"Gorruk may have crossed the deserts," Et Kalass persisted, "but the aliens have the power to cross the infinite universe. We forego a far greater opportunity."
Jook lunged to his feet, mouth open. With great effort, he contained his emotions and slowly reclined. "I have seen your reports," he said calmly. "In fact I share your views, Minister. Finding the secrets of the alien ships must take high priority. However, at the moment I must consider the activities of our generals on a higher plane."
"Yes, Exalted One," Et Kalass replied. "The—"
"I am told it is winter in the area of search operations," Jook said. "A terribly inclement time on a miserably inclement planet. What opportunity exists for us there? What would you have me do? Can it not wait until next year, or even the year after?"
"My science team remains on Genellan, Your Excellency," pleaded the noblekone. "Gorruk's shuttle removed the military personnel but left Et Avian. Our little war broke out, and there has not been a shuttle since."
"We are at war, Minister. All boosters must be conserved for purposes that advance the good of our cause. I am told those on Genellan are in no danger. We will resupply them when it is necessary." Jook stared down from his elevation. "You are dismissed."
Et Kalass, realizing logic would not penetrate the ruler's adamantine priorities, pivoted on his hinds and walked out. Et Kalass had not been surprised by the commencement of war, however he had not anticipated Et Avian being stranded, nor had he expected Gorruk' s horrific success. Events were out of control. How to mitigate their impact? Global conquest by northern generals would be a monstrous setback to his plans—to the restoration of the nobility. Perhaps the survival of the nobility was cause to relegate the aliens and their power of interstellar travel to a lower priority. He would have to adjust to the vagaries of political reality. Jook was correct—when at war, war was everything.
SECTION THREE—
ESTABLISHING RELATIONS
Chapter 25
Communication
The wind stiffened at dusk, blowing snow sideways. Cliff dwellers packed the cold whiteness around the salt bags, building low-walled enclosures over which they draped animal hides. The creatures, chewing their meager dinners, scurried into the shelters, piling atop more hides and atop each other. Four heavily bundled dwellers remained outside, positioned around the humans.
"Sentries," Buccari said, squinting in the fading light.
"Or guards," MacArthur rebutted. "A matter of semantics."
Buccari stared at the Marine. "Semantics, eh? I didn't know you were a philosopher, Corporal," she said into her ice-crusted scarf.
"Philosopher? No. Well, maybe, but only when it gets warmer," MacArthur replied, burying a tent stake sideways in the snow. "You know," he remarked without guile, "our little friends are smart. They sleep together and stay warm. Being warm is more important than philosophy."
Buccari tented alone.
"Perhaps," she answered, hiding her face behind her scarf.
MacArthur straightened abruptly, staring past her. She turned to see two cliff dwellers approaching through the falling snow. She remembered the mannerisms displayed during previous contact. MacArthur followed her lead.
* * *
Braan bowed in return, pleased by the display of manners. The long-legs stood erect and looked at each other. Braan took the initiative and whistled the special low notes. The hairy-faced one responded in kind, although the short one was obviously the leader. This one uttered grunts and pulled back the flap covering the shelter. It pointed—obscenely extending the first finger—rudely signaling the hunters inside. The hairy-faced one kicked snow from its foot coverings and entered. Not knowing how else to signal, Braan rudely pointed at Short-one-who-leads and indicated that it should go next. Short-one-who-leads moved in next to the taller one.
Braan directed Craag to enter the enclosure. The courageous hunter shook snow from his cloak and slowly moved inside, joining the long-legs. Braan followed, pausing to feel the peculiar fabric of the tent. He left the flap open, the last hint of daylight illuminating their council. Panic welled in Braan' s belly. Sitting close to a potential enemy was against all instinct. The odor of the long-legs, sour and dank, pervaded the tent's interior, and Braan suddenly missed the sweet breezes of the snowstorm.
* * *
"Definitely the same bugs that took Tonto back," MacArthur said. "Look at the scars on their captain's nose?"
"Captain!" Buccari said, pointing at the lead hunter, anointing him. The creature recoiled from her pointed finger. She looked at her hand and slowly dropped it. The cliff dweller noticeably relaxed.