Fineprint

"So even your international politics reflect the pack structure?"

"They do, yes. There was a great war which Elysia won under the leadership of Tark Elysiedde, the first Patriarch of Elysia. He led his tribe in the conquest of this territory and defeated three other tribes in the process. One was exiled into the desert, the others were inducted. The scene of the final battle is depicted on the tapestry in your office, which dates from that period."

Incredible, he had the equivalent of the Bayeux Tapestry on his office wall. That explained the relative crudeness of the art.

"The ships that he bought serve no purpose," Xhe continued. "They are used only for boasting, to demonstrate the wealth and modernity of Elysia to the other territories, although they pose her no threat."

Dennis nodded, he had read about many dictators of Earth's past who had done similar things. Saddam Hussein, Kim Jong Il, Idi Amin. That was not to say that the Patriarch was a dictator, but it was a worrying correlation. Could such an underdeveloped planet even afford to fuel the ships, or have the training to staff them? He doubted it.

The computer had finished its diagnostic, all systems were operable. The only anomaly was higher than optimal system temperature, but that couldn't be helped.

"I think I'll take the Patriarch's advice," Dennis said. "You are dismissed Xhe, please return tomorrow morning at your earliest convenience. I'm going to rest for a while."

"I live in the embassy now," she said, "I have my own room down the hall."

"Oh, fair enough. I'll see you tomorrow then?"

She nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her. It was unusual, on Earth being a secretary was just a job like any other, but it seemed that Xhe had been groomed for the role and had undergone extensive training. It had become her life, and he didn't know how he felt about that.

***

The next day was rather uneventful. Dennis got as much rest as he could and then attempted to train himself by walking up and down the marble hall under the crushing gravity. Once he got tired of that, he communicated with his superiors via the console, telling them of his progress and the difficulties he had encountered thus far. When he questioned their forthcoming in telling him about the details of the assignment, they simply didn't respond.

He examined the Borealis Tourist Guide, trying to familiarize himself with the culture and customs as best as he was able. He felt uncomfortable asking Xhe about it, and he was unable to retrieve data from the console due to the great distance between UNN space and Borealis. Although the satellites were capable of FTL communication, the size of the packets that they could send and receive was limited to small communiques akin to the telegrams of yore. The little booklet that the pilot had given him was the best source of information available right now.

It had sections on Borealan culture, society, history, the environment, and even local food culture.

After a trying jog up and down the hall, he leafed through the section experimentally as he sat in one of the chairs and panted like an exhausted dog. There was a crude cartoon of a Borealan shoving a T-bone steak into its mouth.

There was a lot of information here compared to some of the other sections. It seemed the Borealans were very enthusiastic about their culinary arts and enjoyed sharing them, perhaps a throwback to their pack animal ancestors sharing a fresh kill like a pride of lions.

Borealans have a rich food culture that is a significant component of their social experience. Their diet consists of varied meats, fish, grains, and gourds. They are sensitive to the oils and fats in cooked meats, preferring cooking methods that enhance these flavors, and texture is of great concern when preparing meals. Borealans have almost no perception of sweet flavors and so human visitors with a sweet tooth may wish to bring condiments and sauces with them when dining. This will not be seen as an insult to the chef, as many Borealans commonly carry small spray bottles or vials containing their preferred oil, which may be processed from meat, fish or vegetables depending on the tastes of the individual. The rendering of fats is an important aspect of Borealan cooking, producing lard or schmalz for use in soups and stews.

Much care is taken when feeding livestock to ensure that the fat of the animal retains a certain flavor, and meats from the same species may not always have a similar taste due to the diet of the animal before slaughter. Many of these subtle flavors would not be perceptible to a human, but it is a very important aspect of Borealan dining and should be taken into account. The excess skin of many animals is fried and served as an entrée or a snack.

Interesting, the text was giving him ideas of how his gift should be cooked. Xhe had been right, the Japanese Ambassador had done his research, the Patriarch would be pleased. He continued to read.

Borealan civilization is based around the great lakes of Borealis, which are home to rich aquatic life. Fish and other kinds of seafood are a staple of the Borealan diet. Being strong swimmers and enjoying bathing as a recreational activity, bare-handed fishing is a popular competitive sport. Locals will compete to see who can catch the largest or the greatest quantity of fish with their hooked claws. Commercial fishermen use conventional nets and trawlers.

Borealans prefer oily fish similar to mackerel which are commonly smoked. The lower social classes eat many species of bottom-feeding crustaceans analogous to lobsters and crabs which are considered to be at best rustic and at worst unsanitary.

The cultivation of a grain not unlike the corn plant found in South America led Borealans to the discovery of agriculture, animal husbandry, and later civilization. It is a source of fiber and grows easily in the jungles that ring the water sources. It is prepared in a wide variety of ways, from cereals to complimentary dishes.

Dennis wondered absent-mindedly what a Borealan cereal might taste like, did they serve it with milk? They were cats, after all. Captain Crunch took on a whole new meaning in a 1.3G environment.

Borealans also enjoy gourds, more for their texture than their flavor, cultivating parasitic vines that grow on trees and produce fruit not unlike the pumpkin. These are often eaten raw or cooked into pies.

Dennis lay the booklet down on a bedside table and decided to order his first Borealan meal. He had not eaten since arriving on the planet, and he had brought no food with him besides the Kobe in the stasis container. It seemed that anything a Borealan could eat, a human could eat too. He called for Xhe, and she arrived quickly, standing obediently at the edge of the bed with her furry hands clasped demurely in front of her flowing dress.

"Xhe, I would like some food."

"Of course Ambassador, I am familiar with many human dishes that I can-"

"No, no. I want to try a local dish," Dennis said as he retrieved the booklet and leafed through to the culinary section. "I would like some smoked fish. I'm not sure what kind you have, but use your best judgment."

"Very well, Ambassador."

***

After some time Xhe reappeared with a huge dish balanced in her hands. It was a Borealan-sized dinner plate, comically large, and on it were two whole fish. They were about the size of trout, brown and crispy with odd armor plating along the dorsal area and too many fins. They had the same streamlined appearance as an Earth fish, a result of convergent evolution no doubt, there must be an optimal shape for swimming. He looked to Xhe expectantly, waiting for cutlery, but none came.

"Borealans use their claws to eat," she explained, noticing that he hadn't started yet.

Dennis picked a fish up gingerly and took a bite. It tasted surprisingly good. The scales were fine, and he stayed away from the armor plating, focusing his attention on the soft underbelly. It was well cooked, smoked over a wood fire he surmised from the flavor.

"It's good!" he mumbled through a mouthful of the pink meat. He would have preferred a knife and a fork. His fingers were greasy, and the fine scales were sticking to his mouth, but the dish was a success. He afforded himself a moment of pride for having tried something new, he was eating an alien! Probably the first human to ever eat this particular species.

Xhe observed him as he ate clumsily, he had noticed that she always tried to keep a neutral expression, but now she seemed amused. He would have to find a solution to this problem before he was invited to one of the Patriarch's banquets.

***

The next few days passed quickly. Every meal he sampled new Borealan dishes, meats, seafood, and grains as described in his guide, leaving their preparation at the discretion of his aide. He trained, doing his best to adapt to the harsh gravity, every jog up and down the marble hallway becoming slightly easier than the last. After five days he was mobile and growing impatient with his sedentary life in the embassy. He wanted to see the city, to experience the culture as he had intended, and no aggressive aliens or stifling heat would stop him from doing that.

"Xhe, I would like to tour the city."

"Are you able to walk that far?" Xhe asked hesitantly, eyeing him as he stood in the hall.

"Well, far enough, yes. I'm dying of boredom, I need to get outside and do something."

She looked distressed, it was obvious that she wanted to refuse his request. But because of the strange Borealan social caste system, she was unable to defy him, and that suited Dennis just fine.

"I...will make the necessary arrangements. But you must understand, Ambassador, the Borealans that are allowed to interact with humans have undergone extensive training and conditioning. Those in the city have not. They are, at least by human standards, wild. They have never interacted with a human before, most have never seen an alien. Humans are small and comparatively weak, which means that you will be treated as an inferior. If you do not know how to make yourself appear non-threatening and submissive, then you may expose yourself to violence."

He felt a tremor of fear in his belly, she was deadly serious, but he put on a strong face. He had not traveled seventy-five light years in a cramped jump carrier to cower inside an embassy when there was a whole alien city out there to explore.

"So teach me! Give me the Borealan crash course."

She shifted her weight from foot to foot uncomfortably, her long, furry tail flicking back and forth restlessly.

"That may not be a good idea..."

"If you aren't qualified to teach me, Xhe, then who is?"

She considered for a moment, then nodded.

"Very well, Ambassador. As you wish."

***

Xhe did her best to teach the human, but she knew that it would not be enough. He had no idea of the massive cultural gulf that separated their species and the only way that he would truly understand would be to learn the hard way. Perhaps, in this case, it was better to just let him trip and fall so that he might learn to pick himself up.

He understood the basics, not to make prolonged eye contact, to avoid physical interactions. Don't argue, don't talk back, don't joke or pal around as the humans liked to call it. Almost every human social interaction was deeply provocative to a Borealan, and although he seemed to understand on a superficial level, she was certain that he would slip up. It was their nature, after all, she could not undo a lifetime of learned behavior in a single afternoon.

She taught him how to be submissive, how to stay low and keep his eyes down, how to respond should someone address him and how to avoid confrontations and back out of arguments. Seeing the small, frail creature take on his natural role nagged at her, tickled the back of her mind. The old instincts threatened to rise and undo her conditioning. He was like a ripe fruit begging to be picked from the branch. She longed to assert herself over him, to take her rightful place as his Alpha, but she suppressed the desires using the techniques that Miss Elysiedde had taught her. As unnatural and as infuriating as it may be, the Ambassador was her Alpha by special appointment, and she might be one of only a handful of Borealans on the planet who could tolerate such an arrangement. This was a service to her Lord Patriarch, and she would see it through.

CHAPTER 2: LOCAL FLAVOR

Dennis left the embassy, breathing in a lungful of hot, dry air. The white sun blazed above him, bleaching the sandstone buildings and casting dark shadows. He could tolerate the heat and the gravity, though he acted a lot more brazen than he really felt.

"Stay close to me and do not leave my sight," Xhe warned as he trotted along beside her, the alien outpacing him with her long strides. There weren't any pedestrians in this part of the city. The Patriarch's spire protruded above the skyline, its white glare setting it apart from the more yellow and brown landscape.

These squat stone buildings were made to last, that much was obvious. There were fine details and engravings on the pillars and blocks that held them up, murals and reliefs carved into the stone, who could guess how long ago. These dwellings were the creations of artisans, people who took great pride in their work and who expected it to be on display for a long time. He realized that all of the arches that decorated the streets along with the domed roofs of the houses were self-supporting, made from interlocking blocks that exploited the very gravity that tried to tear them down in order to stay upright. It was a deceptively simple yet elegant solution.

The ground beneath his feet was paved with stone slabs and in some places cobbles. The jungle would not reclaim this land through such thick rock, weeds could not prevail in the cracks and creepers would find no purchase here. Dennis had no sense of time or of scale, how old was the city? Was he looking at modern building techniques or those of the distant past? Had these stone slabs been placed here to ward off the encroaching jungle a hundred years ago or a thousand? He wanted to ask Xhe, but their timescales did not seem to translate well. He elected to follow her in silence rather than bother her with confusing calculations.

She seemed tense, was she embarrassed to be seen in his company? Perhaps, Borealan society was strictly regimented, but he got the impression she was worried for his safety more than anything. It didn't bother him, no society could exist in the way that everyone wanted to imply, violence could not be the result of every minor confrontation or disagreement. The whole social system would collapse. He would heed her dire warnings, but he suspected that much of it was exaggeration. Things were never as bad as they seemed.

***

Even after walking down the narrow streets for a while it still seemed as if the city was deserted, Dennis hadn't seen a single Borealan. Just when his feet were starting to hurt, they crossed into a larger street lined with colorful signs and stalls. A market? Some kind of bazaar?

Towering Borealans of all shapes and colors crowded the street, not one of them was under seven feet tall. They wore robes and clothing in all manner of styles, a rainbow of finely woven cloth and patterned, flowing garments. They had such varied skin tones, from porcelain to ebony and everything in-between. Their hair came in diverse patterns and colors too, he could see blondes and redheads, silvery and raven-haired examples, faded tiger stripes and leopard spots decorating their furred forelimbs. They weaved around him, some pausing to stare intently at the odd little alien. It was a little overstimulating after having been cooped up in the embassy for the better part of a week.

Xhe steered him through the crowd, a firm hand gripping his shoulder. He felt like a child lost in a mall. These aliens were not only tall, but impressively muscled. A combination of their high protein, mostly meat diet, and the crippling gravity no doubt. He could feel his own body changing gradually, his muscle mass increasing under the stress of having to carry around an extra thirty percent of his body weight. It was more effective than any gym membership that money could buy.

He knew not to stare, it could be taken as a challenge that must be met with violence by the offended party, but he couldn't take his eyes off them. It was a kaleidoscope of colors and patterns. An eight-footer walked past him, pausing to glance down with her emerald green eyes. Her skin was tanned a shade of light brown, her exposed fur patterned with spots like a cheetah. She had a mane of blonde hair that fell down her back, sporting the same spots that were present on her fur. Dennis didn't think that they were decorative, they looked almost vestigial, a throwback to their evolutionary past perhaps. She wore a floaty, green sari in an almost Indian style, the delicate garment was wrapped around her body and fastened with an ornate belt around the waist.

Clearly, clothing was as much, if not moreso a means of self-expression on Borealis than it was on Earth. No two Borealans were alike, he could have sat and watched them all day. He felt drab in his black suit. To think that he had considered his shiny, red necktie a daring fashion statement.

Another Borealan paused to meet his gaze, this one was male, about the same height. This one had light skin with dark hair that was cropped short, his eyes a shade of gold, the fur on his forearms and legs the same velvet black. He wore a pair of baggy pants made from a blue, breezy material, perhaps something analogous to cotton. His chest was bare, save for a decorative, crimson sash with golden embroidery that hung across his shoulder.

Xhe hurried Dennis along, increasing the pace.

"Do not stare, I told you this!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, they're just so...colorful!"

She steered him past vendors and stalls, their occupants shielded from the harsh glare of the twin suns by colorful awnings. Dennis snapped his head back and forth in an attempt to take in every sight and sound, every strange smell that wafted on the air. There were slabs of dripping meat hanging from iron hooks, the scents of street food rising to his nose, strange and enticing. Someone was roasting a six-legged animal over a roaring fire, its charred body too burned to make out much detail. Colorful items of clothing were on display, decorative jewelry and beads catching the sunlight. One of the stalls was selling alien fish that ranged from the size of a trout to something that looked like an armored shark with too many fins, what must be a fishmonger cutting his produce into sections with a large machete.

Dennis wanted to see everything, to peruse every stall and examine every alien artifact, but Xhe's only concern was getting him off the street. They turned into a building marked with an illegible sign, the Borealan script resembling claw marks. It was dingy inside, and it smelled strange. There was a haze in the air, like smoke, and a handful of aliens were sitting around a table. One raised its head to look at him, then nudged another, and soon he was the focal point of the whole room.

"What kind of place is this?" he whispered to Xhe.

"A tavern, there won't be many people here at this time of day, better to get you inside. I told you not to stare at people, did you not understand?"

"I'm sorry, there was so much to see!"

He heard a chair scrape on the wooden floor. One of the Borealans who had been sat at the table got up and walking over to inspect them. It was a female, slightly larger than Xhe. She was smoking something that resembled a pipe, trailing grey smoke behind her. She stood a short distance away, taking the pipe in her hand as she spoke.