Commodore Rick Hunter looked up from his paperwork at the sound of the office door opening and saw his assistant Jamie Piper rush in. Then he did a double-take. Was this the young woman he'd come to know and trust over the last few months?
"Jamie! What's the matter? You look flustered! I don't think I've never seen you flustered," said Hunter.
Piper stopped before his desk and fidgeted with her hands. "There's a... a monk... or Indian... or alien something... here to see you, sir," she managed to stammer.
Hunter's face registered confusion. "An alien Indian monk? What are you talking about?" But Piper just shrugged and gestured at the door. Intrigued by what could possibly rattle his normally unflappable yeoman so, Hunter got up from his desk and stepped out into the reception room. Piper stayed carefully behind him.
There sitting cross-legged in the center of the office floor was a man dressed in severe religious-style attire, which was odd enough in a waiting room full of chairs, but what struck Hunter the most, and what must have been what rattled poor Jamie, was the man's eyes. They were a rich shade of purple that no human's could possibly be, but it was what was behind the eyes that gripped Hunter. The attitude behind the eyes was one of unabashed superiority, an expression that said that he considered everyone else beneath his notice. Hunter felt it strongly; it was little wonder Piper had been unnerved by this man.
He took another step towards the enigmatic man and said, "I am Commodore Hunter. I understand you wished to see me."
Very slowly Kalmar Torek rose to a standing position before he began his reply. He didn't speak until he was eye-to-eye with Hunter.
"I do not have all day," Kalmar said, moving past the commodore and into his office.
Kalmar waited until Hunter arrived in the room. He did not sit down. Hunter shut the office door behind him, much to Piper's relief, and not wishing to be rude -- not just yet anyway -- he remained standing as well.
"I am Kalmar Torek of the Vesputian Monastery along the river," Kalmar said, just in case this person in front of him had no idea who he was. "We understand you are expecting foreign visitors. It is possible, no matter how efficient an establishment you may manage (the tone seemed to imply it could hardly be all that efficient or all that difficult to manage), that a large influx in guests might put a strain on your resources. In short, the monastery and monks offer accommodations for use during this time. We have 20 available rooms for guests and would welcome either your staff or your guests. We have a large hall that could sleep 50 more if they do not expect comfort."
"Well, Mister Torek," began Hunter, not knowing quite how to take this man's offer. "That is certainly an unexpected and very generous offer you are making on behalf of your people, but I'm not sure that a monastery would be the right--"
"Perhaps you have not been educated in precisely what a Vesputian is," Kalmar said. "We are of a desert planet and are a versatile race. Our religion is dear to our hearts. We relish an opportunity to share our beliefs with others. Of course, we would not inflict such beliefs upon your guests, I assure you. (meaning he doubted they'd understand any of it anyway). Our monastery is newly built and specializes in a life of peaceful husbandry. We are fond of gardening and growing." He neglected a few things such as monks explicitly trained as soldiers and a people possessing a lust to conquer.
Hunter digested this new information and a new thought struck him. "Now that you mention it, the G'kra are generally considered to be expert agronomists. I imagine that they would probably prefer to be quartered in a peaceful agrarian setting instead of a skyscraper hotel in the downtown of a modern human metropolis."
Kalmar reached into his robe slowly and pulled out a glass jar containing something red.
"What's this?" asked Hunter.
"Berries," Kalmar said. "Yorna Berries. Jam."
"Thank you," said Hunter. He unscrewed the lid and smelled the contents, but immediately yanked the container away from his nose. "This is awful! I don't mean to be rude, and I appreciate the thought, Mr. Torek, but I think Vesputian and human taste buds are just too different."
Kalmar smiled condescendingly. "Undoubtedly. Human taste cannot discriminate the subtle, complex flavors of Vesputian foods. However, I understand that the G'kra are quite fond of certain Vesputian delicacies, many of which we grow on our farm."
"I see," said Hunter, handing the resealed jar back to the monk. "Then I am sure we can come to some kind of arrangement for the housing of twenty or so G'kra delegates at your facility."
"I wonder," Kalmar continued warmly (the warmth did not seem to extend to his eyes) if I might prevail upon you to arrange a tour of your facility. It is most amazing." (translation - I've never seen anything so disorganized in my life. I simply do not understand how it hasn't collapsed around your neck).
"And perhaps you'd do me the honor of being my guest some evening for dinner," he continued. "Tomorrow perhaps? You may bring as many companions as you wish."
"I'll have my secretary check my schedule and let you know," replied Hunter.
"Excellent," Kalmar said. "We can discuss details after dinner."
Kalmar turned abruptly and headed toward the door. He stopped just short of it and turned back.
"Do bring your secretary along," he said. "She seemed a bit nervous and could no doubt use some relaxation. May the light of Vesputia shine upon you."
With that he was gone.
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