Sisree reluctantly wakened to the persistant chime of her com.
"Light," she said and slowly the light in her room rose. "Stop," she commanded when it was bright enough to see, dim enough that it would make her desire to be still asleep apparent to her caller. She tapped a key on the console beside her couch. "Yes," she said sharply.
"We need to speak, Sisree," her mother said. "Get yourself awake and call me back."
The screen went dark.
Sisree's head came up and all the cobwebs of sleep were instantly gone. Never had her mother sounded so upset, not for earthquake, fire, raid or pestilence.
"Light," she said again, this time allowing it to rise to daytime brightness.
Then she tapped her mother's code into her com.
"Sisree," her mother said as though she'd never interrupted herself, "we have a problem."
"The aliens?" the lady asked.
"No. Or at least they're part of the problem, but probably not the cause of it."
"Then it must be the fact that Snargx was pursuing them," Sisree said. She'd been expecting daily to hear complaints from a Snargx representative about the short, ugly battle that had brought the humans into Nrgun's orbit.
Tewsee froze at the mention of the clan name; then, very slowly, her chelicerae spread in an expression of extreme revulsion.
Great unease stirred in Sisree's mind as she watched. Of all the reasons her mother should call in the dead of night, a loathing for Clan Snargx would have been the last she'd have guessed.
"Why?" she demanded.
"I don't want to tell you," her mother said. "I don't want to know this myself." The queen shook her head dismally. "We must convene the council of queens," she said. "Immediately!" She emphasized the urgency with a grasping gesture.
"What explanation shall I give?" Sisree asked reasonably.
"A reason so terrible I only want to say it once, before all. I have a witness to crimes so evil that I cannot call them anything else. Snargx must be stopped." The queen looked at her daughter for a moment, fairly vibrating with emotion. "You will see to this for me, daughter?"
It was a request, plain and simple, and not an order. Her mother's state was alarming to Sisree, as the queen quite obviously couldn't hide her feelings. Clearly Tewsee couldn't contact other queens looking like this; shaking and with her chitin almost gray with shock. The loss of prestige would be too great.
"Of course I will, Mother. How urgent shall I say this is?"
"Very. Lives may depend on it, Fibian lives, children's lives. I will take care of the preparations on this end if you will speak to the other queens, Sisree. Begin now, there's no time to be lost." Then she disconnected.
The lady stared at the blank screen and let out her breath until she wheezed. Then she straightened and called Has-sre. She hated to break his rest but she could hardly do this all by herself.
Raeder and his people entered the presence of Queen Tewsee in an undeniably scruffy state. Their clothes, while not actually wrinkled, were less than fresh. Their hair was unbrushed and the men sported unshaven faces.
"Did you rest well?" Tewsee asked them.
Even in her upset state she could see that they looked very different. It would disturb her greatly if she were responsible for a permanent decline in their health. They knew absolutely nothing about these creatures and, after only one night on Nrgun, they appeared to have changed and not for the better.
"Quite well, your majesty," Raeder said with a little head bob. "Thank you for asking."
Actually they'd slept very badly. If the queen's obvious distress weren't enough to keep them awake all night, the utter failure of their beds was. The humans had become stuck to the inviting bundles of webbing piled up in an obvious attempt by their hosts to cushion the floor.
Poor Hu had become so enwrapped that it had taken a good half hour to release him. Then it had taken a while to pick the pieces out of their own hair and off their clothes. The stuff had left a vaugely sticky feeling where it had touched flesh. They'd ended up sleeping on top of the plastic their hosts had laid down.
Trudeau had slept the most: they knew that because the rest of them had drifted in and out of a doze as they listened to her recite bits of legal code in her dreams. Her claim that morning to have slept poorly had met with, to her, a puzzling lack of sympathy.
Peter felt as though he ought to ask if the queen had slept well, but Sun-hes had warned them not to ask personal questions. So Raeder stood before her trying to look pleasant without moving a facial muscle. We probably all look like hell, he thought. Certainly her majesty did. Even as a novice at picking out individual Fibians he could see a change in her. She looked older somehow, duller.
"Young Sna-Fe has given us much to think about," the queen said at last. "Though his report of your people and their treatment of him leads me to believe that you are . . . a decent people."
"Thank you, your majesty," Raeder said, and bowed his head again.
"I understand that your ship has been extensively damaged, Commander. We will send workers and engineers to aid you in your repairs," Tewsee said. "This work will be done in thanks for your aid to one of our clan. Perhaps, later, when the work is well under way and you have leisure, we can talk of trade and other matters."
"Thank you, your majesty." Head bob. I'm begining to feel like I'm on an endless loop, he thought. Pleasant and agreeable. Is this the way diplomats have to behave all the time? How do they do it?
"You will wish to return to your ship now to prepare," the queen told him. "My second assistant, Fuj-if, will assist you. If you have any questions or problems please call upon him for his aid."
Here we go. "Thank you, your majesty."
In response to a final wave of her pedipalps Raeder and his people backed away. When they'd gone ten paces he turned and led them from the room, trusting that some Fibian fart catcher would direct them where to go.
I'm feeling like a bit player in my own life, he thought, frustration making him grumpy. But I'm no diplomat and I know it. Thank you, at least, seems like a safe thing to say.
Whether he should have accepted the queen's offer of help was, as far as Raeder was concerned, a moot point. They needed her help or they'd never see the Commonwealth again. So if that's a faux pas we'll just let the real diplomats find some way around it.
Outside the audience chamber Sun-hes awaited them.
"I am sorry not to have been at your disposal this morning," he said, obviously looking them over. "It is most unusual for her majesty to hold an audience at this hour."
I can believe it, Raeder thought. The sun had only been up for an hour. The dew is still on the web, as it were.
"Will you still be coming up to the ship with us to help with our language lessons?" Raeder asked him.
"Yes, if you will still permit," the Fibian said with a gracious gesture.
By now Peter fully suspected that in addition to being a protocol expert, Sun-hes was also a secret service agent.
Nevertheless, better the spook you know and all that.
"You'll be very welcome," the commander said. "I should warn you right now though . . ." Peter took a deep breath. I don't want to have to say this. "Our linguist, Mr. Sirgay Ticknor . . ." He bit his lower lip as he wondered how to phrase this.
"Finds the Fibian body shape very, very disconcerting," Sarah put in. "It's an irrational reaction, which he admits himself, but he can't seem to help it. I think he's improving somewhat, though."
You do? Based on what? Peter wondered. Wishful thinking?
"That must make his work somewhat difficult," Sun-hes said diplomatically. "Given that much of the context of our remarks is in our body language."
"He noticed that right away," Raeder assured the Fibian. "He's one of the Commonwealth's best linguists."
Sun-hes clicked his mandibles.
"But . . ." he said.
"But he won't want to actually be in the same room with you," Sarah said regretfully.
"Thank you, Commander," Ticknor said in his ear.
"Moving along," Raeder said, rubbing his hands together. "Do you need to bring anything with you? Reference texts, a reader, personal belongings, that sort of thing?"
"I have all the belongings I will need packed and on their way to the spaceport," Sun-hes said.
Spy, Raeder confirmed to himself. "What about food?" he said aloud.
"Ah. That I did not pack." The Fibian looked around. "But here is the queen's second assistant."
Fuj-if was rather narrower in his body than their teacher and slightly bluer in color. He greeted them with his pedipalps in the second degree of respect.
"I have arranged a transport for you and your party to the spaceport, Commander," the Fibian said. He handed over a small device. "This will alert me that you are in need of my aid, if you press the blue square."
"Thank you, you are most kind," Raeder said. "In fact I am in need of some assistance. Our instructor here will be coming with us, so we'll need Fibian foodstuffs, and perhaps someone to prepare them." Although how much preparation is involved in eating your food raw and with the fur or feathers still on, I've no idea.
"Of course, Commander. It has already been seen to."
Fuj-if raised a pedipalp and from out of the walls, it seemed, their escort appeared.
"You have only to call on me if anything is needed," he said. "Farewell."
"Thank you," Peter said. Endless loop! "Good-bye."
Once they were alone with Sun-hes in their transport Raeder said, "Mr. Truon?"
"Here, sir."
"We're going to need private accomdation for two," the commander said. "And one of the sealed labs for the storage of our Fibian guest's food supply."
"Yes, sir."
"And I'd like to call a staff meeting at 0900 to discuss needed repairs."
"I'm on it, sir."
"Thank you, Mr. Truon." That's it. I'm not saying thank you for the rest of the day. I'd like to call a meeting? That seems to imply there's an option. That's way too conciliatory for a military officer. When I get back to the Invincible I'm gonna start issuing orders and not thank people for following them. That ought to put the world back into its proper perspective.
"Mother?"
"Yes, Sisree?" Tewsee tapped on her com so that she could look at her daughter. "What news?"
"The queens are coming. You didn't say, but I assumed that you didn't want me to invite Clan Snargx's queen."
"No!" Tewsee said. "It is about Syaris that I need to speak to them. We'll give her a chance to speak when the time comes." The queen stroked her digestive sac as though to calm it. "Thank you, Sisree, you have done well." She clicked her mandibles. "And well I know it. Getting our sisters together is a prodigious undertaking."
Sisree snapped her tailwhip. "It will keep our assistants hopping for days," she agreed. There was a pause and Sisree watched her mother move restlessly around her chamber. "Won't you tell me what this is all about?" she asked. "It will help you to organize your thoughts. I can ask questions that the other queens might and help to prepare you."
"I honestly don't know if I can bear to do that, daughter," Tewsee answered. "I feel it would be like . . . like deliberately scarring you."
"Then at least let me interview Sna-Fe. I feel it's only fair that I be somewhat prepared, Mother. Never have this many queens gathered in one place together. They asked, quite reasonably, why this couldn't be done by vid, and I had to tell them I didn't know. It made me feel as though you didn't trust me."
"You know that I trust you," Tewsee said, turning away. "This isn't an issue of trust."
"That's probably not how your sister queens feel, Mother." Sisree began pacing her own chamber. "They're showing a great deal of trust by coming here at your urgent request, sent through me, but which I cannot explain. One might almost say they are showing an unprecedented degree of trust."
Tewsee flicked her pedipalps impatiently. She tossed her head and said, "Very well, Sisree. I will send the child to you. Interview him, find out what I know and I wish you joy of it!"
The screen went dark and Sisree was brought up short by her mother's angry and most unwilling capitualation. But she would not refuse the concession.
"Has-sre," she said into her com.
"My lady?"
"Send for the child Sna-Fe. I invite him to dine with me."
"Yes, my lady."
Sisree wondered for a moment if the senior assistants knew what Sna-Fe had told her mother. Then with an impatient sound she rejected the idea. If he had known anything of value Has-sre would have told her. The first lady of Nrgun settled back to her work and tried to put Snargx's lost child and his secrets out of her mind.
The Fibians seem to like working with Augie Skinner, Peter thought. I'll bet it's because he never changes expression. Funny how an attribute that drove most of his human companions round the bend made him popular with the aliens. Maybe Augie was one of those star-lost souls Peter's crazy Aunt Kelly used to talk about. That's it, he thought with an inner smile, Skinner should have been a Fibian but something went wrong with the delivery order.
You could see the Fibian technicians change in attitude when some more gregarious crew member came up to them. The Fibs sort of stiffened. Kind of like a lot of humans did after they'd been speaking to Augie for awhile.
Sun-hes had told him frankly that it was very, very hard for the Fibians, "To watch your faces squeezing and bunching and writhing the way that they do. To us, faces aren't supposed to do that."
Raeder approached the knot of alien and human engineers.
"Are you gentlemen ready for our meeting?" he asked, holding his hands in the third degree of respect due to those of inferior military rank.
"Yes, sir," Skinner said, with a typically distracted salute.
"We are, Commander," the leading Fibian engineer answered.
They were holding the meeting in the engine room at the request of both groups of engineers, basically so that they could point to what they meant. Skinner knew that Raeder was an engineer, but he felt the commander was a highly specialized type of engineer who had only the most rudimentary knowledge of the engines. As far as Raeder was concerned, compared to Augie himself, that was a not unreasonable assessment.
"You will notice," the head Fibian engineer began, and launched into a lengthy and complex explanation of the problems of engine numbers seven and eight. "We therefore recommend completely replacing the worst damaged of the two," he concluded.
"The whole engine?" Raeder said.
He felt his face react to the surprise and tried to damp it down. That's extremely generous of them, he thought, not a little awed. Suspicion pricked him, but the scrounger in him tamped it down ruthlessly. Never look a gift horse in the mouth. At least not right in front of the giver. There was always time later to count the teeth.
"Her majesty is most generous," Raeder said.
"She is first among queens," the first engineer said in a little burst of patriotism.
With a glance at the hatch they'd come through, Raeder said,"But how could such a large item be brought in here?"
Skinner pointed to the still jury-rigged patching on the wall beside the defunct engine.
"Shut off the grav in here," he said, "open the wall and float it into position. We can take the old engine apart easy since we don't need to repair it, just cut it up so all that remains are the connections. We can fix the wall afterwards."
The commander nodded. "Very good. Do it."
There were mandible clicks from the Fibians and smiles from the Invincible's engineers at that. Really all that they needed Raeder for was permission. Now they could get things under way.
"I'll leave you gentlemen to it, then," Peter said as the engineers were drawn almost irresistibly into a planning circle that now excluded him.
"Thank you, sir," Skinner said, looking at him vaguely and once more offering a salute that had much more in common with a wave.
Raeder returned it to the back of the engineering officer's head and shook his as he walked away. I bet Augie always saluted the Old Man.
Maybe someday he'd have acquired the force of personality that demanded crisp salutes. Maybe not. Maybe my style is to have people do superior work even if they don't salute according to the manual. He knew Skinner respected him and, after all, with types like the engineering officer some leeway was a good policy. He wasn't lax; his people were a good crew, knew their jobs, did them well and responded to emergencies as if they were daily occurences. Of course, on the Invincible they are. There were more ways than one to be a good skipper.
A whole new engine! A Fibian engine with all the insight that would lend into their technology. And all the Fibs got in exchange was a look at their tech and the burnt lumps of the wrecked engine.
Clearly the queen's desire to thank them extended a little deeper than he'd suspected.
Is this an apology? he wondered. Obviously Sna-Fe had told her about his superiors killing and eating humans, which is why she'd asked for confirmation. Equally obvious was her upset over the issue. If it was an apology it was a brave one, offering far more than words, leaving her people potentially vulnerable. It also says, "we're not like them." I can respect that.
His mental and physical wanderings had brought him to sick bay and the tiny office of Doctor Ira Goldberg.
"Doctor?" Raeder said, tapping on the hatch frame.
Goldberg looked up, his brows raised in inquiry. "Ah, Commander. Come in, come in. To what do I owe the honor of this visit?"
Peter noted that Goldberg's eyes became busy the moment he'd locked them onto his visitor. They took in Raeder's eyes, his skin, his body, resting briefly on his artificial hand as they searched out the reason for this call.
"I'm fine, in case you're wondering," the commander said, taking a chair. "The reason I dropped down is that I've had an idea and I wondered if you might have something that would make it possible."
Goldberg spread his hands in invitation and looked with interest at Raeder.
"Our facial expressions and gestures to the face visibly bother our Fibian friends," Peter explained. "I was wondering if there was some way we could freeze certain muscles to make our faces less mobile." He looked expectantly at the doctor. "Something reversible, of course."
"Absolutely," Goldberg said. "I can even do it without giving you a numb sensation. You'd probably want to freeze the eyebrows and limit the function of the cheek muscles. Leave you enough to talk, but not to grin or grimace."
"Exactly what I was hoping for," Peter said. "Uh, how long will it last?"
"How long do you need it to last? Up to ten hours? No problem. If you're going to be doing it daily I'd recommend doing it only for a few hours at a time, though. The immediate, but fairly rare, side effects of this stuff can be headache, slight nausea and, if you've overused it, an unfortunate tendency to develope muscle tics for a few weeks. If you're going to be in constant communication with them and don't want to be caught by surprise I can do something surgicalalso reversiblethat might be better. But of course, that would also be more painful." Goldberg studied the commander as though wondering where he'd make the first cut.
"Chemicals will be fine," Peter said hastily. "For me, at least. I'll have the crew who are going to be working closely with the Fibs call and discuss it with you directly." He rose. "Thanks, Ira, that will make things easier for everybody."
As he turned to leave Goldberg asked, "Any chance I might get a look at the planet?"
Raeder turned back, looking thoughtful.
"Yes," he said at last. "I think I should take at least the senior staff down to have a look. Next time I go down I'll bring you and Truon." He grinned. "I don't think I have to worry about Augie. I think for him the world ends at engineering's door."
Raeder answered his com to find himself looking at . . . Lady Sisree, he decided.
"Your Ladyship!" he exclaimed in surprise. Then was surprised that he'd come up with such an anachronistic title so instinctively.
She clicked her mandibles delicately in response to his astonishment.
"We have invited the queens of the other clans to clan home Nrgun to meet you humans," she said. "Two will be in our system by this evening and I've already sent them a copy of the presentation that you gave to my mother and me."
"Oh?" Raeder said and he felt the hair raise on his scalp. But I'm not a diplomat! he screamed mentally. I shouldn't be the one doing the meet and greet thing!
This could be a disaster for the Commonwealth, to have someone untrained in diplomacy, of his relatively low rank, making this kind of contact with the most influential people of a whole species.
"They were most pleased by the section on dancing," Sisree went on, oblivious to the panic boiling in Raeder's mind. "My mother and I were wondering if we might impose upon you for a live demonstration."
I'm doomed. Raeder could find his way around a dance floor reasonably well. He liked his social life, and women liked to dance, so he'd learned. But he was no performance artist. Still, sometimes people can surprise you with their hobbies.
"I'm not certain that we have anyone aboard who could competently perform for you," he said honestly. "As I said earlier, those people on the recording were professional dancers. But with your permission, I'll check my crew for skills and get back to you as soon as possible. We're most flattered by this request, Lady, and will try to answer it."
Sisree clicked her mandibles daintily. "I will await your call then, Commander. If I am not available, then Has-sre, my first assistant, will be able to discuss it with you. Until then, Commander."
"Until then, Lady."
As the screen went blank Raeder pictured the blundering dance recitals his sister had been in. Glittery costumes on seeming hundreds of lurching little girls. His mind supplied a bevy of female crew members in similar garb, trying to fuddle their way through something jazzy. After a moment he wanted to cry.
Get a grip, Raeder, he told himself. When in doubt, delegate.
With a tap of his finger he was in touch with the captain's secretary, an individual he'd hardly used as yet.
"I need you to go through the crew's records," Raeder told him. "Find me those crew members who have some experience in dance."
The secretary blinked. "Yes, Commander."
"This is top priority," Raeder said. "Get back to me on this as soon as you can."
"Yes, Commander."
Raeder cut contact and smiled. It tickled him to imagine the secretary wondering why dancing of all things should become such a top priority item. Once again the image of his formidable crew grimly, clumsily tap-dancing their way through his sister's old routine darkened his thoughts.
Work, he told himself sternly, and manfully struggled to make repair reports more interesting than what his mind's eye insisted on seeing.
Forty minutes later, when he'd finally settled down and was accomplishing something, his com chimed.
"Yes," Raeder said distractedly.
"Sir, I'm afraid that we don't have any dancers listed in the crew's records," the secretary said. "The closest thing we have is Technican Hunding, who was captain of her drill team in high school."
"A drill team?" Raeder said thoughtfully. He tried to think of the kind of thing a high school drill team might do. "No dancers at all?" he asked.
"None listed, sir. But then people might not think of it as something important enough to put in their military records. I could put out a call for volunteers."
Raeder's heart shrank at the thought.
"Have Hunding report to my office," he said. "I'll talk to her first."
Peter knew Terry Hunding; she'd been working on Main Deck since he'd been aboard. He knew that she was a hard worker, competent, but shy. Drill? he thought. He could picture a Marine Corps drill team going through manuevers involving plasma rifles. Rifles were clearly out of the question in this case. Rifles would probably lead to a political disaster. But the crisp, fancy marching had possiblilities. He'd have to see.
"Ooh! Sir! I could train Fibians to do it!" Hunding said with alarming confidence and enthusiasm. "I'll bet they'd really take to it."
It turned out that hers had been a flag team, four-time champion of the blah blah blah flag wave-off, or something. She'd rattled the name off so quickly Peter hadn't caught it. Her blithe assumption that it would be familiar to him was a clue to how completely she'd been immersed in the world of decorative drill.
But she'd managed to paint a word picture brilliant enough to penetrate the clouds of memory and he recalled once having seen a very impressive demonstration of her specialty. Heck, it might have been her team for all he knew.
"They'd look wonderful!" she continued. Her bright eyes looking inward at some scene of ranks of Fibians waving flags in coordinated formations. "Do you think they'd like that?" she asked, shy once again, but still eager.
You really loved doing this, didn't you? Peter thought, looking at her in some amazement.
"Do you think you could do it?" he asked. A foolish question, he knew that as soon as the words were out of his mouth.
"Oh, yes, sir," Hunding said with an airy wave. "I was captain of my squad and we never lost one meet. I can't believe adult Fibians could be harder to manage than a bunch of teenage girls."
Raeder smiled. Good point. With credentials like that you ought to be sitting on my side of the desk.
"Keep your face absolutely blank," he instructed her. He held up one finger to her in admonition, then tapped in a call number. Lady Sisree's face appeared on his screen instantly.
"Ah, Commander. Have you been able to find dancers for us?"
"Not dancers, Lady, but something that I think you will enjoy very much. May I present Technician Hunding, who is a championship drill instructor. She has a proposal to make to you."
Hunding blinked, but managed not to smile or frown or change expression in any way. Her voice, however, managed to convey cartwheels and back flips of joy when she spoke. She talked of Fibians marching in unison, waving flags.
"We could take representatives from each clan," she said enthusiastically. "Do the clans have some symbol to identify themselves?" she asked.
"The colors of our clans differentiate us," Sisree answered, somewhat bemused.
"Then the flags can be the colors of the clans! I can have your volunteers managing a simple drill by the end of the week," Hunding finished.
"I have seen no demonstration of this," Sisree said, troubled.
"I once saw one," Raeder told her. "It was very impressive, all those people moving together, tossing their flags and spinning them. Very entertaining."
"By the end of the week," Hunding insisted, "I can have something for you to look at. Then, if you don't think it will do, you've only to tell us and nothing is really lost but a little time." She smiled and then visibly forced the smile right off her mouth.
"A good proposal," the lady answered. "I will call for volunteers."
"I would like to have twenty-four in the team," Hunding said definitely. "But some people just don't have the coordination. So it's usually best to set up an audition so that people can try it out and see if they're made for it. To get twenty-four we should have a pool of no less than fifty."
The lady clicked mandibles, obviously enjoying Hunding's enthusiasm.
"I shall see to it, and I will have my second assistant find a place spacious enough for you to have your . . . audition. Thank you, Commander," she said. "I am most appreciative of your efforts."
"It was no trouble at all," Raeder assured her. Nor was it, he thought as the screen went dark. He glanced at the bright-eyed young tech. And here's hoping that it won't be.
"You go and work out some routines for this, Hunding," he said. "I'll clear it with your officers. Um . . ." he said as she rose to depart. "Before you go down I want you to report to Doctor Goldberg. He's found a way to freeze our facial muscles so that we don't gross out the Fibians."
"Oh, thank goodness, sir," Hunding said. "I don't know if I could be expressionless all the time."
I know you couldn't, Peter thought. Not without rupturing yourself some way.
"If there's anything you need . . ." he began to say.
"Oh, pictures of Fibians, sir, so that I can make computer representations of my routines."
"See my secretary," Raeder said magnanimously. "Perhaps we could send one of your mock-ups to Lady Sisree so that she could see what you have in mind."
Hunding looked stricken.
What, there's some unwritten rule of fancy drilling that you never give previews? Peter thought.
"That might not be such a good idea, sir," the young tech said. "I don't know if any of them can do it and I'd hate to get her expectations roused and then let her down."
"Good point, Hunding," Raeder said, impressed. You are going to end up on this side of the desk one day. He gave her a salute. "You'd better get started."
"Thank you, sir." She gave a very smart salute and spun on her heel in a perfect military turn.
Showing off? Peter wondered. When she was gone, he grinned and shook his head. It was nice to see that kind of enthusiasm at his disposal. He tapped his com and the secretary's face appeared.
"Clear Technician Hunding's posting to a special project for the next two weeks," he said.
Hunding looked out over the multicolored horde of Fibians and clasped her hands nervously. She'd run the volunteers through some simple tests and had rejected out of hand any who failed. There were now thirty volunteers milling about the room. The colors tended to group together, which she supposed was only natural, but she couldn't allow cliquishness. She clapped her hands.
"Attention," she called. The hard, blank faces turned her way and she swallowed. "I'd like you all to line up in rows of ten across."
She waited patiently while the translation device made the same request even more politely. With a professional eye she watched them move. She liked the flowing smoothness of their gait, but she thought she'd like it more when four legs moved forward in unison instead of one after the other. But could they do that?
She frowned, or tried to, when she saw them bunching up by color again. Not so much in rows as in batches, with a slight but definite break between the colors. They began to talk again and the noise level soon grew. Hunding waited until she was certain they were as lined up as they were going to be.
"Silence in the ranks!" she bellowed and the Fibians shut up and looked forward. "Those are not lines," she shouted. Shouted and sneered simultaneously, a skill she'd learned early and used often.
The Fibians looked around and a few shuffled nervously forward or back until they were more in line with their neighbors.
"Why are you here?" she asked them.
The aliens looked at one another, even crossing color lines in hope of finding someone with the answer.
"You!" Hunding's finger stabbed out and caught an Orange just as he looked forward again. "Why are you here?"
The Orange froze, thinking it over, pondering the hostile, commanding tone of the human female.
"I was asked to volunteer. For the pleasure of my queen," he said at last.
"You are here to please your queen!" Hunding bellowed.
There was a shifting in the ranks, such as they were, at that.
"Faces forward!" Hunding ordered.
They all looked at her.
"Are you all here to please your queen?" she asked.
They looked at her, their pedipalps almost unconciously held in the second degree of respect and in some cases aiming slightly higher, but none of them spoke.
"You will answer!" Hunding said. "Are you here to please your queen?"
"Yes!" the Fibians shouted, somewhat raggedly, but with a pleasing enthusiasm.
"Then you will follow my orders and you will learn!" Hunding informed them. "Form lines of five."
The Fibians scrambled, trying to stay with their fellows.
"Stop!" Hunding shouted. "Form up behind one another."
They shuffled into position, one behind the other.
"This rank," she pointed to the far left row, "stay where you are. All other ranks move one step to the right."
They did so. Hunding looked at their arms and wondered exactly how far apart that would make them. Far enough, she decided and ordered them to reach out to the right with their right pedipalp.
"With your arm stretched out like that you should be in line with the shoulder of the person next to you. If you are not, take a step forward or back until you are."
The Fibians moved until they were in neat rows.
Hunding counted out the rows, starting with the right and skipping the ones between.
"This row, this row, this row, take one step forward." The rows moved, raggedly, but that would improve. "This row, blend into this row, this row, get into this row. Form lines of ten across," she ordered them just as they finished, not allowing them time to think, or color coordinate again.
Hunding broke them into lines, moved them forward and back again and again until no one was standing next to a male of the same color. As much as that pleased her, it pleased her more that the lines they ended up in were perfectly straight, every face was looking forward and their backs were straight, their heads lifted and their pedipalps in the exact same degree of respect. She didn't know which degree it was, and didn't greatly care. In fact, it was a nuanced degree below the first and represented a great deal of fear and respect.
"Look at the person next to you," she ordered them.
Hunding watched the Fibians turn their heads left and right, then blinked as they turned them almost all the way around. She thought there was an almost subliminal freezing when they realized that they were isolated from their clan mates.
"The person beside you is very important. The person beside you is your teammate! It is your duty and responsibility to make certain that your teammate looks good, does his job, knows the routines and executes them perfectly. Just as it is your job to look good, do your job, know the routines and execute them perfectly. Do I make myself clear?"
The rows of Fibians looked back at her, then turned their heads very slightly towards their teammates. Some gave an afirmative gesture with their pedipalps. They settled down and stared blankly ahead, as though hoping she couldn't see them.
Hunding put her hands on her hips and let out an exasperated breath.
"When I ask you a question," she bellowed, "you will answer that question by shouting yes! All of you will shout yes in unison. Do you understand me?"
"Yes!" the Fibians shouted. It sounded far softer and less aggressive than a group of shouting humans would have, but then Fibs didn't yell as a rule.
Hunding nodded approval.
"If I ask you if you understand, and you have answered yes, I will then ask if there are any questions. You may then put up your hapedipalp and I will acknowledge you and you may ask your question. Do you understand?"
"Yes," the Fibians shouted.
"Are there any questions?" Hunding roared.
Thirty pedipalps hit the air.
Hunding's shoulders dropped and she looked down. Looking up again she said, "I will answer questions from the front row, going from left to right. You" she pointed at a blue "what is your question?"
It turned out that most of them had the same questions. Mostly, "Can't I stand beside Sem-sne?" etc. Or, "How can I make sure a male from another clan is doing his job? I'll be at home doing my own job."
"No, you may not stand next to your clan mates unless I tell you to. The only importance of clan color while you are working with this team is in determining how to use that color to make the ranks look interesting while marching. When you are with the team you are responsible to your other teammates and they are responsible to you. When you are not with the team, then obviously that need not necessarily applybeyond the normal behavior of civilized people." She thought that ought to cover things fairly well.
Hunding reminded herself that these people had never done anything remotely like this before and that she had to be patient. She regretted that she wouldn't be able to scowl and sneer as spectacularly as she would have liked. Her old teammates had told her that half the stuff they broke their necks to do was in fear of one of her ferocious scowls.
"The first thing we are going to learn is the basic marching step," she said. "I will demonstrate. Left, right, left, right, left!" Hunding marched in step, calling out the cadence for a full thirty seconds. "Did you see that?"
"Yes!" the Fibians shouted.
"Any questions?"
Thirty pedipalps shot up.
She waved them down and fought the sinking feeling in her stomach.
"It will take some practice and it will take some balance. Yes, I want all of your left feet to lift, then I want all of your right feet to lift at the same time! When you lift your left foot," she demonstrated, "throw your weight onto your right foot. Do you understand?"
Their "Yes" was more than a little doubtful.
"Get into rows five across!" she ordered. "Far left rank, take two steps to the left!"
The Fibians in that rank looked confused; heads turned, shouders twitched, but they soon established that they were in fact the rank she was speaking to and took two steps to the left. Hunding ordered the other rows to spread out until she was certain that if anyone fell over they wouldn't fall on a teammate and start a war.
"All right, let's begin," she said, looking them over. "Left!" Hunding lifted her left leg.
The Fibians tried to imitate her and, as though the whole room had suddenly tilted forty-five degrees, the whole group lurched left, helplessly off-balance and ended up in a pile against the right wall.
Hunding stared at them, blinking. Then as she noticed them getting rather unfriendly while disengaging themselves she began barking orders. When they were once again in neat rows she gave them a significant glare.
"That was no one's fault," she said. "So there's no point in taking it out on another clan, now is there?" Silence greeted her remark. "That was a question!"
"Yes," the Fibians said flatly. It was the first time they'd answered in perfect unison.
Hunding decided it was a start. She had them put their pedipalps on the shoulders of the males next to them as they practiced lifting their feet. That worked out very well and, she told herself, it gave them a basis for trusting and relying on their teammates regardless of clan.
By the end of the afternoon they could march in place. They were still a little wobbly, but they could do it without actually falling over.
"I'm very proud of you," Hunding told them. "I wasn't sure you could even do this. There was a chance that your nervous systems wouldn't allow it. But you've passed a major hurdle." She applauded them, they stared blankly at her. "Please be seated."
Thirty Fibians dropped as if they'd been shot. Hunding looked at them uncertainly. She wondered if she should have them get water or something. Then she decided that she'd better keep going while she had them in hand. She could always ask advice later.
"I wanted to show you this."
She aimed an instrument behind her and clicked it on. A holo-vid of her old team came to life, showing their triumphant victory over their nearest rivals, a Texas team of ferocious competitors. She watched the vid with pride for a few moments, then turned to her students.
The Fibians were riveted; they leaned forward, all of their eyes focused on the presentation before them, bodies frozen in position. She watched them watching until the vid was over.
"That was pretty advanced stuff," she said. "I don't expect anybody to be doing some of that stuff any time soon. But in five days I hope to have you doing this."
Hunding turned and clicked again. A computer simulation of Fibians marching began to play out. It was a simple routine, and very brief, with only one easy flag manuever repeated several times. She'd been very pleased by the way the Fibians looked when their legs moved in their marching step. Very crisp, very precise.
"Any questions?" she asked when it was over.
"You really think that we can do that?" a Green asked.
"Based on what we accomplished today, yes, certainly," she said confidently. She held her hands in the second degree of respect. "Keep practicing if you have a spare moment, and I'll see you here tomorrow at the same time. We'll practice walking in a march cadence then." She nodded encouragingly at them, though inside she was visualizing a great many pratfalls. "You are dismissed."
Later that evening when she was making her report to the commander she told him that the team had done "Marvelously!"
At his very dubious look she said, "My evaluation is based on experience, sir. I've begun with far less promising material than I had today, believe me."
"Good," Raeder told her. "I'll take you at your word on that. Lady Sisree is looking forward to this."
"I think it's good that she's never seen drill before," Hunding said naively. "I think she'll be delighted."
Peter raised an eyebrow at that and humphed.
Maybe she's right. Maybe if we'd only shown them amateurs dancing we'd have been able to pull off a dance recital. He considered the notion. Nah!