Red Battle-cant
"No one knows how to infiltrate them... We've always had to rely on defectors..."
"And none of those defectors told you how your agents were found?"
"No, and no interrogation yet has yielded the method by which they discern our agents..."
"I greet you in power, agent root spice."
Hazel, surprised, almost didn't give the recognition signal. But, catching herself, she did. "I greet you in strength, Emissary Aspen." As she twirled a lock of her hair around her thumb, like a coquette.
"You have something for me?"
"Nothing from the Clabattans, but the Sodality has made overtures."
"Too bad I'm mostly worried about the Siolaners."
"I'm sure you'd rather I didn't make up situations or events, Emissary."
"Ah, yes, quite. Ask your Niobaran contacts if they've heard of a build-up on their Siolaner border..."
"Unlike me, my contacts are likely to make up situations or events, Emissary. Perhaps if I have some details, I can at least detect if they're hallucinating..." The word was charged with meaning, among the Red, but even more so in the Turingian Guard.
"That will not be necessary, you will report even their hallucinations to me." Her voice was sharp, her tone of authority utter and complete, brooking no argument.
"As you wish, but why?"
"You're not privy to that compartment, agent root spice."
"Excuse me, but why are we bothering?" She touched her hand, covered with her hair, to her shoulder, very near to her upper back.
"You accuse me of betrayal?"
"No, I accuse those turncoats of it! I forget the battle-cant is different here in the capital, out further in the arm, one touches nearer the shoulder to indicate a more distant betrayal."
"Are you making fun of me now?"
"No, of course not."
"So you're teaching me nuances of battle-cant? To me?"
"With respect, Emissary Aspen, it's a living language, you codified it, and that controls the changes, but it doesn't prevent it from changing."
"You've seen examples of this before?"
"Yes, you're surprised?"
"Yes!"
"Don't be. We will either not use the battle-cant against other reds, or use a variant form they do not understand, but we can hardly use the language we share to plot against them..."
Emissary Aspen grasped and held out two locks of hair, pantomiming pigtails. "That makes entirely too much sense. But what happens once we've defeated each other? What then?"
"I don't know, I imagine a single red faction would have use of a secret language outside, to fight the rest of the meritocracy until they acknowledge us, and out sacrifice."
"It will enhearten you to know, some form of that acknowledgement happened, last I visited Thallaxad City."
"We have fought too long for a quick acknowledgement to make much difference. There's a lot of pain and suffering."
"I'm the one who wrote we lost thirty-five per-cent of our people, in the cutting of the light, agent."
"And how accurate was that estimate?"
"You're not cleared for that compartment, agent."
"So, very not, huh."
"This stays between us, right?"
"Yes."
"I underreported the losses, in my book, the hopes of garnering unity. I was trying to be reasonable, to be a voice of collected calm."
"From your bitter tone, it didn't work?"
"No, the other Terrans..." He sarcasm was biting. "Thought I was over-reporting them, as I was told they would, as long as I said even one died..."
"Why? The blade that struck was our own, not theirs, even if they bear some responsibility..."
"That's precisely why, they do not accept the possibility of any guilt, if it means they must come to the Solars with eyes downcast."
"Solars? We've made contact?"
"You'll find out soon, I'm told they want to visit the capital, I've assigned you to be their guide..."
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