‘Oh, please god no,’ Grim said, clutching at his head.
‘Maybe some gin? A couple of shots will do you right.’
‘I’m going to puke my guts out,’ Grim groaned.
But come the morning, I knew he wouldn’t regret it. We’d both needed this. What had happened in that arena hung over us, even if Grim was a good enough friend not to say so. Getting smashed in public together wouldn’t fix everything, but it helped. As had talking to Katherine.
Katherine’s palmerlog rang. ‘Please don’t let that be work,’ she muttered as we set Grim down on a well-worn park bench. He rolled over, falling to the soggy grass and somehow managing to grab onto a bergamot tree. He lay there like a dead fish, still groaning, paying no heed to the flustered octodrones harvesting the tree, wondering what he was doing to their property.
‘Wait. Say that again.’ Katherine’s mouth was set in a grim line as whoever was on the other end of the palmerlog spoke. ‘You’re serious. No, he’s with me. Yes, I’ll tell him.’
‘What’s happened?’ I asked tentatively.
‘It’s the Kaiji,’ she said, not taking her eyes off me. ‘They want to meet with you. Alone.’
They gave me the choice of saying no, of course. But it was the sort of choice you know is really no choice at all.
I hadn’t seen Saren since the raid on the compound down in the Warrens, not until he invited me for lunch at a lavish hotel buffet for a pre-meeting briefing. Turns out, he wasn’t only a Harmony SubPrimer but was on Harmony’s Alien Affairs Committee. ‘We’re still in peace negotiations,’ he told me as we sat. Jasken stood guard in plain clothes, angled away from the other customers. ‘Anything you do could jeopardise our task, so you have to play their game.’
‘Oh, good. No pressure,’ I said.
‘They’re … different.’
‘In what way?’
‘In every way. They haven’t assimilated into human society like the Bulkava or Torven. They’re a heavily militarised, regimental species. Rank, hierarchy, order, are of the highest priority with these guys. They don’t like to waste their time, and they don’t tolerate fools. Their homeplanet is a hellscape, ravaged by brutal metal storms and a thin ozone layer. Until they escaped their system, both space and resources were incredibly scarce. They’ve been a spacefaring species for at least several millennia, with a presence on over a dozen planets and three star systems. Nevertheless, specificity and frugality has been ingrained into them.’
I leaned back in our alcove. The buffet area around us was minimalist grey and white, though the food spread was set out like a photoshoot. Thick wads of prosciutto, rolls of bacon and spiced salami, membrane-thin. Fried tomato, slices of melon and bowls of glistening berries. Omelettes and hash-browns and lacquered duck and dripping pork. White yoghurt and honeycomb swirl and sottocenere cheese with winks of nutmeg. Thick, chunky sourdough and raisin bread and cake, light as a breath. Carafes brimming with freshly squeezed juice. It all looked fantastic, but I settled on spiced egg with red onion and shallots with a side of steaming black coffee.
Compass never sleeps, so despite the predawn hour, the buffet was quickly filling with people. Most of them were pilots, Navigator crews, Shipmasters, all getting their last proper meal before reboarding their spacecraft. To say shipboard food is terrible is like saying engine solvent doesn’t mix well with vodka.
‘Why meet with me, and not anybody else?’ I asked.
‘My guess is because you’re a Reaper. Maybe they think a soldier represents their interests better. Their Shipmasters, Commanders, Naval Officers are big leagues in their hierarchy, so maybe they assume we operate on a similar wavelength. They’ve got a specialised military intelligence called Elite Tactical Force. If they’re around, they mean business.’ Saren began carving his way through a cheese platter. ‘As part of the peace negotiations, Kindosh has been providing them regular status updates of your investigation into the Reaper deaths. They’ll probably want to talk to you in person.’
I extended an arm, livid with churning clouds of stormtech. ‘You think this has got something to do with it?’
‘Definitely. They’ll probably ask you to see it. Do what they ask, but within reason. Don’t agree to anything. They’ll hold you to it.’
Maybe I was out of my depth. ‘It’s that serious?’
‘From what we understand, they’re top political players. Could eat the Borgias for breakfast.’
‘I don’t know who that is,’ I said evenly.
Saren looked as if to explain, but evidently decided it was too much trouble. ‘They’re powerful creatures with massive armadas. They’ve got superior-class dreadnoughts, battlecruisers and frigates at their command, packing high-class artillery weapons and defence systems. As far as political, technological and military might goes, they’re the most powerful alien species in the galaxy. We need to stay friendly with them. If we went to war we’d probably lose.’
‘They’re that powerful?’
‘They’re that powerful. They’re still upset that Harmony used stormtech in the first place, so their being here at all means they’re ready to take action. We need that action to be in our favour. Just so you know who you’re meeting with: Ambassadors and politicians all carry a van in the middle of their names. Military and Naval personnel have dan. Presumably, you’ll be meeting with three of them.’
‘Three to one?’ I asked.
‘Their politicians usually work and travel in threes.’ Saren drained his third coffee that morning. ‘Oh, and whatever you do, don’t touch their horns. The males find it incredibly emasculating and offensive.’
‘Wasn’t planning on doing that.’
‘You’d be surprised what people try to get up to with aliens. They’re not intelligent animals who learned to talk, like pro-human groups like to pretend they are. Most aliens have history and culture stretching back three times further than humans do. That goes double for the Kaiji. If you’re condescending, they’ll react badly. Understand?’
‘Be polite, be diplomatic, don’t say anything stupid.’
‘That’s the gist of it.’
I waved Jasken over. It wasn’t like I was going to get shot in here. ‘Food’s going to go to
