An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
“Allow me to present the Khagan Supreme General of Kalee, Qymaen Born of Spirit, Jai Clan of the Deep Valley in the Ausez Steppes, Sahuldeem the Grievous.”
The words rolled smoothly from the droid’s vocabulator, with hardly a pause between original Kaleesh and translation. Despite the circumstances, Qymaen couldn’t help but listen with curiosity to the sound of his own name. He wondered to what extent the metal man could possibly interpret certain aspects of his identity with accuracy—was the construct familiar, for instance, with the valley for which the Jai Clan was named, or with the Kaleesh sentiment of sahuldeem? What was it actually saying to these offworlders? Mentally cursing himself, he wished he had been more selective in instructing the blasted machine what to translate.
“Ah.” The Neimoidian’s already rumpled brow creased further as he combed through the mess the protocol droid had uttered, picking out what he recalled and what seemed the simplest to say. “General...Grievous, then,” he decided before moving right on, eschewing the protocol droid’s responsibility and making his own introduction with overenunciated, slithery affect. “Well, General Grievous, I am Lott Dod, representative of the Trade Federation within the Galactic Senate. In the case of this particular gathering, of course, my presence here is on behalf of the Senate.”
TC-23 barely had a chance to paraphrase this to Qymaen before insect legs clacked forward and the Huk equivalent of a cold smile split the Imperator’s mandibles. “And I am Imperator Tyx Ch’kidax’th of the Yam’rii—but I believe the Khagan already knows who I am.”
Qymaen grasped enough to respond by spitting on the durasteel floor. “Du-ha tu wataa, Huk.”
“Oh, dear,” fussed the protocol droid.
—
Chapter 9 of Part Three - Sahuldeem of the Sahuldeem series is up! (Chapter art will be posted sometime later this week)
