“The Xest mind misses the nuances.” She frowned. “As Captain, protocol requires that I visit in person. But to them—”

“By yourself you’re only half a captain!” Aton slapped his knee. “Grievous violation of etiquette.

“Precisely.”

•  •  •

The Xests were small by human standards, under a hundred pounds if scaled by Earth gravity. Here, however, weight was only a quarter Earth-normal. Eight delicate appendages sprouted from the aliens’ globular bodies in phalangidean symmetry. Communication had to be by galactic signs; they had no conception of sound.

Protocol further required the entertainment of the human for a specified period and the exchange of gifts. The Xests were semi-telepathic, able to respond directly to emotion but not meaning, and believed that the honor paid to the visitor was automatically appreciated by the species. Captain Moyne presented them with several cylinders of emergency oxygen—a commodity as precious to them as to man—and in return an artisan contracted to produce a portrait of the human.

It was not long before the Xest spokesman got off on the favorite riddle: the binary nature of man. “Two species to make one Human?” it signaled.

“One species, two sexes,” Aton returned.

“Yes, yes—Male of one species, Female of other.”

“No, no—male and female of same species. Homo sapiens.”

“Of same unit?” the sexless creature signed.

This would be another term for their conception of blood relationship. “No, too close,” Aton began, but gave it up.

Captain Moyne watched this exchange with a half smile, but made no comment.

“Will never understand,” the Xest finished, perplexed. “Fire and water mix to make Human. Inevitable destruction—but that is your problem. Let us talk of trade.”

•  •  •

The hosts understood the need for occasional estivation. A generous accommodation was provided for the Human: one bedroom, complete with bathroom fixture, kitchen fixture, appurtenances, bed.

“All right,” said Aton. “Who gets it?”

“I do,” the Captain answered firmly.

“Don’t you think it should be share and share alike?”

“No.”

“Should I make a complaint to the innkeeper?”

“Protocol forbids. You may absent yourself while I prepare to retire.”

“But where will I sleep?”

“When you return you may make yourself a lair on the floor.”

Upon that return, he found her sitting up in bed clad in the filmiest nightgown he had ever seen through. The game, it appeared, was not over yet, and she had certainly come prepared. The surprising rondure of the woman behind the uniform was once more evident beyond any reasonable doubt. She both intrigued and frustrated him, and he was not entirely pleased by the suspicion that she understood this well.

Aton sat on the edge of the bed. “What is your secret, Captain? You have the body of a young girl—a mature young girl—yet you must be fifty, at least.”

“The years in space are brief,” she said. She retained the skullcap; no trace of her hair showed.

“Not that brief.”