incomprehensibly. He shrugged, then sat down behind his desk. “I suppose a cup of tea is out of the question, then?” He gave a nod of dismissal in the Lance Corporal’s direction. “Thank you, Atkins.”
Atkins looked at the Sergeant for confirmation.
“Off you go, lad.”
“Sir.” Atkins saluted and snapped his heels together.
There was a strangled gasp as the chatt abandoned its half-hearted attempt to sit, and regurgitated air. Its mouth palps seemed to knit the human words laboriously. “This urman stays.”
“I beg your pardon?” said Everson.
“The urman stays,” insisted Chandar, rearing up.
Recognising the aggressive stance, Napoo drew his short sword and took a step towards the chatt. Everson held up a palm to stop him. Napoo relented, but remained tensed, ready to spring.
“Why?” asked Everson of the creature. “Why him?”
“That urman saved this One from the mandibles of Skarra when your Jeffries would have me wrapped in clay and rolled into the underworld. This spinning, this same urman spared this One again. These acts are of significance to this One. They are acts of Kurda, a basic tenet of colonyhood.”
If it made the damn thing more predisposed to talk, then that was fine with him. “Very well,” said Everson. He waved his hand and indicated that Atkins should stay. “At ease, Lance Corporal.”
“Sir.” Atkins looked uncomfortable as he stood at rest. He glanced at Hobson, who just shrugged.
Its request acceded to, Chandar relaxed its stance.
“Now, see here,” Everson began. “We will not surrender to you. You will not take us prisoners to be mesmerised as slaves in your colony. We will not bow to any tyrant’s yoke.”
“It is too late for that,” said Chandar. “Not since the days of Wuljungur has Khungarr been invaded. Now, in retribution, Sirigar has chemically decreed that you and any wild urmen caught within our sovereign burri are to be expelled. Failing that, you are to be culled to preserve the sanctity and safety of Khungarr. Those are your choices.”
There was no choice at all and Everson knew it. They could not leave this stronghold, this circle of the Somme earth that came with them. It was all they had left of Earth. It seemed they had their backs against the wall.
“We forewarned your emissary Jeffries of these eventualities,” continued the chatt.
Everson shifted forward in his chair. Atkins, too, stared at the chatt. Only Hobson remained unperturbed.
“Jeffries?”
“He promised to deliver the Tohmii, your herd, to us. You would have been accepted into our colony, given food, shelter, purpose, treated as our own. It is Kurda.”
“He had no damn right to speak on our behalf,” replied Everson with measured fury. “No damn right at all. Man was a snake in our midst. He’s not one of us. He’s –” he searched for a word the arthropod might understand.
“Outcast,” offered Napoo gruffly.
“Outcast,” repeated Everson, with a degree of satisfaction at the sound of the word.
“Nonetheless, an agreement was made and breached,” said Chandar.
“But at what price? What was it that Jeffries wanted from you? What was worth so much to him that he was willing to sell the rest of us into slavery?”
The chatt’s posture seemed to slump. “An old heresy thought long forgotten,” it wheezed.
“Croatoan,” suggested Everson.
“Yes.”
He put his elbows on his desk and leant forward, hands clasped. “Tell me about this Croatoan.”
The chatt’s mandible parted as it hissed, its mouth palps flapping like windsocks in the brief rush of air. “The urman Jeffries asked the same thing before committing the most unforgivable transgression in destroying our sacred repository. Therein lay the basis of our laws, our beliefs. Ancient aromas that bottled the wisdom of generations. Tunnels can be rebuilt, chambers repaired, but the Tohmii have left us dispossessed. Robbed. The Redolence of Spiras gone forever.”
The chatt ran out
Atkins looked at the Sergeant for confirmation.
“Off you go, lad.”
“Sir.” Atkins saluted and snapped his heels together.
There was a strangled gasp as the chatt abandoned its half-hearted attempt to sit, and regurgitated air. Its mouth palps seemed to knit the human words laboriously. “This urman stays.”
“I beg your pardon?” said Everson.
“The urman stays,” insisted Chandar, rearing up.
Recognising the aggressive stance, Napoo drew his short sword and took a step towards the chatt. Everson held up a palm to stop him. Napoo relented, but remained tensed, ready to spring.
“Why?” asked Everson of the creature. “Why him?”
“That urman saved this One from the mandibles of Skarra when your Jeffries would have me wrapped in clay and rolled into the underworld. This spinning, this same urman spared this One again. These acts are of significance to this One. They are acts of Kurda, a basic tenet of colonyhood.”
If it made the damn thing more predisposed to talk, then that was fine with him. “Very well,” said Everson. He waved his hand and indicated that Atkins should stay. “At ease, Lance Corporal.”
“Sir.” Atkins looked uncomfortable as he stood at rest. He glanced at Hobson, who just shrugged.
Its request acceded to, Chandar relaxed its stance.
“Now, see here,” Everson began. “We will not surrender to you. You will not take us prisoners to be mesmerised as slaves in your colony. We will not bow to any tyrant’s yoke.”
“It is too late for that,” said Chandar. “Not since the days of Wuljungur has Khungarr been invaded. Now, in retribution, Sirigar has chemically decreed that you and any wild urmen caught within our sovereign burri are to be expelled. Failing that, you are to be culled to preserve the sanctity and safety of Khungarr. Those are your choices.”
There was no choice at all and Everson knew it. They could not leave this stronghold, this circle of the Somme earth that came with them. It was all they had left of Earth. It seemed they had their backs against the wall.
“We forewarned your emissary Jeffries of these eventualities,” continued the chatt.
Everson shifted forward in his chair. Atkins, too, stared at the chatt. Only Hobson remained unperturbed.
“Jeffries?”
“He promised to deliver the Tohmii, your herd, to us. You would have been accepted into our colony, given food, shelter, purpose, treated as our own. It is Kurda.”
“He had no damn right to speak on our behalf,” replied Everson with measured fury. “No damn right at all. Man was a snake in our midst. He’s not one of us. He’s –” he searched for a word the arthropod might understand.
“Outcast,” offered Napoo gruffly.
“Outcast,” repeated Everson, with a degree of satisfaction at the sound of the word.
“Nonetheless, an agreement was made and breached,” said Chandar.
“But at what price? What was it that Jeffries wanted from you? What was worth so much to him that he was willing to sell the rest of us into slavery?”
The chatt’s posture seemed to slump. “An old heresy thought long forgotten,” it wheezed.
“Croatoan,” suggested Everson.
“Yes.”
He put his elbows on his desk and leant forward, hands clasped. “Tell me about this Croatoan.”
The chatt’s mandible parted as it hissed, its mouth palps flapping like windsocks in the brief rush of air. “The urman Jeffries asked the same thing before committing the most unforgivable transgression in destroying our sacred repository. Therein lay the basis of our laws, our beliefs. Ancient aromas that bottled the wisdom of generations. Tunnels can be rebuilt, chambers repaired, but the Tohmii have left us dispossessed. Robbed. The Redolence of Spiras gone forever.”
The chatt ran out
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