Jeanne G'Fellers - No Sister of Mine

Langus. I am familiar with Commitment’s agreement. Just do your job.” Talmshone bared his pointed teeth in a crooked leer, the Iralian version of a polite smile. “And we shall do ours.”

Chapter Eleven
The braided Taelach guardian is a deadly enemy with no remorse for its actions. It will defend both post and family to the bitterest end.
—Autlach saying
The door alarm’s aggravating chirp awakened Trazar Laiman from a tantalizing dream. He shivered in his blankets, glanced up at the wall chimes, and yelled to whoever was on the hatchway’s reverse side.
“Go away and come back in the morning. It’s too frigging late!” He jerked the blankets over his head and tried to recapture the moment. Maybe whoever it was would give up.
A pounding fist brought him up a second time. Just as well; the temptress had faded. “This had better be good.” He stumbled into his leggings. “Stipall, you too drunk to remove your gloves to open the hatch again?” Trazar leaned wearily on the wall and hit the hatch release, imagining it was the face of the party on the other side.
“Sentry Commander Laiman?” Krell Middle towered in the hatchway.
“First Kimshee Middle!” Trazar attempted a salute but chose instead to save his dignity and grabbed the waist lacings of his sagging leggings.
“You know who I am then, Commander?”
“Of course I do, First Officer.” Trazar made a quick knot in his legging’s cording. “This is my second post here and there aren’t that many of your kind around.”
“Taelachs do stick out in a crowd,” admitted Krell in a short laugh. “Apologies for the late hour, Commander, but I have pressing business to discuss with you. May I come in?”
Trazar stepped back. “Pardon the mess. Quarters are becoming unusually tight. Four of us have to share a single’s space. Not that officers have such difficulties.”
“Sentry, even officers are double bunking these days.” Krell removed a pile of clothing from a chair, pulled it into the center of the room, and took a seat, returning the startled glances of the room’s other half-awake inhabitants while Trazar pulled on a duty tunic. The others were members of the same squadron so Krell could speak in confidence. “I’ll be brief. Sentry Laiman, I need the services of your entire squadron. Their available evening hours, that is.”
“Come again?” Trazar was positive lack of sleep was responsible for what he had heard, but it must have been correct because his roommates let sounds somewhere between a snicker and a gasp.
“I know this is an unusual request. You probably won’t understand the logic of—”
“Taelach Middle”—Trazar took quick insult when caught off guard in the presence of his men—“you suggesting I don’t have the ability to understand a proposal involving my squad?”
“Nothing of the sort.” Krell’s voice and expression remained neutral. “I’m not entirely convinced of the proposal’s logic myself. Nonetheless, this is what I require.” She proceeded to explain the proposition in earnest, stopping several times to answer Trazar’s questions and clarify his misconceptions. He paced the room, twisting the end of his single battle braid around his index finger while he listened.
“Let me get this straight. You want my men to go to this bar on the lower side every evening until you say otherwise?”
“Correct.”
“And I’m not to know why they are doing it?”
“Why is not important,” said Krell with a bitter glare that sent Trazar’s subordinates diving under the blankets. “All you need to know is what I’ve told you. The fate of Langus may rely on it.”
“Heavens help the day the fate of this moon comes down to a drunken sentry squadron.” The request amused him until his eyes gleamed defiantly.
“Believe it or not, Sentry Laiman, it does, and I’ll order your men to do this, above your head if necessary.”
“I have every intention of doing as you request, First Kimshee Middle!” Trazar bowed with what could easily have been a challenge. “I wasn’t ignoring you. I was only concerned for my men’s safety. Kinship officers sometimes view Autlach sentries as a disposable commodity.”
“I am not one of them. They will be at no risk. Now, do you understand what is to take place?” Krell detested being questioned under any situation, but this particularly addled her. She was tired and surrounded by the dank smell of male sweat. LaRenna’s gentle aroma was decidedly more satisfying.
“Basically, you want my squadron to patron the Waterlead every night until further notice.” He sniffed. “One question.”
“And what is that?” Krell sighed, anxious to leave.
“Who foots the bill? Sentry pay isn’t much. Most of my men send home every bit they make so their families can live. I know officers can afford it”—Trazar glimpsed at Krell’s rank symbol— “but we enlisted grunts can’t.”
“And where did you get this ripe bit of information?” retorted Krell. “Three quarters of Taelach officer pay goes to the Kinship’s coffers. I subsist on about half what you earn, so don’t accuse all officers of having overstuffed money pouches.” These Auts would serve their purpose then be gladly dismissed, free to slur her name and identity at leisure. “You’ll have the funding on your duty worktable every morning. Give each man enough for two or three drinks plus tips.”
“I assume this is to be done out of uniform?” Trazar pushed his tone to the verge of insubordination.
“Of course it is, sentry!” Krell spat. “What good would it do my investigation if they appeared at the Waterlead’s door in full dress?” She held a finger to his face. “Also, have them undo their braids or tuck them into a headband one. And lastly, make sure they stagger the times that they arrive and leave. I want the effect of a steady stream of customers, not a raid. Any other questions or comments you wish to make, called for or otherwise?”
“No.”
“I will leave you to your bed then. If there are any problems, notify me immediately.” Krell ignored the sputtering voices that rose as the door closed behind her. “Auts.” It was a