“You two will accompany me to the roof. The rest of you can evacuate if you want—but no one is to take offensive action until our visitors’ intentions are clear.”

  “If they drop an A-bomb on the city, will that be sufficient provocation to take action?” Wurtenburger asked. His tone seemed almost mocking, but Alexander didn’t take offense.

  “I should think so. In such a situation, you’ll be in charge of the response. The rest of us will be obliterated.”

  Alexander marched out, with Drusus and me trailing in his wake like ducklings.

  “So, Mr. Servant, sir. You think they’re sending down a ship? A delegation?”

  “It’s possible. It is the best case scenario, one that I’m willing to entertain even at this dark hour. Pray that I’m correct.”

  “I’m praying, sir. I truly am.”

  We rode the elevators upward. We stepped out onto the landing pad on the windswept roof of Central. Fortunately, the wait was a short one.

  “Whatever it is, it’s firing landing jets. That’s a good sign,” I said.

  A few hogs rushed to stand between us and the landing ship. They tried to order us back inside, but when they saw the ranks on Drusus and Servant Alexander, they melted away in a big hurry.

  The ship—because it really was a ship, that much was clear now—came in for a fiery landing. Once it was down, sitting on six skids with vapor pouring off the fins, we approached and stood at a respectful distance.

  Less than a minute later the hatch opened—and we were all in for quite a shock.

  -5-

  Two marines stepped out—they were Mogwa marines in power armor. I’d seen their kind before. Our Galactic overlords often used such troops for security on their ships.

  But these alien marines weren’t identical to those I’d seen in the past. They were rougher-looking, somehow. They had the same funky, multi-limbed walking machines—but their armor was differently shaped.

  Whatever the case, they were essentially one-alien tanks that could crush your toes if they wanted to. The machines reminded me of the dragons that we used on Earth sometimes.

  The two marines split apart and stepped to either side. From the dark interior another Mogwa emerged. This one was in a naval uniform, but not wearing power-armor.

  At first, I didn’t recognize him. He was young and proud, walking with the odd six-legged gait of all his kind. There was a hint of a swagger buried in the movement.

  I squinted at him, and he squinted at me.

  Finally, his translator lit up. “Ah, I believe I recognize a favored slaveling of the past. Are you the McGill-creature?”

  My jaw dropped low. I couldn’t believe it. “Grand Admiral Sateekas? As I live and breathe, it is you! You look all young and healthy, sir!”

  “You speak truth. I’ve been rejuvenated to my prior state.”

  Sateekas was the only Mogwa in existence that I could call a friend—sort of. The Mogwa weren’t exactly easy to get close to. They were arrogant, self-centered and downright mean most of the time.

  But Sateekas and I had shared a lot of battles, and a lot of difficult moments. We’d come to an understanding of sorts.

  He’d never been the luckiest of admirals. He’d lost fleets out here in Province 921 more than once. Because of these costly defeats, he’d been forcibly retired out of the military.

  “I don’t think I’ve met up with you since we fought three Skay together at Clone World…” I said. “Can that be right?”

  Sateekas winced at the mention of that campaign. “Do not mention the Skay, McGill. They were my downfall.”

  “But we won that battle in the end!”

  Sateekas made a shrugging motion with his two front appendages. “Perhaps so, but we won at too great a loss for the Mogwa Admiralty to accept. Never a day goes by that I’m not somehow reminded that this entire province isn’t worth the value of the ships I lost while defending this worthless dribble of stars.”

  I wondered if that could be true—and I suspected it was.

  Drusus cleared his throat, and we all looked at him. Old Servant Alexander stayed quiet, however.

  “McGill, perhaps you can introduce us.”

  “Sure thing. Admiral Sateekas, this is Praetor Drusus and Public Servant Alexander Turov. He’s a big cheese in our local government.”

  “How exciting,” Sateekas said, but I could tell he was anything but excited.

  I glanced over at Drusus and Alexander, but neither of them moved to speak. Drusus finally gave me a tight-lipped nod. He wasn’t going to try to take over. He knew from long experience that I had a certain rapport and perspective with the Mogwa elite—as upsetting as that was for everyone.

  “Uh…” I said. “Well your lordship, can you tell me what we can do for you? You’re honored guests, of course… but you must have come out here for a good reason.”

  “A grim reason,” Sateekas admitted. “Be it known that I swore off Province 921 many years ago. I’ve long considered it a benighted backwater. A stew of villainy and misfortune.”

  “You’ve got the right of that, sir.”

  “Yes… but now, due to unforeseen circumstances, I’ve been forced to end my retirement and stand upon the bridge of a warship once again.”

  “How’s that, your lordship?”

  The Mogwa made a dismissive wave with one of his hand-things. “All will be explained in due course. First, I must establish my authority.”

  At this odd turn of phrase, we three humans frowned at one another. Sateekas turned toward the dark hatchway of his shuttle craft. He made a motion suggesting someone else should come forward.

  Establish authority? My dim mind puzzled over those words. Drusus, Alexander and I were all contemplating what they might mean, and why such a thing might need to be done.

  Finally, another figure appeared in the hatchway. I recognized her immediately.

  “Governess Nox?”

  The female Mogwa ignored me. She eyed the overcast skies with disdain. “This ghastly planet is always cold,” she complained. She clutched at her pouch reflexively. It squirmed at her touch. “There’s a cutting wind up, I can feel it from here.”

  The squirming thing in her pouch… that stunned me. I knew Nox had had a kid with Sateekas in the past. But that kid would have to be pretty well grown-up by now. Could it be they’d spawned a second child? I was gob-smacked by the idea.

  But as I was now seeing Sateekas in his rejuvenated form, I could better understand the situation. I’d been thinking of him as the nasty, wattled old sad-sack he’d been years ago. Now he was a rejuvenated alien in his prime, and he might seem quite dashing to Nox.

  “Come, come, milady,” Sateekas said, urging her forward. “Tell these slaves they must listen to me.”

  Nox shuffled forward and peered at the cloudy skies. The truth was the weather was quite pleasant by human standards. It was the end of summer, and although we were pretty high up on a windswept landing platform, it wasn’t all that chilly. She was probably just feeling protective about her new offspring.

  “Earthlings, you are the enforcing species for the Empire in Province 921,” Nox said. “Do you acknowledge this fact?”

  “Yes,” Drusus said. “In fact, I’m the chief officer in charge of—”

  “Yes, yes, whatever,” she interrupted, cutting him off. “Do you also acknowledge that I am Governess Nox, the rightful civilian authority here in this pathetic hinterland?”

  We three humans couldn’t help but exchange concerned glances yet again. We all had the feeling we were being buttered up for something heinous.

  “Yes,” Servant Alexander stated at last.

  Nox peered at him, hugging her squirming pouch with two hairy, leathery hands. “Who and what are you, being? I know Drusus and that over-sized speaking-ape named McGill—but you’re new to my eyes.”

  “I represent the civil authority here on Earth. I represent Hegemony at large, just as Drusus represents our military.”

  She squinted at him for another moment or two. “I see… I suppose your presence is tolerable. Listen to me now, slaves. I am about to make an official decree, and I don’t wish to repeat myself.”

  We stared with worry in our hearts. None of us said anything.

  “Your armed forces are hereby commandeered. They will be placed at the disposal of Admiral Sateekas. Your armies, your fleets—they must all serve him until this emergency has passed.”

  Drusus sputtered. Alexander stood as still as a stone.

  “Uh… sirs?” I dared to speak up. “Can I inquire as to the nature of this emergency?”

  Nox made a flicking motion with her hind leg as she retreated back into her ship. She gave a little shiver as she did so.

  Sateekas watched her go, and then he turned back to us expectantly. “Well? Where is the required response?”

  “Um…” Drusus said. “We will of course comply with the wishes of the Empire.”

  Sateekas screwed up his face in disgust. “Hmph. Your rejoinder lacks in both decorum and enthusiasm. Although I found it woefully lacking, I accept your acquiescence. Now, you will arrange our welcoming feast, which will commence within the hour.”

  “Oh… yes, sir. Of course,” Drusus said, caught by surprise.

  Sateekas turned as if to go, but then he paused. “Ah, and don’t forget I have a personal preference for those large flying insects of yours, roasted to perfection. Xlur shared them with me long ago, and I want to enjoy the flavor again.”

  “Large flying insects?” Drusus asked, baffled.

  “Squab, sir,” I interjected. “I think he’s talking about squab. Xlur ate a bunch of them one time, and the Mogwa seem to love them.”

  “Er… um… yes, of course. We’ll do everything we can, Admiral—”

  But his words were again cut off when the hatch slammed closed in our faces.

  There was a scowling, whispering conference that began as we left the shuttle and hurried toward the terminal. When we reached the rooftop elevators and began the downward plunge into the guts of Central, both Alexander and Drusus seemed to be in a foul mood.

  “Never in two score decades of life have I been dealt with so abruptly,” Alexander complained.

  “A feast of squab?” Drusus complained. “A banquet planned and presented in less than one hour? How are we going to arrange that?”

  They both seemed to be missing the big picture. “Sirs… what about his business of commandeering our armed forces?”

  Drusus shrugged. “Unfortunately, they have the authority to do that. It is well within their rights to demand our ships and troops.”

  I frowned so hard my face hurt. I didn’t like the sound of all this. Sateekas, after all, was best known as an officer who excelled at losing armies and navies. If we were being dragged off to some conflict in the Core Systems, that sounded very dangerous.

  While Drusus wrangled with his tapper, making various calls to banquet halls and concierge-types, I thought hard about the situation we now found ourselves in.

  Old Alexander was watching me. When the elevator stopped and Drusus trotted away, the old buzzard tapped my shoulder. He pulled me aside in the corridor. “McGill? What are you thinking about?”

  I faked a smile. “Squab, sir. I love it. Duck is better, mind you, but—”

  The old man shook his head. “No, you’re not thinking about birds. Never take me for a fool. It will only embarrass us both.”

  “Uh…”

  “What are you thinking about?” he repeated, gazing up at me with intense eyes.

  It took a moment for me to answer that. Sure, I could have come up with another lie. I thought about telling him I was thinking about how lovely his daughter was at sunset, or some other such nonsense.

  But I knew somehow he already understood my line of reasoning. That was bad. The old bastard was scary-smart.

  “Well, Mr. Servant, to tell you the truth I’m thinking about getting the Mogwa to change their plans before they get started.”

  Alexander nodded. “Coincidentally, I’m thinking along similar lines. Can it be done?”

  I shrugged. “Sure it can. I’ve done it before. I’ve talked aliens out of all kinds of dumb ideas.”

  He smiled. “Usually, you are a man of action. Tell me what you are really contemplating.”

  “Uh… well… that’s not—”

  “How many Mogwa have you assassinated, McGill?”

  That question took me by surprise. It wasn’t something that I dared even to think about. There had been, after all, quite a number of Mogwa who’d died at my hands. Some of them had even been permed.

  “Never mind,” Alexander said when I didn’t answer. “You and I have worked together before, for the good of our shared planet. If you get a chance to fix this situation, I want you to take it. End this threat to our fleet, to your legion—to all our legions. Do you understand me, Centurion?”

  “I think so.”

  “Good.”

  Then he swept away and followed Drusus. Together, they planned a feast and a grand celebration. They were also calling all our armed forces back to duty.

  The Mustering Halls would soon fill with troops. Then the skies overhead would fill with ships.

  Earth was going to war again—unless I could find a way to stop it.

  -6-

  The banquet took an hour and ten minutes to pull together. By that time, I’d washed up and put on a fresh uniform.

  The two Mogwa showed up before the tables were properly set, and they complained about everything.

  “Such shameful disorganization,” Nox said as Sateekas seated her at the head of the main table. “If I wasn’t famished and in a hurry, I’d demand executions.”

  “I urge you to go with your instincts, my dear,” Sateekas said. “A public display of justice might bring about a welcome surge in your digestive enzymes.”

  Nox considered it, but she passed on the idea. “No. We shall hold back upon judgment until we taste their offerings.”

  The two Mogwa then turned toward me and Drusus. Alexander stood back, a quiet shadow behind us.

  “Sit down, McGill,” Sateekas ordered. “I wish to be entertained.”

  I did so, and I grinned and talked lavishly about his accomplishments in battle. I’d witnessed him in action commanding ships on several occasions, and although the engagements often turned into disasters, they were always glorious and dramatic as well.

  Drusus sat with us. He appeared glum. Across the room, Alexander Turov sat at a nearby table and stared.

  He wasn’t the only one watching us. Mogwa marines guarded the exits and observed everyone at the buffet. They tasted every plate heading toward our table. It seemed to me that they weren’t in a trusting mood.

  Nox was the first one to fall out of my spell of words. Sateekas was eating it up, enjoying my enthusiastic retelling of the fleet battle at Rogue World. In my version, he was the undisputed hero.

  Suddenly, Nox pointed an appendage toward Alexander. “That one. He stares. He doesn’t eat. Who is he again?”

  “Uh… that’s Public Servant Turov, sirs. He’s the highest civilian authority in this room—other than yourself, of course.”

  “Of course... I don’t like him. He doesn’t seem trustworthy. I want him removed.”

  “What?”

  Before I could say anything else, Nox motioned to her marines. They crowded near us, their armored suits bumping the table.

  “Hey, hey,” I complained, trying to keep the plates from sliding, and the wine glasses from spilling.

  Nox pointed toward Turov. “Remove that withered crone from this assembly.”

  Immediately, the marine squad leader sighted an energy weapon on old Alexander.

  “Whoa!” I said, but it was too late for objections. Mogwa marines were trained to act upon their orders, not overthink them.

  A gout of blue-white energy blinded us all as it fired from the tip of the marine’s projector—it missed, however, as I had knocked the muzzle upward. A burning stripe of fire scorched the ceiling.

  The marine and the rest of the Mogwa turned on me, glowering with rage.

  “I’m sorry, sirs! I didn’t mean to bump your man. Didn’t realize the slightest touch could spoil a marine’s aim so easily. Hold on a second, I’ll pin the old buzzard by the shoulders for you. You can burn his face off if you want to—uh…”

  I made a show of looking for the Servant, but he’d taken the hint and run out of the place.

  “He’s pretty spry for such an oldster,” I commented.

  “This is entirely unacceptable!” Nox complained.

  “Don’t I know it, Governess. I apologize profusely. How about if you have your boy here shoot me, instead? Would that make you feel any better?”

  Nox glared at me. “You have thwarted my direct order. Your life will be forfeit!”

  Sateekas cleared his throat. “Hmm, let’s not be too hasty, my dear. McGill is the only element of this gathering that isn’t stupefyingly dull at the moment. If we kill him, we’ll have to listen to these others prattling on all night.”

  Nox calmed herself with difficulty. “All right… I don’t want to spend another minute listening to the idle chatter of this simpering creature.” She pointed at Drusus when she said this, but we all pretended not to notice.

  Fortunately, the food arrived about then. It came in the form of a large platter heaped with roasted squab. A few feathers still clung to the meat here and there, and it was slightly raw in places—but the Mogwa dug in anyways. They didn’t seem to mind or even notice that the birds weren’t cooked to perfection.

  I joined them, tearing into the food. Drusus, however, only poked at his dish. When the aliens weren’t looking, he shoveled his half-raw bird onto my plate.

  I didn’t mind. I ate with gusto that almost matched the Mogwa themselves.

  Once everyone had been fed, the mood at the table improved dramatically. Only Drusus seemed tense, wearing a pasted-on smile that belied his wrinkle-furrowed brow.

  The good news was that after being told how dull he was, he let me do most of the talking. That state of affairs was just fine with me.