Perhaps, he thought. But Mathicluanna had had her try. Uthacalthing believed in his own prescription for their odd daughter.
A small, uniformed neo-chimpanzee female — a chimmie — stepped in front of Uthacalthing and bowed, her hands folded respectfully in front of her.
“Yes, miss?” Uthacalthing spoke first, as protocol demanded. Although he was a patron speaking to a client, he generously included the polite, archaic honorific.
“Y-your excellency.” The chimmie’s scratchy voice trembled slightly. Probably, this was the first time she had ever spoken to a non-Terran. “Your excellency, Planetary Coordinator Oneagle has sent word that the preparations have been completed. The fires are about to be set.
“She asks if you would like to witness your… er, program, unleashed.”
As Uthacalthing’s eyes separated wider in amusement, the wrinkled fur between his brows flattening momentarily. His “program” hardly deserved the name. It might better be called a devious practical joke on the invaders. A long shot, at best.
Not even Megan Oneagle knew what he was really up to. That necessity was a pity, of course. For even if it failed — as was likely — it would still be worthy of a chuckle or two. A laugh might help his friend through the dark times ahead of her.
“Thank you, corporal,” he nodded. “Please lead the way.”
As he followed the little client, Uthacalthing felt a faint sense of regret at leaving so much undone. A good joke required much preparation, and there was just not enough time.
If only I had a decent sense of humor!
Ah, well. Where subtlety fads us we must simply make do with cream pies.
Two hours later he was on his way back to town from Government House. The meeting had been brief, with battle fleets approaching orbit and landings expected soon. Megan Oneagle had already moved most of the government and her few remaining forces to safer ground.
Uthacalthing figured they actually had a little more time. There would be no landing until the invaders had broadcast their manifesto. The rules of the Institute for Civilized Warfare required it.
Of course, with the Five Galaxies in turmoil, many starfaring clans were playing fast and loose with tradition right now. But in this case observing the proprieties would cost the enemy nothing. They had already won. Now it was only a matter of occupying the territory.
Besides, the battle in space had showed one thing. It was clear now the enemy were Gubru.
The humans and chims of this planet were not in for a pleasant time. The Gubru Clan had been among the worst of Earth’s tormentors since Contact. Nonetheless, the avian Ga-lactics were sticklers for rules. By their own interpretation of them, at least.
Megan had been disappointed when he turned down her offer of transportation to sanctuary. But Uthacalthing had his own ship. Anyway, he still had business to take care of here in town. He bid farewell to the Coordinator with a promise to see her soon.
“Soon” was such a wonderfully ambiguous word. One of many reasons he treasured Anglic was the wolfling tongue’s marvelous untidiness!
By moonlight Port Helenia felt even smaller and more forlorn than the tiny, threatened village it was by day. Winter might be mostly over, but a stiff breeze still blew from the east, sending leaves tumbling across the nearly empty streets as his driver took him back toward his chancery compound. The wind carried a moist odor, and Uthacalthing imagined he could smell the mountains where his daughter and Megan’s son had gone for refuge.
It was a decision that had not won the parents much thanks.
His car had to pass by the Branch Library again on its way to the Tymbrimi Embassy. The driver had to slow to go around another vehicle. Because of this Uthacalthing was treated to a rare sight — a high-caste Thennanin in full fury under the streetlights.
“Please stop here,” he said suddenly.
In front of the stone Library building a large floatercraft hummed quietly. Light poured out of its raised cupola, creating a dark bouquet of shadows on the broad steps. Five clearly were cast by neo-chimpanzees, their long arms exag- , gerated in the stretched silhouettes. Two even longer penum-bral shadows swept away from slender figures standing close to the floater. A pair of stoic, disciplined Ynnin — looking like tall, armored kangaroos — stood unmoving as if molded out of stone.
Their employer and patron, owner of the largest silhouette, towered above the little Terrans. Blocky and powerful, the creature’s wedgelike shoulders seemed to merge right into its bullet-shaped head. The latter was topped by a high, rippling crest, like that of a helmeted Greek warrior.
As Uthacalthing stepped out of his own car he heard a loud voice rich in guttural sibilants.
“Natha’kl ghoom’ph? Veraich’sch hooman’vlech! Nittaro K’Anglee!”
The chimpanzees shook their heads, confused and clearly intimidated. Obviously none of them spoke Galactic Six. Still, when the huge Thennanin started forward the little Earthlings moved to interpose themselves, bowing low, but adamant in their refusal to let him pass.
This only served to make the speaker angrier. “Idatess! Nittaril kollunta …”
The large Galactic stopped abruptly on seeing Uthacalthing. His leathery, beaklike mouth remained closed as he switched to Galactic Seven, speaking through his breathing slits.
“Ah! Uthacalthing, ab-Caltmour ab-Brma abKrallnith ul-Tytlal! I see you!”
Uthacalthing would have recognized Kault in a city choked with Thennanin. The big, pompous, high-caste male knew that protocol did not require use of full species names in casual encounters. But now Uthacalthing had no choice. He had to reply in kind.
“Kault, ab-Wortl ab-Kosh ab-Rosh ab-Tothtoon ul-Paimin ul-Rammin ul-Ynnin ul-Olumimin, I see you as well.”
Each “ab” in the lengthy patronymic told of one of the patron races from which the Thennanin clan was descended, back to the eldest still living. “Ul” preceded the name of each client species the Thennanin had themselves uplifted to starfaring sentience. Kault’s people had been very busy, the last megayear or so. They bragged incessantly of their long species name.
The Thennanin were idiots.
“Uthacalthing! You are adept in that garbage tongue the Earthlings use. Please explain to these ignorant, half-uplifted creatures that I wish to pass! I have need to use the Branch Library, and if they do not stand aside I shall be forced to have their masters chastise them!”
Uthacalthing shrugged the standard gesture of regretful inability to comply. “They are only doing their jobs, Envoy Kault. When the Library is fully occupied with matters of planetary defense, it is briefly allowable to restrict access solely to the lease owners.”
Kault stared unblinkingly at Uthacalthing. His breathing slits puffed. “Babes,” he muttered softly in an obscure dialect of Galactic Twelve — unaware perhaps that Uthacalthing understood. “Infants, ruled by unruly children, tutored by juvenile delinquents!”
Uthacalthing’s eyes separated and his tendrils pulsed with irony. They crafiedfsu’usturatu, which sympathizes, while laughing.
Damn good thing Thennanin have a rock’s sensitivity to empathy. Uthacalthing thought in Anglic as he hurriedly erased the glyph. Of the Galactic clans involved in the current spate of fanaticism, the Thennanin were less repulsive than most. Some of them actually believed they were acting in the best interests of those they conquered.
It was apparent whom Kault meant when he spoke of “delinquents” leading the clan of Earth astray. Uthacalthing was far from offended.
“These infants fly starships, Kault,” he answered in the same dialect, to the Thennanin’s obvious surprise. “The neo-chimpanzees may be the finest clients to appear in half a megayear… with the possible exception of their cousins, the neo-dolphins. Shall we not respect their earnest desire to do their duty?”