Paula Robinson: The Maze

Illustration by Ron Chironna

“Seven Tentacles With Spots! What a pleasure.”

Diplomat Max Douglas ran a trembling hand through his dark, curly hair. Then he smiled warmly at the Segoori on the holophone. While not pretty—the Segoori looked like unshelled snails with a touch of octopus—Seven Tentacles With Spots was something of a friend as well as a diplomatic connection. Although neither species seemed to know much about the other yet, fledgling relations between man and the technologically superior Segoori were good. Max was all too aware of the value of Seven Tentacles With Spots’s friendship.

“It is pleasant to speak with you, Max Douglas,” the Segoori replied, eyestalks bending in the Segoori equivalent of a smile. “I call to invite you to a…” The Segoori seemed to search for a word. “…Birthday party.”

Max’s brows knit, but he quickly unraveled them and forced another smile. Earlier dealings with Seven Tentacles With Spots had taught him that social interactions with the Segoori could be unpredictable, even hazardous. Still, Max realized, it was his job to handle these things.

“I would be delighted to come,” he said as cheerfully as possible.

Seven Tentacles With Spots’s eyestalks bent further. “It is good that you will attend, Max Douglas. The party will occur on our ship tomorrow at 2:00 P.m. by your units. I expect you will bring a mate?”

Max blinked. “An escort, you mean?”

“Yes. A female escort.” The word was obviously new to Seven Tentacles With Spots.

“Certainly. I and my escort will attend your party tomorrow.”

The Segoori nodded, a human gesture for Max’s benefit, and moved to sign off. “I and my many guests will look forward to seeing the two of you mate. It will provide a most interesting novelty. We have not yet studied your reproductive behavior.”

The screen went blank before a horrified Max could shout, “What?”

He should have known better than to accept Seven Tentacles With Spots’s invitation before he understood its implications. But then again, refusing or hedging might have insulted his Segoori friend.

Pacing a long and rarely-used corridor, Max tried to decide what to do. He hadn’t even thought of whom to ask to the party. Now he couldn’t imagine any woman on the ship who would agree to go.

With one possible exception.

He went back to his room. “Sharon Frye,” he told his computer, and soon the ship’s xenopsychologist appeared on the screen.

“I have a big problem,” Max told her. “With the Segoori.”

“The Segoori? Oh, no,” she said, putting a slender hand to her dark-honey hair. “Not after last time.”

Max chuckled. He’d unintentionally given Seven Tentacles With Spots a bad cold during their initial meeting. The incident nearly caused an interspecies war. However, since the resulting mucus secretions had lubricated dry Segoori skin, Seven Tentacles With Spots had then interpreted the virus as a thoughtful gift, and human-Segoori relations had improved as a direct result.

“Yes, again,” he sighed, and explained the current situation.

Sharon whistled. “The Segoori keep things interesting. What do you plan to do?”

“I was hoping you could suggest something.” Max stared at her attractive image and felt his skin flush. He hoped it wouldn’t show on the screen. “You’re the expert.”

“Maybe, but we still don’t have much to go on. The Segoori aren’t in a hurry to tell us about themselves, and from what I’ve noticed, they aren’t studying our data any too fast, either.” She pouted thoughtfully. “I’m amazed they haven’t researched our sex lives, though. You’d think they’d at least be curious.”

“Apparently they are, but not as academically as we’d prefer.”

She laughed. “Which presents us with a problem. I assume you want me to come along?”

Max exhaled with relief. So she would go with him. But his nerves quickly retensed. “I just don’t know what to do if Seven Tentacles With Spots insists we, uh…”

“I know.” She laughed nervously. “We’ll just have to figure something out.” Pause. “I don’t suppose you know anything about Segoori reproduction?”

Max shook his head sadly. “The records they gave us don’t even mention it.”

“Delightful.” She sighed. “Oh, well. I suppose a diplomat and an alien shrink ought to be able to keep things from exploding.”

“I sure hope so. And, please, thanks.” He smiled dubiously and held up a diskette. “I’ll send you a copy of the call.”

“Good. I’ll talk with you later, then,” she said, and signed off.

The shuttle ride to the Segoori ship was awkward. Sharon wore a sapphire gown accented by glittering jewelry while Max sported his best tuxedo.

Neither had the least idea of how to handle Seven Tentacles With Spots’s expectations.

“If we improvise something, then they may be insulted later when they finally look up the facts,” Max said to break the silence. “Maybe we—”

“You’re not suggesting that we actually…?”

“No! I wouldn’t presume.” He had no doubt that she could tell he was blushing; even his hands were red. Sharon was quite a desirable woman, but until recently he had thought of her as simply a colleague. He found the change of perspective unsettling.

She relaxed slightly. A small, tense chuckle escaped as she said, “Look, I know this is a difficult situation, so I want you to understand. Unless we absolutely must to avoid a war I’d rather not, er, you know. It isn’t that you’re unattractive, and you’re very nice—”

“I know. Same here.” Max smiled understandingly while his face burned furiously. He thought he detected the beginning of a similar blush in her lace. He hoped that was good.

They settled back into their seats and pretended to relax for a moment, until Max caught her gaze and they both burst into laughter.

“What we won’t do to keep the aliens happy,” she sighed dryly.

Helplessly, they laughed until their stomachs hurt.

Fortunately for Max and Sharon, all the guests at the Segoori party wore personal translation units. Also to their benefit was the fact that most Segoori food was toxic to humans. They were glad to avoid many wiggling, foul-smelling mouthfuls.

Max noted with further relief that no exchange of gifts seemed expected. He wasn’t sure that the artwork and gemstones he’d brought in the shuttle would have been considered appropriate. Then again, he was never sure what, if anything, was appropriate to the Segoori. Giving gifts to fellow human beings was chancy enough; giving presents to aliens who seemed uninterested in understanding human motives was dangerous. So much depended on luck.

His relief was shattered when Seven Tentacles With Spots loudly announced his and Sharon’s presence. The Segoori guests hushed and quickly gathered nearby. Apparently their host had informed them of the expected mating, and they were eager to witness it.

This time, when Max looked at Sharon, there was no question that she was blushing.

Eyestalks bent, Seven Tentacles With Spots slithered beside Max. “We are honored that you and your escort will mate for us,” he said. “Please proceed.”

Sharon’s eyes widened and her skin lightened several shades. When she cleared her throat all she could manage was, “Mate? Wha, what, exactly, do you mean, honored host?” Several Segoori glanced curiously at each other, then at their translation units.