The Dark Lady

sweet-smelling Spican cigarette protruded from a solid gold holder in his mouth.
    He sat down, took a final puff of his cigarette, then removed it from its holder and snuffed it out in the ashtray. He leaned back on his chair, fingers interlaced across his stomach, and stared at me. I stood perfectly still and tried to effect an air of serenity.
    “Leonardo, right?” he said at last.
    “Right you are, Malcolm,” I responded.
    He frowned. “Call me Mr. Abercrombie.”
    So much for the Dialect of Peers. I quickly changed to the Dialect of Craftsmen. “Whatever you wish, Mr. Abercrombie. I assure you that I meant no offense.”
    “I'll let you know when I'm offended,” he replied. He stared at me again. “You look uncomfortable standing there. Grab a seat.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “A chair,” he said with a look of distaste on his face. “Unless your race is happier standing up. It makes no difference to me.”
    I turned to the three straight-backed leather chairs that were positioned against a wall.
    “Shall I pull it up to your desk so that we may converse more easily?” I suggested as I walked over to one of them.
    “Leave it where it is,” he said gruffly. “We'll raise our voices if we have to.”
    “As you wish,” I said, carefully seating myself on the chair.
    “I suppose I should offer you a drink or something,” said Abercrombie. He paused. “ Do you people drink?”
    “I have already had my daily ration of water,” I answered. “And my metabolism cannot accommodate human stimulants or intoxicants.”
    “Just as well,” he said. He stared at me again. “You know, you're the first alien I've ever allowed inside this house.”
    “I feel highly honored, Mr. Abercrombie,” I said. I decided that the Dialect of Craftsmen was indeed the appropriate one since the Dialect of Peers did not permit social lies.
    “Except for a couple of servants who didn't work out,” he added. “Finally had to kick them out on their asses.”
    “I am sorry to hear it.”
    He shrugged. “It was my own fault for hiring aliens in the first place.”
    “You have hired me, ” I pointed out.
    “Temporarily.”
    We sat in silence for a moment. Then he inserted another cigarette in his holder, lit it, and looked across the room at me.
    “What the hell are you doing with a name like Leonardo?” he demanded suddenly.
    “When I was younger, I aspired to be an artist,” I replied. “I was not talented enough, but I have always kept my portfolio with me, adding to it from time to time. Shortly after I came to the Claiborne Galleries on an exchange program, I showed my work to Hector Rayburn. It included a Twainist interpretation of da Vinci's ‘Mona Lisa’ that appealed to him, and since my name is unpronounceable to humans, Friend Hector decided to call me Leonardo.”
    “It's a stupid name,” said Abercrombie.
    The Dialect of Craftsmen did not allow me to contradict my employer when he made so forceful a statement so I said nothing at all.
    “It belongs on a bearded, paint-spattered Man,” he continued, “not a candy-striped nightmare with orange eyes and a nose on the side of its face.”
    “That is an essential part of my Pattern,” I explained. “My breathing orifice is between my eyes. Possibly you cannot see it from this distance.”
    “Let's keep the distance just the way it is,” he said. “Seeing your nose isn't one of my priorities.”
    “I will remain here,” I assured him. “You needn't be afraid of me.”
    “Afraid?” he said contemptuously. “Hell, I've lost count of the aliens I've killed! I was at the Battle of Canphor VI, and I spent three years in the Rabolian War. Maybe I've got to put up with some of you uppity bastards who wear clothes and learn Terran and pretend you're Men, but I don't have to like it, or to rub shoulders with you. You stay where you are and we'll get along just fine.”
    Since he had such an obvious distaste for my presence, I became even more curious about why he had requested it, and addressed the question as delicately and inoffensively as the Dialect of Craftsmen would permit. It took three tries before I finally made myself clear.
    “I have reason to believe that you might prove useful to me,” he replied.
    “In what capacity?” I asked.
    “Who's conducting this interview, you or me?” he said irritably.
    “You are, Mr. Abercrombie.”
    He took another puff of his cigarette, leaned forward until he could rest his elbows on his