Honor - Kevin Killiany [2]
Corsi willed her body to remain limp as the creatures unwrapped her from the blanket. They were as gentle as they could be; at least they seemed to be taking care, chittering softly to one another as though mindful of disturbing her. But it was hard not to tense against the pain that shot through her at every turn and pull. She thought she heard the rustle of the doorway hanging beneath the sounds of their voices and thought perhaps one had exited into the outer room or hall or whatever lay beyond her small chamber.
As they lifted her legs Corsi caught the sharp scent of urine and realized they were changing her diaper. She couldn’t stop the hot flush she felt spreading up from her throat.
A sharp chirp stopped the gentle flow of clicking conversation. A pad, feeling like warm suede, pressed against the side of her face. They’d noticed her change in hue.
Corsi felt the sharp prickle of coarse fur as one of the creatures laid its broad head against her chest, evidently listening for her heartbeat. No way to hide her racing heart.
There was a startled whuff of warm breath against her chin.
This wasn’t the best tactical situation for making a move, but Corsi realized she wasn’t going to get to choose her moment. She followed the broad head up as it pulled away from her chest.
She hadn’t been able to tell much about their physiology from her cursory observation, but she did know they breathed air through noses in front of their heads. Assuming their lungs weren’t in their skulls, that meant their windpipes passed through their throats. That was the only point of attack she could be sure of.
But a blow to the throat could be fatal. She wasn’t about to kill anyone unless she was sure it was the only way out. So she rolled toward the being, gasping through the pain as she came up on one knee. Grabbing a furred shoulder at the base of the neck, she threw her offside leg over its back.
The chiptaur gave a startled clack and tried to shy away, but before it had taken a step, Corsi was astride. Guessing similar plumbing and ventilation, she leaned her shoulder into the back of its skull, preventing it from throwing its head back, and snaked her left arm around the being’s throat in a classic “sleeper” hold, gripping her left fist in her right hand for leverage.
Of course, given the alien’s short stature, this meant Corsi was bent almost double. Which was just as well. Now that she was on her feet, or at least crouching, she could see the wooden room—the wooden walls curving seamlessly into the wooden floor—was barely tall enough for her to have stood erect. She’d have to crawl to get through the door.
There was only one other chiptaur in the room; she’d been right about one leaving. It froze by the bucket beneath the shelf, regarding her with its lemur eyes.
With her eyes wide open, Corsi could see the beings had four arms. Two small ones, about the size of a ten-year-old human’s, were mounted on narrow shoulders just below the neck. A second pair about twice as large jutted from broader shoulders a half-dozen centimeters below. The arrangement made the chiptaur’s upper torso vaguely reminiscent of a ziggurat.
Because all four hands were extended toward her, spread wide in an evident warding gesture, Corsi could see the upper hands had four radiating fingers. The lower hands had a central pad with two opposable thumbs like a pair of surreal mittens.
From what she could see of the horizontal lower torso, the chiptaur’s four legs were arranged like a cat’s.
Her captive had frozen the moment her arm had slipped around its neck. Now it seemed to settle, forcing her to one knee to maintain her grip as it apparently made itself comfortable on the floor.
The second chiptaur, evidently over its shock at her sudden attack, followed suit. Tucking its legs under its body, it braced its upper torso on the elbows of its heavier arms. Without a sound, it regarded her solemnly,