Crisis On Doona by Anne McCaffrey, Jody Lynn Nye Page B

smiled. They had met on Hrretha only a few weeks before. Most likely, the venerable Hrruban was still seeing the small boy dressed in mda fur with a rope tail tied around his waist instead of a grown man in normal Earth-style tunic and trousers. Responding to that memory himself, Todd straightened his tunic and squared his shoulders as the Speaker and Hu neared him.
    “A fine Hunt, and, it would seem, a fine party to come,” Hu Shih complimented Todd, reaching up to pat the young man on the shoulder, and nodding amiably to Hrriss. The venerable metropologist’s eyes were shining as he took in the decorations and the happy crowd filling the Hall. “No Hunters with more than scrapes and bruises and” — Hu’s eyes twinkled — “depressed ambitions. Very well done, indeed.”
    “Thank you, sir,” Todd said, politely dropping into Middle Hrruban, since the Fifth Speaker was here in a social capacity. “Have you heard about the Boncyk sows?”
    “Indeed we have,” Hu Shih replied, his usually composed face becoming wreathed with laughter.
    “The tale will return with me to Hrruba,” the Fifth Speaker replied, his deep black eyes sparkling. “It is, of course, the greatest pity that the scene was not recorded, but the various narrators seem to agree on so many details that the truth will not suffer much in the retelling.”
    “We are considering the addition of a Sow Brigade to next year’s Hunt,” Todd went on, dropping his jaw in a Hrruban-style grin.
    He saw Hu’s start of surprise but the Fifth Speaker grumbled his throat chuckle and Hu relaxed. Todd had always been on special terms with Hrruban Speakers and could dare where protocol would have strictly forbidden such banter. Todd was not surprised when Hu deftly eased the Speaker toward the dais and the special chairs where the elders would observe the proceedings.
    “I will expect a full report of their performance next year, Zodd,” the Speaker said, allowing himself to be shepherded away.
    The Ad Hoc Band began to play incidental music, loud enough to be heard through the low roar of conversation but not loud enough to drown it.
    Todd looked around for Ali Kiachif, one of the oldest friends of the colony and its most faithful proponent. The swarthy, drink-loving old Codep captain had missed few New Home Weeks since the beginning, attending anytime he could arrange his schedule to be there. He wasn’t in the Hall yet, and Todd couldn’t remember having heard anyone mention that he’d arrived. Todd was a little disappointed, but he could well understand it if Kiachif wasn’t able to make it back to Doona. Kiachif was a busy man these days. His rounds had grown a hundredfold since the colony’s inception, and had earned him a small fleet of ships serving under him, plying the expanding spaceways, carrying cargo and passengers. Doona was still one of his favorite stops. He always claimed it rested his eyes from the sometimes horrific conditions on mining planets, which far outnumbered the agricultural planets, where people lived in miserable conditions in the stale air of domes or in the unremitting toil of prison facilities. While he never mentioned Doonan grog, everyone knew that it was more to his taste than methylated spirits cooked over a Bunsen burner.
    In their festive best, everyone looked cheerfully ready to enjoy themselves to the fullest. The threat of being overrun by the great snakes had once again been averted. In the true spirit of Doona, some of the native Humans wore Hrruban dress, and some of the Hrrubans affected “Trran” trousers, skirts, or dresses. The various diplomats were attired more formally but not repressively so, while their young wards and the other guests were dressed in the latest styles from Earth or Hrruba. Evidently the fashion industries of both cultures had been stimulated by the contact, and styles had merged, mingled, and then evolved to become highly individualistic.
    Oddly enough, though most Terrans still