Chapter Twenty-Five

**

I open my eyes and look around blearily. This isn’t the cabin we were in, I think; you can see the plastcrete walls of the inner dome here… at the guest quarters, the rooms were paneled in bird’s eye maple. Damn expensive, but the Draka have never been ones to balk at the price of something.

I’m getting tired of waking up in a new place every time I go to sleep, too, I think silently to myself. I hear soft voices coming from the other section of the room, and, with my eyes shut and breathing carefully slow, I listen.

"Damn you, Alexis, I don’t intend to be removed from the negotiations team, by you or anyone. I’ve worked too fucking hard to get it to the point it’s at now!" Gwen’s voice is soft but vicious, and despite my attempt at control, I find myself shivering. They’re speaking Tawlk, rapidly and slurring some of the words in an unfamiliar way…oh, yeah, the Command Tawlk. That’s what they’re using. I’ve learned some of it from Gwen, just by osmosis, and my transducer--I check to see that it’s on, surprise, surprise--must be extrapolating and filling in the words I don’t know.

Alexis growls, then sighs. "Listen, Gwen, I’m not here--hear that? I’m not here to remove you from the team. I’m here for effect. For the effect my presence will have on the Samos--they’ll spend valuable time and resources trying to figure out why." Sarcastically: "They’ll assume, the fools, that I’m here to replace you on the team, since you’re so, well, emotionally broken up over your poor little serf girl."

"I can handle that. I’ve handled worse situations, and you know it. The Archonal Council knows it."

"Gwen! Listen! Hell’s bells, woman…" Alexis walks across the deck, stamping his feet loud enough for me to hear each footfall. "I told you. No replacement. Psychological warfare is one of my specialties. I learned it from you, Grandmother."

"Yes, you did." Gwen’s growl is slowly subsiding.

"Listen, please. And you don’t catch me saying that very often. This is important, Gwen. The negotiations are--you know that very well. They’ve targeted your wench as a ploy to distract you, as if it could. They’ve made a mistake there, not knowing Draka psychology." He pauses, then goes on:

"If we can have some sort of peace with those idiot humans, that means we can invest more resources into conquering the universes we control, and exploring ones we don’t. Plus, there’s always the chance we might stumble on something that’s a true challenge to the Race, and we need to prepare for that. I’m here to observe, and give advice--not to take over."

"I wish I could trust you more on that, Alexis, I really do. But you’re quite the politician these days." Gwen’s voice is bitter, now, and I can hear, or think I hear, a tinge of sadness in it. Regret, maybe, I think, maybe she’s sad they don’t have a very good grandmother-grandson relationship.

There’s a sudden silence, and then I can sense as well as hear a flurry of lightning-fast movement. Twin snarls of rage twine together, making my hair stand up. It really does, actually; I feel my hair bushing out in a primordial reaction to the sounds from the other section of the room. Oh, good god, they’re fighting, what do I do? I sure can’t intervene… maybe I can call someone? But who? Schalk de Lange is back on Earth/2, Tamarindus Rohm’s on PrimeLine Mars… Yolande. I’ll call her. God help me.

Uhmis Yolande Ingolfsson?

Yes? Erin?

Yes, Uhmis Ingolfsson. Um, I’m not sure what’s happening… there’s a crash out in the other compartment, and a hiss of pain… but I think you may want to calm two very angry Archons down before they rip a hole in the dome and decompress us all by accident. Please, Uhmis Ingolfsson, I don’t know what else to do!

I’ll be right there. If you value your skin, don’t go anywhere near them. Understand?

Yes, Uhmis Ingolfsson, I do. Believe me, I’m not getting out of this bed unless it’s to hide under it. I sign off, sighing and shivering at the same time. Silence, with slight whispers of movement, reigns in the other section.

"Uuhnnhh! Pax. Pax. Damn it, Gwen… ah."

I hear Gwen yowl in victory, a savage, wolf-like sound. Then she says, in a voice husky with blood-lust: "Fine, then. Want to try some more?"

"No. Damn…" Alexis sounds rather woozy, I think. I wonder what happened.

"It’ll knit."

"I hope so."

Jeezie petes, what’d they do? I don’t think I really want to know… I hear the door chime softly, and both the Draka curse vehemently, softly. "Come," says Gwen, after a long moment.

The door shushes open, and Yolande steps through. "Hmm. Looks pretty messy in here… look at his arm! Gods above, you two… you’re doing more damage to each other than the Samothracians are…"

"Yes, well… we just had a little… tiff. It’s over now." Gwen sounds cool, calm and collected, I think, after breaking the Prime Archon’s arm. Jeeze

"Um, well…do we need medical attention?" Yolande sounds doubtful.

"No. The bleeding’s stopped, and the arm’ll heal. You know that. Get a serf crew in here to clean things up, and it’ll be fine. I’ll just say it was an accident or something. We don’t need everyone on Titan knowing about this, do we? It was a training accident. No one has to know." Alexis sounds stronger, now, not as queasy as before. His system must be adapting, I think, in the amazingly fast way Draka manage..

"No, that wouldn’t be wise. But I want to be very sure, grandson, that we understand where the two of us are…" Gwen’s voice goes quieter, more deadly sounding, like before. My stomach feels like a bucket of ice just got dumped into it.

A deep sigh. "Gwendolyn Ingolfsson, Citizen, my honored grandmother, Planetary Archon… I pledge to you, on my honor as a Citizen of the Race… no games here. I’m here to observe and advise. You’re in charge of the negotiations. And I’ve said this all in the presence of a Citizen witness, to boot."

"And after?"

Aw, man, Gwen, don’t push it… the man just promised you no games, and that’s what he apparently lives for, that and power. If you push him into a corner, he’ll come roaring back out at you, damn it… I sit up in bed, pulling the blankets tight to me.

"After…" He pauses. "I’m not about to step down, if that’s what you mean. You’ll have to death challenge me for that, woman."

"No, I don’t want your Archonate. I have my own. I meant after the negotiations, any more games from you?"

There’s a long silence. I wrap the blankets tighter around me, and wish I could feel warm again. The pheromonal blasts from the Draka are about to fry mah po’ lil brain, I think. I wish they’d quit it and calm down.

Alexis clears his throat and says something, very quietly. I don’t catch what he says, but Yolande laughs. "That’s a Draka for you, Gwen."

"If you ever try something like what you just did, grandson, I’ll not only yank your gods-damned arm off, I’ll rip something else off, so your pretty-buck will cry for months…"

"Gwen…" Yolande chides, gently.

"I mean it. I haven’t lived half a millenium to be challenged like that, my youngling."

"I know. It was a bit foolish, come to think of it." Alexis sounds somewhat bothered, but there’s a hint of amusement in his voice.

Gwen chuckles. "Think twice before you do it again."

"Oh, don’t worry, I will. Think twice, that is." Alexis does sound amused now. I hear furniture being picked up, and various other sounds of a quick clean-up. My god, Draka actually know how to pick things up, I think irreverently. How astonishing.

"Why’d you stop by, Yolande? Just for a visit, or…"

"Well, Gwen, you seem to have forgotten your terrified little wench in the other compartment. She heard your tiff and called me."

"Aha!" Gwen walks in, and my mouth drops open. Her face is spattered with blood, already drying, and her uniform’s in tatters. A long pink seam down the side of her neck is still oozing a drop or two of bright red blood, and there’s a bruise on her forehead. "My poor little wench…"

"Good god, Gwen--ah, I mean, Muhmis…"

"It’s all right. I’ll be fine. Just a bit mussed." She sits down on the side of the bed, but I catch a wince as she does so. I reach out a hand to her, touching her side, and she covers it with one of her own hands. "It’ll all mend, soon enough. Nothing to write home about."

"I didn’t know what else to do, Muhmis." Alexis and Yolande stand in the hatchway, and I’m horrified to see that the Prime Archon’s right arm is, well, shredded. Bone fragments and blood are spattered along one long, tanned arm; it has an odd, ugly bulge to it near the elbow, and I wince. He’s bloodier than Gwen is, that’s for sure, I think. I wonder if that’s how they keep score. Let’s see, Citizen, you lost three pints, and this Citizen over here…oops, watch out for that thumb there… you lost five pints. Citizen one wins! I shake my head, looking back and forth between the two of them and Yolande.

"It’s all right. Sometimes these things happen. I bet our pheromones weren’t making you very happy, either, were they, my pretty-girl?"

"Hell, no!" I blush. "Muhmis."

"Lively one, she is. I wish you’d lend her to me, just once…" Alexis laughs. I shudder a bit, still sort of horrified at the thought. Gwen strokes my hair, and smiles.

"No, this one’s my own. I don’t lend her out."

"Ah, well, the worst you could say is no, so I thought I’d ask. Listen, I’m going to go get cleaned up. I think we’re pretty clear on who’s doing what, aren’t we?"

"Yes, indeed." Gwen smiles, a toothy, white wolf-grin. Her hand tightens on mine, fractionally, and I fight back the urge to gasp as it feels like a hydraulic press is crunching my fingers.

"Um, Muhmis…" I whisper.

"Oh, sorry." She leans over and kisses me, and the sweet smell of blood on her reminds me of when she killed the panter, the mountain lion, up in the hills near where my grandparents lived. I kiss her back, firmly, glad to still have her around.

"Yes, I think cleaning up would be a lovely idea. I’ll get a cleaning crew in here, immediately. Why don’t you go scrub your Muhmis’ back, wench. I think you’d both enjoy that…" Yolande smiles at me, and winks. I blush, but wink back.

"Conspiring to get me laid, are you two?" Gwen laughs, and picks me up in her arms, blankets and all. "A shower does sound good. And a back scrub. And perhaps a front scrub…" She kisses me again, and I’m molten with desire for her. I moan, softly, as she carries me into the head, and the shower, and heaven.

**

"What?"

Gwen laughs, indulgently, and ruffles my hair. "General Smythe wants to have a few words with you, that’s all. Come on, now. I’ll be with you; you’ll be safe, Erin."

"Words with me? But why?" I stand up from the side of the bed, and pull my tunic over my head slowly. "I figure the last thing he wants is to talk to one of us traitorous human types…"

"No, not true. He does indeed want to talk with you, and I agreed that he could. On Draka territory, under Draka security. You’re safe…" Gwen kisses me lightly on the lips and lets one hand drift down my side. I shiver under her touch, and grin.

"Safe, hmm?"

"Yes. Safe. I promise this time, you are." Gwen’s still smiling but her voice has gone grim and formal. I nod, and pull on my low, hand-tooled leather boots. I give myself a once-over in the full-length mirror in the room, the compartment, and smile nervously at Muhmis. She smiles back, gently, and pecks me on the top of the head. "Come on, my saafn dear. Let’s go. I’m curious myself as to what he has to say."

"Okay, Muhmis." We leave the now-spotless guest quarters on the command level of the dome, where they’ve moved us after the two spiking incidents. Servus and humans along the corridors make deep bows as we pass by, acknowledging Gwen’s status. I catch a thumbs-up or two from various humans, as well. I guess my status hasn’t been hurt, either, and not just because I’m Gwen’s Prime Councilor. The spiking incident has done a lot to bind the humans here together in a way they weren’t before, I think, as we walk toward a guarded meeting room.

A ghouloon and a Draka stand by the hatchway, both wearing full body armor and carrying weapons, apparently, from the odd bulges in their shifting, black, memet suits. The Draka nods at Muhmis and the ghouloon snaps to attention, a huge, hairy paw slapping its chest in salute. Gwen bobs her head at both, and then we’re inside. Not soon enough for me, I wince, walking hurriedly past the hulking form of the transgene. Kawtuh aren’t quite as scary, I guess, but these ghouloons are damn… big.

Smythe and his retinue are waiting, standing by a table. The Samothracian guards look tense, and they’re wearing some sort of armor, as well. Smythe doesn’t seem to be, but that doesn’t mean much, I realize, with all this fancy high tech stuff we’ve all got now. If I were him, I’d be wearing the best on the market and packing something, too. I eye him warily as we approach. He smiles, rather tightly, and puts out his hand? I’m stunned, for a moment. Gwen nudges me, a barely-felt touch in the small of my back, and I step forward. My hand goes out to meet his, and is enveloped in a iron-hard grip.

"Miss Kane d’Ingolfsson? Ian Smythe. I want to personally extend my sincere apologies for the, ah, incident. Incidents. I also want to assure you steps have been taken to ensure that no more, hm, problems like the ones you dealt with will occur again during these or any other negotiation settings."

I squeeze back as hard as I can, apparently surprising the hell out of him with my strength. But then again, I’ve been working out quite a bit, and I guess it pays off. I release his hand, and smile, showing my teeth. "Thank you, General. I appreciate the gesture."

"Why don’t we sit down? Some refreshments, perhaps?" Gwendolyn moves in, her hand on my shoulder. I feel its familiar warmth and it comforts me. That, the idea that her touch comforts me, makes some echoes in my head that I know I’ll have to think about later; for now, I concentrate on the present. She guides me to the table nearby, and Smythe and his two bodyguards follow. We sit, looking quite civilized, I think, for all that these two groups of people have been trying to annihilate each other for centuries.

A servus brings over a coffee service and some pastries; Gwen gestures that she should serve the Samothracians first, and the woman bows, obeying. She must be on dociline, I think, since she’s so calm in the presence of the hereditary hunters of her race. I watch her face as she serves coffee to the two men and one woman Samothracian, and it’s a study of serenity. I wish I felt that way, I say silently to myself, but I sure as hell don’t want any more dociline. Although they could have given me some and I just don’t know it… no, I’d know it. It always makes me feel sort of stoned, and there’s not a hint of that feeling now.

The Samos decline the pastries, and I notice the coffee pretty much goes untasted. What, they think we’re going to poison them here or something? Like, duh, I think. I sip my coffee and enjoy the strong taste and aroma of Kenia Blue, one of Gwen’s favorite flavors. Gwen puts her china cup down into the saucer precisely, and looks directly at Smythe.

He clears his throat, and leans forward, looking at the two of us. The servus disappears out the hatchway, and he waits for the door to cycle shut. "I wanted to have this meeting with the two of you for a reason. The negotiations are very important to us, as I am sure they are to you, as well. I wanted to make a personal apology to the young lady here, and to ask for her help."

"My help?" I blurt out, and then snap my mouth shut, blushing.

"That’s certainly a surprising thing to hear you say, General Smythe," Gwen purrs smoothly. Her foot caresses my leg under the table, and I try to school my features to a less-shocked look. "How could my saafn help you?"

"It’s obvious she’s an important member of your… staff. She has a great deal of status among the other… humans. That’s something that could be very helpful for one of our initiatives, Archon Ingolfsson." He smiles. "The emigration policy."

"How could I help you with that, sir?" I ask, respectfully. I lean back in the chair, watching his face but noticing the two other Samos, too. They seem like they’re in pain, I think; must be awful, watching their high and mighty leader conversing with one of the Fallen.

"By using your position of respect among the humans on your Earth to give a positive boost to the policy implementation."

"We haven’t quite reached a decision on the emigration policy per se, General." Muhmis sips from her coffee again. "Perhaps you’re being a bit hasty here."

"I think we’re close enough to an agreement, Archon, that I’m not being too hasty to see whether or not the humans you rule would be interested in the initiative. I hope you don’t think I’m jumping the gun, as it were. I know Miss Kane d’Ingolfsson here, as your assistant, knows about the policy already."

"Please, my formal name isn’t ‘Miss Kane d’Ingolfsson’, sir. It’s Sera d’Ingolfsson. Yes, I know about the policy, but I also agree with Muhmis the Archon that a formal agreement hasn’t been reached yet concerning emigration. I’m not sure how much help I can be at this point in the game," I conclude. "Sir."

The two Samos on either side of the General shift in their chairs, and Gwen grins whitely, enjoying their discomfort. I have to remember, I think, that she’s designed to actively enjoy conflict; this is peaches and cream to her. It’s like going to the dentist for me. The General leans back in his chair, his smile growing smaller.

"Please, excuse my protocol mistake. I was misinformed." He glances to his left, and the Samothracian Major, a young man with black hair and a tiny moustache, looks studiously at the deck. "But can we not simply talk about this proposed policy, and get some feedback from you, Sera d’Ingolfsson?"

I look at Gwen, and she nods, slightly. I wish my transducer was on, I grumble to myself. It would make this a lot more fun and less tricky. "Yes, sir, I can talk about that."

The older woman, a Samothracian Shock Troop Colonel, winces after catching me looking over to Gwen. She tries to hide it, but I know both Muhmis and I have caught the look. The odd, closed-in curve of Gwen’s smile tells me as much.

"Good, good. So, Miss, ah… Sera d’Ingolfsson, how do you think the proposed emigration will go over?" General Smythe sounds relieved and he leans forward again, watching my face, my eyes.

"Our Overlords have control over who can and can’t emigrate, is that correct? Final say?"

"Yes." He looks a tad peeved about that. "As the proposed policy is stated right now."

"Given that, then may I make some conjectures, Muhmis the Archon?"

"Of course, Prime Councilor." Muhmis swivels in her chair to face me, and smiles. "By all means. I know you’ve been doing some research on that for me already."

I take a deep breath. "Yes, Muhmis the Archon. Thank you. Well, sir, I can say that there will be a fairly large proportion of the population on Earth/2 that would be interested, but also a large group that would not be interested at all."

The Colonel snorts. Lady, you didn’t get that rank by being impolite, I think to myself. Watch it. The General has raised his eyebrows, and waits for me to go on. The abashed Major on the other side of his chair is continuing to examine the deck. He must be in the doghouse big time, I chuckle mentally. Tough.

I go on: "The proportion that would be interested would be allowed, most probably, to leave by the Archon and her fellow Overlords."

"Really?" Smythe sounds somewhat surprised.

Gwen nods. "We have quite a population on Earth/2 and can spare the ones that want to go, quite easily, if you people are willing to bear the energy costs for shipping them."

"Which are high, but we’d bear that. In terms of numbers, how many are your studies showing are in favor of emigrating?"

"Between four hundred thousand to one million." I think for a moment. "It depends on whether or not you allow religious freedoms; there are quite a few folks who would migrate if that were the case."

"Of course we allow…" The Major clamps his mouth shut, and turns red as both the Colonel and the General stare at him.

"We are a society that allows personal religious freedom, Sera d’Ingolfsson. I’m sure you’re aware of that." The General smiles, then pauses for a moment as the Colonel hands him a small pad. He reads what’s on the display, and nods. The Colonel bobs her head at the Major, rather fiercely, and he stands, straightening his uniform.

"Please excuse me. I have some other duties to attend to, ah, Archon, Miss… um, Sera, and sirs." He salutes Smythe and stalks from the room, shoulders braced.

"He’s a bit on the young and imperious side, and I thought maybe things would be more easily discussed by the four of us," Smythe says. He sips from his now-cooling coffee, and Gwen smiles.

"Would you like some hot coffee, General?"

"No," he replies, blue eyes flashing. "This is fine. And we don’t want to keep you from your duties overlong."

"Fine," Muhmis murmurs. Her long fingers form a steeple. "What else would you like to discuss?"

"How solid are the numbers your assistant here came up with?"

"Quite."

"No more than a million, of the several billion on the planet? That seems hard to…"

"Believe? Oh, please do. We’ve done some extensive research on it. Most of the billions of people are living better than their dreams right now, with employment, health care, education and peace. They’re perfectly happy, for the most part, to continue on the way they are right now. The minority of people who want to leave are disaffected and feel somewhat disempowered. The arrival of the Draka meant that they lost power, which of course they don’t enjoy losing. They’re the ones who would like to migrate your way." I smile at the two Samos, who are trying very hard not to look like they just had to suck on a lemon.

"Overpopulation, though, must be creating some powerful economic forces for you to contend with, Archon," the Colonel says, pointedly ignoring me.

"Not really. We’ve already begun population control measures, and the overall population is dropping the way we want it to. Soon, a century or so, and we’ll have things stabilized." Gwen finishes her coffee. "The economy of Earth/2, after going through some adjustments, has become quite robust and seems to be working well, thanks in part to the excellent work of my staff. And that work is coordinated very ably by Prime Councilor Sera d’Ingolfsson here."

I blush a little. "We’ve all worked very hard, Muhmis, to attain the goals you set for us. And the results have been very impressive, indeed. I’m proud of the work we’ve done. That goes double for the work we’ve done on researching the emigration numbers. They’re pretty solid, sirs."

"Yes, well… thank you. It certainly gives us some numbers to play with. I appreciate your candor and your hard work, Sera d’Ingolfsson. Certainly." Smythe looks at his companion, who nods just a bit. "And I really do think we must be getting back to our section of the negotiation area. I really do appreciate your meeting with us like this, Archon."

"We’re willing to do that, if it will materially help the negotiation process, General." Gwen stands, and I stand up next to her. The Colonel almost bolts for the door, but Smythe remains behind for a moment. The lady Colonel begins to turn back, to wait near him, and he waves her on out the door.

"I did have one thing I wanted to say in private, Colonel. I’ll be right with you." He watches the hatch close, and turns back to the two of us. "I wanted to assure you that I had no knowledge of the spiking project, nor would I have approved the use of it in these negotiation settings. Please rest assured that the person, or persons, involved in the project have been… disciplined. I won’t tolerate that kind of double dealing under my command. Nor will the Senate of Samothrace; there was quite a bit of concern that the incidents could have disrupted the negotiation process. We don’t want that to happen, at all."

"Thank you for your openness, Ian. We certainly appreciate that." Gwen smiles. "We, too, don’t wish to see the negotiations process derailed by any sort of fanaticism… that would be unfortunate. The wars have gone on long enough. We’ve got to forge a peace now, to ensure that both groups can truly enjoy the prospects opening up to us with use of the molehole technology."

"Yes, my feelings are very similar, indeed. And we’ve both lost family to the fighting, Gwen. You and I have both lost a son, in the last skirmish…" He looks out the porthole, over Gwen’s shoulder. "We have all lost a tremendous amount, and I’m tired of the drain on our resources. But that doesn’t mean there’s a universal peace movement afoot in the Senate, either. Nor do I believe for one instant that the Draka aren’t as aggressive as history’s shown them to be…" A grim smile moves across his lips.

"No, we’re very aggressive. We just hope to pour more of that into exploration and other projects than into a constant border war with you. I think that’s the focus of our negotiation efforts."

"And I am sorry, Miss… Sera, that you had to bear the brunt of that dirty little border war there for a few days. Rest assured, the parties involved have been removed from their positions of… responsibility."

"Just don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater, General," I say.

"Hmm?"

"Emily. Just because her mother’s a loony, don’t think she is. She seemed like a very mature young woman, and a bright one. I’d enjoy working with her."

An expression of distaste crosses his features before he can completely hide it, and Gwen laughs. "She’s not trying to seduce your youngster, Smythe. She wasn’t, in the first place. I think I can vouch for that. Erin’s being sincere about wanting to work, not sleep, with Emily and other young Samothracians like her. I think that might be a good thing to consider."

"Hmm. Yes. Well." He shifts from foot to foot for a moment, and then nods. "Yes, I’m guilty of assuming, and I shouldn’t have. Emily’s mother has a bit of a complex when it comes to her daughter’s, well, moral protection. We as a society don’t approve of homosexual or bisexual persons, and that just comes out a bit more violently in her. I will remember that Sera d’Ingolfsson is talking about work, not anything else, when it comes to Emily."

"Thank you." I blush a bit, both out of anger at his homophobia and out of embarassment. I’ve never made a pass at a straight woman, I think, and I’m too old to start doing that now. And Emily’s as straight as they come, old boy.

"I’m glad we had this little meeting, Ian. Thank you for suggesting it." Gwen puts her arm around my shoulders; I lean into her embrace inconspicuously.

"I’m glad, too, Gwendolyn. Thank you for arranging it and discussing things with me. You, too, Sera d’Ingolfsson. I do appreciate it." The man puts his hand out again, and this time Gwen takes it. She smiles as she shakes his hand, and I see by the way their eyes are narrowing slightly that they must be having a good old fashioned squeezing contest.

I reach over and enclose their hands, Draka and Samothracian alike, with both my own human hands. "Peace?"

**