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Thomas repeated the words under his breath as he walked, trying to find the right cadence. He'd practiced the Sangheili greeting innumerable times, but the odd combination of sounds still felt strange in his mouth.
He kept going though, determined to make an impression on their newest addition to Infinity's assets; a group of Sangheili, members of the Swords of Sanghelios. This wasn't just an alliance made in good faith, it would be a cultural exchange as well.
"Your pronunciation's getting pretty good, captain," Roland said brightly as Thomas paused at the holodisk, his attaché of four Spartans coming to a stop behind him. The Captain let out a nervous sigh.
"Let's hope it's good enough. What about the Sangheili handshake you told me would be important?" Tom asked. He'd practiced it in his bathroom mirror - and felt ridiculous the entire time - but he wanted to make sure he got it right.
"Care to review that once more, sir?" Tom nodded, and Roland's casual pose straightened.
"You show that your sword-hand is empty." Roland lifted his right hand, palm up, as if making a gentle, under-hand throw. "Then rotate your hand," he said, moving his arm to the side before dropping it back to his hip, "and break eye contact."
"Remember to allow 'Turom to go first."
Thomas nodded, then looked up and waited for the contingent of Swords to arrive via Phantom. To say he was nervous was an understatement; he hadn't met a Sangheili up close since the battle of Circinus, and that hadn't been under the best circumstances. The memory still gave him goosebumps if he thought about it too long.
A burst of curt Sangheili came over the comms. "Carrier 1-4-2 is now on approach, and cleared for landing," Roland informed him, as a sleek, red Phantom drew alongside the ship. It eased through the bay's forcefield, and glided orca-like to a stop in the center of the hangar.
The seal on the Phantom's doors hissed open, and the marines and Spartan contingent behind Lasky drew themselves to attention crisply. Tom himself stood a little straighter. This was an important meeting, and first impressions mattered, especially after three decades of brutal fighting.
As the Sangheili disembarked, he remembered something else he'd learned about meetings between high-ranked Sangheili: commanders and shipmasters often met alone, leaving their entourages a little ways behind them. It was another way of saying "I bear no ill intent".
"Spartans, stay here. That's an order." He said firmly before he started out across the hangar alone.
The Sangheili warriors filed out of their ship, each clad in gleaming red-and-white armor. As they moved into a parade formation, Tom searched for a sign of their commander, but each of them wore the same style of helm and combat harness. Just as he began to think that 'Turom was still inside the ship, one of the warriors broke away from the others. He walked with a purposeful but unhurried gait. The warrior came to a stop an arm's breadth from Lasky, and gestured greeting.
He'd seen plenty of Sangheili during the war, of course. But always at a distance, or on a screen, which did nothing to truly give him a sense of scale; they were big, in a way that was entirely different from the Spartans he was used to. Tom repeated the gesture; sword hand empty, no hidden weaponry, I trust you enough to take my eyes off of you. Then he looked back at 'Turom, prayed he wasn't shaking as much as he felt like he was, and spoke.
"Welcome aboard the UNSC Infinity, Commander Zasan 'Turom."
The Sangheili stood silent and still for a moment, peering down at him. Then 'Turom reached up and manipulated something at the base of his helm, and removed it. His skin was mottled with burn scars on one side, and what Tom could have sworn were fang marks from something very, very large. He inclined his head and tucked his helm under his left arm, then extended his right hand.
"Greet-eens, Captain Laz-kee," he said, with obvious effort.
Roland translated the commander's next words. "We are honored to join you. May this venture bring glory to us all."
Tom made himself take 'Turom's hand without hesitating. Clawed fingers gripped his hand with surprising gentleness, and he gave one shake before letting go.
Aside from the rather nasty scars, Zasan 'Turom looked completely average. The commander's lack of flamboyant armor to set him apart from his soldiers along with the fact that he had also made the effort to greet Thomas with a handshake and spoken English painted a picture of a humble, pragmatic, open-minded warrior. Someone well-suited to leading troops among a former enemy.
"You command a fine vessel, captain. I saw its work at the siege of Mount Kolaar." 'Turom reached down to his side with a deliberate, almost ritual motion, and untied a small cloth satchel from his hip. He offered it to Lasky with both hands. "In the spirit of our alliance, I bear a gift--and the Arbiter's regards."
Lasky held out both hands and accepted the satchel, which was heavier than it looked. He examined it for a moment before glancing up to find the commander looking on expectantly. Tom took the hint (he hoped) and undid the drawstring to reveal a smooth piece of purplish-magenta nanolaminate: ship armor. He wondered if it was significant somehow; judging by the practiced way 'Turom had presented it, it had to be.
So far, 'Turom had been very different from what Tom had seen of other Sangheili of his rank, perhaps he wouldn't see Tom as stupid and weak if he admitted his ignorance.
"I appreciate this gift, as well as the compliment from yourself and the Arbiter," Tom said with honest sincerity "But I admit that I don't know the significance of this piece of nanolaminate. Is it from a specific ship?"
'Turom gave a low hum, almost like a crocodile's bellow. "This is piece of the rebel Defender of Faith--the very ship that Infinity struck down during the siege. The Arbiter sends it as a trophy of victory," 'Turom explained. "And a reminder. As your people fought by our side in our hour of need, so may we fight by yours."
Thomas couldn't help but smile appreciatively.
"I'm honored to accept it." He re-tied the drawstring and then gently tucked the satchel away in one of the utility pockets on his belt, then turned back to 'Turom.
"If you and your men will follow me, I'll show you to your quarters and workspace as well as the galley, if you're so inclined."
'Turom acknowledged this with a nod, then turned back to his warriors. He issued a few clipped orders in his own tongue, and the two dozen Sangheili under his command moved forward to join him.
"Thank you, captain. We are eager to begin our work."
Lasky turned and started back toward the Spartans, hoping that the rest of his - and the crew's - dealing with the Swords of Sanghelios would be as pleasant. A small twinge of anxiety tugged at his mind; he'd have to keep an eye on the Marines and ODST's, though. Not everyone was capable of being so quick to forgive after such a long and vicious war.
As he approached the holodisk, he noticed that Roland was scowling at him in an uncharacteristically disapproving way.
"When I said 'approach the commander alone,' I didn't mean 'leave your entire protection detail too far back to help.'"
"I appreciate the concern, but I don't hold the UNSC Pistol Marksmanship ribbon as well as the UNSC Expert Pistol medal because I can't hold my own. I'm not exactly made of glass, Roland."
"Aye, sir." The AI looked like he had more to say, but only crossed his arms. "Well, shall I help give our new friends the grand tour?"