Paula Robinson: The Gift

“Apparently they were wrong,” the captain whispered. “Look at him.”

Indeed, Seven Tentacles With Spots looked different. Although he wasn’t coughing or sneezing, his skin was covered with a thick sheen of mucus.

“Yecch,” Max said involuntarily.

“You are given one-half hour to provide a cure before we begin aggressive measures,” Seven Tentacles With Spots concluded. With that his eye stalks lengthened—a sign of anger, Max guessed—and the screen went blank.

“The med staff says it’ll take them at least two days to figure out how to cure a Segoori,” the captain said. “I called their ship, but the minute I said we needed their help they got nasty and hung up.”

“Sounds like they don’t like the virus any more than I do,” Max mumbled.

The computer interrupted their conversation by announcing that the Segoori ship was armed.

“I hope you can get us out of this,”

the captain said hoarsely.

Max responded by swearing quietly. He suddenly realized how grossly unprepared he was. All mankind knew about the Segoori, really, was what the Segoori had told them—and obviously that wasn’t enough.

The captain stared at Max. “What now?”

Max coughed and cleared his throat. “I don’t know.”

“We can’t fight them. Hell, I don’t even know how half of their stuff works. ”

“Can we outrun them?”

“Not with their interdimensional drive.”

Max wiped his nose. “Then pray.”

The half-hour deadline arrived and passed without the threatened attack. Max and the captain were debating what to try next when Seven Tentacles With Spots suddenly appeared on the vid.

The Segoori’s skin had become smooth and moist. The patches of dead skin were gone, replaced by a sleek, healthy-looking sheen. Seven Tentacles With Spots’s eye stalks now curved slightly—a sign of pleasure, the notes had said—and his manner was much less tense.

Max began to speak, but Seven Tentacles With Spots interrupted.

“I must commend you, Max Douglas, for your excellent gift.”

Max’s brows knit. “Eh, you’re welcome, Seven Tentacles With Spots, but—”

“You must excuse our earlier transmissions. We did not then realize that the virus was a pre-negotiative offering.” The Segoori’s eye stalks bent a little more. “We had been unable to find a suitable drug to increase our mucus secretions. Using a virus to do so is quite clever. We are deeply grateful for the relief.” His eye stalks were now nearly bent double. “I hope you will allow me and several of my companions to come onboard.”

“Uh, sure,” Max stammered.

“We would be grateful if you could provide us with a supply of the virus.” Seven Tentacles With Spots paused. “My companions are eager to be infected. May we come over now?”

“Yes,” Max said, managing to rush the word out ahead of a string of sneezes.

“Excellent.” Several other Segoori appeared behind Seven Tentacles With Spots, their skins still peeling and dry. “We will see you soon, then.”

As the screen went blank Max looked to the captain, whose mouth was still open in surprise.

“I’ll need a supply of cold viruses,” he said. “Real ones. The kind that make you sick.”

The captain nodded dumbly. Realizing his mouth was still open, he shut it, then blinked. “I guess I should go greet them for you.”

“Please do,” Max said, a smile—his first since he’d developed the cold—tugging at his lips. It seemed that the negotiations were going to be much easier now. “I’ll be along after I speak with the med staff.”

With that, Max Douglas grabbed a tissue and ran to the hallway, fervently blessing his runny nose.