Wasdaf marshes, Pixe, Intergal 28:6:62179

Kethe had commed Shelswun after their confrontation, accusing the Shelswunion governor of the murder of one of his guards, but no further incident developed. The accusation rang blindly, without demand for apology or recompense. Relations between Shelswun and Shalhoon suffered considerable strain, of a subdued sort. Bolas’ (father’s) advisors made every assurance for the proper displays to Shalhoon and tried their best to restrain Bolas from further foreign relations. The older men had been quite forceful in that point, a matter that merely increased Bolas’ suspicion. Yet their goal had been secretly unsuccessful. Bolas proved that point as he piloted his ballship through the eye of the Great Pixian Storm in order to land on that twenty-first moon of Shalhoon. Bolas Scharo hadn’t informed his aides of his destination; only Veronika knew. Since Cop and Kortez had departed to see how they could help Simmel, Veronika became the only person on Shelswun Bolas could trust.

His ballship dropped down the Eye of the Great Pixian storm. His authorization codes deactivated the mines that guarded the only access to Pixe’s surface through the turbulent atmosphere.

A harsh Kollin voice greeted his authorization codes. "Governor Scharo, welcome to Pixe! You’re the last of the delegates to arrive!"

Surprised to hear a non-Norin in any level of Pixe’s diplomatic contact posts, Bolas double-checked his chronometer to ensure his timeliness.

"Do you require an escort to the marshdocks?" the Kollin controller asked.

Bolas pushed his ship through the thick, almost liquified clouds that covered Pixe. The atmosphere that blanketed the moon more than tripled the solid size of the world. Bolas decelerated as he entered a rainstorm, heavy even by Pixian standards. "Already know."

The ballship sped towards the swampy shoreline of the continent called Island of Inhabitation. He passed above a group of Resoid treffs in the air, and saw several more in the distance. He looked for Norins in flight, but the Sentient avians seldom strayed far from their homes in the heavier rains. "Hate this weather here," he grumbled to himself. "Always feels sad, until you meet the Pixians."

Dion and Tess of the Wasdaf met his ship with the Kollin Duss Devon. They were joined by the Dolarian ambassador Matteson, whom Bolas hadn’t seen personally in over a year, since before his accident.

"Bo-Bo!" the usually dry Devon cheered, outstretching her deeply-hued purple-to pink arms. Her swimming spines enwrapped him. "It is great to see your form!"

Bolas smiled uncomfortably. He and the much older Kollin had shared an evening together the year before Bolas had met Veronika. That night had formed a special friendship between them, despite the fact that they’d both been drunk.

"Devon, you’re looking good," he complimented as he hopped from the cockpit ladder of the ballship. They hugged, but Dion allowed little time before calling the entire party of delegates from the laid-stone landing, across the wooden boardwalks where Tibia, Ada, and Moon’s Cief Administrator Helena Loitraid waited. Rain drummed gently over the open pavilion and sprayed into the doorless entrance frame.

Helena smiled a broad, warm, toothy smile and took Bolas’ hand in hers with more warmth than she typically showed him. The multiple rings on each of her wrists jangled. Bolas could think of no standard stereotype of the humans who called themselves Moonites. Some, like Helena, bore the more prissy grace of a Shalhoon wanna-be while others, like Kabenta, escaped all classification. "Bolas, how’s the son?"

"Rodjer’s well," Bolas smiled to the plump woman. "Getting big." He averted his eyes from her wide hips, and hoped she didn’t misconstrue. Bolas had always found Helena hard to read, suspiciously quiet.

"You should have brought him, Bo. And Veronika," Helena said cordially.

"I didn’t tell my advisors where I was heading, and didn’t want them to have reason to ask. I figured if I went alone, they’d think I was just taking another joyride."

"That was probably for the best," Dion stated with a hearty nod.

"Yes," Helena sighed with a turn of her lips.

"Let’s begin this meeting!" Devon’s usual gruff Kollin informality, perhaps with a touch of unrestrained aggressiveness, seemed to counter the majestic splaying of her fins, but matched the rows of razor-sharp teeth. Her deep purple skin glistened in the rain as she led them to Pixe’s mihorn, a curved-dome structure of dried mud that lacked closing doors or windows, clearest reminder that this meeting, as subversive as it had been called against Shalhoon’s new imperialism, occurred on Pixe. Pixians held no secrets from one another. If these Sentral Sistem rulers had met on Moon or Shelswun, they would have talked within the confines of a sealed room, privatized from all citizens except the most trusted servants, free of all distractions except those the delegates themselves provided. Here, they could hear or ignore the cries, calls, hoots, whistles, whelps and whoops of Pixian society and wildlife. The Pixian citizens themselves regarded the mihorn quietly, with quiet reverence and respect accorded to their worldly leaders, but without undue attention to any gathering within. As he had the first time he’d entered this council chamber, Bolas examined the Wasdaf mosaic of embedded stones and gems that formed an abstract of the Sentral Sistem over the arced ceiling. A second mural bonded the stone tabletop, this one depicting the sphere of Pixe with a representation of each of its four native races.

Devon took her seat across from Tibia at a corner of the long rectangular table. While no one sat on the ends of the sleek stone tables, their places were assigned by the form of the chairs. Bolas’ seat, like that of Helena’s and the empty place that marked the obvious absence of Shalhoon representation, was a typical wooden chair, probably crafted by Wasdaf or Norins, padded in fine embroideries of woven kelp, a Kollin contribution. Tibia took her place beside Bolas, a crepe throne of Resoid hive pulp. The perch lifted her high enough to accommodate for Resoid diminutive height, which Tibia’s youth only accented. She turned her bulbous head towards Bolas and hissed a friendly greeting. Her antennae quivered momentarily, then froze with her satisfaction of having found the love, dedication, and passion in Bolas that she had become so intimately familiar with during her part in preservation of his life. Of all the aliens she had met under Dion’s sage tutelage, she still liked Bolas best.

Helena sat to Tibia’s left. Across from Bolas, Matteson oozed into a hollowed rock that cupped hir malleable body. Se formed a featureless baseform appearance from the "waist" up. Dion and Ada filled the last Pixian seats. A live perch formed the Norin seat, with a colony of lichens for Ada to snack on in discreet pecks throughout the meeting. The seat of Dion, Pixe’s elder statesman, could not be narrowly defined. Packed and dried mud cemented pruned branches to stone, allowing Dion to rest in a variety of poses with his long reptilian tail to hang above or below him. Tess remained by Dion’s side, although his seat could have accommodated her as well if they intertwined their bodies in common Wasdaf fashion.

Bolas had suffered enough of Shelswun’s diplomatic arrangements to envy the Pixians their harmony. The centuries of war between the four races had ended unrecorded years before alien discovery of Pixe during Shalhoon’s reoutfitting in 24534. The four races, linked primarily through the Resoid saam’s telepathy, shared a common language. The social dainties and perceived power of who stood by whom or which diplomat’s chair rose a kriip¹ taller than another’s did not exist on Pixe. The assortment of available seating alone prevented direct comparison while typical Pixian tables, square or rectangle, always cornered four times in linkage of four sides. One Pixian sat at each corner of the mihorn’s table in complete equality.

Bolas leaned to his side and kissed Devon’s purple-scaled cheek.

"Careful," Devon warned. "Your pretty pink wife smells fish on you, she’ll castrate you."

Bolas grinned.

Norin Triot Ada spread his wings in a welcoming embrace to the air around them. "Is everyone comfortable?"

When no one expressed any needs, Bolas spoke. "I asked us all to get together to discuss Shalhoon’s part in the new Blakkarrion Empire and what we’re gonna do about it," he stated simply, as if none of the others already knew that.

Helena’s nose curled. One of the things she had never liked of Bolas was his resort to commoners’ lazy annunciation she considered beneath his station.

"We should ravage Blaakos as they ravaged Simmel," Devon snarled.

"Violence against violence only breeds further violence," Triot Ada cooed.

Devon puffed the gills on the side of her neck. "That’s strictly Norin belief. The Blakkarrions will only be stopped by force."

"I wouldn’t mind bombing Blaakos—or Shalhoon—but they’re undoubtedly too well fortified right now," Bolas stated.

"Besides," Helena rationalized, "would we be accomplishing anything? I thought our concern was Simmel."

Bolas locked eyes with his fellow human. She quickly averted his gaze. "It is, but so is the freedom of the galaxy in general. It’s clear now that their overall objective is to rule over everything, not just settle a grudge with the Simmellians."

The corner of Helena’s wrinkled mouth turned groundward. "Kethe Kajer personally invited me to join their unification. He said Moon and Shalhoon belong together."

Dion’s wide head bobbed in mimicry of a human motion. "He likewise asked Pixe."

Matteson pushed air through hir formulated lungs to speak vocally. The small aperture se had formed as a mouth did not quite seem to match the words as hir lips quivered in spastic motions. "And Dolar, when our ambassador was there."

Bolas feigned disappointment. "I guess he knew what answer Shelswun’d give."

The fin spines on her crown peaked as Devon smiled evilly. For all her projected humor her double rows of jagged teeth would have appeared menacing to almost anyone other than Bolas. "You made that clear enough on your last visit to Shalhoon."

"I fear he may be planning to attack Moon," Helena stated.

"What did you tell him?" Bolas asked.

"That I would present the matter to the people of Moon."

"We gave him a flat no," Devon stated.

Matteson’s artificial skin rippled nervously. Hir mouth elongated into a snout as se spoke. "I told him we would consider it, but I needed to remind him that Dolar has no real interest in joining otherworld alliances. We are not as fragile as others."

"What did he say to that?"

"He asked why we joined the Kounsil. I told him it was in the interest of good relations with other worlds in the Sentral Sistem, and to promote relations with nitro-methane, silicon, and other minority biologies. I’m not convinced that he bought my excuses. I had a bad feeling speaking with him. I was unnaturally happy, as if something influenced the t-fields. I’ve called Dolar to alert." Matteson’s skin shifted color from cool gray to cinnamon.

"Better than being unprepared," Dion said.

"I may join them, only with the agreement that Dolar contributes nothing to their imperialism, not troops, not materials, nor provisions."

Devon leaned across the table towards the Dolarian. Her gill sacs puffed as she pushed air out her lungs. "If you oppose them, you should do so openly."

"Dolar has never had war or incident with another world. I see no reason to start now, if not absolutely necessary. But I assure you that Dolar will tolerate no attack on any world represented here. If Kethe should shatter the peace that has always existed within the Sentral Sistem, Dolar will have no other choice. We will be to your aide." Matteson’s belly swelled. Hir consciously-formed skin parted to reveal an abscess from which se removed three documents. Hir body’s elasticity allowed hir to stretch her arms to pass one document each to Devon, Bolas, and Helena. Each pact promised full reciprocal alliance between Dolar and the other three non-imperial worlds of the Sentral Sistem.

Bolas signed his without reading it and removed similar documents from the pocket on the inside of his chest padding. Helena and the Pixian rulers immediately produced similar contracts that likewise pledged the reciprocal allegiances between Shelswun, Pixe, Dolar, and Moon. The four worlds were mutually and exclusively allied when all the documents were signed and redistributed.

"I must admit that although I signed, it is not without hesitancy or reservation," Triot Ada said. "We Norins are a peaceful race. I signed because I don’t want to hold back the desires of the Wasdaf, Kollins, and Resoids."

"I respect your opinion," Tibia assured her fellow Pixian. The young Resoid saam had attended the conference in almost complete silence. She had watched Bolas, Helena, and Matteson peculiarly throughout the meeting, studying these alien dignitaries with the curiosity of a Kensol toddler. Once the discussion turned towards native Pixian matters, she spoke, with confidence and stamina that exceeded her predecessor. "Dion, Tess, Devon and I have discussed this situation in regard to the Norins. We had to be prepared that you might not agree to new treaties that could indicate war with Shalhoon. We decided that our allegiance would not include involuntary warfare offworld on the part of the Norins."

Relief washed over Ada’s feathers. He chirped a round of Norin songs to Pixe’s other races, then said in Standard, "Oh, thank you, Tibia! You know that should Pixe be attacked, we’ll fight with full hearts, and that for any other worlds, we’ll droplift supplies and act as intelligence or recon. We just don’t like to fight. We’re not cowards. We don’t want to hurt anyone. I think you know that..."

"We understand," Bolas assured, too impatient for a Norin tirade. Since his damning encounter with Kethe, he had more fully studied Sentral Sistem politics and had recognized Norin pacifism as a potential barrier to his objectives. "And we appreciate your release of these contracts."

"I wouldn’t stop the—"

"Enough!" Devon snapped with both rows of teeth. Norin pacifism had become a particularly sensitive subject since the Pixian rulers had drawn up their alliance deeds. Devon had no wish to hear further of it. She changed the subject without straying from the purpose of their meeting. "What’s our next course of action to be then, wait for the empire to attack one of our worlds?" Devon had pushed acceptance of the contracts among her fellow Pixians. The Kollins fought for whatever they believed in, and Devon held a great respect for the Simmellians, who’d centuries before demonstrated new methods of profitably farming the Pixian wildlife without depleting resources. The Simmellians’ lack of price for that guidance had earned them eternal Kollin respect. Devon would eagerly begin action against the peoples who’d decimated the Simmellians.

Tugging into his protective vest, Bolas removed a map that depicted a cutaway of several sectors of the starband that had been drawn into the Blakkarrion aggressions. He almost hesitated to cover the tabletop’s brilliant mosaic when placing the map between his fellow conspirators. He circled twelve labeled stellar systems. "These are the original twelve Blakkarrion worlds." He circled another. "Simmel." He circled two more. "Yele and Gemel, imperial joiners. These two," he added with two more bold red strokes, "are conquests Mane and Quoopen, the targets of Yele and Gemel."

Naming off worlds that had joined or begun to feel Blakkarrion guns, he continued drawing over the bright parchment in what could be casually interpreted as nothing other than random scribbles. Further inspection revealed a constellation of definite pattern that incompletely connected the Blakkarrion Empire to the Sentral Sistem.

Ada’s feathers spiked on his head. His cizew, a protruding tuft of feathers that differentiated "regal" Norins from the majority, splayed across the forward slope of his round head in further prominence from his typically sleek coat. "They’re world hopping!"

Bolas nodded solemnly. "Exactly. They’re accepting any worlds that will easily join and more forcefully taking worlds that can offer them specific immediate gain, or could stand to oppose them. Modri, Hassele, and Shorns are the most likely candidates for the next attack."

"Modri?" Helena quizzed tn surprise. "I’ve barely heard of it, and never heard anything good. It may have some valuable ores, but it’s more commonly referred to as ‘Hell’."

"And the natives are said to be hellish, mean, and highly aggressive," Bolas added. He smiled at Devon. "Your place to find dates."

Devon grunted.

Tibia hummed to herself. She had never seen anyone jibe Devon, and would never have expected the Kollin to respond so jovially.

Bolas’ grin faded to a deathly serious demeanor. "Modri’s reputation could swing it either way. Isolationists—no one’s reported contact with Modri in a couple thousand years. The Blakkarrions could either count on their isolationism, or want the Modrins as fighters."

Dion wrapped his tail around the largest stalk of his seat as if to choke it. "I think this is where Kethe would influence. Kethe would probably want the next move to be something a little more certain."

Bolas nodded in agreement, "Modri would also circle their path back into their own empire. A move to either Shorns or Hassele would keep their progression through new territory, heading straight for unwilling victims here in the Sentral Sistem."

"I agree," Matteson said. "Let’s discount Modri for now."

After studying hopelessly for several moments, Tibia pointed to a section of the map. "What about this world? It’s right in the path."

Bolas read the marker that the new Resoid queen had indicated. He reminded himself of how young Tibia truly was, even by accelerated Resoid standards. "Bebbikk. Small population of agriculturalists, closest to Billone. No real industry or materials to exploit. Most likely, the Blakkarrions will come back to it when they have a chance. It’s not very big, or very advanced. It doesn’t pose a threat."

A young Resoid queen, Tibia barely comprehended the complexities of normal interworld relations. She possessed no understanding of the tactics of war, although that would change drastically in time. "Go on, Bolas."

"That leaves us with Hassele and Shorns. Hassele’s one hundred per cent ocean. Shorns is all jungle. Both have similar-sized populations, neither very well advanced. Shorns has colonists, Hassele doesn’t. I think that’s one of the major differences."

"Wouldn’t the Hessels make good ocean forces?" Matteson asked. Hir form assumed more amphibian features as se considered Hassele. "Shorlaks are rather passive."

"Yes, but the Blakkarrions already have the Fejji and Bekks and Kropins. Besides that, the next three sectors adjacent to Hassele are devoid of inhabited worlds. That would leave a large gap. If they use Shorns as a general stop-over world and possible training grounds, they have a good point to launch the next offensives, a slightly closer link to the original empire and the Sentral Sistem." He drew two lines from Billone to Sentral, then squared off what amounted to ten worlds in between the lines. "If they head in this direction they’ll have a definite strip of worlds with a few in between that couldn’t possibly make resistance."

The room fell silent for several minutes as the rulers watched Bolas chart. From that time on, Bolas held the full respect of all seven others. None expected such careful preparation from the young hedonist Shelswunion. Not dissimilar from Bolas in racial biological ages, Tibia recognized his preparation as beyond her current level of knowledge. Bolas’ tryst with Devon had hurt his reputation with Ada, Dion, and Tess. Matteson and Helena had both considered him too irresponsible and irrepressible for his sudden position on Shelswun, and both had looked to the incident with Kethe as support for their opinions.

Tess stood on her hind flippers and bowed her head to her world’s guests, most deeply to Bolas. "I’ll have some of the Wasdaf bring us some callare." She suspended her tail above the stone floor as she hoped from the mihorn entrance-arc and into the bog.

Devon’s esteem for the human also seemed to have suddenly risen above physical affections. "What do you think we should do?"

"I’m not sure," Bolas admitted after nodding in appreciation to Tess. "I don’t know if rallying a force would be the best idea."

Dion also found himself more eager to fight the Simmellians’ conquerors than he’d admit in front of the young and easily-influenced Tibia. "Why not?"

"We reasoned in going to Shorns because that’s where the most logical step would be for the Blakkarrions, based on a set pattern. But we don’t know their actual plans. Let’s not show our privates before the honeymoon. If our speculation’s right, they’ll give us ultimatums. I think we’re all agreed that if we don’t join, there’s going to be a fight on our hands. We’d best stay prepared for that, because it’s best to fight near our own bases."

Ada shuffled nervously at the prospect of a war on Pixe.

"And if our forces are divided between Shorns and Sentral, we’re sure to lose both," Matteson stated.

Ada cooed. His beady black eyes searched his friends for support.

"I think we should send a delegate to Shorns," Helena said. "Someone to rally their forces and get alliance documents signed."

"That could prove difficult," Ada stated. Their demeanor most pleasant of all Pixians, Norins most frequently performed Pixe’s ambassadorial duties. Ada’s familiarity with other worlds exceeded that of anyone else present. "Shorns’ civilization is fragmented, especially among the native Shorlaks. The colonists would most definitely prove easier to approach, but even their townships are not highly connected, geographically or socially."

"What other option do we have?" Tibia asked. "I’m more than willing to face the Blakkarrions at Shorns, but not to fight their battle for them. The idea is assistance, not agency."

"I agree," Dion stated as several Wasdaf served the callare that Tess had promised.

"Then our goodwill ambassador should emphasize that we’ll counterattack only if the Shorlaks and Shornsmen resist the Blakkarrions." Bolas sipped his callare and burnt his tongue on the flame-boiled drink. He gasped and rubbed his mouth.

"Watch out, it’s hot," Tess warned from the entrance.

"What if the Shorlaks do what the Billones did," Helena asked, "and join to minimize damage to their world?"

"We study the charts and contact the most likely candidate to be the next target," Bolas stated. "If that happens, we should be a step ahead of them. We’ll know what their answer will be when we ask them." Bolas’ brown eyes fell to the map in search of other worlds with strong allegiance or debt to Simmel.

Ada cooed and shuffled in his chair, fanning his tail feathers nervously. "But if they do join the empire, isn’t there a high risk that they’ll tell the Blakkarrions we contacted them?"

The huge eyes situated to the sides of Devon’s head seemed to grow a wider diameter as she leaned forward with the hungry, aggressive posture she would take against a lazily-swimming meal. "We’ll explore that reef when we swim to it."

Silence fell between them as Tess’ servants slipped from the mihorn and dropped into the marshes off the walkway. The rain hammered against the stone roof. Bolas had all but forgotten his disastrous attempt to contact Veronika’s brother during their wedding preparations. The bitter, hateful Mard Webster had specifically sworn off his family and anything else Shelswunion. Never wishing to hurt the woman he loved so much, Bolas had never told Veronika that he’d found Mard, much less contacted him.

Bolas finally spoke. "I think I can solve that one. Kethe already knows that Shelswun is in opposition to his empire. I made that clear enough." He grinned. "I’ll go to Shorns alone. I have a tenuous connection among the colonists. I’ll bring the contracts with me, but not show them until they agree. When I talk to them about it, I won’t let them know that Pixe, Moon, and Dolar will also be involved. If they refuse, the Blakkarrions will only be clued to Shelswun, which they already know about anyway."

"We’ll stand up to this with you," Devon assured.

Bolas nodded. "I know that, doll. But there’s no need to increase the risk. If the imperials don’t know that your worlds are involved, any decision to attack will only be on Shelswun. If they know all four worlds are involved, they’ll probably send more ships in. The odds will be better for us if your three worlds keep low."

"An excellent point," Helena agreed.

"We’re talking about what’s best for the long flight," Bolas stated. "This is a big risk we’re taking. We’re already drastically outnumbered." Dealing with Mard Webster gnawed at Bolas’ stomach. If Webster allowed his family resentments to cloud his rational judgment, he could just as easily betray Bolas to the Blakkarrions out of spite. Bolas decided to entirely avoid dealing with Mard unless he ran into trouble.

Ada, perhaps hesitant to speak for fear of Devon’s reaction, cleared his throat with a whistle. "I agree about the risk principle."

Devon began to cut off the triot, but Ada raised a wing in protest.

"But I agree with Devon," he added quickly. "The possible repercussion is that Shelswun will be ravaged. I don’t much care for sacrifice. I like it even less than I do those brutish, non-Sentient odorous savages who call themselves Blakkarrions. Even less than I like Tsaan and his rancid breath of rotting carrion."

Devon’s entire gaze changed as she looked at the Norin. A new respect formed instantly, to the reminder that although the Norins all but worshiped pacifism, they held personal honor, integrity, and their dedication to Pixe and the other species who shared it as the holiest of creeds. Devon swore she’d never again criticize the Norins’ tranquil nature.

Matteson’s surface bubbled and blistered. "I don’t like it either, but like Bolas said, in the long stretch, we’ll be better off with the advantage of surprise."

The eight rulers, representing four worlds and more than seven races, exchanged looks, waiting for last arguments.

None were voiced, as Ada and Devon realized that Bolas’ foolhardy idea remained the best course of action.

"Pixe will go on war alert," Dion stated.

Helena’s whisper sounded cautious. "Moon will begin a civil draft as well, and I’ll have the Shorns documents drawn. Once I sign them, I’ll distribute them to your worlds."

"Can you get them by Thirty Lepsid?"

"Certainly," she said with a broad smile. "You intend to leave then?"

"No," Bolas said, his whisper sounding more remorseful than Helena’s. "I’ll leave Thirty-one, on the Shelswun morning...."