"Shit!"
Quin raised the sewing machine's needle and pulled the thread out of the ruby cloth. This seam was almost done, and she'd be damned if she gave the all-knowing Almighty Pain-in-the-ass Tallest Red an excuse to order her to rip it out again. Like he had the last three times.
Purple had given the thumbs-down to the three before that.
"They're taking turns. Bastards." Quin checked the bobbin. It held enough thread to finish, if she didn't make more mistakes. This sewing machine was considerably newer than the ones in her Home Economics class, but that didn't seem to matter. The fabric had a life of its own, sliding all over the plate, and both bobbin and needle never failed to foul up at least once. The thing had even come with an instruction manual and a beginner's how-to guide. For all the good they did.
Still, she wasn't quite as god-awful as she remembered from high school. With as much as she'd been forced to do, some improvement was inevitable.
Sighing, she realigned the cloth, lowered the needle, and began again. The world narrowed to the interplay of fabric and thread. Less than a foot. Not that much, not that long, five minutes at most…
…if she could keep track of minutes.
Quin gritted her teeth. No. Not now. She had a regimen, and she was keeping to it.
Before too long it was done. She examined her work. Every stitch was straight, the knot tied off neatly; nothing for either Tallest to complain about now. "Halle-fucking-lujah," Quin muttered. And well before it was time for her next shift.
Time.
Quin draped the half-sewn robe on the dress dummy and straightened up her work area, trying to ignore the tightness in her chest. When everything was in its proper place, she tapped the control pad to turn off the lights and padded into the bathroom. After washing up and brushing her teeth, she retreated to the bedroom. She undressed, hung up her clothes in the closet, set her shoes underneath and climbed into bed. A touch of the control pad to her left darkened the room. Quin folded her arms beneath her head and stared at the ceiling.
Time.
She missed counting its passage, labeling it into minutes and hours and days. She didn't know how much time had passed since her capture. When asked, the Tallest flatly refused to tell. Her cell didn't have a clock. She thought at first her bath schedule could serve as an alarm clock of sorts: one every eight hours, sometimes every six. That idea had been overly optimistic. The Tallest ordered "hygiene procedures" at whim, more than once waking her from a sound sleep.
She might have been here a week… no, longer. It had to be longer.
Two weeks? Three? A month?
She didn't know. She'd asked a guard this evening — call it evening, it made things easier. The guard had looked at her, and then almost imperceptibly shook its head.
Her arm itched. No lotion tonight; she'd have to be sure to use it later. Water residue or not, the cleaning gel had done a number on her skin, drying it to the point of cracking and bleeding. After Red demanded to know why his brain-freezy was dripping blood, medicated lotion appeared with every other batch of towels. (She had plenty of towels now. No one wanted to repeat their late commander's fatal mistake.) Her water had been cut by a third the next day, for "not telling us of your inferior skin's sensitivity before."
Her hair had suffered as well, to Purple's dismay. The Tallest liked her hair. Quin wasn't sure why. He'd drilled Quin on the ins and outs of hair care, then scribbled a list for Housekeeping and told them to take care of it. When she returned after the Invader reports, Paul Mitchell's entire product line and a full set of combs and brushes were waiting for her in the bathroom.
The Tallest's' personalities distinguished them more than their coloring. Red was aggressive and open in his dislike and disdain for her. Purple was more thoughtful, more subtle. He was as demanding and frustrating and unreasonable as Red, but less obnoxious about it. Purple was… not okay, no one who ever claimed to own another person could be okay. Purple was…not Red.
It's only a matter of time.
The Tallest didn't insist on the honorific every time she spoke to them, but often enough. Refusing to use it until threatened was her only rebellion, small as it was. Red would go on about her stupidity and offer to give her a close inspection of an airlock. Purple appealed to her logic and intelligence until he grew tired of her "unreasonable" attitude and play the water card.
But today….
She'd been wiping down the snack tables the Tallest used for their lunch while going over reports. This session of Running Quin Ragged — or RQR as Red had shown her in their daily calendar — had been fairly mild; the number of reports meant that the rulers of the Irken Empire had other things to do besides concentrate on her.
"Another pointless, idiotic rant from Zim!" Red crumpled the sheet in his claws and threw it over his shoulder. "Where'd it land?"
"Ten points," Purple answered.
"That brings my total to what, 190? Stinkyonfoota, let's see what you can do for your favorite Almighty Tallest." Red craned his neck around. "Thirty points! Whoohoo! I'm beating you, Purple."
"Yeah, yeah. We'll see when I get my turn. Quin, I think that target's full. Thanks."
"I'll be right there, my Tal-"
Her mouth snapped shut. They hadn't heard, please God, they hadn't heard —
Red snickered.
"Quin, did you say something?" Purple asked.
"I said I'd be right there." She gave the table she was cleaning a last swipe and tossed the rag into the cleaning caddy. She walked behind the Tallest to the dartboard-like pattern scrawled on the floor; kneeling, she scooped up discarded reports into a nearby trashcan.
"I think you said more than that." Red spun around in his chair. "What do you think, Purple?"
"I believe you're right. Quin? Would you like to make it unanimous?"
Quin felt her face grow hot. She kept her eyes on the shrinking mound of crumpled paper. How could she have slipped like that? She'd been so careful!
"Quin? You haven't given me an answer."
The trashcan was full. She squashed it down to make room for the rest of Red's mess. "No." She went back to the snack tables and began reorganizing the cleaning caddy.
She felt rather than saw the Tallest's approach, Purple to her right, Red to her left. "Oh, I think you already have." Purple pulled her hair away from her face. "She almost matches your eyes, Red."
The Tallest laughed. Quin switched around the disinfectant and the furniture polish. She wouldn't rise to the bait; she wouldn't give them that satisfaction
"Even her ears." Purple gathered up more of Quin's hair. "You know, I never really noticed them before. They're kind of cute." He stroked the curve of her ear with his claw. Quin jerked away, nearly stumbling into Red. The Tallest grabbed her by the shoulder, turning her back toward his co-ruler.
"I wasn't hurting you, Quin," Purple scolded her, frowning. "Now hold still."
With Red pinning her in place, the order was unnecessary. Quin shut her eyes as Purple again gathered her hair and piled it on her head. She shuddered as he took up where he left off, tracing the shape of her ear, and Red squeezed her hard enough to make her gasp. Purple seemed not to notice, caught up in his musings.
"Look, Red, it bends! Isn't that cute?"
Red snorted. "Adorable. It's cartilage , Purple. Of course it bends."
"Well, I like it. Maybe we should have this cut.". He ran his other claws through her hair in a rhythmic familiar pattern. "On the other hand, I do like it as it is. So soft and shiny."
Quin drew in a shaky breath. She and Pepper, her Golden Retriever, at the local park, just sitting and enjoying the day, Pepper nosing a ragged chew toy as Quin absently ruffled her fur. So shiny, so soft…
"Stop it!"
Her eyes flew open. Purple's claws were still in her hair, unmoving. Quin stared at him. She could cope with the pointless tasks, the ordering about, Red's threats, even the loss of her water. But not this. "Stop it," she repeated, her voice shaking. "Stop it. …please…"
"Stop what?" Purple asked mildly. He ruffled her hair. "This?"
Quin didn't answer. Shame and outrage waged an even battle against panic. She didn't trust herself not to say something that would finally get her that airlock she'd asked for at their first meeting. An epiphany, that.
Breathing was a hard habit to break.
"Yes. Please."
Purple combed his claws through her hair.
She couldn't say it. She couldn't .
"…my Tallest."
"That's better." Purple smiled, and smoothed her hair back into place. "I think we're getting somewhere now, hmm?"
After that, her service passed in a vague blur. The Tallest had sent her back early, perhaps out of what passed for compassion in an Irken, perhaps because a subdued slave wasn't as entertaining. She'd spent the rest of the day sewing and trying not to think.
She knew what they were attempting to do. Were doing. The irrational insistence she sew for them, reversing the proper order of things, distorting her sense of time: all these were intended to break her and reshape her into the mold they wanted.
Speak truth to power. Give me liberty or give me death. Live free or die trying. Phrases others had used, she had used herself. Easy to speak — much harder to do. Power only feared the truth when truth had a potential audience. Between liberty and living free or dying, self-preservation instinct overrode principle.
It's only a matter of time.
Seattle, Washington, D.C., Montreal, Genoa…none of her protest training, none of her arrests, had prepared her for this. She should have been able to fight. She should have been able to resist the little mind-games the Tallest played. She should have been able to do something.
She hadn't. Not really. The Tallest were winning. Today proved that.
If there were other people here…. We would have what? Organized a sit-in and sang "We Shall Overcome"?
That was another thing. She'd never been a social butterfly, one of those people who needed people. But she missed people. To look at, to talk to. Forget the Tallest's games, the loneliness would drive her around the bend first. The watchers and their orders had been removed shortly after the Hideous Wet Head Incident; she woke up to the Irken equivalent of a buzzing alarm clock, and her requests for supplies were processed without comment. The only beings she saw were guards, Housekeeping, and the Tallest. The guards and Housekeeping wouldn't speak to her. Hell, Housekeeping wouldn't look at her. Conversing with the Tallest was like trying to navigate a minefield without a map. Though at times—most of the time, if she were honest— even they were preferable to her cell's silence.
Give in, whispered a voice in the back of her mind. What are you fighting for? You can't win. Don't throw your life away.
Despair swept through her. She used to believe she wouldn't mind throwing her life away if she knew her death would accomplish something. If you're not fighting something, Ronnie, you're not happy. She couldn't begin to count the number of times Vicky had said that to her. It wasn't true, of course. But she did throw — had thrown — her passion fiercely into her causes. Fighting for something beyond the day-to-day, something bigger than herself. She remembered an old boyfriend's dorm room poster, The Last Defiance: a mouse flipping off the eagle swooping down on it. Dying for a last "fuck you!" She used to believe in that, too. She used to believe in a lot of things.
None of them mattered anymore.
Quin woke the next morning, rested and a little off. Rested because there hadn't been a 2 a. m. bath call for a change; a little off because…
She didn't know.
She thought about that during while she bathed and dressed. She was still thinking about it when the gray-uniformed Housekeeping staff brought in breakfast and her morning water. "Oatmeal again?" she asked. The little Irken bolted out the door. Quin shrugged. After that first morning, the meals had gotten steadily worse, despite her complaints. When she collapsed from food poisoning in the Tallest's lounge and wound up in the Massive's medical bay that had literally changed overnight. After what happened with her initial guards, she could guess the fate of the former cooks. The food was bland but edible now, and every meal came with a multi-vitamin.
The Tallest were expending an awful lot of effort and resources on one inferior slave.
Quin shrugged and washed down the last of the oatmeal with a glass of water. What difference did it make?
The door opened. "Morning," she greeted the guards. "Aren't you guys early? I'd say 'good' but it isn't. For that matter, I'm not sure it's morning." They looked at her, not responding. They never did. She kept up the one-sided conversations more out of habit than any chance of actual communication. Sighing, Quin fell in between them.
"Do we have to be in formation like this?" she asked. "Can't you walk behind me for a change? Or in front? You've got weapons, mechanical legs that snap out of those backpack things, and we're on a fricking huge spaceship that I have no knowledge of. Do I look stupid enough to make a break for it? What was that antenna twitch, a yes? Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence. Hey. You, in front. Your antennae are curly. Why? All right! Put the gun down, I'll stop talking!"
Morning indeed, Quin realized as she entered the audience chamber. Three black-robed Irkens surrounded the Tallest, competing for their attention with other aliens in emerald green uniforms. The black robes were advisors; she'd seen them before, coming in at the tail end of the morning meetings. The others were new. Uncertain, she stood off to one side and waited.
"My lords, the matter is of utmost urgency—" One of the advisors spoke above his fellows.
"We realize that, Zinah." Red's glare took in all of the advisors. "Coordinate Planetary Reconfiguration with Organic Sweep Operations." He shot a sidelong glance at the tallest Irken in emerald green. "OSO doesn't need us to hold their claws for that, do they?"
"Of course not, my lord. But either you or Tallest Purple presiding over the initial meeting will make things proceed more smoothly." The emerald-green Irken paused. "There's also the matter of the …Invaders."
"What's wrong now?"
Zinah coughed. "They're not cooperating, my lords. With either Organic Sweep or Planetary Reconfiguration."
The Tallest exchanged pained looks — or what Quin had come to consider pained looks. "Fine," Purple sighed. "I'll oversee the search coordination between OSO and PR. Tallest Red will deal with Zim and Tak."
"I'll schedule a time for us to deal with Zim and Tak. You're not shluffing them off on m — You!" Red scowled in her direction, eyes narrowed and antennae dipped down. "How long have you been here?"
Purple looked up at her; the advisors and Organic Sweep officers followed suit. Quin stepped back. She'd grown accustomed to her guards and the Tallest; presumably they'd grown accustomed to her. Until now she hadn't considered how other Irkens would see her. Expressions ranged from hostile to curious to disgust and, to her surprise, fearful.
She shifted her attention to Red. "Not very long. The guards just brought me."
The Tallest rubbed his forehead. "Well, there goes the morning session of RQR. Purple? Any ideas?"
Purple drummed his claws on his clipboard. "I don't know… we weren't planning on this." He glided over to Quin. "Did you sleep well?"
"Yes, my Tallest."
Purple turned to Red. "You?"
"Like a smeet."
Purple nodded. "Then you two should be fine. I'm needed elsewhere for a while, Quin. You'll be serving Tallest Red until I return."
Quin's heart sank. Serving Red alone. Words that should never go together. "Can't I go back to my cell until then?"
"No, you may not. We discussed this situation before, though we didn't expect it to come up so soon. Don't worry. Tallest Red won't hurt you."
Quin shot a glance at Red. The Irken smiled at her, a sight Quin knew she would see in her nightmares. "Whose definition of 'hurt' are you using?"
"Mine," the Tallest chorused. They glared at one another. "Oh, all right," Red said. "Yours."
"Do as you're told, and you have nothing to worry about." Purple gave Quin a half-smile, tugging on a purple-streaked curl. "Be good." Quin watched him sweep out of the room, the advisors and OSO officers following in his wake. She should have asked Purple if she could go with him, planning session or no planning session.
"They're gone, Quin, and the door's closed. Turn around."
She turned around. A spider leg slid from Red's backpack and tapped the floor in front of him. "Come here."
Red studied her. "I don't like you," he said at last. "You show none of the respect you naturally owe us as your masters. You're willful and stubborn. We spend valuable time and effort training you, and you refuse to cooperate. You're almost more trouble than you're worth. Someday you will get that airlock you first asked for, I guarantee that.
"But not yet. You're a high-cost investment. Finding a replacement would be a major undertaking. So we're stuck with you."
Red brought his face close to hers. "And right now, you're stuck with me."
"Sorry to disappoint, my Tallest."
Red drew himself upright, eyes narrowing. "Hmph. I'll let your inferior sarcasm slide this time, but don't do it again. I'm not Purple. I don't care how soft or cute you are. Clear?"
"Crystal, my Tallest."
One corner of Red's mouth twitched. "Maybe you are catching on, worm-baby." He turned and went to his usual station at the main table, gesturing with his claws for her to follow. "Besides you, your other master left me with the overnight transmissions. Keep yourself busy while I go through them. I dunno -- polish the silverware or something. Yeah. Polish the sporks."
If there was a more tedious and time-consuming job that polishing the Tallest's cutlery, Quin couldn't think of it. Apparently neither could Red, for which she supposed she should be grateful. She got the silverware trays and the cleaning caddy from their respective wall cubbies and retreated to "her" table, the tiny one in the corner. A spider leg grabbed her shirt collar just as she sat down.
"No, not there," Red said. "Where I can see you."
"You can see me here."
"Purple lets you use that table. I'm not Purple. You're not using it. You're sitting…" The spider leg pivoted to Quin's right and gave her a nudge toward one of the oversized visitor's chairs. "… there."
Quin rolled her eyes. "All right."
The spider leg tapped her shoulder. Red cleared his throat. "What was that?" he asked, not looking up from the reports.
"All right, my Tallest."
Red didn't say anything else, but his antennae flicked in annoyance. Quin dropped into the visitor's chair and went to work on the sporks.
For superior beings, the Tallest had pretty plebian tastes. Commemorative sporks of every planet conquered by the Irken Empire filled a slot of their own. Despite the Tallest's claims of a universal language, the names were written in an alien script. A small image of each world was set in the handle.
Eventually there'd be one for Earth.
Quin swore as the spork she held slipped between her fingers. "Be careful with those," Red told her. "They've got sentimental value. And watch your language. Your inferior cursing pisses me off."
The morning crept on. The ratio of unpolished to polished sporks slowly increased in favor of the polished. Quin's world narrowed to her chore, punctured by the periodic hisses and mutters and the occasional shout of "They did what?" from the Tallest. Once he shoved the stack of report discs off the table and made her pick them up. "You're welcome, my Tallest," Quin said as she sat down again.
Her chair whipped around, flinging her against the armrests. Red loomed over her. "I didn't say 'thank you', meat-child. What did I say about your inferior sarcasm?" He raised her face to his, his claws a painful vice-grip mockery of Purple's habitual gesture.
"Don't do it again," Quin whispered.
"Very good. You remembered. So why didn't you believe me? Well?"
Quin didn't answer. Anything she said would be wrong; not saying anything would be wrong, too, but he'd read into her silence whatever he wanted. He'd read what he wanted into whatever she did, regardless.
He drew a pattern on her cheek with a claw tip. A sudden twist, and Quin cried out in more in shock than pain. Red let go of her. "I'm not Purple. He has more patience for your little rebellions and smeetish games than I do. You're not in a world of pain right now because I agreed with him. For the moment, not forever. The next time it'll be my definition. Understand?"
"Yes, my Tallest."
"Good. Get back to work. A spot of blood on any of those sporks, and you'll start all over."
"Yes, my Tallest."
Red swept her with an inscrutable gaze, and stormed off to his table. Quin pressed a spare polishing cloth to the cut for a slow hundred-count before attacking the sporks again.
The tense silence was finally broken by the arrival of the snack cart. Uncharacteristically, Red ordered her to take it to the back of the room instead of demanding his usual brain-freezy and morning nachos.
"Got to deal with Zim and Tak. I can't put it off any longer." He prodded the hole-filled top of the largest box. "Dlors. Finally. I'm not saving any for Purple, either. Get them ready after the nachos. Don't spare the frosting."
Quin wheeled the cart to the corner Red indicated, watching him surreptitiously. The Tallest summoned up a transmission split-screen with all the enthusiasm of a Montana Freeman paying taxes. His claws drummed angrily as his command went out, and the faces of two Irken Invaders snapped into view.
Invader was a title or a rank, not just a job description: that much she'd gathered from overhearing the Tallest's conversations. Quin studied them as they greeted their leader. Nothing distinguished Zim from any other alien except for his height: he was the shortest Irken she'd seen yet. But Tak…. Quin abandoned any pretense of work. Tak's eyes were purple, the only alien besides the Tallest with that color. A metal square hook projected from above her left eye. Her antennae curled, like the guard's, and she sounded distinctly female.
These two were the Invaders sent to Earth.
There wasn't anything to be done about them now. This wasn't her concern. She had work to do; she should get back to it.
She didn't.
Red cut them off in mid-greeting. "Certain problems have been brought to the attention of your Tallest. You will be available tonight to discuss it with us. Both of you."
The transmission screen blanked before the Invaders had a chance to protest or agree. Red slumped in his seat. "Well, that's over with for now." He spun around to face Quin. "Eavesdropping and slacking off, huh? Since you're so interested in Invaders, maybe we should have you do a Happy Hour. That'd be a learning experience." One antenna twitched. "What, no pithy Earthenoid comment?"
"No, my Tallest."
Red sneered. "Didn't think so. Bring me those nachos and get cracking on the dlors."
Quin almost asked what dlors were, and then thought better of it. Red didn't like her asking questions about what things were, or how they worked. She opened the can of frosting and removed the box's lid.
Furry gray spheres were packed in neat rows. A faint, vaguely dusty smell wafted from them Quin stifled a sneeze and picked one up.
It squeaked.
She dropped it. The dlor landed on top of its fellows and they shivered like grass in the wind. Quin picked it up again.
The little creature was warm to the touch, its fur reminiscent of a flop-eared rabbit's. She could feel it trembling in her hand. Nearly hidden from view, two tiny black dots of eyes stared back at her.
"Hey! What's the holdup?"
"There's been a mistake," Quin said, not looking at the Irken.
The Tallest frowned. "There better not be a mistake. We ordered these things months ago." He glided to the cart. "Where?"
Quin pointed to the box. Red looked inside.
"What are you talking about? They're fine."
"They're alive!"
"Yeah, so?"
"You can't eat them!"
"Why not? You humans eat meat. Raw, sometimes."
"Not while it's alive!"
Red frowned. "Listen, stinkbeast," he said slowly. "I'm going to finish up my reports. You're going to frost these dlors and serve me with a smile. Got it? Good."
Quin looked down at the dlors for a long moment, then picked up the frosting knife.
The dlors squirmed in her grip as if they knew their fate. Maybe they did, Quin thought bitterly, coating them in layer after layer of hideous pink frosting. Would the Tallest even care?
She filled a plate with the pathetic designer "snacks" and set it down in front of Red.
"You're not smiling," The Tallest said. "Didn't I tell you to? Oh, never mind. You're in such a mood your face would shatter." He snatched up a dlor and squeezed it, grinning at its squeaks. Then he popped it in his mouth.
"Quin's stomach lurched, and she dropped her gaze to the floor. Don't look and it won't hurt. Don't look and it won't hurt….
"Mmm, yum." Tiny squeals abruptly cut off by crunching. "Eeth awr reary gud!"
Quin stumbled away, gagging, and fell to her knees. She couldn't be sick. She didn't dare be sick. There would be no excuse of food poisoning this time. She swallowed the taste of bile.
"Hey! You better not throw up while I'm eating!" The hem of Red's robe fluttered into her peripheral vision. "Hear me?"
Quin nodded slowly.
"Answer me!"
Quin hesitated, then shook her head.
"What, you can't talk because you would throw up?"
Quin nodded.
"Huh." She watched Red's hem circle her. "Better than you puking all over the place, I guess. You've got a few minutes to compose yourself, then I want you back at my station."
Quin nodded. Red's hem disappeared from her peripheral vision.
She didn't move. Bringing her rebellious gut to heel took effort and energy, and at the moment she was woefully lacking in both. . At last she rose, shook off the pins-and-needles feeling her legs and went over to Red.
The Tallest had finished his snacks, judging by the empty tray on the table and the frosting smeared on his mouth. "I want seconds. Go easy on the frosting this time." Quin took the tray and turned to leave.
"Wait a sec," he added. He leaned forward and wiped his mouth off on her hair. "That's better."
Quin stood there. The sensation of being off, of somehow not-quite-right, smothered her. In the next heartbeat, a welcome, familiar fury seared it to ash as if it had never existed.
She pivoted on her heel and locked eyes with the Tallest. "No one can me feel inferior without my consent. I am not consenting."
She swung the tray in a tight, sharp arc and smashed it into Red's face.
Red blinked, dumbstruck. Then he lunged at her.
Quin flung herself behind the futile protection of Purple's chair. A spider leg creased her ribs, and she dove under the table. Two more spider legs snaked after her. Quin skittered backward on her hands and knees. If she could put some space between them, if she could get to the damn door, if she were fifteen years younger —
A spider leg seized her ankle, another her opposite wrist, and dragged her into the open.
Quin blinked at the sight of her captor. Purple's antennae flared and straightened as he looked from her to Red.
"What in the name of Irk is going on here?"
#
"You call that a punishment?" Red demanded, turning from the private lounge's largest viewscreen.
Purple sighed and set down his electronic clipboard to face his co-Tallest. Red had been grumbling under his breath since they began organizing the questions for Zim and Tak, ostensibly about incompetent pilots and Invader wanna-bes. Hearing Red vent would allow them to focus on more important issues when he was done, but dealing with it was still aggravating. "Red, you agreed from the beginning to let me handle Quin in these matters." He propped his chin in his claws, mouth curling in a half-smile as he watched the replay of their slave's hundredth performance of "I'm A Little Teapot." Intelligence had found the smeetish ritual among some obscure record from the human's personal files. "I think it's appropriate, given her behavior."
"I don't. She hit me, Purple!"
"I made her apologize to you for half on hour, kneeling at your feet. She's been denied water for the next two days—."
"So she'll wind up in sickbay being treated for dehydration."
"Let me finish, will you? When she comes back, we'll work her to exhaustion for the same amount of time."
"That's not good enough! She smacked me in the face with a tray!"
"I would have done the same thing, given what you did," Purple snapped. His antennae flared back. "What were you thinking?"
"You kept telling me humiliation was the key. So I humiliated her. It didn't work."
"The right kind of humiliation, Red. Something with personal meaning, not just random callousness. That's why that —" Purple jerked his head at the viewscreen. "—and the apology are in a way worse than physical pain. It shows."
Red snorted. "She was afraid when I cut her."
"Did she stay afraid?" Red scowled but said nothing. "You get the point. You pushed her too far, too soon. Leave her alone, Red."
"Oh, of course. Leave her alone, Red," the other Tallest singsonged, mimicking Purple. "Typical."
Purple's eyes narrowed. "And just what do you mean by that?"
"Oh, come on!" Red threw his arms in the air, and then crossed them. "You're too attached to this Quin-human, Purple. She's not our slave or a means to ending these asinine rebellions anymore; she's your pet! First it was, 'You be the stick, Red, I'll be the … orange, longish vegetable thingy…'"
"Carrot," Purple corrected. "And you like being the stick."
"Yeah, I do. It's fun. But every time I try to be sticklike, you cut me off. You protect her."
"I do not!"
"You do too! All the time! Yeah, yeah, you're 'taming' her, you're 'breaking' her to teach the stinkbeasts in the internment camps a lesson in the futility of insurrection —"
"It's working, you've seen the reports. Incidents dropped by more than two-thirds in the western hemisphere, all but gone in the eastern, informing on potential troublemakers have tripled all over —"
"Sure, fine, whatever. That's great. Saves us some personnel down there. And speaking of personnel, did you have to add the bit about the average Irken getting his own slave in the internment camp broadcasts? Now there are people requesting certain humans for their own slaves!"
"I've set the bar for earning a human slave so high no one can pass. It's good propaganda, Red. Don't worry about it."
"I'm worried about you. Her hair's really neat-looking, so you want it taken care of. You're polite to her. Withholding water is the ultimate punishment instead of a common tool. Great Miyuki, you treat her as if she's almost an Irken sometimes. You like this pathetically inferior stinkbeast too much, Purple."
"Don't be ridiculous." It was an automatic response, the correct one. And, Purple was forced to admit, a dodge. He did …not like, no. Like wasn't the proper word. He appreciated Quin. Humans relied on water to a point that their bodies refused to function without the proper supply of the vile stuff. What good was a tool if you didn't take care of it? He did have a fondness for her hair with its contrasting colors and its texture. So what? Red's fondness for lasers was more disturbing in his opinion. Besides, Quin was … fun. Her attempts at getting them to behave in a reasonable, rational manner and her conviction in her own inborn equality with them amused and exasperated him. He had at times provoked her into conversations that brought out that particular belief. How she thought was as fascinating as why she thought it.
But none of this meant he liked her.
Red naturally couldn't see the difference. Red's strength was spur-of-the-moment ideas and decisions, not long-term goals and details. Those were his. Quin was a long-term plan; of course Red would find his interest with her suspicious.
Red gave him a look. "Uh-huh," he said. "Right. Face it, Purple. If our little Earthenoid doesn't get back with the program, we'll have to eliminate her sooner rather than later. Or she could be a good little slave and die just a few decades down the road. Either way, you'll be all upset and miserable until you find another one just like her."
"I would not!"
"Would too.
"I would not," Purple ground out. "Let's drop this for now, all right? It's about time to call up Zim and Tak."
"Do we have to?"
"Yes, we do."
The Communications Officer had the main viewscreen up and split in half when The Tallest arrived on the bridge. "Get them on the line," Red said with a sigh, as they sat down. "Let's get this over with."
"Yes, sir." There was a pause. "Incoming transmissions!"
Zim and Tak appeared on the screen. Zim had gone to lengths to appear in control: the normal mess of half-finished experiments and projects was gone, and he was alone — no "loyal minions" lurking in the background. Even GIR was out of sight. Tak looked as she always did: loyal, determined, a good Irken soldier.
But not at an Irken Invader
"Greetings, my Tallest," they chorused, then exchanged glares. Purple mentally gave them points for patching in to each other as well as the Massive. This might not be a wasted effort after all.
"Yes, yes, greetings to you, too." Red leaned forward. "Do you have any idea why we've requested your presence?"
"Whatever it is, my Tallest, it is not Zim's fault!" Zim burst out. "Tak is guilty. Guilty!"
"I am not!" Tak shot back. She pointedly turned her back on Zim. "No, my Tallest. But as an Invader, I will cooperate."
"I see," Purple said. "Then let me clue you in. I had an interesting meeting with Organic Sweep Operations and Planetary Reconfiguration this morning."
Earth's conquerors looked at one another. And then the floodgate broke.
"I tell you, my Tallest, it's a plot of hers to humiliate me! They weren't real Organic Sweepers. Zim has no need of their aid!"
"Tallest Purple, Zim tried to persuade them to attack the soldiers under my command. He didn't even care what they were supposed to be doing! I wanted to help —"
"Lies! Lies!"
"I'm telling the truth, Zim! Go stick your head in a bucket!"
Zim screamed. "Did you hear that, my Tallest? Tak is a traitor! A traitor!"
"That's enough!" Purple bellowed.
Tak and Zim fell silent, blinking.
Red whistled. "Didn't know you had it in you, Purple."
Purple ignored him. "Your petty squabbles are unimportant. I don't want to hear about them again. You are to cooperate with Organic Sweep and Planetary Reconfiguration in their search? Am I understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"Yes, my Tallest." Zim scratched his chin. "My Tallest…what exactly are they looking for?"
Purple groaned and dropped his head in his hands. "Red…."
"Hey, you were doing fine just a minute ago."
"The missing ship, you moron," Tak spat.
Zim jabbed a finger at her. "Lies! No pathetic Earth defense-thingy could shoot down a superior Irken fighter ship!"
"Well, one did, Zim." Red steepled his claws. "What about their weapons? You said they only had nuclear warheads. I guess you overlooked something in your surveillance, huh?"
Tak shook her head vigorously, curled antennae waving. "Tallest Red, the humans had nothing capable of destroying Irken technology."
"Something took down the Fighter-Escort FE-47, Tak," Purple countered, "with barely enough time for the pilot to send word he was under attack, and no time to tell us by what. It may have been destroyed completely.
"But what if it wasn't? What if it's found by humans who could use it -- the ones who brought it down?"
"Bah!" Zim waved his arms. "Forgive me, my Tallest, but what hhhhuman would dare?"
"Rebels," Purple said. "Specifically, the bunch hiding out somewhere between your respective quadrants."
The guilt and shock on their faces brought a cold satisfaction to Purple's heart. Giving Zim and Tak their own areas of control next to each other had been Red's idea, not his. He understood Red's reasoning: Zim was still Zim, despite his "victory", and Tak was perhaps a little too competent. Should she grow have a sudden growth spurt and become a threat .... Better to let them fight each other and stay out of the way of the serious work. A good plan.
As he might have predicted, a good plan that fell apart at the first sign of real trouble.
Tak's antennae writhed. "My Tallest, I swear to you, I went through every government's defense programs. Nothing. Even the newest prototype fighter planes couldn't take on an FE and win. They simply weren't advanced enough."
"The FE-47 has not been found," Purple said carefully. "There's no sign of debris, and the auto-locator hasn't triggered. Now, the auto-locator could have been damaged in the attack. But that returns us to the question: if the humans didn't shoot it down, who did?"
Silence.
"Um. Sir," Tak ventured at last. "Have you and Tallest Red considered…friendly fire?" The last two words came out in an embarrassed, terrified rush.
Zim screeched in outrage. Red snarled at him, and the little Irken contained himself to pulling on his antennae in despair. Purple bit back a sigh. Sometimes the "perfect, infallible mighty Irken military" propaganda pushed it too far.
"We have," Purple replied. "There were a few incidents, none serious."
"My Tallest, it could be the Planet Jackers! They broke the Irken-Planet Jacker treaty before." "No, we would have seen them before now. They would have made themselves known. They're not subtle. Those tall-but-inexplicably-dumb aliens who abducted you, Zim. What about them?"
Zim's face screwed up in disgust. "They may have mastered space travel, my Tallest, but they're too stupid. Maybe the Nhar —"
His sentence died in a computerized white noise scream. Zim and Tak's images blurred, blanked out and reappeared with matching expressions of surprise.
"My lords." The Communications Officer's eyes were huge above his face shield. "Incoming transmission on the diplomatic frequency."
Red looked at Purple. "I thought we shut that one down."
"We did."
"Sirs, it's attempting to override the current feed with the Invaders."
"Block it," Purple said.
"Let it through!" Red countered. "Give me a subvocal link to Tactical. Narrow audio so whoever's calling only hears Tallest Purple, nothing in the background."
"Yes, sir!"
The viewscreen went black. Purple felt his spider legs prodding at his pack. The Tallest are never nervous, he told himself. His spider legs didn't believe him.
He nearly let them out when he saw what appeared on the viewscreen.
A bipedal, dark gray felinoid in what appeared to be military uniform stood behind a spaceship's control panel.
"To the Almighty Tallest, rulers of the Irken Empire, salutations from the Dusajji Compact." It dipped its head briefly. "Admiral Desumu of the Dusajji Warship Akinama , currently serving aboard the Dusajji Science Vessel Bubastis."
"Oh, no. Not them. What are they doing here?" Red's muttered command reverberated eerily in Purple's bones. "Tactical, scan their ship. I want offensive and defensive capabilities."
Purple leaned forward, paying no attention to Red. He smiled, not caring — hoping, actually — that the expression resembled more a baring of teeth.
"The Almighty Tallest return the salutations to the esteemed sentients of the Dusajji Compact, Admiral," he said. "We have a question. A couple of them, actually.
"What's a Admiral doing on a science vessel? And why are you here?"
"Pirate activity's been reported near this system for some time. Dusaj and some of her Compact allies finally tracked down enough leads to determine when and where said pirates might strike next. Bubastis is on an archeological and geological mi —"
"WHAT THE FUCK DID THEY DO TO THE PLANET ?"
The high-pitched, feminine shriek of outrage drowned out the Admiral and continued, only slightly less loud but without pause. "Half of China's gone the Middle East glassy slag native populations decimated look at what they're doing to the polar caps where's Japan Mox Admiral Irks fucking insane look —"
The voice abruptly fell silent.
"Your Excellencies, one of the crew is …upset. If you'll pardon my rudeness while I attend to matters, you'd have my gratitude, as well as that of the Compact."
Purple waved his claws magnanimously. "Of course, Admiral."
"Thank you, Your Excellencies." The screen went blank.
Purple slumped back in his chair. "This is so not what we need right now."
"Tell me about it," Red growled. "Tactical, where's that report?"
"Sorry, sir. Their scrambler technology is different from ours. We're having a little trouble."
Purple hissed. "Try harder!"
"Sirs, we've determined there's only three occupants of the ship. From the size and configuration, it is one of their science vessels, as they claim. No offensive capabilities to speak of, but…" The Communication Officer's antennae bent once. "There seems to have been some modifications made for extra maneuverability and speed."
"Huh. What for?"
"Do we need to know?" Red turned to face him. "I'll bet you credchips to dlors they've got some thing to do with the FE-47's disappearance."
"Incoming transmission from the Bubastis!"
"Tactical, place the Massive's laser cannons on alert. Purple, chat up the Admiral while I decide when to shoot them out of orbit."
"Red, I don't think that's a good idea —"
"What, are you afraid of these cat-beasts and their pals?"
Before Purple could respond, the Dusajji Admiral reappeared onscreen. "Ah, Admiral, welcome back!" he said.
The Dusajji made his little head-bob gesture. "It's good to be back, Your Excellencies." Purple thought his eyes flicked toward Red. "Let me apologize on behalf of the Dusajji Compact for that unforgivable outburst of First Scholar Feywu's earlier."
"Oh, that's all right. Blowing you to space dust will make us feel much better," Red muttered. Purple's antenna twitched.
"Apology accepted, Admiral." He leaned forward. "First Scholar Feywu?"
Desumu showed amazing intelligence for an inferior species and took the hint. "A student from one of our better universities, close to becoming a full Scholar in her fields. As I said, Bubastis is on an archaeological and geological mission to the third planet closest to the sun. The Compact Council decided to use its mission as cover for a trap for the pirates. My presence is to insure that the protocols of arrest and search and seizure are carried out."
"I see." Purple tapped his chin. "And you do this all by your lonesome? To pirates with ships with lots of weapons and stuff?"
One of the Dusajji's eyebrows quirked upward. He blinked. "That'd be rather foolish, Your Excellencies."
"Yes, wouldn't it? So why did you? You say the Bubastis is a science vessel, and science vessels don't have a lot of weapons."
"Tactical, power up the laser cannons, slowly enough so that they don't notice if they're scanning us."
"Sirs, that's not possible for long —"
"I know, soldier! Just do it!"
"No, they don't," the Admiral agreed. "None, in fact."
Purple folded his arms. "None."
"Sirs, another ship has entered past the Belt. It's sending out vitals and…"
"What! How did it get past -- Never mind, increase power to the lasers!"
"Sirs, it's a Dusajji ship… a warship. The Akinama."
Red cursed. "How soon could it get here?"
"So how did you plan to capture these pirates, Admiral?" Purple asked.
"We have backup firepower, Your Excellencies. My ship, the Akinama, is only a half-hour behind us."
"Ten minutes, sir," the Communications Officer answered.
"Increase power. By the time that damn warship gets here it'll be too late —"
"My lords, another ship has entered the system. A viyshoon freighter. And there's a third overtaking it, my lords. It's bypassed Akinama. It's — it's…"
"What?" Red demanded.
The CO's antenna wilted. "… a nriu news-pod skimmer, sir."
"I see." Purple rubbed his chin. "But your ship isn't in the vicinity, Admiral. Rather risky, don't you think?
"Life is full of risks, Your Excellencies."
"Damn it! Block our transmissions!"
The CO shook his head. "Too late, my lord. They've got us. Sensors indicate they're scanning us as we speak."
"Even the subvocals?"
There was a pause. "Can't rule out that possibility, my lord."
Red hissed. "Purple, you heard?"
"Yes."
"Find out what else they wanted from Earth. Power down the lasers. Break subvocal contact."
The reverb in Purple's bones disappeared. He shook his head; as he hoped, the Dusajji admiral took it for reproof.
"You don't agree with me, Your Excellencies?"
"Oh, I couldn't agree more, Admiral," Purple said ironically. "But I still have to wonder why you would undertake such a venture…and what Dusaj's true interest is in this world. You mentioned an archaeological and geological mission?"
"The risk was considered worth it. The mission's staff, once their duty was explained to them, concurred. Dusaj's interest in Sol III, or Earth, as the natives called it, is complex. We had a colony on this planet once; abandoned when it became obvious the indigenous hominids were advancing in civilization. We had some hand it that, it seems."
Red drummed his claws. "And that was … what? And why does it matter now?"
"From what I recall of my academy days, the hominids worshipped us as gods."
Red fixed the admiral with a steely gaze. "That takes care of the archaeology. What about the rest of it?"
The admiral spread his hands. "You'd have to ask a better scholar than me, Your Excellencies. I'm just a soldier."
"Then we have only your word about the veracity of this … mission."
"No, Your Excellencies." Another Dusajji walked into view from offscreen, from the voice that one that had been hysterical earlier. Her fur was light gray with darker stripes, and she wore a lab coat over a gray-blue smock and pants. "You have my word as well."
She sounded calm, almost friendly, and put Purple on edge. "Yours?" he echoed.
She inclined her head, even more briefly than the Admiral had done. "First Scholar Feywu, Your Excellencies. One part of my Scholar's thesis was —" She cast the faintest accent on the word was. "— centered on the ruins of one of the old temples where the humans worshipped us; the other on the geological changes that enabled such a state of preservation. I have my notes and rough draft if you wish to see them."
"No, that's all right," Red said.
"Are you sure? There's quite a bit on the nature of the planet's population, their psychology and what drives them. It may be helpful with the slave rebellions you've been having."
"Slave rebellions?" Purple managed a tone of pure confusion. "What slave rebellions?"
The First Scholar blinked, slowly. "Oh. I'm sorry. Was that supposed to be a secret?"
Red bared his teeth in a smile. "Don't worry about it. If there are slave rebellions, they're our business. Not yours."
"No, Your Excellencies, they're not. First Scholar, go see if there are any more messages from the Akinama ."
"Of course. Admiral. Your Excellencies." The First Scholar moved out of sight.
"Well, Admiral," Red said, "now that the scientific mission is impossible, what are you going to do?"
"About the pirates? My orders were to stay in the vicinity until they were encountered and caught."
"I doubt we'll have problems with your pirates, Desumu."
"I doubt you will, either. However, your presence means they will seek other bases of operations. We may have to remain in-system in order to track them." He paused.
"Then, there is the matter of Sol III itself."
"It's been claimed by the Irken Empire, Admiral," Purple said flatly. "It's ours."
The Dusajji nodded. "Obviously. But there may be certain things Dusaj, and the Compact, would like access to nonetheless. For a price, of course."
Red and Purple looked at each other. "Like what?"
"I'm not certain myself. Some of the animals, perhaps, or the minerals. Even possibly some of the hominids. I would have to contact the Compact Council to be sure."
"How long would that take?" Red asked.
"Two days, perhaps. The Council would have to convene and discuss the matter. I would hope to have even a tentative offer to present to you at the end of that time."
Red and Purple looked at each other. "All right, Admiral," Purple said. "You have your two days. We are not promising anything beyond a willingness to listen. In the meantime you — including the viyshoon and nriu — will not interfere with our operations, any aspect of them. Am I understood?"
"Perfectly, Your Excellencies. I will be in contact within two days. Good evening to you both." He nodded, and the screen went blank.
Red slumped in his chair. "What next? A request for a tour of the Massive? What do they really want with this world, anyway?"
"Maybe just what they said."
Red snorted. "You don't believe that anymore than I do."
"Not really…but it is a possibility. Who knows why these inferior species act like they do?" Purple sighed. "Why'd you power down the lasers?"
"Strategy," Red spat out. "The Compact's motto is 'Attack one, attack all.' We're not in a position to deal with them. Not yet, and certainly not right now.
"The nriu are out there, with decoding techniques and transmissions and snooping technology that can penetrate ours. Firing on the Bubastis would have beyond stupid; they'd've broadcast it to Compact space almost as soon as it happened. The damned bugs are going to be watching us, Purple. Watching and recording and broadcasting. We'll have to go to our strongest encryptions and codes."
"Which will make Desumu think we're up to something."
"So? We will be!"
"Maybe we should keep the most innocuous stuff clear. Let them see some, so they don't suspect all of it."
"They'll suspect that, Purple."
"Let them. They can't accuse us of hiding nefarious plans under inter- and intra-ship communiqués, now can they? Desumu would look foolish. I get the impression he doesn't like looking foolish."
"Oh, all right," Red, sighed. "But the first sign sensitive information's being tracked through the clear transmissions, the encryption gets slapped on everything."
"Deal." Purple rubbed his forehead. "Oh…you're supposed to check on Quin's seams tonight."
"For the love of — How can you think about that at a time like this?"
"Because it's her routine. We have to keep her on routine for a while, until we screw it up. Besides, it'll help your mood."
"True…" Red steepled his claws. "Think she'll have a straight seam this time?"
Purple rolled his eyes. "No. I could do better than that meat-child!"
"Hey, having her sew was your idea."
"Don't remind me."
Red snorted and clapped Purple on the shoulder. "You round up the Communications and Intelligence officers and give them the run-down on new procedures. I'll go inflict some stress on our little stink-beast. Meet me in the lounge afterward. I'm going to need a drink."
#
The screen went blank, and Admiral
Desumu felt tension ease out of his bones ever so slightly. For
whatever reasons, the Irkens hadn't fired on them. The crew of the Bubastis
had the promise of two more days of continued existence and the opportunity
to relay the situation back to the Council. Desumu was not a religious man,
but if he returned safely to the Akinama, he'd break a roosting fowl's
neck at the Shrine of Suktara. He was a superlative bluffer and knew it, but
the nriu's appearance alone had tipped the cards in their favor. As far as they could.
"Feywu, what in hell were you thinking?"
The First Scholar was at the communications panel, cycling in the newest transmission from the nriu's newspod. She looked up at him.
"My Scholar's thesis is gone under four feet of glassy slag." Her voice was calm. Too calm. "Suktara's tail, Irkens are ugly. Uglier than ugly. I cannot believe how much I despise them." She printed out a batch of transmissions. "I want to poke out their eyes and use them as marbles. I want to bat them around the room like a ball. Pounce on them and break their joints. Pull their wings off — do they have wings? They should. I wonder what they taste like?"
"First Scholar, that is enough. Your conduct is unbecoming a sentient being."
Feywu rounded on him, ears back. "My conduct?" She slammed down her stylus. "My conduct? For love of Kesh, Admiral, what about theirs?"
"I realize the loss of your Scholar's thesis is a great blow —."
Feywu swung an arm; stylus, printouts and a half-finished cup of tea clattered to the ship's floor, barely missing Mox.
"This isn't about my Scholar's thesis!" she screamed. "It's about six billion people dead!"
"First Scholar, stand down!" Desumu roared.
The First Scholar's ears flattened to her skull, and her claws flexed. She spun away, gripping the edge of the communications table. Desumu counted silently. When he reached ten, she turned back to face him, her expression once again composed. Mox, the Admiral noted, was hunched over the comm., seemingly oblivious, but his ears were pricked and alert.
"How could they do that, Admiral? How? And how can you be so calm?"
"I'm appalled at what the Irken Empire has done." He was appalled at the Irken Empire, period. "I lack the emotional attachment to Sol III —"
"Earth."
"— Earth that you do. My duty is to the Dusajji Compact. I will not have that duty interfered with by civilian sensitivities. I can do nothing for the Compact, let alone any remaining Earth hominids, if I'm dead. The Irkens nearly shot us out of space as it was."
Feywu's eyes widened. There was a thump from Mox's direction; the white-and-black furred pilot ignored his fallen headset. "What?"
"An old Irken tactic: they keep their enemy talking while they power up lasers or surround them."
"Why didn't they?" Mox asked.
Desumu picked up the sodden printouts, stylus and cups tossing them in the trash recycler. "The viyshoon and the nriu. Especially the nriu. Their decoding and transmissions capabilities still outrank ours, no matter how fast we upgrade. I'd wager they're better than the Irkens as well. The Empire doesn't like an audience."
"So now what?" Feywu folded his arms.
"I talk to the Council."
"And?"
"Do what I'm told."
"Fine. What about us?" She waved her hand at Mox.
"You'll do what you're told, Lieutenant."
It took a moment to sink in.
"Lieutenant? Admiral, I'm not in the Fleet."
"You are now."
Feywu stared at him in disbelief "You can't do this!"
"I just did. The Compact Articles of Militia grants an officer with sufficient rank to enlist any citizen of the Compact under extreme conditions. I have the rank. You're citizens. If these conditions aren't extreme, nothing is." Desumu cocked an eyebrow. "Unless you have a moral objection, First Scholar?"
"Yes, I have a moral objection. I have a moral objection to being shot at!"
"Objection noted and denied."
Mox sniggered.
"Watch your tone, Warrant Officer."
Mox blinked. "Uh… what did you say?"
"You heard me."
"But I've got a criminal record. I'm working off my 200,000 hours of community service as a University pilot. Doesn't that disqualify me?"
"No."
Mox's ears drooped. "Then why is she a lieutenant and I'm just a warrant officer?"
"Lieutenant dhus Atkir holds the rank she does because it's required. Most attachés and diplomatic liaisons in the Fleet are lieutenants or higher."
"Diplomatic liaison? To the Irkens?" Feywu's golden eyes were huge. "Have you lost your mind?"
Desumu set his ears flat. "What was that, soldier?"
"Have you lost your mind, sir ? I distinctly recall saying I despise Irkens and want to tear them to bloody bits. Those don't strike me as desirable qualities in a diplomat. Mox gets along with almost everyone. Why not give him the job?"
He had expected this. "Warrant Officer dhus Saarvi, what do you know of Sol III, known to the natives and certain Compact factions as Earth?"
"Um." Mox scratched his head. "It's got lots of water…and killer nip…"
"There's your answer, Lieutenant. You're what I have to work with. Your knowledge of Earth and its natives are an advantage the Irkens don't have."
"Sir, why aren't you the diplomatic liaison?" Mox asked.
"Akinama is ten minutes out from here. The Irkens know I'm her ranking officer. If I set foot on any ship of theirs, they'll find a way to take me prisoner. No matter what protocols they promise to uphold. I'd be tortured into revealing the Akinama 's codes and whatever else it strikes them to ask."
Desumu watched the new Warrant Officer's ears twitch as he worked up his courage. "Isn't there … well… torture resistance training or something you guys have to go through?"
"Yes, there is. To keep from breaking when your comrades or civilians are worked on."
"So I'm the liaison because I'm expendable," Feywu said bitterly.
"Because you know nothing of military value. The Tallest were introduced to you as an academic; you behaved as a civilian. They'll guess your new rank is some sort of emergency measure. They may try to intimidate you, but frankly, you're not worth torturing."
"Thank you, sir. I feel so much better."
"Watch the sarcasm, Lieutenant. You need to remember your rank and duties. Especially once you deal with the Tallest."
"Admiral, are you sure the Tallest would do all this torture and spying and stuff?" Mox shook his head. "I've seen some of their broadcasts. They're such jerks."
"They're jerks, dhus Saarvi. Not stupid."