“Sorry, Derstu,” the runner said as he, she, er … they panted with exertion. They were very young, five, maybe six molts. It would be another molt at least before their gender became apparent, even to them. All four of their arms strained under the weight of the tray. A whole nest of gims crawled through a pile of purple and red jewel fronds. The little eight-legged creatures bulged at the seams of their shells, yet still munched away, oblivious to their impending fate.
“Mmm. Thank you, runner. Return to your duties.”
“The harmony sings.” They bowed and retreated as suddenly as they’d appeared. Holding the crescent with his midarms, Thuk picked out a particularly fat gim with a primehand and popped it into his mandibles. It made a very satisfying crunch in its death throes as the nutty protein of its shell and pollen-fed flavor of its flesh mixed in his mouth. As much trouble as being selected derstu could be, Thuk had to admit the food was quite a perk.
“Delicious,” he said as he sunk into his chair and picked another gim. “Would you care for one, Kivits? They’re perfectly ripened.”
“It would be rude to refuse, wouldn’t it?” Kivits snatched up a modestly sized gim from the tray and bit it in half. “Mm. Yes, the farm has churned out a good batch today.”
“Did you know, Kivits, that humans prefer their meat dead?”
Kivits shuffled his mandibles in disgust. “Yes, they store it cold, then warm it back up to simulate life. Revolting practice.”
“Yes,” Thuk agreed. “That’s what I thought as well. Indeed, when we first learned about their culinary habits before the Intersection War, many of our wisest scholars preached that since humans were unwilling to kill their food themselves, it naturally followed that they would be too squeamish to take lives in battle.” Thuk crunched down on another gim. “That prediction proved overly optimistic.”
“Is there a lesson you’re trying to share in this, Derstu?”
“A musing only. A curious bit of history I’ve always found … ‘humorous’ is the wrong word. ‘Paradoxical,’ perhaps.”
“Well, if our scholars were as omniscient as they seem to believe, we wouldn’t need the Grand Symphony. We could just go back to the infallible leadership of divine queens.”
“That is true enough,” Thuk said. “But the prejudice was hardly limited to scholars. Indeed, as silly as it seems today, the belief was common throughout the Symphony that—” Something nagging at the back of Thuk’s skullplates jumped and waved its arms for attention.
“Is something wrong, Derstu?” Kivits asked, concern playing across his face and limbs.
“No, it’s just … Are our rings warm? How much lead time do we need to spin a seedpod?”
“Our rings have been on standby since we took up position, you know that. And their drones are still more than an eighth dayslice away from having any chance of—”
The shriek of proximity alarms cut through their conversation like a blood-claw. All around them, the mind cavern blossomed with light. Sniffer readouts, tactical assessments, warnings, all sprang to life and competed for attention. The other members of the harmony who had been listening to the back-and-forth between their derstu and dulac with practiced indifference suddenly came to life in their alcoves and began barking updates.
“Situation!” Thuk shouted above the din as his forgotten tray clattered against the floor. Liberated gim scurried for cover in every direction.
“It’s the Ansari, Derstu,” someone shouted back. “They’ve peeled their seedpod.”
“How far?” Thuk demanded.
The sniffer-reader blanched, frozen in place. Kivits pushed the hesitating member to the side of their alcove to read the sniffer data for himself. His face turned to Thuk, the bravado suffusing their earlier conversation forgotten. “Twenty-three hundred markers. Derstu, we’re already in range of their light-spears. Their claws are around our throats!”
Thuk grinned. Bold humans. Foolhardy humans. They had no idea what kind of predator’s den they’d just jumped into. But that was the thing about them. Even if they did, they’d probably jump in anyway.
“Well, the humans would never—” was the first half of a sentence that had gotten a lot of very experienced, very capable harmonies killed in the last war.
“How did they see us?” Kivits shrieked. “We’re hundreds of thousands of markers outside their husk’s eyes.”
“Obviously we need to revisit our estimates,” Thuk said dryly. “Or did you think the humans were in a fugue since the war?”
Kivits stared at him. “You asked about our rings. How did you know?”
“I didn’t. Just—had a strange itch was all.”
“They’re singing to us!” the recorder alcove’s attendant shouted.
“Put it to the mouths,” Thuk ordered.
“Unidentified [Xre] warship,” a human voice crackled over the mind cavern’s mouths—female, if his ear was attuned. A translation played out in text on the panoramic displays. “This [Derstu] Susan Kamala CCDF cruiser Ansari. We corner and destroy one your [predator husks]. You violation treaty. Surrender instant and we will—”
Thuk cut the connection from his seat’s controls. “Eject three decoys. Now. Burn them hard to our sides and vent.”
“And us, Derstu?” Kivits asked.
“Forward, Dulac,” Thuk said with as much calm as he could force. “We burn straight forward.”
FIVE
“Xre warship, sixteen thousand klicks dead ahead, mum!” Warner shouted. “Class unknown, but it’s big.”
The right corner of Susan’s lips curled up into a crescent that creased her cheek. “That’ll be a hundred nudollars, Mr. Nesbit,” she said.
“I don’t recall wagering on it, Captain.”
“It was implied in your tone, Mr. Nesbit,” Susan said. “Coms, hail the vessel.”
“Mic’s hot, mum.”
Susan leaned forward in her chair and turned her shoulders as if she was on camera, which she wasn’t.
“Unidentified Xre warship. This is Susan Kamala of the CCDF cruiser Ansari. We have intercepted and destroyed one of your armed drones. You are in violation of the treaty. Surrender immediately and we will hold fire. Refuse to surrender and we will be forced to—”
“Link’s been cut at their end, mum. They’re no longer receiving.”
“Sounds like an answer to me,” Warner said from the weapons station.
“Agreed.”
“Do we really want to fire first?” Nesbit asked.
“We didn’t,” Susan snapped back. “They did. Naval law
