>>5870146The support vessel is much sturdier than it looks at first scan, its original utilitarian bulk having been obscured by years' or even decades' worth of added armour and weapon mounts. Your cruiser fits snugly into one of its expansive slipways, but connecting a Terran-designed airlock to its Qyngur receiver proves more challenging. After some improvisation followed by several tests, Goldsmith finally confirms the hermetic seal. You and Silas suit up and prepare for first contact. Unfortunately, without a xenolinguist onboard, communication will have to be routed through the shipside automatic translator. Your message should be brief and direct.
A squad of warriors armed with carbines and swords lead you through the barge-station's winding corridors. Every few steps, the entire party has to stop for its leaders to disarm this turret and that mine. The Qyngur security detail remains silent the whole way through, not that you are much in the mood for small talk anyway. Eventually you are led into a waiting room of sorts and left there.
You like the decoration, simple and elegant, not like the garish merchant-caste cabins on the luxury liners you have captured the past few months. There are only a few black diamonds in the chandelier overhead, but they are masterfully arranged to create an illusion of dancing shadows on the marble-tiled floor. Woven spidersilk tapestries hang from the ceiling, an optical trick to make the room seem larger than it actually is. On these are chronicled many a tale, mostly of conquest, rapine, and pillage. There are a few recognisably human figures scattered throughout, which troubles your imagination. The Qyngur do tell stories of defeat, yes, but only victories are worth the effort to weave. Silas shows you an ivory snuff box carved in the shape of an egg. He sets it on a table nearby and to your delight, the egg settles into an upright state after just a bit of back and forth. You were expecting an explanation when he wordlessly reaches under the table for something. Immediately, the snuff-box leans on its side and starts rolling. You catch it before it can fall off. What a let down.
“So you know of this little party trick, too, hairless?” A voice in Shanghaian jolts you into dropping the egg on Silas' left foot. He lets out a stream of profanities, thankfully all in Trade English. Of all the Terran languages a Qyngur hivekeeper could learn, this one chose melodious Shanghaian. Why? Wouldn't something more nasal like German or Rojiban more closely resemble the Qyngur tongue? Even other Vietic dialects like Popular Saigonnese would have been more appropriate. You turn round to face the messenger, who motions you through a door you never noticed. A guard accompanying him stops Silas from following.
