Chapter Eight

Deyro

I sat at the bar nursing a beer. I checked my watch again and saw that it was only three. Still a while yet before we had to be to Quint's restaurant. The subject of that meeting was driving me crazy. I wanted to know what Shango had asked of him – and what Quint, in turn, was going to ask of us.

Whatever it was, I knew it had to be serious. This wasn't a “hey, run out and grab the King a dozen chocolate donuts,” kind of deal. Whatever it was, it was going to be heavy.

“Get you another beer?” the bartender asked me.

I drained the last of my bottle and slammed it down on the bar. “Yeah, why not?”

“Rough day, huh?”

I shrugged. “No rougher than usual,” I said. “Dealing with co-workers' crap.”

“That's the worst,” he said as he put a fresh bottle of beer down in front of me.

I took a long swallow of it and set the bottle back down. “She thinks I don't respect her,” I said. “Thinks I don't take her seriously. Underestimate her.”

The bartender was drying off some glasses and looked at me. “Do you? Take her seriously, that is.”

I nodded. “Of course I do,” I said. “She's very good at what she does. I mean, she's got some room for improvement, but I respect her abilities.”

The bartender laughed. “Do you tell her that? That she's got room for improvement?”

“Of course,” I said. “I want to help her be as good as she can be. I want her to be as good at her job as I am.”

“I can't believe that you're still alive if you talk to her like that,” the bartender said and laughed.

“What do you mean? Isn't honesty appreciated?”

“Of course it is,” he said. “But you need to know how to frame it. When you criticize her – or anybody really – all they're hearing is you saying they're not as good as you. They're not hearing that you respect them or their ability.”

“But offering to help them, to get to that next level – isn't that a sign of respect?”

The bartender laughed. “You aren't real good with the women, are you?”

“I think I'm just fine, actually.”

“Listen, friend,” he said. “If you really respect her, think she's good at what she does – tell her that. Tell her you think she does a great job. Don't muddy the waters by trying to throw in a lesson about how she can be better. Just tell her you think she's great and leave it at that. You do that, you thaw that ice and maybe later on, she'll be more receptive to learning whatever it is you have to teach. They key is making her feel valued. And not making her feel like she's inferior to you.”

I took a long swallow from my bottle and thought about what he'd said. Humans – for being so relatively simple – were very complex creatures. I apparently wasn't yet understanding how they thought. How they communicated. What they wanted. Men like Quint and Zarik – men with human lovers – obviously understood humans. If they didn't, they obviously wouldn't be with the women they were.

Both were with strong, intelligent, capable women. But, I had to wonder if they required the sort of coaxing or reassurance that Alex apparently needed. It was true that I respected her. For a human, she was a fantastic fighter. She'd bested me in single combat, but she'd done it by unscrupulous means. Say what she will, taking a shot below the belt like that was cheap. Dishonorable.

But as I thought about it, something she said came back to me. No, the Shongtal or whatever creature we were fighting wasn't going to observe decency and rules on the battlefield. Was I truly being naive to hold to a code like that? Trying to win a fight with some honor?

“Let me ask you something,” I said.

“Shoot,” the bartender replied.

“Let's say you're in a fight,” I said.

“Been in a few,” he laughed.

“It's a life or death fight,” I went on. “Would you take a shot below the belt? Would you actually hit your opponent in the balls?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Friend, let me say this, if it's a life and death battle, there are no rules,” he said. “You do what you have to do to make sure you make it home to your loved ones at the end of it.”

“And you don't consider that dishonorable?” I asked. “A lack of decency?”

“The only thing that wouldn't be decent is not getting home to your family,” he said. “If you can't avoid the fight, you do whatever you have to do to make sure you walk away from it. If it's you or them, taking the nut shot is about the furthest thing from dishonorable as you can get.”

“Interesting,” I said as I drained the last of my beer.

Humans were interesting beings, I had to give them that. I was learning something new about them every day. It challenged my perceptions and my thinking. And although I couldn't yet say I was completely on board with everything the man was saying, I could see things a bit differently from his perspective. What he said made some level of sense.

“Get you another?” he asked.

I shook my head as I dug into my pocket, pulling out some money and dropping it on the counter.

“Thank you, but no,” I said. “I apparently need to go make sure somebody knows I respect them.”

“Good man.”

I turned to the bartender. “Thank you,” I said. “Your insight has been – invaluable.”

“Anytime.”