Now that’s quite an opening salvo. I’d like to tell her to fuck off, but I count to five, manage not to show my teeth, and come up with a diplomatic reply while Vel buys me time with his unnecessary restatement. To inspire me, I remember Karl Fitzwilliam, the worst ambassador in the history of the universe.
“I understand we must seem very different to you,” I offer with what I think is admirable aplomb. “That’s why this is such a valuable opportunity for both our peoples. I hope we may come from this alliance with a greater measure of understanding and appreciation.” I cap the shit with a deep wa.
There, take that. Though it feels hideously unnatural, I don’t lose my cool. Don’t blow my top, or show her my teeth. Mary, but I want to get out of here. It’s only been a day, and I’m dying for grimspace. With attitudes like hers, I think what I said is about as likely to happen as me discovering a cure for Jenner’s Retrovirus over my morning meal, but I can only do so much. Permanent change takes time.
“Which brings me to my next point,” the Grand Administrator continues. “Though I do not like your people as a whole, I admire your tactics. Your strategies have proven sound and effective, winning support where I would have imagined it impossible. Since I enjoy seeing a female in a position of power, even among lesser species, I invited you to dine. I believe we have something to discuss.”
I must be careful not to show comprehension too soon, so I merely watch as she raises her arms and wings spread from her back, tissue thin and somehow sensuous, shining with ruby red and glowing gold. In the center, on each side, shines an enormous eye. I’ve seen similar displays before in nature, generally designed for threatening off intruders. For pure and lovely exoticism, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything that surpasses Otlili. I pay only half attention as Vel murmurs her words over again.
“Do we?” I ask.
Slowly the Grand Administrator brings her arms down without collapsing her wings. She crosses them over her thorax, showing me her red-tipped claws. I don’t need Vel to point out her rudeness. In fact, from what I recall, her posture borders on aggressive. I find myself gazing at the eye jutting from her wings.
“Yes,” she confirms. “If you do not take your ship and depart within twenty-four hours, I cannot guarantee your safety.”
CHAPTER 22
As conversational gambits go, that’s a hell of a way to start a meal.
I’m not sure whether I’m being warned or threatened, and she doesn’t give me an opportunity to inquire. Instead, she summons an automated attendant the likes of which I’ve never seen. It prepares the food inside what I’d call its chest cavity, then folds outward to accommodate us as a makeshift table. We eat standing up with a minimum of conversation.
No wonder Tarn said there would be great interest in their droid technology. This could make the kitchen-mate obsolete. Of course, for humans to warm to the brand of tech, we’ll need to throw in a couple of chairs, but I can see the appeal overall. Call the bot to make you dinner on the terrace while you lounge, enjoying the sunset. There will be a lot of money in this.
While musing on the commercial applications, I taste bits of this and that. I can’t recognize most of the dishes served in heavy sauce. The food tastes strange and pungent, with a coppery cloy that reminds me of blood. Flesh slips down my throat, slick and rubbery. I don’t like it at all, and the silence isn’t helping.
I suspect she remains quiet to keep me off-balance, knowing I must be thinking about what she’s said. Her tactic works like a charm; I find myself feverishly turning over the possibilities while trying not to watch how the food she devours appears to still be squirming. The Ithtorians think humans are disgusting because, among many other offensive habits, we’re also carrion eaters. In our past, we’ve feasted on dead flesh, even if now we prefer synthetic proteins. Vel’s people find that repugnant, as even now, they like their food fresh to the point of wiggling.
Finally, the interminable luncheon ends, and Otlili seems ready to elaborate on her words. But first I must thank her for the hospitality.
“You have done us great honor, and we feel privileged to be in your company.”
After Vel relays my words, she acknowledges this graciously, but that’s not why I’m here. She can find someone to flatter her, probably much better than me, at any hour of the day. She’s the most powerful person on Ithiss-Tor, after all.
“You are to be commended for your patience,” she says then. “And though I have been favorably impressed with you, ambassador, I cannot say my overall opinion of humanity has changed. My people would be irrevocably altered—lessened—should we come into regular contact with your kind. I do not particularly wish any harm would befall you, but . . .” She pauses delicately, the force of a thousand rivers powering words unspoken. “This alliance will never come to pass. I strongly recommend that you take your team and depart before the matter is put to a vote.”
A threat then.
“I regret that I am unable to comply with your recommendation.”
I wish now that I hadn’t eaten at her table, but surely she wouldn’t poison me here and now. For all she knew, I might have heeded her warning. A murder attempt in daylight seems a bit precipitous, and the Grand Administrator is not known for her impulsive nature.
She regards me for a moment from eyes that give nothing back, a dark infernal sea teeming with her clever conspiracies. “Not yet,” she answers with the air of one making a final judgment. “But you will.”