But Kralik had no grudge against this new Jao officer—not yet, at any rate—and saw no reason to discomfit him. “Would you like to conduct the interviews in an office, sir?” Kralik nodded at the barracks. “We find the sun very hot at this time of day.”
“Yes,” Aille said. His body, taller than most Jao, shone under the relentless light so that he seemed poured from molten-gold. “That would be best.”
Inside, Kralik seated the Subcommandant behind Hawkins’ scratched metal desk. Tully and the silent fraghta assumed identical stances on either side. Outside, the combat vets lined up to come in one by one.
The first, a grizzled sergeant from Montana named Joe Cold Bear, took up parade rest before the desk, his body carefully stiff so as not to commit some accidental posture that would translate to the Jao as disrespect.
“You fought against the Jao?” Aille asked without preamble.
Cold Bear’s teak-colored eyes studied a water stain on the wall above the Subcommandant’s head. “Yes, sir. At the Battle of Chicago.”
“What was your function?”
“Infantry, sir.”
“I have been told,” Aille said, rising and walking around the desk, “that human kinetic-energy weapons were unexpectedly effective against our version of what you call ‘tanks.’ Furthermore, that the effectiveness of Jao lasers was occasionally hampered by various low-tech methods such as steam and chaff.” His ears were forward.
An unwary chuckle escaped Cold Bear at the memory, then his mouth compressed. “Yes, sir. A man with a steam bomb—sometimes, in a real jam, just a jury-rigged sack of tin foil confetti—could sneak up on one of your tanks from the side and blow the targeting all to hell. Just for a very short time, of course, but that was often all we needed. Your armor sucks. Uh, sir.”
The fraghta’s ears rose. ” ‘All to hell?’ ‘Sucks’?”
“Colloquial varieties of technical terms, sir,” Kralik said, giving Cold Bear a warning glance. “Roughly translated, the first means ‘very much’ and the other, ah, means ‘not good.’ You will hear the expressions from time to time among the ranks.”
“Begging your pardon, sir,” the Montanan said, his seamed face grim. “I meant no disrespect.”
“I am still acquiring Terran vocabulary,” the Subcommandant said, with a glance at Tully, “or English, as I am told it is called, though I have absorbed most of your syntax and grammar. Those terms will no doubt prove useful.”
Tully’s green eyes flickered toward Kralik, and he seemed to be choking a little, but he said nothing. Kralik wasn’t sure what Tully’s position with the Subcommandant was, but his initial assumption that he was an informer of some kind had faded. If anything, the sullenness the man exuded was aimed at the Jao, not his fellow humans.
Even if he had been an informer, Kralik would have covered for Cold Bear. Kralik wasn’t going to stand here and let one of his men be disciplined for disrespect if he could help it. But he was now sure that Tully wouldn’t let the Subcommandant know about the slight deception.
Aille questioned Cold Bear for a few more minutes, then dismissed him and summoned the next. The interviews proceeded slowly, always the same questions and mostly the same answers. How did Jao technology perform during the conquest, especially at the famous battles of Chicago and New Orleans? Was it true human kinetic-energy weapons performed better than the Subcommandant had been led to believe?
The human soldiers were clearly surprised to be asked about their experiences and opinions. Jao normally did not care about such things, nor appreciate being apprised of them. The human troops’ eyes were wary, their postures carefully neutral. One by one, they came in through the squeaky screen door and reported to the Subcommandant far into the morning.
* * *
Tully’s left leg was cramping, but he would not give in and ask for a chair. Yaut would like that, he thought, glancing at the fraghta, for Tully to show weakness or ask for favor. It’d be just another excuse for “correction.” He’d show them. He could last as long as two frigging Jao!
But it was so hot. He’d had nothing to eat and little to drink since yesterday, and he still wasn’t completely over his illness. Dehydration was becoming a real possibility, and passing out cold on the floor would not prove anything but his utter worthlessness.