cold. As he detailed the company’s history, his subtext clearly said: We have nothing we need prove to you. Torin was impressed. She could feel the mood of the platoon behind her change, until, when he finished speaking, the Silsviss were in the least amount of danger they’d been in since the Marines had landed.
Then he spun on one heel and walked back to his platoon.
At that moment, they were his.
Pity it won’t last, Torin thought returning to her original position.
The rest of the ceremony maintained a more conventional tone. Two of the three high ranking females—or smaller males— gave speeches of welcome, the two ambassadors reciprocated, and finally the third of the smaller Silsviss at the top of the stairs announced they were giving over an entire wing of the Cirsarvas for the visitors to use while they were in Shurlantec.
Then the press moved in to take one final image of their leaders standing beside aliens from the stars.
* * *
“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” Ressk grunted, kicking off his boots and stretching his toes.
“Speak for yourself.” Mysho pulled off her tunic and threw it over a stool. “I feel like I’ve been cooked.”
“Ready for seasoning and serving,” one of the other di’Taykan groaned.
Stripped down to his masker hanging from a thong around his neck, Haysole fell back onto a bunk. “Look at the bright side, these mattresses are wide enough for two.”
“Species with tails need more room,” Corporal Hollice said, coming in from the hall. “You should see the design of the crapper. It’s not just the tail either,” he went on, moving out of the way so the curious could go take a look, “they’re up on their toes so their legs bend high, like the Dornagain’s.”
“You an’ Kleers are gonna need a fukking stool,” Juan snickered to Ressk when he returned. “Good thing there’s so many of them around.”
“Tails,” Hollice said again, one hand absently rubbing Mysho’s shoulder as he spoke. “You can’t use a chair with a back when you’ve got a tail.”
“So, corporal got-all-the-answers, how do you explain that the showers are bang on identical to the fukking showers back up on the vacuum pack?”
“They’ve never been used; I’d say someone sent down the specs and the Silsviss built them special for us.”
“Must’ve smelled you coming, Juan.” Grinning, Mysho stepped away from the heavy gunner’s swing and backed right into Binti’s arms.
The other woman inhaled deeply and her steadying hand moved slowly around the di’Taykan’s waist. “I think you need to turn up your masker,” she murmured, face buried in the moving strands of pale hair.
“Unfortunately, I think I need to take a cold shower.” Sighing, she untangled herself. “It’s the heat. I’ve got to bring my body temperature down, or I’ll keep over-emitting.”
Binti snorted and slapped Haysole on a bare thigh. “So how come the pheromone kid here isn’t any more enticing than usual?” she asked over his protest.
“I don’t know—maybe I’m from farther north, maybe the recruiting sergeant checked his psych profile and gave him an industrial strength masker, or maybe...” Her tone grew distinctly dry, “...because not all members of the same species react to heat the same way.”
“Or maybe,” Juan continued before anyone else could respond, “your climate controls are fukked.” He held out his hand. “L’me look at your tunic while you shower.”
“We’re on duty.”
“So get permission from the sergeant—just do it in your shirtsleeves so I can look at your tunic. It’s not doin’ you any fukking good and anyway, the regs say dress c’s are uniform of the day unless on parade or on guard. What?” he added when everyone in earshot turned to stare. “You never read in the crapper?”
* * *
“Just great, if her climate controls go...”
“She’ll be miserable, but she’ll survive.” Hands on her hips, Trey turned a slow circle in
Then he spun on one heel and walked back to his platoon.
At that moment, they were his.
Pity it won’t last, Torin thought returning to her original position.
The rest of the ceremony maintained a more conventional tone. Two of the three high ranking females—or smaller males— gave speeches of welcome, the two ambassadors reciprocated, and finally the third of the smaller Silsviss at the top of the stairs announced they were giving over an entire wing of the Cirsarvas for the visitors to use while they were in Shurlantec.
Then the press moved in to take one final image of their leaders standing beside aliens from the stars.
* * *
“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” Ressk grunted, kicking off his boots and stretching his toes.
“Speak for yourself.” Mysho pulled off her tunic and threw it over a stool. “I feel like I’ve been cooked.”
“Ready for seasoning and serving,” one of the other di’Taykan groaned.
Stripped down to his masker hanging from a thong around his neck, Haysole fell back onto a bunk. “Look at the bright side, these mattresses are wide enough for two.”
“Species with tails need more room,” Corporal Hollice said, coming in from the hall. “You should see the design of the crapper. It’s not just the tail either,” he went on, moving out of the way so the curious could go take a look, “they’re up on their toes so their legs bend high, like the Dornagain’s.”
“You an’ Kleers are gonna need a fukking stool,” Juan snickered to Ressk when he returned. “Good thing there’s so many of them around.”
“Tails,” Hollice said again, one hand absently rubbing Mysho’s shoulder as he spoke. “You can’t use a chair with a back when you’ve got a tail.”
“So, corporal got-all-the-answers, how do you explain that the showers are bang on identical to the fukking showers back up on the vacuum pack?”
“They’ve never been used; I’d say someone sent down the specs and the Silsviss built them special for us.”
“Must’ve smelled you coming, Juan.” Grinning, Mysho stepped away from the heavy gunner’s swing and backed right into Binti’s arms.
The other woman inhaled deeply and her steadying hand moved slowly around the di’Taykan’s waist. “I think you need to turn up your masker,” she murmured, face buried in the moving strands of pale hair.
“Unfortunately, I think I need to take a cold shower.” Sighing, she untangled herself. “It’s the heat. I’ve got to bring my body temperature down, or I’ll keep over-emitting.”
Binti snorted and slapped Haysole on a bare thigh. “So how come the pheromone kid here isn’t any more enticing than usual?” she asked over his protest.
“I don’t know—maybe I’m from farther north, maybe the recruiting sergeant checked his psych profile and gave him an industrial strength masker, or maybe...” Her tone grew distinctly dry, “...because not all members of the same species react to heat the same way.”
“Or maybe,” Juan continued before anyone else could respond, “your climate controls are fukked.” He held out his hand. “L’me look at your tunic while you shower.”
“We’re on duty.”
“So get permission from the sergeant—just do it in your shirtsleeves so I can look at your tunic. It’s not doin’ you any fukking good and anyway, the regs say dress c’s are uniform of the day unless on parade or on guard. What?” he added when everyone in earshot turned to stare. “You never read in the crapper?”
* * *
“Just great, if her climate controls go...”
“She’ll be miserable, but she’ll survive.” Hands on her hips, Trey turned a slow circle in
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