The afternoon at the Café Henri in the Hotel Humaine might have passed quietly had Metrio Smiti not brought in the nervous young man for drinks.
On any particular afternoon in Movissa, chief city of the planet Iaca, any number of humans might be lounging at the tables of the Cafe Henri, watching the dramatic cloud formations that typified the view over the ocean. Iaca, one of a fleet of worlds that jumped between stars in search of other beings, had its share of both humans and non-humans. In this cafe, however, being auxiliary to an establishment fitted for the comfort of humans rather than non-humans, non-Terrene folk tended not to make an appearance. The fabulous sky colored by the protracted setting of its artificial sun, after all, suffered itself to be viewed from other restaurants, bars, and cafes on the planet's single continent. Many of those establishments, moreover, served drinks more palatable to non-Terrene taste buds than those served by Jeeger, the quasi-automated servitor of the Henri. As a result, the regulars here reflected an undeniable human persuasion.
Metrio Smiti, a red-haired artist now in his eighties, sat down at a table near the two other regulars already relaxing with their drinks.
"You've brought someone new, Metrio," said Hazel Monpelie, a semi-retired linguist who counterpoised her noble profile and bearing with flamboyant clothing. "Getting tired of our company?"
"It's a ploy," said the other, the planetary ecologist named Rod Dangorn. Though older than either Smiti or Monpelie, his long, shiny black hair, pulled back now into a ponytail, gave him a youthful appearance. "A smoke screen. Metrio brings a guest thinking we'll forget to plague him about the artwork he isn't producing."
"I've been drawing and producing new pictures, as always," said Metrio with good humor.
"Probably with that antiquated pen and ink," Dangorn said, his dark features crinkling into a smile. "How can one do new art with old methods?"
"I believe in simple methods. If you make things too complicated, you can't even see what's new. One of the things I like about old-fashioned pen and ink is that it forces me to think about the basics. I need to look anew each time at the idea of the dot and line, and of white and black space. If I relied on all the modern techniques, half the thinking would be done for me by a computer--and as a result, I wouldn't have to go back over my assumptions and re-evaluate them."
"But that wastes time," said Dangorn. "You could be speeding on your way to great works, and maybe even--dare we say it?--fame and fortune!"
"Who needs it?" said Metrio. "Give me my simple ways, and leave me my simple life." He lifted an invisible glass in a toast, smiling with satisfaction.
"Simple methods are always admirable," said Jeeger, the servitor, appearing beside them. "Drinks?"
Metrio asked for his usual chianti, while the nervous young man with him requested tea.
"A man after my own heart," Dangorn said to Metrio's guest, holding up his own large mug, redolent of jasmine. "How can one use one's head if it's clouded by liquor?"
"I say it's a hell of an order," said Hazel loudly. "Looks like the poor man has the nerves, and could use a stiff drink. Why not a whiskey?"
The nervous young man held up his hands apologetically and shook his head. "Stomach can't take it."
Hazel laughed. "My stomach can't handle tea. Eats out the innards, I say."
"I'm sorry," said Metrio. "I haven't introduced you to each other. This is Ian Bekker, a member of the current reception team." He then introduced his friends to Bekker.
"The current reception team, really?" said Hazel. "I've heard rumor that we've just contacted a dilly of a new species, that we haven't figured out yet."
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