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

---

“The animals do not like me,” Kell said as Brooks came in.

“They’re called dogs,” Brooks supplied.

“I do not care,” Kell replied.

Brooks was caught off-guard by that, but there was no vehemence in the Ambassador’s voice; just a factual statement.  He honestly did not care.

“Do animals often react like that to you?” he asked.  “I have heard stories, but I was not sure.”

“Sometimes,” Kell answered.  “If I am not paying attention.”

“Does that mean you can suppress . . . whatever it is about yourself that bothers them?”

Kell seemed more dour to be answering questions.  “If I wish to.”

“Can you do that with humans as well?”

“It is more difficult,” Kell replied.

But it implied a yes.  Brooks was thinking on that, when Kell spoke.

“I have a question for you, Captain.  I do not trust anyone else’s answer.”

That piqued his curiosity.  “Go ahead, Ambassador.  If I can answer it, I will be happy to.”

“You have told me that we are heading into a potential battle.”

“I wouldn’t say we expect it,” Brooks said.  “But it is possible.  The Mopu System is a warzone between two Hev factions.”

“I was under the impression that such a hypothetical battle would be of a nature of . . . this vessel against other vessels.”

“That is also true,” Brooks said.  “Over the vast distances of space-“

“Why, then, are practices for combat on the ship taking place?” Kell demanded.

As he was interrupted, Brooks felt annoyed.  The Ambassador was going to be particularly difficult today, it seemed.

“There is a possibility,” he explained.  “That we could be boarded.  In which case the Response Teams and Citizen Volunteers will serve to repel them.”

Kell leaned forward, his eyes piercing, and Brooks found his own stinging.  As if he had more of the being’s attention than he normally did.  It was intense and uncomfortable.

“Then may I kill?”

Brooks stared at Kell for a long moment.

“Ambassador, I am not sure that I understand your question,” he said.  “You . . . are aware that murder is a crime, yes?”

“Yes,” Kell said.  “But given that I am a diplomat, if my life – or others around me – have their lives threatened, am I permitted to kill?  If, perchance, a boarding took place?  For I understand that we are going under a flag of diplomacy.  But if we are attacked, this is broken, yes?”

“Are you seriously asking me this?” Brooks asked.

“I am.”

“If your life is threatened, then you may defend yourself.”

“And others around me?”

“. . . I recall that you said you were a soldier of some sort, Kell.  But I do not wish you to be involved in any combat if the ship should be attacked, unless you have no other choice.”

“But under the right circumstances it is permissible, despite my diplomatic rank?”

“. . . Yes, it is,” Brooks conceded.  “But you are an ambassador, and it is of great importance that we keep you safe-“

Kell nodded.  “That is all I needed to understand.  Thank you for your time.”

He rose, turning.

“Wait, Ambassador,” Brooks said, standing up as well.  “I have to impress upon you just how serious a matter this is.”

Kell gave him a look that nearly had contempt in it.  “I feel that I understand life and death in a more meaningful way than you do, Captain.”

“Nevertheless,” Brooks continued.  “I am telling you directly to avoid any and all dangerous situations if at all possible.  I do not want to hear that you walked into a live-fire situation.”

Another expression went over Kell’s face, and Brooks had to wonder if the Shoggoth always truly controlled them with intent, or if sometimes his true feelings showed.

Because Kell looked amused.

“Is that an order, Captain?” Kell asked.  His voice had no mocking in it, it was only a serious question.

“Do I need to make it one?” Brooks asked in return.

“I will tell you this, Captain; I will do my duty,” Kell said, his eyes narrowing, focusing on Brooks.

And again, the Captain felt he actually, truly, had the attention of the being.  That at most other times, he was getting the equivalent of an absent-minded answer.

Kell’s words could be taken as an agreement, Brooks thought.  He could say as much on a report, at least, and without context it might be accepted as that.

But he knew it was not.

He should tell the being to clarify the statement, to order him to avoid danger if it was possible.  But Brooks knew, on some level, that Kell would not do so, and if pressed he would not lie, either.

So they’d be at an impasse that dictated very clear actions on Brooks’s part.

Was this where he wanted to dig in and have it out with the Ambassador on orders and chain of command?  To bring him to heel – if he could even do that.

He took a deep breath.

It was not.

“Ambassador, I know that you are used to doing things in your own time, in your own way, without the input of others – and that you still wish to behave this way.”  His eyes narrowed as he looked at the Ambassador.  “But if you disregard what I have said, you face the real danger of dying.”

Kell’s face changed subtly, but Brooks could not read it.  At least – it made no sense.  If anything, Kell looked excited.

“Very well,” he replied.

He turned to leave, but Brooks spoke again.

“Kell, have you killed a human before?”

He recalled Pirra’s report of Kell’s arrival when she and Cenz were surrounded by a kill squad on New Vitriol.  She had seen nothing but corpses after the fact; but Kell had been the only being there alive afterward.

It seemed obvious.  Yet he did not know how Kell could have killed a dozen men . . .

Kell turned back and studied him.  “You wonder if I have taken a human life in the millions of years I have existed alongside your kind?”

“Let me re-phrase; have you killed a human since you became a diplomat?”

Kell smiled then, and it chilled Brooks to the bone.  He felt a sweat break out on his brow.

“Good day, Captain,” Kell said simply, and stepped out the door.

---

< Ep 6 Part 7 | Ep 6 Part 9 >

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

---

The door closed behind Iago before he let his shoulders slump.

A long-held breath escaped through his lips, and he let his eyes adjust to the dimly-lit room.

The darkness was welcome; the bright lights on the rest of the Craton stung his eyes these days.  Elliot thought it was too dark, but it was better this way.

“Elliot?” he called.

His son came from the other room, stubbing his toe on a futon as he came.  “Ow,” he said flatly.

“Did anyone come by while I was gone?” he asked.

“No one,” Elliot replied, his tone still flat.

Iago stepped over, kneeling down to be on a level with his son.  Their eyes met, and even in the darkness Iago could see how brightly they shone.

His hands slid over his son’s cheeks, cradling him.

“We can’t let our guard down,” he said softly.

“I know, Dad,” Elliot said.

“We’re all we’ve got,” Iago insisted, his muscles tensing in nervousness.  Almost a spasm, but he fought it down.  His extra stimulants were wearing off.

“You said that already, Dad,” Elliot replied, pulling out of his grasp and stepping away.  He fiddled with a toy absently.

“Did you contact anyone while I was gone?” he asked.

“You said not to,” Elliot said.  “And there’s no one left for me to talk to, all my friends are back in Sol . . .”

“It would have been safer for you there,” Iago said.  “But I couldn’t let you out of my sight that long.”

Elliot looked over at him, curiously.

He knew his son wondered just what was up, but Iago couldn’t tell him – not yet.

It wasn’t that he was suspicious of his son – far from it, this was for him – but Elliot might talk.  And if they caught on that he knew . . .

He couldn’t let them take his son from him.  He was all Elliot had left in the universe.

“I just want to make sure you’re being careful,” he insisted.

“Be careful about what, Dad?” Elliot asked.  “You keep telling me that we’re alone, but there’s people all around us!  What about Pirra – you always said she was like family.  Doesn’t she care about us anymore?”

He could hear the tears more than see them, but as Elliot turned away angrily, he saw the sparkle of them as they caught the scant light.

“Elliot,” he said gently, “I know this is hard.  And I know what I’ve said in the past, but now – we can’t be sure about anyone.  We have to let them all think we think things are normal.”

“But we aren’t being normal!” Elliot snapped.  “We’re acting crazy!”

Iago felt fear in his chest as his son said the word.

He’d been wondering, late in the night, if he had gone crazy.

But no.  It wasn’t him.  He’d seen the drones acting strangely, seen people acting not themselves.  He’d seen too much to go back into his slumber.

It was the universe that had changed.  Not him.

“I know it must seem that way,” Iago replied gently.  “And eventually I can tell you more.  But right now you have to trust me.”

Elliot didn’t speak for the longest time, but then he gave a soft nod.

---

“So, Captain, I present to you the new Spacehounds!  Well, and a Station Terrier.”

Zeela Cann had brought the enhanced dogs to his study, and Brooks could not keep his composure.  A broad grin on his face, he came around from behind the desk to kneel with each dog, talk to them, stroke their heads and give them a scratch behind the ear.

“They are Beaux,” she nodded to the pure white one.

“Cross,” a mostly white one with a few dark splotches.

“Sasha,” the pale golden one, with an underside of white.  A lot like a shiba inu, Brooks thought.

“And Zeus and Apollo.”  Both were all white, but the former had a dark mark over his left eye, while Apollo had it over his right.

“And this is Angel,” she said, nodding the small Station Terrier in her arms who was panting excitedly.

“They’re fantastic,” Brooks said.

Zeela had never seen Brooks so effusive, and she found herself somewhat stupefied for a moment, though Angel began to wriggle in her arms, desperate to go meet this new person who was giving out pats so glibly.

“Oh, sorry, Captain, Angel gets very excited!” she said, putting her on the floor before she managed to successfully get free and fall.  Her nails clicked against the deckplate until she got enough traction to bolt towards him.

Brooks caught the little dog in his arms and rubbed her head.  She immediately rolled over so he could reach her belly, and he laughed as he stroked it.

“She’s exuberant.  A pleasant surprise, really – Station Terriers are great dogs.”

“She is extremely sweet,” Zeela admitted.  “Though she doesn’t fit well with the Space Hounds.  If anything, they seem to find her a little-“

“Annoying,” Beaux said through his voice box.

“Ah, is that so?” Brooks asked the smart dog genially.  “Well, I’m sure you’ll be doing her a service by letting her be around you.  But try not to worry about her unless she’s in trouble, all right?”

The dogs nodded, taking the instruction literally.

“I wish I could have come down and met you all sooner,” he added.  “I’ve been very busy.  But we will see a lot of each other, and I am very proud of you already.”

The Space Hounds all wagged their tails a little.  They enjoyed praise, and fully understood his words.

And it was true that he’d already heard gushing praise from the crew, as the Space Hounds went around the ship, patrolling . . . not that there was anything really to look for, but it was a part of their job that they took extremely seriously.

“Now- where did Angel go?”

He looked around, but the little Station Terrier had vanished, only to come around from behind his desk holding a stylus.

“Slippery little one, isn’t she?” he mused.

“Oh, my, I’m so sorry Captain – she has a real obsession with styluses!”  Zeela Cann went over and tried to take it from the little dog, but Angel dashed around the other side of the desk, chomping at the plastic stick triumphantly as she went.  She was practically strutting, clearly quite proud of herself.

Zeela blushed, but Brooks laughed it off.

“She can keep it.  I have others.  She seems so happy with it.”

Zeela let out an exaggerated sigh.  “She keeps bringing them back . . . I have no idea where she’s finding them.”

“If we start to have a ship shortage, at least we’ll know the culprit,” Brooks replied, grinning.

Zeela smiled as well, laughing despite herself.  “I never thought I’d be defeated by a tiny little Station Terrier.”

Suddenly, as one, the spacehounds ears went up, and they turned to the door.

Brooks lost the words he was about to speak, distracted by their united behavior, and Zeela Cann’s eyes went to them as well.

Then they started growling.  Apollo and Beaux, the closest to the door, started first, then rose off their haunches and backed away from the door.  In moments all of them were growling.

They broke into barking; furious, loud.  But all of them were on their feet now, and moving back from the door.

“Zeela, what-“

He got a chime that someone was there.  It opened, and he remembered now, his next appointment.

Kell stood in the doorway, calm, while all five dogs – no six now, Brooks saw that Angel, who had just looked confused initially, was barking as well.  All of them at Kell.

“Have I come at a bad time?” Kell asked dryly.

“Ambassador,” Brooks had to yell.  “Go to the office next door and wait for me there – Zeela, see if you can calm them down and get them out of here!”

The woman looked rather pale, and Kell stepped away.  The barking subsided quickly, and she began ushering the hounds out of the room.

“Don’t like,” one said through its collar.

“Bad,” another said.

“Danger,” a third said.

They were all repeating words and phrases to that effect, until they went out of earshot.

“Dr. Y,” he said, connecting.  “The new Space Hounds just had an encounter with Ambassador Kell, and they didn’t like it.  Can you-“

“I will be there immediately,” Y said quickly.  Brooks saw his signal go from his office to his nearest body almost instantly.

Faster than normal; he hadn’t gone through a shut-down sequence on his last body, which was odd.

But Brooks didn’t have time to think on that now.  Rising, he went next door to find Kell.

---

< Ep 6 Part 6 | Ep 6 Part 8 >

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

---

“Wait,” Apollonia said.  “Joining the . . . response thingy means I don’t have to study?”

Jaya’s disapproving frown made Apollonia immediately reconsider her words.  But they did seem to sum up just what Jaya had just said to her.

“Not exactly,” Jaya said.  “I said that it will count as part of your necessary practical experience.  If you did not do them now, then you would have to get these practical experiences later.  But it does not mean that you will not have to study at all.”

“But it’s still at least a break from study,” Apollonia said with a grin.

“You have just gotten a break from study,” Jaya noted dryly.  “Going to Earth.”

“That wasn’t exactly a vacation,” Apollonia said.

Well – the first part had kind of been that.  But the second half had been stressful as all hell.

“If you keep finding excuses to not do what you need to do to chase your dreams,” Jaya said, “then one day you will find yourself old and with nothing accomplished.”

“But will I be tired?” Apollonia asked reasonably.  At least, she felt it was a reasonable question.

Jaya did not seem to think so.  “I do not mean to be a slave driver, Apollonia, but I am trying to help you onto the path you wish.  I am pleased – truly – that you wish to help the ship.  It is the exact kind of attitude an officer should have.  But just do not forget that not all things are exciting or enjoyable.  Yet we still have to do them.”

Apollonia could feel another joke on her tongue, but swallowed and instead tried to consider Jaya’s words.

The woman had played pretty straight with her – and she was right, she had been helping.

“So I’ll keep studying in the evening,” Apollonia said.  “If I’m not . . . like run into the ground by training.”

Jaya smiled brightly, suddenly looking far less intimidating, and Apollonia found that she was warmed by it.

“That is a good plan, Apollonia.  And if you still wish my help – contact me.  I may be busy in the coming days, but I will try to find time to help you.”

---

< Ep 6 Part 4 | Ep 6 Part 6 >

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

---

“The Mark 41 Combat Armor is a highly-advanced suit,” Pirra said to the line of volunteers in front of her.  Her eyes went down them all, imparting the importance of her words.

“It is a very good piece of protection, but it is not perfect.  Hits to primary plate spots-” she gestured to most of the torso and limbs, “will stop most small-arms fire.  But the joints are weak spots.  They’re still rated against pistol and submachine gun fire, but a heavy rifle round won’t even be inconvenienced.”

One volunteer raised a hand.  “You say the plates will stop most small-arms rounds?”

“That’s right.  Lower-quality armor-piercing rounds are not likely to penetrate the armor outside of ten meters.  But the highest-quality armor-piercing rounds are able to penetrate consistently out to almost one hundred meters.”

She saw nervous glances exchanged between the volunteers.

A younger man cleared his throat.  “And if we were to face Hev boarders,” he asked, “what kind of round should we expect?”

“From Hev?” Pirra said.  “Low-quality.  Their armies are too vast for the most advanced tech to be standard issue – the cost would be astronomical.  Especially in the case of the P’G’Maig, who are more of a collection of associated armies with logistic division societies.  We estimate that their military forces make up almost one third of their society.”

Again the nervous glances, and Pirra cleared her throat.  It was a high, odd sound to humans, she knew, and got their attention.

“This unit is not a Combat Response team,” she said calmly.  “You are only being educated and prepared in case the situation requires all the manpower we can muster.  But if you wish to opt fully out of potential combat, you may do so without repercussions.  We won’t make you continue this training if you are not comfortable.”

Her eyes settled on a man, young by his looks, bordering that fuzzy area where he seemed too young to be here.  He seemed the most nervous.

“No, ma’am,” he said.  “I’ve passed all the physical tests and high-stress co-operation training.  I’m ready to defend my ship if need be.”

Pirra accepted that with a nod, and then looked across the rest of the group.

“You’re right to feel nervous, right now,” she told them.  “But this is why we train.  Training will instill within you confidence so that if we should face any threat, you will be able to do so as effectively and safely as possible.”

Her words went over them, and she saw nods, as they braced themselves.

“Good,” she continued.  “Now, head into the prep room through there, and we’ll begin to fit you with armor.”

The unit saluted, then turned and marched through the door.  It was only six of them, and in a moment she would give the same overview lecture to another six.

First their overview of combat strategies, a brief summary of the Hev and their biophysiology – not that dissimilar to Humans or Dessei, really – and their fighting styles, then onto their own weapons and armor.

Each volunteer unit usually consisted of people who had enlisted together, or else people matched by their systems to put together the most effective unit possible.

She checked her system for messages and saw two; one was from Dr. Y, concerning her own last-minute check-up, and she saw that he had cleared her for combat duty.  Not a surprise there.

The second was from . . . Oh Sky, she didn’t have time for this.

“Send the next team in,” she sent off to the coordinator AI.  She would have to get to that second message after she was done here.

The next group came in; among them, she was surprised to see, was a Dessei.  She knew most of the others of her people on the ship; there were less than a score of them on the Craton.  But it took her a moment to place this young male.

He was new, she recalled.  And here for Detachment Training – Lieutenant Kessissiin.  She had forgotten about it, in all her new workload and the hustle of their current mission.

The rest of the team were a good mix, she thought.  They had more confidence than the last team, and as she went through the explanations, they listened intently.

“Now,” she said.  “Go on and get fit for armor.  Except you,” she said, pointing to Kessissiin, who nodded.  “I need to speak with you.”

“Of course, ma’am,” he said.  The request seemed to have caught him off-guard, but he took it in stride.

As the others left, she stepped closer.  Her pupils were red, as were most Dessei, nearly brown.  But his were a striking yellow, and his top feathers were a dark red.  Combined with his build, it made him almost the standard of Dessei masculinity.

But his face was scruffy.

“You need to trim,” she said sharply, reaching up and gesturing to both sides of his face.

He blinked his large eyes.  “Excuse me, ma’am?”

“You just came for detachment training, so I know you learned the rules here.  Dessei facial bristles are to be kept neatly trimmed – just like in the Dessei Republic Naval standard.”

“My apologies, ma’am,” he said quickly.  “I will correct it as soon as we are done here.”

Assuming none of his bristles got caught in his helmet, some of his were long enough.

Ah, well, if they did, it’d be a lesson for him.  It was very painful, and could be distracting in combat, so he’d learn the hard way in training.

But he didn’t try to make an excuse, she noticed.  Not that many would have worked; it took well upwards of a month to get as shaggy as he looked.  Most humans would barely notice it, but she did.

“Go on, then,” she said.  “You still need your armor.”

“Yes, ma’am.”  He saluted smartly, turned, and walked out.

“Send in the next-“

She got a notification that she’d gotten an urgent request.

Looking at it, she took a breath for patience.  Guess she’d have to deal with this now.

She opened the door with a wave and in trundled He That Squats on Yellow Sand.

He came up to her, then snapped a salute; one of his head tentacles flipping neatly onto his top.

“What is so important, He That Squats on Yellow Sand?”

“Ma’am, I’d like to know why I was rejected for the Volunteer Combat Response corps.”

Oh, she really didn’t have time for this.

Squaring up in front of him, she started counting reasons.

“You have no combat training,” she said.  “You haven’t been tested in any of the courses-“

“I’m an Abmon,” he said.  “We all fight.”

And it was true, she knew.  All Abmon were expected to serve in war and pass through at least some basic training.  It was a response to their populations being significantly smaller than most other sapient species.  Their stricter and more difficult-to-meet conditions for living just made it more resource-intensive for them to exist off their homeworld.  They did it; they’d settled other systems, but with the population disparity, they felt they needed every possible soldier in case of attack.

One day they’d feel secure enough not to do it, even if their biology meant they’d always be outnumbered.  But she could see their reasoning right now.

None of that, however, meant that He That Squats on Yellow Sand was a fit for their volunteer force.

“Your health records still indicate you do not meet our standards,” she said.

“In speed,” he said, bitterness creeping into his words.  “But in strength I can take five humans.”

“That is true, but bullets don’t care,” Pirra said.  “And we cannot fabricate armor of sufficient quality from scratch in the time we have.  Nor can we provide enough medical drones with Abmon-specific kits to meet your potential injuries.  On top of that, you are an armory officer – your posting is important in case of a boarding action.  So my answer is still no.  However, you can sign up for the non-combat repair Volunteer teams.  After the action, your strength would be quite useful-“

“With respect to the work, Lieutenant Commander, I don’t want to be on a non-combat team,” Squats on Sand said.

“That’s the only team I will accept you on at this time,” she told him.

The alien tilted back, his sections rotating so three eyes were set on her.

“I am not afraid,” he said.

She met his look, and crossed her arms – a human habit, but effective enough.  “Your bravery is not being questioned,” she told him.  “It never has been.”

The Abmon tilted back fully upright, seemingly in thought.  Though she could not read his mannerisms at all, and even her translation pack was not as complete as she could have hoped.

“Very well, ma’am,” he said.

His five legs trundled him to the door, and Pirra took a deep breath.

“Send in the next team,” she said after a moment.

---

< Ep 6 Part 3 | Ep 6 Part 5 >

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

---

“. . . 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 >