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---

“. . . after that, N’Keeea left without another word.  That’s all I can tell you about this end,” Brooks concluded.  “The T’H’Tul are an old and distinguished Hev clan, but apparently that doesn’t mean much to the others outside of lip service.”

The figure before him towered almost a foot taller than he was.  Even for a Nolem Sepht she was large.

Commodore Siilon grimaced, the serrated beak hidden behind her lips looking only a little less intimidating, even after all these years.

She was not actually present; if anyone else had been in Brooks’s study, they’d not even have seen her.  But she appeared as she did in life, projected into the world via augmented reality.

Their communication was one of the most difficult and expensive variety; real-time across many light-years, opening the tiniest of ripples through surface space to send a tight-beam through zerospace.

“No, based on our information,” she replied.  “It means very little to the Red Hev clans.  And the P’G’Maig are very well-known opportunists, even falling on their allies if they see a good opportunity.”

“Are they due for a factionalization?” he asked.  Many Red Hev clans tended to grow, then split into factions as parts grew too distant, culturally dissimalar, or resources grew scarce.  Or just because they felt like it; a culture of violence usually created major internal strife.

“Unlikely.  Certainly not soon enough to help us – we’ve dubbed this faction Maig Three, as they appear to be the third most powerful within the clan.  The Overlord of this faction is called Ks’Kull, and he is genetically related to the leaders of four other clans, including the two stronger than his faction.  Their coup against the prior leadership was apparently years in the making, but was achieved relatively recently, and they have solidified their positions.  For this reason, we believe they are in a period of relative stability – the pickings haven’t gotten slim enough, nor their situation dire enough, to cause infighting.”

Brooks took a deep breath and sighed.  “So much for that.  Why do they have such a seemingly personal vendetta against the Tul Clan?”

“That we don’t know,” Siilon replied, her tentacles slipping back in a gesture of annoyance, before returning to their normal disarray.  Many Sepht were fastidious about their head tentacles to the point of vanity, preferring them to stay thin and lithe and lacking muscle, but Siilon was in a sharp contrast – hers were as thick as his wrist at their base, and strong enough together to break bones if they got around something.

“What is the strength of Ks’Kull’s forces in the system?  Do they have strategic reserves?”

“Reserves, yes, but we do not know the strength.  The reports gathered by the Dessei Republic Fleet and Sepht Knowledge Service have seen fleets leaving and new ones cycling in, likely for refit.”

“Any repeated fleets?  Bringing one out, then back in?” Brooks asked hopefully.  It would indicate a potential limit to their reserves.

“Unfortunately no.  Within the system their forces are already quite formidable.  There are sixteen different Fronts, each commanded by a Warlord.  Each Front is estimated to contain around 6,000 battleships, a total fleet strength of nearly 150,000 combat vessels, though several are depleted, bringing their total fleet strength to just over two million in the Mopu system.  All told we expect them to number around forty billion within the system.”

The number was staggering, but not unexpected for the gargantuan task of taking an occupied system.  And they were only the third largest within the overall P’G’Maig clan.

“We’re going to be a little outnumbered,” he noted dryly.

“Well, it could be a bit less,” Siilon admitted, the absurdity not escaping her.  “A lot of those ships might have skeleton crews.”

It was a common enough tactic for Red Hev; the majority of their populations slaved away endlessly producing ships, food, and munitions, their societies being little more than roving fleets, colonizing or conquering wherever they went.  It made appearing strong to be of vital importance to them, and ships often survived even if crew didn’t, meaning that a lot of their ships would be running quite lean on personnel.  Especially after a war of attrition.

Things such as commodities or improving the overall conditions of their people were alien to them.  Quite a difference from many of the Blue or Yellow Clans, who had more balanced societies.

“Equipment quality?”

“Very low, for the most part.  The Maig rely on brute force with expendable ships and crews, having only a very low portion of more elite forces.  Those of higher quality still typically are quite behind our tech – though we’ve gotten some reports of them fielding things that are first-class.  We’re not quite sure how they might have been acquired.”

Shaking her head, Siilon gestured to him.  “I’ve sent you all the specifics, and reviewed them myself – let me just give you my assessment.”

“I’d certainly appreciate your view on it.  It is more your forte than mine.”

She made a doubting wriggle of her tentacles.  “You could be a Commodore yourself if your leaders realize that they should treasure one who can lose so much and be stronger for it.  As the old human saying goes ‘what does not kill you makes you stronger’, yes?”

“Perhaps,” Brooks agreed.  “But I wouldn’t like the extra paperwork.”

Siilon barked a laugh.  “I use aides for all that.  I haven’t looked at a form in years!”

She turned more serious.  “But my view is that this is not a fight to be taken.  Ks’Kull loves bloodshed, even if he is a coward at heart.  While their forces have low morale and commonly retreat, they regroup just as quickly and re-engage with overwhelming numbers.

“As for the Tul clan – Ks’Kull will not stop or be dissuaded from destroying them, I think.  The most you can hope for is that he may allow some of the civilian Tul population to leave – enough that they might continue to exist.”

“If they do they’ll lose their T’ title, and probably become known as J’ – remnant cowards,” Brooks said, frowning.

Siilon looked surprised at his knowledge.  “That is true.  It would be a stain on their clan they will likely not outlive.  But if they choose death, there is not much we can do,” she said.  “As much as I hate that.  I understand the feeling of dishonor, but to sacrifice their people for it . . .”

“Alien minds,” Brooks said wryly.

Siilon laughed again.  Her neutral color of a pale blue mottled a darker shade with amusement.  A metal patch covered her right eye, with an ugly scar rising from it.  The trophy of combat with a pirate fleet on the edges of Sepht space.

She could have gotten the scar repaired, and her eye replaced.  But she hadn’t, instead just fusing a sensor plate to the orbit.

He’d asked her why in the past;

“Because I want everyone to know I don’t care,” she had told him.

Letting the memory slip away, he focused on the moment.  “I agree, though,” he said to her.  “I’ve got a bad taste in my mouth and we haven’t even gotten there yet.”  He hesitated.  “Has your mission been a success?”

“Aye,” she replied.  “Through our trade contacts, we have been able to contact the Maig Clan, and received their assurances that you will receive an audience.  I have made some notes of the best Fleet Fronts to consider approaching from, as their attrition extends even to leadership – one way to keep potential upstarts in check.  So many of their command staff are rather green.”

The tentacles that covered her head twisted in a way that indicated her disgust.  “It isn’t much.  The Maig are treacherous.  But at least they won’t just shoot you down in surprise when you arrive.”

“Now they’ll just have their guns pre-aimed,” Brooks said.  Half-jokingly.

“If they do, you know I’ll come for them,” she said.  “And more importantly, they know that.  We don’t want war with them – by the depths, who truly wants war?  But should they attack one of our vessels, under a banner of truce, then the Sapient Union will retaliate.”

The question was just how much the Maig would care, Brooks thought.

“But I do not trust them any more than you,” Siilon admitted.  “So I have sent a scout ship to the edge of the system- just to check things out and make sure there’s no obvious traps set up.  She’s one of my fastest and should arrive only a few hours before you to look for such signs.”

“Thank you,” Brooks said.  “But that’s a big risk.  If they are attacked, you’ll be held responsible.”

“I trust you to keep them safe.”

She put it on him, but he knew that Siilon had her own contingencies in mind.  He could guess what, but it was a large risk even for her . . .

“I sure wish I had your flotilla here,” he said, wondering if she’d volunteer more.

“I would love to be there, but for now my government is taking a hands-off approach.  We rejected the T’H’Tul ambassador, after all, and working as go-between for your government and the Maig seems to be all the politicians feel they owe you.”

She was disgusted again, but he knew that she had always hated political games, even if she was good at playing them.

“You should see our newest Artillery Ship, Chilled Blade that Cuts from Afar,” Siilon said.  “Her slugs can reach 12% higher velocities than any comparable ship in the combined fleets.”

“I hope I never have to see her in action,” Brooks replied with a smile.

Siilon’s expression went more solemn.

“Best of skill to you, Brooks.  Next time I get the drinks, eh?”

The call was ended, the augmented reality image of his friend disappearing.

---

< Ep 6 Part 2 | Ep 6 Part 4 >

New to Other-Terrestrial? Check here! Or if you need to, jump to the beginning of the episode here!

---

Captain Brooks’s Log:

We are 76 hours out from the Mopu system, the home and last bastion of the T’H’Tul Hev clan to which Ambassador N’Keeea belongs.

All that could be prepared on such a short notice has been done.  We have received word, admittedly through intermediaries, that the P’G’Maig have granted us permission to enter the system, though we are still not certain if they are willing to talk.

Thoughts up the vine suggest they may only be wishing us to witness their glorious victory, something common among Hev warring groups.  An audience makes it better in their eyes.

I can only hope that we have some success.  That any of the T’H’Tul are still alive.  That I am able to bring this conflict to a peaceful conclusion.

If not, I fear the Craton will be another victim of the violence.

---

Ambassador Decinus was over a hundred years old, yet still was spry for his age.  His narrow face, dark eyes, and aquiline nose gave him a Roman appearance, and in different clothes he might have fit right into that ancient empire.

In appearance only.  Brooks only knew him by reputation, but the man was very highly accomplished in brokering peace and fostering cooperation among disparate parties, both inside and outside of the Sapient Union.

“The timing was fortunate,” he had told Brooks as he had come aboard.  “I have just come back from New Syria, after settling a matter there between the colony and a generation ship of Fesha who were trying to stake a claim on the borders of the system.”

Brooks was quite curious to hear about that, but it did not have anything to do with their current mission.  “If you need to settle in, you are free to-“

“No, no,” Decinus said.  “N’Keeea and his people have been waiting long enough.  Let us speak to him.”

After they settled in Brooks’s study and introductions had been made, N’Keeea asked;

“Do you have much experience negotiating with my people, Ambassador Decinus?”

“Some,” Decinus said.  “I am not an expert – I daresay humanity has none when it comes to your people – but I am probably about as close as we can claim right now.  But I have not encountered any Red Hev factions before.  I have been enlightening myself on their habits and customs, and I admit – I am quite concerned.”

N’Keeea’s ear twitched.  “Please go on.  What concerns you?”

“The P’G’Maig are not known for their willingness to find diplomatic solutions,” Decinus said.  “Especially when they feel that the military situation favors them.”

“This is very true,” N’Keeea agreed.

“Do you have any suggestions or tact we might start with?” Brooks prompted the Hev.

“Threaten them,” N’Keeea said plainly.  “You are correct that they respond to little else.  Trade embargoes, deals, and other such tactics have little effect upon their society; they are self-sufficient at the most basic level of these things, and have no ‘middle class’ that would demand luxury goods.  All they wish for is blood and resources.  If they calculate that they would lose more from continuing their war against my people – they will negotiate.  Not until then.”

Decinus looked to Brooks.

“Ambassador N’Keeea,” Brooks said firmly.  “We are not here to give military aid.”

N’Keeea leaned forward.  “You have agreed to intervene, Captain.  Or are your government’s words empty?  This is how you help; you need not fight a war.  Only make the Maig scum fear – then they will talk.”

“This is not what we agreed to,” Decinus said.  “We are only coming to talk.  The Craton is not a warship, Ambassador.”

“The stories of the ship speak differently,” N’Keeea said.  “The durability and firepower of a cratonic ship are not to be underestimated, is that not right?  And they have yet to be tested in a serious conflict.  Perhaps now is the time, Captain Brooks?”

“I am not starting a war,” Brooks stated flatly.

“Our government is resolutely against conflict,” Decinus added.  “We cannot violate this.”

“And if you are attacked?” N’Keeea asked.

“We can defend ourselves, and will withdraw at the first opportunity.  But the Maig will not attack a neutral third party under a diplomatic truce,” Decinus insisted.

At least, few were ever that stupid.  There was no easier way to get yourself isolated by the galactic community than to violate the neutrality of a third party engaging in diplomacy with both sides.

“You underestimate their violence,” N’Keeea said.  “Captain, I hope that you are prepared to defend this ship.”

Brooks did not take the bait.

Decinus changed the topic.  “What was the reason for the Maig’s attack upon your people?  I would like to know their justification as well as the truth of the matter.”

“I have told you,” N’Keeea said.  “The Maig wish for resources.  They swallowed up all of our neighbors, then came for us.”

“And their excuse for the territory grab?” Brooks asked.

“They are Maig, Captain Brooks,” N’Keeea replied.  “They do not make up reasons.  They simply declared us H’, and began their war.  The announcement was not made until they day after their attack began.”

“Not even a declaration of war?” Brooks asked, frowning.

“That is not a formality they feel strongly about.  But it was hardly a surprise; we knew they would come for us as we saw our neighbors destroyed.  We could see that we were next.”

“How fast is their advance?” Brooks asked.

“I do not know.  I left before they attacked,” N’Keeea said.

“Had they attacked by the time you spoke to the diplomats of the Sepht and Dessei?” Brooks asked.

“The Sepht, no.”

“That might explain their diplomatic reluctance,” Brooks noted.  “If there was not even a conflict at the time . . .”

“Yet it was coming – I told them, and I was correct,” N’Keeea replied bitterly.  “They should have listened.”

“Regardless,” Decinus said, smoothly turning the topic again.  “If we cannot turn aside the Hev expansionism, there is another option; the evacuation of your people.”

“Impossible!” N’Keeea said.  “My people will not flee.”

A strained silence filled the room for a moment.

Decinus broke it.  “Ambassador, I understand the reluctance of a people to abandon their home, but-“

“This is more than that,” N’Keeea insisted.  “You clearly are not an expert on my people, Ambassador, or you would understand this!”

“We have already said as much,” Brooks said, cutting off the ambassador, his voice commanding.  “But why do you feel your government will not be willing to consider this?”

N’Keeea scrunched his face up, staring at Brooks for a moment before clicking his teeth and looking away.

“There are many factions in our government, but during a time of war, none are more influential than the military caste.  And they will never agree to this.  To abandon one’s home is the worst of all things.  In ages past, a Hev colony without a home were not simply dishonored – they were doomed.  Refugees in our numbers could have no hope of feeding themselves, the task of building a new colony from scratch was far too much-“

“Ambassador,” Decinus said.  “That is something we are able to help you with.  We can help your people rebuild.  But to do that, there must be some still alive.  I am sorry, we cannot come to rescue your people with force.  We may not be able to save your home – but we can help you to build another.”

---

< Ep 6 Part 1 | Ep 6 Part 3 >

New to Other-Terrestrial? Check here!

---

Other-Terrestrial
Season 1, Episode 6
“Diplomatic Maneuvers”
by Nolan Conrey

---

Prologue

Persis didn’t seem to want to look at him, but Hannah couldn’t pull her eyes away.

“Don’t worry, Professor Browning will still be with you,” he told the two girls.

They had just passed through the airlock from the Magic Crystal Puffer Slug to Plucharon Station.

The dock was a secondary one, but that was fine for him; it meant it was not crowded, with only a few people scattered about.  Mostly dock workers, it seemed, who were arguing loudly over where to move certain containers.

“I’ll be back in a couple weeks.  Or, more likely you’ll get to take a trip with a convoy to meet us!”  He tried to make it sound fun.  Perhaps at another time it would have been.

“Dad, will we see you again?” Hannah asked.

The words were like knives to Zachariah Urle’s ears, and he struggled to show nothing on his face but a smile.

She was still staring at him, looking much younger than even her twelve years.  Persis’s eyes finally went to him, and he could see how afraid they were.

“You will,” he told them both firmly.  “We’re not going off to war.  It’s only a tense diplomatic situation-“

“I heard that Hev eat people,” Persis burst out, then looked back down.  “That they’re cannibals.”

He wanted to say it wasn’t true; but he knew it was.  “Some Hev do,” he admitted.  “Among their own kind.  But most don’t – like Ambassador N’Keeea, he’d never do that.  Absolutely never.”

“But what about the bad ones you’re going to talk to?  Do they do that?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted.  “To their own kind.  They’re a very violent faction-“

“I don’t want you to get eaten!” Persis cried, throwing her arms around him.  “Don’t go, dad!  Stay with us!”

His heart felt like it had dropped from his chest as he put his arm around her, then beckoned Hannah in.  Embracing them both, he spoke softly but firmly.

“I have to go.  But I will not be eaten, and I will be back.  I will do everything in my power to return.  So will Captain Brooks and Jaya and Cenz and Dr. Y and everyone else.”

“But what if the . . . Pug-Maij attack you?”

“It’s pronounced Puh Guh Maig,” he said, emphasizing the hard G at the end.  “And I don’t think they will.  Because then they’d have everybody mad at them, and that wouldn’t go well for them.”

“Unless they don’t care,” Hannah said.

Urle couldn’t really counter that; it was always possible for a leadership to just not care if their path was self-destructive.  One could just point to the fascist states of the 20th and 21st centuries . . .

But he didn’t believe that would be the case here.  Or at least, he wanted them to believe he felt that way.

“You’re worrying way too much,” he said, reaching over and tousling her hair.

“Daaaad!” she complained.

He just gazed upon her, feeling a deep familial love, while Hannah tried to put her hair back to normal.

“Dad, this is for you,” Persis said, pulling from her backpack a sheet of paper.

“For me?  Thank you,” he replied, taking it.  It was a drawing of him in the command center – he could recognize Brooks, Jaya, and Cenz, and . . . he wasn’t sure who the last figure was.  But it was a reasonably good representation of the ship’s heart, with its disc-like tiers and large screen walls.  “I’ll put it in my office!”

“No, keep it with you!” Persis insisted.  “It’s lucky, so you won’t get hurt that way.”

Urle nodded.  “Well I can’t say I really believe in luck – but you made it, so I’ll keep it with me.”

“Give this one to Kell,” Persis continued, offering another drawing she pulled from her bag.

“Ambassador Kell?” he repeated, confusion in his voice.

“Yes,” Persis said matter-of-factly.  “He doesn’t have a family, and so I wanted to make him that.”

“Professor Browning said we should think of the people who don’t have families, and make something for them,” Hannah explained to him.  “So Persis drew that for Kell.”

Urle looked at the drawing.  It appeared to be a puffer slug, the thing she’d been obsessed with for some time.

“That is very sweet of you,” he told her.  “I promise I’ll give it to him.”

How the hell was he going to explain this?  Just the thought of trying to impart to Kell about child drawings . . .

His girls were leaving now, walking off towards their Professor who had gathered a group of children around him, showing them a holobook of Fantasy Basket, a story he knew was popular with their age groups.  He’d even liked it as a kid.

Now was the time he should go.  The children had pulled themselves away, and now it was down to him to do the same.

Turning on his heels was hard.  It wasn’t the first time he’d had to drop them off while he was on a dangerous assignment, but it was never easy.

Had Verena felt this way, before she went off to Terris?

The crunching of paper in his hand made him look down.  He relaxed his grip and the drawings flattened back out.

Taking a deep breath, he went out through the door.  He couldn’t let his anxiety show.

His girls had left, but he still had to put on a strong front for every other person on the Craton.  He was the First Officer, and it was his duty.

---

“Are you sure you want to stay?” Brooks asked.

“I’m sure,” Apollonia replied.  “I know we’re going into a threatening situation, but . . .  This is my home now, right?”

Brooks nodded.  “I’m glad you feel that way, but I would feel better if your were safe.”

“Honestly,” she replied.  “I’m more worried about Urle.  He’s got two kids and no wife . . . what if something happens to him?”

“He’s far from the only man aboard with children – or to be a single parent,” Brooks told her.

“What, really?  I figured that single parents would be a rare thing in the Sapient Union.  That everyone would just be happy with each other all the time.”

Brooks’s smile turned a little sad.  “We cannot mandate the human heart.  And people change with time.”

Apollonia took that in with a nod.  “I don’t suppose there’s anything I can do to help?  I mean, you give me a gun, I can probably point it the right way.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary.  Arming untrained civilians is something a leader does if they’re trying to get their people killed, it’s not a responsible action.  However, there are going to be various levels of Volunteer units that will go around doing everything from patching holes to putting out fires and helping the injured.  If you like . . . you could volunteer for one of those.  They’ll give you training for it.”

Those were not things she felt particularly keen on doing.  But doing something was usually better than just waiting around for everything to go to shit . . .  “I’ll take a look into patch crews.  I actually had a job doing that on Hellrock- I mean New Vitriol, sometimes.”

Brooks caught her slip on the name, but didn’t comment.  “That is always needed in a battle.  Even autocannons can punch holes in thinner parts of the hull at close range.”

“Aren’t there drones for that sort of thing?”

“Yes – the worst jobs.  But for minor work, it helps to have volunteers.”

“Gives us something to do,” she noted.  “We can’t possibly be as good as drones.”

“There’s truth in that,” Brooks admitted.  “But we also need all available hands.  There can easily get to be a lot of holes in a ship during action.”  He paused, frowning.  “You are comfortable in a vacuum suit, right?”

While nearly all standard wear worn on a station or ship tended to be vacuum-rated and have quick-fold hoods in case of a breach . . . she’d never worn a proper space suit before.  Just basic stuff.

But it couldn’t be that bad, right?

“I’m fine with them,” she lied.

“Good.”  He made a motion in the air, interacting with his system, and she heard the beep of a message on her tablet.

“I enrolled you in the Auxiliary Light Engineering Volunteers,” he said.  “It will tell you when to report for your initiation.”

“Oh,” she said, now feeling nervous about the prospect of human interaction more than the potential of work.  “Thanks.”

Brooks patted her on the shoulder and then walked away.

She glanced over, and saw a shuttle was just irising its airlock closed.  The last ship would be leaving soon.

---

< Ep 5 Part 42 | Ep 6 Part 2 >