“I know you are. I wasn’t laughing at you,” he said, snorting again. “I was trying not to continue the saying that goes with that.”
“With what?” she asked, confused.
“Look, when you’re teaching trigger control the way the saying usually goes is ‘let your breath out and squeeze it gentle, like a tit,’ okay? That was what I laughed about, I almost said it. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said, mollified. “What a crude and stupid thing to say,” she continued.
“I tried not to! You badgered me into saying it, okay?”
“Like you would know what squeezing a tit felt like!” She stopped and her hand flew across her mouth as she realized what she had blurted.
“Thanks,” he smiled grimly, “thanks a lot. If you must know, I guarantee I know more about squeezing tits gently than you do.”
“Oh, sure. I don’t think you’ve gone with a girl since Kathy Smetzer in fifth grade!”
“Jesus, you really have been keeping up with my life, haven’t you,” he snarled.
“It’s a small town,” she answered, lamely.
“Right. Well, for your general fund of information, my dad also had very… different ideas about summer camp…”
It took a moment for the gist of what he had said to sink in. “Oh, sure, a camp story.”
“The camp I go to is a coed combat-training camp in Montana, run by the National Militia Association,” he continued, firmly. “Although sex is not specifically encouraged, sex education, as in, ‘this is how you do it, boys and girls’ is taught. In detail. And there are no restrictions except those relating to consent. Okay?”
“You’re kidding.”
“You wish. Every year I get through the year’s insults, slights and put-downs knowing that the big man on that campus is the best shot, the best at hand-to-hand or the most stealthy. And I generally come out somewhere close to the top. And all the girls are in great shape.”
“You’re not kidding.”
“No.”
“So,” she snapped, returning to the crux of the argument, “do the girls at that camp say that, say ‘gentle like a tit’?”
“Some do,” he said, smiling warmly, obviously cueing on a happy memory, “but most say ‘gentle like a dick.’ ”
CHAPTER 34
Fredericksburg, VA, United States of America, Sol III
0014 EDT October 10th, 2004 ad
Kenallai, Kessentai Oolt’ondai of the Gamalada Oolt’ Po’os’ felt that, after conquering five worlds, after so many years of battles that the lowly fiefs bestowed by the Net upon a Scoutmaster were in the final stages of orna’adar, he had seen it all.
“Aarnadaha lost how many oolt’os?” He snorted in surprise, drifting his tenar absently back and forth in the verge of U.S. 1. The crackle of distant riflery echoed from the north and there was a stink of burning on the light wind. The house across the street was a crater that looked as if a giant had scooped it out.
“He has only a single oolt left,” related Ardan’aath, his closest Kessentai. They had been associates for many years and he trusted the old oolt’ondai’s advice.
Kenallai’s crest rose in defiance of this impossibility. “He landed with a full Oolt’ Po’os, did he not?”
“Yes, oolt’ondai. And they landed on the richest booty in the region, the storehouses of these thresh. As it is we hold only a smattering of living quarters. The thresh gathered so far barely will meet our needs for the next day. Furthermore, many of the living quarters were destroyed, either before our oolt’os entered or as they entered. Many of them blew up in their muzzles. Little of the thresh permitted itself to be in-gathered and much of the thresh and booty that was left behind had been damaged or destroyed.”
“I have to call him.” The senior battlemaster fluffed his crest nastily. “That thrice-damned puppy had it coming, pushing us aside as he did in the landing!”
“Tell it to the Net,” grunted Ardan’aath. “He was removed from the Path as he exited his Oolt’ Po’os. One shot to the crest!”
“What sort of Alld’nt planet is this?” Kenallai wondered aloud.
“I may have an answer to that, my edas’antai,” answered one of the other God Kings in the ad hoc council of war.
He turned to his eson’antai, Kenallurial. Ardan’aath had yet to trust him. He was only recently raised from scoutmaster to the lowest level of battlemaster and filled with strange new concepts. Where a Kessentai might develop a few close and trusted allies, as Kenallai had with Ardan’aath, the Path was a Path of fury. In the heat the only call to depend upon was the call of the Blood. To trust an edas’antai was one thing, but to gather a group of like-minded Kessentai, to form wide allegiances and to advocate “thinking like the enemy” was not the Way of the Path.
Many of the other battlemasters advocated returning him to scoutmaster status for more seasoning. More time in the forefront of battle, when his weak allegiances disintegrated on him in the heat of edan, when his “allies” strove to be the first on the finest territory, thus increasing the yield of their fiefs, would, in the eyes of the older Kessentai, prove to him the error of his ways.
Nonetheless, whether because of the ties of blood, or because he suspected merit at the core of the young battlemaster’s philosophies, Kenallai maintained him at his side.
Other oolt’ondai turned aside as the young battlemaster looked up from his Net interface. “I have found a reference to these thresh.”
“I looked for data on this world,” snorted Ardan’aath. “There was nothing. Only widespread reports of it as a fecund world of low technology, ripe for the plucking. We are lucky to have arrived ahead of the main waves. We shall gorge ourselves on territory and booty!” There were feral growls from the assembled God Kings.
“Not reports of these thresh from this world. They were reported on two other worlds within the last tar. Edas’antai,” he continued, touching a control to send the data to his elder’s screen, “this report is most disturbing.”
The Posleen DataNet was a morass of poorly sorted information. Without a central control, information robots or any correlated indexes, data that was thousands of years old had identical priority with newer, more appropriate data. Navigating its rocks and shoals was a task few of the Kessentai enjoyed and most used it as little as possible. The Net permitted communication within the local area, distributed resources after conquest and occasionally called for reinforcements, but as a source of intelligence most Posleen found it lacking.
“In the last tar, thresh similar in appearance have begun to appear in small numbers. On Aradan 5 the invasion has been effectively repulsed.”
“What?” scoffed Ardan’aath. “The Po’oslena’ar have never been defeated!”
“They are on Aradan 5,” noted Kenallai quietly. “Many have already left. The few that remain are being pushed back day by day.”
“Note the data on the physiology,” Kenallurial continued. “They are definitely not modifications of the green ones for all they have some superficial similarities, nor of the thin ones. This is a new species and the first I have been able to find in the Histories with the Will to Battle.”
The other Kessentai began perusing the data dredged up by the young battlemaster and murmured among themselves.
“But these reports do not mention dwellings of these thresh,” noted the Oolt’pos’ Kessentai. The brigade commander shook his crest in disturbed fury. The data from the other planets was ominous.