"Bud Sparhawk - Etiquette" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sparhawk Bud)

had learned that when their eye stalks were both pointed in your direction you could be certain that you
were a target of their attention. Ordinarily the eyes waved around and around, pointing this way and that,
ever seeking, missing nothing. Why should they be observing her, she wondered. Had they overheard
the Rix bark his demand? Were humans going to be judged based on her reaction to the Rix and, if so,
what should she do?

One of the Imperials was pounding a hoof at one of the large nuts that constituted their menu for this
meal. The sharp brown pieces scattered across the rough surface of the table as the heavy hoof broke
through to the rich meat inside. One of the Imperial's tubes extended to slurp up the fluid that leaked
from the broken nut while one of the creature's lesser limbs worked pieces of the meat into its maw. A
complex of crunching, slurping sounds emerged from the alien.

Still, its eyes did not leave her. The Imperial beside it leaned back in relaxation, having already
demolished two of the nuts earlier, and had nearly speared another of the Rix with one of the shards
when doing so. She'd had to stifle a giggle when the Rix dodged the flying fragment as it barely missed
taking off one of its large ears. The damned trolls always acted so damned stiff that to see one act so
undignified was just . . . funny as hell. Still, she had been mindful of decorum, not knowing what this
invitation involved and frightful of insulting the other guests: Who knew what passed for manners in this
strange environment.

She considered the salt shaker. Could it be a metaphor for the human holdings in this region. In that case
her submission to the Rix demand would be a symbolic surrender of her rights, her people's rights. Or
maybe it was just the opposite, that the shaker represented something of value to the Rix but relatively
unimportant in the human sphere. How would the Imperials interpret the interplay between these two
bitter enemies, for the Rix were marked as dangerous adversaries of the humans from their first demand
and confirmed as such when the bombs began to fall. Where was the clue to what was expected of her?

On the other side of the Imperial were some more of the repulsive Chrrh, their tumors throbbing and
bobbing as they literally tore into their meals, talons flying as they shredded the squirming creatures into
flayed bits of hair and meat, all dripping fluids as they were slowly sucked into the glistening mucous
pillow of their mouths. She had long ago shut her ears to the tiny squeals of pain from the tiny animals
as they were dismembered and flayed.

Surely, she thought, the Imperials had a reason for gathering this assortment of aliens together, arranging
this dinner, and providing each of them with appropriate food. No, the food wasn't just appropriate - it
was superb! Angel had subsisted on ship rations for so long that she had forgotten what warm food
tasted like. She had sucked protein paste for so many years that she had quite forgotten the taste of fresh


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seafood and aged meats. No Vitamin Supplement, Liquid, Type III-A-2(b) filled her cup, but a heady
beer of such rare taste and body that she was certain no earthy brewer could have concocted it. The
vegetables and spices were absolutely perfect and complemented the entree exactly. As meals went it
was a work of art and one that she desperately wished she could give more attention to.

From the gusto that the Chrrh were attacking their dinner cages they must be experiencing similar
delight, although they showed none of the reserve that Angel was certain that those two staring Imperials
down the table detected in her. She noticed that the Rix were slowly but certainly consuming their