by Lyn Gala
“I am. I’m still broken.”
Ondry huffed, and the warm air flowed over Liam’s skin.
With the silence enveloping them, Liam could ignore the world for a time, but eventually he knew he had to deal with reality. “Today is the day.”
“Today is always a day,” Ondry responded.
“Yes, but today is the day I have to face the human officers.”
Ondry grew still. He pressed his palm down on Liam’s stomach for a moment before he asked, “Do you want me to come with you?”
“It wouldn’t make any difference,” Liam said. While he knew that to be the truth, part of him still wanted to cling to Ondry and hide behind him. Liam was okay acting like a coward. He really was. However, he knew it was silly, and he knew that if he did that, he was going to damage Ondry’s status. A human would have told Liam he was wrong to care about Ondry before himself, but Liam truly was only happy when the people he cared about were happy.
Ondry paused before asking again, “Do you want me to come?”
Obviously Ondry had caught Liam’s verbal misdirection. He was getting better at the trading of words. “Part of me wants you because you’re familiar, but I know I can handle these humans. They’ve just…” Liam frowned and tried to put his fears into an order that would make sense to Ondry. “They processed a promotion for me up to lieutenant because they see me as doing diplomatic work, but they also think the higher status is going to make me…I don’t know…act more like an officer?” To be honest, Liam didn’t know how most officers acted. On the front, they were either very focused on fighting and efficiency or they were busy figuring out which new recruit would be willing to warm their bed. Liam didn’t think either of those was applicable here.
“So we both have status difficulties to navigate,” Ondry said, and he slowly withdrew his tail from Liam’s hole. There was the moment where Liam felt uncomfortably empty without that touch, but that would pass.
“Yep,” Liam said. “Diallo has more experience as an officer and diplomat, but I don’t think the Grandmothers want to count on her.”
“They do not,” Ondry said firmly.
“Do they not like her?” Liam asked. He hadn’t gotten that feeling from the Grandmothers, but then he didn’t understand all the political undercurrents.
“They respect that she trades for humans. They do not expect her to give them information for free. They are Grandmothers. They are wise enough to suspect her cost may be difficult to understand and far too high. They will rely on you.”
“That’s a little scary,” Liam said. He’d barely understood people back before he’d started living with Ondry, probably because he didn’t like people. At this point, he distrusted his own judgment entirely.
“You are a great trader,” Ondry said, and from the tone, he considered that the last word on the issue. He stood, and then he easily pulled Liam up to his feet. “If you wish to wash, do so quickly. Grandmothers are not endowed with overmuch patience.”
“Right. And you’re just a fountain of it,” Liam said as Ondry gave him a push toward the bathing room.
“Compared to Grandmothers, I am,” Ondry said firmly.
Mourning the loss of the afterglow, Liam detoured toward the toilet room. When Rownt felt a need for patience, they could spend decades waiting. Some story scrolls had the heroes waiting centuries to achieve some quest. However, once they made up their minds, they didn’t hesitate. Right now, the Rownt tendency toward definitive action worried Liam more than he was willing to admit.
* * * *
Liam met the Grandmothers at the main exit. The shuttle was the size of a human battle cruiser, but it was a fraction the size of the Calti. The doors were low enough that the oldest Grandmother had to duck as she entered the air-lock system. Liam wasn’t sure what sort of air-quality monitors they had, but the second the inner door shut, the computer made a small click, suggesting they had finished their work.
“Your chilta has dressed you well,” the eldest Grandmother said as she looked at Liam’s wrists. Liam wore his heavy cuffs with their single white stone in each.
“Ondry understands the humans may need a reminder I am not theirs to command,” Liam said. While he didn’t know if she had meant the jab as an insult, he was going to do his damnedest to make Ondry’s actions look logical.
The eldest Grandmother hummed but didn’t say anything else. Then the outer door opened, and immediately Liam could smell the difference in the air. All ships had a staleness to them—it was inevitable. However, Rownt ships also had a faint bitter odor, probably reflecting their preference for foods that smelled and tasted bitter. Even Janatjanay seemed to have that same odor drifting in from the dry lands around the city, although the trees often lent their own sweetness to the air.
By the time the outside doors were fully open, the smell of Rownt had dissipated. Instead, the familiar disinfectants always in heavy use around docks filled the air.
At the bottom of the ramp, waiting on the concrete tarmac, stood so many officers Liam thought he might break out in hives. Colonel Diallo was already down there in uniform, standing between a general and a man in a suit who stood in such a way to suggest he owned the whole world. Liam guessed he was a politician.
The eldest Grandmother put her hand on Liam’s shoulder and urged him toward the door. “I shall not let them forget they have lost any claim to you,” she said with a comforting rumble in her voice as she started down the path. Behind them came three other Grandmothers and three tuk-ranked individuals Liam had seen in the temple, but he didn’t even know their names.
Diallo stepped forward to meet the first Grandmother. “Welcome to Kitezh, Grandmothers and tuk-ranked traders.”
Another Grandmother answered, “Many prosperous trades to you this day.”
Diallo translated that for the officers. A couple of lieutenants near the back seem to be keeping notes, and Liam spotted a second general wearing the Space Engagement Services uniform. He hadn’t recognized the insignia right away since he hadn’t seen anyone from the space engagement division since the troopship had dropped him off on Landmark Three where Liam had spent most of his time fighting on the front lines. A small Diplomatic Services ship had taken him to Prarownt when he’d been reassigned.
“So you need metals,” the eldest Grandmother said. The other Grandmothers had stopped, but she kept walking right toward the Central Command general until he decided to fall back rather than get stepped on by an alien who weighed twice as much as him. Diallo hurried to translate and explained that getting straight to business was quite normal. Liam didn’t correct her. If the Grandmothers had a lot of respect, they’d stop and trade insults first. Instead the Grandmother moved toward a wide entrance clearly intended for aircraft. Someone had decorated it and put potted trees on either side along with billowing drapes that seemed like a poor imitation of a temple. The eldest Grandmother headed straight for the door, and everyone else scrambled after her.
“Yes. We’re very impressed with Rownt processing facilities. The metals that the trader named Ondry has already delivered are remarkable,” one of the colonels said as they walked.
Liam felt a flush of embarrassment. Complimenting a trader was synonymous with condescending to them.
“Are you going to translate that?” the colonel asked Diallo.
“The Rownt understand English, even if they are unable to speak it, but if they have questions about the meaning of terms or the intent behind the words, Tuk-Palteia Liam is more qualified to clarify for them.” Diallo nodded toward Liam. He offered her a small smile even though her compliment felt like one more insult on top of the one already delivered to Ondry. Neither of them needed strangers to reassure them of their value.
Perhaps Liam had not hidden his unease well enough because the eldest Grandmother gripped his shoulder.
The Central Command general moved to the eldest Grandmother’s other side and lengthened his stride so he walked with her. “We would like to pur
chase a large quantity of materials.”
“For your”—the eldest hesitated for a moment before continuing—“prolonged battle.”
Diallo translated exactly.
The Grandmother stopped and looked down at Liam. “What do those words mean?” she asked him.
“Colonel Diallo translated what you said.” Liam felt a faint alarm because Grandmothers did not ask pointless questions.
She huffed at him and then turned to the small crowd of humans that followed them. They were all carefully keeping their distance from the Rownt. “The one with hair like ripened grain used words I did not understand.”
Liam looked over to see a captain with blond hair slowly turning brilliant red, his eyes large. He was holding a recording device, so Liam suspected he was a glorified record keeper for the superior officers.
“She will know if you change the words you used, so could you please repeat the phrase exactly?” Liam asked the captain. His gut gave him kick and he wanted to “sir” the officer or salute or something, but he shoved all that neurotic behavior into a little box and locked it.
“I…uh…” The captain glanced over at the other officers, and then maybe he decided to get it over with because he blurted, “I said that considering the Rownt are built like Anla whorehouses, it’s a good thing they don’t go to war.”
Liam looked at Diallo for an explanation because he didn’t understand the finer nuances involved in the concept of an Anla whorehouse, and he definitely didn’t want to translate the first insult. Usually Diallo was friendly enough that Liam had trouble seeing her as an officer, but right now she had on one of those expressions officers got right before ordering someone to do some nasty duty.
“I apologize,” the captain said. “It was inappropriate.”
“Colonel Diallo, could you explain that?” Liam asked. The Grandmothers would never blame him as the messenger, but Liam suspected these officers might not appreciate a language tech making a captain look bad.
“I’d rather not,” she said, but then she sighed and turned her attention to Liam. “Anla do not have whorehouses. All Anla within a coterie are free to have sex. However, a lot of people call Anla communal sleeping houses ‘whorehouses’ because the sex is unregulated. Because the communal houses are so large, I believe the captain was making a reference to the size of the Rownt.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the captain said meekly. “And again, I offer my apologies.”
The eldest Grandmother stood with her eyes wide—curious, confused. Liam tried to explain the part she was most likely not understanding. “Insulting another through sex is common. The sexual insult was aimed at the Anla, and the only meaning he assigned to Rownt was that you are large and he is intimidated. He would not want to fight you. He also said it quietly enough that none of the humans heard him, so he either said the words to himself or he was talking to someone standing very close to him. He never intended or expected you to hear.”
Slowly, the eldest Grandmother’s eyes relaxed.
“Captain, you are dismissed,” the general said angrily.
The Grandmother raised her hand, an entirely human gesture that caught everyone’s attention. “His words are honest. He would not want to fight me. And Anla are illogical, so I take no position on any insult he wishes to direct toward them.” Diallo translated it, and Liam could see the flurry of confused looks between the officers.
This was going to be a very long day.
The captain with the big mouth turned out to be Captain Mehl, an engineer from the logistics department assigned to work with General Ravitch of the Space Engagement Division. They wanted Rownt metal to build sturdy ships. The Central Command general was General Dafaor. He had three junior officers with him. Liam grouped the rest of the crowd under the heading “other” because there were too damn many of them.
They all ended up in a hangar that had been outfitted with a Rownt-sized table. One half of the table had a low platform built in a C shape around the base that lifted the human chairs enough for people to use the table. Without that platform, they would have been sitting at eye level with the edge of the table. On the side intended for the Rownt, there were enormous benches. Only now did Liam realize he’d never seen Rownt use a table for anything other than a functional surface. A Rownt would eat at a table or assemble something on a table, but conversation happened while standing or while sitting on low, comfortable benches. This setup felt strange and uncomfortable, but the Rownt headed for their half of the table, and Liam followed.
Because the chairs on their end were sized for Rownt, Liam chose to stand beside the eldest Grandmother.
And then it came time for the Rownt to introduce themselves. The tuk-ranked traders offered up their names and associations—two with links to metal traders and one with a technology background. Now that the humans had seen the Rownt ships, Liam was guessing that tech trader was going to find himself very popular. But when Liam tried to introduce the Grandmothers, that was when it got complicated. The generals wanted names. Grandmothers didn’t have any, not anymore. They sacrificed their names as a sort of promise to make decisions for the whole town rather than their family. As much as Rownt loved the children they raised, their sacrifice of their names cut all ties with their adult children. No person could expect a Grandmother to show them favor.
From the pained expression on Diallo’s face, Liam assumed she had explained this, but General Dafaor was persistent. He tried three different times to insist human etiquette required a name, and three times the Grandmothers neatly dodged the question. Liam had the feeling they were having fun running verbal rings around the general. Honestly, it was a little amusing to watch.
General Ravitch leaned forward and stretched his hand out toward them, palm flat on the table. “No offense, but I don’t want to have to bother all of you if I have a question specific to tensile strength of metal. I would hesitate to ask, even if I needed the answer, rather than bother all of you when you have such a large ship to try to run.”
Liam noted a number of the Grandmothers quieted. They were taking this request more seriously.
The eldest leaned forward, mimicking his body language. “It is the way of our leadership. We all see any request. Only those Grandmothers with technical knowledge that applies will answer, or we will request a tuk-ranked individual to answer your question. The rest of us are never inconvenienced by your request, young one.”
When Diallo translated the last two words, General Ravitch flinched at being called young.
General Dafaor took a more polite tact when he tried again. “It feels disrespectful to not have a name for you, since you seem to speak for the group.”
Again, the Rownt paused, and Liam could tell they had not expected that. The others looked to the eldest Grandmother. Being the oldest was a disadvantage in some ways. A Rownt saying went, One who knows nothing preserves the illusion of wisdom only through silence. However, the eldest Grandmother couldn’t remain silent. It put pressure on her to provide the right answer. Liam chewed on his lip, wishing he had some way to make the humans understand they shouldn’t ask this.
“As this is your planet, we do not wish to break the rules of communication,” the oldest Grandmother said after a long pause. She turned to Liam. “Are there associations with being called ‘Oldest’?”
There were, but with a small change to a synonym, Liam could ameliorate that. “A respectful term of ‘Eldest’ might be used as a title or name,” Liam suggested.
“Then I shall go by Eldest since I am,” she said. “Shall we now discuss trade?”
Twenty minutes into the meetings, Liam was so exhausted he was ready to climb back into the nest, but he continued to help translate difficult ideas as the officers tried to get the Rownt to sign an agreement for supplies. Liam had thought the Grandmothers would easily steal the meat from the humans’ plates, but these humans seemed to fight back, countering with demands for more metals or guaranteed delivery dates and penalties. Liam’s hea
d swam with all the numbers swirling around the room.
The generals tried to continue debates over lunch, only to have Eldest inform them they were welcome to speak since it was their planet, but she had no obligation to listen to anything they said while she tended to her digestion.
The full day of negotiation continued for hours after a very luxurious lunch, until finally Eldest stood. “We will consider your offer with all Grandmothers,” she said. Then she turned her back on the generals. The officers all got to their feet, but Eldest was already ushering Liam ahead of her as she moved toward the door.
“Can we meet tomorrow?” Diallo called, but Eldest didn’t answer or even pause.
“I better appreciate the silence of the trading squares,” a Grandmother said softly once they had left the negotiating room. The eldest huffed in a way that suggested she agreed.
“They do not give away the meat,” another said, which was a compliment by any light. Liam had to agree. Liam had never done even half as well in his trades. If the government understood how much the Rownt had to trade, no doubt they would have sent some of these officers instead of allowing him to take on the job.
Thank God they hadn’t.
Chapter Seven
The group of Rownt and Liam were moving toward the ship when Liam heard someone call his name. Eldest ignored the call, but when Liam paused to try to find the person calling for him, Eldest stopped with him, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder.
“Liam Munson?” An older man in a sergeant’s uniform stood next to a supply truck.
Maybe it was the fresh scar on his face or the shock of seeing the sergeant here, but it took Liam several seconds to place him.
“Framkie?” Liam moved toward him, and Eldest stayed at his side. Immediately, Framkie glanced toward her with alarm. As the other Rownt turned to study this new arrival, Framkie took a quick step backward.