The haughty Meyahndan in gold-coloured hunting leathers sneered down her nose at Pol. “We are Felids,” she said, showing her claws by tapping her fist against the opposite shoulder. “We are never unarmed.”
Why did her first day have to happen during an Ambassadorial Meet? “One moment,” she said, consulting the manual. Ah. Meyahndese. Yes. “Uhm. It says you have to have a permit? Otherwise you have to clip them short.”
She hissed at him and very pointedly waved the permit under her nose.
“Right. My apologies. It’s my first day.”
“That… I can believe.”
“But your -uh- other weapons? The ones you can take off? Please? They have to be turned in during the Meet.”
Four bows. Four long-swords. Four daggers, three skinning knives, three slingshots, matching bags of ammunition, and eight scent-masking roll-ons clattered across her desk.
Pol dutifully boxed and labled it. “These will all be returned on your departure.”
The Meyahndan party growled at him as they entered the Decon Gauntlet.
Oh great. The Vardians were next. Their glittering formal costume barely let the Ambassadorial Gold show, and the young Empress had clearly just turned the appropriate age for the Honour Knife in her bejewelled bodice.
She glared at Pol as she explained that the clear no-weapons policy also included ceremonial blades. One hand went to her bodice and the almost-concealed hilt by her new cleavage.
Pol had to call Sherlock in, much to her embarrassment, for an extended deliberation.
Eventually, the Empress’ ceremonial dagger was replaced with a custom device that would emit a disabling shriek should she need to draw it. After that, it was a simple matter to divest her of hair stilettos, hip knife, poison rings, and the cunning little blades in her shoes.
A rushed group including some UFTP arrived with a Faiize and a small human girl in what appeared to be a sack.
“Ambassador,” puffed the UFTP Lieutenant, “Sahra Johnston. And associate/assistant Simy.” The official documents had a lot of blanks. A new one, by the look of things. “Representing the human colony/planet Hevun.”
Wow. This might be an easy one for a change. Pol processed her documents and said, “Did you bring any weapons?”
“D’pends,” said the kid. “What ‘xackly you callin’ a weapon?”
Oh dear… one of those.