No humans anywhere, and The Wandering Company was the homiest meeting place she knew; many Org customers met only on the Net. She felt her own homesickness welling up. On the second floor, a signet flag caught her eye. She'd known something like it back at Sjandra Kei. She drew Pham Nuwen across the floor, and started up the timbered stairs. Out of the background murmur, she heard a high-pitched twittering. It wasn't Triskweline, but the words made sense! By the Powers, it was Samnorsk: "I do believe it's a Homo Sap! Over here, my lady." She followed the sound to the table with the signet flag. "May we sit with you?" she asked,
mbt tataga sale, savoring the familiar language. "Please do." The twitterer looked like a small ornamental tree sitting in a six-wheeled cart. The cart was marked with cosmetic stripes and tassels; its 150-by-120-centimeter topside was covered with a cargo scarf in the same pattern as the signet flag. The creature was a Greater Skroderider. Its race traded through much of the Middle Beyond, including Sjandra Kei. The Skroderider's high-pitched voice came from its voder. But speaking Samnorsk, it sounded homier than anything she'd heard in a long time. Even granting the mental peculiarities of Skroderiders, she felt a surge of affectionate nostalgia, as if she had run into a old classmate in a far city. "My name is --" the sound was the rustling of fronds, "but you can easier call me Blueshell. It's nice to see a familiar face,
复件 (84) air max1, hahaha." Blueshell spoke the laughter as words. Pham Nuwen had sat down with Ravna, but he understood not a word of Samnorsk and so the great reunion was lost on him. The Rider switched to Triskweline and introduced his four companions: another Skroderider, and three humanoids who seemed to like the shadows. None of the humanoids spoke Samnorsk, but no one was more than one translator hop from Triskweline. The Skroderiders were owners/operators of a small interstellar freighter, the Out of Band II. The humanoids were certificants for part of the starship's current cargo. "My mate and I have been in the business almost two hundred years. We have happy feelings for your race,
复件 (95) air max, my lady. Our first runs were between Sjandra Kei and Forste Utgrep. Your people are good customers and we scarcely ever have a shipment rot...." He wheeled his skrode back from the table and then drove forward -- the equivalent of a small bow. All was not sweetness and light, however. One of the humanoids spoke. The sounds could almost have come from a human throat, though they made no sense. A moment passed as the house translator processed his words. Then the broach on his jacket spoke in clear Triskweline: "Blueshell states you are Homo sapiens. Know that you have our animosity. We are bankrupt, near-stranded here by your race's evil creation. The Straumli Perversion." The words sounded emotionless,
GHD Radiance Gift Set, but Ravna could see the creature's tense posture, its fingers twisting at a drink bulb. Considering his attitude, it probably wouldn't help to point out that though she was human,
BEATS TRIBUTE, Sjandra Kei was thousands of light-years from Straum. "You came here from the Realm?" she asked the Skroderider. Blueshell didn't answer immediately. That's the way it was with his race; he was probably trying to remember who she was and what they were all talking about. Then: "Yes,
复件 (88) air max, yes. Please do excuse my certificants' hostility. Our main cargo is a one-time cryptographic pad. The source is Commercial Security at Sjandra Kei; the destination is the certificants' High colony.