Kwaide (The Ammonite Galaxy Series, Book 2)

Chapter Two

Chapter 2

IT WAS THE day of the meeting, and Six was looking around at the various delegations gathered in the Valhai Voting Dome. The Coriolis delegation was led by Diva’s father who was swathed in a gold weave Coriolan Ceremonious Robe. He was surrounded by a swarm of similarly-clad minions all of whom had imitated his form of dressing but none of whom were quite so splendidly attired. Then Six found himself stiffening as his gaze fell on the Kwaidians, standing next to the Coriolans. The same bunch of thin pins that had sent him against his will to be an apprentice to the donor program on Valhai! He muttered something under his breath about dust and Grace glanced sideways at him curiously.

“Nothing,” he said.

“It didn’t sound like nothing.”

“Just old acquaintances from my own planet.”

“I see,” Grace gave an understanding nod, and he felt her hand fleetingly touch his shoulder. 

He smiled, and straightened up. She was right. There would be no incapacitating drugged dart thrown at him today. He would ignore the heady heat of revenge which was slowly burning a path through his body, from the pit of his stomach up to the top of his head. He took a deep breath and looked past the Kwaidian delegation – all ancients dressed in sackcloth – to the Xianthans. Each member of their delegation wore rainbow garments, richly coloured and textured, and flowing out behind them. It made them seem twice as exotic as the other races present. Lastly, his gaze reached the Cesans. As befitted the original Sell home world, they were dressed identically to the Sells themselves, gowned in discrete but expensive clothes.

Mandalon came to a stop, glowered at Six and Cimma, and then at Grace. “I will not speak to excommunicated Sellites,” he said.

“Then speak to me.” Diva’s voice came from behind the Sellite and he turned as she appeared in an orthobubble, which shimmered slightly and then stayed in place around her.

Mandalon looked at Diva for a moment expressionlessly. “Very well,” he said, “That will be acceptable.”

“It will not!” There was a distinct rustle as everybody turned their heads to see who had spoken. 

Diva’s father had risen to his feet, and was quivering with outrage. “This person is unfit to speak to a system meeting. She has been repudiated by her family. She may not represent anybody!” 

There was a hum of agreement amongst his cohorts.

Six made a sound in the base of his throat, and Grace put one arm in front of him, in case he decided to fight for Diva’s honour forcibly. “Quiet, Six,” she murmured.

“That man wanted to throw his own daughter to the Tattula cats!” he said.

“Six, leave it!”

“You were in the cat-meat deal, too, you know.” He didn’t want to let it go.

“You will be worse than cat-meat if you don’t shut up,” Grace whispered fiercely.

“Oh, very well, but … ouch!” A heavy dig in the ribs finally silenced him. He subsided but telegraphed Grace a look that promised future revenge. 

Mandalon was smiling. “Then it appears there is nobody suitable to speak for the alien?” 

The bubble surrounding Diva divided into two. One remained surrounding her; the other formed smaller bubbles until it traced the vague outlines of a head on a body. “I can speak for myself,” it said in Arcan’s normally deep voice. All those present heard him clearly in their heads, just as if the words had been spoken out loud.