With thanks to Graham Lao for much helpful technical advice and to Tim McCleerey, the only person I know who ALWAYS reads my stories.

I roll up the window shade and peer outside. Our fluorescent day-light is flickering. While it is not one of my assigned duties per se, as one of the few residents in our district not in terror of Luna City Administrative Law Enforcement, after a week of midnight conditions when I first came to Luna City, I took it upon myself to report day-light outages. Luckily, with merely a flicker, I can put this task off awhile longer.

I notice a Law Enforcement skimmer parked in the road below. As this is not an uncommon occurrence in our neighborhood, I don't think too much about it. I merely assume that some of our local entrepreneurs (hookers, drug pushers, etc.) have run afoul of Administrative ordinances (again).

On a dry-erase board next to the window, I rub out the "2" and change my day count to 1,743 - 1,743 days on Luna. I sigh. No, I do not know why I am doing this. If I were counting DOWN to a deadline, like returning home, it might make sense to count the days. But, with our system's star expanding, my home planet is now over 1,000 degrees Celsius. With habitable real estate in our stellar system at a premium, I and many others have been sent into "exile" to clear out room for those who remain. And, of course, I was not actually living on our home planet but on a refuge planetary moon a safe distance from our star. Still, I miss being on a celestial body populated with my own species.

A tentative knock at the door. "Ambassador?" It is one of our Aides.

Our Aides, oddly, are both named "Wan," although one of them spells it "Juan." After 1,743 days, I still cannot tell which is which - to me, they look too much alike. But I am TRYING.

I open the door. I think this is Wan-without-a-J.

"There is a Law Enforcement Administrator waiting downstairs for you," Wan (I think) announces.

I fluff my crest feathers and leave my quarters, walking sedately down the stairs behind Wan.

Hmmm... can't think why Law Enforcement would be calling. Probably some Administrative technicality we have run afoul of. There are so MANY of them, it is hard NOT to fall afoul of something occasionally. At the bottom of the stairs is the entryway for the Embassy. I notice it is looking particularly grimy.

I wonder if we can scrape some funds together for a paint job? While we get few visitors at the Uralian embassy, and we are located in a monetarily-challenged district in our city, still, I think we should appear a little more respectable.

A huge human male is filling the small room. Our other Aide (maybe Juan?) is squashed into a corner.

"Hello, I am Lieutenant Forbes of Law Enforcement," he says with his hand extended. I've been here long enough (1,743 days) to know I am supposed to reach out and shake it with my hand. He flinches at the claws, even though I have learned to be careful with them.

"We are investigating a report of an incident in the Embassy," he says.

"Incident?" I enquire.

"Blaster emission," he specifies.

"In the neighborhood?"

"Our reports and sensor readings indicate a possible blaster firing inside the Embassy," he asserts.

"I don't think we noticed anything like that," I say, looking at Wan and Juan, both now huddled in the corner. They nod.

But, a blaster? Inside?? I would be surprised if any of our walls (not being particularly sturdy) would still be standing.

"None of us has a blaster... and I can't think why an outsider..."

"Our Forensics Team will be arriving momentarily to investigate further," Lt. Forbes continues.

Our door alert sounds. Wan (I think it's Wan) goes to answer it.

"If we could go somewhere private and discuss this?" Lt. Forbes moves slightly as a hint.

With Lt. Forbes in our tiny entryway, there would hardly be room for a Forensics Team unless they were elves. We adjourn to the Ambassadorial Offices.

We call it the Ambassadorial Offices because both Ambassador Tfns and I have our offices there. But it is actually a single room. And Wan and Juan also have their desks and chairs there. (The Uralian Embassy at Luna City is not known for its spacious accommodations.) Tfns is already at her desk, and I settle onto my perch behind mine. Juan (maybe) pulls out a human-chair (normally shoved into a corner) for Lt. Forbes.

I look up in expectation.

Lt. Forbes pulls out his com and starts a doc. He leans forward. "We are investigating an incident in the Embassy. A first-person report came in at 1:00 am of a loud noise inside the Embassy. Sensor scans of the area show blaster radiation."

We both look puzzled. Wan and Juan, who are not on site overnight, also look puzzled.

"I'd like you to describe your movements last evening."

Tfns reports. She arrived years before I did and is Senior. "We finished our office tasks at 5:30. We each went to our quarters, then left in our transport for an Ambassadorial gathering at the Smedley Center at 7:00. It lasted from 7:30 pm to 11:00 pm. Our vehicle transported us back to the Embassy, arriving at approximately 11:30 pm. We then each went to our quarters. I went to bed and did not leave my quarters again. I did not hear a blaster but slept soundly until 7:00 am this morning."

Tfns reads a lot of crime novels, so she knows how to make a report. I was proud of her. I bet Lt. Forbes doesn't often get such a clear and precise report from his interviewees.

He finishes typing into the doc, then turns heavily to me. "And your movements after returning from the Center?"

I squirm on my perch. "Well, I actually got the vehicle and went back out..."

Tfns head whips toward me.

"...and, well basically, I went to the FastFood on 125th ..."

Tfns is now definitely glaring. "Idiot! Can't you stay settled?"

"I was hungry!" I assert. "They didn't have anything I found appetizing at Smedley Center. So, I got some nuggets..."

Now it is Lt. Forbes who looks a bit shocked. It's because of the feathers. Humans tend to think feathered beings should not eat other feathered beings (even though they, as mammals, eat other mammals).

But I insist that, while feathered, we are NOT poultry. Pictures I have seen from Earth's fossil record show Utahraptors that look a great deal like Uralians. But I suspect that we have more pleasant personalities, more suited for polite society, than Utahraptors did.

And I believe we are also more pleasant than the Gilgot, an alligator-like species (and the first alien species to come to Luna.)

Although, to be perfectly fair, the Gilgot haven't actually eaten a human in over ten years.

And the Aide, whose hand was bitten off... well, they did manage to reattach it, and he's fine now (although working at a different Embassy.)

Lt. Forbes is not really interested in dietary digressions. He shakes off his feelings about birds eating birds. "And then?"

"I ate my nuggets in the parking lot of the FastFood. I enjoyed looking at the "stars" for a bit longer. Then I had the vehicle bring me back to the Embassy."

"When did you leave the Embassy? And when did you come back?"

I think carefully. "I left about 12:15 and returned at about 1:30 am."

"Idiot!" says Tfns. "Low class idiot!"

Lt. Forbes calls the FastFood on his com.

"Hello... I'd like to speak to your night manager... thank you..." He is apparently transferred.

"Hello... are you the night manager of the FastFood on 125th? I'd like to check on a customer about midnight last night. I know, I know, lots of customers... this one had..." he glances at me, then quickly away again, "...feathers... Yes, yes, ... exact time will be on record at the restaurant ... yes ... thank you ..."

More transferring. "...Yes, it's Lt. Forbes again. The night manager says you will have a time record of a transaction for ..." he looks at me again "... chicken nuggets just after midnight ... OK ... 12:03? Probably not... 12:19?" I shake my head. "12:51?" He looks at me. I shrug. Sure, why not? "... then not until 1:09."

I shake my head. "Probably not. 12:51 is probably the transaction we are looking for... Thank you so much!"

He looks at me. "12:51. Then what?"

I wriggle uncomfortably. "I ate them."

"How long did that take?"

I hate this. "About 15 minutes, I suppose. I didn't get the Mega-Grande size."

"Or fries? Or a soda?"

"Ice tea. No fries."

Tfns snorts in disgust.

"You mentioned "star" gazing. Did that add to the time?"

"I was doing that while I was eating."

"Did you return directly to the Embassy?"

"Yes."

"And arrived...?

"About 1:30. Of course, you can check the stats in the vehicle's data record..."

"And, we will," he assures me. He calls in one of his minions, murmurs something to him, then returns to his chair. The minion grabs Wan (or Juan?) and they leave out the back door to the garage.

Tfns is seething. "If you have no further questions," she snaps, then hops off her perch before he can think of anything else to ask, turns, and flounces out of the office. I think I hear the word "Idiot!" as the door closes behind her.

I know I am irritating to my fellow-ambassador. I decide I should explain things a bit to Lt. Forbes (probably a bad idea, but I don't want him thinking she is uncooperative.)

"There are two major continents on our home planet. People from the two continents did not traditionally get along well. When conditions on Uralia became uninhabitable, we went to refugee colonies on outer planetary moons. These settlements maintained the division of population and continued to reflect the animosity between two continents. Conditions have continued to deteriorate in our stellar system, and recently, Uralia has begun assigning us to various Embassies around the galaxy. Two ambassadors are typically sent, one from each origin continent."

"So, you would not expect to get along well?" Lt. Forbes asks.

"No, but yes. They usually send out a male from one continent and a female from the other..."

"And, with no one else suitable for a mate...?"

"Exactly."

"So why, on Luna...?"

"Well, we don't actually know. My colleague was sent out several years before I was, continually petitioned for a partner, possibly something went awry in the paperwork... Anyway ..."

"Anyway?"

"Anyway, I was a deep disappointment to Ambassador Tfns."

"Ah! Is that how it's pronounced? I didn't know..."

"Yes. Tfns."

"And you...?"

"Ptsgbw."

"Ah."

"Our aides call us Ambassador T and Ambassador P. You can do that, too."

"Ah. Thank you. I believe I will."

The minion comes back with Wan/Juan. "Out at 12:22. Went to 201 125th Avenue. Parked there 12:52-1:04. Returned to garage 1:36."

Lt. Forbes is industriously updating his doc.

"And do we have a time on the blast?"

"12:58 pm."

The Lieutenant looks at me with a detectable smile. "Ambassador P, it looks like you're in the clear," he says.

I've been saved by an inappropriate and low-class night-time food craving.

Then he, too, shares information unnecessarily. "We tested some of the blaster remains on the walls of your entryway..."

OMIGOSH! The grime on the walls is from a BLAST? The cellular remains of a SAPIENT? A PERSON?? I feel slightly nauseous - paint is NOT going to fix this problem...

We'll have to get a professional to wash the walls, saving the washwater for appropriate burial.

How will we ever afford it?

My com buzzes. It is Yaeyeia, a fellow Ambassador. We meet in the Park most days for a chat. I could skip it for a day, but I feel getting out of our (cellularly contaminated) building might be therapeutic.

I look up at the Lieutenant. "I have a previously-scheduled meeting..." I half ask.

He waves his hand. "You may go. I think we have covered everything for now. I'll be back to cover any additional information we might need."

"Thank you, Lieutenant..." I step off my perch and move to go to the garage. I am glad access to the garage does not involve going through the entryway.

I may never go through there again.

Maybe we could demolish it and build a new entryway?

Or insist that all visitors enter through the garage?

But, then I stop. "Lieutenant? Do you know who the victim was?"

He fiddles with his com. "Johann Schneider..."

"The Ambassadorial Legate?" I gasp.

"The Ambassadorial Legate," he confirms.

I turn and flee.

***

Luna is in some ways like Uralian society as it is today. There are no native Lunars. They fled their neighboring planet (Earth) about 65 years ago due to political upheaval. Luna, being in tidal lock orbit, keeps one face toward Earth at all times. The fugitives settled Luna only on the side facing away from Earth to avoid detection, but they installed monitoring devices on the Earth side of Luna. There have been no radio signals or new satellites orbiting Earth for over ten years now. Older satellites' orbits decay and they disappear into the atmosphere, probably to crash onto schools and nurseries on the planet's surface. Lunars do not believe the Earthers have actually destroyed themselves but probably have just regressed into a pre-technological culture.

Luna is a place hazardous to life. You cannot live here without considerable precautions, planning, and technology. The early Earth fugitives would find a nice, deep crater (of which there are many on the non-Earth side of Luna), go down the side until they reached a depth which would allow them to dig a cavern impermeable to radiation, solar flares and coronal mass ejections. Then they would start digging a cavern parallel to the Lunar surface.

Of course, the area nearest to the crater was dug first and usually given the identifier "First Street." Continuous digging over years would produce an increasingly-large cavern. The older, less desirable (cheaper) properties are near the entrance. The newest, most modern, priciest are furthest from the entrance. Can you guess where the Uralian Embassy is?

In Luna City, most other Embassies are at about the fifty-year-ago digging point, ten years after the initial excavation. The city had begun to boom at that time, and it has continued to be the largest of Luna settlements. The Park is at the center of this fifty-year-ago point which is now about in the middle of the city.

Yaeyeia is the Ambassador for Oeyiah. She is a sapient plant, and there are several sapient plant species on her home planet. The tree species do not leave the planet: it is just too difficult. But the more mobile species have been travelling the galaxy for hundreds of years. I count Yaeyeia as a good friend; I enjoy her (often naughty) sense of humor.

She likes to sit daily in the Park. She asserts the artificial day-lights are superior there (they are certainly better than the flickering offerings in our neighborhood.) She also likes talking to the grass, flowers, and trees in the Park. While she can't root-communicate with them, she can hear the high frequency sounds they emit. She doesn't believe any of them to be sapient, and their communications are mostly unintelligible to her, but for her, it's nice to be around similar beings.

In the Park, the benches have high, immobile backs that make it impossible for a large-tailed creature (like myself) to sit on them the way they were designed for human use. I sit tail in front (where human legs would typically be) and prop myself up with chin and both hands on the top rail of the back of the bench. Yaeyeia positions herself behind the back of the bench. Her human Aide sits normally beside me at the far end of the bench.

Yaeyeia is planted in a wheeled container that moves her around safely and quickly. Her communication device (translating her chemical and high frequency language into Lunar standard speech) is part of the unit. She does not really NEED an Aide to accompany her. But... she is an attractive plant, looking something like a rubber plant. During her first month on Luna, she was kidnapped twice, once by someone who thought she would look nice in his office and then later by a young woman who wanted to give her as a gift to her mother.

You see, on Luna, soil is a scarce commodity. The regolith covering the Lunar surface must first be artificially weathered then organic material mixed in before it is conducive to plant growth. This artificial "soil" is almost entirely reserved for agriculture and public spaces like the Park. The possibility of an individual owning a plant in "soil" in a pot would be limited and they would be very expensive. So, naturally, the sight of an attractive rubber plant rolling down the street is too tempting for some people. Yaeyeia's accompanying Aide must look sufficiently menacing to discourage this type of behavior. (Actually her Aide is the human whose hand was snapped off by the Gilgot a few years ago. He assures us it is now fully functional, but presumedly he feels safer working for a plant.)

As we settled into our usual spots, we were joined by another Ambassadorial presence: the Xx. They frequently join us, mostly to listen in. They form words slowly, and hence are not generally part of the conversation. They are a single-celled lifeform in which individual cells form a community. The Xx are most similar to a Lunar species with the unpleasant name: "slime mold." They, too, arrive in a wheeled pot similar to a giant petri dish. They remain covered because they need a controlled environment. The Lunar environment not being favorable to the Xx, they would go into dormancy without these controls. The Xx, however, do not need a protective Aide; no one is eager to kidnap a pot of "slime mold".

The Xx typically look dry and bumpy and an ochre color, but when they speak, an area smooths out and cells darken to brown to form words. They arrive today with a question already:; a darkening of the cells across the flattened top of their community spells out: "NEWS".

And Yaeyeia also greets me with: "I hear you are having excitement at the Uralian Embassy."

"How..." I begin.

"Luna is small..." she breaks in.

"...and Luna City is smaller," I complete the slogan everyone who spends more than a few hours in Luna City hears. I sigh.

"So someone was killed in your Embassy!"

"Ambassadorial Legate Johann Schneider is now a cellular film across the walls of our entryway."

"Ew!" she shivered, "but that makes sense."

"How so?"

"He has the entry code. Anyone else would have had to be let in. Or break in." She knows the security of our building is not top shelf. But... who would want to break in to the Uralian Embassy?

"The Ambassadorial Legate has the entry code to our Embassy?"

In a pitying voice she says, "Tfns doesn't tell you much, does she? He has the codes to ALL of the Embassies."

I'm a little defensive. "People on Tfns's continent are, well, more formal than those on my continent; we tend to be more casual. She thinks my personality is better for meeting with schools and businesses and seniors, while hers is better with the Administrative personnel."

"So she THINKS," asserts Yaeyeia (who has never liked her). "But she's had a project going with Schneider for years."

"Project?"

"Well," Yaeyeia settles in for a long tale, "when she first came, Tfns was assured that there would soon be a second Ambassador joining her, a MALE Ambassador."

"That would be the usual plan," I agree.

"Well, nothing happened for years. Then Tfns got the Ambassadorial Legate to work with her on negotiations with Uralia. Then, finally, the second Ambassador arrived."

"Me. Huge disappointment..."

"As you say, anyway NOT what Tfns wanted. She started a new project with the Ambassadorial Legate to bring in another Ambassador, a male this time."

"But they NEVER send three Ambassadors. Even to LARGE planetary systems..."

"Which Luna is not. But she wanted that male."

"They would have had to discredit me, somehow," I say pensively, "get me recalled or just booted out of the Ambassadorial Corps..."

"Tfns might think that an acceptable plan, but Schneider would never do that - not to YOU," she says.

"SAFEGUARD," the Xx spell out.

"But, why would the Ambassadorial Legate be in our Embassy... at midnight... with a blaster??" I pondered that unponderable. "Or, maybe he had some kind of Aide with him for protection... someone with a blaster... maybe it was some accident... Where did the blaster come from... AND WHERE WAS IT NOW???"

***

Our vehicle transports me back to the Embassy.

Lt. Forbes is waiting in the garage.

"Ambassador P!" he greets me. "I've been doing research on Uralia. It seems the SafeGuard technology for eliminating fluid loss - air and water - from our supposedly-sealed but actually-quite-leaky environment came to us from your planet."

"Yes," I agree.

"It happened about 50 years ago, 10 years after Luna City was founded. And, I read the person responsible for SafeGuard has the same name as you do."

"Yes," I agree.

"Father? Mother?"

"It was me..."

"You? But it was 50..."

"We are a very long-lived species, Lieutenant."

He blinks. "Did you invent the technology, or just bring it to Luna?"

"Both... and Luna wasn't the first. A lot of places need to seal in their air and water supplies."

He blinks again. "It saved us. We couldn't have survived with our air and water leaking into the universe. Already, after only 10 years, Luna City had measured a noticeable loss in our air and water supplies. SafeGuard is a miracle."

"It's just electromagnetism," I say gently. I want to change the subject. "Where did the blaster come from?" I ask. "Have you found it?"

He actually grins. "Yes... in your quarters," he says.

"In your bed."

I am the one blinking this time. I am stunned. On my sleep perch?

"Come in," he motions me forward. "We're about to solve this case." He takes my hand to lead me into our back corridor. Remembering the claws, he hardly flinches this time. "You see, a blaster, which needs your SafeGuard technology, leaks energy out of the unit into the users' hand causing injury."

"SafeGuard technology only addresses particles, not energy..." I begin to clarify.

But we are in the Ambassadorial Offices, and everyone is there: Tfns, Wan, Juan, Ambassadorial Legate Schneider's Aide, several Law Enforcement minions, and now Lt. Forbes and myself. It is a crush in our not-very-spacious room.

A minion has a hand-held light of some sort. The Lieutenant motions me to hold out my hands, palms up. The minion shines the light on them. Apparently there is a negative result, and the test moves on to Wan (or Juan). Again negative, as is Juan (or Wan) and the Ambassadorial Legate's Aide.

But Tfns is holding her hands close to her body.

"This is illegal search and seizure," she asserts.

(I told you, she reads a lot of crime novels.)

"Here is the search warrant," Lt. Forbes tries to hand a paper to her. But her hands remain closed.

"Open your hands," he orders.

She reluctantly complies. No light is needed. The lesions damaging her hands are clear.

"Tfns!" I gasp. The Aides also seem stunned.

"Cuff her," the Lieutenant orders another minion.

They are reading her her rights. She is under arrest! For the murder of Ambassadorial Legate Johann Schneider!!

Handcuffs on an Uralian Ambassador!!! My addled mind wonders how you could handcuff a plant. Or a tub of slime mold. Or even an alligator who has just bitten off the hand of an Aide.

"But, WHY?" I demand.

Tfns looks at me disdainfully. "I was promised a mate. I DESERVED a mate. We always get a mate! But Uralia was delaying. Schneider worked with me to get them to send me a mate. But the incompetents on Uralia sent YOU.

"If you would have just stayed put! If it weren't for your low-class food cravings..." She shakes her head. "Low-class idiot."

My head is reeling. Why did she frame me?

She is holding her obviously painful hands (in cuffs) in front of her. I don't realize until later (after watching many human crime vids) that she is being shown leniency. Usually hands are cuffed behind the perps back.

Of course, with our anatomy, that would be difficult...

The Lieutenant rises and takes her wrists to help her out the door.

She glares at me one last time. "All that waiting. All that WAITING. And they sent YOU." She shakes her head. "They sent you." She repeats almost wonderingly.

As she leaves, I think I hear her mumble something about, "Chicken nuggets..."

***

It is the following day - day 1,744.

Carpenters are scraping the paint off the walls in our entryway. They are carefully placing the flakes in a box. The Schneider family will reverently put them in an urn. The tile floor will be more difficult...

When the carpenters are done, a Lunar shaman will smoke the room, and a wiccan will broom it.

I wish I could broom my soul...

Details have come to light.

Yaeyeia has shared some ambassadorial gossip. The NewsComs have provided other information.

Schneider had agreed to help Tfns try to get a male assigned to the Embassy, but when he found it would be necessary to have me removed before Uralia would send a new Ambassador, he withdrew his assistance.

He felt Luna owed too much to me because of SafeGuard.

Tfns then had to get rid of him, because if she did anything to discredit me HE WOULD KNOW had been done by her. Since he would not get rid of me, she would get rid of HIM, being sure that I would be held liable for his murder.

She obtained a blaster because she knew Luna had sensors for blasts. Then she made sure the murder was done when I was on site. She asked Schneider to come to the Embassy when he was done tying up loose ends at the Smedley Center.

Some postings have diplomatic immunity for Embassy staff. Luna does not. If you break any Lunar laws, you will not necessarily be tried and punished, but you are no longer able to be on Luna and must go somewhere else.

The new Ambassadorial Legate has sent a priority message to Uralia telling them that Tfns is Persona Non Grata on Luna and that she will be arriving back home on the next transport.

I'll miss having her around...

...

I miss her already...

...

I am at the FastFood on 125th.

I am sitting on one of their round stool benches immovably planted around a center table. These stools are a perfect perch - no tail problems. It's one of the reasons I like FastFood.

On the table in front of me is a cold, congealing order of breaded shrimp.

I am studying the "stars".

The Lunar settlements program their day-lights to mimic cyclical rhythms on their Earth, so the day-lights had turned from mock sunlight to orange (a mock "sunset"), dimmed to a grey twilight and were now mimicking "night".

Actually, the "stars" over Luna City are quite a technology. At night, the day-lights are programmed to replicate the night sky you would see over Luna if you were on the surface. Of course, it would have to be Lunar night (which lasts about 15 days). And not day (the glare makes star viewing difficult, even without a glowing atmosphere obscuring the stars). Not to mention that you would be wearing protective eye shields because of how dangerous it would be to look at the local star (called the Sun) from Luna - you would quickly be blinded. These eye shields are protective enough that you can barely see the glar-ey surface, much less any comparatively dim stars.

And the "stars" change according to where Luna is vs the Earth and the Sun as the year progresses. So the "stars" ARE an amazing technology.

I find them soothing.

A Law Enforcement skimmer rolls through the drive-thru then pulls up behind me. The huge Lt. Forbes is standing beside me.

I smell chicken.

"Hello, Ambassador P!" he greets me. "No chicken nuggets?" He is holding a bag of chicken nuggets. Mega-Grande size.

"I was in the mood for hot, greasy breaded shrimp rather than hot, greasy breaded chicken."

"Sometimes you need a change..." he agrees. He sits on another stool arranged around my table.

We watch the "stars" for awhile.

"How did the blaster get into my sleep perch?"

"She wanted to frame you for the murder. She was not only disappointed not to get a mate and wanted to get you recalled, but... she actually hated you... personally."

And I don't even know why. She hated me... but I still miss her...

"When did she plant it?" I didn't remember sharing my perch with a blaster.

"In the morning. As soon as you went down to the entryway to meet me, she entered your sleeping room and hid the blaster in your bedding. She snuck back down the upstairs back corridor, through her quarters, and down the stairs to the Ambassadorial Offices. Then she just waited innocently at her desk for us to arrive and tell her what was going on."

I guess my movements are fairly predictable.

We look at the "stars".

"I suppose the Uralians will be sending a new Ambassador," he observes.

"Pretty soon, I imagine. Unless they are incompetent again..."

"Are they usually incompetent?"

"It's been known to happen..."

"They'll send a male this time..."

"That would be the custom."

He turns to look at me. "You could have a mate," he says.

I pause. "I'm not Tfns." Another pause. "And you know I am older..." I pause again. "I have had a mate. He died a little over 5 years ago."

"You can have another..." he suggests. "It must be lonely, being the only one of your species..."

I think of Yaeyeia trying to talk to the trees and the grass.

And how I miss Tfns, even though she hated me...

And framed me for murder...

And killed someone solely to get rid of me...

"Our species mates for life," I inform him.

"Many Earth birds do that, too," he asserts gravely.

He stands up and puts his hand over mine. No flinching this time.

He gets into the skimmer and drives away. I am willing to bet he actually drives his vehicles.

I bet he'll come to the smoking and brooming ceremonies.

He has left his nuggets behind. They smell warm.

I watch the "stars".

...

I could request Uralia send a widower for the new Ambassador...

...

or a widow...

...

...

...

I take a bite.