"Tom Mason," a unique voice rings in the doorway to his office.
"Cochise!" Tom gets up from his desk and comes around to greet him. "What can I do for you, my friend?"
Humans aren't the greatest at reading Volm expressions, but Cochise looks almost nervous to Tom (who is pretty much the closest thing to an expert humans have on Volm facial expression). His hands are hidden behind his back.
"I have learned that it is your planetary custom to give gifts on the anniversary of the birth of an intimate comrade," Cochise says. He brings his hands around and hands Tom a book. "As such, I have a gift to present to you."
Tom chuckles to himself at 'intimate comrade'-Cochise knows how to turn a phrase- and takes the book from him. Unlike every other book that Tom has seen since the invasion, this book is brand new. The pages are unwrinkled and the cover- a smooth black- isn't torn.
"Thank you very much, Cochise," Tom murmurs as examines the book further.
Upon closer inspection, the cover isn't made of any material he recognizes. He opens the book. There's no title page to let him know what book Cochise has given him, and as he flips through the first few pages, he realizes that they're not made of paper. Whatever material it is feels stronger than that.
"It is an abridged history of the Volm taken from a datachip. I believed you would be interested in the information, and I have also noticed your species has a fondness for this physical means of data transmission. I had the information edited, printed, and bound for you," Cochise says, gesturing towards the stack of books in his office. "It is, however, more resilient than your own books. More suited to the troubled times in which we find ourselves."
"That's incredibly thoughtful. I will treasure it always," Tom says, almost vibrating in excitement. Sure, he has a lot on his plate as the President of the New United States, but he still always has time to delve into history. He sets the book on his desk and takes a few steps closer to Cochise, grin on his face. "Did you also find out that you're supposed to sing on someone's birthday? There's a song."
Cochise turns an almost palely purple color. Interesting. "No. No, nobody mentioned there was a traditional ballad."
Tom laughs and rests his hand on Cochise's arm. "Don't worry, we can leave the singing to my boys."
Cochise clears his throat and lowers his head. "That is for the best."
"You and the rest of the Volm are welcome at the party later," Tom says.
"The rest of my team prefers to stay on the Volm base," Cochise says.
"And you?"
Cochise mutters something in what Tom presumes is his native language and makes a noise that sounds distinctly like a sigh. "I will be there, at least to witness your offspring sing the traditional ballad."
Tom beams at him and squeezes his arm before pulling away. "Excellent! I'll see you then, Cochise. Thank you again for the present."
Cochise inclines his head again and leaves, leaving Tom alone with his newest and most precious history book.