She was one of the few of the half-circle of humans before him who did not start back when he barked out his question. Instead, she looked at him, seemed to be studying him, even his armor and gear. Then she nodded gravely. “Great Troop Leader, I was a diplomat.”
He suppressed his surprise at her rapid ability to identify his rank, and although his first impulse was to dismiss her improbable claim to be a diplomat, her confident demeanor and sure identification of his social standing compelled him to hold that dismissal in abeyance. “A diplomat for whom? To whom?”
“For my planet. To your people.”
“Where is your retinue, diplomat?”
She looked him in the eyes, seemed to be measuring. “Where is yours, Great Troop Leader?”
Had she been a male, he might have killed her on the spot. But her sex gave him pause, and that pause gave him the opportunity to consider the aptness of her rebuffing question. Where indeed was his troop, but scattered prone and lifeless upon the wet, misty, labyrinthine streets of this alien hellhole? On a day such as this, her retinue might have fared no better. And if she was a genuine diplomat—“You will come with me. The rest of you: go. Except you.” He pointed to a young male who was standing solicitously close to the female. “If you flee, her life is lost. The rest of you: if you bring more humans, again, her life is lost. Go. Now.”
Without a sound, they turned their backs upon him and rapidly vanished into the humid, milky drifts of smog.
Vrryngraar turned back to the female. She looked at him, then looked at the young male. “Adi, do not fear for me. I will be right back.”
The young male nodded at her, stole a quick furtive look at Vrryngraar, and sat—or rather, squatted on his heels—where he was. Vrryngraar pointed into the corner building with the AK. The human female lowered her eyelids and head, and moved inside, calmly picking her way over the rubble which half-choked the doorway. Good. She was smart enough to be docile.
One inside, he turned the AK directly upon her. “Tell me of yourself, diplomat.”
“There is little to tell. I was at the recent Convocation. I was one of those who represented humanity. I met with First Voice of the First Family—”
“—my suzerain and patron!”
“Just so.”
“And you swear this on your life? For if I show you to him and he does not recognize you, your life is lost.”
“If he can tell one human apart from another, he will recognize me. He will also know my name.”
“Which is?”
“Elena Corcoran.”
Corcoran. That was a name Vrryngraar knew. Her brother was a warrior. Perhaps there would be a ransom, or a challenge. Some honor would come to him after all, in this hell of pointless carnage. And better still, she was insurance that the survivors of his Great Troop would make it back to the compound alive. He turned to her, let the AK sag as he emphasized each point with a thrust of his free claw. “Sister of Corcoran, you are our prisoner, and possibly an emissary. You will come with us back to our compound. You will walk in the lead, with me, so that your fellow-humans will know not to attack us. We will travel under your truce-sign. It is what? A white banner? And—”
“And you did not listen closely enough to my answer, Great Troop Leader.”
The sudden interruption made him pause. “Your answer? What answer?”
“You asked me if I am a diplomat. But I replied that I had been a diplomat.”
“I do not understand.”
She showed her teeth. They were white and strong, if small. “I stopped being a diplomat months ago. Today, I am but a human, and a mother, and a citizen of this world.”
That was when he noticed that a small pistol had appeared in her hand. She smoothly elevated it to aim at his head. Because there was no waver in her arm or her eyes, he was relatively sure that she would not hesitate, flinch, or miss. He let the AK sag even further. She nodded her affirmation of that act without once taking her eyes off his. “So, ‘citizen,’” Vrryngraar said, “now you fight. For what? To save this planet? It cannot be saved. It is already hell.”
“I fight to repel ruthless aggressors. As do the Indonesians, who have a long tradition of doing just that.”
“They are not warriors.”
“Not by tradition or inclination, but they are dangerous fighters when they must protect their homeland.”
“They are not one of the more advanced countries of your world. They live in overcrowded filth, argue ceaselessly among themselves, and never built an empire. What can homeland matter to such a people?”
She shook her head slightly, once, but never took her eyes—or gun—off his: “You have read our history, but you drew the wrong conclusions. But don’t feel bad. Three centuries of human oppressors in this region made the same mistake about the Indonesians. And the Vietnamese and the Filipinos and the Cambodians and a dozen other peoples. No one has ever enjoyed much success trying to occupy this part of our world. Of course, when a human invader’s dreams of conquest here went terribly awry”—and she leveled the gun at the Hkh’Rkh—“they all had someplace to flee back to. You, on the other hand, are not so fortunate.”
The gun was less than four centimeters from his right eye, aimed at a shallow retrograde angle. This human had studied Hkh’Rkh anatomy, knew where their brain was located, and where it was not protected by their helmetlike skull. They continued to stare at each other. So he was her prisoner. What further indignity he would suffer this day, Vrryngraar could not imagine. “What would you have me do now, human?”
The female seemed to think. At least, it cocked its head. Then it showed its teeth again. Among humans, this was a sign of humor or receptivity, so he relaxed a bit as she replied, “There is only one thing I need you to do, Great Troop Leader.”
“And what is that?” he grumbled.
In the street, Adi heard two sharp snaps, realized it was the report of an extremely small-caliber handgun. After hearing bombs, dustmix assault rifles, AKs, shotguns, and PDF railguns screeching overhead all day long, these discharges sounded like a popgun or a pair of mildewed firecrackers. Adi waited, wondered if he should run after all, if he still had enough time to do so, felt the countervailing tug of a vague loyalty to the American woman who had befriended him two days ago.
At that moment, the lady bule came out of the ruined storefront, hands extended to either side as she balanced her way over the shattered masonry in the doorway. The Sloth did not appear behind her. “Are we still prisoners?” Adi asked.
“No,” she said, dusting off her hands as she reached the level plane of the macadam.
“But where is the Hkh’Rkh?”
“He’s not coming.”
Chapter Forty-One
“Where’s Chou?” asked Opal.
O’Garran looked out the window and into the street where a third of the tunnel rats he’d come ashore with lay in the strangely twisted poses of death. “He’s out there. For good.”
Damn. “He was a fine officer.” And he was also the only one of the mainlanders who outranked Wu. So if Wu insists on becoming the new second senior officer and the mainlanders resist—
“Don’t burn out your clutch, Major.”
“Huh?”
“I can see those wheels turning between your ears. Don’t sweat the Taiwanese-mainlander thing. The mainlanders saw Wu in action, taking orders from Chou, not complaining. They’re all right with him now.” O’Garran started swapping out the hotjuice cylinders on his CoBro liquimix carbine. “So what now? Looks like we bagged half a platoon of the Sloth fire brigade, scattered the rest. I’m pretty sure we’ve got their attention.”