Hard Luck Hermit

To make the process as smooth as possible, Corey had opted to go through official channels to set up his meeting with the human ambassador. To Vo had gotten him in touch with the Uplifting Authority, who had gotten him in touch with the Integration Office, who had gotten him in touch with the Centerpoint Ambassador Program, who had gotten him in touch with a department he could no longer remember the name of, and by the fifth, six, seventh, eighth, and ninth layers of bureaucracy, he was done trying to remember. After getting exactly one layer of bureaucracy away from giving up and/or killing himself, Corey had found himself talking to the right person, who turned out to be more than willing to arrange a meeting.

With one caveat.

“Smile for the camera!”

Corey had never been good at faking a smile, and he wasn’t getting any better at it now. Thankfully the photographer was an alien, so he had no idea what human facial expressions were like and just assumed the uncomfortable half-smirk Corey had was a good smile. He snapped a few pics of Corey and then waved for some of his associates to open the door to the next room.

Any of the photographer’s illusions about Corey’s fake smile were undoubtedly corrected when the human ambassador walked into the room, beaming from ear to ear with a grace and sincerity that Corey could tell was practiced. Corey had put on his best clothes and cleaned up for the meeting, but he was still nowhere near the level of carefully cultivated grooming that the Ambassador had clearly done. She didn’t have a single hair out of place, every strand coiled tightly around a single jade ornament before flowing down in a loose tangle towards the immaculately-pressed and intricately detailed qipao she wore. In different circumstances, Corey might have assumed someone this overly groomed was a pretentious bastard, but out here, it made sense. She was one of the first representatives of her entire species, and unlike Corey, she’d probably been very carefully selected and trained for the privilege. That kind of stress would make anyone concerned with their appearance.

The event photographer continued to take pictures as Corey walked up to the ambassador and shook her hand -and then, at the photographer’s insistence, went through several other alien greetings, so the pictures would make sense to different cultures. After awkwardly intertwining middle fingers with the ambassador, they were finally given a chance to actually talk without the photographer shouting orders at them.

“Corey Vash,” the ambassador said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“None of it good, I assume.”

“Oh, they threw in a few compliments. My name is Yìhán. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Corey said. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen another human. This is my friend Farsus, by the way.”

Farsus, who was also impeccably dressed and groomed, at harsh odds with his usual and often shirtless appearance, stepped up to greet Yìhán with a firm and lopsided handshake. Farsus was massive even compared to Corey, and Yìhán was much smaller. His hand completely dwarfed hers.

“An honor to meet you, Miss Yìhán,” Farsus said. “And enlightening to meet a human of a different ethnicity than Corey Vash. I was not aware humans could have epicanthal folds.”

Corey briefly pursed his lips, as a statement like that could have been construed as very offensive back on Earth. Yìhán shrugged it off, though, apparently well aware of the kind of questions and assumptions made when meeting new species.

“And it’s enlightening to see someone so...red,” Yìhán said. Apparently Farsus was the first Torokoro she’d met. “Can I ask, do you tan?”

“Yes, and to answer your followup question, my skin takes on a more brown hue.”

“I see. And your species is called?”

“Torokoro,” Farsus said.

“Right.”

Both of them could tell Yìhán was trying to make a mental note of that.

“Don’t bother trying to remember every alien species you meet right off the bat, there’s hundreds,” Corey advised. “Learn a few of the important ones like Gentanians, and let the rest come with time.”

“Oh. Of course,” Yìhán said. She glanced sideways at the photographer, who was now packing up his equipment after taking a few photos of their conversation. “That seems so rude, though.”

“Trust me, nobody cares that much,” Corey said. “Learning weird information is like Farsus’ whole thing and even he only remembers a hundred or so.”

“I take notes when I can, but there is simply too much information for any one man to remember,” Farsus admitted.

“Oh. Thank you, that’s good to know,” Yìhán said. “I worry, of course. They have taught me many things, but it all feels very...political. Everything is manicured and sanitized, and I wonder if I actually know how anything works up here.”

“You never know how anything works,” Corey said. “Trust me. You learn one culture, one set of quirks, one way to do a handshake, and then you go to the next planet over and suddenly the same handshake is a grave insult.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You know why they filmed us doing all those different greetings? If they showed me shaking your hand to a bunch of Kep’tin, they’d think I was threatening to murder you.”

“And among the Firaset, it would be the beginning of a courtship ritual,” Farsus added. Yìhán took a quick step away from Corey.

“How do you get anything done?”

“Well I mostly try to stand around and not do much,” Corey said. “Most cultures have pretty much the same concept of neutrality. Keep the gestures to a minimum and try to be as direct as possible in everything you say.”

Yìhán was clearly taking mental notes, and Corey was starting to get curious as to what her “orientation” had looked like, that it had not prepared her for such basic concepts as cultural crossover.

“I would not be overly concerned with the minutiae of interactions,” Farsus said. “Your status as ambassador means you will be taught whatever social norms are relevant to a given situation, and affords you far greater leeway for your mistakes, as well as protection from the consequences of minor slights.”

“Ah. An excellent point,” Yìhán said.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true. By the time they’re done babysitting you you’ll probably have it all figured out,” Corey said. “And if not, you can feel free to call me. I’ve been there, so hopefully I can give some advice.”

“I will take you up on that offer,” Yìhán said. “And there is something I would like to ask right now, if that is alright.”

“Go ahead.”

Yìhán looked around and made sure the photographer had left before leaning in close.

“Is it true that you have a lightsaber?”

“Oh hell yeah,” Corey said. He produced the blade he’d stolen from the Horuk from within his coat. He made sure to have a hiding place sewn into all his outfits, even his nice coats. “Never leave home without it. Want to see it?”

“Very much,” Yìhán said, looking embarrassed. She looked to be in her late forties or early fifties, and probably considered her desire to see the sci-fi weapon juvenile.

“Okay, just a heads up, this thing runs hot,” Corey said. “Like, really hot. You might want to take a step back.”

Yìhán took two steps back, just to be safe, which was probably a prudent decision. Corey ignited the blade, filling the small room with the overwhelming light and heat of the stolen saber. He held it out for a moment, then gave it a few quick flourishes before his hand got too sweaty to execute them. While he’d remembered the lightsaber, he had not remembered to bring the glove that let him use the thing with any sense of practicality. Sweaty palms were less than ideal when handling a blade that could cut through anything.

“Incredible,” Yìhán said. “Where can I get one?”

“It’s just the one, actually” Corey said. “I took it from an alien invader, nobody else knows how to make them. There might be more, but we, uh, vaporized the only known access to that species.”

“Oh. Could I borrow yours for a moment, then?”

“Also no,” Corey said. He held out the slightly-sweaty pommel of the blade and showed off a modification to the trigger. “DNA lock on the trigger. I got it by taking it from the other alien and cutting him in half with it. Didn’t want anyone pulling the same trick on me.”

“That is...very reasonable.”

“Wisdom is learning from your own mistakes, brilliance is learning from other people’s,” Corey said.

“Especially when it comes to not getting cut in half,” Yìhán said.

“Exactly,” Corey said. “Pragmatism like that will get you far up here.”

“I would still rather have the lightsaber,” Yìhán said.

“It is a wildly impractical weapon in realistic combat scenarios, do not concern yourself with it,” Farsus said. “If you desire personal protection, I have several recommendations for discrete firearms.”

Yìhán glanced sideways at Corey and made a face. He nodded. Farsus was just like that.

“Thank you, but that will not be necessary,” Yìhán said. “Though there are still many things I would like to ask the both of you. Perhaps we can continue over dinner?”

“That’d be nice,” Corey said, secretly ecstatic that she’d brought up food on her own. He’d been worried about coming across as an asshole by begging for Earth food. “I’ve barely had any food from home in the past few years.”

“You are American, yes? I think they sent up some of your country’s specialties with me, but they are in the embassy, I believe,” Yìhán said.

“Well, maybe I can call them later, but I’m no stranger to chinese food,” Corey said.

A few minutes later, Corey found himself staring down a bowl of stewed chicken feet. Farsus was already gnawing on one of his. It had taken Corey up until now to remember that Chinese food extended a bit beyond the usual Panda Express fare.

Corey thought about it for a few seconds and then realized he couldn’t back down after all that talk of adapting and cultural crossover. He needed to be a good example -even if it meant eating chicken feet.