Bud Sparhawk - Sam Boone's Appeal to Common Scents

At issue, as best as Sam could determine, given the ambiguities and difficulties in converting their aromatic languages to Glax, was that the Scrofulosans stated a prior claim to this planet while the Mephitisites said they had bought settlement rights for their colony fair and square. Both sides contended that the other was being unreasonable.

According to his universal handbook, another item Ahbbbb charged him dearly for, the Mephitisites were well known for sharp trading, planetary redevelopment, and rather catholic palates. Their single, alleged character flaw was an occasional alleged genocide, but, the handbook said in a tiny footnote, only on the outer fringes of the Hegemony, only when no officer of the Court was nearby, and only where proof of what they had done was never possible, largely because of the singular lack of living witnesses, particularly among the genocides.

The Scrofulosans were, as Sam began to understand, a prolific species that was obviously as long on dumb as they were short on deodorant. Some of their ancestors had ceded a portion of the planet away to the Mephitisites for a handful of Galactic beads and twenty Glax credits. Their descendants now regretted the bargain and wanted the Mephitisites off their planet.

Through the Rix, Sslowa, he had learned that the Mephitisite delegation also had a rather nasty habit that didn’t make the guidebooks. On occasion they would eat one of their number, usually the current Speaker. In between times they simply nibbled on one another. It was a slug thing, the Rix said, he probably wouldn’t understand. Sam assumed that their appetites might make continuity of negotiations somewhat difficult—it would be hard for him to establish more than a temporary relationship with a Speaker who was also a potential entree.

Fluthth, the Mephitisite Speaker du jour, started the first series of sessions with a lengthy, stomach-turning, and loud belch of redolent gas that would have rattled the windows, had there been any in this underground burrow. Apparently Flatula was one of the more personable, polite, and relatively clean-speaking members of their group. Sam could barely bear to be near the other Mephitisites as they ranted on and on about the rights they had legally purchased, so vile was the smell of their outpourings.

Sslowa, who had appointed itself as Sam’s unofficial aide-de-camp, would softly explain whatever nuances his complicated machine missed. The Rix, through long association with both races, was able to suggest meanings that Sam’s translator could not.

Offal/taint-of-mustard, as leader of the Scrofulosans, would always wait until Fluthth was finished before clicking her mandibles and squirting the haze of chemical mist that explained the Scrofulosan point of view. The windy flatulence of the Mephitisite delegation, combined with the odors produced by the Scrofulosans, usually left the negotiation room smelling like an open sewer.

Sam frequently had to excuse himself to get some fresh air. In the dank Scrofulosan city such “fresh air” was any atmosphere having a hydrogen sulfide and methane concentration somewhat less than lethal to humans, but thankfully absent of the many other unpleasant congeners that made the negotiations so difficult to bear.

“What is wrong?” Sam asked Sslovva during one of the breaks several days later. “You don’t seem to be your normal, chipper self today.”

Click, Sslowa started to reply slowly. “It is Sslinno, one of the engineers, Earth-Sam. He has been sounding very nice lately. I am starting to think that it is no accident that I find his melody so pleasing.”

Sam smiled. Even here in the depths of the galactic, dark love or lust managed to rear its pretty head, or whatever the local equivalent was. Although how the Rix told each other apart was something he had not determined. As far as he could tell, all of the Rix were alike as peas in a pod. It was, however a surprise to find out that Sslovva was female. “Hey, go for it,” he advised with a smile.

“Do you think so?” the Rix replied. “I mean, it is such a dangerous step. I’d hate to be wrong in my assumption. I would like to live out my normal lifespan.”

Dangerous? “Why, is your admirer married to someone who might be jealous?” Sam asked. “I mean, flirting is one thing, but messing around with someone who is…”

“What is ‘married’?” Sslowa interrupted with a puzzled note in its clicking. As Sam painstakingly explained the honored Earthly practice and what it meant, the little Rix began leaping around the corridor, bouncing off the walls at all angles. Clickedy-clickedy. Cl! ICK; “Heh, heh, heh. That is the damnedest thing I have ever heard! Wait until I tell the others about this, they won’t believe me! Scatter’s children, but you Earth beings are weird! ”

“If that isn’t a problem,” Sam continued haughtily, trying to preserve some dignity by ignoring the alien’s laughing dance, “then why did you say it was so dangerous?”

Sslowa settled down. “Ah, it is dangerous because I am not completely certain that Sslinno is a male,” she responded. “If I make myself vulnerable to his tune and HE is not what HE seems then SHE will kill me.”

“Whoa. Why would he, or she, or whatever,” he added just to be sure, “make eyes at you otherwise?” Deep inside he wondered if some aliens could be… naw, it wasn’t possible.

“Is the way we mate,” Sslowa responded. “Males attract females by making their melody pleasing. But when we become female we sometimes make our melody pleasing to other females to lure them unknowingly to a vulnerable position where we can attack with deadly force. It reduces the competition.”

“But,” Sam sputtered, “would someone on your engineering team actually kill you? I mean, isn’t that just a tiny bit counterproductive?”

The Rix stood on its back legs and scratched at its thorax. “Do you think so? Hmmm, perhaps I should talk to my teammates about that aspect. Maybe that is why we have become so few in number these past years.”

Sam suddenly began to have doubts about the intelligence of this particular race and then shrugged. It didn’t matter—after all, they were just engineers. “Well, what are you going to do?” he asked.

“I will do the only sensible thing that I can, Earth-Sam. I will make a male melody pleasing to Sslinno. Then, if SHE responds it is I who will be the victor. I will then have whatever males remain for myself!” The Rix hopped off with a final Clickedy-click; “Thank you for the help, Earth-Sam. Thank you. I will ‘go for it!’ as you say.”

Sam was speechless. Maybe he’d better keep his mouth shut until he learned the customs. No telling what trouble he might cause otherwise.

Whooosh-phlaat, ka-blooie; “I despair of ever reaching an agreement with these stupid aliens,” Flatula remarked during a breather in the discussions.

Sam had tried to find someplace where he could be by himself for a few moments, a nearly impossible task given the continual and pervasive presence of the Scrofulosans who swarmed everywhere, crawling over each other like ants. Despite that, he did manage to find an alcove where blissful solitude reigned for a few moments, until Flatula entered on a cushion of fetid air.

“There must be some basis for agreement,” Sam responded carefully, not certain of which delicate nuances he was missing this far from Sslowa’s help. “They will come around, just as you must alter your, er, stance. That is the way that accord is achieved.”

“One must be ever careful with these lesser races,” the Mephitisite continued. “They are so ignorant of the proper ways of commerce. So poor, too poor to properly treat a frowlzing being such as yourself in the manner appropriate to its taste. I assure you that we would not be so impolite, were we but given the chance.”