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Sep. 23rd, 2007 12:34 amThe lift let them out where Tully and Hilfy should have gotten to, in the upper security levels, where guards looked nervous at the appearance of a clutch of blood stained hani armed with rifles, and one of them a male.
But doors opened for them unquestioned, doors upon doors of Kshshti's utilitarian architecture, gray steel, heavy security, armed guards at intervals.
Stars and dark: Pyanfar lost the sight in front of her for that, remembrance of the kif hunter-ship in dock at Meetpoint, sleek, deadly, fast; of a ship outbound to Kshshti nadir and the jump range at a greater and greater fraction of C. She went where the guard motioned, went where doors parted.
The last let them into a dim chamber with a plasteen division, with violet light beyond. On the white-lit side, a desk and two mahendo'sat. On the violet one, a huge serpent-form, which moved and shifted relentlessly before teh waist-up glass.
Tc'a. The sight of the methane-breather shocked her to an involuntary stop. The barrier looked frail, the presence hani were accustomed to see only on vid and dimly, showed detail that made it seem all too iminent; wrinkled, soft-leather skin with phosphor-glow in the gold, eyespots large as a fist, five of them clustered round a complex trifold mouth/sensor. The tongue darted, constantly. The body shifted to this side and that, which tc'a always did.
"Esteemed captain." The voice spoke, uncharacteristically subdued. "I present the psersonage toshena-eseteno, stationmaster this side kshshti; the personage Tt'om'm'mu, stationmaster methane side."
"Honorables," Pyanfar murmured. The tc'a alone deserved the plural, several times over; and gods help psychologists.
The leathery serpent-shape loomed closer, twisted to peer through the glass with its five orange eyespots. A wailing came through, five-voiced, from a brain of multiple parts, as a monitor below the glass displayed the glowing matrix:
tc'a tc'a hani hani mahe kif kif
chi chi stay stay stay go go
unity unity anger anger anger go go
stay stay stay stay stay go message.
"Thank the tc'a Personage. What message?"
"Kif." The mahen personage rose slowly from the desk, robes falling into order, severe robes unlike the display of personages elsewhere. He held out a paper with his own hand, and she took it. "This come," the personage said, not through the Voice, "from Haruuk. All three kif ship outbound. We got two mahe ship chase."
"Shoot?"
"No shoot."
________________________________________________________________________
As I neared the end of what is now officially the worst book I've ever read, I realized that the story was not going to be wrapped up in the few remaining pages. Sure enough, I was right: the story is to be continued in the next book in the series.
But doors opened for them unquestioned, doors upon doors of Kshshti's utilitarian architecture, gray steel, heavy security, armed guards at intervals.
Stars and dark: Pyanfar lost the sight in front of her for that, remembrance of the kif hunter-ship in dock at Meetpoint, sleek, deadly, fast; of a ship outbound to Kshshti nadir and the jump range at a greater and greater fraction of C. She went where the guard motioned, went where doors parted.
The last let them into a dim chamber with a plasteen division, with violet light beyond. On the white-lit side, a desk and two mahendo'sat. On the violet one, a huge serpent-form, which moved and shifted relentlessly before teh waist-up glass.
Tc'a. The sight of the methane-breather shocked her to an involuntary stop. The barrier looked frail, the presence hani were accustomed to see only on vid and dimly, showed detail that made it seem all too iminent; wrinkled, soft-leather skin with phosphor-glow in the gold, eyespots large as a fist, five of them clustered round a complex trifold mouth/sensor. The tongue darted, constantly. The body shifted to this side and that, which tc'a always did.
"Esteemed captain." The voice spoke, uncharacteristically subdued. "I present the psersonage toshena-eseteno, stationmaster this side kshshti; the personage Tt'om'm'mu, stationmaster methane side."
"Honorables," Pyanfar murmured. The tc'a alone deserved the plural, several times over; and gods help psychologists.
The leathery serpent-shape loomed closer, twisted to peer through the glass with its five orange eyespots. A wailing came through, five-voiced, from a brain of multiple parts, as a monitor below the glass displayed the glowing matrix:
tc'a tc'a hani hani mahe kif kif
chi chi stay stay stay go go
unity unity anger anger anger go go
stay stay stay stay stay go message.
"Thank the tc'a Personage. What message?"
"Kif." The mahen personage rose slowly from the desk, robes falling into order, severe robes unlike the display of personages elsewhere. He held out a paper with his own hand, and she took it. "This come," the personage said, not through the Voice, "from Haruuk. All three kif ship outbound. We got two mahe ship chase."
"Shoot?"
"No shoot."
________________________________________________________________________
As I neared the end of what is now officially the worst book I've ever read, I realized that the story was not going to be wrapped up in the few remaining pages. Sure enough, I was right: the story is to be continued in the next book in the series.
