Free The Sirens of Space by Jeffrey Caminsky Page A

asked
an exasperated Munshi. “Should I permit you to make a fool of
yourself when it is within my power to spare you
embarrassment?”
    “ If I choose to play the fool,”
snapped Zatar, “what right have you to interfere? You, who chose to
venture alone into their midst and almost to your own death! And do
the Terrans really care if I butcher their tongue? Did they take
offense? Did my effort to reach beyond ignorance find them laughing
like children at another’s clumsiness, or beating their breasts
like a waddlewort closing on his prey?”
    Several of the other Veshnans began to
smile—men took to anger so easily, for all the good it did them—but
the ambassador’s glower soon froze their smirks on their faces. It
was impolite to bait a brood male during a nest mate’s rutting
season, and today’s talks did come at a most inopportune time. It
was understandable that Zatar was in no mood for teasing. Besides,
none of them wanted to be the new target of the keenest mind and
sharpest tongue of the High Council’s Procuracy. Patiently, they
waited for Zatar’s anger to pass, and soon he returned to the topic
at hand.
    The Terran ambassador, the one they
called Gr’Raun-te , had
offered a dramatic concession, one that rendered obsolete their
tepid compromises of the past. For the first time, Terra was
willing to cede sovereignty over the disputed space, all the way to
the Terran edge of the Great Divide—which the Terrans, with
characteristic inscrutability, called ny’Otrl’Zhog’hn , or “The Area of Indifference.”
What they asked in return were the twin rights of exploration and
exploitation, in nearby portions of the great Crutchtan Cloud.
Zatar was certain that they would be willing to restrict their
movements even more, accepting limits on their penetration into
Crutchtan space. But G’Rishela, the Imperator’s representative,
demurred nonetheless, for reasons which remained a
mystery.
    It was that maddening Crutchtan stoicism,
thought Zatar. They never committed themselves to anything, never
showed the slightest emotion, until they were certain of their
course and confident of their advantage. If that didn’t change
quickly, they would lose the momentum this new initiative could
give them, perhaps squandering their chance for peace as well.
    Zatar looked at the Crutchtan seated by
himself near the fireplace, whose face was a study in stolid
impenetrability. The Crutchtan’s eyes stared ahead impassively
while listening to the others airing their disagreements. All the
Crutchtans he had ever met displayed the same expressionless calm,
thought Zatar, as if expressing interest or passion would be a show
of weakness. In the course of his duties as procurator for the High
Council, he had watched the Crutchtan delegates sit motionless,
listening to passionate arguments on the most difficult issues
facing the Alliance, all the while keeping their own counsel until
the very end, when they finally decided on the proper course of
action. Then, of course, they were among the most forceful of
advocates for their own cause, but their very reluctance to commit
themselves often led to misunderstandings with their allies.
    Intellectually, Zatar could understand their
ways. Mildly telepathic, the Crutchtans instantly sensed the
intentions of others of their kind. When faced with a crisis, they
never needed to reassure each other by word or conspicuous deed,
for each could sense the good will of the others—or their
malevolence, if that were the case. It let a Crutchtan think
matters through thoroughly before venturing to speak. While an
admirable trait sorely lacking in most of the Universe, it often
caused consternation in their dealings with other races.
    “ I suppose none have a thought about
this latest impasse?” the ambassador said at last, his voice thick
with dignity.
    G’ela cleared her throat. “I cannot
understand the Terrans’ dismissal of our exchange program. It can
only foster understanding