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“That is an easy question. We have
a hierarchy of ways of dying. Active ways of dying are desirable—the expression
is that they allow you to die while running. Methods that render you passive,
such as poison or illness, are not desirable but are instead shameful.”

“What about dying of old age?”

“That is necessary for life.”

“Thank you. With our people, there
is an objection to people dying young, and dying of old age is considered
preferable. Please ask your questions.”

“My first question is: Do you ever
function as a security expert?”

“No,” said Philippe. “I never
function as a security expert; I am always a diplomat. I was a diplomat on Earth
before I came here, and when I finish my service on this station, I will return
to Earth and be a diplomat there.”

“That is different,” said Brave
Loyalty. “On my planet, when we finish our service here, we are expected to
provide security to the Cyclopes in order to demonstrate our continued
loyalty.”

Philippe smiled. He had answered
his own question in hopes that the Cyclops would follow his example, and Brave
Loyalty had.

“My second question is, how many
languages are there on Earth?” the Cyclops asked

Philippe thought for a moment. “You
are going to be disappointed in me, because I do not know an exact answer. A
few thousand, I would estimate.”

“That is remarkable. We once had
multiple languages, but that was long ago,” said the Cyclops. “Now we all only
speak one language, the language.”

“There are fewer languages on Earth
now than there once were,” said Philippe. “Most people on Earth speak two well:
The language on our translators, and another language. But as more people speak
the language on our translators well, the fewer choose to learn another
language.”

“I want to very much,” he said.
“The Cyclopes seem to speak within the range of my hearing. Perhaps you should
try to teach me your language, if that is not too much of an imposition.”

Brave Loyalty stared at him for a
minute.

“Of course I understand if you do
not have the time,” Philippe continued, wondering if he had said something
offensive. “I would not wish to inconvenience you in any way.”

“I would be emphatically pleased to
help you,” said the Cyclops. “It would help ease the sense of shame I feel as a
result of your attack.”

“With your people, when you see a
competitive event, must you participate? Must you try to win it? Are you
capable of choosing to not participate?”

Philippe thought for a moment. “I
think all humans are competitive, or can be competitive. But I think it would
depend on the event—whether it looked enjoyable—or what the prize was.”

“I understand,” said Brave Loyalty.
“Our people would participate and try to win, in all cases. That is the only
permissible course of action for a Cyclops, it is said. One never decides not
to participate. One always competes. To compete is what one wants to do during
the entire time one is alive.”

“I think that there is a
competitive instinct innate in all beings, certainly in all humans,” said
Philippe. “But there is also culture and civilization. The competitive urge can
be reined in, turned away from destructive channels and into productive and
peaceful ones. I realize that I am new to this station and know little of the
people who live here, but when I see the Hosts and the Swimmers, I think that
these are people who have controlled their competitive urges and embraced
cooperation.”

“I cannot agree with that
evaluation,” said Brave Loyalty. “The Hosts and the Swimmers do not believe
that they do not have to compete. They believe that they have won the
competition.”

“Is that why Limitless Sacrifice
was in the Hosts’—” A noise outside the door interrupted Philippe’s question.

Shanti opened it. “Your friend is
back,” she said, letting in Endless Courage, who was carrying a gold tube a
little less than a meter long. She stepped in after him, alert.

“I am sorry to have taken so long,”
he said.

“It was no trouble at all,” said
Philippe, silently wishing that the alien had taken even longer. “How generous
of you to give me a gift.”

“This is a traditional gift among
the Cyclopes to one who has been wrongfully attacked,” said Endless Courage.

Raoul stepped over to Philippe’s
bed. Glaring at Feo, he swung down a tray from the ceiling. Endless Courage
placed the gift on the tray.

“He would not know how to open it,”
remarked Brave Loyalty.

“I will do it,” said Endless
Courage, pinching and pulling the package until the gold covering lost its
stiffness and fell open.

Inside was a long, thin, gray-brown
object. The end of it branched into six curling fingers. It had a shiny but
textured surface, like someone had lacquered a short-hair dog.

The meetings with the Hosts and the Swimmer drone went
roughly as expected, with Philippe delivering the message of continued
friendliness and the Hosts and Swimmers delivering apologies aplenty.

“Has this happened before?” asked
Philippe, during his meeting with the Hosts.

“On occasion there are
disagreements that result in violence,” said Max. “They are not common,
especially not between members of different people.”

“They are great failures on our
part,” said a visibly agitated Moritz. “Once we finish this conversation, I
will immediately go to the portal in hopes that contemplating it will assist me
in discerning how our people failed both the humans and the Cyclopes at this
time.”

Philippe didn’t quite know what to
say to that, so he changed the subject. “Do you know what Limitless Sacrifice
was trying to steal?”

“The merchant who discovered him in
his living quarters says that nothing was taken,” said Moritz. “I do not know
if I consider his account reliable, however.”

“Moritz,” said Max, suddenly
looking exasperated.

“You think that something
was
taken?” asked Philippe.

“That part of the account I have no
reason to not believe,” said Moritz. “But I think the merchant might have done
something or said something that made the Cyclops violent.”

Philippe was bracing for another
argument between the two when Max’s attention was suddenly caught by something.
He walked over to the isolation unit, where the doctor had place the Cyclopes
gift, covered by its erstwhile packaging.

“Among the Cyclopes, they are often
speaking of hands that were cut off either the living or the dead and handed to
the wronged party after an offense,” said Max. “It is comical.”

“Either they are invented tales, or
the Cyclopes can re-grow their hands and the removal of their hands is not a
traumatic operation,” said Moritz. “I have never seen a Cyclops on the station
without hands, and they rotate their staff through here at a rapid rate.”

“I am so pleased that you are
willing to share your insights with me, especially considering how new I am to
this station,” Philippe said.

And what he thought was:
Naive
children. You have no idea.

Chapter 11

Philippe was soon out of the infirmary, and the next several
weeks went by in a blur.

First, he had official meetings
with the Cyclopes and the Pincushions in their living areas, as well as a
meeting with the Blobbos in the common area.

The meetings were about what he
expected: the Cyclopes and Blobbos were painfully polite, and both species held
the type of meeting where no one could possibly be offended because nothing of
substance was said. While Philippe wasn’t allowed to see the Blobbos’ living
area, that of the Cyclopes was quite warm and incredibly humid—Philippe
couldn’t help but wonder whether the walls had been painted their dark brown color
or had grown it.

The meeting with the Pincushions
was a much more casual, even chaotic, affair, held in a living area that was
the temperature of the inside of a meat locker. A large group of Pincushions
attended, and there was no one Pincushion who appeared to be in charge.
Philippe got the impression that only long experience with the limitations of
translation technology kept them from all speaking at once. During the meeting
the Pincushions expressed surprise that the mighty Scaled One did not kill
Philippe’s attacker, explained that they were lured to the station by curiosity
and the promise of lucrative trade in rare alien products, and casually held an
orgy.

In addition, Philippe had an
emergency meeting with the Snake Boys, thanks to an utterly stupid incident. A
Snake Boy, inspired by tales of Ofay, had decided that he wanted to try walking
on his hands. Some of the SFers were reckless enough to help, flipping the
alien over only for all to discover that the Snake Boys’ arms were never meant to
bear the weight of their bodies. Fortunately the Snake Boy was expected to
recover from his injuries, and his people readily agreed that the folly was
equal on both sides. Indeed, Philippe’s meeting with the Snake Boys was far
more genial than the one Shanti had with the offending SFers.

The Hosts were never able to set up
formal meetings with the White Spiders or the Magic Man, but Philippe ran into
the latter several times after the attack. The Magic Man was almost always in
human shape or would take human shape as soon as he saw Philippe, and he seemed
much more willing to talk than before. Conversation was still extremely
difficult, but it was gratifying that the Magic Man at least seemed to want it.

The Magic Man’s ability to
dematerialize fascinated the Union brass, and Shanti was amused to no end by a
suggestion by someone fairly high up in Union Intelligence that her soldiers
capture the Magic Man for study. She sent back an obscenity- and insult-laden
message (composed in front of Philippe, who fruitlessly pointed out that people
in the UI were probably not accustomed to the direct casualness of the SF)
explaining that kidnapping was contrary to their mission and requesting
suggestions for how best to capture a creature that could vanish and reappear
at will.