by Lyn Gala
Ondry waited until most of the others seemed to have chosen some destination, and then he urged Liam toward a set of doors. Diallo stood, but Ondry blocked Liam’s view by stepping between them. Ondry held a grudge.
“Ondry,” a Grandmother said politely.
“Grandmother.” He bowed deeply, and she darkened with pleasure and studied him for a brief second. That one was considering Ondry as a potential sperm donor, which for Rownt was the highest honor. Ondry’s color deepened as he saw how she examined him. Then she passed.
“Someone is eyeing your tail,” Liam said.
The skin around Ondry’s eyes tightened in a Rownt version of a smile. “You think everyone is looking to pull my tail.”
“Because you are worthy of the attention.”
Ondry was dark enough that some of his skin was nearly eggplant colored. He pulled Liam close and ran his thumb over Liam’s neck. Two years ago, Liam would not have listed his neck as an erogenous zone, but Ondry spent so much time running gentle, strong fingers over the skin that Liam’s cock had started to take note. “You are required to think highly of me.”
“Luckily many Grandmothers share my taste,” Liam pointed out. Ondry might not want to brag, but Liam knew how much favor he had earned. Ondry was a senior trader, and his status was high, even if no one knew where to place him in the ranking system. Both his ka and tuk ranks proved he had extraordinary skills because he was only two hundred years old—not old at all by Rownt standards. For him to have moved so high up in the hierarchy showed his great talent.
“Tuk-Ondry,” Diallo said, “I would be pleased to take a meal with you and Tuk-Palteia Liam.”
Because Liam was standing close, he heard the faint hiss from Ondry. “We should make peace,” Liam said softly.
Ondry turned slightly to look at Liam. “I feel no need for peace.”
“But I want us to work together. Humans will listen to her, so I want to make sure I have access to her,” Liam said. When Ondry paled slightly, Liam knew he’d won. Ondry wasn’t happy, but he’d yield in this. He shifted to the right, and Liam could see Diallo.
She smiled at him and then quickly averted her gaze, so Liam could only assume Ondry still had his unhappy face on. Diallo moved quickly to practical matters. “I’m not sure how the distribution of food happens on the ship. I’m not even sure where the mess hall is.”
“How have you been eating?” Liam asked as he started toward the door. They’d been flying for several weeks now, so she should know her way around the ship, at least to the main areas. The corridors tended to curve and split often enough that even Liam didn’t trust himself to walk alone for long. He only knew the main areas well, but they tended to be decorated in ways that helped with navigation.
“A young one brings me a meal of dried something. I’m assuming it’s the Rownt equivalent of rations.”
“There are food preparers in one of the corridors. We could go there,” Liam suggested.
“Some company would be nice. The Rownt are not terribly social, and even the young female who brings the rations rushes away.” Diallo stepped to the side, although she didn’t need to. Rownt doors were designed to accommodate the largest Grandmother, which meant all three of them could go through the door at once. Liam had always felt claustrophobic on human ships, probably because he’d been born on Earth with the open sky above him, but even a planet-born like him couldn’t feel cramped on these ships. Ondry kept his hand on Liam’s shoulder as he urged Liam out into the corridor. He left Diallo to trail behind.
“Rownt dislike uncertainty, and the matter of your rank was up in the air,” Liam guessed.
She laughed. “Yeah, I think I just got a demotion in there.”
“I think so,” Liam said. She was a full colonel, so as far as Liam could figure it, that gave her tuk status, but the eldest Grandmother had clearly named her Ka-Diallo. Ka were well respected, but they did not automatically have the ear of the leaders.
Ondry began to walk more quickly, so Liam assumed there was some reason to avoid this discussion in a corridor. Ondry probably hoped to choose a food vendor and then allow the vendor to overhear discussion of human politics and rank as payment for the food.
The ship’s interior lacked the circular roads of a town, but the corridors followed the curve of the ship. They had to change levels several times before getting to the central area where food was served. As far as Liam could tell, the ship had two large public areas. The foreship contained the Grandmother’s temple and probably the command deck. The aft space contained food-serving areas, central gardens with rows of moss, dense vegetable crops, and lagoons of a thick gel-like substance where the Rownt grew high-protein plants. The ship’s storage hulls flanked the gardens.
The whole ship was so large that between the shields and the massive bulk of metal, human weapons would have trouble punching through to critical systems. On Prarownt, Liam had thought the huge ships that dwarfed human cruisers were the Rownt home ships. Instead, they were the Rownt shuttles, a tenth of the size of their enormous home ships. The home ships moved slowly from system to system, allowing those battleship-sized shuttles to mine asteroid belts, trade, and explore before returning to dock.
Perhaps it was the difference between a ship that was a home and a cruiser that people were assigned to work, but the Rownt ships were nothing like the ships Liam had served on when he’d been in the military. No one hurried or ran drills. Rownt children played games down the stairs and sometimes left toys or balls along the corridor. Most of those toys were soft, unlikely to damage systems or people if the ship conducted hard maneuvers and sent things flying, but that was the only concession to being in space.
Walking the curving corridors past sitting areas and doors to private quarters and sections with artificially produced sunlight, Liam was struck by how differently the Rownt lived. No one here waited to return to some planet. This was home. And that meant if a Rownt ship grew to believe killing humans was logical, they could take the front lines anywhere. They could use folded space to take this ship straight to Earth and demand answers of the leaders there. As improbable as that was, Liam was painfully aware of the possibility lurking in the dark corners.
He looked at Susan Diallo, Command’s youngest-ever full colonel. She was their best hope at peace and profits, because no one from Earth was going to trust him.
Chapter Two
Liam knew they had reached the common areas when he could smell the food. The bitter smell of kaile reminded Liam of sunny days in Janatjanay when he would sit across from Ondry and try to learn the Rownt words. Back then, Ondry would always order baet, an expensive treat made from berries and a lot of kaile. He had probably been showing off his wealth. The bread was expensive, but the irony was that Liam had not understood the gesture back then. He simply thought Ondry liked the bitterness. And he’d wondered if Ondry had any taste buds left because kaile tasted a lot like someone had taken unsweetened lemon bread, burnt it to a crisp, and then crumbled it. The spice didn’t appeal to a human palate, but Liam loved the smell.
Ondry led them past several stalls, stopping to look at various cooking stations before he chose to sit at the table in front of one. A large male gave Ondry an amused look. “The traders are getting younger every year,” he said.
“Some develop talents earlier than others,” Ondry observed. The insults were bland by Rownt standards, but the server’s willingness to trade invectives meant the server was likely to offer food. Every once in a while they’d run into someone who, for one reason or another, didn’t want to have anything to do with Ondry and Liam, and the silence could get deadly. Liam sat on the bench next to Ondry, leaving Diallo to sit on the other side.
“I find gassa berries that develop too quickly fail to hold their flavor,” the server said.
“Perhaps you harvest inferior gassa berries,” Ondry returned. The other Rownt studied Ondry for a time before he looked at Diallo.
“One should not expect one gassa
bush to function differently from any other.”
Ondry darkened some, so Liam assumed he was enjoying the trading of insults. “Sun and rain and good soil mean gassa bushes differ widely.”
That was a score. The server paled some, but he whistled with laughter.
“True enough, youngling, but when your shell dries out, you might find gassa are more similar than you think.”
“Perhaps your view of them has been changed by your time away from the sun,” Ondry replied.
The server gave another whistle and leaned on the tall rail dividing his cooking space from the area where people could eat. “Ka-Ondry, you are too like your mother. I can see her in your insults.”
Liam hated that the server seemed to have so quickly decided to put Ondry on the ka side of the disputed rank, but Ondry didn’t react. “Did you know her?”
“I did. She pulled my tail once or twice,” the server said. “I was sorry she never had a child with my markings.”
Ondry bowed without standing.
“What was she like?” Liam asked. He rarely heard any stories about Ondry’s mother. She had died in some accident when traveling between towns, but other than her death and the fact that few of her children had survived the shell because of a drought and a family history of thick shells, Liam knew very little about her.
The server smiled at him, which in Rownt meant a tightening around the eyes and cheeks. “She had a sharp tongue and a quick wit. Put a few hundred years of experience on this one to temper the arrogance, and you have a fair understanding of her. You are the human palteia.”
Liam offered him a Rownt smile. “I am Palteia Liam who follows my chilta, Ondry of the line of Chal, primary trader for the Tura mines, first graduate of Brarownt Academy, and holder of certificates of excellence from eight Grandmothers.”
“Many prosperous trades to you this day, Ka-Palteia Liam.” The server bowed deeply, far more than courtesy required. “I am Ka-Tik of the line of Sahala, honored supplier of the Calti and member of the trading alliance of Eltikil, a holder of enough certificates that I no longer feel a need to count them.” Tik looked toward Ondry as he said the last part.
Liam hoped he hadn’t just presented Ondry poorly. “My understanding of proper manners is impaired by my planet of birth,” Liam said.
Tik whistled his amusement. “Your manners are better than most, young one. Do your people have tastes similar to Rownt?”
“I prefer tuthaha to kaile,” Liam said. He translated for Diallo. “I like sweet flavors more than bitter ones.”
“I agree,” she said, but she had a distracted tone. She was clearly focused on watching the conversation. “I’m afraid I understand Rownt rules far less than Liam, so I listen to what he would teach,” she told Tik.
He widened his eyes and studied her. “Do you ally with Ka-Ondry and Ka-Palteia Liam?”
“No,” Ondry said firmly before anyone else could speak. “As Liam speaks for me, the humans would have someone speak for them. Liam and Diallo trade words. Nothing more.” Ondry wrapped his arm around Liam’s waist, and Liam rested his hand on Ondry’s knee.
Tik’s eyes grew wider. “And do humans trade in vegetables or meat?” Before Diallo could answer or Liam could warn her there was more to that question than appeared on the surface, Tik turned his attention to the food. He was only a few feet away, but he busied himself with preparing a meal. No doubt the wily old vendor understood he would get a better answer by listening to their conversation. Either that or he had delivered his insult and now felt free to leave, implying humans weren’t capable of trading aspersions.
“We don’t order?” Diallo asked.
“No. Servers make what they feel like.”
“What if you don’t like it?” Diallo asked.
“Um…” Liam shrugged. Mostly he found something on his plate he enjoyed, and the large portions meant he never went hungry.
“Huh. Interesting.” Diallo looked around the large communal space, and Liam wondered what the ship looked like through her eyes. Other Rownt watched from their own area, but only Tik was close enough to hear them. This part of the ship was full of small mechanical sounds—clicks and rumbles that were effective at making conversations difficult to hear over any distance. Rownt were exceptionally private, and Liam suspected the Rownt need for confidential conversations led to the white noise in many of the public spaces, but here in the eating area in particular. It kept voices from traveling the way they did in human ships.
“What does it mean to trade meat versus to trade vegetables?” Diallo asked.
Liam smiled. He should have known she would notice the hidden meaning there even if she didn’t understand it. “There’s an old saying. A fool trades in vegetables while giving away the meat.” Liam wasn’t sure if that applied to humans, but it might.
“So, he is wondering if humans know what’s valuable,” she said.
“He could also be referring to the fact that children sell vegetables. They’re a low-cost, low-risk product that high-status traders don’t bother with, but they’re perfect for children who can harvest off public land or sell their labor in return for a portion of a crop from a farmer.”
“So, there’s not one simple answer?”
“Not really,” Liam said.
“You are truly impressive, Tuk-Palteia Liam. When I teach, it takes me years to get my students to stop seeking a simple answer to a complex question.”
Liam suspected that said more about the quality of her students than it did him. On the front lines, people talked about how the wealthy bought their children positions in training programs to keep them away from the battlefield, and language studies were always a top choice. Only the best linguists were ever put into the field. The rest were carefully locked away where they could work on treaties and translate field recordings from techs with minimal skills and no formal education in linguistics. Even Lieutenant Spooner back on Prarownt had been given standing orders to stay in the safety of the base.
“Tell me, does the average Rownt prefer tuthaha to kaile?” She looked at Ondry, but the planets would all spin backward before he’d talk to her.
Instead, Liam answered. “Rownt prefer kaile. It’s a bit of a joke that I like tuthaha because it’s not valuable. No one even grows it because it’s too common and too sweet for popular food.”
Diallo laughed. “So I imagine those cinnamon trees I traded away are going to be worth something.”
Liam looked at her.
“I traded in vegetables, didn’t I?” She didn’t seem upset about it.
“Maybe,” Liam admitted. She was an officer—a colonel even. He expected her to get upset at the idea that he’d tricked her, but she laughed again.
“Your psych profile needs updating. You are far more mercenary than it implies.”
“I’ve learned a few new tricks,” Liam said. When he’d served in the human military, he’d been running—running away from Mort, who had turned Liam into a whore, running away from poverty and fear and Earth. Instead of escape, the military had introduced Liam to new predators who had abused him. He’d learned how to be mercenary from humans, but he suspected she would credit Ondry with teaching him the skill. Rather than get into that discussion, Liam changed the subject.
“Why did you describe what happened on the planet that way?”
Diallo gave him an amused look and answered in English. “Don’t you think they’ve heard the story already?”
“I think you made yourself sound incompetent,” Liam said. “And do not assume the Rownt on the ship don’t speak English. They can learn languages quickly, and since we’re headed toward human space, I suspect many of them have traded for Basic English primers.”
“Yes, but I can avoid saying things with unfortunate connotations that I don’t understand. I fear my own incomplete understanding of Rownt more than I fear being overheard. However, to answer your question, I felt the Grandmothers deserved to know I acted in ways that were incompetent.”
Liam had to admit she had a point there. “Maybe, but you certainly didn’t have to tell them all of that. The Grandmothers might question your judgment at underestimating the danger posed by a kawt, but you make it sound like you don’t want status. They’re going to be a lot more concerned about the sanity of an individual who doesn’t seem to want to lay claim to status.”
“Liam, I do want status. I worked hard to be the youngest full colonel in the linguist service. I earned every promotion and every medal I own, and I have many. But you have to look at the big picture here.”
“Which is?”
“If I had retained my original status, I believe you said it was closer to tuk than ka, correct?”
“Yes.” Liam still didn’t understand where this conversation was going.
“And right now, Ondry’s status is somewhere between the two?”
“Yes.” Liam hated that not all Rownt gave Ondry as much respect as the Grandmother who had named him tuk back on the planet. She had been one of the oldest Grandmothers on the planet, so as far as Liam was concerned, Ondry was tuk ranked. Unfortunately, the Rownts’ respect for their elders in general and the Grandmothers specifically had come up against their belief that a youth of two hundred didn’t deserve such a high status. The competing values had confused the issue. Not even Ondry was willing to call himself tuk, although he darkened with pleasure every time Liam did.
Diallo pulled her legs up under her. Rownt benches were not built for human proportions. “If my status was higher, they would’ve turned to me for answers. And that’s why I had to make sure your status was higher than mine. After all, when it comes right down to it, which of us understands the Rownt better?”
Liam hadn’t seen that coming. Diallo was the sort of gutsy officer whom people talked about at the front, the sort you wanted to have as an officer because she didn’t put her ego ahead of the smart move. Of course when Liam had been at the front, that type of officer was more myth than reality. Maybe the good ones had all gotten themselves killed doing the right thing while the self-serving sons of bitches had survived. “I think you’re learning Rownt faster than I ever did,” he finally said, because he did understand the logic and he was impressed by how she had managed to get Rownt to accept her lower rank without making herself look impossibly illogical.