“If he were going to fire,” Yaut observed to Aille in quiet Jao, “he would already have done so. He hesitates for some reason.”
“He’s not a member of the Resistance,” whispered Tully in English. “Just a cranky codger too stubborn to leave his home. And he just shot the only wad he’s got left.”
He rose and knelt beside Aguilera, opening his shirt to inspect the wound. “Put the gun down, old-timer, there’s no point to this. They’ll wreck the whole city before they’re done, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
Seizing Aguilera by the shoulders, Tully dragged the taller man into a pool of light cast from a lamp in the entrance to the small dwelling. Then sat back on his heels, laughing softly. “I’ll say this, old man. You may have lost your hair, but you sure didn’t lose your balls.”
Aille’s whiskers drooped. Sometimes he thought he would never understand humans—for a certainty. He examined the old one’s posture and decided that there was no immediate danger. He’d become familiar enough with humans to understand that the old one now exuded abashed-indecision rather than fierce-determination.
He rose and approached. Aguilera’s entrance wound, he could see, looked very small. It was certainly non-lethal, even for a fragile human. Just below the collarbone; bleeding, but not badly.
“What’s so funny?” hissed Aguilera.
Tully was still making soft sounds of amusement. What the humans called “chuckling,” now, not outright laughter.
“That hole’s damn near invisible. Rafe, old son, you’ve been laid out by a .22!” He glanced at the weapon gripped by the old human. “A single-shot, to boot. Looks just like the first gun my daddy bought me.”
Aguilera punched at him weakly with his good hand, but missed and sucked in his breath at the pain the movement cost him. Even Aguilera’s grimace, though, seemed to have some amusement in it.
“I can’t believe it,” Aille heard Aguilera mutter. “How humiliating.”
Their assailant stepped closer, staring at Aille. His rifle was still clutched in his hands but not aimed at anyone. If Aille understood Tully’s vernacular properly, the weapon was no longer armed in any event.
“Are you the Governor?”
Tully stood so that he loomed over their captor.
“Not hardly,” he said. “Jesus, don’t you ever watch the news?”
“The news?” The man snorted. “What for? All them fuzzheads look ali—”
Moving quickly and easily, Tully snatched the gun out of the old human’s hands. The human’s squawk of protest was driven from his lungs as Yaut brought him down. The fraghta’s hands moved to break the man’s neck.
“Stop, Yaut!” commanded Aille.
Yaut obeyed, but when he looked back his eyes glittered green in the night.
“He is harmless now.”
“He raised his weapon to you!” Yaut was seized by anger which bent his body into sharp angles. “He has no respect!”
“He does not know me,” Aille said.
“He knows you are Jao. He should respect that, whatever else!”
“Yes,” Aille said, his posture sober-reflection, “and yet . . .”
He studied Tully and Aguilera. Both of them returned his gaze with dark, unfathomable expressions. Then, he looked at Kralik. The general’s face, too, had that same expression.
There was something critical involved here, Aille realized. He did not understand what it was, but that it was critical he was quite certain. This was one of those rare moments in which association hung in the balance.
“Release him, Yaut,” he commanded. Gesturing at Aguilera: “He was the one injured, not me. Let him decide the proper punishment.”
Aguilera stared at him, then at Tully. A moment later, they exhaled deeply. Even with the difficulty of assessing their alien postures, Aille did not mistake the sentiment that infused both of them. What a Jao would call relieved-appreciation. Kralik’s reaction was more contained, but clearly the same.
It had been the right decision, then. For the first time, ever, he could feel the bonds of association. No tentative shoots, these, but strong lines.
“Oh, hell,” Aguilera said. “Just slap the old coot upside the head and—wait!”
Yaut’s hand had already begun to swing when the last word brought it to an abrupt halt. He peered quizzically at Aguilera.