"Perhaps when the treaty is settled, you can advise our traders on getting the best prices."
"First, we need to have the treaty. That seems to be the most crucial part."
"Yes. Ambassador, we must get you to safety. Our time is limited."
He headed toward the buildings and the fields.
"Why is our time limited?" she asked. The daylight was waning. Night was coming soon, though it should have been mid-day local time. Had she been unconscious longer than she realized?
The sky darkened. Was a ship coming? Were they about to be rescued?
She glanced skyward, thinking a ship was passing over.
It wasn't a ship.
The gas giant grew larger in the sky.
"When the eclipse is full, we will be stuck here until it passes." He pointed at the sky. "We must hurry and get to the base."
She nodded.
"Yes. We should."
9
Kian ran a scan again.
And nothing came up.
Not a Rhimodian anywhere.
Kian's programming, the advanced settings that operated more like a humanoid's intuition, alerted.
Because this did not seem correct.
In the distance, the automated farming equipment ran. On every island on Sol-1, fields were being grown for harvest to feed their organic sides and sell for other resources.
The Rhimodians had quickly learned the value of trade among other species when they'd set out. So they developed their own crops and harvesting materials for barter and sale. It was what was necessary to keep their civilization alive and thriving.
Or it would have been had they not been warring with the Terran Empire for almost Kian's entire life. He was a young one when the war started in earnest. He knew very little existence besides safeguarding his people and warring with the Terrans.
Yet here he was, protecting one.
To hopefully create peace between the two of them.
She did not seem nearly so qualified to bring peace. If anything, with the way she tipped her head up, her expression seemed that of someone who considered themselves better. Peace was not supposed to be a gift but an agreement between equals. If she exemplified Terrans, then Kian wondered about the chance of peace.
Her wet clothing clung to her in absurd layers she fought with as they walked. Her feet bare, shoes lost when he'd brought them both to shore, were delicate looking things.
With painted toenails.
Yet another foolish Terran custom.
Still, she said nothing as she walked with her bare feet. She stepped precisely as she walked, slowing her pace.
Or that was her wet dress.
Regardless, he had a definite urge to scoop her up and throw her over his shoulder so they could progress at a reasonable pace.
