compound was surrounded by a small, tidy village, neat farms, and all the other trappings of what was, apparently, a feudal system of government. Dash held out his hand to shake as Culmerr approached, but the Hannsic just stared at it blankly.
“Not your tradition?” Dash said. “Quite alright. It’s not universal.”
“Why would I do that?”
“It’s a greeting among my people. I figured you might know that, since there are humans in this part of the galaxy—you know, the Rimworld League.”
“Ah. Yes. Well, we have little interaction with them, so I don’t know their customs.”
“Little interaction besides piracy, you mean?” Dash said.
Culmerr lifted his snout and tried to look offended. “That’s a terrible accusation—”
“And yet, not far from the truth? Good Voice, I’m not here to punish you for raiding. In fact, I’m not even here to acknowledge the piracy.”
“But aren’t you from the League?”
“No. The Cygnus Realm. It’s further away. A lot further, and we wouldn’t be here if a gate had not opened, spilling the creatures known as Deepers into our home territory. They killed three hundred of my people, and we’re here to make certain it doesn’t happen again. Just so there are no misunderstandings, we are in no way a colonial force.”
“That is good, given such . . . things.” Culmerr looked up at the Archetype’s looming bulk. “But why are you here?”
“You attacked my forces,” Dash said simply.
“We did?”
“You did, and your technology isn’t enough to harm us. With that in mind, we don’t want to harm you, which is why we’re here, talking in the garden. Sorry about the trees, by the way.”
“They will grow again. Trees are welcome. Wars are not,” Culmerr said.
“Glad to hear that. So can we go somewhere and talk? I can’t imagine this is a matter for”—Dash waved at the many faces watching them—“everyone.”
“Ah. Well. You are astute in this manner. Yes, I may have useful information for you,” Culmerr said. “Perhaps you will join me and my Inner Council for dinner and we can talk in”—he gestured around at the shattered trees—“more comfortable surroundings.”
Dash smiled. The translator was only just beginning to pick up on nuances of tone, body language, and the like, so Culmerr’s last words came across with a decidedly more political feel. Dash knew the type—a glorified bureaucrat, not especially bright or imaginative, and probably well-connected. If he had to guess, he figured Culmerr was probably somebody’s brother or cousin and had been given the title and job of Voice to keep him safely out of the way of real politics.
The way to deal with such officious types was to make sure they always knew who was in charge, but to do so in a way that left them wiggle room to save face. “Sentinel,” Dash said, “will you be able to track me inside these buildings?”
“I will, to an accuracy of less than one centimeter.”
“And will you be able to neutralize everyone around me in case of a misunderstanding?”
Dash watched Culmerr’s ears twitch in alarm and took that as a good sign. The Voice understood what was happening.
“I’ll do my best,” Sentinel said. “But, as you know, accidents happen.”
“Don’t they just.” Dash turned a wide smile on Culmerr. “Shall we?”
Dash had never tasted wet, dirty socks, but assumed they would taste much like the berry he’d just popped in his mouth. And they were the most edible part of the banquet Culmerr had served.
Everything else resembled sludge, viscous goo, or gelatinous things that jiggled, apparently of their own volition. There was even something that Dash swore was moving, noodle-like stuff that slowly writhed in the bowl. He wondered if Culmerr kept a deliberately vile and unappetizing menu tucked away to serve to unwanted or disliked guests but stowed that idea when he saw the relish with which everyone was eating.
Well, the Hannsics, anyway.
Dash swallowed and managed a polite smile.
Culmerr glanced up from his plate. “I am sorry, Dash. The food is not to your liking?”
Dash shrugged. “Sorry. This is all, ah, quite new. In terms of flavors.”
“Perhaps we will have a second meal, one that is more to your liking,” Culmerr said. “But in the spirit of being open, as you have, you have come to us for a reason. What is it?”
Dash narrowed his eyes a touch. Culmerr might be the so-called Voice, but he wasn’t all that good at it. Someone who was obviously meant to be a diplomat should be smoother in their transitions from chat to business.
As soon as he thought