Yaut stared at the blade. Then, reached out his hand and gave the hilt a tentative little jiggle.
As he suspected. He would need both hands—and all the muscles in his back—to draw the blade out. Even then, he’d have to pry it back and forth before easing enough of the pressure of the neck bones. Yaut was not sure he could have driven it in as deeply himself.
He did so, not disguising the effort it took. And then, done, let his hard green gaze sweep over the assembled Naukra.
They seemed shaken, as well they might be—all except the veteran soldiers who, here and there, were among the selected representatives. Those simply looked satisfied.
As well they might. In Tully’s murderous, lightning-quick deathstroke, the Naukra had finally gotten a glimpse of the frightening truth that had lurked on Terra for twenty of its orbital cycles. Which the veteran soldiers understood, and so few of their superiors ever had. Yaut knew that, to the Naukra representatives new to the planet, as once to him, humans looked silly at first glance. Almost like misshapen crechelings, with their ridiculously little ears and their too-widely-spaced eyes, and their flat faces.
They would seem so, no longer. They would think of Tully now, when they thought of humans. And understand better, hopefully, what they truly faced.
“It was well done, Tully,” he said softly. “Very well. You are a credit to yourself and your service.”
Tully grinned, thinly, somehow managing to combine that human expression with a grateful-to-be-of-service stance that was . . .
Truly pitiful.
Yaut sighed. Tully’s training, he now realized, would never be complete. But he also thought that was perhaps the secret to the creature, his way of being of use—which Aille had recognized, however dimly, from the very beginning.
* * *
Kralik was the first human at her side. He straightened Caitlin’s neck with careful hands, probing the bruised flesh for damage, trying to tell if she was concussed or if vertebrae had been damaged by the blow—or if she just had a badly bruised cheek.
Her voice was a harsh rattle. “M’okay, Ed. So—important! Must make them listen!”
“No, it’s all right.” He cradled her in his arms, rocking her gently. “Oppuk can’t hurt you anymore. It’s all right, sweetheart. He’s dead. The stinking bastard is fucking dead.”
The short Preceptor dressed in the Bond’s black harness and trousers came up and gazed down at her with cryptic black eyes. His manner was calm, as though nothing untoward had occurred here. “Do you still wish to speak?”
“Yes. I do. Help me up, Ed.”
Caitlin rose to her feet, Kralik assisting. She was shaken and bruised and a trickle of red ran from the corner of her mouth. She dabbed at it with the back of one hand. Oppuk’s blow had been stunningly powerful, even though only the heavy fingers had struck her.
“There is a third way, I think.” Her voice was fainter than she wanted, so she did her best to speak more loudly. “One that I believe would create new association and honor all concerned. Human as well as Jao—and avoid insult to any kochan.”
Silence fell over the assemblage as she straightened, desperately trying to push aside the dazed feeling. She was still too fuzzy-headed to be able to develop any elaborate logical preface, she realized. That would have been hard, in any event, since she was more-or-less thinking on her feet to begin with.
Best to just come to the point.
She closed her eyes, swayed, then forced them open again. “I ask you not to grant oudh status on this world to either Narvo or Pluthrak.”
She turned first to Narvo, and managed a reasonable rendition of honorable-recognition. “Narvo because, through no fault of its own, that kochan has come to be indelibly associated among humans—at least for the moment—with Oppuk’s unsane rule. They would simply be faced with suppressing endless rebellions on Terra, which would be of no use to anyone.”
The elderly female who led the Narvo delegation stared back at her; for a Jao, wide-eyed. Then, almost but not quite managing to conceal her surprise, returned the posture with the same.