the marine insisted stoutly. “Just me.”
There was a long moment of silence as the noncom surveyed the beings around him. Tragg, who was watching the episode from afar, spotted at least two guilty-looking faces. But the Ramanthian noncom had no experience at reading alien facial expressions, and the overseer had no reason to intervene. Especially since the POWs were unlikely to make that particular mistake again.
Nankool made as if to step forward, but Hooks held the president back. And, with nothing else to go on, the Ramanthian was forced to accept the marine’s confession. Orders were given, Cassidy was borne away, and Calisco threw up.
Tragg, who was still watching via the monitor, nodded knowingly and turned his attention to another face. A beautiful face second only to the one he had destroyed back at the spaceport. There was something about the blond woman that reminded him of Marci. He had spared her once. But for how long?
Vanderveen felt a sense of relief as the spotlight clicked off, but the feeling was short-lived as the Ramanthians began to cook Cassidy over a fi?re, and the screaming began. PLANET HIVE, THE RAMANTHIAN EMPIRE
Having only recently been elevated to the post of Chief Chancellor, Itnor Ubatha was still rather conscious of the perks associated with his position and took pleasure in the fact that a government vehicle was waiting for him as he left his home. The driver opened the rear door. Ubatha slipped inside and reveled in the cell-powered car’s luxurious interior as it carried him along busy streets, through one of the enormous chambers in which the citizens of the city lived, and past a bustling shopping center. The Chancellor and his mates could purchase almost anything now. But that was a recent development. The path from junior civil servant to a position second only to the Queen had been perilous but well worth the effort. Now, having arrived, the bureaucrat faced a new challenge. And that was to hold on to what he had. Because one could never rest within the labyrinthinal world of Ramanthian politics. The key to survival was to not only anticipate what the Queen would want next, but to take action if such a thing was possible, which in this case it was. Because after a long series of brilliantly executed schemes, the Egg Orno’s single surviving mate had not only failed to deliver on his most extravagant promise, but gone into hiding somewhere off-planet. But where? That’s what the Queen might very well ask Ubatha when he met with her later in the day. She wouldn’t really expect him to know the answer, of course, since the intelligence functionaries had been unable to locate the missing diplomat, but what if he were able to develop a lead? The offi?cial had nothing to lose other than some time, so the decision was easy. Especially since he would be in control of the interview and everything else that happened, too. Which, come to think of it, was the way things should always be.
Having been notifi?ed of the Chancellor’s visit the day before, the Egg Orno’s emotions had initially been buried beneath the weight of the preparations necessary to receive someone of Ubatha’s high rank, but everything was fi?nally ready. And, with no means to distract herself, the female was nearly paralyzed with fear. Because Ambassador Alway Orno had been missing for a long time by then, the government was trying to fi?nd him, and she had been interrogated fi?ve times.
And that, the Egg Orno feared, was the purpose of Chancellor Ubatha’s visit. To interrogate her in a way that lower-ranking offi?cials couldn’t. And, if successful, to fi?nd out where Alway was hiding. So when her sole remaining servant entered the carefully screened reception alcove to announce Ubatha’s presence, the Egg Orno was painfully aware of how much was at stake, and determined to perform well. Because it was her duty to protect both her mates and her progeny. A responsibility that she, like the Queen, took very seriously indeed. Except that she had produced only three eggs, while the monarch was in the process of laying billions, a reality that was fundamental to Ramanthian foreign policy. Because billions of additional lives implied more planets. And more planets implied more ships to serve them, which her mate had successfully stolen from the Confederacy. A fact that both the Queen and her advisors seemed to have forgotten. The anger she felt acted to neutralize the Egg Orno’s Fear. Like all his kind, Ubatha was equipped with two antenna-shaped olfactory organs that protruded from his forehead and provided the offi?cial with all sorts of information as he entered the Orno family’s abode. The air was redolent with the odor of expensive incense, but it wasn’t suffi?cient to conceal the smell of spicy grub sauce that wafted from the kitchen, or the lingering tang of recently applied cleaning agents.
And, while the Chancellor’s compound eyes wouldn’t allow him to focus on anything more than a yard away, he saw the sandals next to the front door, the carefully arranged rock garden beyond, and the exquisite layering of fabrics that had been hung in front of the earthen walls. Farther back a glistening water-walk carried the offi?cial into the reception room, where the Egg Orno was required to sit behind an opaque screen rather than confront him directly. A well-placed light served to project the Egg Orno’s carefully groomed profi?le onto the paper-thin partition, thereby protecting both Ubatha and herself from any possibility of scandal. But, even though the bureaucrat couldn’t see the female directly, he could smell the heady combination of perfume, wing wax, and chitin polish that identifi?ed the Egg Orno as a member of the upper class. “Welcome,”
the Egg Orno said, as her pincers went through a highly stylized series of movements. “The Orno clan is honored to have such a distinguished visitor. Please sit down.”
“As I am honored to be here,” Ubatha said, as he straddled an ornately carved chair. “Ambassador Orno is fortunate to have such a skillful mate and charming home. If only he were here to enjoy both.”
Now it begins, the Egg Orno thought to herself. And rather quickly, too. “Yes,” the female agreed out loud. “Nothing would please me more.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” the Chancellor replied smoothly.
“Because if you were to offer your assistance, I suspect the government would be able to locate Ambassador Orno and bring him home.”
For what? The Egg Orno thought scornfully. So you can kill him? Never! But to actually say something like that would be to reveal the way she actually felt and thereby foreclose any possibility of joining her mate on Starfall. So the Egg Orno lied with the same elegance she brought to everything else. “Having already lost the War Orno in service to the empire, I fear that the ambassador is dead as well,” she said sadly. “Nothing else could explain his prolonged absence. However, lacking proof of such a calamity, I continue to hope for a miracle.”
Though almost certainly false, it was the right thing to say, and Ubatha was impressed by the Egg Orno’s cool unfl?appable persona. “Perhaps you are correct,” the bureaucrat allowed politely. “But I would be less than forthright if I were to ignore a second, and to some minds, more plausible possibility. And that is that having bungled his latest assignment, and fearing the Queen’s wrath, your mate has gone into hiding. An understandable, if not-altogetherhonorable strategy, that seems beneath a person of Ambassador Orno’s accomplishments.
“So,” Ubatha continued gravely, as he continued to eye the now-motionless silhouette, “should you somehow learn of Ambassador Orno’s whereabouts, I urge you to contact me, so that we can take steps to ensure a safe return. I think such a course would be best for both of us.”
He wants the credit, the Egg Orno thought dully. And he’s offering to protect me if I go along. “I understand,” the female replied coolly. “It was kind of you to come.”
Ubatha knew a dismissal when he heard one and, lacking a way to force a response, had no choice but to go. “Thank you for your hospitality,” the offi?cial said smoothly, and the visit was over.
