W. Thompson - Touchdown, Touchdown, Rah, Rah, Rah!

“A human player,” Zelk said. The dean of Vrekle University sniffed thoughtfully as she read the papers Ray Bennett had put on her desk. Ray thought she looked puzzled; her dark muzzle had grown more wrinkled than before. “Coming to Kya, this student’s main desire is to play bagdrag?”

“It’s not his only reason for coming here,” Ray told her. “Richard Faber is majoring in education. He wants to extend his studies to include some nonhuman educational techniques.”

“Yes, his letter mentions that.” The dean stood up and walked over to her office window. It was late summer on this part of Kya, and a warm breeze brought a scent like cinnamon through the glassless window. Ray enjoyed it, although he knew it had a greater impact on Dean Zelk; the kya had an exquisite sense of smell. “Representing him, what can you tell me about him?” she asked, as she idly stroked at the thick fur on one forearm.

“He’s just finished his second year at Colorado State,” Ray said. “His scholastic record is good. He’s a star football player. I guess he wants to branch out into new sports.”

“Vutebowl ?” The dean shrugged her furry shoulders at the alien word. “Hearing this, I take it you don’t know him personally?”

“That’s correct,” Ray said. He squirmed a bit on his stool. The kya were basically humanoid, but there were enough differences in their anatomy to make their furniture awkward for humans. “I’m a business agent. Faber and some other humans contacted me through my office on Earth, and asked me to help him enroll in a good Kya university.” He decided not to mention that the “office” was a post-office box in New Jersey. He wanted to give the impression that he was a successful businessman, not a misplaced linguist who had blundered into a new profession.

Zelk’s floppy ears twitched in interest. “Would these other humans be his family?”

Ray shook his head. “No, they’re the Galactic Sports Network. GSN is offering to pay all of Faber’s expenses, on two conditions. One is that he plays on your bagdrag team. The second is that the network gets to purchase the off-world broadcast rights to your team’s games this year. They’re offering a very generous payment for those rights,” Ray added. Generous, indeed, he thought. His mouth had watered when he had heard GSN’s offer; his 10 percent of the deal would make him well-to-do, if not wealthy.

“I get the scent,” Zelk said. Technologically, Kya was a century or so behind Earth, with machines and industries similar to those of the 1930s. In other areas the kya were as sophisticated as humans—and the scent Zelk had was money for her institution. “Exactly what terms do you have in mind?”

The phone woke Ray the next morning. “Glargh,” Ray said. “Hroo’izhit?”

“Mr. Bennett?” a doubtful kya voice asked. “Zgorch Aerodrome calling.”

“Ghuh?” Ray sat up, tried to work the gummy taste out of his mouth, and looked at the phone. There was no image over the plate, which meant the caller was using a local voice-only phone. “What’s the problem?” Ray asked in Wideplain, the local kya language.

“The Stanley Weinbaum is landing in a few hours,” the caller said. “Being so, you’re scheduled to meet a passenger, a—” paper rustled “—a Reek Hard Vapor?”

“You mean Richard Faber?” Ray asked. He shook his head. “Impossible. He isn’t due for another, uh, forty or so days.”

Somehow the caller made Ray picture a shrug. “Having just received the Weinbaum’s passenger manifest. I can tell you he’s on board. His shuttle lands in an hour.”

“I see,” Ray said. “Thanks for calling. I’ll be down in a while.”

Ray bathed and dressed. He had signed the contract with Zelk last night, then called the network to let them know they had a deal. The Earth-Kya trip took six weeks—well, the network must have assumed that Ray would successfully complete his negotiations, and set things in motion months ago. That was a dangerous assumption, he reminded himself. The kya might have turned down the deal; offers that seemed good to humans sometimes struck them as atrociously unfair. In a dozen years of interstellar exploration humanity had met no other alien races beyond the kya, and in consequence humans had little practice in dealing with outworlders.

Ray took an alcohol-fueled cab to the Zgorch airport. The airport was a busy place, with winged, propeller-driven vehicles buzzing over and along its concrete runways and hangars. As the cab dropped him off at the terminal he saw signs of human presence at the airport. The control tower had been fitted out with microwave radar and navigational aids, and one of the aircraft on the main taxiway sported repulsors instead of wings and props. Inside the terminal, scores of furry kya moved through the lobby while hidden loudspeakers oozed anesthetically-soft music into the air. The kya, Ray thought, were never going to forgive humanity for teaching them about Muzak.

“Mr. Bennett?” a woman said from behind him.

Ray turned around and saw the scrawniest human he had ever met. At least she had a full head of dark brown hair; the current Mohican style would have intensified her skeletal look. He guessed she was anorexic. “Elizabeth Sheffield,” she said, greeting him with a kya-style bow. “I’m from the HSA at Vrekle U.”

“The HSA?” he asked, returning the bow.

“The Human Students Association,” Eizabeth said. “We like to meet new students as soon as they land. It helps to avoid problems with newcomers.”

“You’re a student?” Ray asked her.

“A teacher and a student,” she said. “I teach a class in human history, and I’m taking classes in kya history—I’m working on a doctoral degree in comparative history. Do you know where the cafeteria is?” she added.

“Down that way,” Ray said, pointing across the lobby. “Why?”

“I didn’t have the time for breakfast.” Elizabeth checked her watch. “The shuttle isn’t due for a half-hour, so—”

“You can’t eat here,” Ray said. He had skipped breakfast as well, a necessity he now regretted. “The cafeteria doesn’t have human-type food.”

“I brought my pills.” Elizabeth patted her vest pocket, then gave Ray a puzzled look. “Enzyme pills, and you don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

“No, I don’t,” Ray admitted, as they walked towards the airport cafeteria. “You mean they’ve found a way for us to eat local food without poisoning ourselves?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “It was a UN project. The enzymes break down Kya proteins and carbohydrates into substances our bodies can use, and neutralize whatever doesn’t fit our metabolisms. It costs less than importing our meals from Earth.”

“That’s probably why the UN didn’t tell me,” Ray said in irritation. His grocery bill ate up a respectable chunk of his income. “I’m not exactly in good odor at the embassy.”

“They can be petty,” Elizabeth said. They entered the cafeteria, where a young kya worked behind a long buffet table. “The stripleaf salad smells great,” Elizabeth told her, switching to Wideplain.

“It’s fresh from Sglunk Valley,” the server said, taking a deep, happy sniff.

“You don’t get that sweet scent anywhere else! Double serving?”

Elizabeth nodded. “We’ll have some tangleberry juice, too, please.”

“Separate plates and glasses, please,” Ray added. The kya carried communal living too far for his tastes.