Into Tolari Space (Tales of Tolari Space) (2 page)

“Yes, high one.”

They entered the room. Smithton held Addie back as the Monral’s son strode forward to take a seat on his heels on the dais behind and to his father’s right. The Monral himself sat in the same posture in the front and center. He turned and exchanged some quiet words with his son, in a language Smithton didn’t understand. Another Tolari language ... did the Terosha know and not tell them?
Damn bugs.
Smithton shot a look at his wife. She looked at the two men on the dais, then back at him, and shook her head.

“Come,” the Monral called.

Addie tucked her hand under his arm, and they advanced together. When they reached the dais, they both bowed and waited for the Monral to speak.

The Monral studied them, wrapped in an air of authority. His lavender robe, Smithton could see now, was covered from collar to waist with white embroidery – perhaps an indication of rank. Like his son, who bore a strong resemblance to him, he was neither handsome nor ugly. The knots in his long black hair were more elaborate than Farric’s, and he didn’t look much past thirty-five or so. Smithton could not believe he was old enough to be the younger man’s father, unless the Tolari bred very young. On the other hand, just because they looked human didn’t mean they matured at the same rate. Perhaps Farric
was much younger than he looked, or the Monral was much older. No information existed about how the Tolari aged or how long they lived.

Farric motioned them down. Addie, graceful as ever, lowered herself and imitated the Tolari’s pose. Smithton, not as flexible, ended up leaning on one hip.

A door in the far left corner of the room opened. A woman in a deep indigo robe came through it, moving with the studied grace of late pregnancy. The Monral was on his feet without hesitation, assisting her onto the dais and into a sitting position on one hip at his right, in front of his son. After resuming his place, as if he had been waiting for her arrival, he spoke.

“I am the Monral,” he said. In English.

Smithton’s eyebrows flew up his forehead so fast he thought they might collide with his hairline. He dragged his thoughts out of Tolari and answered in English.

“I’m honored to meet you, high one,” he responded. “My name is Smithton Russell, Earth’s Ambassador to Tolar. This is my wife, Adeline.”

The Monral nodded an acknowledgment to Addie and paused to study her. Then he turned his attention back to Smithton. “You met my heir, Farric,” he said. He indicated the woman beside him with one hand. “My wife, Sharana.”

Smithton nodded to her. She looked to be the same age as Farric, far too young to be the young man’s mother. “High one,” he murmured.

The Monral cocked his head. “My wife is not a high one,” he corrected. “You may call her Proctor. She is a scholar. A tutor.”

“Your pardon, Proctor,” Smithton said.

The woman favored him with a faint smile. The Monral glanced at her, his face revealing nothing. “Come,” he said. “We will drink tea and talk.”

He and Farric rose and helped Sharana to stand. She took a step, then uttered a small cry as her knees buckled. Farric caught her with an alarmed expression. The Monral shouted out a word Smithton didn’t understand and took her from his son’s arms, carrying her off the dais and toward the doorway. Moments later, a number of Tolari in yellow robes hurried in, two of them bearing a litter. She protested as he laid her in it, speaking more of the strange language, but a few words from the Monral quieted her. He turned to one of the yellow-robed Tolari and had a brief exchange with him before they carried her from the room and were gone.

Smithton couldn’t remember when or how he ended up on his feet. He and Addie walked toward the door to the corridor, where the Monral stood, seeming distracted.

“Is your wife all right?” he asked.

The Monral shifted his attention to Smithton. “Forgive me,” he said in English. “I cannot think a polite way to say it. There is an odor from your clothing. It made her ill.”

Add
ie gasped beside him and sniffed at her sleeve. “It must be from the cleaning process. We can’t smell it. I’m so sorry. Is she going to be all right?”

He waved a hand, his impassive expression back in place. “The apothecaries will inform me. Come.”

* * *

The Monral led his human guests to the common room, where tea was laid out for them. It appeared that the humans were sense-blind. That suggested intriguing possibilities for manipulating them. They would see ... only what he wished them to see. Keeping his face expressionless, he stifled amusement. This was going to be entertaining.

The smell of their clothing was an unexpected complication. It was strong enough to make the eyes water, but if the female was to be believed, they could not smell it. He’d cut the audience short because some of the guards were on the verge of dropping out of camouflage. They were forbidden to reveal themselves while the humans were visiting – the ability to disappear at will was not one he wanted to make known to them just yet.

As a servant poured tea, he probed the
woman. Very guarded, and very alert: she was a skilled observer. It was evident she had more real power than the Ambassador, and just as evident she was concealing it. Very dangerous to her own kind, he decided. Very dangerous indeed. He wondered what her purpose was. To observe him? Or to observe the Ambassador? A little of both, perhaps. Central Command appeared to have little trust in its diplomats.

As he reached for his tea,
the woman pulled a small device from somewhere in her clothing.

“This will tell me if the drink is safe,” she said.

A sensible precaution, the Monral thought. He decided to let them believe he misinterpreted it. “You think I will poison you after I pledge my life to your safety?” he asked, straightening in his chair and letting a dangerous tone creep into his voice.

Her reaction was delicious. Eyes wide, she held up her hands. “Forgive me, high one,” she said. “I meant no offense. Despite appearances, we are different species. Just because we look like you doesn’t mean we can eat your food or drink your beverages without taking harm.”

He settled back, allowing himself to appear mollified. “Proceed,” he said.

“Thank you, high one,” she replied, relaxing a little and giving him a relieved smile. Then she thumbed a button on the device.

He nearly startled at the sound the little device emitted. His guards all did, and now they were struggling to remain camouflaged. The guard near the door was flickering, but the humans had their backs to him. He gestured a signal, and the unfortunate guard fled. He would have to make sure that one stayed away from the humans.

So. Their hearing was as dull as their sense of smell.

The little device flashed a green light. Much to his relief, she thumbed the button again and it fell silent.

“It’s safe,” she announced with a bright smile.

He nodded, sipping his tea and studying them. They both sparked with enjoyment when they tasted the tea. He affected to relax a little. Let them continue to think they had almost offended him. He wanted to keep them off-balance. They would look back on it later and realize they were outmatched. It would undermine their confidence.

* * *

Smithton was exhausted when the Monral showed him and Addie to quarters in the guest wing several hours later. They collapsed into chairs in the spacious sitting room and stared at each other.

“Good God,” Addie breathed when they were alone. “Either that man is the most inept politician I’ve ever seen, or he’s a certifiable genius who played us both like violins.”

“I can’t decide which,” Smithton muttered. “But I’m ready to hit the sack.”

“You and me both.” She dragged herself out of the chair and headed into the ‘sleeping room.’ She gave the mat in the middle of it an evaluating look. “What do you think, Smitty? Can you sleep on this?”

“I’ll have to,” he grunted, loosening his collar as he brushed past her. He grabbed the nightshirt out of his travel bag and kicked off his shoes, too tired to think. The verbal sparring with the Monral had drained him. He stripped and hung his clothes on hooks in what looked like a closet.

“Ooh, this is comfy,” Addie purred.

Smithton turned to look at her. She hadn’t bothered with her nightie, but had merely flounced onto the sleeping mat wearing nothing but a smile. His face relaxed into an appreciative grin.
Damn
but she was beautiful. His body responded to her invitation.

“It’s not often you get to be the first ones on an entire
planet
,” she said, beckoning with a finger. “Come here.”

* * *

When the Monral left the quarters occupied by the humans, he made a casual gesture to the camouflaged guards indicating they had his permission to leave. It would be cruel to force them to endure the olfactory onslaught represented by his guests. One brave individual remained. The other two made a hasty retreat. In the fresher air of the corridor, he realized his skin was crawling. He pulled his tablet out of a pocket and made a note to reward the guard who agreed to remain behind, then headed for his quarters to bathe. He wanted to see Sharana, but he could not risk exposing his beloved to even a secondhand dose of the chemicals in the humans’ clothing.

He wasted a few moments in regret that his bond-partner, with her delicate empathy, would be unable to accompany him during his discussions with the human ambassador. Her insights were always very useful, but her condition precluded any risk. When she had reacted to the humans’ clothing, there was no longer any possibility of allowing her to observe the talks.

He pondered the problem. He would have to manipulate the humans into returning to their ship in the morning. He made his way to the ornate, carved door of his private quarters and headed to his bathing area without touching anything, stripping off his robe and trousers as he walked. As he loosened the knots in his long hair, he began to smile at thoughts of the demands he could make that would send the humans scurrying back to their ship to confer with their government. He would make them pay dearly to build a station in Tolari space.

* * *

The morning brought the Monral another surprise: very little of the food served at the morning meal was safe for the Ambassador and his bond-partner to eat. They were able to consume some of the rolls and a few of the fruits, but nothing else. It seemed the rest of the foods laid out by the kitchen staff were laced with substances toxic to humans.

It was just as well, he decided, watching them eat. He’d not expected their presence to be difficult to tolerate. He found himself grateful for the advisor who’d suggested their quarters be made as primitive as possible, as a precaution should unforeseen complications prevent a satisfactory conclusion to the talks. The servants had replaced any art in their sitting room not comprised of natural materials. They’d also replaced the necessary with chamber pots and the bathing area with large basins, which they would fill with warm water when the Ambassador and his bond-partner were ready to bathe. It amused him to inconvenience them, but he also
wanted Tolar to remain safe from scrutiny by the humans until he was ready.

Ambitious, the Monral was. A fool, he was not.

* * *

Smithton spent another hour after breakfast – the morning meal, he corrected himself – sparring with the Monral, while Addie watched. He was making little, if any, progress. The Monral maneuvered, manipulated, and danced with words. It was frustrating, and Smithton couldn’t seem to corner the man into any kind of admission
of what he wanted. No, the Monral wasn’t inept, as he had thought last night. He was a genius, and Smithton suspected that if he himself gained any ground, it was because the Monral allowed it.

He wondered why the Tolari ruler was doing this. The Monral had contacted the
Bellerophon
, not the other way around. The Monral had extended the invitation. Then he had played an infernal game of words, as if he had no real intention of negotiating. What was he playing at? Was there more at stake than permission to build a station?

Finally, the Monral suggested Smithton consult with his government. Tired of the ga
me, he agreed without hesitation. It cut the visit short, but it was promising to be a hungry one, to judge by the dearth of Tolari food that was safe for human consumption. The Admiral seemed surprised when Smithton contacted him with a request to be phased up to the ship.

“Hell’s bells, Smitty, what did you do?” the Admiral asked. “You haven’t even been down there a full day. I wasn’t expecting you to call before Friday.”

“Talks are going around in circles,” he said. “I need to get in touch with Central Command. We’re invited to come back down in a few days, when he’s got his roof repaired. Are you going to phase us up or not?”

“Cool your heels, Smit, we’ll have you up here shortly. The techs have to lock on to your locater chips. Hold on to your stuff and stay put.”

“Yes
sir
,” Smithton snapped in mock-military tones.

The Admiral laughed. “Howard out.”

* * *

When the humans phased up to their ship, a burst of interference caused the Monral’s tablet to stop functioning. He frowned. Another unexpected drawback to working with the humans: their technology leaked. He powered down his tablet, then reactivated it. The display was an explosion of rainbow static. He suppressed a scowl. If he was going to deal with humans, then tablets would need to be shielded from their sloppy technologies. To judge by the currents of reaction tickling his senses, every tablet in the stronghold was damaged. He was beginning to wonder if getting rid of the Sural was worth the trouble represented by dealing with
odalli
.