"No, no, the things Deb said to her husband all but blistered the paint off the walls.

And there, when the amba.s.sador was giving birth, some of those hisses were just this side of lethal. She actually bit her consort through the arm, but he took it stoically."

Claire set the mug down then held her hands in her lap. "I had to do a bit more in there than I did with Deb. The Amba.s.sador's cloaca dilated, right down at the base of her abdomen, then her baby just wriggled free of this clear fluid membrane. I had to catch the child, help it, and say the words being whispered to me by a Qian. Part of the time I was thinking about snakes and having a hard time not thinking of this child as a snake. I almost lost it once, then I caught the mother's glance. I could see the worry in her eyes, so I nodded, I said the words loud, with her little aide translating. I kept seeing my sister and the Blessed Virgin. I even knew I'd have a hard time justifying my actions to the Bishop, but I knew what I was doing was more right than wrong."

Flynn took her hands in his. "If there was any wrong in what you did, Father Yamas.h.i.ta, I'll not be seeing it as being worthy of your bothering me with it during Confession. As for the Bishop..." The older man shrugged. "I'm thinking she's got enough to worry about that troubling her with a report on this isn't really necessary."

Claire gave Flynn's hands a squeeze, then freed her own to recover her mug. "The whole thing wouldn't have been necessary if the Haxadis had planned ahead better."

"What do you mean?"

She frowned. "You are pregnant, and you know you need a priestess to help birth your baby if you are caught on a ship. You head out on a long journey, hoping to get home, but knowing it's a race against time. Why don't you ship a priestess with you?

They had room in their pod for it-in the cabin they gave me, if nothing else."

The door to the small waiting room opened and the Qian station director entered the room. She looked about for a moment and then serenely faced the pair of priests.

"There you are."

Flynn raised an eyebrow. "Why, Director Chzan, you're long since past trying to fool me with your coincidental appearances. You see, Father Yamas.h.i.ta, Director Chzan has a dozen different ways to locate us if she desires, not the least of which would have been having the station's systems sniff the air for the hints of your tea."

The Qian did her best to pretend she had not heard Flynn's remark. She extended her hand toward Claire. "I came for the transmission device."

Claire reached back behind her right ear and peeled off a plastic piece of circuitry through which a Qian aide had whispered to her the words she p.r.o.nounced at the birth. "Thank you for your help."

"No, Father Yamas.h.i.ta, it is you who must be thanked." The Qian inclined her head slightly. "This would have been an indelicate situation were you not here to resolve it."

Flynn's eyes narrowed. "A point we were just discussing, in fact. Why didn't the amba.s.sador have a priestess in her entourage?"

Chzan's eyes blinked slowly. "The priestess failed to obtain a flight health certificate."

"What?" Flynn laughed aloud. "A right-rum pox-dog fair bursting with bacteria and viruses would get a health cert- as could each and every one of the buggies infesting him. How did she fail?"

"Clerical error. It has been corrected." The Qian accepted the small device fromClaire. "Again, Father Yamas.h.i.ta, thank you."

Claire sat back, wrapping her right hand around the mug. She let the tea's warmth fight the chill shivering its way up her spine as the Qian exited the room. "What just happened? I was put in the Haxadis pod at the insistence of the Qian crew. Did they fail the Haxadis priestess deliberately, then not tell the amba.s.sador I would be available, yet have me there just in case? Why would they do that?"

Flynn frowned. "Their station, their Commonwealth, their rules."

"But what did they gain?"

"Knowledge. How you functioned under stress. How the Haxadissi functioned under stress." Flynn grinned, and c.o.c.ked his head to the right. "And now they have a powerful Haxadis family beholden to a human for the birth of a grandchild. At the cost of a little anxiety relieved, they build some stability for the Commonwealth."

"But they didn't know how I would react. No one did."

"Save G.o.d, Father Yamas.h.i.ta."

"You're right, He knew." She nodded. "And it's Claire."

"I suspect He knew that, too." Flynn smiled. "As for what the Qian might have known, doesn't matter. Now they know more, and likely more than either of us could figure out. Still, that's part of what keeps life here on Purgatory Station so interesting."

Claire smiled. "The Qian and knowledge. Perhaps they're the serpents in the garden."

"Could be, but this is their garden, Claire. From their point of view, it also likely a fair viper's nest, within which we're just two."

"And your friend, Meresin?"

Flynn smiled. "Oh, a serpent, definitely, though not the worst here. Don't you be minding that, though, Claire, for it's still a garden here, beauty abounding. Welcome to your new home."

Home. So far away and yet... Claire sipped her tea, then nodded. "Thank you. Home it shall be, Father, serpents and all."

First Contact Cafi

by Irene Radford

Irene Radford is a member of an endangered species, a native Oregonian still Irene Radford is a member of an endangered species, a native Oregonian still Irene Radford is a member of an endangered species, a native Oregonian still Irene Radford is a member of an endangered species, a native Oregonian still living in Oregon. She is best known for her fantasy series living in Oregon. She is best known for her fantasy series living in Oregon. She is best known for her fantasy series living in Oregon. She is best known for her fantasy series The Dragon The Dragon The Dragon The Dragon Nimbus, The Dragon Nimbus History, Nimbus, The Dragon Nimbus History, Nimbus, The Dragon Nimbus History, Nimbus, The Dragon Nimbus History, and and and and Merlin's Descendants. Merlin's Descendants. Merlin's Descendants. Merlin's Descendants. Most Most Most Most recently she has begun the cross over into s.p.a.ce opera and s.p.a.ce stations with recently she has begun the cross over into s.p.a.ce opera and s.p.a.ce stations with recently she has begun the cross over into s.p.a.ce opera and s.p.a.ce stations with recently she has begun the cross over into s.p.a.ce opera and s.p.a.ce stations with The Hidden Dragon, StarG.o.ds #1, The Hidden Dragon, StarG.o.ds #1, The Hidden Dragon, StarG.o.ds #1, The Hidden Dragon, StarG.o.ds #1, published by DAW Books in 2002 published by DAW Books in 2002 published by DAW Books in 2002 published by DAW Books in 2002. . . .

A SCREECH from the station monitors stabbed through the perceptions of Ab'nere Ll'byr Wyn'th (p.r.o.nounced Abner Labyrinth in that new language working its way around the s.p.a.ce station). She tongued a control built into her dentalia. One of theten screens built into her spectacles that nearly reached her earlobes displayed the scene from A 108, the ammonia atmosphere arm close to the hub of Labyrinth, her s.p.a.ce station, where gravity was low.

She gasped in horror as she watched a nearly transparent Pentapod, its visible heart beating a rapid and erratic rhythm even for a Pentapod, fling a spindly barstool over its head into the mirror behind the bar. Ab'nere's Number Eight Son-fathered by an ammonia breather and thus possessing gills to breathe a veritable c.o.c.ktail of different atmospheres-ducked out of the way of the stool, arms shielding his neck and those vulnerable gills from shattering gla.s.s. His daughter and her spouse flung aside their trays filled with noxious drinks only an ammonia breather could love and dove beneath the tables they had been serving. The silica and lead globules filled with liquid and vaporous chemicals smashed into walls. Before the rainbow puddles slid to the floor, two patrons slammed their arm joints, simultaneously, into the offender's mid-region.

The first combatant stumbled backward. He collided with yet another patron. That being's drink flew out of his hand. The splashee's foot jerked into a delicate leg joint of yet another patron. This next victim retaliated by breaking a drink globule over the nearest head-that of Number Eight Son.

Before Ab'nere could blink, all twenty imbibers in the bar had joined the fray. Flippers andpseudopods lashed out. Limbs tangled and internal organs pulsed. Defenders leaped aside and slammed into no longer innocent bystanders.

One of them landed upon the portal iris. It buckled. The air lock behind it hissed. An attacker launched himself at the door. The lock shattered under the combined weight and thrust.

The fight spilled into the corridor. Only one more air lock separated them from the hub. If the ammonia leaked into the hub, containment could prove difficult.

Ab'nere fought the panic rising in her gorge. She carried new life-not yet discernable to any but herself. This eighteenth offspring had been fathered by a Magma Giant. The heavy metal content in its blood was particularly vulnerable to contamination from ammonia.

"Number Eight Son!" Ab'nere shouted over the com link buried in yet another of her one hundred ten teeth.

No answer. Her offspring remained hidden safely behind the bar.

"Number Eight, I did not incur untold debt with the bankers of D'Or to build this station just so those s.p.a.cers could tear it apart. Get out there and end this brawl."

"Mother, they are ammonia breathers. What else do you expect from them," her offspring protested.

"Do not make me close down thisoxygen/nitrogen/hydrogen bar just to come settle a brawl you are too timid to end." Not that she would risk the new child in the ammonia arm of the s.p.a.ce station. "I will lose a valuable first contact fee if I do."

"But, Mother..."

"You are no better than your father. Now get out there and do something. I have just written you out of my will."

"Honored Mother, I will do as you bid. At great peril to myself. But only so that your displeasure with me does not affect the welfare of your grandchildren. And a new great grandchild." Just as verbose as his father, too!

"The damages will come out of your portion of my estate. If I write you back into my will." At the same time Ab'nere preened at the news that yet another descendant was on the way. The ammonia line might lack concentration and reliability, but they were amazing breeders.

She always enjoyed reunions with her eighth spouse.

Then she ground her dental work together, at great risk to her various controls and links about the station.

What would the new species think of Labyrinth!

Brawls threatening to mix atmospheres, cowardly progeny, toxic drinks too near the air locks.

"I have provided a safe, friendly place for speciesto make contact, negotiate trade, and solve mutual problems," she nearly screamed at her negligent son.

"And you jeopardize it all."

The monitor in her spectacles showed her offspring wading into the midst of the brawl. His smooth skin, a legacy from Ab'nere's Labyrinthine ancestry, protected him from sc.r.a.pes and bruises better than the thin membranes of the ammonia breathers.

Number Eight had also inherited Ab'nere's squat figure without indentations or protrusions that might offer convenient handholds to enemies in one-on-one combat. But his ears were pitifully small, they only folded to meet at his flat nose, not overlap and cover his entire face.

Then she noticed the hem of his uniform robe was torn. He tripped on it, scrabbling for balance in the low gravity. An impolite amount of his thin legs (as spindly as his father's and not at all as attractive as Ab'nere's st.u.r.dier limbs) gaped through the hole in his garment. In his forward sprawl Number Eight flew between a Pentapod and a gelatinous, red-and-white Porgeusa who were beating at each other with broken gla.s.sware. The two separated, gasping for breath.

Number Eight tried the same ploy to separate other combatants with little effect. The energy fueling the fight continued to build. She set down her towel and the gla.s.s she had polished too many times. "Number Eight Son," she called through the link. "My honor as a Labyrinthine trader is calledinto question. Contain this brawl."

Number Eight Son picked himself up off the floor and peered into the two-way monitor. He sported several bright green bruises around his eyes that clashed with his usually beautiful yellow/brown skin.

"I shall try, Mother."

"Do not just try. Do!" Ab'nere shook her head in dismay. Bad enough that she had to worry that the child she carried might possess enough of its father's DNA to be born weighing more than she did. Her entire station was at risk if the ammonia leaked out.

She took several deep, calming breaths. Then she inflated the cost of the damages and medical bills by a factor of three-the only way to keep the bankers of D'Or from finding too much profit aboard the s.p.a.ce station and trying to tack on extra interest.

She really did not want to close this bar before the infant species made his appearance. Ab'nere's reputation, not to mention her various bank accounts, and the infant in her womb were at stake.

She pinched her towel with two of her three digits of one paw and a fresh gla.s.s in the other. Not that she needed to polish the drinking vessels, the TurboSteam spat out clean, shiny, sanitized containers no matter which species had drooled into them. The time-honored activity made her look busy while she waited for the next set of customers. An infant species just making its first venture into s.p.a.ce, and a Glug.She checked the computer's schedule. Both species had missed their appointment by seventeen centags.

An unforgivable breach of etiquette. This did not bode well. Did not this new species realize that all of its future trade agreements and diplomatic alliances revolved around this first meeting at the Labyrinth?

And the Glug. The greedy methane eaters came and went on a schedule understood only by other Glugs.

The infant in her womb twisted and upset her digestion. She folded one ear across her mouth to hide her burp.

She did not need this added worry.

When she had made verbal arrangements for this meeting with the infant species, their representative had promptly named Labyrinth "First Contact Cafi," stating blithely: "Yeah, we have them back home." Whatever that meant?

Within centags of that communication, all thirty-seven species in residence had adopted the name. For sixty-five million trade agreements the station had been Labyrinth.

No more.

This new language could not disappear into the galactic polyglot fast enough.

Ab'nere looked over the bar to make sure a diminutive being had not crept in unnoticed; though preliminary communications indicated the new species was taller than most bipedal quadrupeds inthis sector. Species had been known to lie about themselves to keep others from thinking about them in terms of lunch.

The etiquette Ab'nere had codified strictly forbade the question, "Are you edible?" Still, it happened.

The granite giants of Magma Prime-like her latest spouse and the father of her eighteenth child-were voracious feeders on anything mineral, sentient or no. And the silicon globules of N'w Sson Hoos'seh had been known to slurp unsuspecting planets dry, leaving desiccated corpses for the Vulturians of Go Bae. Still, most of the fleshy carbon-based species avoided harvesting each other.

She understood why species just venturing beyond their own solar system for the first time liked a neutral meeting point before giving out their home address. They also liked a sense of quiet privacy while they labored through the first delicate negotiations with others. Ab'nere acted as a neutral referee between alien prejudices, preconceptions, needs, att.i.tudes, and languages.

And Ab'nere earned a very generous fee for providing the service and the meeting place. Most of the time. The brawl in A 108 threatened the first contact as well as the fee. (Each quarter cycle when the loan payments came due, the bankers of D'Or looked closer and closer at her bookkeeping. She had to work harder and harder at hiding the true numbers. She refused to allow them to increase her debt in direct proportion to the profit margin.)A brief look into the monitor showed the fight in A 108 winding down. Ab'nere should not have worried. Ammonia breathers did not have the concentration to sustain anything long enough to incur real damage.

Except perhaps mating. Then they lost interest as soon as gestation could be confirmed.

Just as well. Ab'nere did not appreciate interference from any of her eighteen spouses in the raising of her offspring.

Males just did not appreciate that no matter what species they came from, Ab'nere's children were always fully Labyrinthians. The other species rarely contributed more to the genetic makeup than a useful trait like ammonia gills, or heavy gravity adaptability. The Magma Giants were an unknown quant.i.ty as sires. She should not worry about the size of her child. Every one of her offspring had weighed the same at birth and grown to equal her in height. Still...

The docking manifest showed the infant species arriving at Oxygen/nitrogen/hydrogen 3-about halfway to the end of that spoke and therefore at a mid level gravity. A huge ugly ship that had to slow its rotation to dock. Until they completed that delicate operation, the s.p.a.cers would be without gravity. Their FTL drive was primitive, probably their first. Must have taken several of their years to reach Labyrinth. Had they resorted to suspended animation to survive the long trip? Ab'nereshuddered at the thought of the primitive travel mode.

Civilized species did not subject their people to such dangerous indignities.

"Number Six Daughter, please open ONH 321 for the isolated use of the new arrivals. Provide fermented grains and distilled spirits for their consumption while they await completion of first contact."

"Honored Mother, do we truly wish to encourage the consumption of distilled sprits?" Number Six had the audacity to ask.

If the ammonia breathers drank toxic chemicals, this infant species polluted themselves at higher levels (much as their language had already polluted Labyrinth).

"These infants will either abandon liquor while in s.p.a.ce or they will not survive as a species long enough to become a threat to civilization," Ab'nere replied. "Do not question my orders, Number Six. I have watched species rise and fall a dozen times over during the past two hundred five cycles. I know how to run this station."

She really needed to supervise the mopping up in A 108, 109 and now up to A 112, and make sure the computer recorded Ab'nere's estimated repair costs rather than actual numbers. Instead, she waited on a very late infant species and an elder who should know better. Etiquette had been breached by allparties involved.

This mode of affairs must not continue. Etiquette ran Labyrinth and kept misunderstandings to a minimum. She firmly believed that her etiquette prevented war.

A new screen on her spectacles flashed an alarm.

"Number Fifteen Son," she called. "Aquatic 893 just lost three points of pressure. You must swim in and check for leaks."

"Oh, Mother, I was just going to bathe," came the rebellious reply.

"There is plenty of water for bathing in the aquatic arm. And I can see ice forming around portal HO 891C. You must seal that leak now."

"Can't you do it, Mother?"

"Not if you want to continue living on this station!"

Number Fifteen sighed as if the weight of the universe rested on his shoulders. Then he shuffled along to his a.s.signment.