Dirge - Alan Dean Foster [113]
Now he was waiting to receive Suin-Bimt, the ranking Pitar on Earth. He was not nervous, and in fact was looking forward to it. He would control himself, he knew. His life had been spent in controlling himself. It was one of the reasons he had been chosen to conduct the interview.
The conference chamber was very large for two. An enormous curved window, seemingly poured in one piece and unsupported by braces throughout its length, overlooked the Bodensee. Ancient castles were visible along the lakeshore, and snow crowned the majestic rampart of the northern Alps. Gleaming golden, a meeting table capable of seating thirty in comfort shone behind him. He and Suin would not need it. They would use two comfortable chairs and a small round table instead.
The Pitar entered from the far corridor, the doors sliding silently apart to admit him. Locating Herringale as his host rose, Suin altered course toward him. When he extended a hand in the customary human fashion, the much smaller human took it politely, then gestured that they both should sit.
Outside, pleasure boats cruised the calm waters of the immense alpine lake. The sun shone brightly, filtered by the glass. On the small table between them stood two tall glasses and a citrine pitcher filled with ice water. Suin took in the view and smiled.
“This is very pleasant. I was told my presence was required here, so I came. Not for long, I hope. I have a full schedule today.”
“It shouldn’t take much of your time.” Fingering the arm of his chair, Herringale activated the player. A large rectangular heads-up display darkened in the center of the window, blocking out a portion of the villatic view of the lake and mountains. “I’ve been asked to watch a recording with you and seek your comments. It’s been cleaned up a little, but I’m told it’s more or less identical to the original. There’s water, and glasses. If you need anything else, ask me.”
“What kind of recording?” The Dominion’s ambassador settled back in the easy chair. “One of your frenetic entertainment features? Or is it music? I quite like your music.”
“There’s no music,” Herringale told him quietly, “and it’s not entertainment.”
The display flickered briefly. An added title appeared, giving time, date, and length as well as other relevant vitals. Herringale was watching the Pitar, not the display. He had already seen the recording. More than once.
Everything that appeared was from the point of view of a moving recorder. The images drifted dreamily in the air in front of the window, rendered in soft tridee or what the ancients would have called bas-relief. Adjusting the display controls would have brought them forward in full three dimensions, but Herringale and his superiors saw no need for that. There was enough to comprehend in the reduced format.
Suin watched for a while without commenting. Insofar as Herringale could tell, the Pitar’s expression did not change. Twice, he turned slightly to pour himself a glass of water. Only when the recording reached its end did the alien turn to regard his host. During the replay the ambassador had shown no emotion, had offered no comment.
“Very imaginative. And very insulting. I am forced to inquire as to the rationale behind such an expensive travesty. Your entertainment people are very clever, but this is not in any wise amusing.”
“We are in agreement on that,” Herringale informed him stiffly. “It is not amusing. Nor was what you have just seen the product of our ‘entertainment’ people. It is a tridee media recording, broadcast on Treetrunk at the time of its invasion and recorded by an alert citizen who had access to more professional equipment than the average