Decision at Doona

“Yes, yes, yes, and yes, honey,” Ken laughed, hugging her. “Todd has redeemed the family name for all time.”

“Thank God!”

“Where've you been since I woke you this morning?”

Pat's face clouded and her mouth thi

"I had to explain to four hundred Hrrubans how to cook Terran style. Oh, for one lousy button to punch. There are times when automation had certain undeniable advantages – " She broke off with an accusing expression on her face. "Do you realize that Mrrva is a physical health Specialist – that's equivalent to having five Technical degrees on Terra. She's a full fledged doctor, a biochemist and she was playing house on Rrala! She was up all night pla

“And so are you,” he teased. “Hey, what's the matter?” for Pat suddenly burst into tears and buried her face in his chest. He pulled her around to the back of the mess hall, away from the crowds. “Pat, darling, what's wrong?” He tipped her head up.

«It's just – it's just too much,» she gulped back her sobs. «I'm all right, really. Nerves.» But she couldn't stop crying. «And I think I'm pregnant and I've been so scared and all with the snakes and the mining planet and . . .»

Ken just held her tightly to him, gently stroking her hair. If he hadn't been so roaringly happy inside – well, women cry because they're happy, too. It was almost a relief to Ken to stand here, holding his wife in his arms. It gave him a chance to catch up too. He was having a little difficulty himself, adjusting to the fact that they were safely ensconced on Rrala, and that the Hrrubans were back for good.

He looked down the sweep of the greensward to the barn. Hrrula was showing off the paces of the black stallion to Hrruna and his lady while Hrriss and Todd perched on the corral fence, cheering him. The guards lounged by the water trough, the Terran offering the Hrrubans a drink from the dipper. Beyond the barn, toward the plain, he could clearly see the black smudges where the snakes had been lasered away by the launch guns the day before. There was the faintest trace of stink when the wind blew from that direction. Far, far away he could see the dots of the urfa grazing. To his right, nearer the river, stood the four vari-sized ships, silver-green in the westering sun.

Pat had quieted in his arms, comfortable against him, warm and soft and his. As Rrala was his – and his children's

Pat looked up at him with a tremulous smile, her lips soft and inviting. He kissed her tenderly, for her hard work today, her courage yesterday, and the promise of tomorrow. Arm in arm they returned to the Common.

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.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

To be born as I was on April first imposes a challenge. In writing speculative fiction, I feel I have not failed the auspices of my natal day.

However, being 99 percent Irish indicates a certain perversity, so I tried out many other things before I settled down to write. I dabbled in the Theatre Arts, studied voice production for nine years before arriving at the horrifying conclusion that I was a better stage-director of opera than a singer. I capped off that facet with the production and stage-direction of the American premiere in Wilmington of Carl Orff's Ludus de Nato Infante Mirificus, which is not as far from speculative fiction as you might imagine.

I balance indifferent housekeeping with superb cooking, sew for anyone but myself, knit well and (would you believe?) embroider; am currently raising three children, five cats, and a french poodle; swim, sail ride horseback – western style by preference – collect Graustarkian romances, and resent being kept away from my typewriter by any one of the above-mentioned diversions.