“Na’er,” the gray-eared female murmured. “Enough.”
“Ma’am.”
To the Admiral-Offense, that female said, “All of us understand enough of the language to sit through a briefing. Lieutenant Baker can help us with any of the nuances if we fail to understand them. Please, go ahead.”
“We have a visual aid,” the Knife added. “Uuvek?”
Uuvek grunted and picked up an Alliance data tablet. A few moments later, a map of the Empire appeared—an accurate one, the Emperor noted, not the one distributed to the Alliance at the treaty table. The Admiral-Offense glanced up at it and snorted. To the two Chatcaava, “You are too forward.”
“We are Navy,” the Knife said, apologetic. “We prefer to think of it as taking initiative.”
“Efficient,” Uuvek said. “We’re being efficient.”
The Admiral-Offense didn’t sigh but he wanted to, and caught by accident a sympathetic glance from the Pelted superior. Such a small moment of understanding, the Emperor thought, but he read the Admiral-Offense’s surprise at it, and thought it a good beginning.
“Let us speak, then, of the Navy’s strength and disposition,” the Admiral-Offense began.
Did the numbers daunt them? The Emperor watched the aliens’ faces carefully, but they were professionals. Each wore a different expression, but that expression changed not at all. The gray-eared female who led them looked dispassionate but attentive. The long-eared male, amused and a little bored, eyes half-lidded. The Fleet human was politely interested, her head cocking now and then. The striped Pelted male beside her looked mildly curious. Andrea was the only one he could read easily: her pallor and set features radiated fear, and the determination not to submit to it. Khaska… Khaska stared at the projection, until she caught him looking at her.
He couldn’t read the look she gave him in return.
The Ambassador remained relaxed beside him, a welcome bulwark in a strange situation: to be surrounded by aliens, wearing their skin, and neither more powerful than them, nor less. Everything about it distracted him, from the way the chair pressed along the full breadth of his wingless back to the way human eyes failed to react as well to peripheral motion. Being clothed also struck him as… peculiar. He’d spent all his time naked as an Eldritch and then as a human. To have clothing in this shape, especially to have it completely cover his shoulders and back, felt unnatural. Curious.
The Admiral-Offense did not fail him. His briefing laid out in stark terms the size of the Chatcaavan Navy, its composition and readiness state, its location and the approximate times it would take for each sector fleet to muster to Apex-East; then he discussed each sector’s politics and the probable bearing of those forces on the possibility of mutiny, and mentioned the use of mercenaries—the pirates the Emperor had been disturbed to discover they’d trusted with anything—to harry the Alliance’s border. He stopped without obvious irritation when someone requested clarification of a term in the language which, he noticed, Khaska almost always provided. Sitting alongside him, Lisinthir maintained his silence. In that they were twins. Much could be learned from silence; that he had known, even before he’d become the Emperor.
When at last the Admiral-Offense finished, the Pelted superior said, “When we leave comm-silence…”
“We’ll bounce all that off a repeater faster than you can say ‘bless my heart we’re all about to die,’” her human subordinate said.
“Are we all about to die?” Andrea asked.
Lisinthir spoke at last. “I trust not, as I still have a great deal to do in this life. We have a plan.”
All of them looked at him, then. The Emperor said to the Knife, “You are a reader of poetry.”
Surprised, the Knife stammered, “I… yes, Exalted.”
“He’s religious,” Uuvek said absently, tapping at his data tablet with the side of his fingers, keeping the talons out of the way.
“And so, apparently, are our allies in the Empire?”
“Oh!” The Knife’s pupils contracted. Then he said, “Exalted. We do use it as a… hunt marker. Unofficially.”
“And if I said… unofficially… that I would like a message sent out as widely as possible that we were to meet at the Source? For… worship?”
The Knife’s second ‘oh’ was softer, and his eyes began to glow. Squaring his shoulders, he bobbed his head in an alien nod. “I know just the way.”
“So what’s this?” the Pelted superior said. “We’re going to broadcast our meeting place to the known universe?”
“In rhyme?” the striped male said, ears listing.
“We are,” the Emperor said to her. “Those who are sympathetic to us will come.”
“What if the rest of them come too?” the long-eared male said, one brow lifted.
“All the better for the Alliance,” Lisinthir said. “Yes? We draw the Chatcaava from the front. Give Fleet time to react to the message that Shanelle will send back.”
“That’s not going to help much if the Chatcaava who are our enemies kill off all the Chatcaava who might end up our allies,” the Pelted captain told the Ambassador.
“If they succeed in doing so,” Lisinthir replied, and the Emperor wondered if these aliens knew him well enough to perceive the emotion hiding under his facile mask, “then they’ll be significantly attrited. It will still benefit us.”
“And do you find this conversation distasteful?” the female said to the Emperor, meeting his eyes forthrightly. “We’re talking about possibly leading your allies to the slaughter. You’ll end up a monarch in exile of an empire run by your enemies, one that will still be big enough to wipe the floor with us.”
“It’s not the size of the dog in the fight,” the pink-haired human murmured in Universal. “It’s the size of the fight in the dog.”
Her superior glanced at her, then back at the Emperor. “I still want an answer.”
“We have an untenable task,” the Emperor said to her. “So we must break it into pieces we can encompass. Right now it looks as if the entirety of this—” He waved a hand at Uuvek’s map, “is poised to fall on you. But that map is not the military. The Navy employs only seven percent of that populace, and of that seven percent, some number of them are ours, not the Usurper’s. If that number is more than half, this war is over. But time is short, and we need some way of separating friend from foe.”
The female inhaled. “Fine. What if that number’s less than half? Maybe significantly?”
“Then, perhaps, we will die in the effort. Or not, if… the size of the fight in the dog—” said in Universal before he switched back, “—is more important than the size of the dog in the fight.”
“That could have been a Chatcaavan saying,” the Knife said, admiring.
“It’s human,” the pink-haired female said. “We’re pretty fierce for our size.” She grinned and added to the Emperor, “You have good taste in shapes. Though I bet you miss the wings. I would.”
Andrea hid a smile.
“Your shape has compensations,” the Emperor said, and thought it true. To the gray-eared female, he said, “Religion has become debased in our society. I doubt the Usurper will think of it at all. But if he does, and he comes for us, so much the better. A single battle might end this.”
“Too many variables,” the striped male muttered.
“Sounds like the only thing we can do is take a step and see if it solidifies things,” the long-eared male agreed, speaking to his superior. “We need more to work with than we’ve got right now.”
“Sometimes you need to take the big gamble to see the big payoff,” the pink-haired human said.
Their captain’s ears flicked back and she sighed. “Fine. I don’t really see a better path either, and I’m not the expert on the Empire’s internal politics.” She eyed the Emperor. “Which I have to hope you are, despite proof otherwise.”
“Do you always speak to allied heads of state in this fashion?” the Admiral-Offense said. “Is this an
… alien… custom? Disrespect?”
“It’s not our custom, no,” the long-eared male said. “But we also don’t talk to torturers, rapists, and murderers, either. We try them for crimes and put them in penal colonies until they rot.”
“Na’er,” his superior said, not quite quelling. Warning.
“The dragons don’t like minced words,” Na’er said, looking at the Emperor directly, and there was no insolence there. The Emperor would have called it hatred, if it had been hotter. Disgust, perhaps. “I won’t mince them, then. We’re helping you because it’ll help the Alliance. But from every report, you’re a sadist, a killer, and a sociopath, and I won’t pretend to like you. And no, Meryl, I won’t apologize.” He stood and flexed his fingers before curling them into fists. “Should we duel over it?”
“No,” the Emperor said, ignoring the gape of the Admiral-Offense and the wide-eyed stare of the Knife. Uuvek was ignoring the exchange, predictably. “You have said nothing inaccurate.”
Andrea said, “He’s not a sadist, a killer, and a sociopath anymore, though.”
“Oh really,” Na’er replied, the sarcasm thick enough to drip.
“That’s enough.” The Pelted captain—Meryl—looked up at Na’er. “You can go. All of you.”
Na’er bounced two forefingers off his brow in what looked like a salute and marched out the conference room. He was followed by the rest of the Pelted crew and the two humans, Andrea and the pink-haired human female, who glanced at the Emperor thoughtfully on the way past. After they’d left, Meryl said, “I apologize for his outburst.”
“You need not,” the Emperor said.
“She needs must!” the Admiral-Offense objected. “How dare they judge us? Judge you? You are the Exalted Emperor of an empire large enough to crush them by rolling over!”
“Was,” Uuvek said without looking up from his data tablet. When the conversation halted, he lifted his head. “He was the Emperor of that Empire. Now he’s a rebel.”
“Rebellions need leaders,” the Knife told Uuvek.
“Yes,” Uuvek replied, resuming his perusal of the tablet. “He’ll make it work.”
Baffled, the Admiral-Offense stared at them, then, irritated, “Is disrespect contagious?”
“We beg your pardon, Admiral,” the Knife said, dipping his head. “Uuvek was always like this.”
“And you?” the Admiral-Offense asked.
“I… ah...” The Knife’s shoulders and wings slumped. “Suppose I did catch it like a disease.”
Meryl snorted. To the Emperor, she said, “I’ll agree to ignore your subordinates’ consistent… forcefulness…of opinions, if you will agree to ignore mine’s.”
The Emperor smiled a little. “We would waste a great deal of time if we did not.”
“Agreed.” She stood. “We’ll leave you to work that out, then.”
“We are going to discuss this now?” the Admiral-Offense said once Meryl had gone. “In front of one final alien?”
“If you call me a wingless freak again, I will cross this table and put a fist in your throat,” Lisinthir said conversationally.
“You are threatening me?” the Admiral-Offense said. Less offended, the Emperor thought, and more incredulous.
“I killed Third and his Hand,” Lisinthir said, studying him. “I don’t think you’ll be harder.”
“You can’t do it, sir,” the Knife interrupted the Admiral-Offense so earnestly they all looked at him. “Think of them that way, as wingless freaks rather than people. They are our huntbrothers and huntsisters.”
“Huntsisters!”
“Lieutenant Laniis Baker is my huntsister.” The Knife’s eyes narrowed. “She guarded my flanks in the Worldlord’s harem. She was fearless and competent. Her claws are hidden in her fingers but they are no less sharp for it. That is the Alliance, Admiral-Offense. Hidden but dangerous claws. They are worthy allies. Even the females.”
The Admiral-Offense looked away, and his wings sagged. “I understand that we need them. But this goes against…”
“Nature?” Lisinthir offered sweetly.
“Yes,” the Admiral-Offense said. “And you may find it insulting if you wish but it is no less true. This is not how we do things.”
“It may be a better way to do things,” the Knife said. “When you fight at their side, sir, you’ll see. They are soft until roused, and then they are terrible.”
“I suppose we’ll find out,” the Admiral-Offense said, rising. “And for all our sakes, I hope you’re right.” He bowed to the Emperor. “Exalted. May I go?”
The Emperor nodded. “Yes. And thank you for your service, huntbrother. I know this is difficult.”
The Admiral-Offense eyed him. “Soft words.”
“I wear a soft form,” the Emperor allowed. “It does not change who I am.”
“Are you certain?”
“You could try the Change and see.”
The Admiral-Offense could not conceal his shudder. “I think not.” He lowered his head. “Exalted.”
After he’d left, the Knife said, “I suppose it’s too much to expect a male of high rank to see what we do so easily.”
“Emperor’s a male of high rank,” Uuvek opined, absently. “He seems to be doing it fine.”
“Court rank is different from naval rank,” the Knife said.
Uuvek snorted. “Court rank is worse. He’s an exception, is all.”
“You are remarkably impertinent,” Lisinthir said with obvious amusement. “You might consider a more diplomatic tack when you’re among others.”
“What’s the point?” Uuvek said, putting away the data tablet and standing. “I’m not going to change on the inside either. I’ll follow the useful example in this room.” He glanced at the Emperor, then back at the Ambassador. “As an aside, I’ve lost contact with the D-per.”
Lisinthir sat up, and though the motion was controlled the Emperor read the alarm in it anyway. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your nestsister’s computer ally,” Uuvek said. “We’ve been talking on and off. But she didn’t answer my last comment. At this point it’s double the time she’s taken to respond before. It’s not like her.”
“She may be busy,” Lisinthir said. “Or operating under comm-silence. Keep us informed?”
“Didn’t I just do so?” Uuvek padded to the door. “Knife?”
“In a moment.”
Uuvek shrugged a hand and left.
The Knife did stand, though, resting a hand on the back of his chair. “Exalted… they are good people.”
“Good people,” the Emperor repeated.
“Males and females both.”
“Do you advocate for them so ardently, then?” the Emperor asked. “Why?”
“Because I have… I have Touched them, Exalted.” A fine tremor afflicted the Knife. “You cannot Touch them without knowing them.”
“So I have observed,” the Emperor said, quiet.
The Knife inhaled, centering himself, and became calm. “I know. It is why I trust you so, Exalted. If you are willing to know them, then you cannot fail to know yourself, either.”
Would that the Knife realized just how well he’d known himself before, and liked that drake well enough. Sadist. Killer. Sociopath. What had he said in response to the accusation? They were ‘not inaccurate’ statements. They would have remained accurate had it not been for the Eldritch beside him… and the transformative power of the Change. Did that make his evolution luck? Or had some decision been involved on his part, to be open to it? “You may go.” As the Knife reached the door, he added, “Your huntsister.”
“She is fierce,” the Knife said proudly.
“Would you tell her that I would like to see her, if she is amenable?”
“Of course, Exalted!” The Knife inclined his head. “I’ll ask now.”
The door slid shut, leaving him to the Ambassador, who murmured, “Was that wise?”
“I don’t know,” the Emperor admitted. “Do I no
t owe her an apology? And an opportunity to face me?”
“I don’t know,” Lisinthir said. “Some might find it… intimidating. Upsetting. To face their abuser.”
“You did not.”
His Perfection managed a smile. “I am rather more aggressive than many find comfortable.”
The Emperor studied him, then offered his hands. Lisinthir took them, pulled him closer; the Emperor allowed it and leaned into the Eldritch’s embrace. Strange, to have no wings to interrupt the arm that rested around his shoulders. Strange to find it comfortable. And yet, how he missed their absent third.
“As do I,” Lisinthir murmured against his hair. “Oh, Exalted. As do I.” After a moment, he added, “Na’er loves Lieutenant Baker.”
“Ah,” the Emperor said. “So I have made an enemy there.”
Lisinthir smiled, faintly. “You understand how that works, then.”
“I do now.” Thinking of how he would react to anyone attempting to hurt the Queen, he finished, “Perhaps some things are the same, no matter the species.”
“That is the trick of the thing, isn’t it. To know what remains Truth,” choosing the word for the abstraction, the perfect ideal, “and what mutable.”
“Perhaps the Source will have something useful to say on the subject.”
“I suppose,” Lisinthir said, “we will soon find out.”
Had the Emperor expected her to respond to his invitation? He didn’t know. He returned to his room with the Ambassador and crawled out of his human clothing and his human shape and into the Eldritch’s bed, and lost himself there to something that linked him back to the person he’d been when he’d begun changing. His Chatcaavan body felt alien to him, but love-making in it reminded him of its edges, and of days when it had been all he’d known. Had that ignorance been a cage, preventing him from understanding the world better? Or had he been stronger when he’d been purer? Less compromised by the worldviews and senses of non-Chatcaava?
Afterwards he followed the Eldritch to the shower to wash, though his ablutions took him less time. He chose to stay in the dragon’s body, dressing in it with attention to how it felt to adjust pants around tail, robes over wings. Such small things to be so alien, like how hard it was to find a comfortable position on the Pelted-designed couch in the front room. Somehow he managed, and resumed sorting through the messages Uuvek had stripped from their last drop point.
In Extremis Page 10
