The Cresperian Alliance

by Stephanie Osborn

  The Snappers’ remains wafted a foul smelling miasma of death over the field of carnage. Several soldiers retched at the stench, even as medics began locating the wounded, and logistics officers relayed crucial information to their compatriots.

  Bang and his unit were taking out Snapper fighters right and left, with considerable glee—especially those of the unit that had been on the spy mission to Cresperia.

  "This is like... what's that old saying?” Jan Wersky exulted. “Shooting fish in a barrel?"

  "'Bout like,” Tomlinson agreed with a grin. “Don't get cocky, though, guys. We still don't know for certain what the biggest ships can do."

  "True,” Bang agreed. “A lot of the fighting in orbit was already done when we got there.” He paused, turning to his chief. “What say we find out, boss?"

  "I think—hold one,” Tomlinson said, putting a hand to his earpiece. Suddenly he looked up. “HOLD YOUR FIRE!” he shouted down the line of gunners. “I REPEAT—HOLD YOUR FIRE!"

  "Hold your fire!” Bang reiterated on his gunners’ comm.

  The big cannons’ whines silenced to a hum.

  "Why am I not surprised?” Terhune remarked, disgusted. “All right. IF it works, it beats hell out of slugging it out to the last being. Tell her to get ready with that gizmo, put it in Snapper mode, and I'll pipe her through on broadcast."

  "Got it, Wayne,” Waterman's voice came through. “You get that, Sandra?"

  "Yes sir,” the Secretary of State's voice sounded. “I'm ready."

  "Go,” Terhune ordered.

  "Alien race,” Fellowes began, “I speak for this planet, Earth, and I would like to invite you to meet me in the central plains of the smaller of the two main northern land masses so that we might put an end to these hostilities."

  Terhune rolled his eyes at the sheer egotism of the declaration.

  But to his surprise, the Snappers ceased fire.

  For five full minutes he waited.

  Then the incoming communications crackled, and a series of snaps and clicks came through.

  When it was over, Terhune snapped, “Translation."

  "Playing back,” Fellowes reported.

  "Earth speaker, I, Admiral Snpplk of the People of the Empire of Klkppt agree to your invitation. We insist that our peace talks be broadcast to your entire planet in whatever technology you use, and we will, in turn, broadcast it among our fleet ships and back to the capital of the Empire. It is essential that all involved be witness to this momentous occasion."

  "Wonderful,” Fellowes’ voice lilted. “We would do this in any case, for such an important meeting. Our tradition is to serve our guests a meal. What is your preferred food?"

  Several more minutes elapsed. Ship to ship clacking ensued, and the air to ground line remained silent. “Gene,” an irked Terhune addressed his communications officer, “would you please ask for translation—again?"

  "Aye, sir.” He turned to his console, putting a hand to his earphone as he murmured into it. Moments later the translation was relayed up to Terhune's flagship, and from thence to the rest of the fleet.

  "We are carnivores. Whatever animal meat your planet has will suit. We consider brain tissue a delicacy. Fermented blood is our preferred drink, but if you do not have any available, simple distilled water will do."

  "Um... yes,” Fellowes’ voice said, obviously trying to hide her squeamishness. “How do you prefer it cooked?"

  "No cooking. Raw."

  "I... see. Very well. We will have a meal together as soon as your ambassador and his or her team arrives."

  "Excellent. We see the area in question. Please indicate where within the area you wish to meet. Our embassage will join you there at the time you set."

  "Son of a bitch,” Terhune said in surprise. “This might work after all."

  This time, a triumphant sounding Fellowes announced, “I will have a transmitter beacon set up which your shuttle can follow to the landing site. We will meet there in two hours—uh, one twelfth of the rotation period of Earth."

  Another pause, lasting only three minutes this time, before the popping, snapping, and clicking response came. Fellowes played the translation for Terhune without prompt this time.

  "Message understood. Embassage being assembled."

  "This,” Terhune murmured to himself, “should be interesting."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 17

  A beaming Sandra Fellowes awaited the Snapper ambassadorial team in the hastily arranged facility in the old ghost town of Coronado, Kansas. A quickly established prefabricated building, attached to several inflatable structures, sat just outside the ruins of the old town. Her own team, consisting mostly of handpicked proteges, seemed a mingle of nervous, apprehensive individuals wondering what exactly they'd gotten themselves into, and those just as cocky as Fellowes herself.

  "Susan, call that damn admiral and tell him—no, order him—to make sure to let the ambassador's ship through,” Fellowes demanded of one of her assistants. “I don't want those idiot soldier types to screw this up."

  "Yes ma'am,” the somewhat meek assistant replied, and scurried off to comply.

  "She ORDERS? Since when is the Secretary of State in the military hierarchy?” Terhune wondered, gazing at the State Department employee in disbelief. “I'll do it in the name of peace, not in the name of Sandra Fellowes. When she earns a half a dozen stars on her shoulders, then she can order me around, missy. Meantime, I'll follow her REQUEST."

  "Yes, sir,” Susan murmured apologetically. “I- I'm sure that's what she meant."

  "Yeah,” Terhune said, softening his tone as he realized this was only a messenger, and an uncomfortable, possibly unwilling one, at that. “Listen, you don't have to work for her, you know. Ask for a transfer. I can think of several good positions open right now."

  "I... could you, sir?"

  "You turn in your resignation with my response, and get the hell out,” Terhune told her. “I'll see to it transportation is waiting for you by the time you can do that, and you'll be in my office an hour later. You won't even have to see the Snappers,” he took an educated guess.

  "Oh, thank God! Yes, sir!” Susan lit up. “I've been terrified of meeting them. I've never even met a Crispy, but I hear they're much nicer."

  "Consider it done,” Terhune murmured. “I need some more staff anyway, now I'm on the Joint Chiefs. If you've put up with Sandra for...?"

  "Since the appointment, sir."

  "You'll do fine,” Terhune grinned. “Now go report and get the hell out."

  "Yes, sir!"

  Terhune turned to his comm officer. “Gene, get Salter on the horn, if you would, and get high speed transport for that poor woman en route, and paperwork for her transfer under way."

  "Absolutely, sir."

  The heavens were static; Earth's fleet had set up their defensive formation, and the Snapper fleet positioned itself in counterpoint, but neither fleet moved, other than to maintain stationkeeping.

  Twenty minutes before the appointed rendezvous in Kansas, a troop carrier was released from one of the Snapper spaceship carriers. It broadcast a prearranged signal, worked out via Fellowes’ team, that it was on a mission of peace.

  "Order all ships to hold their fire,” Terhune said, “and remote the orbital emplacements to prevent firing."

  "Aye, sir,” his first officer said.

  "Let it go, Bang,” Tomlinson ordered. “Word down from the Admiral himself. This is evidently the Snapper ambassador."

  "Roger that, sir,” Bang said, relaying the order down the port gun emplacements. “Maintain cease fire."

  Piki and Peggy emerged from the MASH room, and watched over Bang's shoulder as the video depicted the lone ship entering Earth's atmosphere.

  When the ship had disappeared, Bang turned to his bride. “Did you pick up anything, Piki? Is this going to work?"

  "I honestly cannot say, Bang-bang. I have never encountered these Snappers, other than distantly in our
covert mission, and I cannot even perceive any quantum entanglement that might give me a clue,” she told him, heart shaped face solemn. “I... do not know."

  Bang sighed, then hit the switch that put him through to his gunnery crew. “I know we're under a cease fire, but stay alert, guys and gals,” he told them. “We know what they did at Swavely's Planet, Faux Eden, and Cresperia."

  A chorus of “Roger” was his response.

  Sandra Fellowes was irked. Her lead assistant had just walked out on her at what Sandra considered the pinnacle of her career, and that put her in an extremely... bad... mood. “No such thing as damn loyalty any more,” she grumbled. “And after all I did for that girl, she abandons me just when the whole team needs to be here. I can't be EVERYwhere at once.” She spun to another assistant. “Make sure a scathing recommendation letter follows that woman,” she demanded.

  "Ms. Fellowes, we have an incoming Snapper ship, broadcasting the prearranged signal, and homing in on our beacon.” Fellowes didn't even recognize the young man who gave her the report.

  "Very good,” she said, suddenly all smiles again. “Teddy,” she requested her makeup artist and hairdresser, “do be a dear and make sure everything is in place, won't you?” She held still like a movie star having her makeup touched up—which was precisely how she viewed herself.

  Teddy brushed some stray wisps of hair back into place, hitting them with a touch of hairspray, then whisked a powder brush around Sandra's face. “There, Ms. Fellowes. Camera ready."

  "Cameras on?” Fellowes barked.

  "Cameras on and rolling,” came the answer. “We have broadcast."

  "Let's go meet our guests, boys and girls,” Fellowes lilted, and she, her diplomatic team, and the camera crew went outside to await the Snapper ship.

  The Snapper craft touched down lightly in the prairie grass next to the diplomatic center. Seven beings emerged. They had the bodies of giant duck billed platypi, complete with fur. But instead of a bill, they had long, hard, sharp beaks with teeth. Instead of arms they were possessed of furry, flexible tentacles, multi-tipped to serve the same function as hands with opposable thumbs. Their lower bodies more closely resembled kangaroos than anything Fellowes could think of, except for the fact that they had two tails, evidently for increased stability and balance.

  The leader approached, the remaining six fanning out slightly. He spread his tentacles in what was evidently intended to be a conciliatory gesture, and emitted a series of clicks. The small translator around Sandra's neck spoke, “Greetings, Earth speaker. I am Tklktk, spokesperson for the Third Fleet."

  Fellowes mimicked his gesture, spreading her arms wide. “Greetings, Speaker for Klkppt,” she declared. “I am Sandra Fellowes, Speaker for Earth.” An aide handed her another translator, and she took it, slowly offering it to Tklktk with one hand, while indicating her own with the other hand. “This is a translator. It will make our communications easier."

  Tklktk nodded and reached out with one tentacle, taking the device and positioning it around his neck as he noticed Fellowes had done. “There,” he said, the English translation suddenly sounding louder to the humans than his clicking speech. “How is that?"

  "Perfect,” Fellowes said, smiling. “Do you understand us, as well?"

  "We do,” Tklktk averred, as the rest of Sandra's team handed out translators to Tklktk's team. “What is this place?"

  "This is an historical site, a former town,” Fellowes explained. “It is some one hundred planetary orbits old."

  "It is... intriguing,” Tklktk decided. “But you are much more advanced than this."

  "We are,” Fellowes noted. “Come with me. We'll go into the temporary diplomatic center and share a meal before we begin discussions."

  "Very well,” Tklktk agreed. He waved a tentacle at his embassage, and they followed the humans into the hastily erected modern complex.

  The Snappers had not bothered to bring any food to share with the humans, and for this Fellowes was somewhat thankful, although she did consider it a distinct breach of etiquette. A banquet table had been set for buffet style eating, and a large plate of steak tartare had been provided for the humans partaking, since most of them didn't relish raw brains of any animal. However, several different varieties had been set out for the Snappers, ranging from beef, pork, and buffalo, to the more exotic monkey and llama. Sandra didn't ask where her staff had gotten it; she'd simply demanded it be acquired. And frankly, she didn't want to know.

  She didn't notice that Tklktk was not the first of his team to partake; another, smaller Snapper tasted each item before Tklktk would try it. Carafes of water with goblets sat around the room; this, too, Tklktk's taster tried before bringing his master a goblet of water.

  "This is very intriguing,” Tklktk noted, waving a tentacle at the table. “Most delectable foods. You have many varieties of meat. This is a rich planet."

  "Oh, this is just a small sample,” Sandra beamed. “We have a lovely diversity of flora and fauna. Some very rare and beautiful."

  Tklktk bobbed his head in what Fellowes had concluded was the Snapper equivalent of a nod. “I should be interested in seeing it."

  "Perhaps once we've worked out our peace treaty, I can take you on a planetary tour,” she suggested. “Meanwhile, would you like to see the old ghost town outside? Learn more about our histories?"

  "Indeed,” Tklktk agreed. “Multiple histories?"

  "Yes, there are many peoples, and many cultures, on Earth.” Sandra led the way back outside and both teams, human and Snapper, followed. They headed down the overgrown main street of the formerly thriving town. “This was once the town of Coronado, Kansas,” she explained. “The continent you are on is called North America. The nation is the United States of America, and this nation is divided into fifty states. Kansas is one of those states..."

  After a considerable time spent summarizing Earth's history, geography, cultures, and people, it began to get late in the day. “It is time to rest?” Tklktk queried, noting the stars outside in the night sky.

  "It is,” Fellowes noted. “We've prepared quarters for you and your diplomatic team—"

  "That will not be necessary,” Tklktk interrupted, blunt. “We have quarters aboard our shuttle."

  "I... I see,” Sandra said, covering her flusterment. “Then we shall meet in the morning, in about ten hours?"

  "We shall be here."

  And the Snappers exited the building, headed back to their troop carrier.

  When they were well gone, Fellowes turned to her team and huffed. “Well! One thing is certainly true about them—they are rude enough!"

  "Ms. Fellowes—they, um, they're not human,” one of her aides, Robert Jameson, pointed out. “Not only don't they know our rules of etiquette, their own may be very different. They may consider US rude."

  "Nonsense!” Fellowes waved away the comment. “How could anyone consider us rude, after the lovely way we accommodated them? Even if they do have a...” she choked back a retch with effort, “an unpleasant cuisine.” She turned toward the human quarters. “Now, everyone to bed. We have to be ready for tomorrow."

  "Um,” Jameson asked again, “don't you think maybe we should post a guard?"

  Fellowes spun on him, glaring. “NO, I DO NOT,” she declared loudly.

  "I mean, for their safety, as much as—"

  "Are you one of Martin's spies?” Fellowes hissed. “Testosterone! That's what it is! I'll do this without even the hint of guns, young man! You wait and see!” She turned to the others. “I said, GO TO BED!” she ordered.

  The commons area cleared immediately.

  The next day the negotiations began in earnest.

  "Our cease fire terms,” Tklktk stated, “are unconditional surrender."

  "Oh, surely not,” Fellowes wheedled, almost saccharine sweet. “Relations would be MUCH better between our peoples if we are on an equal footing. Perhaps an alliance and trade agreements..."

  "What kind of trade agreements?”
Tklktk wondered. “What can you possibly have that is worth our time?"

  "Our delicious meats, for one,” Fellowes suggested. “Technology exchange. Perhaps a few other things."

  "She offered them TECHNOLOGY?!” Waterman exploded. “What the HELL is she thinking??"

  "I don't know, sir,” Jameson murmured into his cell phone. “She's... I think she really DOES believe she speaks for the whole planet, and doesn't have to consult anyone to do it."

  "Son of a bitch,” Waterman cursed. “She's trying to cover over that media debacle when she insulted the Cresperian representative, by scoring a win over the Snappers without firing a shot. And doesn't care what she gives away in the process! Idiot! Keep me posted, Bob."

  "Yes, Mr. President."

  "I think that would be acceptable,” Fellowes murmured thoughtfully. “We could be a province of the Klkppt Empire, but we would have internal sovereignty, and interplanetary trade agreements. Effectively nothing would change for Earth except we'd have increased trade via off planet transactions. Yes, I think that will do nicely."

  "Excellent,” Tklktk said, obviously satisfied.

  "Now, one more thing I must bring up..."

  "And that would be?"

  "The planet of Cresperia,” Fellowes said. “You recently invaded it."

  "Oh, the world of the green pacifists?"

  "That's the one."

  "There is nothing to negotiate. They are a conquered and subjugated planet. The people will be eliminated and processed after they have been studied, and our people will colonize the system."

  "Oh dear,” Fellowes murmured, distressed. “You see, they're allies of ours. They're really quite advanced, you know. Wonderful technology, and the ability to manipulate the... the quantum something or other, without any technology at all. They're very nice. I'm sure they'd be willing to work with you if you'd stop harming them."

  "Really?” Tklktk said, animalistic eyes opening wide. “This is interesting. Tell me more..."

  "Excellent,” Fellowes beamed. “A cessation of all hostilities, the Earth and Cresperia systems become autonomous provinces of your empire, and trade agreements all around. I think it's perfect."