“It needs to fit their personality,” said Chandra. She studied the trio chatting happily with Chipper and clicked her fingers. “That one, Mikita, I’ve noticed him before because he’s always sweating.”
It was true, Ana saw—the guy wore a tee like everyone else, but his had dark circles beneath the armpits. “How about Fever?”
“I like that. Sweaty bugger, he is.” Chandra grinned. “Hm. Seroughi’s a man child. Looks like he’s just hit puberty. So how about …”
“Weaner?” suggested Umbrano.
“Acne,” she finished.
Umbrano looked disappointed. Manolo and Hecate chuckled at the name, giving her thumbs-up.
“How about the Petty Officer?” Hecate asked. “Lukic?”
The woman heard her name, glanced at them, then was drawn back into conversation with Chipper. Her smile had faltered when she looked their way but returned with gusto as she listening to Chip. Maybe, Ana thought, the woman had the hots for two-meter-tall man-mountains in uniform. Ana looked the woman up and down.
Nah, he could do better than her.
“Petty Officer’s an equal rank with Sergeant, isn’t it?” she said, entering the discussion. “I’m guessing they don’t like nicknames from junior ranks.”
“So, we use it behind her back,” Hecate replied.
Chandra shrugged. “Make a list of ideas. Get some from Westermann and Chip tomorrow so we can all vote on ’em. Unfortunately, I gotta relieve Wepps soon, so I better suit up.” She flipped them an ironic salute as she headed away.
Hecate clicked her fingers at the final Peacer in their huddle, Bradstock, getting his attention. His dark gray tee revealed thick arms, covered in tattoos. She pointed to one of them, a cute-looking cartoon animal. “I seen this picture stickered on your combat vest too. What is that?”
“Fluffy mudpecker.”
“Fluffy mudpecker?”
Umbrano cackled, then must have decided the party was breaking up. Without goodbyes, he wandered off, repeating “mudpecker” over and over to himself, sounding it out.
“It’s a critter on Castor,” Bradstock said, unperturbed. “This one’s from a kid’s streamie there.”
“That’s what you got tattooed? A kid’s character? I thought your call sign was Widowmaker.” She pointed to his arm again. “That should be a picture of you knifing someone’s husband.”
“My daughter put that sticker on my vest.” He pointed to his arm. “And she wanted it here.”
“Oh,” Hecate said, grin evaporating as she finally noticed the warning look on Ana’s face. “It’s ... cool, then. Very cool.”
“I think so.”
There followed a minute of them watching Chipper engage the MAAs in conversation. Then Hecate wandered away, followed by Bradstock. Ready for some shut-eye herself, Ana caught Chipper’s eye and copied the salute Chandra had flipped them earlier. He gave her a nod and a smile.
She kept picturing that smile all the way back to her billet. It made her feel good. It made her feel welcome. Good and welcome were feelings Ana Jogianto had not experienced since childhood.
Get used to feeling that way, chica. You finish this mission out here, get a good record, and maybe they’ll let you transfer over to the Peacers.
Wouldn’t that be amazing? To never again have to put up with Umby’s booger-fixations, Manolo and Hecate’s nasty-ass comments … and to live and work with actual friends full time.
Yeah, she thought, kicking off her boots and climbing into her bunk. That’d be very, very sweet.
2
Gravity on Domain Space’s Liberty Habitat was 0.93 earth-standard.
Comfortable enough, Ambassador Chris Gregory decided. Unlike the temperature, which was a little high. Or the ceiling of the Council’s assembly hall where he stood. Possibly a scratch under two meters off the floor, that roof felt low to him. Gregory experienced a mild and unaccustomed case of claustrophobia because of it. He glanced behind him at his delegation’s four-person armed escort and decided it was good they hadn’t brought Chipper Tukimatu with them. He wasn’t sure of the big man’s official height, but his short hair would definitely brush a ceiling this low-slung.
This assembly “hall” was more of an assembly room really. Its walls were painted a utilitarian gray. Little bigger than Assured’s bridge, it contained two rows of six chairs along one side of an open expanse of floor, with two identical rows on the other. Nothing else. No artwork or adornments. It did smell nice in here, though, as if the air was scented with a mix of the sweetest Caultan spices. He wondered what the source of those scents were. Another glance around revealed no aerosol-distributors, no visible air vents.
And, he noticed as his thoughts returned to politics, there wasn’t a speaker’s podium as you’d find in the Confederation Parliament chamber. The two sets of chairs faced each other across an empty patch, making him wonder at the nature of Domain Space’s governance. Did it resemble an Old Earth Westminster style with incumbent and opposition? Probably not: Buoun had told him that Naat had been Grand Councillor for decades now. A communist-style premiership, then? Or something closer to the Roman tradition of Caesar-emperors and Senate?
Well, I’ll have plenty of time to sit down and ask him about it soon. Assuming he’s coming to Kh’het. Assuming we agree to take the Tluaanto at all.
Councillor Naat stood with him in the center of the open area between the chairs. The Assured’s Captain Pan had positioned himself to Gregory’s other side, his feet apart, hands behind his back, lips pressed together. Just beyond the captain, Colonel Fowler slouched with arms folded and eyes closed as if catnapping. Gregory had plunged his hands deep in his pockets to stop them from fidgeting, licking dry lips.
To Naat’s other side stood the junior councillor, Pi. And beyond her, Buoun.
The Tluaan envoy was nervous and fidgety in contrast to his two leaders’ Pan-like composure. Every ten seconds or so, Buoun’s arm would rise into Gregory’s peripheral vision to scratch or rub at his face or ears.
I get it, brother, Gregory thought. It’s been a tough ten days.
Several meters back behind the line of dignitaries stood the soldiers. One combined team of Confederation Peacekeepers and Xerxian Tacticals, plus a detail of six local Tluaanto. Gregory’s bodyguard, Grace Renny, slouched near the group but to the side, always preferring her own space. She winked when he looked her way, but her face was hard, suspicious.
The Domain Space warriors were impressive and imposing. Taller by twenty or thirty centimeters than the functionaries they served, they rivaled the largest human soldiers for height and bulk. He’d met one of them before, during the action that brought the short-lived inter-domain war to a close. Her name was Vazak and he knew her by the old burn scar visible on the knuckles of her left hand and by her right ear, which was missing its tip. Vazak had accompanied Assured’s forces onto the planet Suuchaat to infect the Domain Surface computer network with a human cybervirus. While there, she had “captured” one of the enemy leaders in hopes of using him in a forced negotiation.
That kidnapped person—a minor council functionary—had long since been returned to a Domain Surface low-orbital shuttle. But the show of human-backed force had produced a truce, and the willingness for each of the three foreign domains to send envoys to today’s summit.
Gregory glanced at Vazak again. The warrior spoke a little English now, a fact that caused him a pang of chagrin. He had yet to master more than a handful of Tluaanto phrases.
His attention snapped to the curtains across the hall’s entrance as they parted suddenly. It was a false alarm—the person hurrying in was not a foreign diplomat, but a Domain Space official carrying a document. The Tlu—at least Gregory thought the person was male—swept around the rows of seats and came to stand in front of Pi, his head bowed and his plastipaper document proffered in both hands. Pi snatched it then sent him hurrying away with an imperious flick of her fingers. Her cloud-gray eyes scanned it before she held it up for N
aat.
After he too had read it, Naat turned to Gregory and started to speak. Gregory caught a couple of the words but was distracted by Naat’s manner. This was the second time Gregory had met the councillor. It continued to unsettle him that Naat never quite looked at the person he was addressing, a feature of rank perhaps. Or was it a merely a cultural difference? After all, many human cultures across the millenia had considered eye contact a sign of insolence or even challenge.
Perhaps he’s showing me respect.
Naat spoke some more, then clamped his jaw shut, facing front again and leaving Gregory to peer past him to Buoun for a translation.
“The shuttle bearing the delegates from Domains Ocean, Surface, and Moon docked approximately ten human minutes ago. The delegates are expected in the assembly hall within a few more minutes.”
“Thank you for the update, Excellency,” Gregory said to Naat.
The councillor acknowledged this with the merest of sniffs.
“There was more to the message,” Buoun continued. “The delegates have been allowed an escort of one warrior each. Domain Ocean’s warrior is armed. But the Domain Surface and Moon warriors are not permitted to bring weapons onto our habitat. Being unarmed makes them less dangerous, but you are advised to warn your soldiers to be wary. Domains Surface and Moon are known to be deceitful.”
Buoun settled back into his place in the line, eyes front. He scratched at his nose.
Gregory traded glances with Pan. Out the side of his mouth, the captain murmured, “Charming.”
Eyes closed, Fowler quirked a brief smile.
“Colonel,” Gregory said to him, “perhaps you’d be good enough to pass that message on?”
Fowler’s eyes eased opened. Without comment or complaint, he performed an about-face and strode off toward the human escort.
Gregory effected a sideways stretch one way, then the other, easing the tension in his lower back. He shuffled his feet in place. “Excellent one, do we really have to conduct this meeting standing up?”
Once Buoun had translated that, Naat sniffed and said, “Sahss.”
Gregory needed no translation to understand the abrupt word for yes in Space’s dialect. He tried again, “May I ask why you have all these chairs in here?”
Not that any of them look particularly comfortable for a human spine. Or backside.
“Council business is conducted less formerly than negotiations with foreign powers,” Buoun translated for Naat. “Especially when two of those powers are currently behaving aggressively.”
“It’s my understanding that aggressions have ceased,” Gregory replied. Pointedly he added, “On all sides.”
Again, Naat’s response was a simple “Sahss.” As if to say, what’s your point?
Perhaps feeling a little more conciliatory that her haughtier superior, Councillor Pi fanned her fingers against her chest and said in English, “We are thank you for the helping of you people.” She followed this with a long string of hard Tluaan consonants and musical vowels. Again, it was left to Buoun to translate.
“For helping to disarm the nuclear rockets headed our way. For helping all three domains to reposition their assets in safe places and to begin salvaging the remains of those destroyed or damaged.”
“We were happy to help,” Gregory replied.
“Not sure happy is the right word,” Pan muttered.
Fowler rejoined the line. Gregory pulled his tab from his pocket to check the time.
Fifty minutes waiting. These other domains rival Castoran politicians for their make-em-wait tactics.
Finally, there came another flurry of activity at the curtains and this time the functionary heralded the entrance of the three new envoys and their escorts.
Let’s get down to business, Gregory thought.
The domain politicians didn’t interest Ana in the slightest, but her posture tightened when three Tluaan warriors entered behind them. The three foreign dignitaries approaching Ambassador Gregory’s group were as short-assed as Ana and Hecate were. But their soldier escorts dwarfed them.
Stines muttered, “My granny’s beard, they’re big bastards!”
Ana repressed the urge to sock him in the mouth. When they’d raided the signaling facility on Suuchaat, Stines had abandoned her and Hecate, leaving them to the mercy of warriors exactly like these ones—and he’d faced no repercussions since. Not only was he a treacherous asshole, it also boggled her mind that he’d made it to corporal in the Peacekeeper Corps where restraint was meant to be a virtue. The idiot had enormous difficulty keeping his thoughts to himself and was highly uncomfortable with diversity. The whole hour they’d been here on Tluaan turf, he hadn’t stopped eyeing off the locals, physically incapable of obeying his sergeant’s orders to “quit staring.”
Stines continued, “The one on the right’s built like a tugboat. But look at that lanky one in back. Christ, are those webbed hands?”
“The ‘lanky one in back’ is from Domain Ocean,” Wepps murmured. “And this is your final reminder to keep such comments inside your own skull. Next breach of discipline leads to latrine and waste chute duties.”
The two foreign escorts in front seemed particularly on edge. They had thicker throat and head crest fur than most Tluaanto she’d seen. Their eyes swept the human and Domain Space soldiers with suspicion and … yes, there was definitely hatred smoldering in those glares. Ana could understand that—they’d lost a war recently.
I wonder if you know that us four standing here were the ones who iced a bunch of your compadres last week.
By contrast, the third warrior—who was indeed lankier, and did have slight webbing between her fingers—seemed less interested in the humans and Domain Space soldiers and warier of the Moon and Surface ones.
A black-clad Tluaan official had come in behind the warriors; he and Buoun made introductions among the various parties. Snatches of the conversation carried Ana’s way and she found herself leaning forward to hear better. The red-clad pair of Tluaanto—Councillor Suran and her bodyguard—were from Domain Moon. The turquoise—Councillor Mingatat and his escort—were Surface. And the aqua—Councillor Vren and her escort—were Ocean, as suited that color.
Beside Ana, Wepps put a hand to his ear as she heard the burble of a comm signal from Assured. The sergeant slipped away from the line toward the back of the chamber, speaking in muted tones. This allowed Hecate the chance to talk unchallenged.
“The ones in red—” she started.
“Domain Moon,” Ana clarified.
“Whatever. Why in hells are their mouths hanging open like that? They look like panting dogs.”
“Derogatory.”
“Factual.”
“And check out them fancy collars,” Stines added. “That some kind of Moon fashion?”
Jogianto flashed them both a scornful look. “Did you actually listen to the briefing file? Domain Moon were originally a bunch of clans from the coldest part of Suuchaat and they feel hot here. The collar’s a cooling device.”
“Oh, right,” Hecate said. “The panting expels excess body heat.”
“Wouldn’t mind one of them collars,” Stines grumbled and hooked a finger inside his own.
“Wouldn’t mind stuffing one down your throat,” replied Hecate.
It was a little warm in here, Ana agreed. Nothing like a normal day in her old hometown though—a place she hoped never to have to return to. “Domain Space have nudged this chamber’s temp up a couple degrees. Just to annoy the Moonies, I reckon.”
Hecate made a musing sound. “Nasty strategy. I like it. Maybe these Domain Spacers and us Xerxians are more compatible that we thought.”
“I’m sure they are,” muttered Stines.
As proceedings commenced, Buoun noticed that the Moon councillor, Suran, was very quiet. It surprised him, since historically, Domain Moon had been the most vocal and quarrelsome of the domains. She appeared content to allow Surface counterpart, Mingatat, to do the talking for both of them.
Buoun gave a her closer look. Yes, the slightest dark hue to her cheeks and that tiny curl of her lip gave away her smugness. She had her own plans and, whether Mingatat knew it or not, she considered him her lackey.
If I can see this, Buoun thought, then it must be obvious to Pi and Naat. The Humans will notice nothing except the presence of new and curious aliens, and the threat posed by their warriors.
The Moon and Surface warriors did not intimidate him, he realized. They were outnumbered and outmatched. Bizarrely, the presence of Human warriors here made him feel safer than the presence of Vazak and hers.
Mingatat was saying, “I will now commence listing our demands for peace.”
Demands, Buoun thought as the Domain Moon interpreter Yimiun performed the translation into acceptable English. There is a word intentioned to provoke further conflict!
Mingatat referred to a long scroll of plastipaper, unfurling it as he read. “Our first claim is access to the science you have gained from the Humanto.”
“We gained none,” Naat purred. “Our Envoy exchanged nothing but cultural greetings with them.” A flicker of Pi’s hand told Buoun not to translate this for Gregory’s group.
Mingatat pressed on without acknowledging he’d heard anything. “Domain Surface demands reparations for damages to our orbital satellites and facilities. Domain Surface demands reparations for damages to the land-based installation caused by the illegal raid performed by Domain Space and the Humanto.”
Naat replied, “There was nothing illegal about defending ourselves or the Humans—” Buoun was pleasantly surprised when Naat used the English word. “—from your virus and your conventional attacks upon our orbital assets and populace.”
This time, Mingatat’s ears flicked with irritation. Keeping his voice level, he continued. “Domain Moon demands the return of its disabled rockets.”
“Councillor Pi’yow’t?” Naat said, inviting his junior to respond to that item.
Pi’s throat and cheek fur rippled with the hues of unrestrained amusement and her vocal tone matched that emotion. “Thank you, Councillor Mu’ulkiinaat’t. I have been liaising with the Humanto on that matter. They are currently disarming your nuclear warheads while we bleed the fuel from their propulsion systems. Once the rockets are deemed non-dangerous, Domain Moon are welcome to send ships to reclaim the shells.”
Assured (Envoys Book 2) Page 2
