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shoulders in an approximation of a shrug. “She has a very nice voice; how does that make her interesting?”
    “She has that—tattooing,” Lenth pointed out, still speaking in their native language.
    “Many human women have that,” Bronn pointed out. When the human woman approached the table once more, Bronn looked at her artwork in more detail. The shorts the woman was wearing made it easy to view the whorls and swirls of ink forming flowers on her upper thighs.
    “Here you are: one mug of Samuel Adams,” the woman said, smiling. Listening to her voice, Bronn had to admit to himself that it was beautiful. The woman hesitated; instead of turning away quickly, the way she had before, she lingered, looking from Bronn to Lenth. “Do you mind if I ask where you gentlemen come from?” she asked quickly. “Jeez! I apologize if that’s offensive.”
    “We’re from far away,” Lenth said, falling back on the explanation that the other Khateen had used—the explanation that both Lenth and Bronn had used in speaking with women previously. Lenth glanced at Bronn, giving him a significant look.
    “May I ask your name?” Bronn asked, falling into the English language with slight difficulty. Even after weeks of speaking the language, it still felt stilted and strange to him.
    “Giselle,” the woman said, her lips curving in a smile. In that moment, Bronn’s confusion at Lenth’s choice—his decision to attempt to recruit the woman—evaporated. Bronn had seen a dozen women smile; but there was something about the way Giselle’s dark eyes lit up when her lips curved that sent a jolt through him.
    “Let us know when you’re on your break, Giselle, and we can tell you all about where we come from,” Lenth suggested.
    “I’m actually off in twenty minutes,” she said, glancing at them both. “I wasn’t planning to hang around, but your language sounds very interesting; I study cultures, I’d love to hear more.”
    Bronn nodded, smiling at the woman. “We’ll be happy to share everything you want to hear about our culture,” Bronn told her. “Let me pay for my friend so that we don’t hold you up.” He offered one of the strange pieces of paper that humans used as currency; Giselle glanced at it and then smiled again, extending it towards him.
    “Actually, this one’s on me; I’ll get you a refill as well. I didn’t catch your names.” She frowned slightly, and there was something about the expression that intrigued Bronn even more than her smile.
    “I’m called Bronn,” he said, before gesturing to his colleague. “My friend is Lenth.” Giselle smiled again.
    “Well, Bronn and Lenth, I’ll be right back.”
    Bronn glanced at his colleague as Giselle walked briskly away. “She is fertile, and she seems interested.” Lenth’s lips tugged upward at the corners in a human-like smile.
    “I believe she’s at the phase of reproductive viability—the part of her monthly cycle called ovulation.” Bronn considered it, thinking of the woman’s body language, the way she had looked at both of them, her dark eyes flashing. He nodded.
    “How much do we tell her?” he asked his fellow researcher, glancing the way that Giselle had come. The slight sway in her hips as she walked towards the bar suggested to him that Giselle was almost certainly fertile at the moment—not just in the general sense, but imminently so.
    “As little as possible,” Lenth suggested. “At least until we can get her to a private location.”
    “Should we convince her to consume alcohol while we talk?” Bronn asked; the Khateen metabolism was unaffected by alcohol—they could consume endless quantities without becoming intoxicated. Other researchers had discovered that drinking alcohol with their subjects loosened the subjects’ inhibitions—though there were ethical considerations in consent taken from a woman who was intoxicated.
    “Yes,” Lenth said, nodding slowly. “But we should allow her to become sober