Likisi watched her between narrowed lids. “What is it now? Were you wildly curious about this shelter?
Do you want to know how much you can bring with you when we leave?”
“No, Ser Likisi,” Ofelia said. He had not her to sit down, and she stood, hands folded in front of her.
The air moved by the aircooler fans dried the sweat on her back, and chilled her. “Here—” Kira handed Ofelia a glass of water with ice blocks in it. “Sit down, for goodness sakes. You don’t have to stand there.” She handed Likisi a glass of something purplish, and took her own glass of clear liquid to one of the chairs arranged around a low table. “Here — sit by me, if you want.” Ofelia walked over and sat. The chair squirmed under her, and she jumped up, glaring at Kira. “Sorry,” the woman said; her expression said she meant it. “I didn’t realize — these chairs adjust to each person who sits in them. Please — forgive me.”
Ofelia sat back down, her back stiff. The chair squirmed under her buttocks, her thighs, trying to make her relax. It was hard to sit stiffly, and she felt her resistance giving way. As she relaxed, the chair molded itself to her. It was comfortable, she had to admit, She sipped her water. It tasted cold and flat, nothing like the live water she was used to. “Thank you, Sera,” she said politely. “This is very nice.” “They use similar furniture in geriatric residence units,” Kira said. “It prevents sores.”
“How interesting,” Ofelia said, She still had no plan for how she was going to convince them. She sipped
again. “Sera — the… indigenes, you call them…”
“What about them?” Likisi asked.
“I think they are upset. By you.”
He laughed. “I rather expect they are. They ran off the first humans they saw easily enough, and now we’re back. And they’ve seen the technology here — while that’s regrettable, in a way, it’s also made it clear to them that they have a long way to go before they can compete with us.” “We won’t hurt them, Sera Falfurrias,” Kira said. “We know they didn’t understand what was happening, when they attacked the colonists. It was all very unfortunate; they aren’t really so bloodthirsty. They’re quite intelligent, as you said, and when Bilong completes the linguistic analysis, and we can actually talk to them, explain what we know—” Misunderstandings hid in those words like seeds in an orange. The People had understood; these people didn’t.
“The colonists,” Ofelia said. “They destroyed the nests.”
“Nests?” Likisi stared at her. “These indigenes build nests? That’s not what Bilong said.” “Bilong said she thought the colony landed at a special place, some land of sacred ground or something,” Kira said to Ofelia.
“It was nests,” Ofelia said.
“They didn’t know that,” Kira said. “They couldn’t — they had no idea there were intelligent indigenes.”
Clear in that was the unconcern about the nests of less intelligent indigenes. Ofelia felt ashamed. “Whatever… nests, sacred ground… it doesn’t matter; what matters is that we understand why they reacted so violently. If they’re afraid of vengeance, they need to know that we have no wish for more violence, so long as they are peaceful.”
She could not jump up and scream Fools! at these two; it would do no good. To say that the deaths of the nestlings and nest-guardians didn’t matter… to believe that the People were afraid of human vengeance… to think that the power lay with them and not with those who belonged here… fools they were, whether she named them so or not.
“It mattered to them, that it was nests,” Ofelia said quietly. Then she stood; she could not stay in the same space with them any longer.
The doorseal behind her rasped, and she jumped. It was only the other two, returning from wherever they’d been.
“Led us a merry chase,” Ori said. “I think it had something to do with demonstrating hunting techniques, but I’m not sure. I’m parched. Hello, Sera Falfurrias… forgive me for not greeting you first.” “You would not believe how many palatals they can produce,” Bilong said. She patted a gray case hung at her side. “I got good recordings this time, very clean sound. When the waveform subroutine’s through with it, we ought to have a complete — or almost complete — phonetic analysis.” “That may be why our mighty hunter didn’t catch anything; it was too busy producing pretty sounds for Bilong’s box.” Ori sounded grumpy; if he had been following one of the creatures assigned to keep him out of the way, he had had a hot and miserable day, Ofelia was sure. It would be better to wait until he was not in this mood. But she was here, and when would she have the chance again to talk to all four of them? She could almost feel her own left toes twitching: now.
She held her silence. What good was a nest-guardians experience if you ignored it? Experience said they would not listen now, not with one of them excited and the other one miserable. “Perhaps you would come to dinner,” she said. “I have not yet had the honor of entertaining you in my home.”
“What?” Likisi, looking blurred around the edges (what was that purple stuff?) gaped, then remembered his manners. “Uh — thank you, Sera, but not this evening, I think. Ori’s exhausted, and frankly I am too.” “Another day?” Ofelia asked. “Tomorrow or the next?” The creatures had made it clear that they wanted the confrontation as soon as possible. They were ready. She did not understand all they intended, but she trusted them.
“Tomorrow would be very nice,” Kira said. “Perhaps you would allow us to bring treats from the ship?” Ofelia saw through that; they didn’t trust the food she raised in the garden. Anger made her stubborn; she felt heavier, as if she were a rock resisting movement.
“It will all be carefully cleaned, Sera,” Ofelia said. “I have cooked many years.” And I am still alive and healthy, she did not add.
“Of course,” Ori said, sighing. “We are too concerned about these things, Sera Falfurrias. We will be honored to eat with you.” The others looked even less enthusiastic, but they did not argue. “Thank you,” Ofelia said, and escaped to the late afternoon sunlight. The two advisors were still bent over the truck, but they were talking, not doing anything. When they caught sight of her, they stood up as she passed; the loud one grinned but said nothing.
All the way up the lane to her house, the old voice told her what she had said wrong, what she should have said, and how it would never work. The new voice held its peace, but she knew it was stirring things, down where she couldn’t quite see or hear, but only feel. Left hand and right hand. Bluecloak was waiting, as she had expected. “They did not listen today,” she said. “They told me they intended no vengeance because the People killed the colonists. They thought you were afraid of that.” A single tap of his foot; she didn’t have to look to know which foot. “They expect to make the rules for your people and mine to know each other. They think you will accept this.” She grinned at him. “They think you have no choice. They do not understand, but they will. Tomorrow, I will feed them in the evening. It is what they expect old women to do — feed them, care for them, listen to them.”
Bluecloak’s speech sounded even clearer this afternoon; she had no trouble following his accent when he asked how much she’d told them.
“Not much,” Ofelia said. “They were hot and hungry; they didn’t listen well to what I did say. And I need to find out more.” What weapons were on the shuttle and the ship above, for instance. What orders had been left with the ship’s captain. If it came to force, they were doomed. It must not come to force. It must be done by persuasion.