“She was the most beautiful woman I have ever known.” B. E. S.

As Besh had imagined, the negotiator had trouble negotiating the narrow door. As she struggled, a small Tappish crowd gathered to watch. Immediately, Sposh waded in, working the crowd with feints of his spear. “Move along,” he called. “Nothing to see here.”

Faith lay on her side to wiggle through. It had been a struggle that left Besh in full admiration. He gave the back of his friend a consoling pat. “I’ll be on the roof,” said Besh.

Sposh closed the door behind himself and switched on the new electric light. Faith crouched over her possessions between the kitchen and front room. The hall would be tight, but the woman could navigate with a little forethought.

“Straight ahead,” said Sposh, “and to your right.”

The doors were going to be a problem. Chic’s room presented Faith with the same difficulty as the front door. Sposh watched the Terry female wiggle into the room, his eyes wide. The thought of such a large posterior was frightening.

Faith turned in the room and faced out through the door. “It’s kind of crowded in here.”

“Chic’s room is like that,” said Sposh with a shrug. “You can lean her bed against the wall. We can store your belongings in my room.”

“Thanks,” said Faith as she turned back into the room.

Sposh leaned against the wall facing the bedroom across from Chic’s. He dared not look into his wife’s room just then. Instead, he listened nervously as Faith rearranged his wife’s room. The Terry called from within.

“You two sleep separately?” she asked. “How long have you been married?”

“One year,” answered Sposh. “Tomorrow is our anniversary.”

Faith called through the door as she shoved the hard case into the hall, “Jeez! You’ll never get anywhere at that rate.”

Sposh took the case and rolled it into his room. He turned back to answer, “It’s up to the wife.”

Faith gave a short laugh from inside the bedroom. The sound grated against the raw and fragile manhood that Sposh wore like a brand on his forehead. Sposh stood in a stupor at the end of the hall when Faith crawled out and trapped him. As she wiggled out of the room, the large Terran posterior pressed him against the wall. Freeing her feet, Faith rolled to her knees and struggled to her feet. Sposh closed his eyes and turned his head.

“Sorry,” said Faith, noticing the Dalop behind her. “I hope you have food. I’m starving.”

In the afternoon sun, Besh had almost fallen asleep. He started at the sudden presence on the roof. He sat up with a questioning glance as Faith seated herself beside him.

Faith smiled. “Our host is bringing food.”

“Oh,” said Besh, rubbing his eyes and stretching. “You get settled in?”

“Yeah,” said Faith. “It’s a tight fit, but I’ll make it work.”

Besh responded, “I have every confidence.”

“Let me ask,” said Faith, turning to spear the stowaway with a calculating glance. “Since you’re a hit with the Pope, can you give me any tips?”

Faith was tall, a lovely woman, and ample in a demanding fashion. Yet, Besh could sense that her energies were directed into her career. Besh turned and smiled up into an open face.

“Tech,” said Besh. “Offer him new and exciting gadgets. You’ll get all you want.”

Sposh, arriving at the top of the steps, added, “He wants a ship and weapons.”

Sposh knelt between Besh and Faith to place a tray at their disposal. Then, he sat and crossed his legs, looking between his alien guests with a genial smile. Besh was glad to see his host was dressed more casually; loose trousers and bare feet suited him.

Faith spoke around a bite of sweet melon. “Well, he won’t get it. The Consortium does not dispense on request.”

Besh swallowed his bite and replied, “You’re a seasoned negotiator. I’m sure you’ll work it out.”

Sposh asked, “Do you both come from the same world?”

Faith turned to Sposh with a curt response. “I’m from Atticus Tree.”

Besh said to Faith, “I’ve heard of it. I want to visit someday.” To Sposh, Besh said, “I’m from Terra.”

Faith asked Sposh, “So, does your wife work?”

“She once taught children,” said Sposh. “She quit because being around pups made her want one of her own.”

“Oh,” said Faith, choosing a new fruit. “Do you want children?”

“Not sure.” Sposh hung his head. “Scared, I guess.”

Faith stopped eating and turned to her diminutive host. “Scared? Why?”

Sposh sighed. “Why else? The edge.”

Faith replied, curious. “The Pope mentioned that. What is it?”

Sposh opened and closed his first and second fingers. “Opposing bone plates, like scissors. Chic could unman me on a whim. Life over. I’d be fit for nothing but a eunuch’s position in the court of Uda Con.”

“What?” asked Faith incredulously. “Really?” Faith chuckled, and then she laughed outright. “Why, that’s marvelous.”

Besh replied, “No. Actually, that’s scary.”

Faith caught her breath. “So, that’s the edge. It’s about time women took their place.”

Sposh cleared his throat and asked Faith, “Are you married? Do you have children?”

“No,” said Faith, eyes bright. “Too focused on my career. Someday. Maybe.”

“Marken seems quite taken with you,” said Besh.

Faith turned and snorted. “Please!”

Sposh turned to Besh. “What about you, sir? Are you married?”

“Came close,” answered Besh, looking into his past. “She was the most beautiful woman I've ever known.” He turned and smiled. “Her first and middle names were the same.”

Faith sipped water from a glass, took a napkin, and wiped her lips. “The fruit is delicious,” she said and sighed happily. “The sun is so warm. I could nap right here.” She stretched luxuriously and turned to Sposh. “Who’s Uda Con?”

“Uda Con,” said Sposh with a heavy sigh. “She is the Queen of the female kingdom of Shahshr.”

“A kingdom of women?” asked Faith with a broad attractive smile. “I love it. Maybe I should negotiate with Uda Con.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” said Sposh with a vigorous shake of his head. “Dealing with the Pope’s wife is tantamount to treason. Please do not.”

“Calm down,” said Faith. “I’ll play my part, but my leverage just increased significantly.”

Besh met Faith’s eyes with an unspoken question in his own. Faith smiled to herself, eyes narrowed in contemplation. Her answer was almost whimsical. “One continent, two kingdoms, estranged spouses.”

Faith stood and dusted her backside. “Say,” she said to no one in particular. “Great view of the ship.” She walked to the edge of the roof and crouched by the low retaining wall. “This house is so tall for such short people.” On her knees, Faith leaned over the wall to look below and whistled.

Besh placed a hand over Sposh’s eyes; it was a knee-jerk reaction he did not see coming. Sposh moved the hand aside; he had already seen it, up close. He replied, “We have two floors.”

Faith stood and dusted her knees. “I’d better hit the books,” she said to the men watching her every move. “I have to prepare for my meeting with the perv.” She paused and laughed. “I mean the Pope.”

Holly’s facial hair was fine, like that of a pup. She worked her long wheat-colored hair between her fingers as Chic made a final choice. They had chosen loose gowns for a warm evening on the town. Chic turned from the market vendor with a small pipe and a big smile.

“What’s that?” asked Holly.

Chic answered, “Tomorrow is our anniversary. I wanted to buy him a gift.”

Holly shook her head as Shahshr women pushed past. “Why buy him a pipe? He’ll catch his face on fire.”

Chic replaced the pipe, turned, and took her sister’s arm in hers. “You may be right,” she said as the sisters walked through the busy market. “Still, if I return with a nice gift, I may catch him off guard.”

Holly laughed. “For a guard, he’s always off guard.”

Chic’s braided hair fell across her shoulder; she turned it around her finger. “Don’t be that way. If I can’t move Sposh past his fear, I’ll never have pups.”

Holly replied, with a wicked gleam in her eye, “Throw him on the floor and take what you want.”

Chic gasped and turned from her sister. “I’m not that way.”

Said Holly, “He’s a Dalop. He knows the score.”

Chic shook her sister by the arm. “I refuse to hold it over him. I want love, not fear. Oh!” she said brightly. “Let’s look over here.”

Sposh stood with his eyes on the alien ship. He heard Besh yawn behind him. “I wonder how Chic's doing,” said he. “I bought an anniversary gift for her, but now she’s in Shahshr with Holly. I miss her.”

Besh stifled a yawn as the young Dalop turned to him. “She’ll be back. I bet she just went shopping for the perfect gift.”

“You think?” asked Sposh hopefully.

Besh nodded. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow is always a new day.”

Sposh entered his manor and looked around at the emptiness. Even the new electric lights seemed dark in Chic’s absence. As he turned to look toward his room, Faith stuck her head through the door. He knew she was there, still, a large head in a small room is startling.

“Ah! Sposh,” hailed Faith. “I don’t suppose you have a shower,” she prompted.

Sposh stood in place. “I doubt you'd fit.”

Faith said, “I need to wash up for tomorrow. I hate to put you out, but can you help?”

Sposh scratched his head. “I can bring a washtub and a cloth.”

“Thanks,” said Faith with a smile. “You’re a dear.”

It was not that dragging a filled washtub to his wife’s room was overly tasking. No other female in his entire life, including his wife, Chic, had ever asked for his help in bathing. The fates must be laughing, he thought, that an oversized alien was the first. Her needs dragged him ever deeper. It shamed him that he actually waited outside Chic’s room for a final demeaning task.

Faith passed the wet one-piece light suit out to Sposh and said, “Hang it anywhere. Make sure to spread it out so it dries evenly.”

Sposh stood at his door, the alien in his wife’s room to his back. He said, “Going in the night will be a problem. Best you keep the washtub.”