The Chronicles of a Galactic Diplomat

Chapter Three - Biscuits and Bigotry

Pulling up to the Alharan land office I could feel the oppressive gaze of the locals. Although Alhara was far from bustling, there was nothing like an “alien” to bring out the gawkers. One man came out of a supply shop and leaned against a warped beam. I smiled politely, and he spat upon the rickety boardwalk with a grimace.

“Don’t mind those bigots,” consoled Danish. “They pardon their behavior by claiming aliens steal their land, but in actuality, they’ve always been this unpleasant. Believe me, if they weren’t spitting at the sight of you they’d be spitting at the sight of me.”

This latter statement puzzled me, but I said nothing.

We stepped up to one of the many identical “sun tin” shacks that glared in the merciless sun. Ducking in from the heat I noticed it was only slightly cooler and there was an overwhelming smell that was not dissimilar to an overheating engine. I’d learn later that all the shacks had that smell; it was simply the off-gassing of the building materials as they baked in the sun, a smell that Danish would later describe as “cozy.”

Between the creaking floor and the loud clanking of Danish feeding change to a drink machine, we tipped off the clerk who came around the corner from a back room and was wiping crumbs off her irritated face.

“Here's the map of what we have available," she rattled off. “I’ll need you to pay cash upfront and give your signature stating that you are the main provider of your family and that you have not, and will not bear arms against the Padoorian government.”

“Actually,” I said, as I prevented the unfurling maps from sliding to the floor, "I’m here to inquire about a Sellissian that was rumored to have purchased land in this area.”

She stared at me, her mouth tight and arms folded before finally saying; “There was a Sellissian about six months ago, and a bold alien too, comin’ ‘round here with how ‘n’ we feel about their kind.” She shook her head and looked me up and down. “And now you too... Tell me, if Sellissia’s so perfect, why are you comin’ here, puttin’ on airs - actin’ like you own the place!? Pretty sure your kind called this place a ‘garbage planet for garbage people’. The only reason you’d show your goofy-lookin’ face here is that you smell MONEY! That’s what!” She turned to beat an ancient, malfunctioning cooling unit back to life as it shook and sputtered violently. I took this opportunity to gather myself for a response. Nearly everything she said was objectively false, and although I could defend the truth I knew it would fall on deaf ears. I’ve learned that where misinformation meets hate, fanaticism, or pride - there is very little to reason with! Another thing puzzled me: did she truly believe that Padoor was such a source of untapped wealth?! Perhaps it was my own insidious prejudice, but I couldn’t help but internally “scoff” at this absurd notion.

I decided to steer the conversation back on topic.

“Was the Sellissian a young male by the name of Oxa?” I asked.

“How should I know?!” She blurted. “Y'all look the same to me! Tall and quiet with creepy eyes that are always watchin’ and thinkin’ up evil... Devious, the whole lot of ya!”

Danish, who had been slurping and burping his carbonated drink contentedly in the background, spoke up: “Now come, Areesha! We know you got opinions..."

“And good ones, mind you!” She croaked, waggling a censuring forefinger.

“If ya like,” Danish went on. “but the long ‘n’ short of it is this: I want to get back to drivin', she wants her information, and you wanna finish your jelly biscuit. So how ‘bout you check that file and we can all get what we want.

“- not rightly sure I can show you that file,” Areesha argued staunchly, her chin tucked into her neck.

“- not rightly sure you care that much about protocol...” retaliated Danish.

“I don't.” she stated.

The two fixed their gaze in a standoff of wills; the only things breaking the silence were the miserable cooling unit and the static of a dusty old radio.

"Doesn’t your radio program start soon?", asked Danish, looking at his watch and taking another swig of his “carbie”, as they called it.

In the next moment, the sound of sweeping music crackled over the radio.

“So..?” she asked, as she turned up the volume dial.

"Love’s Desolation ain’t it?... Reminds me of an experience I had recently. Now I don’t want to distract you from your drama, Miss Areesha, but I hope you won’t mind if I just sit right here and tell Madam Peaceable about the time I drove for the main writer of 'Love's Desolation'. Well, he divulged this year’s entire season to me! Poor fella was just burstin’ to tell someone! Since I'm not at all invested in the drama I let him share everything with me! Yes, ma’am... revolutionary entertainment! This season is in for a shake-up! Did you know Adonis will become critically injured? And by the hands of-

"STOP!" Areesha cried desperately. “I’ll get it! HERE!” She jerked the file drawer open and threw down a paper and a map. “Take it and get out of here!”

Danish grinned as he rolled up the paper and motioned me toward the door. “Thank ye kindly, Areesha. See ya at Worship!"

“Yeah, yeah..” she growled, settling back in with her jelly biscuit and radio.

As we got into the terrarover, Danish giggled boyishly and said “ Gotta love my sister, huh?”