Touchdown, Touchdown, Rah, Rah, Rah!

“What?” Jones asked. The sportscaster was a one-time Olympic decathlete with an imposing physique, which now helped to illustrate her annoyance. “These are authentic coon-skin coats. Do you know how much GSN shelled out for them?”

“Somebody made a mistake,” Ray said. “I’m Ray Bennett, the network’s business agent here. Believe me, you can’t wear those things here.”

“Why not?” one of the men asked. “Our PR department said it was a good idea. Their research team said that Kya’s a century behind us, and bagdrag’s just like football, so we should dress like we were going to an old-time ball game.”

“They were wrong,” Ray said. He nodded toward Zelk, whose fluffy fur rustled in the breeze. “Imagine how you would feel if they wore something that looks like human hide.”

The GSN people traded looks, then started peeling off their coats. “I hope it doesn’t get cold like they said it does,” Jones said. “What should we do with them?”

“Leave them in the shuttle,” Ray said. He felt relieved that the network people hadn’t argued. “And don’t worry about it getting cold. The weather’s balmy this time of year. Come on, I’ll introduce you to Dean Zelk.”

Ray led them down to Zelk, who stood transfixed next to Elizabeth. “They were victims of a nasty joke,” Ray told the dean. “Somebody told them that the coats would look fashionable, and they trusted the clown.”

“Oh, I scent,” Zelk said. Her muzzle wriggled as she sniffed the air. “But that rotting stink—ugh!”

“Those coats looked like synthetic fur to me,” Ray said, deftly dodging the truth. “Being made out of strong chemicals, I guess some synthetics could have a horrible smell to you. Uh, did the scent cling to them?” “Yes... but if it’s not real, I can take it.” Even so her respiration sounded strained as Ray introduced the newcomers. It was as though Zelk was trying to breathe without inhaling as the people from GSN gave their names and job titles.

Elizabeth noticed that as well. “They’re having a barbecue at our dorm,” she told Jones. “If we hurry, we can get there before it’s over. You’ll probably appreciate the change from shipboard food.”

Everyone agreed that that was a fine idea. Zelk offered to find transportation for them, and hurried off to the airport terminal. “Good thinking,” Ray said quietly to Elizabeth. “Think we can arrange for them to spend the night at the dorm?”

“I hope so,” she said. She wrinkled her nose, and Ray guessed that she was sharing his thoughts. Taking them to the dorm before they encountered other kya would give them a chance to wash off the scent of dead fur—and to learn a few things about kya attitudes and behavior.

A small bus appeared, without Zelk, and parked by the ramp. The driver got out, sniffed the air, and took Ray aside. “Talking with the lady, she told me you had a problem,” she said. “Smelling this, I guess spaceship air must be really bad?”

“You could say that,” Ray said, grateful for the Dean’s little white lie. “When I go back to Earth, I’m walking.”

The driver snuffled appreciatively at the joke. She reentered her bus and opened all the windows while the humans climbed aboard. Their roboticized luggage and equipment followed them and took up positions under the seats, and the driver took off for Vrekle University.

Zelk had clearly given the driver instructions to avoid going through the densely populated areas between the airport and the campus, which Ray saw would lessen the chance of any kya catching a whiff of the crew’s unpleasant reek. The driver bore the foul odor with silent fortitude, and when she finally pulled up to the human dorm on the Vrekle campus Ray gave her a large tip. “I appreciate that,” she said as the last of her passengers disembarked. She took a light sniff, and her muzzle wrinkled in distaste. “I could swear it’s getting worse.”

“I think you’re right,” Ray said. He could smell the barbecue smoke, and while that was a welcome odor, he thought he detected a second, unpleasant aroma beneath it.

Elizabeth had led the newcomers into the dorm. Now she hurried out to Ray as the bus drove off. “Trouble,” she said. “Everyone’s sick. It looks like food poisoning.”

“Everyone?” Ray followed Elizabeth into the dorm, where he found she had been absolutely correct. Most of the students had dragged themselves back to their rooms, but a couple of them were draped over the lobby’s couches. The place was a mess, Ray noted almost absently; plates of half-eaten food, dirty cups and condiments were scattered everywhere—and the air stank with several odors he declined to identify. The network people looked thoroughly bewildered, a feeling Ray shared. “What should we do?” he asked.

“Call the embassy and get their medical people down here,” Elizabeth said.