Foreigner by Robert J. Sawyer

Novato were sharing a meal of water turtle; the beast had been killed when it had waddled up onto the beach. Casually holding the flipper he was gnawing on, Garios said, “I see you’ve dispatched a letter to Afsan.”
    Novato spit aside a hunk of bone, then: “Along with the usual missives to the Emperor, yes. It went out with a rider last night.”
    Garios seemed engrossed in the anatomy of the flipper. His tone was offhanded. “May I inquire about the letter’s contents?”
    “Oh, just bringing him up-to-date on what’s been happening. You know: the cliff turning blue, and the blue pyramid erupting out of the ground.”
    “Did you, ah, perhaps ask him to come here?”
    “Here to Fra’toolar? Goodness, no. That’s a long trip, and he’s got plenty of other things to do.”
    “Of course,” said Garios, tearing some more flesh from the flipper. After a moment, he added, “Will you be going to the Capital soon?”
    “I don’t know. I should report in person to Dybo at some point. We’ll need new equipment to investigate this pyramid. Of course, Delplas could go back to take care of that; she’s got a fine head for details. So, no, I have no immediate plans to return to the Capital. Why do you ask?”
    “Just curious,” said Garios, again examining the flipper as if he somehow expected there to be some meat on it that had evaded his earlier investigations. “Just curious.”
    “I call this the listing game,” said Mokleb. “It works like this: I suggest a category of thing, and you list all the items that fit into that category.”
    “A memory test?” said Afsan. “There’s nothing wrong with my memory.”
    “No, I suspect there isn’t. But please indulge me. Could you, for instance, give the names of the original five hunters?”
    “Sure. Lubal, Belbar, Katoon, Hoog, and, ah, Mekt.”
    “You hesitated before Mekt. Why?”
    “I couldn’t remember if I’d said her yet.”
    “Of course. Of course. And can you name the five original mates?”
    “Dargo, Varkev, Jostark, Takood, Detoon.”
    “There, you had no trouble with that list. What about the names of the seven principal branches of government?”
    “Oh, easy. The judiciary. The church. Civil works. The exodus. Interprovincial trade. Portents and omens. Tithing.”
    “Very good. And the names of the eight provinces?”
    “Not only will I give you the names, Mokleb, but I’ll give them to you in order from west to east: Jam’toolar, Fra’toolar, Arj’toolar, Chu’toolar, Mar’toolar, Edz’toolar, and Capital.”
    “You missed one,” said Mokleb.
    “Did I? Which one?”
    “You tell me.”
    “Let’s see: Jam’toolar and Fra’toolar on the west coast. Then Arj’toolar. Chu’toolar to the north, with little Mar’toolar beneath it. Edz’toolar. And Capital.”
    “You missed it again.”
    Afsan sounded irritated. He held up his fingers as he named them off. “One: Jam’toolar. Two: Fra’toolar. Three: Capital. Four: Chu’toolar. Five: Mar’toolar. Six — did I say Arj’toolar yet? Arj’toolar. Seven: Edz’toolar. And eight, ah… number eight is…”
    “Yes?”
    “Isn’t that funny?” said Afsan. “For the life of me, I can’t remember number eight.”
    “Would you like a hint?”
    “Um.”
    “Its provincial color is light blue.”
    Afsan shook his head. “Sorry. It’s right on the fork of my tongue, but…”
    “Kev’toolar,” said Mokleb.
    “Kev’toolar!” cried Afsan. “Of course. How could I forget that?”
    “Now, quickly, Afsan, tell me the words that pop into your mind when you think of Kev’toolar.”
    “Len-Lee. She’s the governor.”
    “No, don’t explain unless I ask you to. Just say whatever words pop into your head.”
    “Coastline.” A pause. “Kevpel.”
    “Kevpel?”
    “Yes, you know. The planet. Fourth planet from the sun.”
    “Kev’toolar and Kevpel: they both start the same way.”
    “That’s right. It’s a coincidence, of course. The province is named after