by Alma Boykin
> Rada mock-begged.
The big True-dragon obliged and the mood in the bar improved at light speed. <
<
Rada made an Azdhag negation as well as shaking her head. She replied aloud in Trader, “Damn if I know. If he were in my House I’d, well, he’d never be in my House, because Ni Drako has standards.”
The dull orange waiter brought Zabet a second beer. <
Rada flipped her tail as Zabet’s eyes narrowed with mischief. Rada shook her finger at her partner before answering, “No, Ni Drako uses birth and appointment for major positions, as Trobak does.”
<> and he pointed over his shoulder at the holo-screen with his central forefoot talon, <
Rada did her best to look grave. “Quite understandable,” she replied. That satisfied the waiter, who stalked off to take care of another table.
Zabet finished her skewered produce and half the second beer. <
“True, that.” Personally, Rada rather liked the prospect of being able to blind, dismember, or execute terminally stupid bureaucrats. Yet another philosophical difference between her and Zabet, she sighed, and finished her juice and the last of the crunchy fried things.
She flagged the waiter and handed him her credit ring. << If you’re done, Lady Zabet, let’s depart before the Terran delegation tries to leave. I suspect traffic near the spaceport will be a challenge.>> Rada did her best impression of the current head of House Moytu.
<
“Agreed. I don’t think even diplomatic immunity is enough to prevent the pox being wished on those fools.”