“Has the Governor added her to his service then?” If so, Aille thought, he could hardly be surprised.
“I don’t know, sir,” Kralik said.
“It does not matter,” Aille said, reaching for his personal board in order to make a few notes. “Either she will be there or she will not.”
“Yes, sir.” Kralik straightened. “Entirely right.”
The human was clearly reading some subtext into this situation that Aille could not perceive. He debated whether he should quiz Kralik on it, then decided against it. Not in front of Tully, who had been so disrespectful this morning that another incident might induce Yaut to put him down, then seek permission retroactively.
And, if he hadn’t suspected that was exactly what Tully wanted, he might have been tempted to render approval beforehand. Tully could be . . . wearisome.
The door opened again and a black-haired human female glanced in. “We’ll be taking off in five minutes, sir,” she said. “I just wanted to be sure everyone was buckled in.”
Sturdy and broad-shouldered, she reminded him a bit of his Pluthrak dam, who served on faraway reconnaissance so that he had only seen her thrice so far in his entire life. “You are the pilot?” he said.
“Yes, sir.” She met his gaze without flinching, as many humans did. “Is there anything you want before we lift?”
“I wish to come forward and observe,” Aille said. “I have worked hard to develop my own piloting skills, but have never had an opportunity to fly this sort of a ship.”
“I’m afraid there’s no room forward for observers,” she said, the muscles in her face tightening. “If you could sit second, though, I . . . well, I could maybe give you the copilot’s seat.”
He noted the sudden whiteness of her knuckles as she gripped the doorframe, her thinned lips. Most likely, she thought it would endanger the ship to have an inexperienced backup, but for some reason was reluctant to say so.
“Not this time, then,” he said, “But I would like to sit second on a training flight at some point. An experienced officer should know the strengths and limitations of all the vehicles under his command.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll let you know the next time a training flight is scheduled.” She closed the door and Aille could hear the clank of the outer hatch.
He looked at Tully and Aguilera. “I did not fully understand that exchange. She clearly did not want me to sit second, so why then did she hesitate to express her true opinion?”
Aguilera looked uncomfortable. “You put her on the spot, sir. She was afraid to say no.”
“It was her duty to refuse, then,” Yaut said. “By hesitating, she endangered the ship.”
Tully punched the back of the seat in front of him. “Don’t you get it? No one on this world tells a Jao he can’t have or do something. It’s not good for your health!”
Yaut raised his hand, about to cuff him. But Aille, moving still more quickly, restrained him.
There was something . . .
Could it be that this was not simply sullenness and disrespect?
He looked at Aguilera. The older human was stalwart, he thought, and not given to pointless resentments. “Is this true, what he says?
Aguilera glanced at Tully, his lips twisted in what Aille thought was a human way of indicating sourness. But, after a moment, he nodded.
“Pretty much, sir. Tully’s exaggerating, like he always does. Nath’s always been straight with us. A couple of the other supervisors. Chul krinnu ava Monat. A number of the guards on the base in Pascagoula, too. But . . . yes. That’s usually how it is. When a human deals with most Jao, it’s always risky to tell them what they don’t want to hear.”
Aille and Yaut stared at each other. The fraghta’s ears were now flat with indignation-at-others, rather than direct-anger.
“Sixty seconds until we lift,” came a male voice over the intercom. A warning rumble of engines vibrated through the walls. “Please be sure seat harnesses are locked and all personal items have been stowed for the duration of the flight.”
Aille and Yaut took their seats, in front of Tully and Aguilera. The Subcommandant stared out the window.