Miller picked up the M-4 and dropped the magazine, then jacked a round out of the chamber and handed the weapon to the cat who, after a moment’s hesitation touched a stud on his own rifle and removed a small, silver oblong and passed the rifle to the chief.
“There’s no sights on this thing that I can see,” the chief said as the cat hefted the M-4 and then looked at the sights. He said something to his companion who responded with a series of hacks. It might have been disgust, it might have been laughter. The cat lifted the M-4, figured out how to shorten the stock, which made it just about perfect for him, and looked through the sights, keeping his finger away from the trigger. The pistol grip was too large for him but so was the one on the ray gun.
“I bet one of those guys could handle the kick on an M-4,” Weaver noted as the cat lowered the weapon and then examined the cartridges. He pointed out the bullets to his companion again who made a sinuous head motion and spat a couple of times. There was a discussion that sounded like two cats stuck in a barrel going on when the door opened and Nyarowlll, followed by a cat that just looked older, came through.
“The emperor will see you now,” Nyarowlll said, gesturing through the door.
“Don’t fiddle with that while I’m gone,” Miller said, handing back the ray gun and then accepting his M-4 in return.
There was a short corridor outside the room and another door with two of the “heavy” cats guarding it. These bore not just the ray guns but short swords that looked oddly ceremonial. The older cat opened the door and they ducked through, it was very low for them although the corridor had been about normal height, into a small office. A cat that looked about Nyarowlll’s age was sitting in front of a low desk that was just about covered in paper. On one side of the desk an odd, capped tube jutted up through the floor. Behind him was a large window that was open a crack at the bottom despite the chill. From it came the sounds of a street, if metal wheels on rock and a strange oinking could be called street sounds.
Five more cats were in the room, two heavies, one by the door and one by the window on the far wall and three that were all older than the cat behind the desk. One of them was wearing a combat harness that was missing ammunition pouches but did have some silver embroidery that might have been rank markings. He was an old tom, scarred in quite a few places, one ear nearly torn off, eyepatch over his left eye and missing his right arm from just below the elbow. That had been replaced with a steel metal skeleton that terminated in a hook. Despite all the damage he looked as if he could chew nails and spit them out as Rottweiler killers. Miller took one look at him and saluted.
“General,” the SEAL said, holding the salute.
The cat looked at him for a moment, then crossed his arms in front of him, hissing something. Miller dropped the salute and turned back to the cat behind the desk.
“Dr. Weaver, Command Master Chief Miller, may I present His Majesty Mroool, Emperor of All the Mreee,” Nyarowlll said.
“Your Majesty,” Weaver replied, putting his hand over his heart and bowing slightly. The protocol was probably all fucked up. He probably just said that the U.S. was part of His Majesty’s domain or something. But it seemed like the thing to do at the time.
“It here is good you visit,” the emperor meowed. “Not many words yours. Nyarowlll tell who here.”
“Also present,” she said, gesturing at the three older cats standing by the wall, “are Secretary Owrrrllll who is something like our Minister of the Interior, General Thrathptttt, commander of our military, and Academic Sreeee, who is the senior minister for intragate affairs, something like your Secretary of State.” Owrrrllll was a tabby as was Sreeee. About half the guards they had seen were female as well.
“Honored, gentlemen,” Weaver said, doing a slight bow again. “Ladies.”
“Our interest is to open up trade between our two peoples,” Nyarowlll said as there was a yowl from the tube by the desk. The emperor uncapped it and spit a phrase into it, slamming it shut. “We have things we can trade with you. Our weapons are far superior to yours and we have the teleportation devices which you do not. I’m not sure what you have to trade with us.” She made another of those head tossing gestures as if in dismissal.
“Well,” Weaver said, dryly, recognizing a bluff when he saw one, “the first thing that comes to mind is a telephone system.”
CHAPTER SIX
Miller and Weaver stood outside the palace watching the street scene. It was cold and misty and Weaver was shivering in the thin desert BDUs that he’d been given at the hospital. Miller didn’t seem to notice.
The street was crowded with traffic, most of it carts pulled by long, low, beasts that looked something like six-legged, furry hippopotami. Pedestrians wore coats something like trench coats against the mist and many wore hats somewhat like fedoras. And it smelled, strongly, of chemicals, ammonia and others, that seemed to be coming from the manure of the draft-beasts. Weaver noticed for the first time that none of locals, the Mreee, except the guards, seemed to wear shoes. And few of them gave the two humans more than a glance. They didn’t seem guarded, however. Just uncurious.
“We need to figure out where the high tech is coming from,” Miller announced.
“Agreed,” Weaver replied, shaking his head. “This looks to be about 1800s tech. Which doesn’t square with them being able to open a gate. I don’t even see signs of electricity.”
“Something else,” Miller noted. “That tom didn’t get scarred like that from intracountry wars. Their ‘empire’ might be like the British empire but they all act as if there aren’t other countries. So where’d he get so scarred up? Internal rebellion?”
“Maybe you attain rank by battle.” Weaver shrugged. “I gotta get out of this weather, Chief.”
“Yep,” Miller said. He’d reclaimed his weapons after the meeting with the emperor and now he settled his M-4 on his shoulder. “Let’s see how honest we can get Nyarowlll to be.”
They found a guide who led them to a small room in the bowels of the palace. The building, really series of buildings, was large. The center of it was a massive castle on a hill but buildings had been attached that spread down the hill on every side. The emperor, strangely, had his main office right on the edge, by one of the side streets.
Nyarowlll’s office, or the one she was occupying anyway, was closer to the castle, up the hill and partially dug into it; the back wall was gray stone of the hill’s bedrock. The room was warmed by a small coal brazier that was attached to a tubular chimney.
“Nyarowlll,” Weaver said, taking a seat on the floor instead of one of the spindly benches. “It’s pretty obvious that our society has a much higher tech level than yours. And that you don’t make those jaunt devices or the guns. Where do they come from?” There was probably some diplomatic way he was supposed to say that but he wasn’t a diplomat.
“This is true,” Nyarowlll admitted. “We get them from the N!T!Ch! who get them in turn from the @5!Y!.”
“How do you say that?” Weaver asked. “Never mind.”
“We have to pay very much for the weapons and the teleportation devices. Our mines are being bled dry of gems and currency metals. But we must have them to fight the T!Ch!R!.” She stopped as if she hadn’t meant to say that much.
“Oh, crap,” Miller muttered.
The military had set up a secure communications room at the UCF gate so they were no longer broadcasting their secrets to the world. At the moment, Weaver was of two minds about that.