He paused dramatically to think, and in that pause, Amber suddenly realized that she had been struck speechless for the first time in her life. It was a terrifying thought; maybe it had been outrage that silenced her, but she’d been just as silent all the same. Mesmerized. Not just letting him say it, but letting him say it in front of Meoraq.

She opened her mouth.

Meoraq put his hand on her shoulder without looking at her and squeezed hard.

She closed her mouth, fuming.

“Okay,” said Scott, holding up both hands as if to quiet all the people who weren’t talking anyway. “What we appear to be dealing with is a kind of dog. And before you all get offended on its behalf—”

No one appeared to be offended. Amber opened her mouth again and this time got a squeeze and a silencing point. He still didn’t look at her.

“—dogs can be highly specialized animals,” Scott concluded. “We have bomb dogs, don’t we? Drug dogs. Seeing eyes and hearing ears. And of course, attack dogs. My point is, no matter how well-trained the dog is, no one would ever confuse it for a sentient life form, would they? And why not? Because even when the dog can do what it does better than anyone else around it, it still can’t think.”

“Just because he can’t speak English doesn’t mean he can’t think!” Amber insisted, shrugging off Meoraq’s hand. “He—He drew pictures, for crying out loud! He gestures! He—”

“So do monkeys,” said Scott.

“But if he’s so intelligent,” said Dag, and immediately backed off when Meoraq looked his way, “and I’m not saying you aren’t, man. But if he is, how come he can manage twenty different ways to say gann, but not human? How hard is that?”

Everyone looked at Meoraq, Amber among them. Meoraq eyed them all and then just looked at Amber. His spines were flat again.

“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “Maybe we’re thinking of it too…one-dimensionally. Like sound is all there is. But for him, the way you say it matters as much as the sounds it makes. I don’t know.”

“That’s such a ludicrous answer,” muttered Scott, and made a point of walking away a few steps just so he could shake his head and come back. “Just admit it, you’re as clueless as the rest of us.”

“I did admit it,” she said tightly. “That’s what I don’t know means.”

“And for those people who are trying to learn a non-inflected language like English when their own is more tonal,” interrupted Yao, “it can be very difficult. There are five different ways to say ma in Mandarin. It can mean anything from mother to horse. Language is not a science, Mr. Scott. It is far more abstract than most people realize, and to this I would add that the physical structure of our speech may be impossible for him to emulate.”

“Yeah, that’s another thing,” said Amber. “His mouth. He doesn’t have lips, you know? And his tongue is all weird.”

Crandall made a loud, derisively suggestive sound that earned him all of Meoraq’s attention.

“You’re a dick,” Amber snapped. And to everyone else, said, “I mean it’s different from a normal tongue. A human tongue,” she amended, catching a narrow glance from the lizard. “I don’t think it moves much. He pretty much only uses it to chew, so however he’s making the sounds he makes, he’s not doing it the way we do.”

“As usual,” Scott sighed, “you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“But I do.” Mr. Yao stood up and faced himself off squarely against Scott. “If your Aunt Harriet had parrots instead of terriers, you might know what Miss Bierce is trying to tell you. Our friend appears to have bifurcated trachea—a split flap at the back of his throat which produces all his sounds. The shape of his mouth could easily account for some sort of resonance cavity which allows him precise control over sounds our ears may not even be capable of hearing.”

“You said that was for pheromones,” Scott said with a meaningful glance back at his Manifestors. Some of them obediently laughed or rolled their eyes.

Mr. Yao’s lips thinned. “One does not supersede the other, Mr. Scott. I cannot advise you strongly enough to learn that particular lesson. One does not supersede the other, and if I can be blunt, I would observe that his ability to speak our language has nothing to do with his ability to understand it.”

“Which he does,” Amber insisted. “And sooner or later, he’s going to stop being polite and you’re going to get your proof about whether or not he knows what we’re saying in the form of a sword up your ass!”

The slap didn’t hurt. Not really. She staggered back a few steps, but she wasn’t in any danger of falling down, and if she’d known the slap was coming, she probably wouldn’t have even staggered. But that was the thing; she didn’t see it coming. Scott was able to pull back his arm and smack her right across the mouth and she never…never really saw it coming.

She stared at him, one hand cupped over her stinging lips, unable to quite believe she’d just been hit. There wasn’t any blood on her fingers, although she could taste it, coppery, on her throbbing lips. She looked around, blinking in a kind of numb bewilderment, and saw people she knew just looking back at her. Some of them were frowning, but whether at her for swearing or Scott for slapping, she couldn’t tell. Some of them dropped back in the crowd, or picked at their fingernails, or found something else to look at, as if she’d done something embarrassing and vaguely disturbing, like wet her pants. She looked at Nicci, but Nicci wouldn’t meet her eyes. She looked at Meoraq, but he was looking at Scott. So she looked at Scott.

He tipped his chin up, giving her a grim sort of nod. “I’ve given you all the last chances you’re going to get, Miss Bierce. It’s time you learned to start watching your mouth when you speak to m—”

He didn’t see the slap coming either. Whap, right across his cheek. It hurt her wrist quite a bit. All the ladies in the movies acted like slapping a man’s face was about as difficult as swatting a fly, but faces were pretty hard surfaces, really.

Scott staggered back, tripped over his boots and fell on his ass, which was satisfying to see even though she knew it was mostly luck.

“You ever lay a fucking hand on me again and I’ll knock your fucking teeth out!” she shouted. “You don’t get to tell me how to run my fucking mouth!”

“Okay, calm down.” Eric eased himself forward a step, his hands once more raised and placating. “Take it easy.”

“Tell him to calm down!” She brushed at her mouth again, but it still wasn’t bleeding on her. Her hand was shaking. She could not believe how angry she was.

Or how close to tears.

No one told Scott to calm down. Dag was helping him up. People were whispering. Looking at her. Saying things that made Scott nod in his tight, angry way as he brushed grass off his clothes.

‘I don’t care if they like me!’ she thought furiously.

“Okay,” said Scott. He straightened his sleeves, his collar, his shirt-front. His cheek was a little red where she’d hit him, but only a little, like her lips that felt so swollen and tasted so coppery but stubbornly refused to bleed. He said, “I’m not doing this tonight. If you want to freak out and start hitting people—”

“You hit me first!”

Scott threw up his hands, a see-what-I-have-to-deal-with gesture straight to God. People murmured, commiserating. Amber could feel herself blushing, feel her breath growing hotter in her chest. “I’m done with you. Done. You show me some respect or the next time you take a walk, I won’t send the lizard after you.”

Meoraq had not moved more than his eyes or his spines in all this time, but at that, he suddenly stood up. He took two steps, unhurried, and slapped Scott right out of the air even as he was leaping away. He caught him before he hit the ground, pulled him close, then said quietly, “Lizard?”