As for regular folks, if they heard that peace talks were under way, expectations would soar. Then, if the negotiations fell apart, Nankool feared that morale would sink even further. So rather than conduct preliminary conversations in the harsh glare of the public spotlight, he was about to meet with Chancellor Parth in private. And it pained him to do so because there was general agreement that the bugs were winning the war. And that meant he and his staff would be forced to negotiate from a position of weakness.
As the handpicked ground crew surged forth to service the shuttle, Nankool glanced to his right. Judging from all appearances, Charles Vanderveen was just fine. But Nankool knew that the death of the diplomat’s wife had hit him hard. So much so that there were reports he’d been drinking a lot lately. And the fact that his daughter had put herself back in harm’s way didn’t help either. All of which had a bearing on Nankool’s’s decision to include Vanderveen on the negotiating team. Maybe some hard work plus the passage of time would help him to heal. A rectangle of light appeared as a hatch opened, and half a dozen backlit figures shuffled down a ramp to the place where Secretary Yatsu and some of her staff were waiting to receive the Ramanthians. Vanderveen said, “Bastards,” under his breath, and Nankool pretended not to hear.
“Come on, Charles… We’re serving live grubs in hot sauce-and you wouldn’t want to miss out.”
Very few Ramanthians had been allowed on the surface of Algeron, and with the exception of a few POWs, all of their visits had taken place prior to the war. As Parth shuffled down the ramp onto the landing pad, he was struck by how cold the air was, the glare of the surrounding lights, and the alien feel of the place. There were members of the cabal, Admiral Tu Stik, for example, who felt that the trip to Algeron was a mistake. As a member of the Nira cult, he opposed any form of negotiation. But if overruled, he preferred that the meeting take place on a Ramanthian battleship, so the animals could feel the full weight of the empire’s military might.
But Parth was a politician. And a pragmatist. As such, he knew that while his willingness to visit Algeron could be viewed as a sign of weakness, there were potential benefits as well. The primary one was to place the animals in a receptive frame of mind. And that was important because even though the Ramanthian military had won battle after battle since the beginning of the war, there was a very real possibility that dark days lay ahead.
The burgeoning alliance between the Hudathans and the Confederacy was bad enough. But now that the Clone Hegemony had placed its genetically bred warriors under General Booly’s command, and some sort of horrible disease was spreading among the troops on Earth, Parth feared the military momentum was starting to swing the other way. So it made sense to negotiate a deal while in a position of undeniable strength. Besides, Parth thought to himself, we can always break the truce and attack the animals later on. Members of the Nira cult would object at first but ultimately go along.
Parth’s thoughts were interrupted as a small human with lots of black hair came forward to greet him. “Welcome to Algeron,” Yatsu said solemnly. “I’m Secretary of State Yatsu. It’s an honor to meet you. We often greet guests with a formal ceremony. But given the temperature and the need for security, I suggest that we go indoors.”
Parth bowed. “Chancellor Parth. The honor is mine. By all means, let’s put comfort before ceremony. We can continue the introductions inside.”
Both diplomats made small talk as a phalanx of cybernetic monstrosities led them through an open door into the brightly lit warmth within. The higher temperature felt good, but Parth’s sense of smell was quite acute and the mixed odors of human perspiration and food caused him to gag, a reaction he sought to conceal as he and his staff were escorted through a maze of hallways and into a large conference room.
A formally set table occupied the center of the space, round so as to put everyone on an equal footing. Even if that was a bit delusional where Parth’s hosts were concerned. Six saddle chairs were available as well, and he wondered where they had come from. A Ramanthian world perhaps? Where they had been looted along with everything else that wasn’t nailed down? Yes, he thought so.
Nor did the preparations end there. In place of the offensive odors encountered earlier, the reassuringly familiar scent of Ramanthian cooking hung in the still air. And Parth could see a row of gleaming warmers sitting on the tables that lined one wall. It seemed that the humans had gone all out in an effort to please their superiors. A propitious sign indeed.
But before refreshments could be served, introductions had to be made on both sides. A tiresome business that had just concluded when President Nankool entered the room with another human at his side.
Parth felt a sudden flush of pride. Because rather than meet with the Queen, who was technically his peer, Nankool had been forced to negotiate with a lesser power instead. That was a sure measure of Ramanthian dominance. Although, had the human been aware of it, the two of them were actually equals since the Warrior Queen was in hiding and her successor was at Parth’s beck and call. Secretary Yatsu made the necessary introduction. “President Nankool, please allow me to introduce His Excellency, Chancellor Parth.”
Having been briefed by Charles Vanderveen, Nankool knew that a bow was in order, and delivered one as Parth bent a knee. Then it was time to meet the Chancellor’s staff and prattle about the weather, even as the Ramanthians continued to slaughter the Confederacy’s citizens. And that was the crux of it. Which was better? To negotiate a peace deal of some sort? And trade sovereignty for safety? Or to refuse and fight to the last man, woman, and child?
It would have been a difficult decision regardless. But now, based on the information that Christine Vanderveen had submitted, there was a very real possibility that the Warrior Queen was still alive. That would make the sitting Queen a pretender who, according to Christine Vanderveen, was being controlled by Parth and a group of his cronies.
So what to do? Make some sort of deal on the theory that even if she was alive, the Warrior Queen wouldn’t be able to regain the throne? Or refuse whatever terms were offered in hopes that the current government would fall? Millions of lives hung in the balance as Yatsu spoke.
“It’s lunchtime for us, and on the chance that you might be hungry after your long journey, we took the liberty of preparing some Ramanthian delicacies. Fortunately, from our perspective at least, a prisoner of war named Inbo Haknu is being held on Algeron. He, if I’m not mistaken, is a master chef. We asked chef Haknu if he would be willing to cook for you, and he agreed. He was quite demanding where the ingredients were concerned, and though unable to fulfill all of his requests, we did the best we could.”
Parth felt a combination of anger and grudging respect. Here, clad in the form of a diplomatic nicety, was both a compliment and a boast. Because even as the animals went to considerable lengths to please their guests, they were sending a not-so-subtle message: “We may be losing the war, but we have hundreds of thousands of Ramanthian POWs, and their fates hang in the balance.”
“You are very kind,” Parth lied. “The food smells wonderful. And you are correct. Chef Haknu is very well-known and highly respected. I look forward to eating whatever he prepared.”
As Nankool’s guest of honor, Parth was the first person to sample what the buffet had to offer. The human food came first. And revolting though it was, Parth forced himself to take a few small samples. Then came the warmer filled with sauteed grubs, all of which were still wiggling, and there were more favorites, too.
After filling his plate, it was off to the round table, where waiters stood ready to serve a variety of liquids. Having been seated next to Nankool, Parth tied the Ramanthian-style napkin around his neck and speared one of the grubs with a single-tined fork. It was still struggling as he held it up for Nankool to inspect. “Have you ever had one? They’re quite active-but a single bite is sufficient to subdue them.”