“’S what you have, bro’.”
“I mean, plain nasi goreng. I can’t afford meat.” By way of proof, Caine dug the last, sodden five-hundred-rupiah note out of his pocket. “That’s all I have.”
The man looked at the note, then looked at him. “Keep your money, bule. Come back when the Roaches are gone and I’ll overcharge you enough for both times, hey?” And Caine couldn’t help returning the wide, disarming smile that always made him wonder, how can they smile like that and kill so quickly and ferociously? But he shook his head and pushed the note an inch closer to the owner. “No, take it. I’m not going to need it after I leave here.”
The man’s ample cheeks dropped along with his smile. His teak-brown eyes ran back and forth over Caine’s face. Then the man nodded somberly and picked up the note. Back at the bar, he looked up again. “I keep it for you, hey? ’Case you change your mind?”
“That’s kind of you, but don’t bother.”
The man spent a long time cleaning a single glass, occasionally looking at Caine, who knew, from seeing his own reflection in storefronts and restroom mirrors, that he presented a pretty unusual appearance. The tattered clothes he’d snatched from a drying line were two sizes too small, their incongruity magnified by his disintegrating woven-straw flip-flops, six-day growth of beard, and improbably expensive watch. “So,” drawled the proprietor, picking up a new glass, “where you come from, Robinson Crusoe?”
“America.”
“I know that, bule. I mean, where you come from to get here?”
A more sensitive question. “I guess the answer I give depends on why you’re asking.”
The owner nodded, took extreme interest in cleaning the glass that had now been thoroughly cleaned four times. “So,” he said, smiling as widely as before, so casual that he might have been talking about a local soccer star, “you one of the swimmers?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You know, you swim ashore?” A pause. “Like others do?”
Ah. “Like others?”
“Yeah, like others.”
“You know these swimmers?”
“Me? Know them? Hey, no.” He looked up slowly. “But I’ve served a few.”
“In this restaurant?”
His smile returned. This time, it was like the secret smiles Indonesians shared when they heard a distant bomb go off. “No, never served swimmers here. But I’ve served them.”
Caine started on his nasi goreng, resolved not to wolf it down. “Well, now you have served a swimmer in your restaurant. But I’m not the kind of swimmer you mean.”
“Oh? What kind do I mean?”
Somewhere to the east, there was a distant, muted rumble, too short and dull to be thunder. Caine nodded in its direction. “I’m not the kind of swimmer who sneaks ashore to help you do that.”
The barkeep frowned. “No? Then what kind are you?”
“I’m here to talk.”
“To us?”
“To them.”
He stopped wiping the glass. “Tai. You musta bumped your head on a reef, bro’. That’s not a good idea.”
“It will be if I can talk to the right, er, person.”
“I don’t know. Those don’t seem to like talking very much.”
“That’s why I need you to tell me the kind of ‘persons’ who approach the corner behind me.”
“Whaddya mean?”
Caine finished the nasi goreng. “I mean, I need you to tell me when you see the next patrol coming, and whether it’s being carried out by ‘persons’ with two legs, or ‘persons’ with six legs, or both.”
“Almost never the six-legs on their own, bro’. They don’t like to come out and play very much.” He smiled. “They’re pretty smart that way.”
“They’re pretty smart every way.”
The proprietor leaned forward. “You sound like you know.”
Caine nodded. “I know a little. Enough to know that they’re actually pretty competent fighters, but they’re not comfortable outside. They’d rather work inside, or in tunnels.”
The proprietor started cleaning the same glass again. “Ho! Then why’d they land in Indonesia? Seen our sewers—the few we’ve got? Ever try to dig a tunnel? Man, why you think we’ve got no subways? Took ’em years trying put in fiber-optics, and they mostly gave up. I think.” A pause. “Hey, here they come.”
“A patrol?”
“Yeh, but not the one you want. Two-legs only. Four of them.”
“Thanks. Don’t stare.”
“Okay, okay. Hey, why don’t you face the other way, out into the street, see for yourself?”
“That might not be healthy for me.”
“They don’t seem to be take any special notice of bules, so—”
“That’s not it. I mean they might recognize me. Personally.”
He put the glass down. “What? You kidding me?”
“Nope. It’s not likely, but I don’t want to be recognized before I make my move.”
“Okay, I get it. I’ll—hey, hey.”
“What?”
“A pair of the six-legs, moving pretty fast. Coming from where the two-legs did, probably trying to catch up with them. The Sloths do that, you know. Make it hard for the Roaches to keep up. They don’t like ’em much.”
“Can you still see the Hkh’Rkh?”
“You mean the Sloths? No, bro’; they’re gone.”
Caine stood. “Thanks. I hope I’ll see you again.”
“Yah, bule. Titi-deejay.”[6]
“Hati-hati, friend.” Caine turned, walked to the door, did not break his stride as he pushed it open. Or as he stepped out from under the awning into the downrushing wave of water. Two of the hexapedal powered suits used by the Arat Kur infantry were just entering the intersection. Caine walked straight at them, his hands held high. He cleared his throat to make sure his voice wouldn’t quaver or go hoarse, and shouted. “I greet the soldiers of the Arat Kur Wholenest.”
The two Arat Kur came to a skittering stop. Even with their suits hermetically sealed, Caine could make out their surprised chittering.
“I am without weapons,” Caine continued. “I am the human Speaker who went before the Accord, and who was rescued at Barnard’s Star. I have shared a roof with Speaker to Nestless Darzhee Kut. I have returned to speak with him.”
One of the suits was evidently equipped with a translator. “Are you the human named Caine Riordan?”
Caine was stunned by the rapidity with which he had been identified. “I am.”
“Then you must come with us. Immediately. Make haste.”
Caine walked briskly so that he was between them as they scuttled in the direction of the Arat Kur compound in the presidential palace. “How did you know who I am? Why are we making such haste?” he asked.
“The answer to both your questions is the same,” replied the Arat Kur with the translator. “The Wholenest’s allies wish to kill you. They have said so. Repeatedly.”
“Speaker Kut?”
Rubble and scree. Now what? And only five minutes before Hu’urs Khraam was due to make planetfall to assume direct command of what was clearly a deteriorating situation—as much with their allies as their enemies. “Enter.”
A defense-tech clattered in, the front hatch of his suit open in respect and for sake of clear communication. “Darzhee Kut, we have a matter that requires your attention. Urgently.”