She was still concentrating on her next posture, no doubt. Aille felt himself straining to perceive it, his own ears at intrigued-inquiry. What did she mean to do here?
"Vaish," she said, using the greeting's proper form, signifying 'I see you,' rather than vaist, 'You see me,' a subtle distinction most humans did not grasp. "I am told my testimony might be of use here."
"Your designation?" the Harrier asked, seeking her function, rather than her name.
"I am a member of the Subcommandant's personal service," she said, correctly divining his intent.
A ripple ran through the onlookers. Testimony had already been presented as to how he had taken natives into his service. But Aille knew that most of them were astonished at the ease and grace of her postures.
"What would you say?"
"What I wish, if that is permitted."
The Preceptor's response came instantly, easily. "That is a given, when one steps into the Naukra circle. How could it be otherwise?"
She nodded; then, as if realizing the momentary error, shifted into accepted-understanding. The flow of the movement was so smooth, so sure, that the two gestures—one human, one Jao—seemed to form a new whole. Aille was certain that he was not the only Jao present who suddenly glimpsed a new language emerging.
"Humans, of course, cannot perceive all the considerations, but it seems appropriate that we be allowed to present our viewpoint. The conflict developed on our world, and it is our world which will bear the consequences, should an ineffective solution be adopted."
Aille watched her move, the slow sweep of her arms toward earnest-conviction, the tilt of her head adding desire-to-be-of-service. A tripartite stance? His whiskers stiffened. Would one so young and inexperienced really be so ambitious?
The Preceptor stared too, along with the rest of the crowd, some of whom forgot themselves so far as to climb up on the rocks and watch. Her forehead furrowed as she concentrated, wisely going slowly, edging toward completion. To compensate for the extra finger, she held two-as-one on each hand, as Aille had once suggested back in the Governor's palace during that fateful reception. Her immobile ears contributed nothing to the stance, of course, and her lack of whiskers was jarring, but the rest of her—
Aille sucked in his breath in admiration. She was magnificent. He had been right to employ her in his service—and Oppuk's bigotry was now obvious to all.
"There are two solutions contemplated here," she said, trembling with the effort of holding the unusually complicated posture. "Though they are not equal to the Jao, neither will much vary the Terran condition."
The Preceptor watched, his gaze black and steady, not giving away the least of what he thought of this amazing display.
"There must be another path," she said, "a third alternative, which would not only satisfy human honor but best enable humans to be of use in the war against the Ekhat." Her stance altered seamlessly to profound-respect. "I wish to suggest that third way."
Chapter 43
"No!"
Oppuk found himself lunging at the brazen creature before he had even known he was in motion. Of all the insults heaped upon him, this was the one impossible to bear.
"This is an animal, a savage!"
Oppuk struck her down with a single slapping blow. Unfortunately, she jerked her head back at the last instant, so only his fingers made contact with her cheek. Had he struck her full-handed, as powerful as he was, he would have broken her neck.
As he'd intended. No matter. Fury was still surging through him. He would make good the lack.
The Stockwell female stumbled back and fell, then stared up at him; dazed, but her hands still forming the curves of profound-respect. In that moment, she represented all of Terra to him, a world of barbarians who would not yield to his rightful authority, yet fawned upon the first Pluthrak who flattered them. He threw himself on her.
She tried to fend him off, though it was impossible to do so, as pathetically weak as she was. Oppuk gripped both her fragile wrists in one hand and raised the other for a killing blow. He should have put her down the first time he saw her parody that guard's postures! He—
* * *
Iron fingers jerked him off the struggling female and cast him aside as though his weight meant nothing. His head rocked with a blow, then another and another—and then sheer agony paralyzed him. The same iron fingers had dislocated his ankle; then, the other; and then, so quickly it all seemed as one moment of torture, both of his wrists.
Stunned and crippled, Oppuk sprawled on the sand. Still, he struggled to rise—until iron fingers seized his shoulders and iron landed on his back, low down where it was most vulnerable even on a Jao, and ruptured his spine.