Star Trek by Kevin Killiany Page A

encouraging chirps and clicks, indicating various bowls as they did.
    Hoping local microbes didn’t like humans, Corsi indicated she would like some water. Spot poured half a liter into the smaller of her two bowls, then poured some in her own and Lefty’s. It was cold, with the mineral tang of an artesian well.
    Despite her thirst, Corsi was careful to sip. She couldn’t help trying to taste for microbes.
    From that point she was committed. She tried a tiny sample from each bowl, waiting several moments between bites to check for adverse reactions. The fruit was so bitter the tiniest nip had made her scalp contract, but the steamed greens with what looked like walnuts were delicious.
    Corsi was just deciding the flavor of starchy tubers was a constant throughout the galaxy, when a scuttle of brown movement at the edge of the table caught the corner of her eye. Scorpion!
    She swung without thinking. But fast as her battle-trained reflexes were, Lefty was faster. The chiptaur’s heavy lower arm flashed across the table, taking the full force of Corsi’s backhand before it connected with its target.
    For a heartbeat no one in the restaurant moved. Then Spot rose and came around the table with an empty platter and sprig of green from a salad and began trying to coax the intruder onto the plate.
    Now that she had a chance to study it, Corsi was sure she would have swung even if she’d seen the creature clearly. About twelve centimeters long, the pseudoscorpion was heavily scaled and armed with a pair of lobsterlike claws. Otherwise its general layout was similar to her hosts’, with four legs for locomotion, the heavy pair of claws, and two smaller manipulative arms near its mandibles.
    However, Lefty’s intervention and the care Spot was taking to rescue the creature told her swatting at the thing had been a bad choice. Hadn’t she just wondered where the chiptaur children were? For all she knew, this was a chiptaur toddler going through some sort of larval stage. Or it could be a pet. Or a deity, for all she knew.
    From the surreptitious glances she could see their table was getting from the other diners, Corsi suspected she’d just undone a lot of the goodwill she’d spent so much time trying to build up.
    Corsi watched as Spot traded the plate with the passenger for a clean one provided by a server, trying to make her concern apparent. She was sure it was the violence of her instinctive reaction, more than the potential harm to the animal, that had upset the chiptaurs.
    She just hoped a show of remorse would repair some of the damage.
    The rest of the meal passed without incident. By the time she and her companions rose, the other diners had regained their relaxed and convivial air. Though, as she returned the waves of several on the way out, Corsi realized chiptaurs had been coming and going. Most of those now eating may not have witnessed her moment of savagery.
    They had not traveled far along the broad corridor before a commotion broke out behind them. Or as close to a commotion as anything Corsi had seen among the chiptaurs. Several voices were raised above the general buzz of clicks and chitters, all of them apparently calling out similar phrases.
    Spot and Lefty wheeled in place to face the way they’d come. Corsi turned as well, noting there was no interruption in the flow of traffic and general conversations around them. Her companions weren’t looking back because they were curious; the calls were directed at them.
    A party of chiptaurs was approaching, as close to a mob as anything Corsi had seen, clearly excited and in a hurry. Even in their haste, however, they did not push past anyone. Most in the corridor saw them coming and moved out of the way. However, if a chiptaur seemed unaware of them, the group paused in its rush, speaking with what looked to be courtesy and waiting until the way was again clear.
    How do these people get anything done ?
    At last they