He smiled and looked away. “We’ll see about that-later. Now, get out of here.”
“I hear and obey, mighty one-at least until you try to last a minute with me on the mats.”
What came to mind was not karate. “Or on some other flat surface.”
Her smile returned. “Flat surface? No imagination.” She headed for the exit, turned, flashed a grin that was also a leer and a promise, and then went around the corner.
Visser, Thandla, and Downing entered from the same spot, escorting close to a dozen Dornaani, several of whom were carrying what looked like immense wooden bowls. The Dornaani immediately dispersed into the room: the humans headed straight for Caine.
“What’s with the bowls?”
“Think of them as fruit baskets, sent with the regrets of the Slaasriithi.” Downing surveyed the selection of highly spiced fish dishes that the Dornaani had requested.
“So you heard from them?”
Thandla nodded. “They would not explicate why they declined to attend. But they were very polite, very profuse regrets. Very like my great-aunts.”
“And what’s in the bowls?”
Downing stood aside as Hwang-chief chef along with Elena-swept past with four new trays of food. “I was serious, Caine: the bowls are filled with fruit. From their homeworld.”
“And have we-?”
Thandla nodded. “One sample of each removed. Scanned for soil residues, but it looks like they’ve been sanitized.”
“Better than nothing,” agreed Downing.
“And then there’s what our guests unintentionally leave behind-hair, dried skin, saliva, wastes.” Caine shrugged. “I don’t see how they can object to us collecting it for analysis. But I think our real priority has to be learning more about the intentions of these races-and we may not have a lot of time left in which to do that.”
“I think this is twice I hear you suggest that there may be little time to ask questions.” Durniak had approached from the other direction, rubbing at a stain on her blouse. “Why do you say this?”
“Because I think this meeting could come apart. Which means we could have a fuse burning in terms of how much time we have to get information. Which reminds me: any word from the Arat Kur?”
Downing shook his head. “Not a whisper. But look who’s coming to dinner.”
Several of the Ktor suspension tanks were rolling ponderously through the entryway. Visser unfolded her arms. “Mr. Downing, Mr. Riordan, let’s welcome our guests.”
Caine stared at the tanks. “I promised I’d help arrange the trays as Hwang and Elena bring them out. I’m sure the Ktor won’t miss me.”
Visser’s head leaned sideways. “Or is it you who will not miss them?”
Caine shrugged. “We’ll see.”
Visser nodded, headed toward the doorway with Downing. Caine straightened out the trays; Durniak trailed behind: her duty-drinks-had been swiftly concluded. Beyond water, there wasn’t much that any of the species had cleared for consumption. “How much of our food can they eat?”
“The Ktor passed on everything: not surprising, given they’re in a fully sealed environment. The Dornaani seemed interested in lightly cooked and highly spicy seafood-particularly chowders or pastes, but they didn’t seem to have any concern about digestibility. The Hkh’Rkh were pretty easy to plan for: Elena consulted the encyclopedic self-reference they exchanged for ours-she’s now our resident expert on them-and confirmed that they process complex proteins almost exactly the same way we do.”
“Meaning-?”
“Meaning that we’re serving them a buffet of buffalo steaks-very rare-raw meats, sashimi, asiago cheese, goat’s milk, chocolate truffles, chateauneuf-du-pape, stout.”
Durniak stared. “We brought goat’s milk?”
Caine smiled. “Yeah. Go figure.”
“They seem to like strong tastes.”
“Yes, Elena and Ben were warned to avoid serving anything that’s bland.”
“It seems like they’ve succeeded.” Durniak said with a departing smile.
Seems so. Now where the hell is the Hkh’Rkh delegation and the-
“Here. Hold this.” The command came from behind.
Caine turned-and found himself staring into glass-green eyes. He almost dropped the plate that Elena thrust into his hands. He looked down to see what was on it-and looked back up quickly. She had changed into evening wear: a sleek black dress with a plunging and-due to her figure-dramatic neckline. I’m looking down again-and I’m staring. He looked up again quickly.
Where he encountered her small smile. “Could you please hold them-both of them?”
Caine tried hard not to blink, but he did. “Could I-?” I can’t have heard that correctly. She wouldn’t-
“Please: hold both of them. Now.”
He opened his mouth to speak, realized he had nothing to say, tried very hard not to look down again-but did. And saw that she was holding out a second plate for him to hold. Oh, Jesus H. Christ. He couldn’t restrain a quick hiccough of laughter as he took the second plate, then looked up at Elena.
Whose long sweeps of black hair shone. Whose swimmer’s shoulders sent long graceful lines down into a body that blended them into a composite of curves and arcs. Who was now staring at him-because, he realized, he was staring at her. Again.
Caine felt his face grow hot: great; I’m blushing, too. “I’m-I’m sorry.”
She considered him severely for two seconds, then a third, and then-her notably straight eyebrows set in a severe line-she said, “I’ll let it go-this time.”
And then she smiled. Bright, straight teeth, brighter eyes. The smile became a soundless laugh as she lifted her chin a little-and in that moment, Caine saw that she was indeed her father’s daughter, down to the smile and the strange mixture of mischief and personal gravity. And she was, he had to admit, frankly beautiful.
But not in the way he’d already known, had seen (and looked away from) on numerous occasions now. At this moment, with her odd, intermittent evasiveness either forgotten or forsaken, she was intelligence and shrewdness and playfulness all mixed together.
By the time he became aware of his surroundings again, her eyes had changed. They were concerned, then almost panicked: her smile disappeared, she looked away, moved back toward the central alcove. Halfway there, she turned-was no longer radiating herself out toward him, but had drawn back into a weighty composure: “I’ll be back with a platter.” She turned sharply, moved away at a controlled pace.
He realized, some moments later, that he had not moved his body or his eyes. I cannot-can not-let myself start gawking at her again. But I do wish I knew why she changes mood so quickly when-
“Caine-they’re here; the Hkh’Rkh.” Visser was pulling at his elbow.
He turned to look at her, noticed that she seemed anxious. Or annoyed. Or maybe angry. “Where’s Downing?”
“Back at the door, meeting them.” She looked down, then directly up at him. “You have to go now. Have to go in my place.”
“Why?”
“Because the Hkh’Rkh won’t speak to me.”
“What? Have they hopped on the Arat Kur bandwagon or-?”
“No: it is nothing like that.” She seemed about to grit her teeth. “It is because I am a woman-no, a ‘female.’”
Caine smacked his palm against his forehead. “Shit. I read that their society is absolutely patriarchal, but I completely overlooked how they might extend that paradigm to another species-”
She laid a hand on his arm. “Gott in Himmel, stop. This is not your fault; it is clear in retrospect only. Go; help Richard.” She half rolled her eyes. “He needs it.” Caine put down the plates he was still holding and made his way to the door.
Richard-who was 6'2"-was still half a head shorter than the smallest of the six Hkh’Rkh who had all but surrounded him. They leaned forward into his words, their immense bodies dwarfing the spare human torso. Caine side-shouldered into the ring of sword-toting monsters and smiled at Richard.