“Ambassador D’naad,” I stated, but in a far less harsh tone of voice, “we’re going to sit in the shade and talk, but first I will have my security AI examine you for weapons and covert devices. Do you agree to this?”
His jaw hung open for a moment, then closed with an audible snap. He blinked, then stated, “I can assure you, Mister Barnes, that I have nothing to hide!”
I considered withdrawing the offer, but eventually said, ice once again in my voice, “A simple yes or no will suffice. Otherwise, you can get back into your flier and leave, and I will directly contact your home world---and request they send me an ambassador with manners.”
Oh, that did the trick! His customary Yularian arrogance, which had begun to reassert itself, deflated like a balloon pricked by a pin. Hanging his head once more, ears flat and tail drooping, he meekly said, “Yes, search me as you wish. I will not object.”
My question had mostly been for effect; Bertha’s spiders had scanned him forty ways from Sunday moments after he stepped out of the flier and reported him whistle-clean, but I directed a pair of the little machines to approach him and make a show of visually “inspecting” him. No need for him to know just how tight my security system really was. Moments later I invited him to join me on the porch, and we planted our butts in wooden rocking chairs facing the Yularian flier, a low drink table between us. “Bertha,” I said, addressing a spider, “please bring us a couple of bottles of grape Gatorade, and present one to the ambassador.” The hot, panting Yularian looked at me and then at the little robot, which never moved. “I’m extending my kind’s hospitality to you, Ambassador D’naad. I hope you don’t make me regret it.”
The front door to the house soon swung inward, and three of the spiders scuttled onto the porch, plastic bottles of the sports drink balanced in the front legs of two of them, and a large plastic straw carried by the third. One presented its liquid burden to the Yularian, the second gave him the straw and the third brought its bottle to me. “Thanks, Bertha,” I said, then to the ambassador, “I’ve discovered that Yularians find this beverage to be quite enjoyable, and I can assure you it contains nothing harmful to your species.” I twisted off the wide cap, and waited while the ambassador fumbled his bottle’s cap off and inserted the necessary straw. “To your health,” I said, and after a surprised moment the Yularian’s ears perked up, he nodded, and we both took deep pulls of our drinks.
His face quickly lit up in unmistakable delight, and he quickly enthused, “There is definitely a market for this on my home world!” He again sucked greedily on the straw, then, with obvious reluctance, set the bottle on the low table and looked expectantly at me. Showtime.
“I’m curious, Ambassador D’naad,” I casually began, “how many embassies you’ve commanded before you were sent here?” Ouch! Hit a nerve. Bertha began whispering in my ear, and again I had to squelch a reaction.
The Yularian seemed to squirm a bit before answering, but at least he didn’t dodge the question, nor, according to Bertha’s information, did he lie. “I---my…my previous post was on home world, at…at the diplomat t-training academy.” He paused, then added, “This is...my...f-first off-world assignment.”
My eyebrows rose theatrically, since I wanted him to think his revelation was a surprise. “Your first? That’s quite a responsibility for a young diplomat. Also quite an honor.”
Then the young Yularian did something that, although he didn’t realize it at the time, sealed his fate with me: He was stone bone honest. I was learning to read Yularian body language, expressions and transitory emotions, and the pained expression I saw on his entire demeanor reflected in what he said after a rather long pause. “Mister Barnes, I sincerely question the ‘honor’ in my emergency posting to your world. The small amount of information I gleaned before heading this way painted a far different picture of you, and the more I learn, the more uncertain I become. I…I was told you were a---forgive the term, but this is what was said---a ‘doddering old male who had had a few years erased from his body’. No reason was given for my predecessor’s recall, other than ‘irregularities in the management of base personnel’. Once here, the only information I had was that both you and your medical observer had suffered ‘medical distress’, and that you had become unhappy with the project.” He gave me an apologetic look. “My training in such vague situations says to ‘take command of the situation’. It doesn’t say what to do when my information is…is---”
“Screwed up?” I finished for him, letting him see a hint of a wry smile on my face.
A shocked expression momentarily clouded his face, then he barked a laugh, saying, “If I’m correct in my translation, Mister Barnes---yes, ‘screwed up’ probably covers it nicely.”
I took another pull from my drink, which gave him a welcome excuse to do the same from his. Then I said, “All right, son. I believe you’ve been honest with me, so I’ll be as honest with you as I can, and I’ll bring you up to speed on what’s been going on---the real story behind the line of crap you’ve been fed. You interested?”
You’d have thought I offered him advance knowledge of the winning LOTTO numbers! “Mister Barnes, I would love to know what’s really going on! This…’situation’ appears to be far outside my training, yet I’m told I’m going to be held responsible for what ultimately happens.” He looked cannily at me, which almost made me laugh; thankfully I caught myself before that happened! “I promise to give your side of the story full consideration.” Arrogant little shit! I found myself liking him more and more.
Chapter 15
Open Eyes See More
“…And that’s where we are right now, Ambassador D’naad,” I said, then took another pull on my second bottle of Gatorade. The Yularian had already finished his second bottle, and I asked him if he’d like more. He declined the offer, but did ask to be excused to visit the flier to pee. Over a quart of liquid in his canid trim frame no doubt had his bladder at the bursting point, so I stretched my security standards a bit and allowed him access---under escort from Bertha’s spiders---to the toilet in the entrance foyer.
However---
Before I began filling the young Yularian ambassador in on the facts as I knew them, I stated, “In your haste to deal with the problems you thought you had, you overlooked a few ‘details’ that your training apparently had not yet covered.” He seemed attentive enough while casually sucking on the drink straw, so I continued. “On a suitably advanced world---like Earth---all air traffic is regulated and monitored, especially diplomatic air traffic. This isn’t just for safety, it’s also for security.” He quit sucking on the straw. “Your pilot didn’t file a flight plan, and by flying an armed alien aircraft prohibitively low and way too fast, creating destructive sonic booms over inhabited areas, you appeared to be a threat to national security---and still do.” His cat-vertical pupils dilated in budding horror. “Right now there’s a heavy-duty military response team headed this way…” His eyes literally began to bug out. “…and it’s fully prepared to blow your flier---and your shit---into component atoms.”
The ambassador was so terrified he was literally speechless; his jaw hung open and he began a panicked, scratching scramble to get out of the rocking chair.
“Wait-wait!” I yelled, and to his credit he paused a moment to look wild-eyed at me. “There’s still time for me to turn them around, and I’m going to do that right now---or I should say Bertha will do that via radio---if you promise to fully respect our flight rules and restrictions in the future.”
“YES! YES! I PROMISE!” the young diplomat screamed, and I made calming gestures not only to lower his panic level but to keep whatever staff he might have with him on the flier from charging off the aircraft in his defense. But if there were any Yularians beyond the pilot on-board, they were either asleep or at least not paying attention---no surprise considering the natural Yularian arrogance---and I quickly got matters back under control without interference.
“Bertha,” I said to one o
f the spiders, “please inform the responding military units that they can stand down and return to base. The perceived threat appears to have been an innocent mistake by the new Yularian ambassador’s pilot, and it should not be repeated. Affix my voiceprint signature and authentication code and transmit on my mark. Mark.”
After a few tense moments one of Bertha's spiders stated, “Your message has been passed to both the mission and base commanders.” Several moments later, “The response team reports that it is standing down and returning to base.”
That little bit of bogus military/techno theater was entirely for the ambassador’s benefit, since Bertha had long since canceled the response team---but the young ambassador didn’t know that, and I wanted to impress on him just how dangerous their customary Yularian arrogance could be. From his wild-eyed trembling and hyperventilating, I figured I’d succeeded.
It took a bit of time to fully relate the recent events to my guest, but when I was done (and the young dog fox had gratefully relieved himself of the “internally-processed” Gatorade) I added, “Everything I’ve told you can be corroborated with my security videos, along with eyewitness accounts from L’raan and Doctor N’looma. No doubt you caught their scents when you went inside to pee.”
The young Yularian’s ears stood to attention, and he said, (his tail wagging a bit where it hung out the back of the chair) “I thought I detected a young female---that would be your observer, correct?” I nodded. “And Doctor N’looma is quite…old…I gather.”
I nodded again. “But if you call her ‘old’ to her face she’ll probably sink her still-formidable teeth into your backside, so I’d advise you to tread carefully.” His ears lowered a bit and he nodded respectfully. The elderly scientist/physician had quite a reputation.
At that point I made another judgment call, one I’d been mulling over as I observed the ambassador’s reaction to what I’d told him. “Although you came here under less-than-friendly intentions, I believe the situation has changed.” He blinked twice in surprise, then nodded in agreement. “With that in mind, would you care to meet my two house guests? If the meeting goes well---meaning no bloodshed---I think we could also arrange for you to stay for the customary evening meal.” That cheered him immensely, so I rose from my chair and said, “Notify your pilot that after filing a proper flight plan---and being careful to observe our flight rules and regulations---he can return to the embassy. We’ll either return you there ourselves or have them send transportation to pick you up when you’re ready to return. Agreed?”
Oh, hell yeah! He literally bounced out of his chair, hustled down the steps and trotted to the flier. “Since he didn’t pay attention to the biological flies and bugs here on the porch,” Bertha whispered in my ear, “I took the opportunity to use a housefly-sized micro-robot to slip an audio 'bug' into that ornate medallion on his ambassadorial ribbon. At this time he is severely chastising the pilot for his callous, near-fatal disregard of our airspace rules.” A few moments passed. “Now he is giving the pilot---ah, he does have an additional staff member on board!---additional instructions---they’re arguing, but he’s not backing down at all---and it’s done.” Ambassador D’naad barely cleared the flier when its engines began their whine up to a loud thrum, and before he even reached the porch steps the pilot booted the alien craft into the sky. It hovered at about a hundred feet for a good two minutes---Bertha whispering in my ear that the pilot was ever-so-politely radioing for clearance and flight instructions for the trip back to the embassy---and then it headed north, but at a much more civilized speed than which it had arrived. The Yularian picked up his ceremonial staff and I escorted him into the house, Bertha’s spiders dutifully following.
Since he’d not been farther than the entrance foyer toilet, I pointed out a few of the rooms as we made our way to the den. There, I invited him to sit on the couch while I rounded up the females hiding in my bedroom.
Once inside and the door closed, both Yularians literally pounced on me. They were not happy that I’d invited the ambassador in to meet them. “Ladies, ladies! Calm down!” I nearly shouted, hoping the young male’s sharp hearing couldn’t hear the commotion. “He came here with a belligerent attitude, but I’ve got that toned way down. I believe that once he meets you and sees the recordings Bertha made of the attack and the aftermath, we may just have a new, major ally in this battle.” They calmed down a bit, and I asked, “Now, are you two going to behave, or am I going to have to call the embassy and have his flier turn around and pick him up?”
L’raan’s ears were still lying back, but her grandmother, standing a half-step behind her, nodded slightly---and winked at me! “We’ll give the youngster a chance, Tom,” B’naah stated calmly. “If he annoys us, we can always throw him out the door to fend for himself against the real creatures of the night.” Huh? “L’raan and I caught scent of a large feline while we were outside today, and Bertha said that she observed a ‘panther’ slink through the yard shortly before dawn.” Amazing! I hadn’t seen traces of the big native Florida predators in nearly twenty years. I hoped it was a good omen.
The females followed me into the hallway and moments later into the den. L’raan immediately confronted the wide-eyed young ambassador, who had quickly risen from the couch. “What kind of idiotic ‘diplomatic training’ makes you think you can go around threatening people,” she barked, “especially on alien worlds and in their own homes!”
Then B’haan picked up the football and ran for another first down. “Who is your superior?” she snarled. She was old, but she could snarl with the best of ‘em! “In fact, who are your parents, youngster? Chances are I know them all, and I will certainly have words for them when I return to the home world!”
The poor kid never had a chance. In a move I’d seen L’raan do the night we were attacked, and one that the ambassador had attempted to make before me in the yard a short while earlier, his tail drooped to hang between his legs, his ears drooped, then his head and entire body drooped. He was assuming the Yularian “begging” position, and this time I didn’t interrupt. He soon dropped to his knees, then turned his head to one side, closing his eyes and exposing his throat. Both vixens stood over him, their outrage so strong even my human-numb nose could smell it. After a good fifteen seconds of this tableau, L’raan snarled, “Why should we grant you forgiveness, you who have so gravely insulted not only us but the human who gives us shelter? Why do you feel you are worthy of our pardon, instead of our teeth in your throat?”
Whining convincingly, the young male began explaining his situation, but in Yularian. B’naah immediately snapped, “You are a guest in this human’s house, and while he understands some of our language, courtesy requires we converse in his tongue---so speak English!” He whined apologetically, then began again---in English---and pretty well laid out, chapter and verse, his misconceptions and mistakes, ending with a plea for mercy. I wondered if that act was a standard bit of Yularian diplomatic training, or (I suspected) a part-instinctive social element every Yularian child learned, perhaps the hard way on a school playground.
Another fifteen seconds of silence followed, then first L’raan, then B’naah, dropped to their knees and took turns burying their sharp teeth in his neck fur. Each one clamped down on his throat---visibly harder than L’raan had done with her grandmother!---and gave it a single shake, and I was surprised not to see blood on his creamy white neck fur when they were done. The vixens stood; D’naad remained in his supplicant position. “It is your right, Thomas Barnes, to take his throat,” B’naah stated, but I simply shook my head.
“The ambassador and I made our peace outside, Doctor N’looma,” I formally stated, “so when you and L’raan are done with him, we all need to sit down for a talk.”
Both females seemed satisfied with that answer, and L’raan stated, “You are forgiven, Ambassador D’naad---this time. We hope you have learned from your mistakes.” The male quickly climbed to his feet, then deeply bowed to the vixens, and then to me.
“I humbly thank you for your absolution, and as Mister Barnes suggests, we have much to discuss.”
Waving them to be seated, I excused myself momentarily and stepped into the kitchen where I popped a cartridge of French roast into my coffee brewer while fishing out three cold bottles---my last!---of Gatorade and clean straws. By the time I had the aliens’ drinks ready on a small serving tray, along with a small bowl of grapes, my coffee was steaming in a mug. Ten seconds later I was back in the den with our refreshments, and I was gratified to see that bloodshed hadn’t erupted.
Over the next hour the ambassador was thoroughly horrified by the video recordings of the attack, as well as the visuals of the devices found in both L’raan’s and B’naah’s luggage. He’d apparently not had anything to do with the attempted poisoning of B’naah, nor with the alien device that apparently tried to work its way from the taxi’s trunk to attack the old doctor; those we had deduced were orchestrated by subversive elements on the Yularian home world.
Last Dance of the Phoenix Page 13
