Four more of the huge Bingnagians shuffled aboard as soon as the shuttle taxied to a stop. Lfffg tka nfflgt! the first one hooted loudly. “About time you got here!” the translator repeated. “Come along. We’re not paying you to sit around enjoying the scenery.” Sam obediently picked up his things and followed the escort as they led the way out of the shuttle.
The Bingnagia landing field’s surroundings were of a scale with these aliens. Gargantuan buildings reared on all sides of the field. Huge vehicles roared with abandon across the tarmac, nearly running into each other. Groups of the gigantic aliens raced here and there. Some groups seemed to be engaged in such fierce fighting that Sam wondered if they had entered a combat zone. Was there a civil war raging? Was that the dispute he’d been sent to solve?
His escorts suddenly diverted from the marked path to rudely bump some equipment handlers aside as they left the shuttle’s ramp. The handlers bumped back and, in a matter of seconds, the two groups were brawling, smashing their huge claws against each other, kicking with their muscled legs and immense feet. Sam ducked around the mass of battling giants and ran for the nearest building.
Before he could reach it, the door swung open and a Bingnagian that was even larger than the others rushed out. Gnfft Tka, it hooted at the frightened Sam—“Move aside!”—and raced to the fray, its massive legs pumping furiously.
Sam watched in disbelief as this new arrival began to indiscriminately beat up on whichever Bingnagia came to the top of the pile, its four claws striking out in every direction until there were no more combatants standing. The late arrival then proceeded to pull Sam’s escorts to their feet and smash each of them another time with its main claw, a bruising blow that looked as if it would probably kill a horse… or slow an opposing lineman, Sam suddenly thought, wondering what the NFL would do to have a couple of these aliens on their teams.
The huge alien and Sam’s much-battered escorts rejoined Sam inside the terminal. “Sorry for the inconvenience, but we hadn’t seen our friends for some time and needed to get reacquainted,” one of them huffed through its battered and bruised tube.
“Is that what you consider a friendly greeting?” Sam asked incredulously.
The Bingnagians pulled themselves upright proudly. “Of course, how else can we tell where we stand with each other?”
Sam was glad the group hadn’t run into their girlfriends. Probably none of them would have survived the celebration. He followed as they led the way to ground transport, hoping they ran into no more acquaintances on the way.
The security at the Bingnagian government compound was quite impressive. Sam had to go through sixteen security checks, each staffed by a dozen or more heavily armed Bingnagians who ferociously scanned both his body and kit for hidden weapons. Sam had to show his credentials at each guard post and then wait as his escorts smashed one or more of the guardsmen in the now customary round of friendly fellow-bashing.
The inner court was also heavily guarded. There was a platoon or more of soldiers parading endlessly back and forth under the shouted orders of what Sam assumed were officers, since they were the ones who were not marching to and fro.
His terminal escorts, a pair of Bingnagians dressed in neon trunks, produced a ring of keys, each one the size of Sam’s arm. With great ceremony the guards unlocked the half-dozen locks in the door to the compound’s inner keep. Finally, when the last tumbler fell, the door swung wide. They motioned for Sam to step into the dimly lit interior.
Sam did so and found himself in a broad hallway. The door slammed behind him. He could hear the guards clicking the many locks closed. He assumed there would be no going back without an escort.
Sam picked up his things and began to walk down the hall. On either side were large depictions of various Bingnagians. A common theme seemed to run through them all. In each were a surprising array of dead animals, or other alien races—it was so hard to tell when traveling through the galaxy—around an erect Bingnagian principal. One particularly garish portrait, prominently displayed at the far end of the hall and dominating the rest, showed a golden-trunked Bingnagian standing astride several obviously dead Bingnagians, each one with a dagger prominently displayed in the center of its back. The paint glistened as if it were still wet.
“That must be the M-Ditsch,” Sam remarked aloud and wondered at the bloodthirsty monsters Ahbbbb had sent him to help.
Kmmmhffg—“It certainly is”—someone suddenly hooted behind him. Sam spun around and confronted an imposing monster, by far the largest Bingnagian he’d encountered so far, towering over him.
Hnffg tka ghjjjt—“You the human thing I asked for?”—it hooted in a surprisingly pleasant baritone.
“Sam Boone,” Sam said and started to step forward, toward the giant, when his foot tangled in the cords of his kit and he flew forward. He grabbed at the alien’s legs to hold himself up and, in doing so, thrust his head into the several crotches of the monster.
The huge alien leaped in surprise and slapped Sam away with one of its gigantic claws. “By the Gods, you are a polite one,” it hooted as Sam ricocheted off the wall. “I hadn’t expected that a human would know how to greet someone properly. Good to see that you have decent manners, even if they are somewhat sneaky.” It carefully probed the impact area tenderly with its tiny rearmost claws. “By the way, I’m the head protector of the M-Ditsch, Bro B.”
Sam’s head was still ringing from the glancing slap. “Um, yes,” he mumbled as he stumbled to his feet. “You certainly are.” Damn, he’d have to be more careful in the future, he thought as he shook his head to clear it. He definitely wasn’t going to hug anyone around here!
“Well, that’s enough pleasantries. Come along,” Bro B continued. “I’ve got to get those damned Adrinns to the table.” Bro B turned and began striding away, forcing Sam to run alongside.
“Is the M-Ditsch going to be there?” Sam asked.
“The M-Ditsch only comes here once a week,” Bro B replied. “He cannot expose himself to danger more frequently.”
Sam recalled the pile of knifed corpses he’d seen beneath the regal heels of M-Ditsch in the painting and recalled Dratte’s cautionary words. He could understand the M-Ditsch’s reasons.
When they reached a room farther down the hall Bro B stopped and threw a door open. “This is your room. Rest up while I get the others together.”
Sam dropped his kit in the middle of the room and looked around. The guest room was dripping with tapestries of untold beauty, cords of jewels, and strange gilded objects whose purpose he could not begin to guess. It was the most tacky display of wealth he’d seen since he left Reno.
In the center of the room was a wide, shallow pool, just the right depth for one of the Bingnagians to soak in. To one side sat a utilitarian bed. Six sturdy legs held a set of thick, bare planks a meter and a half off the floor, level with his chest. An ornately chiseled and embossed side chair was to scale with the bed. Sam felt as if he were four years old once again; a child in an adult’s house. No sooner had that memory come to mind than he had a frightening thought and began to search for the bathroom.
By the time Sam had figured out how to use a toilet designed for a fourlegged giant without being drowned, Bro B had returned.
“Everybody’s ready. Let’s go,” he hooted, snapping the jaws of his main claw open and shut.
Sam went, dripping the whole way.
“All right, the human is here. Let’s begin,” Bro B hooted as he flopped into his chair. The room shook slightly, as if a small earth—er, bingnagiaquake, Sam corrected himself—had taken place. Four other Bingnagians were already seated. They were, Sam learned, Bro K, Bro T, Bro C, and another Bro T.