Read Online Crossing the Line by Karen Traviss - Free Book Online

one of the buildings there was an island in the river of streaming isenj: some appeared to be standing still, pressed together and waiting by a doorway. It was closed. He turned to the interpreter.
    â€œQueuing for food,” said Serrimissani, without waiting for his question. “There’s sufficient, but the logistics of distribution are unwieldy.”
    â€œWhat do the isenj make of humans?”
    Serrimissani fixed him with a predator’s expressionless black eyes. He could almost see her digging for scorpions and crunching them up between those needle teeth. “They can see kinship with you. They enjoy complex organizations.”
    â€œWhat do you think of them?”
    â€œThey honor their debts.”
    â€œHow much do you get paid for interpreting? Sorry. Is that a rude question?”
    â€œThey do not employ me. I have food and somewhere to rest, just as I have on Wess’ej.”
    â€œYou work both sides of the line? And the isenj trust you to be here?”
    â€œWhat could I do that they would not trust? This is not a conflict of knowledge, so I cannot spy. Nor is it a war where the wess’har take the conflict into their enemies’ territory. So I do my job and threaten no one. How do you get paid?”
    It was a good question. Eddie hadn’t had a raise in seventy-six years, and it still irritated him that the BBChan personnel department had decided that he wasn’t entitled to service increments because he’d been in cryosuspension for most of that time. Hell, he’d worked with people who seemed to spend their whole career in comas and they still got raises.
    But then he hadn’t been around to spend his pay, and it had earned plenty of interest. He was surprised how little it suddenly meant to him. Perhaps that was how rich people felt all the time. His stomach felt oddly displaced. “I get tokens that I can exchange for food and other things that I need.”
    â€œWant.”
    â€œSorry?”
    â€œHumans want many things but they need much less than they think,” said the ussissi. “I accept the philosophy of Targassat, having lived among the wess’har. Beware acquisitiveness, Mr. Michallat. It will take you hostage.”
    Eddie savored the moment of being lectured in asceticism by a mongoose. It almost dispelled the aching bewilderment at realizing he was rich and none the better for it. The transport came to a halt.
    Serrimissani turned her head very slowly. There was no wet gloss to her eyes; they looked matte as velvet, sinister, utterly void. “Are you ready?”
    Eddie caught the bee-cam and pocketed it. “I’ve interviewed Minister Ual before. I’m ready.”
    The ministry—and Eddie had no other word for it—was conspicuous in the unbroken wall of buildings by the fact that it was very, very plain. There were no extravagant designs, either painted or carved. As he walked through the door and into the reception hall, the first thing that struck him was that it was empty . It was also vast. It was at least twelve meters high and lined with smooth aquamarine stone, a stark and cool contrast to the hot rusts and ambers and purples outside.
    There seemed to be nobody around. Then he heard movement, and Serrimissani tugged at his sleeve and bobbed her head in the direction of one of the archways off to one side. An isenj appeared. There was an exchange of high-pitched sounds.
    Eddie occupied himself by letting the bee-cam wander around the hall. So status bought you space, did it? Yes, isenj were a lot like humans.
    â€œUal is ready to see you and asks if you would like refreshment,” Serrimissani said.
    â€œNot the fungus.”
    â€œWater flavored with something that the Actaeon provided.”
    â€œGod, I hope it’s coffee.”
    There were moments when Eddie knew he had touched common ground with the isenj. It was easy to expect them to be utterly alien because they looked unlike