Recognition Read Online Free

permit when the
introductions had been made, and I had been startled by the effect
of his gaze. It was as if, like an X-ray that illuminates the
consciousness instead of the bones, he was seeing through my flesh,
into my thoughts and memories—my very being. I had not dared look
directly at him since. Perhaps when he spoke, I thought, I could
determine what it was about him that I recognized. But of course I
would have remembered if I had seen him before.
    Now he came forward at the Viceroy’s request,
carrying a large sack, which he emptied onto the meeting table. A
variety of typical Terran trade goods bounced out: pirated music
and game holograms, the kind that don’t require a machine to play
them on; plastic shoes; disposable paper underwear; T-shirts
printed with idiotic slogans in garbled Terran. Some of the smaller
items fell on the floor and we leaned over to pick them up while
the man began speaking.
    “These things are being sold openly in the
Exchange,” he said, referring to the marketplace set up by the
Terrans in their sector, ostensibly to provide a showcase for
Eclipsian goods. “I don’t understand how you can justify bringing
such stuff to a Protected World, unless it’s all being smuggled in.
Either way, we want it out.”
    The man’s voice was as extraordinary as his
appearance—a deep, resonant baritone, unexpected in one so slim,
and with a musical quality I found mesmerizing. Like the Viceroy,
he spoke Terran effortlessly, with only a slight accent, and with
none of the expected pauses while searching for the appropriate
word. Even his substitute of the word “stuff” for the coarser term
I read in his thoughts had occurred so smoothly it had not
disrupted the flow of his presentation.
    We looked stupidly at the pile of junk until
one of the Terran officials cleared his throat and said, “What
exactly is your objection, Margrave Aranyi?” At least he got the
man’s title and name right.
    I could feel Lord Aranyi’s immense anger, and
that of the other ‘Graven. His phrasing had been concise and to the
point, leaving little room for argument. He turned his colorless
eyes on the questioner, rotating his head like an owl sighting a
mouse, although he answered courteously. “Eclipsis’ economy is
based on barter. Many of us rarely use coin.” He smiled
disingenuously and spread his hands. “And credits are a Terran
concept most of us do not understand.” He looked down his long nose
at his seated opponent, making it clear his ignorance was by
choice.
    “Now you arrive, you hire our people for work
you’re not willing to do yourselves,” Lord Aranyi continued his
explanation, “and you pay in credits. Since their wages are
invisible and weigh nothing, our people naturally throw them away
on things like this useless garment—” He held up a synthetic
“cotton” T-shirt with “Baby Face” and arrows pointing down and up
printed on it, tossed it aside, and picked up one of the little
game cubes. “—and ‘Immortal…’ ” His frustration as he strained at
the next word churned my stomach with sympathy. I realized that
reading commercial Terran was difficult for him; trademarks, with
their idiosyncratic spelling and fonts, impossible. “
‘—Starfighters,’ ” he spat out the word as I supplied it to him
telepathically, then spun around, glaring in my direction as if
he’d been smacked in the head.
    There was no real answer to his complaint. “I
assure you,” the Consul said, addressing Lord Zichmni, “we are
making every effort to keep
unwanted
trade good off
Eclipsis.” His intonation was ironic, implying that the goods were
unwanted only by the elite few, like Lord Aranyi.
    The woman interrupted him. “But Lord Aranyi
has just shown that you are not succeeding,” she said in a low,
sweet voice. “We would like to know what you can do beyond whatever
it is you are doing now.” The combination of her modest demeanor,
her face invisible behind her burqa, and