of the American tongue to keep you informed and safe. This is Suvira Farran, who is a respected guide with specific expertise. She knows cities, society and the inner workings of Nodae Eya. She can communicate with anyone of any caste. Her assignment is to teach you enough to keep you away from the justice courts and get your job done. We expect reports during your journey and a return within a year. Is that understood?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“Your name is now Doctor Renz Banister. Use it. Get used to it.”

“Yes, your honor.”

Lord Bardor looked down his muzzle at Suvira. “Under no circumstances are you returning without both these men. Do you understand?”

Suvira swallowed and her left ear twitched. “Yes, your honor. Our lives are in each other‘s hands. I understand.”

~     ~     ~

Suvira marched the humans from the courthouse to the open market. She led them only to Eyan vendors, determined to find out how much they already knew. Noting the annoying rumble of empty stomachs, Suvira asked Renz to buy them each a brozaferna.

Renz’s pocket translator told him he’d ordered “three goat-on-a-stick.” Accurate enough for common speech. He also asked for “three ginger club sodas.”

This told Suvira that Renz knew how to put a sentence together and had a good vocabulary, but he used literal descriptions when local jargon would be better. He should have said “three gin-clubs.”

Joe bought a hand-drawn map of the Eyan Empire to study over dinner. Joe repeated jargon as he heard it, verifying with Suvira before using them with the vendors. He still made a few mistakes.

He confused can fara, roast onions, with con forra, yellow forest rock.

The vendor laughed. “You can’t eat that, can you?”

After a stop to freshen up, Suvira led the men to the best eyan tailor in Market Town. She introduced them to the proprietor as Doctor Banister and Mister Ryan.

Master tailor Briro whispered to himself in Court Eyan as he circled Renz. “Tsk, tsk. Oh, sweet Frey, what have you sent me? That red brocade has got to go. I wouldn’t hang that in a window.” Briro looked over at Suvira. “The occasion?”

Renz answered for himself in Eyan. “We need traveling clothes to blend with the crowd, two outfits each, plus three court outfits.”

Briro’s eyebrow ridge rose as he looked down at Renz. “As the Doctor prescribes. What colors represent the tribe?”

Renz raised an eyebrow at Suvira. “Colors?”

Suvira laughed and walked over to Briro’s swatch collection. “Xicon means fire, so one of these and some coordinates.”

She brought six yellow and orange swatches over to Briro. “What do you suggest? We can’t make it golden, the royals would be livid.”

Briro held up patch after patch to Renz’s face, testing the color against his skin tone. He aimed his aside at Suvira. “They are not all this pale, true?” Survira nodded curtly. “Then no pastel or winter flower.” Briro dropped two swatches on the mottled carpet, and then placed the others in Renz’s hands. “What do you think?”

Renz held them out to Joe. “I don’t know. Is this right one too bright?”

Joe nodded, and pulled it out of Renz’s hands, tossing it on the ground with the others. “That’s obnoxious. How about that warm honey color?” Instead of gesturing to a swatch, Joe pointed out a gorgeous, bustled ball gown on the front window display.

Briro meeped and pulled Renz over to the window. He rested the dress sleeve under Renz’s chin. “Perfection! Honey-wine will be the main color.” Suvira shook her long head, smiling.

Joe chuckled and Renz glared. Joe patted his shoulder. “I got beat and carried around like a sack of potatoes. You’re respected and gorgeous. I’d trade you any day.”

After an hour of color matching and measurements, Suvira edged closer to the door. She thought Renz saw the hint but he had other ideas. “Thank you, Briro. You are a treasure. Could you do us one more great favor?”

Briro’s ears twitched at the compliment, and he nodded. “What does the Doctor require?”

“Suvira will be traveling with us. Can you make sure she is well-attired?”

Briro glanced at Suvira then nodded again. “Frey-Farran’s measurements and colors are on file. I will make her some traveling clothes and something stunning as well. You can return for fittings in three days.

Suvira glared but said nothing. She had canceled her order after she’d been convicted. Now Briro could finish the pieces she’d wanted and charge full price. He was a brilliant opportunist, that’s why he worked in Market Town. It was the only place where the Eyan and Human markets met and the economy was booming. At least now Briro owed her a favor for bringing new business. Favors were always the best currency.

After the tailor, Suvira walked with Renz and Joe west through the market, past a baker, butcher, and printer on the south side of the road and masses of ornamental goods in stalls to the north. The Fisherman’s Friend hotel took up the whole west end of the market. The huge four-story rectangle boasted a mural of dancing fish across the full front exterior. Fishermen’s wives had planned and executed the mural without the hotel’s permission, to break up the unnaturally straight lines which made their husbands nauseated and irritable. The hotel called it graffiti, but the judges called it exceptional art and a public service. The hotel paid the women for their work.

The square lobby stood within the center of the larger rectangle, but to Suvira’s relief the space was broken up with clusters of tables and chairs in a variety of curved shapes. Spacers hung with tasseled linens provided privacy. Sturdy chairs with high backs, padded benches, stools, and leather bags filled with dried peas congregated in a variety of combinations.

Renz approached the counter, smiling at the desk attendant. “Evening. I’m Doctor Banister from the University, checking in. Please make adjustments, as Joe and I need to share and Suvira here must take the second room.”

The attendant smiled blandly at Suvira, and asked, “Do you have your papers?”

Suvira placed her passport on the counter, facing the attendant. He seemed to read carefully at first but was easily satisfied. “Thank you, Ms. Farran.” Suvira cringed at the new title. “Your rooms will be ready in half an hour.”

“Very good. Thank you.” Renz picked up a couple of pieces of stationary and a pen from the counter and headed for a high-backed chair. Suvira followed, taking a nearby bench where she could arrange her skirts and avoid a kink in her tail. Joe lounged in one of the floppy chairs which formed to fit him and gingerly felt the bridge of his nose.

Renz sent a note to the trader ship Siren Song for their bags. He wrote his second letter slowly and with his pen tapping his knee.

To: Meredith Brandt, Dean of Arts and Sciences
 From: Doctor Lawrence “Renz” Banister, Observatory Project

 Joseph Ryan and I have arrived safely in Market Town. We have secured rooms and ordered the necessary supplies. We will study the map and plan our route this evening, and we will continue our journey at the end of the week. 

After a miscommunication on our part due to cultural differences, we acquired the services of a guide and language specialist who will accompany us on our journey to and from the capital city of Nodae Eya. We have already begun instruction and have dealt directly with local Eyan vendors. I will acquire a second journal for notes on language, so I can share a broader understanding of Eyan communications and culture at the University upon my return.

I expect to be back in Market Town in a few months with a greater understanding of the politics of this nation and the steps we will need to secure a land deal. I will write again when we are underway.

Renz explained to Suvira in halting Eyan, “The letter is to Doctor Meredith Brandt, who sent us on this grand adventure. She offered additional funding and tenure, in exchange for a signed land deal. If we want our University jobs, we have to acquire land in the Soza Mountains, for the construction of an observatory.”

Suvira’s brow furrowed. “Soza Province is full of settled refugees, displaced by the landing. Many still remember the losses of homes and lives caused by your tribe. One in four died of the human sickness. Can you convince Soza to give up land?”

Renz’s eyes brimmed with tears. “We lost just as many to the landing sickness. I can make a deal, but only when I know what they want in return."