He had.
“Of course I did,” Owen replied.
Garul smiled, flashing his teeth. “Then we will hunt him together.”
The Naga reached out a clawed hand. Owen met it with his own. At first he thought Garul was only shaking his hand, to seal the deal, so to speak. But as the Naga put more weight into the arm, Owen had to brace himself against the bed to keep from falling forward. With Owen's help, Garul rose to a sitting position. His face was etched with little tracks and lines that said he was still in pain. But he was upright.
“You sure you're ready to be up and about?” Hereford asked.
“I am a warrior, General. I am always ready. Now, I believe we have planning to accomplish? I strongly suspect that this shooter will return to the base. You have his friends here in custody?”
“Yes,” Hereford replied.
“Then he will be back for certain. He was a warrior at heart. He will not flee. Ah, but he might think I am dead. He did shoot me. If it hadn't been for Owen's quick actions, I might indeed have died,” Garul said. “Perhaps what we need is to find a way to let this human know he failed. That I still breathe.”
Owen frowned. “Won't that just put you in more danger?”
Garul laughed, which sounded like a mixture of clicking his tongue and a hacking cough. “An enemy ship could arrive in orbit any time now and obliterate us all. We are all in danger. Always at risk. This is no greater risk than we face daily just by breathing. But by all the shards, while we still breathe we will continue fighting to stay that way, yes?”
Owen snapped a sharp nod in reply. It was a point of view he wasn't used to hearing, but it made sense when Garul said the words. Most humans tended to be risk-averse. They'd do whatever they could to minimize danger to themselves. But the Naga seemed to have a different attitude toward danger. They met a threat head-on rather than fleeing from it.
“If we are to die a given day, then that will happen. In the meantime, we fight to live,” Garul said.
“There was a human culture that once espoused beliefs like that,” Hereford said.
“Oh? What happened to them? Did they die out?” Garul asked.
“Hells no. The people of Europe's northern lands took over a good chunk of the world. Most of my ancestors stem from one branch or another of their tree,” Hereford said. He flashed a feral smile at Garul. “They lived and breathed for battle, fought each other and alongside each other, explored, conquered, and raided. They weren't a perfect people by any means, but I see many of their virtues in the Naga.”
Owen grinned at the thought. Comparing the Naga with Viking raiders seemed like a bit of a stretch to him, but maybe it wasn't so far-fetched as it sounded at first. Both warrior cultures held fast to many of the same ideals.
“Then let us rise and plan for the morning. We have a trap to lay, and I have ideas about how we can use this shooter to our advantage. At the end of the day, we must come together, your people and mine,” Garul told Hereford. “That will require courage and daring. We Naga have done you a terrible wrong. Your people repaid our attacks by defending our homeworld in our moment of greatest need. It is a debt we must repay. And it begins now, here, today.”
Owen and Hereford shot each other glances as Garul stepped lightly to the floor and strode purposefully from the hospital room. Owen wasn't sure what the Naga had in mind, but one thing was certain; life hadn't been boring since he'd run into him!
Twenty-One
More sleep. That's what Garul figured he should have focused on, rather than strategizing with Hereford and McInness. He'd managed a few hours of rest after they were done, but it was nowhere near enough. He should have had all his wits about him for this meeting, but instead he felt bleary and worn. It didn't help that his injury from the evening more was still causing some pain. He winced as he shifted in his chair, trying to adjust his position to better accommodate the wound.
It didn't help much. He supposed he could use the healing tool again, but was loathe to do so. A body only had so much in the way of reserves. Naga had quite a lot, but he'd used the device twice in a single day to heal gunshot wounds. That wasn't pushing his limits by much, but he thought letting his body heal on its own for a bit might be the wiser course. At least for the time being. Better to keep some reserves in case something else unexpected occurred.
“Are you all right, Ambassador?” The human seated across the table from Garul was looking at him with a facial expression of concern.
“I am, Mr. Jamison. Thank you for asking,” Garul replied. The United States Secretary of State had flown out to meet with him today. It wasn't a meeting that could be easily delayed. Jamison had of course been informed of the events the night prior. He knew the Naga ambassador had been shot. Jamison was effusive with his apologies when they first met.
But once those introductions were over and they got down to 'brass tacks', as the human put it, he was proving to be quite the predator in this venue. The man was scrawny, wore glasses to help him see, and looked at least as old as Hereford without half the general's health. Yet Garul had to admit that for this sort of battle, Jamison was a worthy opponent. This wasn't a fight to be won with claws, but rather with words.
Garul's command of English was excellent and growing, but he'd still availed himself of a tablet with translation software on it. He hadn't thought he would require it. Scanning the documents before him, he was glad indeed to have the device by his side. The documents Mr. Jamison had presented him with used words he'd never heard any human speak aloud. Each sentence seemed twisted, convoluted, like it was designed to say more than one thing or to mean something other than what the immediate meaning appeared.
“I will require some time to go over all of this,” Garul said, waving the paperwork. “My English is improving, but many of these words and phrasings are strange to me.”
“Of course. I understand. Take what time you need,” Jamison said. “I'm happy to have some of my staff assist you with any translation difficulties.”
“Thank you,” Garul flashed his teeth. He wasn't at all sure that Jamison's staff would have the Naga peoples' best interest in their hearts. But he knew who would. “But my aide will assist me if necessary.”
The Naga motioned to McInness, seated next to him. The young soldier gaped a moment, then leaned in to whisper in Garul's ear. “I'm not a lawyer. This legalese bullshit isn't my strong point.”
“You'll do fine,” Garul told him. Then he turned back to Jamison. “This clause is interesting. What is a 'refugee'?”
“Ah,” Jamison said. He paused and shuffled his own copy of the proposed treaty, finding the appropriate spot. “A refugee is someone made homeless through war or other means. The clause allows either of our people to request sanctuary and refugee status on the other's world, should we no longer be able to live on our homeworld.”
“Given the nature of the enemy we both face,” Jamison went on, “it seemed wise to stipulate this in our agreement.”
Humans on the Naga homeworld, Patala? The idea was both amusing and frightening. How well would humans fit in there? It was a dangerous place, and while he knew many humans were quite capable as warriors, he wasn't so certain about their general population. Humanity seemed to have many different sub-groups within their species. Some were warriors. Others were...not even close.
“Mr. Jamison, I have concerns about this. My world is not as hospitable as yours. Most of the land has remained wild.”
“That should make it easier,” Jamison replied. “In the case of Earth being destroyed, you could just give any surviving humans some unused tract of land.”
“We could, and I would certainly agree to such a thing. But when I say wild, I mean truly wilderness. Our predators are not tame beasts like you have on Earth. Patala is host to a variety of animals who would see your people as...forgive me, but as tasty treats.”
Jamison blanched for a moment, but recovered quickly. “I think we would find ways to manage, somehow.” He g
lanced over at Hereford, who gave a slow nod in reply.
“And then there is the matter of bringing Naga here to Earth, should it be our world that falls,” Garul said. “As much as your safety on Patala would be questionable, my experience here on Earth has been that the welcome might not be warm for Naga.”
Jamison flushed. This was good. Garul had nothing against the man, but he intended to get the best deal possible for his people. This refugee clause wasn't a terrible idea, but he wanted some assurance that his people would not be slaughtered by angry humans if they did have to flee to Earth. The more off-balance he could get Jamison, the less focused the man would be on negotiating well. This was a duel, after all. Garul could make his words almost as sharp as his teeth.
“What happened to you yesterday was a serious breach of hospitality. I apologize profusely for the damage done to you through our lack of security,” Jamison said. He glanced sharply at Hereford, his eyes promising that there would be consequences for that.
Garul wasn't trying to make trouble for his friend. “General Hereford has done an outstanding job as host, Mr. Jamison. He has taken every precaution I can imagine to keep me as safe as possible, I assure you. Sometimes these things happen. I am healing well; no lasting harm was done. But I would want some level of assurance that my people would have a place of relative safety should we come here.”
“Something we would like if we were forced to flee to Patala, as well,” Jamison replied. “Yet you sound unsure you can provide it.”
There were the teeth again. Garul approved. The man didn't stay off-balance for more than a few moments before he found his center again. “I believe we can find someplace that will work. It might be we need to clear a section of wilderness, erect walls to protect the less warlike humans. But I think it can be done. All of this presupposes we lose one of our worlds, of course. Which neither of us want.”
“No, we surely don't,” Jamison said. He deflated a bit and ran his fingers through his hair. “Ambassador Garul, I have to say I didn't insert this clause into the treaty. It's not something I've ever tried to negotiate before. The United States has never been under such a threat of disaster. I've been ordered to make sure this clause goes through. What can we do to make this work for you?”
“That's quite an admission, Mr. Jamison,” Garul said. He was surprised by the man taking such a frank tone. He'd given away an edge in the negotiations in the process. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because it really is that important to the people I represent. We're not just talking about the survival of our nation here. This is about survival of our species. And yours. Frankly, that trumps any other interests we have,” Jamison said.
“I agree,” Garul replied.
“To the terms?”
“To your statement. Survival of both our races is my highest priority as well. We should take whatever actions are necessary to ensure that,” Garul said. “All of the rest of this paperwork - military aid, technology transfers, trade, and such? They all support that primary effort. I have to say I am uncomfortable making preparations for the loss of my home planet.”
Jamison opened his mouth to speak, but Garul raised a hand to stop him, then went on. “I said uncomfortable, not unwilling. I am a realist. Also, unlike you, I have seen the Kkiktchikut weapon in use. I've watched a planet blasted into lifelessness, half the crust blown into space. The threat is indeed real. In principle, at least, I think this clause is wise. We work out details, but...yes. The Naga will shelter humanity, should it come down to it.”
“And we, you,” Jamison said.
A knock on the door stopped all conversation for a moment. Hereford barked, “Enter!”
The door opened and a young lieutenant entered. “Sir, sorry to interrupt. You asked to be notified at once if the protest outside the gate became a problem.”
“How bad?” Hereford asked.
“You should come see, sir. It's getting messy out there. Captain Jenkins is breaking out the Naga rifles to defend the gate.”
“Damn,” Hereford said as he rose from his chair. “Mr. Secretary, please excuse me. I need to see about our security.”
“Of course, General,” Jamison replied.
Garul coughed and rose as well. “Mr. Jamison, can we continue our discussion later today? I would like to see this protest with my own eyes. If we are to sign a treaty that makes Earth our last resort of refuge, I need to see the nature of whatever threats we might face.”
“If General Hereford thinks it's safe enough..?” Jamison asked.
Hereford rolled his eyes. “I'll keep him in one piece. Come along, Garul. You too, McInness. Let's go see what we're up against out there.”
Garul checked the items on his belt as he followed Hereford from the room. He had everything he might need to handle an emergency. Going out there would give the man who'd shot him twice a third chance. It was a risk, but one he was willing to take if it could aid in creating trust between their races.
Twenty-Two
Eric glanced down so the drone whizzing by overhead couldn’t get a look at his face. The ball cap and sunglasses he wore were pretty mediocre camouflage. They had to know his face by know. They’d be watching for him. But he couldn’t have avoided coming to this place, no matter the risk. This gate, among these protesters, was where he had to be.
There was no shortage of people gathered, that was for certain. Had to be a few hundred people there. It was impressive, even if it wasn’t going to actually accomplish anything. These folks weren’t armed, at least not most of them. Anyone there packing heat was keeping it well hidden, same as Eric was. He'd left the rifle with the truck. It would have stuck out like a sore thumb in this crowd. Better to go in lightly armed and see if there was any way he could stir up trouble. The rifle was close enough by if he really needed it.
There was a whole platoon of soldiers gathered on the other side of the gate, armed with a mixture of weaponry, all of it more deadly than the pistol holstered at Eric's back. Some of them were carrying what looked like a normal assault rifle, but others had weapons that looked right out of a sci-fi film. Ray-gun rifles? That had to be alien tech.
The idea of US troops using alien weapons made his blood boil. Was that what was going on? The powers-that-be working behind the scenes in the government were swapping human independence for alien tech? It wouldn't shock him.
Eric wandered through the crowd until he found another guy who looked a lot like himself. Arms crossed, the guy's glare toward the troops guarding the gate could have melted steel. Just the sort of man he wanted to find.
“Hey brother. Got a light?” Eric asked, holding up a cigarette.
“If you can spare a cig, sure,” the man replied. He fished a lighter from a pocket. “Ran out an hour ago, but I don't want to leave. We gotta make our voices heard.”
Eric exchanged the lighter for another cigarette from his pack. He lit his, then passed the lighter back over. “I hear you. Name's Eric.”
He had a lighter with him, of course. But it was the oldest ‘get to know you’ tool in his playbook. Pretty near never failed. He could tell the guy was a smoker from the smell and the yellow fingers, but even if he'd guessed wrong, it was still a good opening for a conversation. Which was what he actually wanted.
“Jim. You here yesterday? Was even more of us then.”
“Yeah, I was. It's early. I figure more will filter back in as the day goes on. You heard they have honest to god aliens inside there?”
“You sure?” Jim asked. “I heard that rumor, but I was half thinking it was bullshit. If it's true, man... I don't know what we're coming to. Those assholes damned near blew us back to the Stone Age, and now they're being wined and dined?”
“Yeah. I'm sure.” Eric leaned in close and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I shot one of them.”
“No shit, you did not!”
Eric nodded and took a drag from the cigarette. “Did. Nailed him with my rifle. If I see m
ore of them, I'll get them, too. We have to keep Earth for humans. Bad enough we have foreign types coming here. We don't need stinking lizards, too.”
He watched the man carefully, unsure what his response would be. Eric didn’t think he seemed the sort to turn a guy in, but he was a stranger. You never knew. He had to start somewhere, though. Build some support in the crowd, so that when the time came to make a move he had backup.
“Yup. I’m with you,” Jim replied.
Eric handed him back his lighter. “Think you can help me spread the word about what’s really going on in there? We need to get everyone to wake up. Take action. I don’t mean waving signs, either. We need to make those boys inside sit up and take notice.”
“They’ve got most of the guns,” Jim remarked.
“You think they’re gonna fire on a crowd of civilians?” Eric asked.
He figured they probably wouldn’t, although if those Naga rifles were the same ones they’d used the night before? The ones McInness said didn’t kill? Well, they might just shoot those, if push came to shove. But there were more people joining the circus outside the gate every minute. Cars were coming up the road toward the base in a steady stream as the morning went on and daylight got stronger. According to the news there’d been a thousand people at the protest yesterday. He was willing to bet today would be even bigger. A thousand angry protestors would be a hard mob to deal with. Might even prove enough distraction that he could get in there and free his friends.
But only if he could get them riled up enough.
Jim shook his head. “Nah, I don’t think they would. Haven’t pulled shit like that since Vietnam. Don’t think they want that sort of press now.”
Peace Talks (Adventures of the Starship Satori Book 12) Page 9