Phylogenesis - Alan Dean Foster [100]
So while Lord Huudra Ap and Baron Keekil YN wore the ceremonial robes of high office, each noble’s elegant attire and gem-studded investitures powered individual defensive screens and a full suite of communications gear to keep them in constant touch with both immediate underlings and detached constituencies. Standing with bowed heads and lowered tails as the Emperor retired from the chamber to deal with the mountainous and decidedly unglamorous paperwork of office, they exchanged a glance that signified a mutual need to talk.
Other groups broke away from the assembly to chat informally or to discuss matters of serious import. For Huudra and Keekil it was a matter of both.
Heads bobbed in greeting, and finely manicured claws were courteously sheathed. In addition to their repertoire of other skills, both nobles were masters of manners. Together with several other nobles, they formed one of the dozen or so organized cliques that dominated the politics of the assembly. The matter that Keekil wished to discuss with Huudra, however, had nothing to do with imminent business of state. It was more a matter for mutual speculation that both had made a specialty of theirs. Aware that everyone from the opposition parties to the emperor himself relied on them for the most current information on the matter, they had made it their business to keep in constant communication with those far-flung representatives of the Empire who were in a position to be knowledgeable.
It was in this spirit of curiosity and need that Huudra greeted his friend and ally, whom he would not hesitate to undermine to advance his own status and position. Keekil hissed a warm greeting, quite aware of what his associate was thinking. He was thinking the same thing. There was no animosity involved. It was the natural order of things. Such constant competition strengthened the assembly, and by inference, the Empire.
“It is all sso very peculiar.” Keekil favored blue in his robes, in all its most sallow permutations. Even the communicator that hovered patiently several centimeters to the left of his mouth was plated in gleaming pale blue metal. “Thiss business of the thranx attempting to make alliess of the mammalss.”
Huudra excused himself long enough to answer a priority call and suggest several alternatives to a disagreeable situation to the technocrat on the other end. “Apologiess, honored Keekil. Then you think the inssectiles are sserious about it?”
The baron gestured assent, adding a supportive hiss. “Yess, I do. The quesstion iss, are these humanss?”
Overhead, hoverators hummed back and forth, scanning for intruders, petitioners, and possible assassins. The temperature in the room was high, the humidity a tolerable 6 percent. Both nobles’ personal communicator suites hummed for attention. For the moment, they were ignored.
“My own ressearchess indicate an inherent reluctance on the part of the human population, both on their homeworld and their coloniess. More than that, they sseem to have a vissceral fear of the thranx sshape.” He hissed his amusement. “Can you imagine it? Deciding intersstellar politicss on the basiss of sshape? They are an immature sspeciess!”
“There iss nothing immature about their technology,” Keekil reminded his aristocratic colleague. “Their weaponry iss the equal of the besst of the Empire’s—or of the thranx. Their communicationss are ssuperb. Their sshipss…” The baron gesticulated admiration mixed with paranoia, a difficult gesture for any but the most accomplished orator to execute eloquently. “Their sshipss are elegant.”
Huudra drew back his upper lip to reveal even, sharp teeth set in a long jaw. “I have sseen ssome of the preliminary reportss. There iss ssome dissagreement as to whether they are better than ourss.