Chapter Forty-Five
ODYSSEUS
“You’re sure you’re okay?” Opal was on the way out of the reception hall.
Caine looked up. “Why?”
“Because you look like shit, darling.”
“Tough day at the office.”
“Sounded like it, from where I was sitting. And I’ll be happy to be back at my boring post for most of this evening.” She looked around at the platters that had already emerged from the serving alcove: buffalo carpaccio and kibbe nayyeh sans bulgur—Elena’s best guess at what the Hkh’Rkh would consider delicacies. Opal wrinkled her nose at the raw meats.
“Finger food,” Caine explained.
“Road kill,” she countered. “Look, take it easy: you’ve been working too hard, running on fumes.”
“I’m fine—fine.” No one was looking; he ran his palm into and around the taut arch that was the small of her back.
Her eyes sprang wide, as if he had pinched her. “Caine—not here!” she remonstrated. But her smile—and her quick half-step closer to him—said otherwise.
“You’re such an old-fashioned girl.”
Her smile faded, replaced by a look that was more intent. “Yeah, sure. Demure. Passive—” her next half step brought the tip of her right breast into faint, split-second contact with his left upper arm “—Uninventive.”
He smiled and looked away. “We’ll see about that—later. Now, get out of here.”
“I hear and obey, mighty one—at least until you try to last a minute with me on the mats.”
What came to mind was not karate. “Or on some other flat surface.”
Her smile returned. “Flat surface? No imagination.” She headed for the exit, turned, flashed a grin that was also a leer and a promise, and then went around the corner.
Visser, Thandla, and Downing entered from the same spot, escorting close to a dozen Dornaani, several of whom were carrying what looked like immense wooden bowls. The Dornaani immediately dispersed into the room: the humans headed straight for Caine.
“What’s with the bowls?”
“Think of them as fruit baskets, sent with the regrets of the Slaasriithi.” Downing surveyed the selection of highly spiced fish dishes that the Dornaani had requested.
“So you heard from them?”
Thandla nodded. “They would not explicate why they declined to attend. But they were very polite, very profuse regrets. Very like my great-aunts.”
“And what’s in the bowls?”
Downing stood aside as Hwang—chief chef along with Elena—swept past with four new trays of food. “I was serious, Caine: the bowls are filled with fruit. From their homeworld.”
“And have we—?”
Thandla nodded. “One sample of each removed. Scanned for soil residues, but it looks like they’ve been sanitized.”
“Better than nothing,” agreed Downing.
“And then there’s what our guests unintentionally leave behind—hair, dried skin, saliva, wastes.” Caine shrugged. “I don’t see how they can object to us collecting it for analysis. But I think our real priority has to be learning more about the intentions of these races—and we may not have a lot of time left in which to do that.”
“I think this is twice I hear you suggest that there may be little time to ask questions.” Durniak had approached from the other direction, rubbing at a stain on her blouse. “Why do you say this?”
“Because I think this meeting could come apart. Which means we could have a fuse burning in terms of how much time we have to get information. Which reminds me: any word from the Arat Kur?”
Downing shook his head. “Not a whisper. But look who’s coming to dinner.”
Several of the Ktor suspension tanks were rolling ponderously through the entryway. Visser unfolded her arms. “Mr. Downing, Mr. Riordan, let’s welcome our guests.”
Caine stared at the tanks. “I promised I’d help arrange the trays as Hwang and Elena bring them out. I’m sure the Ktor won’t miss me.”
Visser’s head leaned sideways. “Or is it you who will not miss them?”
Caine shrugged. “We’ll see.”
Visser nodded, headed toward the doorway with Downing. Caine straightened out the trays; Durniak trailed behind: her duty—drinks—had been swiftly concluded. Beyond water, there wasn’t much that any of the species had cleared for consumption. “How much of our food can they eat?”
“The Ktor passed on everything: not surprising, given they’re in a fully sealed environment. The Dornaani seemed interested in lightly cooked and highly spicy seafood—particularly chowders or pastes, but they didn’t seem to have any concern about digestibility. The Hkh’Rkh were pretty easy to plan for: Elena consulted the encyclopedic self-reference they exchanged for ours—she’s now our resident expert on them—and confirmed that they process complex proteins almost exactly the same way we do.”