Rose 8

Halfway through the list, Xar and I stop for a break.
In small talk, I ask, "are you the only anthropologist covering Earth?"
Grin, "bite your tongue. Planet is such a screwed up mess it takes three dozen of us."
"And I suppose you use male anthropologists on our men?"
"Logically, it should work, but it didn't. Yours were so uptight, ill at ease, afraid of possible attack; it led to lousy communications. However, once Earthling men find a sympathetic and non-threatening ear, they don't stop talking. Men are half of my clients, give me 3/4 of my usable information. Helpful about it too. Most make lists of stuff, so they don't forget when they next see me."
"It sure has not been my experience that they're forthcoming at talking."
She laughs, "think of stranger on the airplane syndrome. Once the guy trusts you, knows the info will end up in an anthropology textbook trillions of mile away, he becomes very candid."
A ping announces I've received email. Of course I'll ignore it.
Xar looks rather uneasy, "ah maybe you better check that."
In bold and large print, it proclaims, "Earthlings, this is your final warning. So far you have refused to meet our demands. Unless each and every one of you converts to being a Jehovah's Witness within 30 days, we will be compelled to take drastic action.
"We have a cannon, specially calibrated to turn your planet into a giant Limberger cheese. Imagine the decline in lifestyle. Air travel could be difficult with soft runways. Cafe menus would become boring. And that's to say nothing of the smell!
"Still, there is one positive benefit. Food banks would be rendered obsolete."
By now, both Xar and I are roaring with laughter.
I look at her appraisingly, "you knew they were gonna send something? Now you're relieved it's not too bad, right?"
She shrugs, "in our culture, there is a saying, 'aging is compulsory, maturity is optional'. Half the anthropologists are still stuck in junior high mode."
I grin, "and of course, they're hoping for a reply?"
"Very much so, they'd be disappointed if you didn't zing them back."
I type, "your idle threats scare our Evil Empire not. Our military is so sophisticated, it's like you're stuck in spear days. Have your fun, shoot! You'll find the cannon shot deflected back at your ship. Bon appetit!"
I show Xar, then send. After we laugh, it's back to work.
As this proceeds, I come to a realization. The communication between her and myself is exceedingly good, better than I've experienced with a fellow human.
You see, these anthropologists would not break down the client list by geography. Pointless, when you consider they can zip back and forth at the speed of light. Nor by language, they have a universal translator. They have broken down their client list by personality type, matched you to a specific anthro. Someone up there is a genius, even if some are immature.
(So ends Part One; the blog could be inactive for several months as Part Two is prepared.)