Still, Guardian noted, his posture was as brave as possible for a puppeteer of his bloodlines. She blinked twice in acknowledgment. Diplomat's act of polite esteem secretly pleased her, though she maintained her stern expression, still holding the other puppeteer in her gaze.
Diplomat was small and vulnerable and obviously very frightened – with good reason. She was delighted that he was trying to hide his emotions, to hold his necks a bit farther away from his body in a show of what was – to him – courage.
Despite all of Guardian's threats and insults to Diplomat, she enjoyed looking after the other puppeteer. A small puppeteer like Diplomat required Guardians protection, and it warmed her to feel that needed duty. It would be a deep pleasure to die for her charge.
She would never admit as much to the little creature, of course. Guardian's facade forced other puppeteers to treat her opinions with respect and attention and more than a little fear. Her personal feelings did not enter into this or any other mission of behalf of the Hindmost.
To a Guardian of the puppeteer race, duty was All.
Such was the purpose for which Guardians had been born and bred over millennia. Duty to the Hindmost, always; such were the first words a foal of the Guardian caste heard in creche. And it was the last thought to be prized, at the end of a long life of service.
Guardian glowered a bit more to reinforce the image she projected. Diplomat bowed to her with both necks and turned to his own control console. There was a slight crunching sound as he broke the Hindmost's Seal with his teeth.
Guardian was not looking forward to the next few minutes. It would have to be handled most carefully.
I am a Guardian, she thought, not a melody-mumbling Psychists.
But a Hindmost's Command was exactly that: a command.
As she watched from the corner of her left eye, Diplomat inserted the datacube into his console reader. He whistled up the hyper-icons with a minimum of flourish, looking cool and efficient. Not a surprise, truly. Warrior knew that Diplomat was a Field Operative, not some Homeworlds fop – despite the ornate grooming on his back pelt.
Still, she was not fooled by appearances.
Guardian allowed herself a tongue-flick of a wry smile at his studied sham of confidence as Diplomat's console screens began to flicker with data. She returned to her own control console, activating the forceweb. The static charge crackled pleasantly against her battle armor, firmly holding the soldier puppeteer in place.
Unless Guardian handled Diplomat's study of the datacube's contents just so, the little puppeteer would drop into another bout of catatonia. Guardian was secretly indulgent of her charges on such missions, yes, but there was little time available for out-of-breeding-season pelt-carrying.
"Well, Honored and Wise One," she asked with rough humor, "do you care to share your initial impressions?”
"I thank you," Diplomat fluted deferentially. The tone was smooth and controlled. "I shall need some time to review the encoded information to give a proper reply.”
Guardian glanced at Diplomat. She could tell nothing of his mood or reaction from his tone or posture. Swallowing right-to-left-to-right in thought, she began to choose her words carefully.
Gently, the Guardian puppeteer told herself. But quickly…
Without music in her voice, she spoke in flat, unpuppeteer-like tones for emphasis. "I know something of the mission before us, Diplomat. I was very far in front of the Hindmost when the Outsider message was first received. Later I was in Herd with the Deepest Council, and helped prepare your briefing contained in the datacube. This is a task for Guardians only, not for puppeteers too enamored of their own burrows.”
Perhaps Guardian's false air of superiority would prick the little puppeteers own substantial pride. Such an approach often resulted in the insulted one forgetting fear – and getting on with the task at hand.
In any event, Guardian had issued an old, old insult, but one which carried little real sting. Puppeteers had not inhabited burrows and caverns since the dawn of recorded history. Guardian paused, waiting for Diplomat to respond to the crude song-phrase.
The little puppeteer said nothing, his posture giving away nothing.
Good, she mused. This one is as skilled as the Deepest Council argued.
"Still," Guardian continued, "I and my caste follow the Hindmost's Song Called Out from Far Behind. You are to act as the Hindmost's Representative to the helium beasts, and perhaps do more." Guardian's heads stared at one another for a split second in a dry chuckle of puppeteer humor. "I only hope that you acquit yourself with honor, for your mouths speak for all puppeteers this day.”
Diplomat's right head lifted from one of his console screens, the stream of data freezing in place as he looked away.
"Guardians are not known for their elegant conversational ability," Diplomat sang with just the slightest edge of reproach. "You are attempting to placate and groom my thoughts. The currycomb of your words and manner is not necessary, truly.”
Guardian cocked her right head, impressed. "Well spoken, Little Talker. I do seek to maintain your calm.”
"That is why I carry mood modifiers," the other puppeteer reminded her. "I am afraid, yes, but I acquitted myself well with the Q'rynmoi, did I not?”
"You acted like a Guardian that day, Little Talker." Warrior clicked her teeth together, squinting in respect.
Diplomat's heads faced one another, then blinked twice at her graciously. "I sense and accept the spirit of the compliment. Though few of my caste would see it as such with both eyes.”
Warrior snorted.
"Prepare me, then, for this mission of ours," hummed Diplomat, all humor evaporated.
Guardian turned both her eyes to face Diplomat.
"There are new threats in space, near our own domain." Warrior's words again lacked music, jarring the Herd-conditioned air in the lifebubble with intensity. Her right head weaved slightly, and her left tongue touched knobbed lips for a moment.
Even Guardians can feel fear, she reminded herself, It simply does not rule us, as it does the Little Ones.
"The helium beasts," Guardian continued, "have brought us news from a sector outside the realm of our race. Evidence of two new species, aggressive and threatening to puppeteer business and well-being." Diplomat rolled his left eye with the beginnings of impatience. "I do not understand the countermelody implicit in your song, Guardian. The Outsiders have done us a service with this doubtfully free information, I assume.”
She said nothing.
"But the Outsiders are allies," Diplomat sang in a falling tone of disbelief. "Our arrangements have been profitable for centuries." "True enough, Little Talker," she replied. "What are you not singing to me, Guardian?" Guardian pointed with a right forked tongue at Diplomat's console. "You will find the answers there." "I repeat myself, with all due respect to your station and grooming: prepare me," chided the little puppeteer. Guardian whistled like a teakettle, then stood stock-still. "The Hindmost," she clipped, "does not entirely trust these particular Outsiders. There is some new agenda present." Her left head dipped down to a leg holster containing what appeared to be a tightbeam disruptor, touched it for reassurance, and returned to station. She watched Diplomat shudder and droop his necks, both eyes slightly closed. The first step toward withdrawal. At length, he mastered his fear, raising necks with still-twitching neck muscles. Guardian was impressed. "You are to be the Hindmost's Voice," she reminded him. Diplomat blinked agreement. "I understand my duties, Guardian.”
"Perhaps medication would be useful," Guardian suggested. The little puppeteer chirped agreement. He reached into his supplies and tongued a blunt triangular lozenge of drugcud into his left mouth.
Guardian understood Diplomat's confusion about the Outsiders. The coldlife sentients had helped lift the puppeteers from their pre-technological society over one hundred thousand years past; had sold the puppeteer race the gravity planer, the hyperdrive, and endless safety devices.