“A Dalop in name only. I fear to have pups.” Sposh.

Feeling his foot kicked, Besh started and sat up. He looked around but could not at first see. His eyes were as dry as his mouth; they deserved some serious knuckling. As the world came into view, Besh looked up to acknowledge his new friend with a sleepy yawn.

“Is it morning already?” asked Besh.

“Moments before dawn,” answered Sposh. “I brought you a mood melon.”

Besh received and puzzled over the fruit. It was the size of a grapefruit with the hard skin of a gourd. He thumped the fruit with a forefinger and decided that it sounded delicious. He turned his eyes to his new friend and blinked heavily.

“Breakfast?” he asked.

Sposh was dressed in his throne guard gear. He stood solemnly with spear in hand. “Hurry and eat,” he said. “We’ve been called before the Pope.”

Besh asked, “How do you open this thing?”

Besh had a quick breakfast with the help of his new friend. The fruit was tart and eased the dryness of his mouth. Besh felt indebted to Sposh who split the melon with a stout thumbnail. The morning treat behind him, Besh stood and stretched, easily noting a thin line of orange sunlight peek over the horizon.

“Right, then,” said Besh. “Lead the way.”

Faith rolled from her small cot, alert, and quickly donned her light suit. She raked her fingers through her hair and tossed her head. A new day began with an ominous growl from her belly. Massaging the corners of her eyes, she stretched and spoke to herself.

“I’m starving,” she said. “Where’s a perv when you need him?”

Already, Faith could hear noise through the glass walls. She sensed an early morning vibe and hoped the Pope was a late sleeper. She wondered if she could sneak away to the ship and decided not to try. She did not like the Pope, but she would be called on, as the Consortium’s negotiator, to deal with him from her strengths. Her outlook alternated between confidence and dread. The weaselly beaver!

Faith pulled the chair and set it aside to peek through the door. Not a soul occupied the hall beyond her room, although distant voices were audible. To her great relief, Faith discovered a covered tray on the floor before the door. She hurried inside with her treasure and sat on the small cot, tray balanced on her knees. She set the cover aside.

There was fruit sliced into wedges and fruit peeled and cubed. “What to eat first?” she asked herself. “I think I’ll choose fruit.”

Besh stood beside Sposh looking at the empty throne. Sposh glanced at his brother, who expressed his disregard with a sullen expression. Brate’s eyelids drooped in a heavy manner, then sprang wide in alarm, only to descend slowly. At that point, the Pope stomped into the room and fell into the throne with evident discontent.

“That Terry shrew!” complained Alabow. He looked at Besh and stood. “She all but bit my head off. Both last night and this morning. A Pope goes where a Pope goes. I mean, really! She must be part Tappish with such incisors. I gave her a nice room, and now she wants to move out.”

As the Pope paced angrily, Besh and Sposh waited in wary patience. The Pope stamped back and forth and suddenly stopped. Turning, and calling at the top of his voice, startling not only Sposh and Besh but the guards, as well.

“Box!” yelled the Pope. “Box! Get in here!”

The old Widgin came at a trot as he buttoned his jacket. He ran straight to the book on the pedestal and stood at attention. He coughed and answered, “At your command.”

Alabow stood before his throne, arms akimbo. “Look up, perv.”

The elder Widgin placed spectacles on his blunt nose, coughed, and thumbed through the tome. He stopped and leaned close. “Ah, well,” he said. “There is no perv.”

The Pope threw up his hands and sat heavily in the cushioned throne. He spoke in obvious bewilderment. “Does she speak in code?”

Besh raised his hand and cleared his throat. “Perv is short for pervert.”

Bread Box leaned into the tome. “Ah, yes,” he said. “Pervert. A person whose sexual behavior is regarded as abnormal and unacceptable.”

The Pope stood and yelled, “What? Sexual behavior? I only stood in the door and spoke.”

Besh spoke up. “Women can be very sensitive and easily offended. I advise extreme caution.”

Dumbfounded, Alabow eased back into the throne, his mouth wide open. He took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes on Besh.

Besh spoke again. “The best way to get what you want is to give what they want. Generally speaking.”

The Pope stood and approached Besh. Hands behind his back, the Pope speared Besh with a steely Papal glare. “Your women,” he said. “They may seem soft and hairless on the outside, but on the inside, they’re all bristles and barbs. Your women are just like ours. I was so disheartened to find out that Terry women also have the edge.”

Besh met the wide-eyed gaze of Sposh and turned back to the Pope. He replied in common understatement, “All women have an edge, and they’re not afraid to use it.”

Alabow massaged his brow. “Frightful,” he said. He looked up at Besh and squared his rounded shoulders. He said in a determined voice, “I will send her back to your ship.”

Besh asked, “Are you calling off negotiations?”

“Of course not,” answered the Pope. “She wants some things.” He waved his hand dismissively. “No. I am nothing if not pertinacious. I am still tasked with finding a residence for the negotiator. She will not stay in the palace, it seems. I have called a unit of soldiers to escort this picayune female back to Terry Central. You and Sposh will go with her.”

Sposh dropped his spear.

Besh and Sposh sat in the grass with a good view of the large Consortium ship. Around them, armed Widgins stood at attention. Cross-legged, Besh pulled a clover and considered how like the Terran version it was. Legs spread before him, Sposh leaned back on his hands and wiggled his toes.

He turned to Besh and asked, “Do you think she’ll be long?”

“I think so,” answered Besh. “Terran women are notoriously slow.”

Sposh turned back to his toes, sullen. “I still don’t see,” said he, “why I have to put both of you up.”

Besh replied, “The Pope said your manor was free.”

“Free to him,” complained Sposh. “I can just see the woman squeezing through my door. She’ll knock it off the hinges.”

“Yes,” Besh agreed. “It’ll be tight on the trailing end.”

Marken wiped his hands and stood. The pump was small but vital. He spoke to his subordinate. “Put her cover on, and be gentle; she’s a lady.”

The subordinate took his place on the floor and began cleaning the gasket. Marken turned and swung through the hatch. Walking alone through metallic hallways, Marken whistled a slow sad tune. Faith was in his thoughts. The fair image of her shone brightly in his mind’s eye. As Marken turned past the Great Room, he chanced to look in. What he saw stopped him in his tracks.

Captain Howard turned his head as he nodded. Dealing with negotiators was unsavory; dealing with Faith was particularly vexing. Seeing the engineer in the hallway beyond his door added fuel to the fire. He stepped to the door and shut it. He turned back to the ranting negotiator.

Faith said, “You see my problem. Right?”

The Captain replied, “As you said, it is your problem. I expect you to do your job. Do whatever it takes to finish your work. My orders are clear; transport the negotiator. I really don’t give a rat’s ass what you have to do, just secure the mineral rights.”

“Captain, please,” sputtered the negotiator.

“Get your things,” said the Captain. “Take up your residence. Be amenable. Bend over backward, or forward. I don’t care. You know what you have to do.”

Just like a man! Faith was deeply wounded. She straightened her posture. She would not stand before the Captain in defeat. She slashed the man with searing eyes, turned, and stormed through the hatch. As she slammed the door behind her, Faith shoved Marken aside in anger. She was a tempest, and men should run for cover.

Picking himself from the deck, Marken ran after the radiant negotiator. “Lady, wait,” he called.

Stretched out in the clover, hands behind his head, Besh watched the clouds move across the sky. “What a beautiful world you have, my friend.”

Sposh fell back with an exasperated sigh and threw an arm over his eyes. “How many personal items can she have?” Sposh complained. “My wife can move all she owns in less time.”

“Speaking of which,” said Besh. “Why is your wife not home? Did you have an argument?”

Sposh uncovered his eyes and turned his head to Besh. “Chic? She went to visit her sister.”

“Are you newlyweds?” asked Besh. “As I understand, getting wed turns a Polop into a Dalop.”

Sposh sighed. “A Dalop in name only. I fear to have pups.”

Sitting and turning to face Sposh, Besh asked, “Really? Why?”

“Why else?” Sposh asked in return. “The edge.”

“I’ve heard that often,” said Besh. “You’ll need to explain to me what you mean.”

Just then, Besh heard the voice of Marken. “Wait. Wait,” he said in distress. “I just need to speak with the lady.”

Besh turned to see Marken being restrained by two of the ship’s security team. Besh had met them earlier. Faith walked away from the ship, struggling to carry a hard case and pull a heavy bag through the grass. Besh stood and walked to the negotiator.

He took the bag from her hand. “Let me help,” he said with a smile.

Sposh, with spear in hand, filed in beside Besh and Faith. A line of armed Widgins to the left and right marched them back into Brohm. The march was both silent and charged. When, at last, Sposh stopped before his manor, it was the middle of the day. The troops continued forward without a word.

Besh dropped the bag and turned to his comrades with a ‘that-didn’t-take-so-long’ smile of encouragement. Sposh returned his smile, Faith did not.

Faith asked in dismay, “This is it?”

Sposh answered, “My wife is away. You can take her room.”

“The door looks small,” said Faith.

Besh said, “Perhaps if you turn to the side.”

Sposh scuffed the dirt trail unhappily. “It’s bigger inside. Tomorrow, they will be done with the melon exchange.” He walked to the door and held it open for the Terran.

Faith sighed loudly and threw her head back in resignation. With adamant resolve, she took her bag and stooped in front of the door. She rolled her hard case inside, shoved her bag in after, then fell forward on her hands and knees. Faith moved slowly, working her shoulders through the door frame. Her hips were another matter altogether.