“Down, Romeo.” Faith

Besh, in his late thirties and beginning to bald, stood on the bench and looked out through the barred window. He had never expected his trip to end in a jail cell. To say that the life of a space-faring hobo was chancy was a grave understatement. He had stowed away and thumbed his way to many planets up through the arm. This was a first for him, a planet peopled with beavers.

But they were cute. He turned with a smile to his morose companions. Faith Armature, an attractive woman with blond hair, was the Consortium’s top negotiator. Marken Pierce was the engineer onboard the Consortium Spearhead. Besh had been discovered and ejected rudely from the Spearhead. When Faith disembarked, Marken hot on her heels, confessing his ardent passion, Tappish forces surrounded and took all three of them to the cramped cell.

Besh said cheerily, “Something will happen today.”

Head in hand, Faith answered, “God! I hope so.”

Sitting beside Faith, Marken said, “Come, my love. Rest your head on my shoulder. I am here for you.”

Faith stood and yelled at the top of her lungs. She turned and slashed Marken with an evil eye. “I am not your love!” she said, counting on her fingers dramatically. “I had no sleep last night. I am dirty, I’m stuck in a cell between a stowaway and a philanderer.” She threw her hands in the air. “All evidence points to the fact that first contact was well-received. Why are we in jail?”

Marken stood and said to Faith, “Your every gesture makes my blood boil.”

Faith shoved Marken to his seat on the bench. “Down, Romeo,” said she.

Marken responded, the more enamored, “When your lips move, I feel a thrill.”

Besh interjected, turning back to the barred view, “I have a good feeling about today.”

“Besh, is it?” asked Faith. “I doubt a freeloader fully understands the political ramifications of our situation.”

Marken said boldly, “For ramifications, I am your man.”

Faith walked to the locked door and screamed through the bars. Fully vented, she turned and said, “My skin is crawling.”

Besh answered without turning. “I saw fleas in the straw.”

Faith kicked angrily at the straw on the floor of the cell, and folded her arms defensively. She leaned against the bars and said, “God! I would kill for a hot bath.”

Marken raised a hand and said, “My love, allow me to scrub your back.”

Looking up in desperation, Faith asked, “What is it with this man?”

Watching the scene outside the jail, Besh answered with a question. “Pheromones?”

Faith shook her head sadly and complained, “This is a dark day in my career.”

Besh answered, “On the bright side, the sun is shining, and little beaver children are playing in the marketplace.”

Marken commented, “Beaver is such a warm and fuzzy word.”

The bars behind Faith were rapped sharply. Jumping in alarm, Faith shouted, “God!” She spun to see a diminutive guard with a long pike. “You scared me,” said she.

Marken stood beside her to view the guard. “Are we free?” he asked. “These accommodations really cramp my style.”

Besh turned to see Faith grip the bars of the door. “I demand to see your leader,” she called loudly. “I am here on behalf of the Consortium, authorized in all negotiations for trade and relations.”

“Zip it,” said Sposh, imagining he had the last word with Chic. A self-indulgent smile played beneath the fur of his face. “I’m here for the stowaway.”

“What?” cried Faith. She sputtered and stammered, “I protest.”

Besh jumped from the bench and walked to the door between Faith and Marken. He said, with a smile, “Present and accounted for.”

Sposh said, “You two. Step back. Any funny business and you’ll get the point in a hurry.” He brandished his spear menacingly, then laid it against the wall to look through his pockets for the key.

Faith still sputtered in disbelief as Besh turned and ushered them away from the bars. “I’ll put in a good word,” said Besh. “Hang tight.”

“Unbelievable!” Faith said bitterly. “Our arrival was announced.”

Marken called around Besh to the guard, “If there is to be torture, I volunteer to go first. Only spare the lady.”

Faith said to the guard, “Seriously? You’re going to take the vagabond?”

Sposh opened the door. As he returned the key to his pocket, he answered, “We just want to test the meat.”

Faith backed away. Marken stood beside her, and Besh left the cell. Marken spoke poetically to Faith, “Cruel fate. That our captors should taste your flesh, and not I.”

It was neither the moment nor the situation that Faith required. Sposh slammed the door shut and took up his spear. Faith fell against the bars and pressed her face between them in desperation. She pleaded, “Don’t leave me here with this, this Casanova. I have creds. I can write a blank draft.”

Sposh threw his spear over his shoulder. “Let’s go,” he said to Besh.

As they walked up the dark hall, and the loud pleading of the Consortium negotiator faded, Besh turned to the furry guard.

“My name is Besh,” said Besh.

A moment later, Sposh responded. “Sposh.”

“Besh and Sposh,” said Besh with an encouraging smile. “You seem like a nice person.” Then he asked, “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

Sposh replied, “The Pope wants to speak with you.”

“The Pope?” asked Besh in mild surprise. “I’d be honored.”

Sposh replied, “Better you than me.”

Besh said, “You know, Sposh, this dark hallway might benefit from a well-placed torch or two.”

Sposh snorted. “Try telling that to the Pope. He’ll fine you for illicit promotions.”

Besh said, “Your Pope has a good grasp of financial affairs.”

Sposh said flatly, “The Pope has a good grasp on everyone’s financial affairs.”

“You speak Terran very well,” said Besh. “Who taught you?”

Sposh said, “When the first Terries left, the Pope made all of Brohm learn the language, and pick Terran names from one of the books.”

Besh happily changed the subject, encouraged by the guard’s willingness to converse. “I was looking out the window in the cell. I saw children playing in the marketplace, and sellers talking and laughing. I was struck by how much alike our peoples are. Do you have children?”

Sposh sighed. “No, but I’m still young. The wives control all that.”

“Don't you want children?” asked Besh.

Sposh laughed. “I can barely afford an ale at the Old Drafter’s Pub. But, yeah. Pups running around the manor would be nice.”

Besh said, “I like you, Sposh. You’re a good, a good, what should I say, here?”

“We're the Tappish,” said Sposh. “I'm a Dalop. A throne guard. Some mistakenly call me a Widgin, but my post is civilian, not military. What are you?”

“Well,” said Besh, scratching under his chin thoughtfully. “Just a man. I snuck onboard the Consortium Spearhead; couldn’t have paid even if it was a commercial ship. Just needed to move up the arm. Then, they found me and kicked me off the ship.”

“Well, that was rude,” said Sposh, sparing Besh a sidelong glance.

“That’s what I said,” Besh answered with a vigorous nod. “I’m just looking for an old friend.”

Sposh asked, “Are there many planets?”

“Oh my, yes,” replied Besh. “I’ve been to about twenty so far.”

Sposh stopped and turned to face Besh. He set his spear on its heel and asked, “Do they know about each other?”

Besh answered, “Yes. Mostly. A large number of them are simply resettlements of the human race. We originate from Earth. Our second home is Terra. And then, there are the rest. One big happy family.”

Sposh scratched his midriff while he absorbed the information. He asked, “Are Terries on these other planets happy like you?”

Besh loosed a small embarrassed laugh as he considered his answer. “I suppose everyone has their worries. That’s why we have friends. You got a problem? Maybe I can help. If I have troubles, maybe you can help.”

Sposh asked, “Do you have a lot of friends?”

Besh smiled. “Wherever I go, I make friends. New friends are the best.”

Sposh asked, “How do you do that?”

Besh leaned in with a conspiratorial air. He said, “Well, there’s a trick to it, for sure.”

“Oh?” prompted Sposh.

Besh stepped back and spread his hands. His smile grew wider. “Be a friend, and making friends is easy.”

Sposh temporized, “So, I’m a guard with a spear and you’re my prisoner. Can you still be a friend?”

Besh replied, “Sposh, you’re the finest Dalop I’ve ever met. I would be proud to be your friend.”

Sposh responded. “You’re too simple. Don’t people take advantage of you?”

“Sometimes,” said Besh with a nod of his head. “Some nuts are harder to crack than others. The harder they are to crack, the greater the prize inside. The tough nuts are just trying to protect themselves.”

Sposh pointed his spear up the darkened hall. Besh and Sposh walked in silence for a moment. Besh could see light ahead of them. Sposh would doubtless turn him over to the attention of another person. Soon, Besh would be faced with their leader, the Pope. Having met Sposh gave Besh hope that the Tappish were a good people.

As the light grew stronger, Sposh said, “Strangely, you make sense.”

Besh looked at the serious little guard and smiled to himself. He replied, “If making sense seems strange, we should do it until it seems familiar.”