Touchdown, Touchdown, Rah, Rah, Rah!

“Mr. Bennett?” a woman said from behind him.

Ray turned around and saw the scrawniest human he had ever met. At least she had a full head of dark brown hair; the current Mohican style would have intensified her skeletal look. He guessed she was anorexic. “Elizabeth Sheffield,” she said, greeting him with a kya-style bow. “I’m from the HSA at Vrekle U.”

“The HSA?” he asked, returning the bow.

“The Human Students Association,” Eizabeth said. “We like to meet new students as soon as they land. It helps to avoid problems with newcomers.”

“You’re a student?” Ray asked her.

“A teacher and a student,” she said. “I teach a class in human history, and I’m taking classes in kya history—I’m working on a doctoral degree in comparative history. Do you know where the cafeteria is?” she added.

“Down that way,” Ray said, pointing across the lobby. “Why?”

“I didn’t have the time for breakfast.” Elizabeth checked her watch. “The shuttle isn’t due for a half-hour, so—”

“You can’t eat here,” Ray said. He had skipped breakfast as well, a necessity he now regretted. “The cafeteria doesn’t have human-type food.”

“I brought my pills.” Elizabeth patted her vest pocket, then gave Ray a puzzled look. “Enzyme pills, and you don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

“No, I don’t,” Ray admitted, as they walked towards the airport cafeteria. “You mean they’ve found a way for us to eat local food without poisoning ourselves?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “It was a UN project. The enzymes break down Kya proteins and carbohydrates into substances our bodies can use, and neutralize whatever doesn’t fit our metabolisms. It costs less than importing our meals from Earth.”

“That’s probably why the UN didn’t tell me,” Ray said in irritation. His grocery bill ate up a respectable chunk of his income. “I’m not exactly in good odor at the embassy.”

“They can be petty,” Elizabeth said. They entered the cafeteria, where a young kya worked behind a long buffet table. “The stripleaf salad smells great,” Elizabeth told her, switching to Wideplain.

“It’s fresh from Sglunk Valley,” the server said, taking a deep, happy sniff.

“You don’t get that sweet scent anywhere else! Double serving?”

Elizabeth nodded. “We’ll have some tangleberry juice, too, please.”

“Separate plates and glasses, please,” Ray added. The kya carried communal living too far for his tastes.

The dining area was a simple open floor; the kya had evolved from grazing herd animals, and they liked to move around as they ate. The cafeteria had no other customers at the moment, and the two humans dined alone, balancing trays while they ate. Elizabeth gave Ray a large pill, and he eyed it dourly while she washed down her own pill with some murky green juice. “There’s nothing to worry about,” Elizabeth told him. “I’ve been using these pills for the past six months, and they haven’t failed me yet.”

“It’s just going to take some getting used to,” Ray said. He took the pill with some juice, which tasted better than he had expected. “Before I came here they drilled it into me that you could kill yourself eating the local food.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Elizabeth said, taking a forkful of salad. “What can you tell me about Faber? I hear he’s an athlete, and he wants to play bagdrag. Is that true?”

Ray nodded. “He was a big-name football player back in Colorado.”

“Good,” she said. “Putting a good human athlete on the team will impress the kya. What’s his scholastic background?”

“He’s got a 2.6 average,” Ray said. Her face fell at that. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “You need a pretty high average to join the bagdrag team; playing is a reward for scholastic excellence, like getting on the dean’s list back home. We may have to tutor him. What’s his major?”

“Education. I was told he wants to study kya classroom techniques, compare them to ours, and see if he can mix them into something better.”

Her frown had turned into a scowl. “That’s a project for a doctoral student, not somebody with a C-plus average.”

“It is?” A 2.6 average had sounded great to Ray; there had been times during his college career when he would have killed for grades that good. He looked at his salad, then worked up the nerve to take a forkful of the chopped-up green leaves. He decided it tasted like lawn clippings. “I guess I’m not that hungry,” he said.

“Stir it up,” Elizabeth said. “The dressing always runs to the bottom of the bowl.”

Ray did that, and found that the watery dressing helped the taste. “You really like this, don’t you?” he asked as she demolished her salad. She had an impressive appetite.

“ ’Sd’licious,” she said around a mouthful of salad. “Anyway. What does the UN embassy have against you?”