tray until he could press the door chime with his elbow. It took the Ogrons a whole minute to answer.
80
One of them stared at Chris through the open door. ‘Hi,’ said the Adjudicator. ‘I didn’t know whether you guys were going to the galley, but I thought you might like this.’
The Ogron’s gaze lowered slightly until he was looking at the tray Chris was holding. The eyes were nearly hidden under a narrow, protruding ridge of bone, the naked skull sloping up and back to where straw-coloured, limp hair hung down at the back of the head.
The Ogrons had come with the ship, like a couple of appliances. They’d accepted the sudden change in the crew and destination without question. Martinique had fussed over the cargo, delaying their departure for a nail-biting quarter of an hour, and the Ogrons had just done whatever they were told.
Chris could see the other Ogron lurking in the cabin, watching him. Another pair of squinting, mistrustful eyes. ‘Er,’ he said, ‘I looked up some Ogron recipes in the database. I’m not much of a chef – I hope I got it right.’
After a moment, the Ogron stepped back. Chris decided that was an invitation, and stepped into the cabin.
The Ogrons just stood there. They tended to do that, the Xenoculture course had taught, if you didn’t give them an order or some other reason to act. They’d been the same while they’d been loading the cargo hold. Like robots.
The blank stare was rather unnerving. ‘Um, could you pull the table down?’ Chris asked.
Right away, the Ogron who had opened the door unlocked the table and folded it down from the wall. Chris gratefully put down the heavy tray.
‘OK,’ he said, ‘I had to improvise a bit, but the database suggested some substitutes. This is mostly raw mutton and a little bit of ice to keep the temperature down, some rock salt, some geranium leaves and some basil.’
The Ogron who had opened the door shuffled up to the table.
He scooped up a handful of meat and sniffed at it. Then he pushed it into his mouth and chewed, hard, muscles bulging beneath his jaw.
‘My name’s Chris,’ said Chris.
81
The Ogron eyed him for a moment. ‘Good food,’ he said. His voice was deep and throaty. He made a sound like coughing, deep in his chest, and the other Ogron joined him at the table.
Chris hovered, but the Ogrons paid him no attention, shovelling mutton into their mouths, occasionally taking a pinch of one of the flavourings between thick fingers.
‘Well,’ he said after a bit, ‘I guess I should leave you to it.’
‘Good food,’ said the Ogron. He scooped up a handful of meat, took Chris’s hand, and plopped the raw mutton into the human’s palm. ‘Try some of this.’
Chris looked at the meat, the juices starting to leak on to his fingers. ‘Er,’ he said.
The silverware on the tray rattled. Chris glanced at it. The Ogrons were looking at one another, chunky teeth showing in their leathery faces.
Chris started to laugh. He put the handful of flesh back down on the tray. ‘Thanks, but I already ate.’
The Ogrons laughed louder, the cutlery rattling harder with the force of it. Chris hoped they weren’t trading rude comments about him in those deep rumbles.
‘I am Son of My Father,’ said the Ogron. He picked up the stray handful of meat and gulped it down.
‘I am his Sister’s Son,’ said the other.
‘Great, hi,’ said Chris. ‘Listen, how much did Professor Martinique tell you guys about this expedition?’
‘He did not tell us much,’ said the Ogron. ‘He told us to lift and carry his boxes and things.’
‘Did he tell you about the crater? The base hidden under the rock?’
‘He did not tell us,’ said Son of My Father. ‘But we heard him talking to Zatopek about the crater. He does not know very much about it.’
Chris nodded. ‘Never mind. I figured you guys might know something he wasn’t telling us… like what’s really hidden inside that mountain.’
The Ogron
80
One of them stared at Chris through the open door. ‘Hi,’ said the Adjudicator. ‘I didn’t know whether you guys were going to the galley, but I thought you might like this.’
The Ogron’s gaze lowered slightly until he was looking at the tray Chris was holding. The eyes were nearly hidden under a narrow, protruding ridge of bone, the naked skull sloping up and back to where straw-coloured, limp hair hung down at the back of the head.
The Ogrons had come with the ship, like a couple of appliances. They’d accepted the sudden change in the crew and destination without question. Martinique had fussed over the cargo, delaying their departure for a nail-biting quarter of an hour, and the Ogrons had just done whatever they were told.
Chris could see the other Ogron lurking in the cabin, watching him. Another pair of squinting, mistrustful eyes. ‘Er,’ he said, ‘I looked up some Ogron recipes in the database. I’m not much of a chef – I hope I got it right.’
After a moment, the Ogron stepped back. Chris decided that was an invitation, and stepped into the cabin.
The Ogrons just stood there. They tended to do that, the Xenoculture course had taught, if you didn’t give them an order or some other reason to act. They’d been the same while they’d been loading the cargo hold. Like robots.
The blank stare was rather unnerving. ‘Um, could you pull the table down?’ Chris asked.
Right away, the Ogron who had opened the door unlocked the table and folded it down from the wall. Chris gratefully put down the heavy tray.
‘OK,’ he said, ‘I had to improvise a bit, but the database suggested some substitutes. This is mostly raw mutton and a little bit of ice to keep the temperature down, some rock salt, some geranium leaves and some basil.’
The Ogron who had opened the door shuffled up to the table.
He scooped up a handful of meat and sniffed at it. Then he pushed it into his mouth and chewed, hard, muscles bulging beneath his jaw.
‘My name’s Chris,’ said Chris.
81
The Ogron eyed him for a moment. ‘Good food,’ he said. His voice was deep and throaty. He made a sound like coughing, deep in his chest, and the other Ogron joined him at the table.
Chris hovered, but the Ogrons paid him no attention, shovelling mutton into their mouths, occasionally taking a pinch of one of the flavourings between thick fingers.
‘Well,’ he said after a bit, ‘I guess I should leave you to it.’
‘Good food,’ said the Ogron. He scooped up a handful of meat, took Chris’s hand, and plopped the raw mutton into the human’s palm. ‘Try some of this.’
Chris looked at the meat, the juices starting to leak on to his fingers. ‘Er,’ he said.
The silverware on the tray rattled. Chris glanced at it. The Ogrons were looking at one another, chunky teeth showing in their leathery faces.
Chris started to laugh. He put the handful of flesh back down on the tray. ‘Thanks, but I already ate.’
The Ogrons laughed louder, the cutlery rattling harder with the force of it. Chris hoped they weren’t trading rude comments about him in those deep rumbles.
‘I am Son of My Father,’ said the Ogron. He picked up the stray handful of meat and gulped it down.
‘I am his Sister’s Son,’ said the other.
‘Great, hi,’ said Chris. ‘Listen, how much did Professor Martinique tell you guys about this expedition?’
‘He did not tell us much,’ said the Ogron. ‘He told us to lift and carry his boxes and things.’
‘Did he tell you about the crater? The base hidden under the rock?’
‘He did not tell us,’ said Son of My Father. ‘But we heard him talking to Zatopek about the crater. He does not know very much about it.’
Chris nodded. ‘Never mind. I figured you guys might know something he wasn’t telling us… like what’s really hidden inside that mountain.’
The Ogron
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