We Install by Harry Turtledove Page A

Snarre’l.
    â€œHello,” they chorused in English. Using the other race’s language first showed you had manners.
    Returning to English himself, Jack asked, “What can I do for you today?”
    Both Snarre’t showed their teeth in the gesture that meant they were amused. They had more teeth, and sharper ones, than humans. Their noses were three vertical slits in their round faces, their eyes enormous and reflective, as suited nocturnal creatures. They had big ears that twitched, ears that put the legendary Alfred E. Newman to shame. They didn’t wear clothes; they had gray or brown pelts. All in all, they looked more like tarsiers than any other earthly beasts … but they didn’t look a hell of a lot like tarsiers, either.
    â€œWe would like to buy from you some meat,” the taller one said in—probably—her own language. The babelfish in Cravath’s left ear translated the word. The wider rictus on the other Snarre’s face translated the sarcasm.
    Thinking of Beverly, Cravath answered, deadpan, “I can give you a good deal on chicken stew.”
    He didn’t know exactly how the Snarre’t turned English into their tongue. Maybe a worm in their brains—and, with them, it would be a literal worm, not a gadget—did the translating. Maybe … Well, since he didn’t know, what point to worrying about it?
    The shorter Snarre’ said, “We are interested in trying the Model 27 two-seater. If we like it, perhaps we will also get from you some chicken stew.”
    They both thought that was pretty funny. Jack Cravath dutifully smiled. Were they a mated pair? Jack thought so, but he wasn’t sure. Among Snarre’t, females were usually taller than males, but not always. Their sex organs were neatly internal unless they were mating, and females had no boobs: despite the fur, they weren’t mammals, but fed their young on regurgitated food like birds.
    â€œA Model 27, you say?” the dealer echoed. Both Snarre’t splayed their long, spindly fingers wide: their equivalent of a nod. Cravath went on, “Well, come with me, and I’ll show you one. What sort of payment did you have in mind?”
    There was the rub. Humans had a burgeoning economy, and the Snarre’t had a burgeoning economy, and the two were about as much like each other as apples and field hockey. Each species’ notion of what constituted wealth seemed strange, stranger, strangest to the other. That turned every deal into a barter—and a crapshoot.
    â€œKnowledge, perhaps,” the taller alien said. “We have a brain that is getting old but is not yet foolish with age. This might be a good enough price, yes?”
    â€œIt might, yes.” Jack tried not to sound too excited. How much good did that do? If they got a whiff of his pheromones, they’d know he was. Snarre’i brains intrigued human scientists the same way human electronics fascinated the aliens. Different ways of doing the same thing … He was pretty sure he could get more for even an old one than a Model 27 was worth. “Step into the showroom with me, why don’t you?”
    â€œWe will do that,” the taller one said, and they did.
    He made his best pitch for the Model 27. He talked about its speed, its reliability, and its environment-friendly electric motor. “You don’t have to clean up after it, either, the way you do with your drof.”
    â€œWe don’t mind. Drofshit is for us pleasant—more than pleasant—to eat,” the shorter Snarre’ said. Jack kept his face straight. You couldn’t expect aliens to act like people: the oldest cliché in the book, but true. They weren’t asking him to eat candy turds. A good thing, too , he thought. But they’d bred their animals to do that, which was not the sort of thing people would ever have thought of … he hoped.
    â€œMay we test drive?” the taller one