his artificial voice.
Inter-species familiarity sessions with the Jotuns often went this way. The exchanges mixed boredom on the part of the Jotuns with the terror of the young humans, blending them into an uncomfortable mutual incomprehension.
The worst part was that if you didn’t understand, you were expected to ask.
And find a way to do so without having your face sliced off for insulting a superior.
Arun swallowed hard and then cleared his throat, trying to remember whether doing so meant a polite interruption or an insolent invitation to be decapitated. “Sir, I beg permission to ask a question. Sir.”
“Speak.”
“Why did you ask whether I wanted to see my brother?”
The Jotun narrowed his eyes and stared at Arun, who flinched under this intense scrutiny. “Your incident in the tunnels. I was concerned it might affect your morale.”
What? “Sir, that’s… very touching, sir.”
Arun cringed at his familiarity but the alien looked more puzzled than angry.
“Touching?” Little scar digested the word. “Ah. You mean you are overwhelmed by my emotional succor. Is that correct?”
“Sir. Yes, sir.”
“Hah hah hah!” The voice simulator was stumped by human laughter. You couldn’t tell whether the laughter was hearty, ironic, or uncertain. “You are right to think I care about your wellbeing, Cadet McEwan.”
Arun couldn’t quite believe what was happening. The commander of the regiment was talking to him like an indulgent uncle. Whenever he had spoken to Jotuns before, they had always assumed an attitude that humans were indistinguishable from each other. Little Scar was talking not only as if Arun were an individual sentient being, but an important one too. One that the regimental commander wanted to know better.
What the frakk was happening?
“I care about you…” said Little Scar, before pausing.
“Sir?”
“I care because the Night Hummers say you will be important.”
Arun shivered. Floating in their tanks of churning yellow liquid, deep in the bowels of the base, the Night Hummers were bloated gas-sacs, prized for their pre–cognitive ability. Arun struggled to believe that anyone could actually see into the future – though he tried hard to keep an open mind about Springer’s ability. Given the fuss the Jotuns made about them on behalf of their masters, the White Knights surely believed that Night Hummers could.
“I don’t know why you are special,” said the Jotun. “They won’t say. Or can’t.” Little Scar flicked his ears back and bared his teeth, serrated little gray daggers that gleamed in the light from the artificial sky. “Perhaps you will betray us all.”
Arun stood rigidly under the lashes of the Jotun’s harsh stare.
“Only one other human has ever aroused the Night Hummers’ interest. Strange how after several hundred years in which they never saw fit to even mention your species, here you are, both in my regiment at the same time.”
Who was the other? Arun burned with the question but he didn’t dare speak. It took all his courage to even breathe under the Jotun’s withering gaze.
“And maybe a third human of interest is due to arrive in the system soon. Or… maybe not.”
Little Scar moved his ears in circles, each rotating in a different direction. His training told Arun this indicated indecision, deep thought, or a sign of abdominal discomfort.
“Learn this, human. Night Hummers hint at their predictions. Forever they tell us: ‘Act now to avert this disaster that will happen… or maybe it will not.’ ” He growled. “It is not a question of – what is your expression? – hedging bets . It is simply how the Hummers perceive the future – and sometimes the present. They allude, imply, and prattle. A collective of Hummers can be noisy, utterly tiresome. It is only by having a troop of Hummers, and keeping them under constant surveillance and analysis by AIs, that we ever realize when there is a temporary consistency to the
Inter-species familiarity sessions with the Jotuns often went this way. The exchanges mixed boredom on the part of the Jotuns with the terror of the young humans, blending them into an uncomfortable mutual incomprehension.
The worst part was that if you didn’t understand, you were expected to ask.
And find a way to do so without having your face sliced off for insulting a superior.
Arun swallowed hard and then cleared his throat, trying to remember whether doing so meant a polite interruption or an insolent invitation to be decapitated. “Sir, I beg permission to ask a question. Sir.”
“Speak.”
“Why did you ask whether I wanted to see my brother?”
The Jotun narrowed his eyes and stared at Arun, who flinched under this intense scrutiny. “Your incident in the tunnels. I was concerned it might affect your morale.”
What? “Sir, that’s… very touching, sir.”
Arun cringed at his familiarity but the alien looked more puzzled than angry.
“Touching?” Little scar digested the word. “Ah. You mean you are overwhelmed by my emotional succor. Is that correct?”
“Sir. Yes, sir.”
“Hah hah hah!” The voice simulator was stumped by human laughter. You couldn’t tell whether the laughter was hearty, ironic, or uncertain. “You are right to think I care about your wellbeing, Cadet McEwan.”
Arun couldn’t quite believe what was happening. The commander of the regiment was talking to him like an indulgent uncle. Whenever he had spoken to Jotuns before, they had always assumed an attitude that humans were indistinguishable from each other. Little Scar was talking not only as if Arun were an individual sentient being, but an important one too. One that the regimental commander wanted to know better.
What the frakk was happening?
“I care about you…” said Little Scar, before pausing.
“Sir?”
“I care because the Night Hummers say you will be important.”
Arun shivered. Floating in their tanks of churning yellow liquid, deep in the bowels of the base, the Night Hummers were bloated gas-sacs, prized for their pre–cognitive ability. Arun struggled to believe that anyone could actually see into the future – though he tried hard to keep an open mind about Springer’s ability. Given the fuss the Jotuns made about them on behalf of their masters, the White Knights surely believed that Night Hummers could.
“I don’t know why you are special,” said the Jotun. “They won’t say. Or can’t.” Little Scar flicked his ears back and bared his teeth, serrated little gray daggers that gleamed in the light from the artificial sky. “Perhaps you will betray us all.”
Arun stood rigidly under the lashes of the Jotun’s harsh stare.
“Only one other human has ever aroused the Night Hummers’ interest. Strange how after several hundred years in which they never saw fit to even mention your species, here you are, both in my regiment at the same time.”
Who was the other? Arun burned with the question but he didn’t dare speak. It took all his courage to even breathe under the Jotun’s withering gaze.
“And maybe a third human of interest is due to arrive in the system soon. Or… maybe not.”
Little Scar moved his ears in circles, each rotating in a different direction. His training told Arun this indicated indecision, deep thought, or a sign of abdominal discomfort.
“Learn this, human. Night Hummers hint at their predictions. Forever they tell us: ‘Act now to avert this disaster that will happen… or maybe it will not.’ ” He growled. “It is not a question of – what is your expression? – hedging bets . It is simply how the Hummers perceive the future – and sometimes the present. They allude, imply, and prattle. A collective of Hummers can be noisy, utterly tiresome. It is only by having a troop of Hummers, and keeping them under constant surveillance and analysis by AIs, that we ever realize when there is a temporary consistency to the
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