Authors: Tanya Huff
Beyond checking that her translation program was working properly, Torin didn’t actually pay much attention to the opening exchange. Nothing of substance would be discussed on the landing field anyway so, after catching Ressk’s eye and glaring at him until he brought his upper lip back down over his teeth, she used the time to size up their potential allies.
The Dornagain were still the biggest species on the ground by a considerable margin. The Silsviss present were about as tall as a tall Human or an average di’Taykan, although Torin had no idea if this group was representative of the species as a whole. Maybe short Silsviss didn’t go into the army or the civil service. It did seem, however, that larger Silsviss went into the army, as only one or two of the civilians matched the size of the soldiers. They all had short muzzles, a little larger than those of the Krai, and thick necks with minor dorsal ridges. Like the two other reptilian species in the Confederation, they used their tongues a lot when they spoke, flicking them about an impressive array of teeth.
Those present were a mottled shade of grayish-green— slightly more monochrome on the front—but Torin expected that this was merely the local coloring. They’d be making another four regional stops before the “all Silsvah” meeting and, unless the Silsviss were truly unique in the galaxy, there’d be a number of variations on the theme.
Their tails were about as big around as their upper arms, not significantly larger at the base than the tip, and they never stopped moving. A number of the civilians wore bright metallic bands, and although the distance made it difficult to tell for certain, it seemed the soldiers wore duller bands not so much as decoration but to reinforce their tails as weapons.
Hand to hand to tail; good thing they’re coming in on our side.
One of the Other’s subordinate species had been tailed, and old mindsets had needed to be reworked when an attempt to save as much of the research station as possible led to close-quarters fighting. After half a dozen Marines had been taken down by what amounted to a smack upside the head with a rubber truncheon, they learned not to relax when they saw both hands raised in surrender.
The Silsviss had similar tails. Similar reinforced tails.
They had round eyes set wide apart that seemed to be as unrelieved a black as those of the Mictok although the Silsviss had the more standard two. Evolutionary science hadn’t managed to come up with a good reason for it but sentience seemed to lean toward bi-structural development. Their hands were long fingered, and although they obviously had to have opposable digits, Torin wasn’t close enough to see how they opposed.
Unable to identify any sexual characteristics, she had no way of telling if the placement of the minimal clothing was merely decorative or gender specific. Not even the soldiers were wearing much, although the harnesses and the impressive amount of hardware clearly added up to uniform. Considering the heat and humidity that thickened the air almost to the consistency of soup, minimal clothing seemed wise. The exposed skin on her face and hands was already greasy with sweat.
She’d added, “Have sergeants remind the Humans in their squads to be careful about losing their grip on their weapons,” to a mental list when she remembered General Morris’ words: “
You’ll see new worlds, meet new life-forms, and not shoot at them for a change.”
And that just feels
wrong, she realized.
I really need to get out of combat for a while.
“...walk in parade ssso our people may sssee sssome of the many typesss of life the Galaxy offersss.”
Walk in parade? Her gaze flicked over to the Dornagain and she wondered if there was a diplomatic way to say, “You’ve got to be fukking kidding.”
Apparently, there was, and transportation was arranged.
Torin’s translator insisted on calling the three vehicles flatbed trucks—or more specifically, trucksss—although they didn’t look like any truck she’d ever seen. They looked a little like a cross between the sleds they used to move the heavy artillery and most of the farm machinery she’d left behind: functional and far from comfortable. Both military escorts were clearly expected to walk.
“I think the di’Taykan should ride as an honor guard for our diplomats, sir. They—you—don’t handle this kind of heat well,” she added when the lieutenant’s hair rose in inquiry. “There’s no need for any of us to be unnecessarily uncomfortable.”
“You don’t think the Silsviss will object?”
“I think the Silsviss will assume we’re being cautious in a strange place and slap an equal number of their people on board.”
With the Dornagain climbing into place surprisingly quickly, they didn’t have time to discuss it.
“Very well, but I walk with the rest of the platoon.”
She considered arguing but nodded instead. Rank had its responsibilities as well as its privileges. Besides, if he walked, the Silsviss wouldn’t leap to the conclusion that the other di’Taykan were riding because they couldn’t walk. It was something
she’d
suspect were their positions reversed, but with Lieutenant Jarret on the ground, the whole thing could be chalked up to weird alien ritual.
And if they plan on joining the Confederation, the Silsviss had best get used to dealing with that...
Remembering the first time she’d ever seen the Krai sit down to a festival meal, she suppressed a shudder. She’d barely been able to stop herself from freeing the appetizers before they reached the table.
During the delicate diplomatic maneuvering of boarding the trucks—while both the Silsviss officials and the Confederation delegates worked out which aliens it would be in their best political interest to ride with—she made sure that all the di’Taykan had their temperature controls at the lowest possible setting. The Silsviss did indeed match the Confederation guards with their own and Torin exchanged a glance of recognition with the soldier arranging it. Senior NCOs shared a bond that went beyond species affiliation and could recognize an expression that said, “
Who the hell came up with this brilliant idea?”
on any arrangement of features.
Lieutenant Jarret and the Silsviss officer were standing together off to one side, very probably being polite in that “we’re above all this” way that officers had. The two were of a height, and di’Taykan body language seemed to suggest there had been no determination of which was the superior force. Silsviss body language seemed to be saying the same thing, but Torin had long since learned not to jump to cross-species conclusions.
As she approached, reinforced bootheels stamping emphasis into the landing field, she saw her reptilian counterpart moving in on a parallel course. Fully aware of what the other was about to do, and under no obligation of rank to make nice, they ignored one another.
Torin stopped a body-length back of the officers in time to hear the Silsviss say, “...no fear of the crowdsss. The citizensss in and around Shurlantec are very much in favor of usss joining with the Confederation.”
And did that mean,
Torin wondered,
that citizens in other areas are less in favor?
When the lieutenant turned toward her, she stiffened to attention. “The platoon is in position, sir.”
“Thank you, Staff Sergeant.”
“Ret Assslar.” The Silsviss NCO taped the metal band near the end of his tail sharply against the pavement. “Our troopsss are likewissse posssitioned.”
The translation program left names and titles alone but changed everything else to its closest Confederation equivalent. Torin didn’t know why it had decided to maintain the elongated sibilants, but she suspected all that hissing was going to get old pretty damned quick.
Ret Aslar acknowledged the information, then turned back to Lieutenant Jarret. “We will, no doubt, have further opportunity to ssspeak at the Embasssy, Lieutenant.” His tail hit the pavement much as his NCO’s had. “Until then.”
* * *
“He’s definitely done diplomatic work before,” Jarret murmured as they moved toward their position.
“He, sir?”
“Ret Aslar. You can only develop his skill with small talk crammed into a room full of strangers who’ve been told to be polite.”
“How could you tell he was male, sir?”
“Smell. The big ones are male. All the soldiers are male.”
Only a di’Taykan could scent the sex of species not even in the same phylum. Torin made a mental note to keep an eye on Haysole, who seemed determined to be more di’Taykan than most.
“First impressions, Staff?”
It took her a moment to realize he meant the Silsviss. “They look like they fought to get to where they are and have no intention of giving any of it up.”
Lieutenant Jarret shot her a confused glance. “Any of what?”
“Of who and what they are.”
“The Confederation never asks that.”
“When was the last time you went out without your masker?” When he opened his mouth to answer, she added, “In an area not controlled by the di’Taykan. When you get right down to it, sir, the Confederation is essentially an agreement to compromise, and I don’t get the impression the Silsviss play well with others.”
“You got all that...” His nod somehow managed to take in both the civil servants and the soldiers. “...from watching this lot stand around for an hour?”
“Yes, sir.”
His eyes lightened as he glanced down at her. “So staff sergeants really do have super powers?”
Torin
had
been about to explain that survivors learned from experience to recognize those species likely to follow up their first shot with a second and a third but decided instead just to answer his question, responding to his teasing smile with as bland an expression as she could manage.
“Yes, sir.”
* * *
Outside the high walls of the landing field, huge, fernlike trees not only made it impossible to see more than a few meters from the road but explained why the city had been so difficult to spot from space. Torin only hoped that the defense satellites were as good as tech thought they were because should the Others break through, take Silsvah, and attempt to enslave the Silsviss, it would be a nasty job taking all these overgrown bits of it back.
Not that the Silsviss would be particularly easy to enslave,
she acknowledged, listening to the soft rhythm of claws impacting with pavement.
They hadn’t gone far when the burned concrete smell of the landing began to clear from her nose and Torin got her first unimpeded whiff of Silsvah. It reminded her of hot summer afternoons spent turning the compost pile, of anaerobic bacteria, and of scrubbing the algae out of the water troughs. It reminded her of one of the many reasons she’d left the farm.
The crowds lining the roads hissed and pointed and occasionally clusters of them would break into high-pitched ululating cries. It didn’t sound friendly, but Torin was willing to allow that Ret Aslar knew his people better than she did— H’san cheering for the home team sounded like they were being skinned alive. Although some of the platoon were looking just a bit twitchy by the time the parade came to a stop at the edge of a wide plaza, they managed to form up without incident.
Taking her place at the rear, behind the three sergeants, Torin made a note of rigid shoulders and flattened hair and hoped that whatever was about to happen wouldn’t take long.
They were facing an enormous colonnaded building set off from the plaza by a set of steps broad enough to be used as a graduated dais. The two groups of diplomats stood between their military escorts and the stairs. The media occupied the outer edges of the first two sections and standing on the top were those Silsviss too high ranking to be bothered with a trip to the landing field. A male and three females, judging by size alone, or a large male and three smaller males, or two smaller males and a female, or two females and a smaller male or...
Now
this
is a species that could use a little pink and blue.
The actual genders were of no immediate importance, Torin just liked to know. They wore robes—the first she’d seen—of some pale, diaphanous fabric that glittered in the sunlight and all four exuded nearly visible arrogance.
At least half the media seemed to be pointing their recording devices upward, and everyone seemed to be waiting for something to happen.
The big male at the top of the stairs stepped forward.
Inflated a brilliant yellow throat pouch.
And roared.
Shit!
Torin couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of her heart, but she saw at least three weapons snap up into firing position and her own muscles trembled with an instinctive need to respond. Lieutenant Jarret stepping forward brought her back to herself, and she marched around to take up his vacated position, thankful for the chance to move. This, at least, had been covered in the briefing.
“At some point in the ceremony we’ll be asked for our battle honors.”
Lieutenant Jarret had gazed earnestly at his sergeants as he passed on the bare details of the day. “
Staff Sergeant Kerr will take the platoon while I answer.”
If it turned out that the lieutenant had known just what form that question would take and hadn’t told her, Torin planned on kicking his aristocratic derriere right back to Ventris Station where he could repeat the course on keeping his NCOs informed.
Standing on the first step, he raised his head and began. “We are of Sh’quo Company...”
He clearly knew he couldn’t match volume for volume so he played with tone, answering the heat of the Silsviss challenge with cold. As he detailed the company’s history, his subtext clearly said:
We have nothing we need prove to you.
Torin was impressed. She could feel the mood of the platoon behind her change, until, when he finished speaking, the Silsviss were in the least amount of danger they’d been in since the Marines had landed.
Then he spun on one heel and walked back to his platoon.
At that moment, they
were
his.
Pity it won’t last,
Torin thought returning to her original position.
The rest of the ceremony maintained a more conventional tone. Two of the three high ranking females—or smaller males— gave speeches of welcome, the two ambassadors reciprocated, and finally the third of the smaller Silsviss at the top of the stairs announced they were giving over an entire wing of the Cirsarvas for the visitors to use while they were in Shurlantec.