you for the sacrifice you're making."
"Human children journeying into the unknown deserve no less," he answered with another half-bow. "You should be proud of your boys. They're brave indeed, and I humbly swear to do my best by them."
I blinked but said nothing. Dad and Mr. Li . . . They were pretending to be strangers when in fact they knew each other quite well. Or so Mr. Li had claimed, and I had no reason to doubt his word. Why on earth . . . I looked at Tim, but he just shrugged as well.
Then Rapput was on his feet again, and it was time to leave. "I'm going out to the shuttle. You may hug your parents goodbye in privacy. Immediately after that, we depart." Then even his fearsome, arrogant features softened. "Make them long hugs, if you like. My schedule is a tight one, yes. But not that tight."
7
Rapput seemed to think Tim and I ought to be excited as could be about riding in an Artemu courier ship. But of course we weren't, even though for most kids it might've been really something. Dad traveled in them all of the time, being on the North American Interspecies Subcouncil. He'd explained to us that it wasn't really much different from riding in a jetliner, which we'd already done lots of times. Sure, shuttles were equipped with twin blaster cannon and bomb-racks and all that—Rapput even showed them off to us. Tim and I took turns ooh-ing and aah-ing at the things, but they didn't actually test-fire them or anything. If they had, well . . . Yeah, that might've been pretty cool after all. But as things were, it was just a small jetliner with funny seats and fittings and warning signs printed in alien script.
Artemu clans were divided by language more than anything else, though pretty much everyone spoke Gonther as a second, common tongue. So the aliens in their own minds divided human "clans" strictly by language as well and set up their administrative networks accordingly. It was up to us humans, as the losers, to adapt to their way of doing things. In some places this didn't cause too many problems—the US, Britain, and the commonwealth nations hadn't had too much trouble developing a mutually satisfactory system for dealing officially with the Artemu, for example. We English-speaking countries had gotten along well together for a long time. Yet, even among such historically good and well-meaning friends, in some ways the new setup was a real mess and all the bugs hadn't been worked out yet. Dad complained that he had to spend more time bickering over personal and national privileges than actually getting any work done. But our problems were nothing to those faced by, say, the Arabic and Spanish-speaking countries. At any rate, the Artemu had set up a series of local administrative centers all over the planet, and we were headed for the one in Vancouver, Canada. "But . . . I packed my passport in with my clothes!" Tim complained.
Rapput laughed. "Don't worry, nephew. You'll never need travel documents again. Gonther-clan issues such documents. We're not troubled to carry them."
That made Mr. Li blink, but otherwise no one said anything more. Nor did anyone ask any of us for so much as a scrap of paperwork as we landed on what'd once been the main parking lot of the finest hotel in the province, greeted by what looked like a platoon of the first Artemu I'd ever seen carrying military arms, lining one side of the landing zone and standing stiff and straight. They held that posture the whole time it took us to disembark and walk to the hotel's main entrance; Rapput and Mr. Li both ignored them, so Tim and I did so as well even though it felt impolite. Then we were all on the elevator together, headed for Rapput's private set of suites on the fifth floor.
"You two," he said to his Artemesian servants, "will tend to the luggage and set up my nephew's quarters for the night. You need not unpack everything, as we'll be leaving for home tomorrow afternoon. Let the boys pick and choose—they know best what they do and don't need. Should you question their judgment, contact me."
The two Artemu servants bowed, keeping their eyes low.
Then it was Mr. Li's turn to be attended to. "Congressman Byrd claims you have three . . . doctorate degrees? Are you a healer, then? My understanding was that you were a physical fitness academic."
He smiled. "No sir. I'm not a physician, though that's a common misunderstanding. In English-speaking places the title 'doctor' is also applied to those who achieve our highest level of educational attainment. In my case, I have doctorates in human physiology, American history, and Korean studies."
"Hrrm," Rapput replied, looking thoughtful. Just as the elevator doors opened, he came to a decision. "Then perhaps the congressman is correct. You might indeed prove useful as an academic tutor as well, though of course a subordinate one. In truth my planning is deficient. When I left the homeworld, there were as yet no plans to take hostages at all." He led us through the elevator door and stopped again in the hallway. "You'll find Artemesian teaching machines in the boys' rooms, Mr. Li, along with primary-school level datacubes. While my nephews are obviously long past these in academic terms, they contain important cultural elements. It is my hope to impart these as soon as possible." He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes in what was clearly a formal Posture, but not one I knew yet. "Therefore, you shall sit down with these teaching machines and master their operation as soon as you yourself are unpacked and settled in, so as to help our students along as much as possible during the long trip home. This should be a relatively simple matter—they're meant to be operated by mere kits, and your command of our language is commendable. "
I inhaled; Mr. Li didn't strike as the sort of man who'd take well to being ordered around. But he merely smiled and bowed. "Of course, sir. At once."
Rapput's eyes narrowed again, then rather reluctantly he nodded. "You're a good man, Li. Thank you. Perhaps we might make good use of your academic background in the long run after all." Last of all, he turned to us. "Boys, you've heard the plan. Now please be so good as to unpack for the night and cooperate with the domestic staff. Remember always that toying with servants is ignoble and base—a poor way to repay true loyalty. Do we understand each other?"
I gulped, and Tim replied, "Yes, sir!"
Rapput smiled. "Good! Then, if there's nothing more to be done here, I have what seems like several hundred reports to finalize and file before leaving the planet. If something important comes up, then by all means consult me. Otherwise, I fear I must work even harder than any of the rest of you." He reached out and laid his hands on our heads like he'd already done several times already. "The future lies heaviest on the most responsible. Good night, and I'll see you in the morning."
8
My servant was apparently a lot better at his job than Tim's was, because he had me all set up and unloaded a good half-hour before his partner. Or perhaps he'd simply packed more logically. When finished he strode to the door, bowed deeply, and in a hushed, shy-sounding voice said, "I am Giril, Robertherman Gonther, eternally at your service. Have you any further need of this servant today?"
At first my jaw dropped because I thought he'd said his name was Girl, which was funny enough in its own right but triply so for an Artemu. Then I remembered what Rapput had said about faithful and honest service, and forced back my smile. It was, after all, the most sensible thing my new uncle had said all day. "I'm grateful for your help on this special and difficult day, Giril, and while I don't yet know how to properly work with you, be assured that I'm very satisfied indeed."
His face lit up like a child's. "Lord Rapput explained to us that you can't yet be expected to know civilized ways," he replied, bowing a second time. "But he never told us your kind was so . . . pleasant. I am indeed a lucky servant." Then he turned and left.
Tim's helper was still busily opening and closing containers in the next room; the walls were thin, and the lids made a loud snapping sound whenever the seal was made or broken. My brother was probably looking for his toothbrush or something like that; he often mislaid small items. At no point had anyone told me I was required to remain in my room, so I decided to do some careful exploring.
I'd been in big, expensive hotels before with Mom and Dad. On Inauguration Day we'd stayed at one o
f the best places in Maryland, or so Mom claimed, while on another trip we'd slept in a super-fancy building in New Orleans that’d smelled bad. Though I wasn't exactly a grown-up, after those experiences the finest suites in Vancouver still weren't likely to impress me. And they didn't, though that wasn't the Canadian's fault. After all, the finest lodgings in my own native Montana were probably less impressive still. It was just that really fancy hotels sort of clustered over time around cities that were the focus of one sort of power or another, Dad had explained one day after a conversation that'd begun with Tim pointing at a bidet and asking what it was. Vancouver was relatively new to the center-of-power thing, I figured. Give them time, and with the help of the Artemu their lodgings would soon rival those of New York, London, and Paris.
"Well, hello!" a female voice greeted me as I jogged along the curved corridor back toward my room; my first attempt to find the main elevators had taken me directly to the fire-stairs, in exactly the opposite direction to that which I’d wished to go. There stood a woman in a hotel uniform. "Who do we have here, playing among our new masters?"
I smiled, mostly because her face was so friendly and her smile so