The Polixaci Ambassador stopped in his tracks. He chittered, and the translator disc said, “What are those?” He was pointing across the driveway of the country house, at the cows standing just beyond the pasture fence.
I let the farmer answer. “Those are cows. Mostly for milk and meat, but we use ‘em for all sorts of things.”
“Bos primigenius taurus,” I clarified.
“And they are native to this planet?” the Ambassador asked.
The farmer laughed, said, “Yeah.”
“Odd that they should so closely resemble the Ogwondi,” the Ambassador said, relieved. Later, he clarified: “It was such a costly war.”
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