Even though they could be counted among his own clan’s old enemies, Jemunu-jah did not begrudge them their good fortune. He was only upset that his people had not been able to share in it. And of course, no one had expected the T’kuo to share with the A’jah or any other clan. That was not the Sakuntala way.
It was one of the ways that was going to have to change, he knew, if his kind were ever to catch up to the Deyzara. The clans would have to stop fighting among themselves and learn to cooperate. Despite the example posed by the races that made up the Commonwealth, such changes were proving difficult to instill. Something else, some other force, was going to have to be found to unify the Sakuntala.
He intended to check in with the depot master himself. Irritatingly, his companion beat him to it. Something about the Deyzara obliged them always to speak first.
“Good morning, my friend.” Masurathoo waved his speaking trunk politely at the human attendant, addressing her in perfect, barely accented terranglo. Jemunu-jah knew that, unlike the Sakuntala, humans were not disturbed by such movements. But then, he knew, humans had spent many hundred-years among many different kinds of intelligent beings and were used to strange shapes and gestures.
Peering out at them from her dry, dehumidified office, the stout middle-aged human female pushed back her hydrophobic cap and smiled at her visitors. Her expression showed that she was not used to seeing a Sakuntala and Deyzara walking alone together.