Stet sighed. "I'll find out whether the consulate has been notified. Native police usually do that, you know. Very thoughtful fellows. If this Bloxx hasn't been bailed out already, I'll see that he is." "But how will we answer his letter? Advise him to sue for false arrest?" Stet smiled. "But he has no grounds for false arrest. He is guilty of assault. The native was entirely within his rights in trying to sell him a brush. Now—" he put out a foot—"brace yourself. Privacy violation is not a crime on Terra. It is perfectly legal. In fact, it does not exist as such!" At that point, everything went maroon. When Tarb came to, she found herself lying upon Drosmig's desk. A skin-faced native woman was offering her water and clucking. "Are you all right, Tarb—Miss Morfatch?" Stet demanded anxiously. "Yes. I—I think so," she murmured, raising herself to a crouch. "Better ... have died," Drosmig groaned from his perch. "Fate worse ... death ... awaits you." Tarb tried to smile. "Sorry to have been so much trouble." She stuck out her tongue at both Stet and the native. The woman drew in her breath. "Miss Morfatch," Stet reminded Tarb, "sticking out the tongue is not an apology on Terra; it is an insult. Fortunately, Miss Snow happens to be perhaps the only Terran who would not be offended. She has become thoroughly acquainted with us and our odd little customs. She even—" he beamed at the Terran female—"has learned to speak our language." "Hail to thee, O visitor from the stars," Miss Snow said in Fizbian. "May thy sojourn upon Earth be an incessant delight and may peace and plenty shower their gifts in abundance upon thee." Tarb put her hand to her aching head. "I'm very glad to meet you," she said, glad she did not have to get up to make the ritual entrechats. "Miss Snow is my right foot," Stet said, "but I'm going to be noble and let her act as your secretary until you can learn to operate a typewriter." "Secretary? Typewriter?" "Well, you see, there are no scriptos or superscriptos on Earth
Prev.
Back
Top