A few right arms went up.
Gladia said, "The humanoid robot on Solaria heard me speak Solarian. That was what defeated it in the end. Come let me see everyone who would like a demonstration."
More right arms went up and, in a moment, the audience became a sea of upraised arms. Gladia felt a hand tweaking at her pants leg and, with a rapid movement, she brushed it away.
"Very well. You may lower your arms now, kinsmen and kinswomen. Understand that what I speak now is Galactic Standard, which is your language, too. I, however, am speaking it as an Auroran would and I know you all understand me even though the way I pronounce my words may well strike you as amusing and my choice of words may on occasion puzzle you a bit. You'll notice that my way of speaking has notes to it and goes up and down almost as though I were singing my words. This always sounds ridiculous to anyone not an Auroran, even to other Spacers.
"On the other hand, if I slip into the Solarian way of speaking as I am now doing, you will notice at once that the notes stop and that it becomes throaty with r's that just about neverrr let go - especially if therrre is no 'rrrr' anywherrrre on the vocal panoramarrrm."
There was a burst of laughter from the audience and Gladia confronted it with a serious expression on her face. Finally, she held up her arms and made a cutting movement downward and outward and the laughter stopped.
"However," she said, "I will probably never go to Solaria again, so I will have no occasion to use the Solarian dialect any further. And the good Captain Baley" - she turned and made a half-bow in his direction, noting that there was a distinct outbreak, of perspiration on his brow - "informs me there is no telling when I'll be going back to Aurora, so I may have to drop the Auroran dialect as well. My only choice, then, will be to speak the Baleyworld dialect, which I shall at once begin to practice."
She hooked the fingers of each hand into an invisible belt, stretched her chest outward, pulled her chin downward, put on D.G.'s unselfconscious grin, and said, in a gravelly attempt at baritone, "Men and women of Baleyworld, officials, lawgivers, honored leaders, and fellow planetfolk and that should include everyone, except, perhaps, dishonored leaders - " She did her best to include the glottal stops and the flat "a's" and carefully pronounced the "h" of "honored" and "dishonored" in what was almost a gasp.
The laughter was still louder this time and more prolonged and Gladia allowed herself to smile and to wait calmly while it went on and on. After all, she was persuading them to laugh at themselves.
And when things were quiet again, she said simply, in an unexaggerated version of the Auroran dialect, "Every dialect is amusing - or peculiar - to those who are not accustomed to it and it tends to mark off human beings into separate - and frequently mutually unfriendly - groups. Dialects, however, are only languages of the tongue. Instead of those, you and I and every other human being on every inhabited world should listen to the language of the heart and there are no dialects to that. That language - if we will only listen - rings out the same in all of us."
That was it. She was ready to sit down again, but another question sounded. It was a woman's voice this time.
"How old are you?"
Now D.G. forced a low growl between his teeth. "Sit down, madam! Ignore the question."
Gladia turned to face D.G. He had half-risen. The others on the stage, as nearly as she could see them in the dimness outside the spotlight, were tensely leaning toward her.
She turned back to the audience and cried out ringingly,
"The people here on the stage want me to sit down. How many of you out there want me to sit down? - I find you are silent. - How many want me to stand here and answer the question honestly?"
There was sharp applause and cries of "Answer! Answer!"
Gladia said, "The voice of the people! I'm sorry, D.G. and all the rest of you, but I am commanded to speak."
She looked up at the spotlight, squinting, and shouted, "I don't know who controls the lights, but light the auditorium and turn off the spotlight. I don't care what it does to the hyperwave cameras. Just make sure the sound is going out accurately. No one will care if I look dim, as long as they can hear me. Right?"
"Right!" came the multivoiced answer. Then "Lights! Lights!"
Someone on the stage signaled in a distraught manner and the audience was bathed in light.
"Much better," said Gladia. "Now I can see you all, my kinspeople. I would like, particularly, to see the woman who asked the question, the one who wants to know my age. I would like to speak to her directly. Don't be backward or shy. If you have the courage to ask the question, you should have the courage to ask it openly."
She waited and finally a woman rose in the middle distance. Her dark hair was pulled back tightly, the color of her skin was a light brown, and her clothing, worn tightly to emphasize a slim figure, was in shades of darker brown.
She said, just a bit stridently, "I'm not afraid to stand up. And I'm not afraid to ask the question again. How old are you?"
Gladia faced her calmly and found herself even welcoming the confrontation. (How was this possible? Throughout her first three decades, she had been carefully trained to find the real presence of even one human being intolerable. Now look at her - facing thousands without a tremble. She was vaguely astonished and entirely pleased.)
Gladia said, "Please remain standing, madam, and let us talk together. How shall we measure age? In elapsed years since birth?"
The woman said with composure "My name is Sindra Lambid. I'm a member of the legislature and therefore one of Captain Baley's 'lawgivers' and 'honored leaders.' I hope 'honored,' at any rate." (There was a ripple of laughter as the audience seemed to grow increasingly good-natured.) "To answer your question, I think that the number of Galactic Standard Years that have elapsed since birth is the usual definition of a person's age. Thus, I am fifty-four years old. How old are you? How about just giving us a figure?"