“Acting-Captain Urle,” he heard. He’d stepped not three meters from Iago’s door.

“Ah,” he said. “Ambassador N’Keeea, it’s good to see you,” he said, trying to force his brain into the diplomacy mindset needed for talking to the alien. Hev minds were not like human minds, and they tended to be much less direct-

“When will we hear from your diplomatic corp?” N’Keeea asked bluntly.

After how the Ambassador had beaten around the bush so much, only implying his question to Urle, hinting at it, dancing around and trying to find an angle that didn’t seem to be asking for a favor . . . the directness was shocking.

“I spoke to them the other day,” he said, trying to sound as calm and in-control as he could. “But I have not received an answer from them. I’m sorry.”

“Do they want us to all die?!” N’Keeea snapped, his teeth clacking loudly.

Urle was startled, recoiling slightly. “Ambassador – I understand the consequences, but I am doing everything I can.”

His stomach squirmed. Perhaps he needed to be more demanding? It was one thing doing that within Engineering or Quartermasters or the fleet as a whole. But the Diplomatic Corps? That had never been his area of expertise, and he did not know how they worked.

Nor should he, he knew. But there were always better ways to impart the dire need of something, to make sure the other party knew. In a society that spanned the stars, it was true more than ever.

N’Keeea stepped back, lowering his snout and turning slightly away. “I . . . I apologize, Acting-Captain. That was . . . not appropriate.”

It wasn’t, but Urle could understand why the being would lash out.

“We are having our own issues right now, I’m sorry to say. It is taxing our diplomatic corps deeply. I don’t know if you have heard, but-“

“Yes, yes . . . the Corvus system and UGR nonsense,” N’Keeea said, his tail lashing back and forth. A sign of dismissal. “I do not understand why you put up with them. You outnumber them by an uncountable margin. And yet you let them persist.”

Urle knew he could not explain this to a Hev. Many stronger clans of his kind tolerated weaker clans if they were useful, peaceful, or agreed to be vassals. But if the weaker attacked the stronger there would be no mercy, a grinding war of attrition that might last generations until one side was destroyed to its last member.

“It’s not our way,” Urle told him. “We do not seek to annihilate our enemies. In a case like this, we hope that one day they might realize they would be better off being our friends.”

The Hev’s nose crunched up, but he said nothing. His own people were going to be exterminated by a stronger clan who knew only war; perhaps it made him reassess that kind of thinking.

“My people will die because of this,” he admitted.

“I am truly sorry, Ambassador. But I have done what I can, and I will not shoulder the blame. I know you wished to save face, but if you had told me sooner . . .”

The Hev twisted away, as if disgusted. With himself or Urle, the man wasn’t sure.

“It is not mere face. I have been turned away by both Sepht and Dessei already. Over a matter that is as insulting as it is stupid.”

Urle paused. Despite the Union, the various species within it maintained many rights, their own cultures, and their own views on many things. But as far as he knew, neither the Dessei nor the Sepht had any major issues with the Hev.

That their regions of control bordered the majority of Hev space made them the obvious candidates; humanity wasn’t directly abutting their territory, but there was unclaimed space one could cross to reach them. But there was another major power in the Sapient Union that shared a border with the Hev.

“What about the Bicet?” he asked. “Have you tried-“

N’Keeea laughed, the sound bitter even without Urle’s system telling him.

“I had hoped you would know more of my people,” N’Keeea said sadly. “But I suppose humans have not had much contact with us – and the Bicet carry their secrets close, don’t they?”

“What secrets?” Urle asked, truly surprised.

“Some Hev . . . in the past had wars with the Bicet. Not over resources or territory, but . . .” Disgust went over N’Keeea’s face. “But because the Bicet were considered a delicacy. These beings of my species were barbarous beyond description, and did not represent the views of us all. But the Bicet do not forget a slight – for to hurt one is to hurt all, in their eyes.”

Urle couldn’t say he disagreed, but if it was true that most Hev clans would never stoop that low, then perhaps . . .

“Could you convince the Bicet of that? I do not mean to say that there is no hope of us helping you – I sincerely hope and think it will come. But you could try.”

“There exist no diplomatic connections between our people, and to even try is to court death. The Bicet took the actions of the barbarian Hev as . . . well, there are few actions worse. They eat their own dead, you see. There is ritual significance in it, and for an enemy to consume them – it is the worst insult imaginable. A part of their people are considered to be lost, forever.”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Urle had not known this; Bicet culture was easily the most obscured of any group in the Sapient Union, owing to how different their outlooks were in all things. Only Shoggoths could be said to be more secretive . . .

“Do you think these lack of relations could have had to do with the Sepht and Dessei rejecting you?” he asked.

The Hev studied him a moment, as if seeing him in a new light. “That is . . . exactly it, Acting-Captain. They wished us to sign a formal agreement to never again threaten the Bicet people. It is . . . something that is offensive beyond understanding.” He stood up taller. “No member of T’H’Tuul has ever consumed the flesh of an intelligent being! We will die before we sign such a document, for it implies that we once did!”

“Perhaps the wording can be amended-” Urle began.

“We would rather die than accept this imperialistic offense, Acting-Captain!” N’Keeea hissed. “You understand me? If every last Hev of my clan must be as dust to show our integrity, then so shall it be!”

Urle recoiled again, unsure what to say. He had never seen any Hev, let alone N’Keeea, so angry before.

N’Keeea whirled halfway around, away from him. It was a gesture of insult to Urle, he knew, but he did not feel that he could truly be offended. He only felt a hurt, but he could not direct it at any being in particular.

“These great pauses – sometimes for months – preceded our rejection by the Dessei and Sepht as well,” he spat. “I can see it coming from your people, as well. And I cannot say I am surprised. It only means I must wait, and see what other powers may be that could help my people.”

Urle wished he could have made some promise to the being to help allay his fear, soothe his inconsolable anger.

But he had nothing he could say. There was nothing more he could do.

----------------------------------------

The next hour moved like a blur for her. Apollonia was moved swiftly off her shuttle when it docked with the Sol Brilliant. Aides and orderlies and officers and all sorts of people directed her, led her, through the ship to other spots. A room to wait, another room to wait near the hangar, then the hangar where she waited, then onto the shuttle where she waited for departure.

It was a large shuttle, reminding her of the one that Brooks had brought to New Vitriol. She couldn’t even remember the name of that ship, she realized, and it had been her salvation from that hellhole. Funny how the mind worked.

Everything was so clean, so spotless on the ships. It was impressive and she had no desire to go back to the filthy stations she’d known growing up, but it also bothered her.

“Do you have any dirt?” she asked one orderly, on a whim.

The man looked confused. “No, miss, we keep the ship spotless.”

Ah, well. It wasn’t like she was going to get a bucket of dirt and put her feet in it just to pretend she was back on Earth, but damn did she wish she was back there.

The main hall of the shuttle had multiple rooms – all neatly labeled with things like Officer’s Rest, Study, Observation, and she drifted down it, kind of hoping to find one reserved just for depressed napping. It seemed that for all its crazy size and impressive qualities, the Sol Brilliant didn’t have artificial gravity like the Craton.

All of the doors were open, and she was still trying to pick one to wait out the trip, when a strange smell caught her nose.

It was unpleasant, yet it reminded her of the ocean. She moved towards the source, peered through a door, and recoiled slightly as she saw two beings within.

One, she knew, was a Qlerning. Tall, lanky aliens with tiny, wideset black eyes on a mostly featureless body. Very human-like, if you blurred out all the features of a human and made the head wider. It was sitting behind a table, holding a small string instrument that reminded her of a ukulele.

Next to it was something she had never seen before.

The top of it came up to about her nose, but it was not at all humanoid. The body was cylindrical, like a barrel, in three sections. Eyes dotted it, small round things that seemed to blink too often. The sections rotated independently of each other to some degree, and as she stared, its sections rotated so three of its eyes were focused on her.

Along the top, which just appeared to be an open cavity, were short, thick tendrils capped in odd pale pods. They reminded her of a weird earth animal she’d heard of once, a goose barnacle.

It walked on five stocky legs, and every bit of it was chitinous, shaped into spikes and bumps that seemed borderline dangerous. No, not quite like chitin, she thought. It was almost stony.

It clumped a step to the side, its eyes following her, and she just watched it.

It made some rumbling noise, then something like a belch that someone didn’t let out, and then a sound like falling pebbles.

“Staring is what humans do when surprised,” the Qlerning said to it.

“Oh – I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be rude.” She started to move back and close the door, but the creature let out a rattling sound that made her flinch.

“The entrance of the room is for entering,” the Qlerning said cryptically.

“I can get a different room . . .”

“A bundle of travelers are less likely to die.” The Qlerning punctuated its words with some plucking on its ukulele. It wasn’t really musical, just seemed like random strings to her.

“Ah, well . . .” The smell was definitely coming from this room – from the weird pillar rock thing – and she kind of wanted to be around it just to be reminded of the ocean. “I hope I didn’t offend . . . I don’t know your names, sorry.”

The Rock Pillar grumbled, and the Qlerning nodded to it.

“He introduces me as Plep,” Plep said.

“And what is its name?” she asked.

The Qlerning did not look at her. “She did say ‘it’. I don’t think she can tell you’re a male. And I just referred to you as ‘he’.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “My system . . . uh, it doesn’t really translate what he’s saying. And I’ve never . . . seen one of his kind before.” She really wasn’t sure of the appropriate behavior here. It was her first contact with whatever he was.

She looked at her system, but it offered no useful information.

“I’m Apollonia Nor, by the way.”

“I have had breakfast,” Plep said, looking at her intently.

“Oh,” she said, clearly missing the connection of that to her introduction. “That’s good? I often skip it because . . .” Well, she often slept late. But she didn’t want to say that. “I’m not hungry in the morning.”

The Qlerning’s hand twitched, and it plucked at some discordant strings on its instrument.

An awkward silence filled the room, until the Rock Pillar started bouncing up and down slightly in a jittery way, its parts scraping and clacking together.

“To not know is a sign of not caring,” Plep replied to him.

“What?” Apollonia asked.

He said nothing else, and now the Rock Pillar had rotated its sections to look at the Qlerning. She wondered if she should leave anyway, but now that seemed ruder than staying. She pulled up a chair and sat at the table.

The Qlerning plucked some more strings, but then leaned forward, and suddenly held out the ukulele to her.

“Uh, no thanks, I don’t know how to play,” she said.

The Rock Pillar did its rattling thing again. She looked to Plep, hoping he’d translate, but he did not comment.

“Why can’t I understand him? My system doesn’t tell me anything,” Apollonia asked.

“Abmon and humans often do not mix,” Plep said, in a tone her system could translate as almost . . . huffy. “Certain scents, for delicate senses do not bring joy.”