by Yakov Merkin
The grand admiral smiled, and Darkclaw knew that he had succeeded. She made a strange motion, almost as if she was about to try and grab him, but she stopped herself. “I would gladly accept your offer,” she said, “and I mean to. However, such an alliance must also be approved by the king. He is of the same mind as the rest of us; he will accept. For formality’s sake, though, you will be required to present your offer to him as well.
Another delay. “That is understandable.”
“Very good.” The grand admiral nodded. “The city is about an hour’s ride from here, if we push the shurafil.”
Darkclaw nodded silently.
“You can follow us in your shuttle,” the grand admiral continued. “When we reach the city, you will be given landing instructions, and Admiral Kharitzon will meet you there while I prepare for your audience with the king.” She gestured toward another Felinaris officer, with fur nearly as black as Darkclaw’s claws. The admiral inclined his head briefly in Darkclaw’s direction.
“Very well,” Darkclaw replied, then returned to the shuttle. Once seated, he watched as the Felinaris officers donned their helmets, took their places at the front of the column of riders, and began to ride. He ordered the pilot to follow them closely, but with enough distance that the ship’s presence would not buffet their mounts.
The trip took about an hour, limited by the speed of the Felinaris’ beasts. As they reached the city limits, the shuttle was contacted and given directions to a landing platform attached to the royal palace.
Upon exiting the shuttle, Darkclaw was greeted by Admiral Kharitzon alone.
“I apologize for the lack of an organized reception, Executor,” he said. “Your arrival was a surprise, and such things take time to arrange.”
Now that Darkclaw did not need to pay very close attention to the content of the Felinaris’ words, he noticed a slight accent; he was not able to completely figure it out right away, though he could tell that much of it stemmed from sounds that either did not exist in standard or in the Felinaris tongue. Sensible. From the few words he had heard spoken in the native Felinaris language, it was quite different from standard, and unlike the Tyrannodons, they would have had to learn the language after already speaking another, as opposed to simultaneously. It was fortunate that the Saviors had seen fit for the Tyrannodons to awaken knowing the common tongue of this area of space. The thought raised another question, and as his guards formed up, he decided to ask the admiral.
“If you will indulge me in an inquiry,” he began, “I am wondering if your species has a different name in your own tongue. Felinaris seems overly convenient, scientifically.”
Admiral Kharitzon smiled, though Darkclaw could not understand what it meant. “It’s true. The name of our kind, along with many other words, particularly names, has been butchered by transliteration. It was inevitable, as there are some sounds in our language that most cannot duplicate. To use your example, in our language we are called felikharis.”
The sound in the middle of the name was a guttural sound, from the throat, almost like the beginnings of a growl. Darkclaw was unsure if he could duplicate it, at least not without significant practice.
“When we came into contact with other species, they had a hard time pronouncing our name, so it was only a matter of time until it became Felinaris. By this point it’s so commonly used that we will often use that pronunciation when speaking in standard.”
Interesting. Darkclaw was unsure of how he would react if something similar was done to the name of his kind. Before he could determine what he would do, however, the admiral interrupted his thoughts.
“If your soldiers are ready, we can depart,” he said. “We will be expected at the audience soon.”
Darkclaw glanced back at his honor guard and, satisfied, began to walk. Admiral Kharitzon led him into the building and into a lift; fortunately it was large enough for the entire party, likely having been designed with larger foreign dignitaries in mind. The lift took them down several levels, and they emerged into a long hallway. It was brightly lit, compared with the dim Hudecar and the dark green light on Selixan Station. Darkclaw would not have approved of a ship having such bright lighting, but he supposed that it was different in planet-based structures. The interior of the building made it clear that it was the seat of power; everything appeared to have some form of decoration. The stone floor had some sort of plant-inspired design, and there were paintings lining the walls, depicting Felinaris that Darkclaw could not recognize, and scenes, likely from their history, that he could not name offhand. He was certain that he could identify each one if he spent a moment to properly sort through what he had read, in his quick but thorough research.
When they reached the end of the hallway, Admiral Kharitzon led them through a large metal door, which was covered with engravings that might have been words in Felinari. They entered a large waiting room which was decorated in a fairly similar way to the hallway, in addition to several benches and a large mirror.
“It shouldn’t be long until we can enter,” the admiral said, then moved to lean against a wall. The admiral looked like he wanted to say something more, but decided against it.
Darkclaw remained standing, and spent the next few minutes going through his planned responses; being caught unprepared by a question here would probably have more consequences than when he had spoken with the grand admiral, who had had every intention of agreeing to his offer before even meeting him.
The door on the opposite side of the room, identical to the one they had entered through, opened and an unarmored Felinaris walked in. “His Majesty will see you now,” he said.
Admiral Kharitzon stood up and walked to the door, Darkclaw and his men followed close behind. The door closed behind them with a bang, and Darkclaw followed the admiral toward the center of the room, where the Felinaris king sat on his throne. As he walked, Darkclaw glanced around the room. Compared to the more lavish halls and rooms he had seen earlier, the throne room appeared somewhat austere. The walls and ceiling were decorated with flowing patterns, a few paintings adorned the walls, and elaborate light fixtures hung from the ceiling, but the large, round room looked quite empty, the throne itself standing out in the center, with only benches around the room’s perimeter, now full of Felinaris watching the proceedings.
The throne itself, while impressive, could not compare to the High Lord’s enormous seat. It looked to be carved out of a single block of metal, but was not overly ornate, with designs branching out from its back, and symbols etched into the arms. The figure sitting on the throne commanded far more attention than the throne itself. King Feliar was every bit a monarch. He looked to be nearing the end of his middle years, streaks of gray visible in his otherwise golden fur. His clothing was quite ornate, golden with embroidery on the cuffs, the royal Felinaris emblem embroidered on his chest in blue and white, and a curious red teardrop shape in its center. Curious, as Darkclaw could not remember seeing that in other images of the royal Felinaris emblem. The red mark was not the only thing odd about the king’s attire; he wore what appeared to be combat boots identical to those the soldiers wore. Even more curious.
Darkclaw heard a sound to his right, and flicked his eyes to the side. Grand Admiral Khariah and Admiral Kharitzon knelt before the throne. A quick glance around the room showed that the rest of the room’s occupants were kneeling as well. Darkclaw supposed he was expected to do the same, and knelt as well. As he and his men dropped to their knee, he wondered what the High Lord would think of him kneeling to a foreign ruler, despite doing so only as a formality. He most likely would not approve, but then he had not truly approved Darkclaw’s seeking this alliance in the first place. He remained on one knee as he waited for the king to speak; he had read that proper etiquette was to wait for the king to speak first in such an audience.
“You are Executor Darkclaw,” the king said, his tone making it difficult to discern if it was a statement or a question.
“I am,” Darkclaw
said, rising to his feet. He had sufficiently fulfilled the formal requirement.
“I am told, Executor, that you have come to us with an offer of alliance against the Galactic Alliance. An offer that appeals to a number of my military officers.” Darkclaw’s eyes flicked to where Grand Admiral Khariah and Admiral Kharitzon knelt, before returning to the king.
“That is correct,” Darkclaw replied. “As I have said to the grand admiral, I have come with an offer of alliance against an enemy we share. Each of us has the same goal, but something preventing us from easily achieving it. You lack the forces you need to defend your world while taking the fight to your enemies, and I lack military intelligence on the Galactic Alliance Legion Navy’s tactics and capabilities. Should you accept my offer, you will be able to adequately defend your system while fighting the war, and if need be I can assign a number of my own ships to assist in that defense as well. I would only ask that you provide me with any information I require, and that I be the one to coordinate our fleets’ movements.”
“That is a very enticing offer, Executor,” the king stated. “Almost too good to be true. It says a great deal that my trusted officers believe you, but I am not quite as eager as they.”
As expected. Even if he had not been caught off-guard by the grand admiral’s question earlier, he had been ready to answer questions posed by the king, a lifelong politician. “I can ease any misgivings you may have, Your Majesty,” he said, deciding at the last moment to add the title. Emotional beings generally reacted well to being addressed by their title, particularly those in high positions.
“That is good to hear, Executor,” the king replied, keeping his voice and face neutral. Darkclaw wondered for a moment if he had miscalculated in adding in the title. Perhaps the king had detected that he had only added it as an afterthought, or he felt that Darkclaw was trying to manipulate him through flattery. However, any concern evaporated once the king spoke.
“I have never heard of your species. Where have you come from? Why have you decided to invade the Galactic Alliance?”
“My race’s tale is an unusual one, but I will tell you it in full.” Not necessarily a truthful account, but still a full one. “We began as most species have, in a more primitive form, on a distant planet millions of years ago. We were visited by an advanced alien race, who we know only as the Saviors, who gathered a number of us into hibernation chambers, to save us from an imminent catastrophe on our world. We awoke just over three months ago, on our now much-changed planet, as you see us now. Our leader, the invincible High Lord, informed us that our home planet was no longer suited for us, that we were to find a new home elsewhere. That somewhere was in the Galactic Alliance, but the world he had selected for us was already inhabited. He decided that we would conquer it, and so we built an army. Over time, we learned more about the Galactic Alliance, about its failures and its crimes, and he determined that it did not deserve to govern itself, that we should conquer it and reforge it into a more worthy alliance of planets—in addition to understanding that attacking one of its worlds would cause the others to respond. From there we conquered the Zarian, Cytan and Reathan systems, after which point I made the decision to come here, both because we lack necessary information, and because it is logical to seek out the enemy of your enemy.”
“What do you envision for this section of the galaxy once you succeed in your goal?” the king asked, still not giving anything away.
Darkclaw was ready for the question this time, and replied quickly. “We will take a world for our own, and reform the Galactic Alliance into something more worthy of existing. Any worlds that continue to resist the change will be dealt with appropriately. As our honored ally, you will have high positions in the new government, and the managing of your own affairs will be left to you, though the High Lord may request your participation in any future military endeavors that become necessary.” Most of what he said was true, to an extent, and while it felt dishonest to be betraying an ally even before they formally became so, his loyalty was to the High Lord, not them.
The king stared at Darkclaw for a long moment before finally speaking. “I have heard enough, Executor. Your terms are agreeable.” He stopped and stood, walking down the throne to a podium that stood on the throne’s raised platform. As he rose, so did the rest of the room, coming to their feet and standing still.
“My loyal subjects,” he began, speaking in standard, probably for Darkclaw’s benefit, “there is not one of us who was unaffected by the Selban massacre, and the wound remains raw. That cowardly attack aimed directly at civilians was something that could never be tolerated, by anyone. After the massacre, I fully expected the Galactic Alliance to condemn the atrocity committed by its citizens, even given our long history of disagreements with it. They did no such thing. I began to wonder why this was, and as time went on; details emerged about who coordinated the attack. By now we all know that a number of the coordinators sit very high in the Alliance, and the Legion Navy doubtless knew what was coming, and chose not to stop it. This is unforgivable. Even after they expelled us from the Alliance, I harbored hopes that over time we would be able to come sort of agreement; not to rejoin the Alliance but to be able to coexist with our galactic neighbors in peace. Then they showed their true feelings, and I now know that such coexistence cannot happen if the present state of affairs remains as it is.”
He paused for a moment, and Darkclaw took the opportunity to glance around the room again. For the most part, everyone remained standing where they had been when the king had started to speak, though a few had set up recording devices.
“For the last seven months, we have had to live both with the fear that the Galactic Alliance would mobilize its armies in an attempt to wipe us out, and with the sobering knowledge that we could neither fend off such an attack, nor could we seek justice for the dead without prompting that reaction. Today, our prayers to the Omnipresent have been answered, in a way almost as miraculous as events in Scripture. Out of nowhere, an answer has appeared in the form of a species we had never heard of, let alone encountered. I have decided to accept their offer of a pact against the Galactic Alliance, whom they are already at war with. I pledge to give the Tyrannodons our full assistance, in return for their support.”
As the king continued to speak, Darkclaw heard music begin to play. He had listened to a few samples of music while perusing the information on the Galactic Alliance, but had determined it to be a waste of time, something for frivolous emotional beings to spend time on. However, he could understand the reason for playing music, particularly music that resonated with the people, while in the midst of an address such as this.
“With the Tyrannodons at our side, we will at last be able to see justice done for our brothers and sisters murdered at Selban, and our enemies will learn the true meaning of the verse, ‘and those who curse them, shall be cursed’!”
The music continued to play, growing louder as the king finished speaking. Darkclaw wasn’t sure what he had expected from the observers; applause, cheering. Instead, there was silence, until the music reached a certain point. Then those assembled in the room began to sing, in Felinari, what was most likely their anthem. Darkclaw did not understand a word of it; he had not bothered to read the translated lyrics included with the information on the Felinaris, so he replayed the king’s speech in his mind as the music continued to play, and the Felinaris sang, their language, smooth and flowing compared to standard, which sounded like music itself, their devotion and pride somehow seeping into him, and he felt…
Darkclaw froze his thoughts. He felt something. No, this is impossible. I am incapable of feeling emotion; the High Lord has removed that weakness from me. Despite the impossibility, the feeling remained, though he could not indentify it. Darkclaw felt his breathing deepen slightly as he tried to fight it off before it overwhelmed him, fought to not bring his hand to his head. After what seemed like hours, the feeling left him, and things returned to how they should be. Although he was aw
are that the song had finished and people were moving around now, Darkclaw remained frozen in place, still trying to comprehend what had happened. It shouldn’t have been possible.
He was interrupted only by the grand admiral’s approach. “Are you all right?” she asked. “For a moment you looked unwell.”
“No, I am quite well,” he replied flatly, hoping that she did not press the issue.
“Oh, good. I just wanted to let you know that my father will meet with you in his private office in five minutes to compose the official documents. His speech was nice, but it doesn’t officially seal things.”
“Your…”
“Father? You didn’t know?” she asked. In truth, he had not, at least not with complete certainty, though he had had suspicions. Somehow that information had been omitted from the public records. Darkclaw did not know how it had been managed, but he could understand why.
When he did not reply, she went on. “For a moment there, I’ll admit that I wasn’t sure he was going to say yes. He has this way of making it hard to tell what he’s going to do. I was quite hopeful, however, and I seem to have been correct.”
“That is all past now,” Darkclaw said, interrupting the grand admiral, who looked quite pleased and prepared to go on for far too long. “We had best not keep the king waiting, however.”
