Darzhee Kut saw Yaargraukh’s earflaps shiver as though they were going to close. Among the Hkh’Rkh, this reflex meant that he had heard something which was embarrassing, uncouth, or disgusting, and had just barely managed to suppress a more dramatic display of that repugnance. It was probably in reaction to his superior’s blunt bigotry. A bigotry which, by extension, would also tend to categorize the Arat Kur and all other non-Hkh’Rkh races as non-beings. Fine allies, indeed.
But Graagkhruud was not finished. “And honorable? This Riordan creature lied when he hid behind the safety of a diplomatic flag and then attacked.” Graagkhruud reared up. “But a lie does always reveal one truth: that he who tells it is a liar.”
“If we know it to be a lie, yes,” countered Darzhee Kut. “But we do not know this. Besides, Riordan is not a warfighter; that is his companion’s skill.”
First Voice intervened. “You err, Speaker Kut. I have heard Riordan speak, have learned something of his deeds and how he thinks. He is more a warrior-human than most of those who wear the uniforms of that caste. And your own report indicated that it was him, not the true warrior, who carried a weapon when they boarded your disabled ship.”
Yaargraukh’s voice was quiet but so slow and measured that it attracted more attention than a shout. “Still, I find no fault in this person’s honor.” Darzhee Kut leaned back, as did the other Hkh’Rkh. In his own tongue, Yaargraukh had not used the word “being,” the Hkhi term for most exosapients, who, although intelligent, had no place in the honor code hierarchies which determined personhood. Rather, Yaargraukh had used the word “person,” which not only implied a sapient recognized as having a mind equal to their own, but as a creature capable of accruing honor.
“The Advocate blasphemes—or betrays us.” Graagkhruud breathed, his crest rising. “I cannot tell which.”
Darzhee Kut closed his eyes against the strain upon his patience. “This cannot, and need not, be settled here. Caine Riordan is a senior emissary of his people, and he is our guest, not our prisoner. We would, however, be pleased and grateful if you were to leave some of your warriors with us to provide security for the humans while they are on our ship.”
“I was not aware that those who are truly and genuinely guests need to be chaperoned and monitored by armed guards. Perhaps you, too, feel them to be something other than guests. Something more akin to prisoners.” First Fist let his breath out through his nose, the mucus therein warbling and fluttering grotesquely.
Darzhee Kut let his eye covers slide shut for a moment. Harmonize with the greater purpose. Embrace the differences of the Old Family Hkh’Rkh—at least in this moment. “Honorable Graagkhruud, perhaps our ways are different in this. Here is our way: we presume that the humans are, and will behave as, diplomats while with us. But since we could be wrong, we must take steps to minimize what damage they might do should their actions show them to be saboteurs. For this reason, and for their own protection, as well, we require that they have a security escort.”
First Voice stood. “You will have your ‘security escort,’ since you seem uncertain of being able to guard unarmed prisoners yourselves.” His crest flattened and he did not bother to look back down at Hu’urs Khraam before he turned and left. Graagkhruud’s exit was equally abrupt and without acknowledgment of his Arat Kur hosts. Yaargraukh stood, opened his hands and showed Hu’urs Khraam his palms in what was a military show of respect, and then strode quickly after his superior.
Darzhee Kut interlocked his claws, looked down for a moment, then up at Hu’urs Khraam—who was already looking at him. “What is your opinion of the Hkh’Rkh, Darzhee Kut?”
“I hesitate to reply, First Delegate, for I can only sing the notes I truly hear.”
“I asked you to come today so you could sing just such notes.”
Darzhee Kut spread his claws slowly. “Their reaction to our emissaries bears out our fears regarding the Hkh’Rkh as allies. They are intemperate, impatient, occasionally dismissive of crucial details. They are strong but inelegant in their thought and intolerant of difference. I do observe, however, that the Advocate, who is also a member of a New Family—a lower class among the Hkh’Rkh—has few of these detriments.”
“Let us dig to the first stone of the foundation. Can we trust them?”
“To keep their word? Yes, absolutely.”
“And to perform the tasks as they must? For if upon landing, they are tried by a sharp insurgency, they must be firm but restrained in their response. Do you think they can achieve this?”
“Esteemed Hu’urs Khraam, I do not know. Some, such as Yaargraukh, could. Some, such as Graagkhruud, cannot.”
“And First Voice?”
“He has wisdom, but its melodies are often lost amidst the old rhythms of his heritage and his legacy as the scion of the greatest of the Old Families. I feel his common sense is great enough to perceive the wisdom of what Yaargraukh says, but I fear that his pride is too great to hear it over the roar of Graagkhruud’s exhortations to pursue honor and total war.”
“I fear this as well. But, if the humans accede to our terms, we shall depart quickly, and our allies will not need to restrain themselves for long. Happily, our swift victory will give them little opportunity to err.”
Darzhee Kut wriggled slightly in his couch. “The humans might agree to negotiate, but they will not agree to the Hkh’Rkh terms. Indeed, I fear they will not even agree to ours.”
“But to surrender 70 Ophiuchi would only show reason, wisdom.”
“So might we see it. But the Hkh’Rkh would see it as proof of fear and lack of resolve—which is just how the humans themselves will see it.”
“This makes them akin to the Hkh’Rkh.”
“I wish to sing notes that ever harmonize with yours, esteemed Hu’urs Khraam, but I think you will find that particular estimate of the humans to be incorrect. They are very different from the Hkh’Rkh.” He paused, looked at the image of Caine Riordan’s focused and carefully unemotional face frozen on the screen behind him. “They are very different indeed.”
Part Two
December 2119
Chapter Fifteen
When Downing returned to the conference room from the fresher, he started. Opal Patrone was there waiting for him.
“You’re early, Major. To what do I owe the honor?”
“Closed museums.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The museums are closed. The public buildings are off-limits. Congress is in seclusion. DC has become one dull city.”
Downing grimaced. “As long as the Arat Kur continue to consider it more dull than Jakarta, I’ll consider it a blessing.”
Opal’s jaw came out in a truculent, fine-pointed wedge. “At least in Jakarta we’re fighting the bastards directly.”
“Except, Major, that too many of the bastards are our own people, taking the traitor’s coin from either the megacorporations or President-for-Life Ruap.”
The door to the conference room opened again. Trevor walked in a step ahead of Elena, who was carrying a mostly empty shopping bag.
Downing’s first impulse was to cross the room to Trev, but their parting on Barney Deucy had been anything but warm. And although all the reports indicated that Trevor had been turned over by the Arat Kur in excellent condition, one could never be sure if Nolan Corcoran’s son was simply playing the role he was expected to play: the bluff, impregnable ex-SEAL.