Dirge - Alan Dean Foster [128]
“Welcome aboard.” Stepping forward, the admiral introduced himself and the field marshal before extending a hand palm down, fingers slightly spread and inclined upward. The elderly alien’s antennae dipped forward to brush his fingertips.
“I am the Di-Eint Haajujurprox. From the Great Hive I bring you greetings and the taste of friendship.”
“We are pleased to receive you.” A delighted Yirghiz waved off the translator who was standing by, a young woman who was plainly relieved that her skills apparently would not be necessary. The bug’s Terranglo was mellifluous and only slightly inflected. The insectoids had a much easier time with the simpler human tongue than humans did with the complex combination of words, clicks, whistles, and gestures that constituted High Thranx.
Alongside him, he observed MacCunn striving to appear inconspicuous as he inhaled repeatedly of the air in the lock. In the vicinity of the three thranx it had become suffused with the aromatic essence of a complex perfume. In respect of scent, age had not dimmed the emissary’s personal bouquet.
“Won’t you please walk with us?” Turning, Yirghiz led the way.
As they strolled toward the lift that would take them to a comfortable and private room he noted that unlike the images of thranx he had seen, the emissary never rose up on her four trulegs. She required the use of all six to ambulate adequately. Though wondering how old, in human terms, the visitor might be, he was too polite to ask. Among the thranx such a question might be regarded as normal and natural, or it might be considered intrusive. He did not know. Regardless, it had nothing to do with conventional diplomacy. But he was still curious.
They made small talk until they arrived at the senior officer’s lounge. This was cleared, and the diplomatic party made itself comfortable. While the di-eint settled herself onto a makeshift couch of cushions placed end to end on the floor, her escorts remained standing. So did the four armed soldiers who had escorted MacCunn and Yirghiz. While their superiors conversed, the common soldiers eyed one another with unfettered interest.
“This is no place for a casual call,” MacCunn began without further preamble. “Your government is aware of the quarantine that we have placed around the inhabited worlds of this system, and the conflict that is ongoing here.” He started to cough and reached for a glass of water. When he had recovered sufficiently, he continued.
“We know that your ships are not simply ‘passing through.’ No one travels through space-plus without a definite destination in mind. So I think—we think—that it’s safe to assume you came here to speak with us.” He gestured absently, wishing he had Yirghiz’s command of alien gesticulation. “We have to ask, Why here, when all previous diplomatic contact has taken place between your representatives and ours on Earth or Hivehom?”
“It was decided,” the elderly di-eint replied evenly, “that since the matter to be discussed most directly involved the unfortunate situation here, it would be best to communicate directly with those of your kind who are most intimately involved.” Her antennae dipped sharply forward. Somewhat startled, MacCunn drew back slightly. Yirghiz did not move.
“You know that we are outraged at what the Pitar did to your colony of Treetrunk. As sentient beings, their actions there horrified every hive. Ever since, there has been much discussion among my kind as to whether it would be appropriate for us to make our displeasure known in a more proactive fashion.” Her finely shaped head continually shifted from one human to the other, even though the exceptional peripheral vision provided by her compound eyes meant that she could survey nearly the entire room without moving it at all. The cranial posturing was to assure the two senior humans that she was indeed focusing