The Dark Lady

desk, and stared at me intently.
    “How much do you think I'm worth?”
    “I have no idea,” I said, surprised by his question.
    “Close to 600 million credits,” he said, watching me carefully for a reaction. “If you do your job, you'll find that I'm not ungenerous, even to an alien.” He glared unblinkingly at me. “But I want you to know that if you ever try to take advantage of me, I'm the least forgiving sonofabitch you'll ever meet. You swipe a single ashtray and I'll spend every one of those 600 million credits hunting you down. Understand?”
    It was fortunate for both of us that I was not using the Dialect of Peers, for my answer would have gravely offended him and his reaction to it would probably have caused me acute physical discomfort. I merely said: “The Bjornn do not steal, Mr. Abercrombie. It is contrary to civil and moral law.”
    “So is war, but everybody keeps doing it,” he said. “I've spent forty years putting together my art collection, and before I give you free access to it, I want to know a little more about you.”
    “If you have concern for the safety of your collection, there is no need for me to see it at all,” I said.
    “Yes there is,” he responded.
    “Surely you are protected by a security system,” I said, my color deepening with the anticipation of seeing a fabulous private collection.
    “It wouldn't be the first time an alien beat a system that was designed to stop a Man.” He paused and frowned. “Why do you keep changing colors?”
    “Only the intensity of my colors changes,” I explained. “Not the colors themselves.”
    “Answer the question.”
    “It is the involuntary expression of a Bjornn's emotional state.”
    “And what does this particular expression mean?” he continued.
    “That I am elated at the prospect of seeing your collection,” I replied. “I hope the intensification of my color has not disturbed you.”
    “Anything I don't understand disturbs me,” he answered. “What about the stripes? Do they change too?”
    “No,” I replied. “They, like the mark on my face that you referred to earlier, are essential elements of the Pattern of the House of Crsthionn.”
    “You mean they're some kind of tattoo?”
    “Yes,” I lied. After all, how does one explain the hereditary Pattern to a man who finds all colors and patterns inferior to his own?
    “How old were you when you got your Pattern?” he asked with a show of curiosity.
    “Very young,” I answered truthfully.
    “They gave it to you after you joined the House of Crsthionn?”
    “No, Mr. Abercrombie,” I said, trying to keep my answer simple and relatively truthful. “I became a member of the House of Crsthionn after I had my Pattern.”
    “Kind of like an initiation ceremony?” he asked.
    “Not really,” I said.
    He decided to attack a parallel subject. “What about your wife? Does she have a Pattern, too?”
    “Yes.”
    “What does her Pattern look like?”
    “Very much like mine, I suppose,” I responded. “I have never seen her.”
    He blinked. “You've never seen your own wife?”
    “No, Mr. Abercrombie.”
    “Will you ever see her?”
    “Of course,” I said. “How else would we propagate?”
    “Beats the hell out of me,” he said. “Who knows how you aliens propagate?”
    “I could explain it to you,” I offered.
    “Spare me the details,” he said, distorting his facial features into a grimace.
    “If you wish,” I replied. “I meant no offense. To a Bjornn, the act of propagation is a natural function, just like ingestion and excretion.”
    “That's enough!” he snapped. “I didn't bring you here to tell me about your toilet habits.”
    “Yes, Mr. Abercrombie.”
    “It's disgusting and perverted.”
    “I am sorry that you should think so,” I said. “Doubtless I have chosen the wrong mode of expression.”
    He stared at me for a long moment.
    “You haven't got a hell of a lot of spunk, have you?”
    “I do not understand you, Mr. Abercrombie.”
    “I wouldn't let anyone talk to me the way I've been talking to you. I'd spit in his eye and leave.”
    “You have offered to pay the Claiborne Galleries for my services,” I explained. “I would bring shame to my House if I did not honor my commitment.”
    “But you'd like to take a poke at me, wouldn't you?” he continued.
    “No, Mr. Abercrombie. I do not believe I would enjoy it at all.”
    “Jesus!” he muttered contemptuously. “At least the Canphorites went down