Decision at Doona

L'ENVOI

THE LAST OF THE GUESTS returning to Hrruba waved good night through the transmission veil. With a deep sigh, Ken turned to check the dark Common. The barbecue pits still glowed ruddily, striking the master grid at his feet with red fingers, flaring occasionally to light the deserted tables, the overturned benches. Above him the open sky of Rrala was star-dazzled but moonless. The last of the villagers were crossing the bridge, their way lit by yellow power beams instead of torches. Ken chuckled to himself. A race that had matter transmission carrying torches to confuse their unexpected guests!

“Rrev,” purred a tired voice and Hrrula emerged from a dark splotch of shadow, Hrrestan right behind him, “we can find neither Hrriss nor Todd. Any ideas?”

“Where've you looked?”

“All over the Common, under the table, in the mess hall, at the bridge, the river,” Hrrula enumerated wearily. “All the Likely places,”

“C'mon. We'll try the unlikely” and Ken led them toward his cabin.

They found the two boys fast asleep in Todd's bed. And chuckled at the sight. Arms around each other, heads tilted as if they had fallen asleep midsentence, it was obvious that this pair worked hard at good interracial relations. Todd wore his mda vest and a pair of pants, his rope tail stuffed down one pant leg. Hrriss's nether regions, too, were trouser clad, and his tail had worked down a leg, thereby equalizing the appearance of the two friends.

Hrrestan smiled at Ken over their sleeping sons. “We do not need to part such friends tonight, do we?” and the two fathers covered the boys.

“Pat must be finished at the mess hall now,” Ken said and walked them back toward the bridge. They were halfway there when Kiachif's deep belly laugh broke the still night like a sonic boom. He lurched out of the shadows in front of them.

"I knew it, Reeve, I knew it," he bellowed jubilantly, swaying slightly on his feet. "Y'see this little flask? It's got spirits in it, it has," he crowed. "Every race that's got skin to cover it, hair to braid, loins to clad, if y'get what I mean, has some way to relieve the tensions of the weary weary world they live on. I knew your pussycat people were no exception, bless their velvety hides. Praise be to the everlasting stars, may they multiply forever.

The flask was tendered Ken but Hrrula stayed Kiachifs hand and sniffed delicately at the mouth of the bottle. His lips curled with distaste and he released Kiachifs hand abruptly.

“Mlada,” he hissed.

“Mlada it is, and a melodic name for a distillation of sheer delight,” Kiachif replied at drive-room volume. “This planet's a joy to visit, if you get what I mean,” and roaring with laughter, he reeled away toward the landing field.

“He'll not be so glad tomorrow,” Hrrestan remarked drily.

The terrain dipped down from the Common to the field so they had a last look at his retreating figure outlined against the night sky, one arm holding the bottle high, like a salute.

“You don't approve of mlada?” Ken asked, trying to suppress his amusement over Kiachif's minor victory.

Hrrula's answering growl defied imitation but made clear his opinion of mlada.

“The herd drink it by the Iva,” he remarked scornfully. “Makes them sleep for hours.”

“It occupies them with something,” Hrrestan said.

“There is something here to keep them occupied,” Hrrula replied crisply, gesturing broadly at the quiet scene. “Something new and vital and stimulating, with a whole new set of experiences and problems.”

“Yes, it will not always be easy,” Hrrestan said thoughtfully, catching Ken's eyes.

Quickly Ken held his hand out, felt Hrrestan's furry palm touch his; extended his left hand to meet Hrrula's.

“We will always understand each other,” Ken vowed, his voice rough with feeling, “if we listen very hard.”

“I get what you mean,” Hrrula purred.