Fludenoc silenced him with a gesture. Left hand before his face, palm outward, fingers spread. Stop-I must interrupt.

“You’re missing the significance of the new data,” he said. “That’s why I gave the order to kill them.” His next gesture-right hand turned aside, waist high, fingers curled against the thumb-was the Gha expression of apology.

“That’s also why I didn’t wait until we had an opportunity to discuss the matter, as a Poct’on cartouche would normally do. I had to stop the Pilot from transmitting anything to Guild Headquarters. I’m hoping the Federation itself doesn’t understand the significance of the meteorological report. The Guilds may still not know of it at all.”

The other three Gha in the room were silent. Their stiff postures, to anyone but Gha, would have made them seem like statues. But Fludenoc understood their confusion and puzzlement.

To his surprise, the Pilot suddenly spoke. Fludenoc had almost forgotten her presence.

“Are you talking about the radio signals?” she asked.

Fludenoc swiveled to face her. The Pilot froze with instinctive fear, but her color remained close to purple. “I’m s-sorry,” she stammered, in Gha. “I didn’t mean-”

“I did not realize you spoke our language,” said Fludenoc.

Then, sadly (though only a Gha would have sensed it in his tone):

“I am not angry at you for interrupting me, Pilot. Among ourselves, we consider conversation a fine art. Interruption is part of its pleasure.”

The Pilot’s shade developed a pinkish undertone. “I know. I have listened to you, sometimes, when you versified each other in your chamber. I thought the poetry was quite good. Although I’m sure I missed most of the nuances.”

Now, all four Gha were staring at the Pilot. And it took no Gha subtlety to realize that they were all absolutely astonished.