Valour's Choice by Tanya Huff Page B

hand to tail; good thing they’re coming in on our side. One of the Other’s subordinate species had been tailed, and old mindsets had needed to be reworked when an attempt to save as much of the research station as possible led to close-quarters fighting. After half a dozen Marines had been taken down by what amounted to a smack upside the head with a rubber truncheon, they learned not to relax when they saw both hands raised in surrender.
    The Silsviss had similar tails. Similar reinforced tails.
    They had round eyes set wide apart that seemed to be as unrelieved a black as those of the Mictok although the Silsviss had the more standard two. Evolutionary science hadn’t managed to come up with a good reason for it but sentience seemed to lean toward bi-structural development. Their hands were long fingered, and although they obviously had to have opposable digits, Torin wasn’t close enough to see how they opposed.
    Unable to identify any sexual characteristics, she had no way of telling if the placement of the minimal clothing was merely decorative or gender specific. Not even the soldiers were wearing much, although the harnesses and the impressive amount of hardware clearly added up to uniform. Considering the heat and humidity that thickened the air almost to the consistency of soup, minimal clothing seemed wise. The exposed skin on her face and hands was already greasy with sweat.
    She’d added, “Have sergeants remind the Humans in their squads to be careful about losing their grip on their weapons,” to a mental list when she remembered General Morris’ words: “ You’ll see new worlds, meet new life-forms, and not shoot at them for a change.”
    And that just feels wrong, she realized. I really need to get out of combat for a while.
    “...walk in parade ssso our people may sssee sssome of the many typesss of life the Galaxy offersss.”
    Walk in parade? Her gaze flicked over to the Dornagain and she wondered if there was a diplomatic way to say, “You’ve got to be fukking kidding.”
    Apparently, there was, and transportation was arranged.
    Torin’s translator insisted on calling the three vehicles flatbed trucks—or more specifically, trucksss—although they didn’t look like any truck she’d ever seen. They looked a little like a cross between the sleds they used to move the heavy artillery and most of the farm machinery she’d left behind: functional and far from comfortable. Both military escorts were clearly expected to walk.
    “I think the di’Taykan should ride as an honor guard for our diplomats, sir. They—you—don’t handle this kind of heat well,” she added when the lieutenant’s hair rose in inquiry. “There’s no need for any of us to be unnecessarily uncomfortable.”
    “You don’t think the Silsviss will object?”
    “I think the Silsviss will assume we’re being cautious in a strange place and slap an equal number of their people on board.”
    With the Dornagain climbing into place surprisingly quickly, they didn’t have time to discuss it.
    “Very well, but I walk with the rest of the platoon.”
    She considered arguing but nodded instead. Rank had its responsibilities as well as its privileges. Besides, if he walked, the Silsviss wouldn’t leap to the conclusion that the other di’Taykan were riding because they couldn’t walk. It was something she’d suspect were their positions reversed, but with Lieutenant Jarret on the ground, the whole thing could be chalked up to weird alien ritual. And if they plan on joining the Confederation, the Silsviss had best get used to dealing with that... Remembering the first time she’d ever seen the Krai sit down to a festival meal, she suppressed a shudder. She’d barely been able to stop herself from freeing the appetizers before they reached the table.
    During the delicate diplomatic maneuvering of boarding the trucks—while both the Silsviss officials and the Confederation delegates worked out which aliens it would