is geometry.>
“Oh yeah? Look, I bite into an apple, it tastes real good. Where’s the geometry in that?”
Toby hated it when Quath said something and then the programs in his head, and in Quath’s too, couldn’t make enough sense
between them to get the job done. All that came through was a fizzy blurt and a bland, flat [untranslatable]. “Okay, then
where’s the geometry in a kiss, huh?”
“Oh, glad it’s so obvious. How silly of me.”
“Yeasay, we call it ‘sarcasm.’”
“Let’s just call it [untranslatable], bug-boy.”
“Aaahhh!”
This was driving Toby up the wall—literally. He was glad he could work out his frustration by climbing through the struts
of the dome, leaping across wide spans, burning calories to clear his mind. It was getting hot in here—hot all through
Argo
, in fact. The domes were absorbing radiation from the astronomical fireworks outside.
Stinging sweat dripped into Toby’s eyes. He clambered over struts and beams, swung in the nearly zero-grav, and let go. He
spread his arms and beat against the air, flapping like an awkward bird, and slowly fell toward Quath. The alien caught him
at the very last moment before he would have smacked painfully on the deck. “Oooof! Thanks.”
“That’s part of being human, you ol’ giant grub.”
“In search of what?”
“Oh no, not again!”
Toby scuffed up some dead soil with his boot, sending a shower of gray dust spurting up into the low-gray dome. He still had
some irritations to work out, some thinking to do about his father. He leaped and swung up on one of Quath’s extended telescoping
arms. “Maybe I—”
—Toby! Bring Quath to the Bridge, right away.—
Killeen’s sharp voice cut into his concentration so abruptly that Toby let go of the arm, coasted, and thumped back into the
dirt. “Okay. But Quath won’t fit in—”
—Get moving!—
It turned out that Quath could scrunch down in the corridor outside the Bridge, bend two eye-stalks around the entrance, and
see most of the wall screens. Quath looked uncomfortable, her steel-jacketed legs cocked at odd angles and wedged against
bulkheads, though she said nothing. Killeen wanted Quath to try more communication channels with his own kind, the Myriapodia.
“After all, I spent days trapped in her belly, once,” Killeen said casually.
Toby blinked. His misgivings aside, he had to remember that his father had been through horrendous adventures with Quath.
Maybe they communicated with each other in ways he didn’t fully appreciate.
Killeen assigned several Bridge Lieutenants to help the alien with technical problems, using
Argo
’s long-range antennas.
The Bridge buzzed, but Killeen kept good ship’s discipline, and the excitement remained controlled, visible mostly in pinched
faces and narrowed eyes. The great wall screens showed scenes that shifted with dizzying speed. The ivory hoop hung suspended
between three strange, angular ships. Somehow their shape—geometry again, Toby thought—would have told him that they were
of Quath’s kind, if he had not known.
The hoop itself flickered and strobed with eerie plays of the spectrum. Flashes of gold and crimson ran along it, then faded
into the milky light, like runny stains sinking in a deep chalky sea.
Killeen paced the Command Deck of the Bridge, his boots ringing
“Oh yeah? Look, I bite into an apple, it tastes real good. Where’s the geometry in that?”
Toby hated it when Quath said something and then the programs in his head, and in Quath’s too, couldn’t make enough sense
between them to get the job done. All that came through was a fizzy blurt and a bland, flat [untranslatable]. “Okay, then
where’s the geometry in a kiss, huh?”
“Oh, glad it’s so obvious. How silly of me.”
“Yeasay, we call it ‘sarcasm.’”
“Let’s just call it [untranslatable], bug-boy.”
“Aaahhh!”
This was driving Toby up the wall—literally. He was glad he could work out his frustration by climbing through the struts
of the dome, leaping across wide spans, burning calories to clear his mind. It was getting hot in here—hot all through
Argo
, in fact. The domes were absorbing radiation from the astronomical fireworks outside.
Stinging sweat dripped into Toby’s eyes. He clambered over struts and beams, swung in the nearly zero-grav, and let go. He
spread his arms and beat against the air, flapping like an awkward bird, and slowly fell toward Quath. The alien caught him
at the very last moment before he would have smacked painfully on the deck. “Oooof! Thanks.”
“That’s part of being human, you ol’ giant grub.”
“In search of what?”
“Oh no, not again!”
Toby scuffed up some dead soil with his boot, sending a shower of gray dust spurting up into the low-gray dome. He still had
some irritations to work out, some thinking to do about his father. He leaped and swung up on one of Quath’s extended telescoping
arms. “Maybe I—”
—Toby! Bring Quath to the Bridge, right away.—
Killeen’s sharp voice cut into his concentration so abruptly that Toby let go of the arm, coasted, and thumped back into the
dirt. “Okay. But Quath won’t fit in—”
—Get moving!—
It turned out that Quath could scrunch down in the corridor outside the Bridge, bend two eye-stalks around the entrance, and
see most of the wall screens. Quath looked uncomfortable, her steel-jacketed legs cocked at odd angles and wedged against
bulkheads, though she said nothing. Killeen wanted Quath to try more communication channels with his own kind, the Myriapodia.
“After all, I spent days trapped in her belly, once,” Killeen said casually.
Toby blinked. His misgivings aside, he had to remember that his father had been through horrendous adventures with Quath.
Maybe they communicated with each other in ways he didn’t fully appreciate.
Killeen assigned several Bridge Lieutenants to help the alien with technical problems, using
Argo
’s long-range antennas.
The Bridge buzzed, but Killeen kept good ship’s discipline, and the excitement remained controlled, visible mostly in pinched
faces and narrowed eyes. The great wall screens showed scenes that shifted with dizzying speed. The ivory hoop hung suspended
between three strange, angular ships. Somehow their shape—geometry again, Toby thought—would have told him that they were
of Quath’s kind, if he had not known.
The hoop itself flickered and strobed with eerie plays of the spectrum. Flashes of gold and crimson ran along it, then faded
into the milky light, like runny stains sinking in a deep chalky sea.
Killeen paced the Command Deck of the Bridge, his boots ringing
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