Mark sidled up behind Laura. "Chadwell and Ahmed haven't been introduced yet." He raised his wine glass to cover his mouth as if in a spy movie. "What's Koen doing?"

"Something very smart," Laura hissed, "and productive."

Koen got the message: this had better work.

Graa shuffled down Mr. Grumbles's shoulder, body swaying while his head stayed stationary. His eyes, more forward-facing than most corvids, fixed on Koen's.

"What dangers are there? Is the potato guarded? Do large beasts circle it? Do enemies close upon its position? Have others woven cages of regulation around it? Kek kek! I am frustrated!"

"Yes, Your Excellency!" Koen couldn't pause to untangle most of Graa's poetic allusions, but he had spent two weeks trying to get fresh vegetables imported from Earth and empathized deeply with the Pick's opinion of government regulation. "Yes! The potato is tied in a web of red tape."

"Clarify? Did you say fresh intestines?" Graa wiped his beak on the edge of Mr. Grumbles's shoulder. "Speak clearly and unidiomatically. And lower your arms. You're scaring my steed."

Koen unclenched his fists. "Sorry. It will be hard to make the Quotidians allow the import of living biological material from our Earth."

General Graa stretched out his left wing. Mr. Grumbles looked over his right shoulder. The two held the pose for a moment, while everyone in the embassy paused the conversations they were pretending to have and stared.

Pick and steed relaxed their pose.

"I'll make you a deal," said General Graa.

Laura clutched her wine glass. "Yes?"

"When you spoke to my secretary last night, you proposed a price for providing food for Mr. Grumbles."

Oh, thought Laura. Is that what I did?

"Reduce it by five sixths and I will snatch the potato and bring it to Quotidia alive."

"One sixth," said Laura automatically.

"And I have some other things to order from Earth," said Koen.

Mark growled in warning. General Graa growled to, but to indicate a totally different emotion.

"I like you! You are standing in the bloody snow, Koen. You hop!"

"Uh, clarify?"

"We have made a deal."

Mark caught a look from Chadwell. He cleared his throat.

The Pick whipped his head up with a rattle of jewelry. "How dare you?? Oh, yes, that noise only means you have a throat infection."

Laura made a mental note not to make any caw-like sounds.

"Um, excuse me, Your Excellency, I just wanted to know," stammered Mark, now thoroughly wrong-footed. Half of his mind berated the other half: you're supposed to be more subtle than this. What's wrong with you? Shut up shut up!

Graa shifted his weight and Mr. Grumbles turned to face Mark. "What do you want to know? Do you propose to raid my knowledge-cache?" He pointed his beak at Mark and shrugged his wings. "I am macho…but how can I be mad at you?" He scratched his head with a foot. "It is not your fault your eyes are black. Your mouth is open just like a chick and I will stuff information into you."

After a panicked moment, Mark decided to forget everything he had just heard. "I just wanted to know if you had any tips for entering into better relationships with the Quotidians."

Fucking smooth, Mark. His inner voice sneered. You sound like a first-year asking how to pick up girls. Chicks! Ha!

"Do not enter into better relationships with Quotidians." Pale nictitating membranes flicked across Graa's black eyes. "I am patronizing. Quotidian practice is to absolute establish equality within a hive and free competition between hives. They do not form families with outsiders. I generously give you a gentle command: court the Tensors."

Mark swallowed, kicking himself mentally for not remembering that the Pick were in the Tensors' faction, not the Quotidians'. "Thank you. How can we get closer to the Tensors?"

"Tensor practice is to tinker with the machine-of-state-in-flight. This is a system of rules so complex it has achieved self-awareness."

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"I don't understand."

"Do not flatter me so much with the softness of your mind." Graa made a coughing sound and raised his crest. "I am your master. Practice subservience to me."

Mark's first thought was, How dare you? He spread his stance and raised his hands, ready to grab and strangle.

Mr. Grumbles stepped back, whimpering, and General Graa flapped. "Steady now. Whoa, there! Steady, boy."

Koen understood what that cough must have meant. But was Graa's dominance display directed at Mark, or was he giving Mark a suggestion?

"Your Excellency," he said as Mark snorted and glowered. "Do you mean that the Pick government might be prepared to enter negotiations on the United Nations' behalf?"

Graa's head popped out from behind the still restive Mr. Grumbles. "No. I demand subservience from you personally. I am wealthy and powerful." He spread his shoulders and quorked. "I can keep all of you in my stables!"

Laura spread her hands, palms down. This calmed Mr. Grumbles, but Graa twitched as if suspecting an attack. "I think there's a problem with translation," she said, unfairly. "Your Excellency, are you talking about a treaty of friendship?"

"Or adopting a pet?" muttered Koen.

"Yes!" said Graa.

"We'll have to consider it." Laura shot quelling glances at Mark and Koen. "Now, if I may introduce you to the other embassy staff?"

"No." The Pick gave a high, lost cry. "I'm hungry. Give me alcohol!"

Laura bowed. She felt back on solid ground. "Of course. Right this way, Your Excellency."

"Onward, Mr. Grumbles!" General Graa peered around brightly. "I am fascinated," he said. "A whole room full of talking steeds. And you decorated this cage all by yourselves according to your own, internally developed aesthetic sensibilities."

"Ah," said Laura. "Do you like the décor?"

The Pick puffed his feathers and shook his head, clattering gold medallions. "I hate it. It's claustrophobic, agoraphobic, and horizontal. But that is exactly what one would expect!" He made a noise like a xylophone. "I am curious! Oh, the food pile. This will be tricky."

Laura, who had been trying to figure out how a space could be both claustrophobic and agoraphobic at the same time, realized that Mr. Grumbles's pace had quickened. She skipped to catch up.

"Mm!" said the steed, hands reaching toward the buffet laid out on the table.

General Graa cawed and flapped his wings. Musty-smelling wind blew back Laura's hair. "No! No! Stop. Stay. No! Bad boy!"

The needle-armed beak jabbed and Mr. Grumbles jumped. "Ooh!"

"Stop. Stay. Good boy. I'll drop excuses on you. My steed has been on a diet since we came here. No place to exercise him except the dog park. I command you to approve!"

Mr. Grumbles put his hand to his cheek and whimpered.

"Is he bleeding?" Koen demanded, pushing past Laura.

"I can get something to clean it up," she said.

"Of course I did not break the skin," said Graa. "That might leave a mark that would damage his show value." Graa prodded with his beak between Mr. Grumbles's fingers. "Stay, Mr. Grumbles, stay. Good boy."

Mr. Grumbles no longer looked in pain, but his attention was back on the chips. Koen could feel his own mouth watering in sympathy. It was agony to watch the poor creature deny himself. No, to be denied.

Mark, for his part, was jealous. He wished he had a bird on his shoulder who'd force him to diet.

"He should let the animal do what it wants," Koen grumbled.

"What animal?" Mark looked around. "The raven? Oh, you mean the, uh, steed."

"Mr. Grumbles, he calls him. He's hungry. Look how he's looking at the chips."

"I'm jealous," said Laura. "I want someone to stab me when I feel temptation."

Koen was horror-stricken. "No you don't! To have someone riding you all the time…"

With the ease of long practice, Laura stopped herself from glancing at the Ambassador and smiling ironically.

Koen was still going. "...working you every day and never letting you have freedom…"

"Consent," said Mark. "That's the key here. If you volunteered to have a bird sit on your shoulder and help you diet, that would be one thing, but—"

"—but Mr. Grumbles is an animal." Laura snapped. She had been less successful at suppressing her anger at her boss than she thought. "And he is not your animal, Koen."

"I know that. I said that." Koen bristled at Laura's tone. He thought she was angry at him, and so did she. "Still, he should do what he wants."

Laura imagined Koen doing what he wanted. A brief flash of lust gave way to anger when she remembered where they were, and how high the stakes were. "You don't insult General Graa, understand? You treat him politely."

"Of course I will!" Koen had not realized until that moment how much he wanted to be rude to General Graa.

"Yeah," said Mark, who had decided it was time to manipulate everyone into thinking they agreed with each other. "He's the highest-level dignitary the embassy has ever hosted. And Koen's the one who invited him. Of course we'll all be professional."

He beamed at Koen, who felt as if a collar had just snapped around his neck.

Koen nodded, but said, "Will you let Mr. Grumbles eat some chips?"

A rasping noise from the Pick. "I am annoyed with you! I'm not letting him eat carbohydrates now. I already told you he is out of shape. If you want more information, I will demand more in payment. Mr. Grumbles, drop! Drop them. Good boy."

The steed sniffled miserably as it dropped the handful of potato chips onto the floor. Koen opened his mouth to speak, but Laura glared at him until he closed it again.

It was thus that Koen was reminded of his junior status. His low rank. Koen remembered what Severo had said about territory and forced his hands to uncurl. He bowed stiffly to Graa and Mr. Grumbles. Both were confused by the gesture.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Your Excellency," Koen said, and retreated into his kitchen.