He spat some alien curse and did so. His emotions could easily overwhelm her if she let them. But she wouldn’t, because she felt strong and sure of her purpose. She concentrated on the overhead displays. ‘Ten seconds,” she said. “Five.”
The pod shuddered and entered the wormhole. Ronan stared straight up, jaw set. In seconds they were on the other side, where a shaauri reception committee was waiting.
The alien vessel was of the striker class like the one that had pursued Ronan. The pod’s small screen gave very few details of design or decoration, but Ronan had already unwebbed and was studying it intently.
“Can you read the designation?” she asked.
His anger remained at low ebb, where it couldn’t interfere with the far more pressing business at hand. “I am not sure,” he said. “Let us hope they know of my mission.”
“You seem to have expected them to be here.”
“There are regular patrols at most shaauri wormholes, but junctions to Concordat territory are most closely watched. It is possible this ship is expecting my return.”
“I always meant to ask if the shaauri vessel that chased you to the Pegasus was part of the plan.”
“Few shaauri knew of it,” he said. “Pray to your gods that these do, or that they are Kalevi allies.”
“Not Kalevi themselves?”
“My Line does not have its own ships, or any interest in worlds beyond their own. But Clan Moikko, to which Line Kalevi belongs, does possess them. If this ship is Moikko, its First will not have us killed immediately.”
“That’s a relief. What now?”
“We wait.” He moved close, his arm touching hers. “Do not speak to the shaauri. I will say what is necessary, and do whatever I must to protect you.”
“I knew what I was doing when I came. I’m prepared to take the consequences.”
“I am not.” He almost smiled, though it was not a pretty expression. “Do not stare at any of the shaauri; keep your gaze averted. We are inferiors until our place is established. Do not show your teeth, or smile, or offer your hand. Remain quiet.”
“I plan to.” And I’m not prepared to have you risk everything for my sake.
That is my decision. You are in my territory now.
She heard him clearly, more than ever before. There was a new ease in such communication, one that did not require physical contact, and she found that she could keep that mental channel open without exposing all her thoughts and feelings. Even so strong an emotion as love couldn’t fog her mind when survival itself depended on absolute awareness and control.
The image on the screen changed as the striker came about. Its grapples struck the pod with a muted thump, and the cable began to reel them in like a well-hooked fish.
For Ronan it must have seemed a repeat of his “rescue” by the Pegasus, but this docking might not end nearly so well. A single shaaurin might be waiting, or a thousand.
Stay close. Ronan opened the hatch and stepped out ahead of her, hands at his sides, palms out and fingers curled tightly to conceal his nails. Evidently a clenched fist was not a sign of hostility among shaauri. Cynara bit hard on her lower lip to stifle an untimely laugh.
Do not show fear. Cynara ground her teeth and nearly bumped into Ronan when he stopped. His head was slightly turned to one side, neither bowed nor lifted, as he met the armed shaauri who confronted him.
Warriors. No one could mistake the size of these shaauri, or their aggressiveness. Cynara struggled to keep her head low and still assimilate the incredible vision so few humans had ever been privileged to witness.
The warriors—ve’laik’i, Ronan called them—stood well over six feet tall, and their spare and functional clothing did nothing to conceal the muscles flexing under deep red, black-barred fur. Cynara remembered that shaauri rank was determined visually by the number of stripes on the body fur; these warriors had a large number collected on the upper torso and arms.
Ronan had always been incredibly graceful in his movements. Now she understood what he attempted to mimic, for the shaauri did not so much walkras flow over the deck. Their limbs were formed differently than humans’, yet there was no hint of awkwardness in the aliens’ physiques. Feet were bare, and the hands, bearing sinister weapons, were armed with curved, sharpened, and tattooed nails.