Hellspark by Janet Kagan

us.” Alfvaen set to the task, drawing aside first one member of the survey team and then another.
    Om im poured Tocohl another cup of the scarlet and gold drink, then, as if he were the aide of a prince, he presented the surveyors to her one by one.
    (Maggy, keep a file of faces and names.)
    (I always do,) Maggy responded as Tocohl greeted each surveyor in his or her native tongue with due respect to ritual. To Dyxte ti-Amax, she bowed; to Vielvoye ha-Somol, she respectfully tipped a nonexistent hat; both were Tobians but ha and spoke different languages. Hitoshi Dan, she greeted ti with a soft version of a whistle that had originally developed to be heard for several miles. And to
    Timosie Megeve, the Maldeneantine, she raised her left hand, crossing it with her right. Before he could reply, Alfvaen suddenly reappeared at Tocohl’s side.
    Pointing to the doorway, Alfvaen said anxiously, “There’s swift-Kalat.”
    Tocohl laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. In Siveyn, to avoid offending Buntec, Tocohl said, “Toes. Don’t move: let him come to you. And stop worrying—he’ll appreciate your attempt even if your execution isn’t perfect.” Unobtrusively, she took the added measure of placing a set of her own toes where Alfvaen would stamp them if she backed away from swift-Kalat. It was an old Hellspark technique for helping a child remember her proxemics.
    “Swift-Kalat,” Om im announced, smiling up at Alfvaen, “I can hear him chiming this way.” His smile faded before her obvious anxiety. After a second’s consideration of the problem, he reached for
    Alfvaen’s elbow, with the clear intent of escorting her, as shy as she might be, to swift-Kalat’s side.
    Tocohl, blocking his hand with her own, said softly, “No.” He gave her a curious look but drew back his hand and patiently folded his arms to wait with them.
    Of the two approaching men, Tocohl thought, the smaller would be swift-Kalat: his skin was a rich glowing red, almost the color of Dusty Sunday glass; bracelets gleamed the entire length of his forearm, jangling cheerfully. Tocohl had never seen a Jenji with quite so many. (Up to his elbows in silver,) she said.
    (What?)
    (Jenji expression for very, very smart,) she explained. (Now I see why.) The other man, dressed in a tunic flamboyant enough to coin a Jannisetti phrase, was unmistakably
    Zoveelian.
    The crowd parted just enough to let the newcomers through. Quietly, in GalLing’, swift-Kalat Page 40

    said, “Alfvaen, I’m so glad you’ve come. I’m so glad you’re safe.” Then he strengthened his words with Jenjin emphasis, snapping his forearm down so sharply that his bracelets clashed and rang as he moved closer.
    Alfvaen had learned her lessons well: as he passed the point Alfvaen’s culture considered the proper distance for general talk and closed in to the comfortable position for his own, Alfvaen tensed slightly but did not step back. Right down to her toes, she greeted him in perfect Jenji. “I am so glad to see you
    ,”
    she said, snapping her bare arm down for emphasis of her own.
    There was no chime of bracelets, but swift-Kalat more than amply compensated for the lack. His sharp intake of breath told both Alfvaen and Tocohl that Alfvaen’s attempt was a complete success.
    Swift-Kalat’s eyes and smile widened in delight.
    Alfvaen smiled back shyly and, with this encouragement, went on to make proper introductions.
    She assumed, Tocohl saw, that Ruurd van Zoveel spoke Jenji as well as she. The polyglot spoke excellent
    Jenji, but that was all; he was clearly ignorant of both proxemics and kinesics. Tocohl automatically switched to Zoveelian to reply to his greeting and then returned to GalLing’ out of courtesy to Om im.
    “We have a day,” she said.
    Swift-Kalat looked at Alfvaen in distress, and van Zoveel exclaimed, “A day! What can you do in a day?”
    Tocohl smiled. “Change Captain Kejesli’s mind,” she said.
    “It can be done, Ish shan.” Om im