“Filthy Gashlai.” Captain Rayonner ran a finger beneath the collar of his uniform, sweat running down his face. “Why do they keep it so abominably hot in here, eh?”
Undercommandant Misericore said, “The Embers are savages, sir.” She did her best to look uncomfortable, too, though since taking the sacrament she didn’t feel extremes of heat or cold as much as she once had. She didn’t feel extremes of any kind, really: she was too fully at ease in the sure knowledge of her purpose. Misericore was, ostensibly, a representative of the Barony of Letnev, here to escort the Gashlai leaders to their summit on Arc Prime… but she was really here in service to the guides, to fulfill her small part of the greater plan. She burned with the desire to please her masters.
Since traveling through the wormhole to the Gashlai system, she’d lost intimate contact with the guides, but they’d warned her that would happen: she was in wild lands, now, beyond their caring cultivation. Once she returned home, she was assured, she would once again hear them whispering in her mind, and in the meantime, she had her instructions. The guides didn’t have a presence in this system, apart from Misericore and a couple of other faithful elsewhere in the delegation. For some reason, the Gashlai were incompatible with the sacrament. She felt so very bad for them.
Captain Rayonner strode to the small observation window in the wall of this bare room on the tiny, cramped station. Misericore dutifully followed him, hands clasped behind her back to mirror his own posture. This station was where the Embers met with the more flammable biological species, since their home planet Muaat was inhospitable for most organic beings.
“Look at those things.” Rayonner was gazing at the War Suns in orbit above the burning sphere of Muaat, far beneath them. The Suns were dark, thorny orbs, surrounded by swarms of lesser ships coming and going. In truth, the War Suns seemed less like ships at all, and more like space stations – cities of the void, but cities full of weapons, capable of moving great distances under their own power. Other species had variations on the theme – the Barony’s own Dark Star program was their latest iteration – but the Gashlai War Suns were legendary. “This whole place used to be shipyards for the Hylar, when the Gashlai were their slaves. The Embers took the technology and turned it against their old masters. Ha. The squids should have known better than to play with fire, eh?” Misericore murmured agreement.
The large doors at the end of the room slid open, and three Gashlai entered, wearing their golden Ember suits. In truth the containment systems were less like suits of armor and more like small, armored vehicles, bristling with sensors and manipulators. The Gashlai were creatures of energy, and small windows set in their armor revealed the glow of molten matter and the flicker of flames within. Misericore wasn’t sure if the placid faces gazing at them from each suit were the true faces of the Gashlai, or masks of some kind. The one in the lead spoke in a voice like water sizzling on coals, “You may call me Molash. I am a Flame Warden and speak with the authority of our leaders.”
“Molash?” Rayonner scowled. “We’re supposed to meet with, eh, what is it, Molt, ah, Sha, lah, ta–”
“Cease defiling my true name,” the Warden interrupted. “It does not fit properly in your wet mouth. I have offered you a name of convenience – one that you can pronounce.”
Rayonner stiffened. “Yes. Very well. I have come to formally extend the Baron’s invitation to your ruling tribunal to join us on Arc Prime for the upcoming summit, to sign our treaty and join the Legion as a member state, with full partner status. In the meantime, my crew includes various negotiators and lawyers and advisers and the like, so we can settle all those little details in advance of the meeting.”
The Warden said, “I know why you are here. My leaders have agreed to this alliance, in principle, but if I may make a personal observation… it is unlike the Letnev, to seek alliances. The Wardens have found the entire process rather surprising.”
Rayonner said, “The Baron, in his wisdom–”
Misericore cleared her throat. Rayonner looked at her. “Captain, if I may?”
Rayonner was here because of his legendary military status – at the helm of the City Imperishable he’d razed the colony world of Pax Agricola – but Misericore was present because of her diplomatic skills, and because she’d studied the Gashlai. “Carry on,” the captain said.
“May your flame burn eternally, Warden,” she said, in her best approximation of the Embers’ language. No Letnev could duplicate their tongueless tongue perfectly, but she had practiced.
The Warden made a hissing sound that Misericore knew was a chuckle of amusement. “And yours as well, Letnev. Or, what do your people say – may the dark embrace you?”
“Just so, Warden.” She cleared her throat. “It is true that the Letnev are a proud people, and accustomed to making our own way in the galaxy. But we face an unprecedented threat. Our old enemies, the humans, have joined with your ancient foes, the Hylar. We know the humans seek to spread throughout the galaxy until every world is subsumed in their cultural hegemony. We also know the Hylar care only for the expansion of their technological power. The humans view the Letnev as an obstacle to their expansion. The Hylar view your people as a natural resource, theirs to exploit, which is even worse.”
Molash sizzled in agreement.
“The Hylar have joined forces with the humans, expanding their coalition, and it is only a matter of time before they seek to regain that which was lost. This Greater Union will bring overwhelming force to bear, and pick off their old rivals, one at a time… unless we can form a united front and strike them first. The Gashlai have been unable to take revenge on the Hylar for their crimes against your people, because your forces are too evenly matched. If you join with the Barony, and our other allies…” She let a small smile touch her lips. “Then you will see the seas of Jol and Nar boil .”
“We have heard these explanations before, of course,” Molash said. “But it is meaningful to us, to hear them in person, where we can better judge your sincerity. I… find your position compelling.” The Warden turned to face Rayonner. “We are also pleased that such a distinguished figure was sent to bring this message and escort our leaders to Arc Prime.”
“Eh?” Rayonner said. Anything that didn’t directly involve warfare usually failed to keep his attention for long.
“I have studied the burning of Pax Agricola with great interest, captain,” the Warden said.
Rayonner brightened, as he always did when the subject of past glories, or the prospect of future ones, came up. “Oh, you liked that, did you? Let me tell you something that wasn’t in the reports, I think you’ll enjoy this…”
Rayonner didn’t care about anything but war, Misericore thought, which was very sad; she pitied anyone who lacked her own sense of purpose in service. The guides said there was no need to give Rayonner the sacrament, though.
War, after all, was the only thing they needed the captain to care about.