"Has he been instructed in our language?" Srtes asked, after the brief formalities were over. He indicated the Earth native.
"He has become quite adept during the eight great tides since we left his world," the Commander answered.
"It is well." Srtes turned and eyed the Earth man searchingly.
The alien returned the gaze, not defiantly, yet not at all subserviently. I could tell that he was ill at ease. A fine sprinkling of perspiration dotted his forehead, and he breathed slowly and deeply, as though carefully timing each inhalation and exhalation.
"Do you have a name?" Srtes asked him.
He made a nodding motion with his head. "John Wilson," he said. The words were clear enough, but spoken with a slurred, soft-palate, sound.
"You have two names?" The hairlines above Srtes' eyes raised slightly.
"It is the custom on their world," Leik supplied. "The surname has a clan connotation."
"You understand your purpose here?" Srtes asked the outworlder.
"Yes." He added nothing to the reply.