A Kind of Diplomacy.
15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3mG0ViTqtW
After the recent rain, the meadow looked impossibly lush. The soil felt loose and moist, which greatly pleased the man in a light windbreaker and cap. His wife was napping nearby on a lounge chair, wrapped up to her eyes in a blanket.
She preferred an afternoon nap over taking part in what she considered the silly pastime that was her husband’s exotic hobby.
— I’m so damn tired of golf and curling, you know… — the man complained to his companion, who looked extraordinarily vague. His form shifted constantly, resembling pliable rubber that could be squeezed. The inhuman appearance did not bother the seasoned politician, long accustomed to speaking with every kind of electorate.
And the fact that he was the first human on Earth to be approached by an extraterrestrial being — that only proved how far his reputation had reached across the geopolitical stage. Far enough to be recognized even by those light-years away.
His wife, usually falling asleep after TV series, had fainted earlier in sheer shock and exhaustion and now snored softly. Her nervous system had earned a rest.
He, however, was in no rush. He understood that since he had become the contactee, he must not frighten away the one who would open to him the path of cosmic scale.
Nations no longer interested him much.
The prospects, the scope — they now seemed so sky-high that his hands trembled slightly as they gripped a wooden rod. With practiced effort, he steadied himself and drove the object into the soil.
Then he lifted a rooping iron and offered his guest the honor of being the first to disturb the worms’ peace. He explained the rules as he went along:
— In ancient times, being a worm-caller was considered an extraordinary skill, almost a magical ritual. Simple sound vibrations that brought these invertebrates to the surface used to amaze the uninitiated. Today it’s still unusual, though scientifically proven.
Modern masters use tricks — they send mild electric current through the damp earth. It irritates the worms’ nervous system, and they crawl up.
I, however, prefer to do it the old way, using ancestral methods… hmm… why does my face itch so much? — the politician finished in confusion, scratching his forehead. The itching grew worse, and he wanted to tear at the skin somewhere between his brows.
Then it stopped. For a while. Until it started again, around his cheekbone — more tolerable this time.
Deciding to ignore it for now, he looked at his guest, who was holding the tools in his ever-shifting limbs.
— Would you like to try? — offered the worm-caller. — To summon them? It’s all about trust, and you might manage it.
The creature’s voice and tone inspired warmth and confidence — soft, courteous, and caring.
— On my homeworld, everything that crawls from beneath the soil does so to feast on you. And I’m sincerely glad that here you have a very different situation. You’ve gained control of this planet and risen above the other links.
— That’s true, — the politician straightened proudly. — We call ourselves kings of the beasts, though in truth, humankind has risen far above all other fauna. We don’t so much rule them as simply… fail to notice them, unless, of course, they’re a valuable resource.15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡr3GeufQv0y
By the way, how do you prefer to do business with potential partners? — he threw out a test line, the way only an experienced statesman could.
Now his hands and legs itched desperately. What on Earth was this — an allergy?
His interlocutor did not answer but rolled his eyes upward — and they disappeared. The sight was disturbing, and the politician inwardly recoiled. Fine, he thought, best to act from self-interest and not reveal his distaste.
The one who called himself a representative of the Reptilian race finally spoke — but abstractly, distantly, as though narrating to himself:
— Excellent. The heels are scanned and stored in the database. His face is already fully adapted. Only one area remains — the pelvic region. Then he’s ready.
Here the politician panicked. Still, he didn’t consider himself stupid. And these strange words, combined with the relentless itching, made him grab the small mirror he kept in his breast pocket.
Something crawled across his face, resembling the powder his grandmother used to wear. The particles didn’t touch the skin — they hovered a millimeter above it, mimicking his expressions with a delay, like faulty memory.
When he blinked, the dust blinked after him. When he frowned — it did the same, only more carefully.
ns216.73.216.10da2
and then Add to home screen.