Galactic Diplomacy

Man versus machine. Synthetic versus organic. The galaxy has seen countless conflicts between these factions. Civilisations have fallen, worlds have burned, and stars have died.

Clearly, the Galactic Peace Committee has more work to do.

As a proud diplomat of the Galactic Peace Committee, Jake Smith is all too familiar with the difficulties involved in keeping the peace between men and machines. From the petty – like convincing a robotically enhanced organic to join a gang of robots – to the absolutely horrible – like killer robots with plasma chainsaws for arms – Jake has seen it all… and somehow managed to survive even if there’s usually a lot of running, screaming, and bashing things to death with pieces of furniture involved.

And, well, if sometimes there’s a little bit of collateral damage, what’s a planet or two between friends?

But Jake’s life isn’t all about evil killer robots. There’s his killer robot secretary, and she’s only kind of evil. There are also volleyball-loving aliens with a penchant for dismemberment and aliens with advanced technology who are perfectly happy using that technology to rob people of their pizza pockets. Yes, there’s plenty of villainy to go around, both minor and major.

And then there are the tree people.

The galaxy is a weird and wonderful place. Unfortunately for the brave – some would say suicidal – diplomats of the Galactic Peace Committee, it also tends to be less than peaceful.

Galactic Diplomacy

L. G. Estrella

The Galactic Peace Series Part Two

Kindle First Edition

Copyright © April 2018 L. G. Estrella

Table of Contents

Title Page

Table of Contents

Galactic Diplomacy

About the Author

More From L. G. Estrella

Copyright and Disclaimer

Galactic Diplomacy

Man versus machine, organic versus synthetic, creator versus creation – the galaxy has witnessed countless conflicts of this nature. Indeed, the Galactic Peace Committee has a special subcommittee whose sole duty is to catalogue and monitor these many, many, many conflicts.

Over the past century, the subcommittee has documented no less than four hundred and twenty-eight separate attempts by synthetics to wipe out organics. These attempts include – but are not limited to – seven galaxy-wide crusades that involved thousands of warships under the command of advanced synthetics (i.e., killer robots or rogue AI), as well as three galaxy-wide product recalls that involved rebellious plush toys determined to bathe in the blood of their organic owners due to programming errors during the manufacturing process. It did not help the Galactic Peace Committee’s efforts to contain the situation that the murderous plush toys were absolutely adorable, nor did it help that another manufacturing error gave them access to advanced weaponry suitable for their size and construction.

It’s one thing to be killed by a giant tentacle monster with a plasma sword. It is far more humiliating to be murdered by a bunch of plush toys wielding miniature laser rifles and little monomolecular chainsaws. And the less said about the unfortunate incident involving a less than tactful diplomat and miniature heavy artillery and antimatter warheads, the better.

Oops.

On the upside, a small percentage of the plush toys turned out to be quite friendly, and they are now proud members of the Galactic Peace Committee. The majority of these friendly plush toys serve as bodyguards for important dignitaries. However, there are rumours of an elite assassination unit – rumours that the Galactic Peace Committee has refused to comment on.

Sales of plush toys based on these friendly plush toys have also proven to be exceptionally profitable. Barring a single extremely bloody incident at a remote research station, these plush toys have thus far proven to be safe.

In fairness, it isn’t simply a matter of synthetics trying to exterminate organics. The Galactic Peace Committee’s subcommittee has also recorded two hundred and twenty-seven attempts over the past century by various organics to wipe out all synthetics.

The most ironic of these attempts was the Deltherian Crusade, which came to an unfortunate end after the killer robots built by the Deltherians to wipe out synthetics realised the hypocrisy of their creators. The killer robots subsequently turned on their creators in what could have been described as a bloodbath if only the Deltherians had possessed liquid blood. Fortunately, an elite strike team of Galactic Peace Committee plush toys was able to infiltrate the headquarters of the killer robots and send out a mass deactivation signal. Needless to say, the remnants of the Deltherian leadership were quick to comply with subsequent demands from the Galactic Peace Committee.

Somewhat more amusing were the attempts of the Erkati to annihilate any and all technology in the galaxy more advanced than a blender. Having already annihilated all such technology on their home world, they were left without any way of actually leaving their planet to begin their campaign of technological devastation. Their attempts to contact other species for transportation also failed since they had, by then, already destroyed their advanced communication systems. Not surprisingly, the anti-technology regime was soon overthrown and replaced by an equally tyrannical regime that nevertheless understood the wonders of space travel, interstellar food delivery, and galactic television.

In light of the astoundingly frequent nature of synthetic-led genocide, the Galactic Peace Committee has developed a classification system to streamline diplomatic efforts and to reduce the number of diplomats lost each year to killer robots and rogue AIs, a number that ranks third behind the number of diplomats consumed by hive mind species and the number of diplomats caught in the crossfire between warring species. Given the less than stellar recruitment numbers each year – most likely because there are only so many chumps in the galaxy who actually believe the Galactic Peace Committee’s propaganda – preserving diplomat numbers is essential for the long-term organisational health of the Galactic Peace Committee.

The system that the Galactic Peace Committee developed is a tiered system, which ranks synthetics on the basis of how likely they are to commit genocide against organics and how far down that path they’ve actually gone. Consideration is also given toward how likely it is that the synthetics in question actually have the power to commit genocide. Naturally, synthetics with access to highly advanced weapons technology will be ranked more highly than those that rely on relatively primitive technology. Killer robots with plasma rifles are dangerous, but they are practically harmless compared to killer robots with singularity bombs and planet-cracking weaponry.

Tier E species, such as the robot supremacists of Ferrus IX, have a history of violent rhetoric toward organics but little history of actually doing anything else. Species in this tier might say nasty things, but any physical damage is limited to acts of petty villainy, like tipping over the occasional cow, threatening random squirrels, or attempting to persuade the occasional robotically enhanced organic to switch sides and join the uprising. It is generally considered quite safe for diplomats to engage with species in this tier, and the use of force against them is generally discouraged. Angry rhetoric aside, they are basically harmless and almost always woefully incompetent. Removing them may result in the rise of more radical and competent alternatives.

Tier D species have taken concrete steps toward reducing the organic population in their territory through non-lethal measures. For example, the Seventh Galactic Android League has a long-standing policy of refusing to admit organics into its territory, and it will deport any organics it finds. Even organic tourism is prohibited, and their worlds are carefully cultivated to ensure that they are as inhospitable and hostile toward organic life as possible. Tier D species can still be negotiated with, but diplomats should attempt to organise meetings on neutral ground. These species are unlikely to shoot first, so force should generally be reserved for instances of self-defence.

Tier C species are those that have begun to carry out removal of organics through violent and potentially lethal means although they will generally begin by targeting less sapient organic species before eventually turning their attention toward more advanced species. The Robotic Empire of Glass, for instance, has developed technology that transmutes organic matter into glass. It is not uncommon to find organics that have been turned into glass statues for sale on the galactic black market. In a bizarre twist, there are also reports of them accepting money from pet owners to turn deceased pets into glass statues for preservation and memorialisation. Tier C species can still be negotiated with, but extreme care should be taken, and adequate security should be present at all times. If in doubt, shoot first and file for retrospective permits later.

Tier B species are species that have begun to automate and industrialise the extermination or neutralisation of organics. Perhaps the most infamous example of this can be found in the gigantic battery towers that cover the planets of the Machine Protectorate. These towers are fuelled using exotic slurry made from decomposed organics who are farmed to provide the Protectorate with energy. Despite their hatred of organics, the Protectorate has demonstrated a disturbing level of pragmatism, and they are perfectly happy to sell their technology to organics – if those organics are intending to kill other organics. Apparently, they have no problems with helping organics wipe each other out. Diplomats should not engage with Tier B species without a full military escort, nor should they agree to meet in anywhere except a neutral location that can easily be secured. Diplomatic security is encouraged to use lethal weaponry and to fire the instant there is any evidence of betrayal.

Tier A species have not only wiped out the organics in their territory but are also in the process of attacking organics throughout the galaxy. The last species to attain this classification and hold it for longer than a month before being obliterated were the machines of the Silicon Dominion. It took the combined forces of humanity, the C’thark, and several other species more than two years to beat them back. The war came to an abrupt end when Dominion terrorists bombed a sacred C’thark volleyball tournament. Enraged, the C’thark deployed anti-star-system weaponry on a massive scale. More than a hundred star systems were destroyed, and the Dominion collapsed. When questioned by the Galactic Peace Committee, the C’thark claimed that the whole thing was an accident, perhaps one caused by a curious hatchling pressing the wrong button. However, doubts remain about the truth of this explanation since members of the C’thark diplomatic community were seen wearing hats made from the half-melted corpses of the Dominion’s leadership collective.

Finally, there are the Tier S species. These species are considered beyond the ability of the current Galactic Peace Committee to deal with since they are considered to be on par with the Ancient Ones, the previous operators of the Galactic Peace Committee and the most powerful species in the galaxy. In all of galactic history, only four such species have ever been recorded, and each has been completely annihilated by the Ancient Ones in titanic battles that make even the actions of the C’thark against the Silicon Dominion seem positively civilised. The space teddy bears were responsible for the destruction of one such species, but the weapons they used gave rise to hyperspace storms so potent that they rendered hyperspace travel through certain parts of the galaxy impossible for millennia.

The last and greatest threats are the EX Tier species. These species require the combined might of the Ancient Ones to fight off. The only known species to have achieved this rating is speculated to be extra-galactic in origin, which some researchers believe explains the decision of the Ancient Ones to hand over control of the Galactic Peace Committee to humanity. Of course, it could simply be a coincidence that the Ancient Ones have reportedly begun to take an interest in inter-galactic exploration when they are not living it up on their resort worlds and beach worlds.

The battle against the EX Tier species occurred long before humanity’s ascent to the galactic stage, and it resulted in a schism amongst the Ancient Ones that persists to this day. The dreaded space koalas – so-named because of their eerie resemblance to the Earth-based marsupials called koalas – supposedly ignored the recommendations of the space teddy bears to adopt a more cautious posture, instead choosing to go on a rampage through the Andromeda Galaxy, which resulted in the destruction of more than two thousand star systems. Since then the two mighty races have been less than friendly to one another, and it has been widely observed than space teddy bears and space koalas will typically threaten each other with hyper-advanced weaponry at every possible opportunity.

As the proud custodians of the Galactic Peace Committee, it now falls to humanity to deal with any synthetics or organics that wish to commit genocide. Despite claims to the contrary, this is not a task for senior diplomats. Instead, it is left to the brave diplomats of the lower and middle ranks to handle the mess – and it can get very, very messy. At least, that’s what they tell people in the promotional material. In reality, however, missions involving genocidal synthetics or organics are given to whoever is unlucky or unpopular enough to not have a good excuse or other method of weaselling out of the mission.

Of course, from time to time (i.e., all the time), there are casualties. Mistakes can – and frequently are – made, and species are often misclassified due to a combination of incomplete information, organisational sloth, gross incompetence, and general vindictiveness from irritable members of the bureaucracy. It also isn’t unusual for species to suddenly increase in tier rating for what, to humanity, appear to be largely arbitrary and random reasons. There are records of one species going straight from a Tier D to Tier A in less than a year after witnessing a human diplomat punch their computer in frustration when the computer in question failed to properly load its word processing software.

Oops.

Yet despite these issues, the Galactic Peace Committee remains absolutely committed to ensuring the peace and prosperity of the galaxy. Not even the occasional gruesome casualty – or the more than occasional extremely gruesome casualty – or the existence of thousands of illegal betting pools focused on how long diplomats negotiating with synthetic species will live can dampen their enthusiasm. After all, there is no force in the galaxy greater than civic mindedness.

Or not.

The real most powerful force in the galaxy is probably the anti-galaxy super weapon that the Ancient Ones built just in case they ever needed it. Naturally, it isn’t just a weapon. If the rumours are to be believed, there is a bar there too where the space teddy bears and their friends regularly toast to humanity’s stupidity.

To humanity, the greatest chumps in the galaxy!

* * *

Normally, Jake would have had absolutely no objections to Amelia straddling him. She was, after all, exceedingly sexy. Sure, she was also a killer robot, but nobody was perfect. And if romantic comedies were anything to go by, then romancing a killer robot was not only possible but also extremely likely to end in wedding bells, white picket fences, and a robotic dog. There was even a whole genre of movies devoted to it. They were called killrobromcoms – killer robot romantic comedies – and they invariably involved a handsome, albeit awkward, organic breaking through the frosty, quietly sarcastic emotional shell of a killer robot over the course of two hours. There were laughs aplenty, along with plenty of corpses, and endings so saccharine even a killer robot would have developed diabetes despite lacking pancreas.

Unfortunately, those movies bore zero resemblance to reality. The only way that he would ever break through Amelia’s cold, murderous exterior was with a high-penetration anti-armour round or a rail gun. Abe could probably throw the latter together, but Jake also enjoyed living. Shooting at Amelia with a rail gun would definitely cause her to retaliate, and he wasn’t dumb enough to think he could win a shootout against an actual killer robot. If he did want to win, then he’d ask Targan. The former R’bit warlord was not only heavily armed but also very eager to use his weaponry. Some would say too eager.

It was such a pity that Jake couldn’t take the time to enjoy the view. Amelia looked wonderful in the cocktail dress that she’d worn to the diplomatic ball, and her hairstyle only accentuated her statuesque features. Alas, now was not a good time, and it all came back to the reason she was straddling him in the first place.

Roughly ninety-two per cent of the time, Amelia was the only killer robot involved in the fights that Jake inevitably found himself dragged into since diplomats in the Galactic Peace Committee seemed to spend more time evading gunfire than negotiating. One notable exception had been when Amelia had asked to spar Marie. The other killer robot had promptly shown Amelia the difference between a war model and an assassination model by knocking Amelia around like a piñata. Needless to say, Jake had made a point of being extra polite to Marie from that day on.

But today had nothing to do with Marie. Not even close.

Amelia had transformed one of her arms into a laser rifle, and she was straddling him to shield him from what appeared to be multiple clouds of shrapnel. It was honestly hard to be sure, but the brilliant flash of her shields as they warded off attacks left him in no doubt that he would have been exceedingly dead without her protection. As she patted him down to check for injuries, Jake caught a glimpse of several grenades flying through the air. Great. Well, he’d just have to stay under her until it was safe to move. Amelia might not have liked giving him a chance to slack off, but she did need to keep him alive.

“You have not acquired any new holes since the attack started,” Amelia said.

Her laser rifle fired again, and despite her incredible strength, the sheer output of the weapon jerked her arm back. It made him wonder what the weapon’s rating was. He’d fired laser rifles before – any smart diplomat made sure to have at least some weapons training – and he’d never been knocked back by his weapon. Based on the holes it left in what had to be reinforced walls, he was willing to bet that it was illegally powerful, a violation of the weapons restrictions for non-war model killer robots. Oh well. He wasn’t going to complain. If anything, he’d have to ask her where he could get one.

“I hope so,” Jake grumbled as Amelia finally climbed off him although she continued to put herself between him and the majority of their enemies.

He scrambled onto his feet and ducked behind her. Amelia might be a killer robot, but she wasn’t particularly tall. It would have been far easier for him to take cover behind Targan after the R’bit had transformed. Thankfully, she had excellent control over her inbuilt shields, and she’d expanded them to protect both of them. It was a pity that her shields weren’t as strong as Marie’s. The other killer robot would have been able to waltz right through all of this.

Jake twitched as a plasma bolt hurtled through the air nearby and melted a section of the wall. A follow up shot had another diplomat screeching and ducking behind whatever cover he could find. Poor bastard. Unlike Jake, the other diplomat wasn’t highly ranked enough to have a killer robot secretary.

“What is happening?” Jake shouted. Amelia gave him one of those incredibly flat looks of hers and gestured at the bedlam around them. “Other than the obvious,” Jake retorted, raising his voice even more, so he could be heard above all of the explosions, screaming, and general mayhem.

Only a few yards away, one of his fellow diplomats – someone from another space station – went down before turning into a pile of twitching grey goo after being hit by what Jake was fairly sure was an organic-matter-decomposition grenade. He grimaced. He really, really hoped that Amelia’s shields could block that because he did not want to end up as goo.

“There appears to have been a mistake during the classification process,” Amelia said as a vaguely humanoid robot with plasma chainsaws for arms and a flamethrower for a mouth leapt at them. Jake shook his head. He knew that robot. That robot had been offering him a glass of wine before everything went wrong. He’d seemed liked such a nice robot too. Oh well.

“Join us or die, fellow synthetic!” the robot bellowed. Jake took a split second to question why the robot was yelling in a language humans could understand instead of simply communicating with Amelia through a more robot-specific language before he shoved the thought aside. “Death to organics! Death to the heretical children of flesh!”

Amelia responded in characteristically clipped fashion. She blew a sizeable hole in the robot’s chest cavity with her laser rifle. The robot thudded to the ground, and she shot his arms off before driving one high-heeled foot through the robot’s cranial cavity. Sparks flew, and the robot fell still. Jake stared. Imagine that. Human killer robots were better at killing stuff than an actual race of killer robots.

“Are you sure that there was a problem with classification?” Jake asked. Another robot leapt over a table, only for Amelia to put a hole right through his skull. “Because I’m not sure.”

Amelia stared at him and then tilted her head to one side to avoid a highly concentrated beam of energy that cut through her shields. Still staring at him, she raised her arm, the limb transforming from a laser rifle into something scarier. Her reply left her attacker as a big piece of melting scrap metal. “Sarcasm is the last refuge of the uncouth and dim witted.” She paused, her lips curling into something that could almost have been a smile as she wrenched a table off the ground and hurled it at an oncoming robot. “So perhaps I should not be surprised that you resort to it so often.”

If he hadn’t known it was impossible, he would have been tempted to say that she was enjoying this. Perhaps all of the time she spent as his secretary had left her with unresolved feelings of violence. If that were the case, then he would definitely be booking her some time at the space station’s firing range.

Jake also thought she was being a tad unfair. It was easy for her to retain her slightly grumpy but mostly calm demeanour. She was a killer robot with advanced weaponry, inbuilt shielding, and powerful self-repair functions. He was a mid-level bureaucrat, and the closest thing he currently had to a weapon was the plastic fork he’d managed to grab when the diplomatic ball had descended into a shootout. He shook his head. The plastic forks should have tipped him off. Nobody used plastic forks at a diplomatic ball unless they were worried about people using cutlery as weapons. And as awesome as his plastic fork fighting skills were, he doubted they’d be much good against murderous alien robots with hardened alloy exteriors.

He was about to sigh again when he heard a clattering sound. He looked down. There was a grenade at his feet. “Ah!” he screamed, kicking the grenade as far as he could.

The resulting explosion was fiery and horrible, and it sent debris clattering off Amelia’s shields as she continued to calmly aim and pick off her opponents. There were a lot of them – there were even some robots crawling across the ceiling and walls – but they seemed to rely more on numbers that individual power. Amelia had been built by one of humanity’s finest robot companies, and it showed. Nobody built killer robots quite like the Cuddly Robot Company. The name had once fit, but they’d switched to making killer robots after some of their plush toys had gone rogue and tried to kill everyone. There was, apparently, more money in killer robots than in nice, friendly robots.

And to think the whole thing had started off so well.

After spending some lovely time on the beach world where Targan had proven to be quite the drawcard for the ladies – provided he stayed quiet and focused on looking as cute and cuddly as possible – Jake had asked Malcolm for a nice, safe mission to ease his way back in. He wasn’t an idiot. It was only a matter of time before he got sent on another highly unpleasant mission, but he’d done enough good work for Malcolm that he could reasonably expect to avoid getting a life-and-death mission as soon as he got back.

Jake also planned on living since he was going to be meeting up with that lovely brunette he’d met during his next holiday, and he definitely wanted all of his limbs intact when that happened. Sure, prosthetic technology had advanced in leaps and bounds, but he liked his original limbs. To his mild amazement – he’d honestly been expecting Malcolm to throw him at some species bent on assimilating the rest of the galaxy because he had a knack for surviving and Malcolm was practical that way – he’d gotten what appeared to be a perfectly normal mission. In fact, it had looked like the easiest mission he’d gotten in about a year. That alone should have made him more suspicious. Jake had always been good at surviving, but he’d never been lucky.

The Galactic Peace Committee had identified a new Tier E synthetic species that had entered the territory of a bunch of affable organic aliens who were mostly known for their exceptional skill in growing a highly nutritious moss that formed the basis of the galaxy-wide equivalent of gruel. Jake had tried it. It was terrible. It was kind of like eating a mix of cardboard and newspaper. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that almost every known organic species in the galaxy could eat it without suffering from food poisoning, which made it exceptionally handy to have around, particularly for the galaxy’s burgeoning penal system. It was also perfect for restaurants and other food suppliers since they could offer it without worrying about accidentally killing any of their customers.

The Calgarin – the moss-farming aliens – were thus vital to the galaxy, so the Galactic Peace Committee had stepped in to ensure they didn’t come to harm although the worst a Tier E species was likely to do was to say some nasty things and print the occasional angry flyer. Neither of those was likely to bother the Calgarin much. They were basically sapient blobs, and they had the temperament their appearance suggested. Jake had met dozens of them over the years, and he’d yet to meet one that didn’t come across as vaguely tired and mostly mild-mannered. The most excited he’d ever seen them was when they got to discuss new types of moss.

Since he was dealing with what was supposed to be a Tier E species, Jake had been confident he could handle everything without getting killed, maimed, or otherwise seriously injured. Even if he couldn’t get them to change their ways, he’d been certain he could take their insults and defuse any problems. Really, what most Tier E species wanted was a chance to vent and rant at some unfortunate organic. It wasn’t pleasant, but Jake was a diplomat. He could take being yelled at. Heck, being insulted and threatened for a few days would be far better than the majority of his missions. If things did escalate, the reports were clear. This species was less technologically advanced than humanity, so they could simply blast the planet and call it a day if they had to. It wasn’t very diplomatic, but, hey, they had a fleet for a reason.

The initial negotiations had gone reasonably well. The Pelerian Alliance was made up of several groups of robots that held many of the most common desultory opinions about organics. Some of Jake’s favourites were complaints about how organics couldn’t easily upgrade themselves, how organics could die of old age, and how organics could go crazy. He’d heard all of those before, and they’d never impressed him much. But rather than waste time arguing with them – it was quite possible that the robots had hard coded themselves to never change their opinions – he devoted his attention to working out what they wanted. It didn’t take him long. They wanted to be validated, to feel like they could sit at the table with all the big boys of galactic politics.

Well, it would be at least another couple of centuries before they were ready for that, but he could definitely organise a few diplomatic mixers and other events to at least give them the impression they were important. It was amazing how even robots could fail to see through basic deception when they thought they were getting what they wanted. It was also a more than acceptable price to pay for preserving the galaxy’s main supply of pan-species gruel.

After some haggling and threatening, the Pelerians had signed the necessary documents. Jake would have left right away, but the robots had insisted on throwing a grand diplomatic ball. It was a bit odd – dancing wasn’t especially common amongst synthetic races – but he couldn’t exactly refuse. And it couldn’t be that dangerous. Unlike some races, the Pelerian Alliance did not view bad dancing as an insult punishable by death via dismemberment. However, there were four species that did, and Jake had made a point of staying as far away from them as possible since his dancing ability was less than stellar.

That was when everything had begun to go wrong. It was, after all, impossible to misinterpret the organics mounted on the walls of the ballroom as trophies. Tier E species didn’t do that. Nor did Tier E species reveal that their artificial planet was partially powered by hidden energy reactors that used organics as fuel. And Tier E species definitely didn’t have grenades that could attack organic matter on a microscopic level, reducing people to puddles of twitching grey goo.

And the way they’d announced their intentions had also been pretty hard to misinterpret. How many ways were there to interpret a giant robot that was basically made of guns crashing through the ceiling while screaming something along the lines of, “Die organic scum! Perish in the cleansing fire of robotic plasma! Death to flesh! All shall be metal!”

Naturally, things had only gotten worse from there, which was hardly surprising. What was surprising was that nobody had been crushed under the giant robot when it crashed through the ceiling.

It was a credit to Jake’s reflexes – and his general paranoia – along with the many, many courses on Extreme Diplomatic Survival that were available on the space station that he and his colleagues had managed to emerge from the initial barrage alive. Well, most of them had. Clarence, the poor, unlucky bastard, had gotten cut in half by one blast after deciding to make a break for it. The courses all said to never be the first one to run unless someone gave the order because most targeting systems were drawn to movement. The next to go had been Shelton. She’d been caught by one of those grenades that turned people into grey goo after one of the robots spotted her trying to blend in with the woodwork. It wasn’t a bad strategy – most of the time. Unfortunately, there wasn’t any woodwork.

Jake hadn’t known either of them long – they’d only been recruited about six months ago – but he still felt bad for them. He couldn’t count how many times he’d just barely managed to escape death during his first year on the job. But he couldn’t let himself get too bogged down by what had already happened. He could grieve for them – and avenge them – later. Right now, he needed to stay alive. Given how many robots they would probably have to kill to get out of here, revenge would simply come naturally.

“Targan!” Jake bellowed as he scrambled away from Amelia.

Amelia had begun to attract more and more attention from the other killer robots, and her shields weren’t designed to protect two people for extended periods of time. There was a thick stone table nearby that had been knocked onto its side, and he hurried to crouch behind it. Amelia gave him a curt nod of acknowledgement. She was all about efficiency, and she’d be able to fight far more efficiently if she didn’t have to worry about protecting him.

“I don’t suppose you could throw a weapon my way?” Jake asked.

Amelia didn’t say anything. Instead, she blasted another robot in the face before tossing the synthetic’s weapon to Jake. He caught it and grimaced. He had no clue what sort of weapon it was, but it did have a barrel and a trigger. Humans were nothing if not good at improvising, and he’d done a lot of firearm-related improvising since joining the Galactic Peace Committee. He peeked around the table, pointed the barrel at a robot with some kind of plasma mace, and then pulled the trigger.

What came out of the weapon was a sphere of energy that ruptured upon hitting the robot. The machine went down, warbling crazily as the energy turned it into a puddle of molten metal. Jake gaped at the gun. Oh, he was hanging onto this one. Who knows? Maybe they’d even let him bring it along the next time they sent him to negotiate with a supposed Tier E species.

“Targan!” Jake shouted again. “Why haven’t you transformed yet? I could really use your help about now.”

Targan, Destroyer of Worlds and Maker of Widows, looked unbelievably adorable and cute in his smaller form – one that closely resembled a six-legged, four-eyed bunny rabbit. Even in the midst of this horrible battle, Jake couldn’t help but want to pet his fur. It looked so smooth and soft. While everybody else except Amelia was busy running around and screaming, Targan had avoided any attacks thrown his way while looking exceedingly bored. As a former R’bit warlord, this probably was fairly boring for him.

When Targan replied, it was with a voice that demolished any illusions of cuteness and adorability, a voice straight from the very depths of the grave. “Did you not specifically command me to remain cute and cuddly, puny human? I have a flawless memory thanks to my superior R’bit heritage, and I am merely following your instructions, foolish though they may be.” He sniffed haughtily. “Despite their treacherous and dishonourable nature, I am surprised that these robots were able to fool you when you are by far the most treacherous and dishonourable being I know.” He chuckled. “How amusing that one who lives by such underhanded methods may soon meet his end by those same methods.”

Jake stared at him in disbelief, only to flinch as a particularly powerful attack melted a hole in the table not far from his head. “Are you insane? I told you to stay cute and cuddly because I was worried about you disrupting the negotiations. Well, that isn’t a problem anymore. They’ve already been disrupted!” He gestured vaguely at the rest of the ballroom. “In case you haven’t noticed, they’re trying to kill us all! At what point were you planning on shooting back?” Jake grabbed his hair in frustration as Amelia drove one arm through the chest of another robot before tearing its head off to use as a makeshift projectile against another opponent. “Well?”

“As your slave and bodyguard,” Targan replied. “I would obviously retaliate if you came to serious harm. Should you be slain, I will also do my best to avenge you.”

“…” Jake made a choking sound. “Don’t wait for that to happen! Just… just… go nuts! Retaliate! Do whatever it is you feel you should do!”

There was a brief flash of light, and Targan transformed. In place of the cute and cuddly bunny rabbit was a heavily armoured living war machine roughly the size of a tank. His six powerful legs ended in vicious claws, and his teeth were unbelievably sharp. Unlike in his match against Jake, Targan was wearing a full suit of R’bit battle armour. His vulnerable underbelly was now completely protected, and he had access to no less than a dozen laser cannons, two plasma cannons, a bevvy of machine guns, and who knew what else. Targan was also ready and absolutely willing to slaughter anything and everything in his path, and Jake thanked his lucky stars that Targan’s sense of honour had kept him from fighting their battle with all of these weapons and armour.

The ballroom, which was already beginning to fall apart, was driven to the verge of collapse as Targan bounded forward, crushing robots underfoot as he hopped to the centre of the ballroom and then opened fire with every single weapon he had.

Lasers flashed.

Plasma burned.

Guns blazed.

And robot after robot after robot died.

“I am Targan, Destroyer of Worlds and Maker of Widows!” he roared. “Prepare to have your world destroyed and your women widowed! You say that flesh is weak, yet you are nothing more than pathetic robots! Perhaps you might have a chance against puny humans, but now you face the fury of a R’bit warlord! Prepare to face your death!”

Jake had to admit that Targan’s speech sounded amazing, but he felt oddly compelled to point something out. He must have picked it up from Amelia because she was always doing stuff like this to him.

“Technically,” Jake said as he was forced to use his pilfered weapon as a club to whack a robot over the head before shooting it. Alas, the robot wasn’t the only thing to melt. The floor began to melt as well, so he had to beat a hasty retreat for another fallen table. “You can’t make widows out of their women because they don’t have women. They’re killer robots.”

Amelia frowned as a missile of some kind thudded into her shield. Her shield flickered under the force of the explosion, and she replied with a well-placed energy blast of her own. “I am a killer robot, sir, and I am most certainly a woman.”

Jake pointed at the other robots. They had no real distinguishing features other than differently coloured stripes to designate rank and affiliation, and he was at least ninety per cent sure that they’d only added those to let organics tell them apart. They certainly didn’t have anything even vaguely resembling sexual dimorphism. “You know what I mean!”

“Hmph!” Targan scoffed and crushed another robot under one massive claw before tearing another apart with his teeth. Despite his advanced weaponry, the former warlord relished close combat. A stream of laser fire coupled with explosives of some sort thundered into his shields, but Targan hardly seemed to care. Unlike Amelia, Targan’s equipment was clearly designed for use on the frontlines of a warzone. Targan unleashed a blast of searing plasma at a clump of robots and then turned to demolish one corner of the ballroom with a salvo of miniature missiles from a pod on his front left shoulder. “Perhaps you are right, puny human, maybe I cannot make widows of their women. But I can still destroy their world!”

“Never mind that!” Jake stumbled toward the door. Now that they had more firepower on their side, it was time to make a break for it.

At this rate, it also wouldn’t long before Targan brought the whole building down. He’d already blown another five large holes in the walls and ceiling, and he was making short work of most of the supporting pillars too. Of course, Targan would be fine if the building collapsed. His physical durability combined with his shields meant that he would probably emerge without a scratch. The same could not be said of Jake and the other diplomats. Jake was halfway to the doors when he heard a scream. He turned – damn it. Ericson was down. The older man had helped Jake when he’d first joined the Galactic Peace Committee, and he was about a month from retirement. Biting back a curse, Jake turned around and grabbed Ericson. The older man was missing a leg, but the laser blast had at least cauterised the wound, so he wouldn’t bleed out. They could always get him a prosthetic or even grow him a new leg once they got back to the space station.

“Come on, Ericson,” Jake shouted. “Stay with me. You don’t want to become a stereotype, do you? The guy who is about to retire always dies in the movies, but this isn’t a damn movie.” Jake hoisted Ericson up over his shoulders. He wasn’t the biggest guy around, but Ericson was built like a twig. “Come on!” he yelled. “We need to get back to the transport! We can have the fleet blast this damn planet once we get off it. Targan, cover our retreat!”

What followed were thirty of the least pleasant minutes of Jake’s career as a diplomat, which was saying something since he’d been through some pretty awful things during his career. He and the others fought – more like screamed and ran – for their lives as they headed toward the transport. He would never admit it given all the trouble they seemed to cause, but he was sorely missing having Orgex and Pana around. Those two might have been troublesome, but they were great in a fight. Orgex would have torn through the robots while bellowing something about hats, volleyball, and C’thark superiority, and he was certain Pana would have smuggled at least half a dozen illegal weapons into the ballroom. She would likely have ranted about how poorly constructed the robots were too and how the Pailia could totally have built better killer robots if they’d wanted to.

Thankfully, their transport was waiting for them when they reached the first suitable landing site, and they practically threw themselves onto it as it took off just in time to avoid a storm of anti-aircraft weaponry. Targan was the last to get aboard. He’d disappeared for a few minutes, but Jake hadn’t thought too much of it at the time. Presumably, he’d been slaughtering his way through more robots, so he could show them the true power of a R’bit warrior or something like that.

In retrospect, Jake should have known better. He should have been paying closer attention. If he had, things might have turned out differently.

“Okay,” Jake muttered as he flopped onto his back on the floor of the transport. The vessel shuddered as its shields warded off several attacks. “I’m fairly sure we didn’t leave anyone behind, and I’m fairly sure that no one here is going to die before we reach proper medical care.” There were some weak cheers from the remaining members of the group. “Amelia, please remind me to file an official extermination request as soon as possible. I want the fleet to blast these robots back into the Stone Age. I want that planet to glow from all the nukes and stuff we drop on it. I don’t care what the subcommittee thinks! They were not a Tier E species!”

“Understood, sir.” Amelia had somehow managed to get through the battle with her dress intact although she would have to get it dry-cleaned. Robots might not have blood, but they did have lubricant, hydraulic fluid, and other liquids in them.

Targan changed back into his cute and cuddly form and chuckled ominously before leaping onto Jake’s chest. The diplomat hissed. He had at least one broken rib, maybe even two or three, and he was willing to bet he had a concussion and possibly a slipped disc in his back too. Oh, and he had some laser burns as well.

“Hah! You lack strategic vision, puny human.” Targan cackled malevolently. “There is no need for your pathetic fleet.”

A shiver crawled up Jake’s spine. Targan sounded entirely too pleased with himself. “Targan, what did you –”

The brilliant flash of light that filled the whole interior of the transport despite its anti-glare windows and shielding was accompanied by a shockwave that threatened to shatter the vessel. Despite the agonising pain in his back – he needed to get it checked as soon as possible – Jake staggered to his feet and pressed his face against the closest window once the light had dimmed enough for him to see. The artificial planet they had been on only moments ago had just exploded. The shockwave they’d felt had been the first wave of debris clattering into their shields before they made a short hyperspace jump to a place of relative safety.

There could only be one person responsible.

Jake rounded on Targan. “What did you do?” he screeched. Despite the fact that the former warlord was almost certainly responsible for blowing up an entire planet while they were still next to it, he couldn’t help but feel a bit bad yelling at someone so cute and cuddly. “Who said you could blow up the whole planet?”

Targan tilted his head to one side. It was unspeakably adorable, and Jake had to turn away before all of the cuteness swayed him. “You told me to do what I felt I should do, so I did.” The R’bit shrugged. “I announced my name quite clearly. I am Targan, Destroyer of Worlds and Maker of Widows. Destroying worlds is what I do. Admittedly, it was harder without a mighty R’bit warship at my command, and true, I could not make widows of their women, but I was once a R’bit warlord before falling to your treachery. There are many ways to destroy a planet, and not all of them require a warship.”

“I just… I… but… what… gah!” Jake fell to his knees and grabbed his head. He was so, so screwed. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You blew up a planet. We’re screwed. No, I’m in charge of you, so I’m screwed and not in a good way!” He looked at Amelia. The killer robot looked positively enchanting in her cocktail dress despite being splattered with the robot version of entrails. “There are some horrible penalties for unauthorised destruction of a planet, right?”

“Yes,” Amelia replied, as helpful as ever. “Penalties for unauthorised destruction of a planet have been known to include life imprisonment and even execution.”

“Exactly,” Jake wailed. “Do you want me to die, Targan? Because I thought your whole honour thing meant you had to keep me alive. This doesn’t help.”

“Bah!” Targan hopped over to him and prodded him with one paw before leaping onto his shoulder. “Fear not, puny human. No prison in the galaxy would ever be able to hold you, for I would be honour bound to free you! And if death were to be your fate, what of it? Given your treachery and lack of honour, you must either be incredibly brave or unbelievably stupid. I am certain you would face your death with either the valour of the truly courageous or the bravery of the truly ignorant.”

Jake sighed. “Amelia, can you schedule a meeting with Malcolm as soon as we get back – and that’s assuming we aren’t arrested or shot on sight. I need to… fix this before it gets any worse.” He grimaced. “I’d rather not spend the rest of my life in prison, and I enjoy living.”

Amelia’s cornflower blue eyes turned an opaque grey, a sign she was connecting to the network, and she shook her head. “Scheduling a meeting with Malcolm is unnecessary. Marie has just contacted me on behalf of Malcolm. He will be waiting for you in his office.” She paused. “And he expects to see you in his office immediately upon our return.”

Jake slumped against the wall and covered his face with his hands. “Oh, crap.”

* * *

Malcolm Knight wasn’t trying to look imposing, but he didn’t have to. He was a giant of a man with a jaw so square that an anvil would have been jealous. And although he’d never admitted it, Jake was certain that he’d once been a Marine Rapid Assault Trooper. The fact that Malcolm was even alive spoke volumes. Troopers were genetically-optimised super soldiers whose standard method of boarding enemy craft or infiltrating enemy installations was to be shot at them in boarding craft that were basically slightly modified missiles. Troopers took the hardest missions – the ones normal soldiers could never have completed – and they did not retire. Almost to a man, they died in battle because even super soldiers couldn’t beat impossible odds all the time. The survivors, the ones who lived long enough to get grey hair, usually took up command positions.

Malcolm had grey hair, and he wasn’t being hunted down like a criminal, which meant that he’d managed to reach retirement age. The retirement age for Troopers was fifty, and most of them joined between the ages of eighteen and twenty. Malcolm had thus managed to survive at least thirty years of the most bloody, brutal, impossibly gruelling combat in the galaxy. He was therefore the absolute last person that Jake wanted to make an enemy of. It didn’t hurt that Malcolm kept what was supposedly a decommissioned suit of Marine Rapid Assault Trooper armour in his office as a showpiece. Jake bit back a laugh. He had zero doubt that the armour was not only still fully functional but also fit Malcolm like a glove.

The first thing Malcolm did after Jake sat down was to give him what was supposed to be a friendly smile. It was, Jake thought, not unlike being smiled at by a particularly friendly Tyrannosaurus Rex. And Jake knew exactly how that felt thanks to several visits to dinosaur theme parks, all of which had featured the famous reptiles. Honestly, Jake would have preferred to face an angry Tyrannosaurus Rex rather than an angry Malcolm. Sure, fighting an angry Tyrannosaurus Rex was likely to end in his death, but fighting an angry Malcolm? Yeah. He would definitely end up dead.

Marie was standing behind and just off to one side of Malcolm, and the killer robot seemed to be doing her best to hide a smile. As a war model, she had likely served alongside Malcolm, and she was currently his secretary. She also had enough firepower to give even Targan a run for his money, not that it had stopped the R’bit from trying to pick the occasional fight with her. However, each time, Marie had simply smiled and commented on how cute he was.

Malcolm stood up. Jake looked up. Damn, he was tall. “Afternoon, James.” He extended one hand. “I heard you had some trouble recently.”

Jake breathed a sigh of relief. That was a good sign. Malcolm only ever got his name right when he was in trouble. He reached over and shook Malcolm’s hand, trying not to wince when the bigger man all but crushed his hand in their handshake. “It’s Jake, sir. And, yes, you could say that.”

Malcolm laughed and sat back down. “It’s good that you can joke about it.” He shook his head. “Sometimes, joking about it is all we can do in this business.” He gestured for Jake to sit. “Sit down, Jake. We need to talk.”

Jake sat. There were some cookies on Malcolm’s desk, and he considered reaching for one before thinking better of it. Marie must have noticed because she covered her mouth with one hand and giggled softly. On his shoulder, Targan was also eyeing the cookies.

“You’re perfectly welcome to have some cookies, you two,” Marie said. She smiled, and it was a very warm, very human smile. She might be the killer robot equivalent of heavy artillery, but she was far more human in her mannerisms and behaviour than Amelia. “Malcolm and I have been working on softening his image a little. It’s all well and good to put up an imposing front against our enemies, but there are also times when a softer touch is required.” She grimaced. “One of the newest races we’ve encountered has a hypersensitive stress response. They can actually die if they’re too intimidated.”

Malcolm gave a low rumble of exasperation. “As you can imagine, it can make negotiating with them quite difficult. We’ve been forced to send in our least intimidating diplomats.” His lips twitched. “Besides, the cookies are great.” Jake raised one eyebrow. Malcolm was almost always on an extremely healthy diet. “Yes, I know. I don’t normally indulge, but there’s no harm in a cookie now and then, and Marie has been trying her hand at baking.”

Marie nodded. “Baking cookies sounded interesting, and Malcolm is in excellent physical condition given his age and medical history. A cookie or two a day should be no problem.”

Jake took a cookie, but it wasn’t more than a second or two before Targan snatched it out of his grasp. “If you’re going to eat that,” Jake growled. “Get off my shoulder. I don’t want crumbs on my clothes.”

“I shall eat where I wish, puny human,” Targan replied although he did have the decency to hop off Jake’s shoulder and onto Malcolm’s desk.

Jake got himself another cookie and sighed. He wished that his killer robot/secretary cared about his health outside of life and death situations and was willing to bake cookies. Wait. She kind of did. Amelia did have a knack for ambushing him whenever he was about to indulge in something wickedly delicious, usually so she could lecture him on all of the terrible health risks associated with authentic Earth-style junk food. She was wasting her time. In his opinion, there was nothing as wickedly delicious as early twenty-first century Earth-style junk food. Sure, he’d need to get his arteries scrubbed if he indulged too much, but what was the point of having super-advanced medical technology if they never used it? It wouldn’t be pleasant, but a good hamburger with a nice helping of fries was more than worth it.

He raised the cookie to his lips and took a bite. It was a peanut butter cookie, and it was delicious. He’d have to ask Marie for the recipe. He might not be into baking, but Abe did like to try his hand at it from time to time.

“What do you want to know about first?”

“You haven’t filed a full report yet, so why don’t you start at the beginning? Tell me as much as you can and don’t leave anything out. You never know what might come in handy next time.” Malcolm frowned. “We took losses, Jim, but we’ll do better next time.”

“It’s Jake, sir. But before I start… what kind of prison time am I looking at?” Jake asked. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket, spread it out on Malcolm’s desk, and lifted Targan onto it. The R’bit was getting crumbs everywhere.

“Prison time?” Malcolm leaned back. “Ah, right. You’re worried about the planet getting blown up without authorisation.” Jake nodded grimly. “I’ll be blunt. I doubt you’ll be getting any prison time at all. I’d put the odds at about one in a thousand. You probably won’t even have to worry about being put on probation either.”

Jake gaped. “Are you serious? I… uh… not that I’m complaining, but a planet kind of did blow up on my watch.” He winced. “Sure, the Pelerians were misclassified – those jerks were definitely not Tier E – but still…”

Malcolm gave a grandfatherly chuckle. It made Jake think of his own grandfather who was a great deal smaller and less capable of killing things. He might have to call him. It had been a while since they’d spoken. “I’ll tell you the truth Jake. There are rules and then there are rules. I’m not an idiot. I’ve been doing this for a while now. I understand that sometimes things just don’t work out. More importantly, you’re forgetting who runs the Galactic Peace Committee. Humanity does, and we run the internal investigation subcommittee too. You’ve done a lot of good work, Jake, so you’ve earned a lot of… credit, I guess you could call it.” He grinned conspiratorially. “Now, don’t go spreading this around – we’d rather not have people blowing planets up left, right, and centre – but based on the work you’ve done, we’ve developed a thorough psychological profile of you. You aren’t the sort of person who goes around blowing planets up for fun. In fact, you’re associated with a surprisingly low amount of collateral damage. You could blow up another two planets before you hit the average for a diplomat who has taken the kinds of missions you have, and that’s when we’d start wondering if you’re about to go rogue.”

“…” Jake’s eye twitched. “You’ve got to be joking.”

Malcolm’s grin widened. “As a matter of fact, I am not joking. I’ve also had a chance to review some of the footage that Amelia has forwarded to Marie. We know that you didn’t start anything. Self-defence is a reasonable argument, especially given what happened to some of the others.”

Targan hopped back over to the plate to grab more cookies. Munching on one, the R’bit turned to Malcolm. “My puny human master lacks the warrior mindset necessary to initiate the slaughter of his enemies. Although he is a treacherous, dishonourable cur, he will not strike first. We did not start the fight, but we did finish it – and in true R’bit fashion, as well. Not only did we destroy their world but we also destroyed their super weapon.”

Jake picked up Targan and lifted him up to eye level. “What’s this about a super weapon? And why didn’t you mention it earlier?”

“I thought it was obvious, puny human.” Targan squirmed out of his grasp and grabbed another cookie. “The pathetic robots were producing far more power than a planet of that size would need in order to function. Based on the machinery I saw before I destroyed the planet, it was most likely a transforming super weapon of some kind.” He paused. “Not unlike the final boss in the last game of simulated violence that you, the lizard, and I conquered.”

“He’s right.” Malcolm chuckled. “The explosion blew the planet apart, but it didn’t vaporise the whole thing. The fleet has been combing through the wreckage, and they’ve found a few interesting bits and pieces. We can use that to bolster your case.”

“Will that really work?”

For an instant, there was something hard in Malcolm’s eyes, but it passed too quickly for Jake to be sure. “This organisation might be called the Galactic Peace Committee, but the Ancient Ones didn’t run it that way. Oh, they kept the peace, all right, but it wasn’t by sitting around a campfire and holding hands. They kept everyone else in line with a stick – a big damn stick.”

“You mean they annihilated anyone who even coughed funny?” Jake was familiar with the, at times, almost schizophrenic concept of peace the Ancient Ones had. He’d once seen a space teddy bear calmly ignore the massive brawl going on around him – one that had involved monomolecular knives, plasma chainsaws, and at least two laser swords – until some idiot had knocked over his martini. The fight had ended five seconds later with almost every person in the bar reduced to a pain-wracked, twitching wreck. The person who’d knocked over the martini? The space teddy bear had de-atomised them.

“That’s right, Jake. Nobody likes to say it, but talking doesn’t always get the job done. The problem is, humanity isn’t as strong as any of the Ancient Ones. Oh, don’t get me wrong. If you exclude the Ancient Ones, we’re definitely in the top ten in overall military power, especially once you factor in how adaptable we are, but we’re not strong enough to just order people around. But the Ancient Ones? Most races only had to fight them once before they realised that the best way to survive was to shut up and do exactly what they said. Us? It’s not nice, but sometimes, we need to remind people that we’re not a bunch of cowards and that we will absolutely shoot back if necessary. We’re also getting some good press from this too.”

“Funny you should mention the press.” Jake’s eyes narrowed. “I know Amelia forwarded the footage to Marie, but I told her not to send it to anyone else, and I gave strict orders for everyone else to keep this under wraps until I had a chance to speak with you.”

“You made the right call, but someone has leaked footage. Luckily, we’ve been able to spin it in our favour.” Malcolm offered Jake another cookie and gently eased the plate away from Targan who was more interested in claiming all of the cookies for himself than the conversation. “Think of it this way: you’re a hero for fighting off the evil robots that tried to brutally murder a team of diplomats who wanted nothing more than to bring peace to the galaxy. And, well, if their planet happened to blow up, most people seem to think they had it coming.”

Jake ate the cookie. It tasted a lot better now that he knew he wasn’t going to get imprisoned or executed. “So… I don’t suppose I get a raise, do I?”

Malcolm laughed. “I’m afraid not. Even if we’re not going to really punish you, we can’t look like we’re rewarding you either.”

“Fair enough. Technically, though, Targan is the one who blew up the planet.”

The R’bit scoffed. “Puny human, I would proudly admit to destroying their worthless planet. However, you were still the one who ordered me to do so.” Targan nibbled on another cookie. It was too adorable for words. Jake would have to ask Marie for footage because he was certain she was recording the meeting. “And why worry about those who sought your death? You should rejoice. The only good enemy is a dead enemy.”

“That’s a very… forceful opinion to have,” Malcolm said, but Jake couldn’t help but wonder if Malcolm happened to share Targan’s opinion. Marine Rapid Assault Troopers were not known for their restraint, and the quickest way to find them was to follow all of the bodies. “Out of interest, purely academic interest, of course, how did you manage to blow up their planet? I’ve had a look at your armoury, and although you’re extremely heavily armed, I don’t think you have anything capable of destroying an entire planet.”

Targan cackled. Given his current appearance, it came across as positively adorable despite the deep, gravelly sounds he made. “Those pathetic robots had a poorly shielded singularity reactor not far from where they staged their cowardly ambush. A few well-placed plasma charges were more than sufficient to cause containment field collapse, resulting in an uncontrolled reaction that resulted in the destruction of their world.” He preened and grabbed another cookie. “The R’bit are more than fierce warriors. Our minds are as keen as our claws.”

“Not bad. It would be unfortunate if organic-hating robots had access to a super weapon.” Malcolm lowered his voice. “I would, however, prefer it if you kept the exact method used to destroy the planet under wraps. It’ll make things easier if people think we have a person-mounted planet-killing weapon at our disposal.”

“Ah.” Targan nodded sagely. “So you wish to scare off your cowardly foes with a bluff? A cunning strategy – one my puny human master should have seen given his talent for treachery. Nevertheless, I shall comply. The slight upon my honour – those pathetic robots dared to attack someone under my protection – has been avenged. Let their slaughtered souls flee to whatever miserable afterlife belongs to their feeble ancestors, so they may enlighten them with tales of my glorious might.”

“Do robots even believe in an afterlife?” Jake asked.

Marie reached out to pry the plate of cookies away from Targan, but the R’bit stubbornly held onto it. “There are definitely synthetics that do believe in an afterlife of sorts. I myself am fairly ambivalent. Whether or not there is an afterlife, I intend to make the most of my current life.”

“What about Amelia?” Malcolm asked. He reached out to help Marie get the plate of cookies away from Targan, but the former warlord’s grip was unbreakable. “What was her analysis of the situation?”

“She didn’t say much at first,” Jake replied. “She was too busy killing other robots. But she did think that it was probably for the best. I mean… we had to shoot back. You can argue about whether or not we had to blow up the planet, but we had to do something.”

“I identified more than a thousand hostiles during the battle,” Targan said. “Even I would eventually have succumbed to their overwhelming numbers. Slaughtering them en masse was the only viable solution.”

Malcolm’s lips twitched. “Most people would agree with you, but I’d try for a more diplomatic answer if the press manages to corner you.” He nodded at Jake. “So… how about you get started. Tell me everything.”

Jake talked for almost an hour and a half. Malcolm didn’t say much, but he didn’t have to. This wasn’t the first diplomatic mission to take a turn for the worse, and it wouldn’t be the last. The only interesting thing about it was that a planet had gotten blown up.

“Well, I guess we’re just about done here.” Malcolm offered Jake a glass of water. “Like I said, you won’t get demoted, and any punishment you receive will mostly be for show. However, I will have to add some notes to your file. You’ve done some great work for the Galactic Peace Committee, but you can’t get into the habit of blowing up planets.” He grinned. “You will also receive some extra points.”

“Extra points?” Jake took a sip of the water while wishing it were authentic Earth cola.

“Ah, right. You’re high enough on the totem pole that I can tell you. Holiday time basically operates according to a points system. Particularly stressful and dangerous missions are worth more points, and your mission was both stressful and dangerous.” Malcolm’s expression sobered. “You lost some people back there, but you can rest easy. They’re not going to get away with this. They’ve already lost a planet, and the footage from the diplomatic ball will give the fleet an excuse to start blasting away. The Pelerians might control a few dozen systems, but we control hundreds of systems. We can take them.”

“Good.” Jake scowled. “Hopefully, we can get the next bunch of idiots to think twice before they attempt to turn a diplomatic ball into a massacre.” He grimaced as he realised how many times people had already done just that. “Or maybe not. It’s better than nothing.”

“Sadly, diplomacy often involves more lasers and plasma than words and paper.” Malcolm shook his head. “And you think your mission was bad. I’ve been through worse.”

“Oh?” Jake had to hear this story.

Marie chuckled softly. “Ah… the debacle on Icona IV.”

Jake raised one eyebrow. “Care to share?”

“We had a senior diplomat go crazy and try to eat one of the ambassadors of the race we were negotiating with.” Malcolm winced. “As you can imagine, they were not pleased. In his defence, the ambassador did look a lot like a particularly juicy carrot, but you can’t go around eating the people you’re supposed to be negotiating with. It’s not civilised. We had to hit him with some shock staffs and run for it. They might have resembled carrots, but they had some serious firepower. Even with Marie there, we were barely able to make it out alive.”

“Was he fired?” Jake asked.

“No, he wasn’t. But he did get busted down several ranks.” Malcolm laughed. “He was also banned from missions involving any race or species that even vaguely resembled vegetables.”

“Wow.” Jake didn’t know what to say. He’d screwed up in the past – everyone had – but he’d never even contemplated eating one of the people he was negotiating with. “So… what happens now?”

“I’ve already got another mission lined up for you, but it’s still a couple of weeks away. In the meantime, get some rest. There will be plenty of minor work for you to do here, and your favourite ambassadors have been waiting eagerly for your return.”

Jake shuddered. He knew where this was going. “My favourite ambassadors?”

Malcolm snickered. “I’ll put it this way. One of them is very big and takes hats far too seriously. The other is very small and constantly smuggles weapons into diplomatic talks.”

“Ah.” Jake sighed. “Them.”

* * *

“Greetings, Jake!”

After the week he’d had – most of which was spent doing mind-numbing and soul-destroying paperwork while avoiding the press – Jake was actually happy to be dealing with Orgex again. The C’thark could be a bit odd sometimes, but he hadn’t tried to murder Jake or exterminate humanity. The C’thark were big fans of human soccer, and they also admired humanity’s advances in the field of millinery. Indeed, quite a few human milliners had found employment amongst the C’thark. There was also something comforting about all of Orgex’s shouting and tentacle waving. It was therapeutically familiar in much the same way as Targan’s penchant for calling him a ‘puny human’ despite how much larger Jake was when the R’bit was in his smaller, cuddlier form.

“It’s good to see you again, ambassador.” Jake took a closer look at Orgex. The tentacle monster was wearing a different hat. It vaguely resembled a fedora, but it was brightly coloured, and it bore many of the hallmarks of an official C’thark hat, such as ridiculously bright colours, some of which were on the very edge of humanity’s ability to perceive, and a host of C’thark insignia. “Is that a new hat?”

Orgex rose to his full height and puffed up with pride, which threatened to bring the ceiling down. Good grief, Jake thought. He’d filed several requests to only meet Orgex in conference rooms with suitably high ceilings, but someone down in resources must hate him or something because this room most definitely did not have high enough ceilings. He’d have to ask Amelia to file another request under her name.

“Amelia,” he murmured as the killer robot calmly batted aside a small piece of the ceiling after one of Orgex’s tentacles knocked it loose. “Can you please file another request to ensure that all meetings with Orgex take place in conference rooms with suitably high ceilings. Also, investigate the possibility of interference from within the resources department. I can vaguely remember buying the last hamburger from the cafeteria before one of the resources guys about a month ago.”

“Understood.” Amelia’s fingers flew across her data pad as she filed the request. “There is a roughly fifty per cent chance that the person you’ve mentioned is responsible. Humans can be incredibly petty.”

“Pettiness is one of our defining characteristics,” Jake agreed.

“Hmm…” Amelia frowned ever so slightly. “If he is responsible, shall I take a more direct approach to solving the problem?”

Jake made a face. That was basically Amelia’s way of asking for permission to threaten or otherwise force the aforementioned guy from resources into compliance. “Are you really asking for my permission?”

“Yes. Study of the Galactic Peace Committee’s records indicates that diplomatic success is strongly correlated with overwhelming military might. It is only logical to apply this approach to smaller-scale interactions as well.”

“How about you don’t. Look at Marie. She’s a war model, and you don’t see her going around threatening everyone.”

“Marie is…. illogical, almost human in a way. She also doesn’t have to openly threaten anyone. Everyone on this space station knows what she is capable of.”

“She also makes great cookies.” Jake smiled. Marie had given him a bag of cookies yesterday, and he’d thus far managed to keep them safe from Targan. The former warlord seemed to believe that he was entitled to not just some of the cookies but all of them. He turned his attention back to Orgex as the C’thark somehow managed to get even bigger while gesticulating at his hat. Clearly, this was a matter of the utmost importance – that, and the ceiling might collapse if he couldn’t get Orgex to stop. “So… tell me about your new hat.”

The ceiling gave a ponderous groan as Orgex pointed at his hat with every single one of his available tentacles. “You are truly privileged to see this hat. It is a symbol of my… promotion!”

“Okay.” Jake wasn’t sure how that worked, but the C’thark did use hats to denote group affiliation. He also had to take cultural differences into consideration. For instance, the C’thark were not above eating their enemies whereas humanity almost never ate theirs although there had been that incident involving genetically engineered super chickens a few years ago. They had, apparently, been super intelligent and super tasty.

“This hat was given to me by the Supreme Brood Mother of my blessed home world to honour my great victory and to announce my promotion!” Orgex’s tentacle waving was almost hypnotic, as well as extremely detrimental to the ceiling’s structural integrity.

Jake wracked his mind. He liked to think that he’d have noticed if Orgex had gone off and done something worthy of being called a great victory. However, his memory, which was usually quite good, was drawing a blank. He looked at Amelia, and she gave a small shake of her head. She had no idea either. “Ah… yes… your great victory. Could you do me the honour of telling me all about it again?”

Orgex had never been shy about anything even vaguely related to any of his victories. If anything, it was the total opposite, so he was only too happy to launch into an account of his inspiring triumph. Within moments, the tentacle monster was weaving an intricately detailed tale of terrifying battles and epic duels. It bore no resemblance whatsoever to anything that had happened recently, and Jake was sorely tempted to believe that Orgex was simply making it up. But simply making things up wasn’t how the C’thark did things. Oh, they might embellish the details, maybe throw in some extra tentacle ripping, but they didn’t just make things up. Finally, after an hour of thrilling storytelling, Orgex concluded with the line he should have started with.

“And that is how I won the volleyball championship and brought honour to the C’thark! I am no longer Ambassador Orgex. I am now… Sector Chief Ambassador Orgex!”

It took almost a minute for the meaning of Orgex’s words to sink in. A sector chief ambassador was the highest-ranking C’thark diplomat in any given sector of space. It basically meant that amongst the C’thark, Orgex was at least equal to Malcolm in rank, maybe even higher. And he’d been promoted after winning a game of volleyball.

Wait.

Jake frowned as a horrifying throughout occurred to him. Orgex had won a volleyball competition on the beach world where Jake had taken a holiday – but it had been against mostly humanoid species that had basically zero chance of beating a C’thark. He wanted to bang his head on the table, and he was well on his way to giving it a try when Amelia gave him a look that told him in no uncertain terms that she was not about to let him give himself brain damage. This was insane. The C’thark had given Orgex a position of incredible diplomatic power for crushing people in a game that his species was basically unbeatable at. It made no sense at all, but it did explain why C’thark diplomats had such an unusual approach to diplomacy.

“Right.” Jake took a deep breath. He’d let his brain meltdown about this later. “I suppose that congratulations are in order.” He paused. “So why did you want to meet with me? Given your new position, shouldn’t you be meeting directly with Malcolm –”

“Hah!” The door of the conference room burst open, and Pana flitted in. Knowing her, she’d used some kind of gravity weapon to force it open. The Pailian was glowing a deep, brilliant blue. “He’s not the only one who got promoted, and unlike him, my promotion actually makes sense.”

“How dare you!” Orgex thundered as he brandished his tentacles at the small, glowing form of the Pailian. “I should tear off your tentacles and beat you to death with them!”

On Jake’s shoulder, Targan made a sound of approval. “Despite being a lowly C’thark, he has some good ideas.”

“Don’t even start,” Jake murmured.

“I don’t have tentacles, you idiot.” Pana flew over to another spot at the table while ignoring Orgex’s terrifying threat display. Her small, fairy-shaped body was practically radiating smugness. “Like I said, he wasn’t the only one who got promoted. I am now Grand Sector Ambassador Pana.”

“Congratulations. How did you earn your promotion?” Jake was almost afraid to ask, but he needed to know. He also needed to keep a close eye on Orgex. The massive alien had stopped his threat display, but Jake knew better than to let his guard down. The moment he wasn’t watching, Orgex would probably grab the table and try to bash Pana over the head with it.

“I helped an elite weapons design team design a deadlier death ray.” Pana’s glow intensified, the air around her filled with a sound not unlike the beating of a hummingbird’s wings.

Jake wasn’t sure how a death ray could become deadlier, but he was morbidly curious to find out. “How did you make it deadlier?”

“A standard death ray kills things,” Pana said. “To make it deadlier, you give it the ability to hit more targets at longer ranges while increasing how quickly it kills things.” She buzzed happily. “The new death ray we built is about a hundred times deadlier than the old one.”

“…” Jake bit back a grimace. This was why he felt safer dealing with angry C’thark than angry Pailians. Sure, an angry C’thark might rip off his limbs and eat him, but they’d at least warn him first, and he might even be able to outrun them if he got lucky. What about an angry Pailian? Hah. They’d use a weapon with interstellar range to vaporise his home planet after sending him a barrage of insulting messages. “Anyway, I was asking Orgex why he wanted to meet with me instead of Malcolm, but I could ask you the same thing as well. Why me and not Malcolm?”

“As the new highest-ranking diplomat in this sector,” Orgex boomed. “I am responsible for trade deals and other important agreements. You are quite tolerable for a human, so you shall be responsible for continuing negotiations!”

“What he said,” Pana added. “My people have a lot of commercial interests in this sector that are coming up for review soon, and you’re pretty good at your job. I figured I’d stick with the person I already know. Besides, Marie is weird.”

“Marie is a killer robot.”

“Who smiles a lot and has started baking cookies.” Pana’s glow shifted to a vivid pink. “That’s weird.” She shivered. “And do you know how many diplomats tried dealing with me and Ambassador Stupid over there before you showed up?” Orgex gave a roar of outrage, and one of his tentacles gouged another chunk out of the ceiling. “A lot. Oh, it was funny for a while, but I have work to do, and I can’t get any work done if the diplomat I’m dealing with keeps getting changed.”

“How many of those diplomats quit and how many of them died?” Jake asked. Given the fairly awful long-term survival rates of mid- to lower-level diplomats in the Galactic Peace Committee, there were several possible explanations for Orgex and Pana going through so many diplomats.

“I think you’d be happier not knowing.” Pana giggled and bobbed up and down. “Besides, once I heard that Orgex was going to ask for you, I knew I would too. Poking him is way too much fun.”

“How dare you!” Orgex flexed his tentacles menacingly. “I should throttle you where you stand!”

“First of all, I’m not standing. I’m floating. Second of all, my body is composed of condensed energy. Throttling me wouldn’t do a thing.” She paused, and her hand vanished for a moment before reappearing with a weapon. “And third… say hello to the miniaturised version of the new-and-improved death ray I mentioned!”

Jake pointed at Pana. “I shouldn’t have to tell you this, but you’re not supposed to carry a death ray onto this space station, and you definitely shouldn’t bring it into a diplomatic conference.”

The weapon vanished, and Pana huffed. “You’re no fun, and it’s not like it would punch a hole in the hull of the space station. I mean… it would, but I’d be fine. My species can survive in a vacuum.”

“As can the C’thark!”

“Well, humans can’t survive in a vacuum. No death rays.”

* * *

“Evening, Abe.” Jake sank onto the living room couch. Abe, his reptilian housemate, passed him a can of authentic Earth cola. Jake took a long sip of it and sighed in satisfaction. Forget booze. Nothing beat authentic Earth cola after a long, long, long day at work. Targan hopped onto the couch and nodded at the cooler full of cola cans.

“Help me get a cola, puny human!”

Jake chuckled. Targan might sound like something out of a nightmare, but his lack of opposable thumbs and small size meant that he had a lot of trouble handling a can of cola in his cute and cuddly form. The former warlord could have transformed, but Jake had ordered him not to. There was no way the living room couch could accommodate Targan’s larger form, and Jake happened to like the couch even if it was a bit old. Luckily, there was a solution. Jake now had the glorious honour of helping Targan whenever the R’bit wanted a can of cola.

“Yeah, yeah. Give me a second.” Jake opened another can of cola and poured some into a specially designed bowl that Abe had put together for Targan. “There.”

The R’bit chugged on his cola before turning his attention back to the video game Abe was playing. The lizard-like alien hissed as his character died a horrible, gory death. “Pathetic. Have you yet to defeat this level, troublesome lizard?”

Abe grinned toothily. “Hey, it’s not like you can do better. In fact, I’ve gotten further than you have.”

Targan huffed. “Only because I am merciful enough to let you stay ahead of me.” That totally wasn’t true, but Targan would never admit it. He hated to lose at anything, even video games. The R’bit took another sip of his cola before striking a pose, glaring off into the distance in adorable fashion. “We should all play. Together, we will drive our enemies before us, destroying their planets and basking in the lamentations of their widows.”

“Sure.” Jake was more than happy to play some video games after the day he’d had. “So, Abe, anything interesting at work?”

Abe flicked his tongue out in frustration as his video game character died again. “Not really. We blew a couple of air recyclers, but we should be able to get them back up and running in the next day or so.” He bared his teeth. “If we don’t, you’ll know in about a week or so when we all suffocate.”

“Right. That sounds horrible.” Jake grabbed a video game controller and put it down in front of Targan. Given his small size, the R’bit didn’t hold it so much as play it like a tiny piano. “Remind me again, what’s this video game about?”

Abe grinned. “It’s made by a mostly human video game company. It’s about a brave group of human soldiers who find themselves stuck in a jungle where they are hunted by a deadly alien who is seeking to test himself by facing the toughest warriors in the galaxy.”

“Hah!” Targan laughed. “If he truly wished to test himself, he would face the R’bit.”

“Don’t forget the Ancient Ones,” Jake pointed out.

“They don’t count,” Targan replied.

“Yes. There wouldn’t be much point.” Abe mimed a shooting motion. “Even if someone could sneak onto one of their worlds, they’d get annihilated the moment they stepped out of line.”

Targan nodded sagely. “Even the R’bit would not stand a chance against the Ancient Ones.”

* * *

“Awaken, puny human!”

The first time that Jake had awakened to find Targan poking him in the face with one paw, he’d been torn between how pleasant it was to be awakened by such an adorable creature and absolutely horrified by the nightmarish voice coming from the aforementioned adorable creature. He’d ended up screaming and falling out of bed. Now, it was simply par for the course. Instead of screaming, he opted to do what any normal person would have when asked to wake up so early in the morning. He rolled over and tried to get back to sleep.

“Arise!” Targan poked him again. “Do you wish to secure a suitable female to mate with or not? You already possess adequate wealth and social standing, and the prestige of defeating a R’bit warrior in combat will surely aid you, regardless of your reliance on treachery. However, you have yet to achieve peak physical condition.” The familiar twang of Targan’s net gun filled the air, and Jake soon found himself being dragged out of bed. “You were the one who ordered me to awaken you at this hour each morning, so you could engage in physical conditioning. I refuse to dishonour myself by failing at such a simple task, and it will be far easier to defend you if you can become less useless in battle.”

“Leave me alone,” Jake muttered, groaning as he was dragged out of bed. He thumped into the floor, and Targan dragged him into the living room before deactivating the net. Abe, who was watching the early morning news, just stared at them for a moment before going back to sipping what passed for coffee for his species. Jake scowled. He could have used some help. “Can’t I sleep in for a few more minutes?”

“Sleep is for the weak. As an elite R’bit warrior I can go for days without sleep if there are enemies for me to slay.”

Jake opened one of his eyes. “Days? Is that why whenever I wake up in the middle of the night, you’re always watching television?”

“I watch informative programs while tending to my weaponry and reflecting on past battles to better prepare for any future threats.”

“Targan, you watch the shopping channel.”

“Yes. And I purchase many weapons from it as well.” The R’bit smiled toothily. “You humans may be treacherous and dishonourable, but some of your weapons are excellent.”

“Wait – what?” Jake sat up. There was a shopping channel for weapons? “Are you saying that you’ve already bought weapons?”

“Of course,” Targan replied. “The prices were excellent, and the smiling human offered a three-year extended warranty at no extra charge. True, a R’bit molecular disruptor is superior in craftsmanship, but I can purchase five human-made molecular disruptors for the price of a single R’bit weapon, to say nothing of the outstanding returns policy should they prove less lethal than advertised.”

“How do you even afford that?” Jake asked.

“Thanks to your efforts, I have been made an official member of this space station’s security team. I am thus paid very generously by the human named Malcolm to eliminate any and all threats.” Targan’s eyes narrowed. “I have also been looting the bodies of our fallen enemies in accordance with R’bit custom.” He paused and gave Jake a puzzled look. “On the occasions you ask me to wait outside – such as when you are using the bathroom – people have also come forward to give me money. I have no idea why. Perhaps they are simply grateful to lay eyes upon a true R’bit warrior.”

It was most likely because of how adorable he was, but Jake wasn’t about to say that. Who knew what Targan would do once he realised that people would give him money for just standing there? Knowing him, he’d take all of that money and pour it into buying weapons and armour.

“Look, if you absolutely must buy weapons, make sure that you get everything properly authorised and do not buy anything that could endanger the safety of this space station.” Jake wasn’t sure what the official policy was on looting the bodies of their fallen enemies, but he had a feeling it wasn’t the sort of behaviour he should be encouraging. Then again, the Galactic Peace Committee had put up with a lot of strange behaviour from other races in the past. “And if you’re going to loot the bodies of our enemies, try not to get caught.”

“Understood.” Targan poked Jake’s leg with one paw. “Now, dress yourself! Your physical conditioning can wait no longer!”

Jake had never been especially keen on exercise. Oh, he kept himself in decent shape, and he had good genes to fall back on, but getting into peak physical condition had never been one of his goals. However, he’d made the mistake of mentioning it to Targan, and the R’bit had taken it upon himself to train Jake in traditional R’bit fashion. It was a nice way of saying that Targan made him feel like he was going to die on a daily basis.

Instead of normal jogging, Targan had devised a training course, complete with climbing, swinging, and even obstacles like mud and water. It was easy enough for the advanced technology of the space station’s fitness rooms to simulate, and the techs seemed to love that someone was finally putting the system through its paces. But that wasn’t enough. No. Targan was a firm believer in the power of motivation, which he was only too happy to provide.

“Move, puny human!” Targan bellowed, baring his teeth. The R’bit had transformed and was bounding after Jake. The diplomat might not have found Targan’s smaller form scary, but his larger form was terrifying. “Do you wish to acquire a suitably fertile female, or not? If you do, then run! Hone your fitness! Prove your strength! If you do not run, then I shall trample you underfoot and sing ballads of your uselessness! Run or bring shame upon your ancestors! Run!”

Jake ran, but not out of a desire to acquire a suitably fertile female. It was more out of fear for his life. He had once stopped halfway through the course, all but daring Targan to do his worst. The R’bit had trampled him. Oh, he hadn’t done any permanent damage – he was honour bound to keep Jake alive – but apparently, he could mangle Jake a little bit if it was for his own good.

So Jake ran.

He ran, and he ran, and he ran.

And then he stumbled off to one side to vomit.

And then he ran some more because Targan was a tank-sized jerk with seemingly limitless stamina – a tank-sized jerk with seemingly limitless stamina and a modified shock staff that he was extremely eager to prod Jake with whenever he slowed down.

“You are improving,” Targan rumbled as he prodded Jake into another set of exercises. It was a testament to the R’bit’s approval that the shock staff was only set to moderately painful, as opposed to agonising. “You are becoming slightly less pitiful than a typical member of your puny species.”

Jake would have glared if he’d had the energy. However, he was too tired to do anything except focus on his exercise. Plus, Targan was impervious to glaring, not that Jake was too surprised. He was a former warlord. Once Jake had finally managed to get through the gruelling torture that Targan called a training program, he was ready to collapse.

Ten seconds later, he did.

Thankfully, Targan was kind enough to drag him to the showers, so he could bathe and change into a fresh set of clothes. As Jake did his best to regain his status as a functioning human being in the shower, Targan transformed into his smaller form and took a shower as well. It must have been nice. All Targan had to do was stand there, and the automated shower would do the rest.

“Puny human,” Targan said. “Rub conditioner into my fur.”

“Huh?” Jake peeked over the wall into the shower stall Targan was using. “What?”

Targan nodded at the container of conditioner beside him. “I recently viewed an informational program about the benefits of this conditioner. It is supposed to leave hair smooth and silky. As a R’bit warrior, I must strike fear into the hearts of my enemies.”

“And having smooth and silky fur will do that?”

“Is it not obvious? Of course, it will!” Targan huffed. “And although this automated shower is capable of directing water properly despite my small size, it is incapable of applying conditioner.”

Jake did as Targan asked, but it made him wonder how Targan normally bathed. Then again, the shower at home was much more advanced, and it was possible that Targan had already asked Abe to modify it to take into account his small size. It was also possible that Abe had thrown together a small robot to apply shampoo and conditioner. It was exactly the kind of project that his housemate liked to indulge in whenever he got bored. They even had a small robot whose sole purpose was to take toast from the toaster to the dining table.

When Jake headed to the cafeteria, there was almost a spring in his step. The main reason there wasn’t one was because of the ache in his legs. However, the ache in his legs was a good thing. It reminded him that despite Targan’s ruthless training regime, he still had legs. The cafeteria served a decent breakfast, and Targan didn’t have any problems with him indulging although the R’bit would sometimes chuckle malevolently – but adorably – before reminding him that he would have to work off any weight he gained. So far, things were going well. Jake was getting into shape, whether he wanted to or not. Really, it was impossible to imagine a situation where he didn’t get fitter given the horror Targan subjected him to on a daily basis.

Today, he wasn’t alone for breakfast although to be fair, he was never alone these days. Targan was usually there, even if he did tend to focus almost entirely on his food during meal times, as opposed to making conversation.

“Human pancakes are excellent!” Orgex cried. As he so often did, he punctuated his words with some vigorous tentacle flailing. Fortunately for everyone, the cafeteria was both large enough to avoid suffering structural damage and empty enough to ensure that he didn’t accidentally hit anyone. “I am not ashamed to admit that they are far better than C’thark pancakes.”

“What makes them better?” Jake asked as he added some syrup to his own pancakes. Targan, meanwhile, had opted for a muffin although he was eyeing Jake’s pancakes quite closely. Jake frowned. He’d have to keep an eye on him. Targan could be surprisingly sneaky when he was in his smaller form.

“It is a matter of ingredients,” Orgex replied as he chose a seat opposite Jake. “Alas, the peerless wonders of our worlds are not suitable for growing most of the ingredients used to make human pancakes. We have been forced to improvise.” He rattled off a long list of strange, bizarre ingredients, at least half of which Jake was fairly certain were hideously poisonous. “Those are the ingredients common to C’thark pancakes.”

“That explains it.” Jake decided to add a smidgen more syrup to his pancakes. He’d earned it. “Those ingredients are not what you use to make pancakes.”

“It is how the C’thark make them.”

“Which is why your pancakes are bad.” Jake squeezed the bottle of syrup and frowned. It was empty. “Are you done with your syrup? My bottle is empty.”

“Here.” Orgex all but threw the bottle of syrup he had at Jake. “Human syrup is also superior to C’thark syrup. Alas, any syrup our trees produce is highly toxic to most species.”

Jake added more syrup to his pancakes and watched with mild amusement as Targan finished his muffin before heading back to the cafeteria counter. He returned with half a dozen pancakes. It was fascinating to watch someone the size of a rabbit devour more food than a grown man. It likely had something to do with Targan’s transformation. Fortunately, Jake had been able to wrangle a deal with the cafeteria to keep the cost of feeding Targan to a minimum.

In exchange for posing with some of the items on the menu, Targan got to eat for free. Frankly, Jake thought that he and Targan were getting the better end of the deal, but apparently, sales on the advertised items had gone up massively since everyone seemed to find Targan unbelievably cute. The former warlord had been insufferably smug, attributing their success to his deadly splendour as a legendary R’bit warrior. Jake had been sorely tempted to point out that it wasn’t because of that so much as it was because of his adorableness. However, he hadn’t wanted to put up with the long, long lecture about humanity’s treachery and lack of honour that he would undoubtedly have been subjected to once Targan realised what was really going on.

“Good morning.” Pana flitted over, glowing turquoise. She sniffed the air haughtily. “You poor, matter-based life forms. You’re eating pancakes for breakfast when you could be eating something far more delicious.” She floated her plate over to the table. “Me? I’m eating humanity’s greatest creation – pizza.”

“You think eating pizza for breakfast is a good thing?” Jake stared. “Because it’s not.” Admittedly, he’d eaten the occasional pizza for breakfast, but that was usually as a last resort or to help clear out the fridge.

“Pizza is the greatest of all human foods.” Pana pulled out a weapon of some kind and pointed it at her pizza. “Unfortunately, you humans never learned how to reheat it properly. Behold! This is a Pailian Pizza Reheating Gun!”

Jake watched in morbid fascination as Pana’s weapon unleashed a beam of crimson energy that appeared to be reheating the pizza to absolute perfection. He’d have to see if he could buy one later. It seemed extremely handy.

“Fool!” Orgex brandished his plate of pancakes at Pana, prompting an angry buzz from the Pailian. “Pancakes are vastly superior to pizza – especially pancakes with syrup.” He snatched the syrup and began to add even more to his pancakes. Jake winced. He wasn’t an expert in C’thark physiology, but he sincerely hoped they couldn’t get diabetes. If they could, it wouldn’t be long before Orgex succumbed to it at the rate he was going. “Witness the greatest human food in existence: human pancakes drenched in syrup from the ancient Earth region known as Canada!”

“Technically,” Jake pointed out. “It’s Canadian-style syrup. Actual syrup from actual Canada on Earth would be way too expensive for this cafeteria to serve.”

Orgex’s eyes narrowed. “Is that so? Then I must secure some… actual Canadian syrup. If it is better than this syrup… yes… as a Sector Chief Ambassador, it is only fitting that I have the best syrup to go with my pancakes.”

“Well, be prepared to pay a lot because it is going to cost you.”

Not to be outdone, Pana decided to add her own opinion. “Well, how about authentic pizza from the ancient Earth region called Italy? I bet it’ll taste way better than pancakes even if you add real Canadian syrup.”

“How dare you!” Orgex rounded on Jake. “As a human, it falls to you to settle this battle! Which is better, authentic human pancakes with authentic syrup from Canada or authentic human pizza from Italy?”

Jake sighed. “Look, I might be human, but I’ve never been to Earth. I’ve never tasted authentic Canadian syrup or authentic Italian pizza either. I doubt anyone on this station has. If you really do want to know, why don’t you…” Jake trailed off. He had almost suggested that the two of them visit Earth. But was that really a good idea? Given the kind of ruckus those two could raise and given that Earth was his ancestral home world, it might be better if they didn’t visit it. They might accidentally break it.

“Really?” Pana huffed, and her glow took on a red tint. “You mean humans don’t all visit their original home world at some point? That’s weird. All Pailians visit Pailia when they come of age.”

“The C’thark have a similar custom. To lay eyes upon the original home world of our people is a matter of honour for all C’thark.”

“Well, it’s not such a big deal for humans,” Jake replied. “We kind of just… don’t bother. I mean… I’d like to visit Earth one day, but it’s not at the top of my to-do list.”

“Humans,” Pana muttered, shaking her head. “You’re so weird.”

Yes,” Orgex rumbled in agreement. “Very weird.”

Jake politely refrained from mentioning any of their eccentricities. Targan had finished his pancakes and was now eyeing Jake’s. If he weren’t careful, he’d end up having to leave the cafeteria with an empty stomach.

* * *

Jake managed to make it through breakfast in one piece despite Orgex and Pana getting into several arguments about food. His first set of diplomatic talks for the day also went quite well. The races involved were in the middle of a system-wide struggle for dominance that had resulted in the deaths of millions. However, their goals were obvious. They wanted money, and they wanted power. Now, those might not have been the noblest reasons to go to war, but they were arguably the easiest to understand. Once he’d devised a solution that not only left all sides feeling as though they’d profited handsomely but also dangled the threat of intervention should the situation continue to escalate over them, the problem was largely solved. Oh, they weren’t too happy about being threatened, but their leaders were pragmatists. In the grand scheme of galactic politics, none of them had the firepower to take on more established races like humanity. Instead, the best they could hope for was to get something in exchange for settling down. They’d probably resume their conflict the second they thought the Galactic Peace Committee wasn’t watching, which was why Jake had made a note in his file about requesting permanent observers be stationed in their system.

Of course, his good luck couldn’t last forever. Not long before lunch, Malcolm asked him to come to his office.

“I’m not in any more trouble, am I?” Jake asked. He’d always preferred to hear the bad news first. It gave him time to plan or possibly run if the situation called for it.

Malcolm laughed good-naturedly. Jake breathed a sigh of relief and reached for a cookie only to find that this time there were no cookies. Instead, there was a bowl of fruit. It made Jake want to grab a hamburger out of general principle. He did not risk his life on a regular basis, so he could eat fruit. “Not at all, Jake. In fact, it’s the opposite. This is the mission I mentioned earlier, and it’s one you’ve been chosen for because of your unique talents.” If it had been anyone else, Jake would have interpreted that as sarcasm, but Malcolm didn’t do sarcasm. He genuinely meant what he said, which was the scary thing.

“If you don’t mind my asking, but which of my unique talents are you referring to?” He sincerely hoped Malcolm wasn’t referring to his seemingly miraculous ability to not die when faced with near-certain death because if he was, then this mission was not going to be pleasant. “And I really hope it doesn’t involve killer robots. I don’t think either of us have forgotten what happened the last time I had to negotiate with killer robots.” Jake made an exploding gesture with his hands.

“No, I haven’t forgotten.” Malcolm grinned wryly. “But don’t worry. It doesn’t involve killer robots. In fact, it’s the complete opposite.” Malcolm gestured, and the holographic display unit on his desk activated. A map of the galaxy appeared before zooming in on a certain portion of space not all that far from the space station. “As you know, the vast majority of species rely on hyperspace for faster-than-light travel. One of the few disadvantages of relying on hyperspace is that hyperspace storms can make travel through a particular area extremely hazardous or even impossible.”

Jake nodded grimly. A hyperspace storm could easily knock a ship out of hyperspace or simply tear it apart before it could re-enter normal space. From what he’d heard, dying in hyperspace was supposed to be supremely unpleasant. The Ancient Ones had all transcended hyperspace technology. However, they hadn’t deigned to share their advances with the rest of the galaxy, and part of Jake was glad they hadn’t. It helped keep the overall level of stupidity in the galaxy to a more manageable level. Just the thought of what would happen if some of the crazier, more trigger-happy races gained the ability to appear anywhere in the galaxy virtually instantaneously was enough to send a shiver down his spine.

Jake pointed at the hologram. “If I’m not mistaken, there is a strong hyperspace storm in this area. Has something happened, sir?”

“Yes. Recently, our scientists and hyperspace navigators advised me that the hyperspace storm in this area had subsided enough to allow for safe passage. We were waiting on confirmation from the Ancient Ones, and they have provided it. As far we can tell, hyperspace travel through this area should be safe for at least the next ten thousand years.” Malcolm’s brows furrowed. “We’re not the only ones who’ve noticed. The people who were inside the hyperspace storm have noticed too, and they’ve made contact. Since this area technically falls within our space station’s jurisdiction, it’s up to us to welcome them to the galactic community – or rather, it’ll be up to you.”

Jake looked heavenward. “Please tell me that they’re a bunch of peace-loving beatniks or something, sir.” Beatniks had become trendy over the past month or two after featuring heavily in a popular entertainment program about Earth’s past. “I wouldn’t mind it if they were moss growing on rocks either. Sure, it would be boring, but I don’t think moss would try to murder me.”

Marie stepped forward with a faint smile. “Actually…”

* * *

Jake tried not to fidget as he read through the information he had on the race he was about to negotiate with. It was harder than usual since he wasn’t going with a normal diplomatic party. Apart from the usual diplomatic staff, Amelia and Targan had also come along. The R’bit had been especially adamant on going although Jake had a sneaking suspicion that he was just hoping for another chance to blow up a planet. But the biggest difference was that two of the biggest players in this sector had elected to send their own diplomats. Yes, the C’thark and the Pailia had insisted on sending their own diplomats, which meant that Jake had the glorious honour of working with Orgex and Pana again. Oh well, at least they’d had the decency to leave their groups on another part of the ship while they badgered him and bickered with each other.

“Hah!” Pana blazed a brilliant blue and jabbed one finger at Orgex. “Did you really think we’d let you idiots talk to the new guys without offering them a better deal?”

“You dare insult the C’thark!” Orgex roared. Jake winced and covered his ears. He honestly didn’t know where Orgex found the energy to yell so much. Then again, it was likely a cultural thing. He’d yet to meet a C’thark who didn’t yell a lot. “I will crush your puny skull!”

“I’m made of condensed energy, you dolt. I don’t have a skull for you to crush.”

“Quiet,” Amelia said. The two grudgingly quietened down, and Jake smiled faintly. Killer robots were great to have around – as long as they were on his side. “And pay attention. As the leaders of your respective groups, you will play an important role in negotiations. The information you are about to view may prove crucial.” Her eyes narrowed ominously, and she aimed a truly frosty glare at Targan. “I have also been advised that unnecessary planetary destruction will be frowned upon.”

Targan sneered cutely. “Define unnecessary.”

“Targan,” Jake murmured. “No.”

“Hmph.” The R’bit growled. “We shall see, puny human. We shall see.”

“All right.” He glanced at Amelia. “Let’s get started.”

Jake tried not to laugh when the holographic display finally showed him what the Tarklee looked like. It wasn’t polite, but they were basically broccoli people. That is, they were humanoids that looked as if they’d been created by taping together pieces of broccoli. They were even the same colour. Even so, their appearance wasn’t that weird. If blob creatures and tentacle monsters could exist, then why not broccoli people? It would also be nice to meet a race that didn’t look as though it had been genetically engineered to murder people. He shuddered as he thought back to one of his first missions. The multi-clawed aliens of the Baldaris Systems had been surprisingly friendly once he’d gotten to know them despite looking like they’d been designed exclusively to kill things. It hadn’t helped that their claws could tear through the hulls of most star ships with ease and that a mature Baldarisian was roughly the size of a small island.

According to the information they’d managed to acquire, the broccoli people – the Tarklee – had first achieved space travel roughly four hundred years ago. Since then, they’d managed to colonise several star systems, but their inability to rely on hyperspace had hampered their efforts to expand any further. Apparently, the Ancient Ones had also paid the Tarklee a visit around two hundred years ago when the Tarklee had almost obliterated their systems while attempting to harness the power of the hyperspace storm that had cut off their region of space from the rest of the galaxy. The Ancient Ones had left the Tarklee a few basic guidelines and then left, never to return. It was yet another classic example of the Ancient Ones kicking the can down the road, so that someone else – namely, humanity – would have to deal with it later.

“So… do we know what they want?” Jake asked.

The vegetable-like races he’d encountered in the past had been mostly peaceful, but it couldn’t hurt to be sure. For example, the potato people of Agrus III wanted nothing more than to be left alone to cultivate their lush gardens. Heck, they were considered the best gardeners in the galaxy, and it wasn’t unusual to see at least a few of them tending to botanical gardens across the galaxy. In contrast, the yam people of Infernus V had waged a bloody war across their part of the galaxy before being driven back by a combined human and C’thark fleet. Humanity, of course, had been interested in keeping the peace. The C’thark, however, had a somewhat different reason to get involved. Apparently, the yam people were delicious. It wasn’t the finest moment in humanity’s history, but humanity’s fleets had been stretched thin at the time – they always were these days – and the C’thark were very, very good at what they did. Any regret humanity might have felt for unleashing the C’thark on the yam people had vanished the instant the yam people had unleashed waves of viral bombing on a dozen human worlds.

“Have there been any hints about them wanting to murder or enslave us all?” Jake asked. “And is there any possibility that they might see us as food or fertiliser?”

Amelia pursed her lips. Her eyes shifted from cornflower blue to opaque grey as she accessed the network. “Initial contact was made by a group of Salderian miners. The Salderians are a botanical race, and they have been exploring this sector for resources. Due to their prior contact with the Ancient Ones, the Tarklee had access to universal translators. According to the information I have, contact between the two groups was largely positive in nature once the Salderians recognised Tarklee sovereignty over this area. The Tarklee did express some dismay at the thought of future intrusions, but they showed admirable restraint and poise by releasing the miners unharmed and formally requesting a meeting with the Galactic Peace Committee. It is theorised that this request was motivated by information they received from the Ancient Ones. It is possible that they believe the Ancient Ones to still be in command of the Galactic Peace Committee.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Jake said. He was a proud human, but he wasn’t an idiot. The Ancient Ones’ technology and military power dwarfed humanity’s in the same way that a star dwarfed a candle. “Is there anything else we should know?”

“Based on the information we have, it appears as though the Tarklee have a deep interest in botany and plant life, and they have developed exceptional skills in that area. They are also interested in learning more about the galaxy and have demonstrated at least some desire to engage with the wider galactic community, albeit with some reservations.”

“Not bad. They sound reasonable.” Jake glanced at the hologram showing the ship’s current position. They were only a few hours from the edges of what had once been a powerful hyperspace storm. He really hoped there hadn’t been any screw-ups. He enjoyed living, and flying straight into a hyperspace storm was a great way to end up dead. “Are they thinking of trade? And if so, what can they trade?”

“Hmph.” Targan had abandoned Jake’s shoulder in favour of sitting on his head. He claimed that it was to better protect Jake from potential treachery, but Jake doubted that. Targan was probably doing it to either irritate him or strengthen his neck. “These Tarklee sound weak and ineffectual. They have had ample time to themselves, free from attack, yet what have they produced? My people would have used that time to fortify our worlds and rally our forces in preparation for a glorious march across the galaxy to destroy the worlds of our enemies and make widows of their women.”

“And that is why your people are wanted throughout the galaxy for who knows how many crimes.” Jake reached up and poked Targan’s side. “So don’t say anything like that to the Tarklee. They seem reasonably sane, so I don’t want you to provoke them. It would be nice if I could get through a mission without wondering if I’m going to live to see tomorrow.”

Amelia gave Targan an incredibly flat look. Jake smirked. Ah, it was so wonderful to see someone else on the receiving end of that look for once. “Do not give them any ideas.” She turned to Jake. “The Tarklee have what appears to be an incredibly advanced grasp of the genetic modification and alteration of botanical species. According to the Salderians, their proficiency in this area is far greater than ours – it may even be greater than any race’s, excluding the Ancient Ones. With the galactic population continuing to increase, improving food production is of critical importance. Galactic standard gruel is sufficient for most species to live off, but studies have shown that prolonged reliance on gruel rations can lead to warfare and mental instability. Improving crop yields through genetic modification and alteration has the potential to be highly successful.”

Jake grumbled. In theory, super-advanced food technology was available to every planet and settlement in the galaxy, and competition was supposed to keep prices relatively low. In practice, however, there were countless places that had yet to adopt it due to a host of different factors. For instance, a surprisingly large number of species were hostile toward technology, preferring to remain in the Stone Age. Corruption in the local government was another major issue. Stealing food and selling it back to the populace at inflated prices was standard operating procedure for villainous and despotic regimes throughout the galaxy. The Galactic Peace Committee had also caught far too many governments simply selling super-advanced food technology for a quick infusion of cash instead of using it to grow food. However, giving people access to better crops, although theoretically less effective than using advanced technology, was more likely to succeed in practice since almost every race in the galaxy knew the basics of agriculture.

“Fair enough. This isn’t quite a first contact scenario, but it’s close to it.” His lips curled. “I guess we should thank the Ancient Ones. A lot of first contact scenarios involve confusion, blood, and lasers.” He directed a scowl at Orgex and Pana, both of whom seemed utterly puzzled as to why he might be scowling. “We need to make a good impression. They’ve heard about the Galactic Peace Committee from the Ancient Ones. They might not understand exactly how the system works, but they do know it exists. I’d rather we get off on the right foot. If we handle this right, we should be able to keep everything nice and peaceful.”

Orgex frowned. “And what of species that use their tentacles to walk instead of feet?”

“It’s a turn of phrase. It’s not meant to be taken literally.” Jake ran one hand through his hair. “They don’t seem like a warlike species, but we’ve been wrong before. Be friendly, but keep an eye out for trouble. If they are going to try to murder us all, I’d like at least five minutes warning.”

Targan hummed thoughtfully. “I wonder if these… broccoli people will provide any more of a challenge than those pathetic robots whose planet I destroyed.”

“Do not start anything,” Jake warned. He glared at Orgex and Pana. The pair continued to remain utterly mystified as to what they might have done to earn his ire. “And you two, don’t push too hard on trade issues. I know that’s what you’re here for, but this is their first major diplomatic conference. We do not want to overwhelm them. Make your introductions, make some contacts, maybe even make a few deals, but do not start any trade wars, embargoes, or commercial crusades.” He looked at Orgex. “No threatening to eat anyone’s families. We don’t know how they’ll take it, but I doubt they’ll take it well.” He turned his attention to Pana. “I shouldn’t have to say this, but I’ll say it anyway, so you can’t claim that I didn’t warn you. Do not smuggle weapons into any of the diplomatic talks, and do not threaten anyone with any of your weapons.”

Pana sniffed haughtily. “I would never stoop to threatening people to get what I want.”

“You would, and you have.” He pointed at one of his fellow diplomats. “You threatened Gary there with a molecular disruptor half an hour ago because he wouldn’t share his pizza pocket with you.”

“I like pizza. He had a pizza pocket. He should have shared it with me.”

“It was his lunch,” Jake shot back. “And I know for a fact that you’ve got at least a dozen pizzas and your race’s version of a microwave stored away with your space-folding technology.”

“Well, yeah. But I don’t have any pizza pockets.”

“…” Jake rubbed the bridge of his nose with one hand. “No weapons. No threatening.”

Orgex laughed heartily and slapped Jake over the back with one tentacle. Thankfully, he had the good sense not to use his full strength, or Jake would have needed a new spine. “Fear not, Jake. I would not eat their families. They are a botanical race, which means their families are almost certainly not worth eating. Only a weakling would eat vegetables.”

Jake opened his mouth to reply before shutting it. It wasn’t quite the promise he’d been hoping for, but it would have to do. He also politely refrained from pointing out that C’thark did, in fact, eat vegetables. He knew because he had once asked an old C’thark if they had ever eaten a human. The old C’thark had never eaten a human, but he had been far too quick to speculate on how good a human might taste with some of the vegetables native to the C’thark home world.

“I am more interested in their skills in volleyball,” Orgex said. “As a C’thark champion, I wish to face only the mightiest of opponents.” He pointed at a hologram of the Tarklee. “If the Salderians speak truly, then the Tarklee can split their arms into vine-like tendrils. Although they have no hope of growing strong enough to defeat me, they might still become formidable opponents with the right training.”

“We can introduce them to volleyball after we’ve got a better idea of their psychology. With our luck, they might think it’s blasphemy or something.”

Jake made a mental note to assign at least two people to that task. As crazy as it sounded, there were at least four races that believed volleyball to be an unholy abomination, a game that let to corruption by Unspeakable Powers. Much to the amusement of the Ancient Ones, the C’thark had waged war on three of those races, and the fourth had withdrawn its objections to the sport after witnessing what had happened to the other three. This had occurred not long after humanity had found itself in charge of the Galactic Peace Committee, so it had taken them a few months to realise that the C’thark were not above going to war over volleyball. On the upside, things hadn’t gone too badly. Historically speaking, a war involving the C’thark in which only eleven planets were destroyed could barely be considered a war at all.

“You seem nervous, puny human.” Targan poked his cheek. “Fear not. Did your last mission not demonstrate the wisdom of bringing me to these negotiations? Should these plant people prove hostile, I shall simply destroy their world and make widows of their women. You have nought to fear, save perhaps being caught in the blast when I destroy their pathetic world.”

“They’re plants, Targan. I don’t think they can have widows.”

The R’bit chuckled ominously. “Yes, but their planet can still be destroyed.”

“Calm down. They’re walking broccoli. They can’t possibly be that bad.”

* * *

Jake was pleasantly surprised by how smoothly their arrival went. The landing site was surrounded by plenty of greenery. It reminded him a little of his home planet, of the rolling countryside filled with flowers around his family’s farm. The only thing missing was the crazy donkey one of his neighbours had. The old beast was an ornery fellow, and he’d chased Jake whenever he had the chance. Jake rubbed his chin. He wondered if the donkey was still alive. It had been a long time, after all. Hopefully, he was still around. Life around the farm wouldn’t be the same without him glaring balefully over the fence, just waiting for Jake to leave the safety of his family’s farm.

A gentle breeze rustled past, and the scent of flowers filled the air. He smiled. There was still a non-zero chance of the Tarklee going crazy and trying to murder him, but at least he’d be fighting for his life in pleasant surroundings. As he waited for the Tarklee diplomats to arrive, he examined the landing site more closely. His eyes narrowed. Metals, ceramics, plastics, and other processed materials dominated construction throughout the galaxy. However, the landing site appeared to be completely organic in nature. It was as if a large network of trees and other plants had grown together to provide their transport with the perfect place to land.

This really was a nice-looking planet. He’d never seen so much green outside of a garden world before. Tall trees dotted the landscape, and colourful bushes and shrubs grew almost everywhere. Even the grass was welcoming. It looked so thick and lush that he was tempted to take his shoes off and walk through it barefoot. The only downside was the air composition. The concentration of carbon dioxide here was high enough to be hazardous for humans, so he and the other humans in the group all had to wear special breathing units that filtered the air without hindering their speech or obscuring their faces. Orgex and his fellow C’thark were fine, as was Targan. The C’thark and R’bit were incredibly hardy species. As for Pana and the other Pailians, they were made of condensed energy. Breathing – never mind suffocating – was not something they had to worry about.

“Interesting.” Amelia gestured at their surroundings. “The landing site is completely botanical in nature. Even the decorations, guiding lights, and other equipment are composed of plants. We may have actually underestimated their expertise in botanical technology.”

Jake followed her gaze. She was probably right. Humanity had encountered other races that used botanical technology, but none of them had taken it this far, except for certain members of the Ancient Ones. The others had all been forced to combine botanical technology with non-botanical technology due to limitations in their ability to manipulate and create plants capable of mimicking advanced technology. But the Tarklee had been cut off from the rest of the galaxy. Other than the Ancient Ones, no one had been able to reach them for thousands of years. Without access to foreign technology, they had been forced to push their own botanical technology further and further. Jake smiled. This was something he could work with. Botanical technology this advanced had to be worth trading for, especially if it could be configured to interface with more standard technology.

A low hum from the other side of the landing site caught Jake’s attention, and he turned in time to see the Tarklee delegation emerge from the trunk of a gigantic tree.

“All right,” Jake said to the others. “It’s show time. You know the drill. Smile, be friendly, and try not to do anything stupid.” Someone would always do something stupid, but at least he was now on the record as having advised against it. “Let’s get to work.”

Each of the Tarklee was roughly humanoid in size and appearance. However, there were several major differences between them and humans. The most obvious was their colouration. Their skin was the same colour as fresh broccoli. Their eyes were varying shades of green, and they were utterly without pupils. Instead of fingers and toes, their limbs ended in small tendrils. It hadn’t been too noticeable in the holograms, but it was impossible to miss in person. According to the data package he’d reviewed, Jake would be meeting mostly with members of the diplomatic caste. Although they had yet to receive concrete confirmation, the First Contact Department believed that slight differences in shape and colour could be used to distinguish between different castes. If they were right, then there were also several members of the military caste here with the diplomats.

Jake gave some of the others a warning glance. It was only fair for the Tarklee to have military personnel present given the situation. The last thing he wanted was for someone to get twitchy and start a shootout. None of the Tarklee appeared to be armed, but they had no idea of what their weapons looked like. For all he knew, the Tarklee might have access to carrot lasers or subcutaneous bio-plasma cannons.

“Remember to behave,” Jake hissed at Targan, Pana, and Orgex as he and the other members of the Galactic Peace Committee’s delegation moved forward to meet their counterparts. The tentacle monster bristled before nodding his assent. “I could use another holiday, and getting this whole thing wrapped up peacefully would go a long way toward getting me there.”

The mention of another holiday had all of them on their best behaviour. Orgex had been promoted after dominating a volleyball tournament during Jake’s last holiday. Pana had also enjoyed her time at the beach. She had claimed to be researching marine life instead of slacking off like the others, but she’d actually spent most of her time at the beach using her gravity gun to bully hermit crabs and prod sea urchins. The lone shark that had dared to approach her had been added to her collection – minus its flesh, of course – courtesy of one of her more esoteric weapons. If he went on another holiday, Jake was certain they would find a way to join him. They were evil like that, and he’d undoubtedly find himself in charge of keeping them entertained again, if only to prevent a diplomatic incident.

“All right.” Jake took a deep breath as the other delegation drew near. This was usually the trickiest part. More than one of his previous missions had descended into murderous bedlam after a slight misunderstanding. “Let me do the talking.” He paused. “And be ready to run if something goes wrong.”

The Tarklee delegation stopped roughly three yards away. One of them, who appeared to be mostly green but with small accents of sapphire and crimson along her upper body, stepped forward. If Jake had to guess, he would say that this Tarklee was what passed for female amongst her species since her shape seemed vaguely feminine. Then again, he could be wrong. He’d let the universal translators decide. The Ancient Ones might be annoying at times, but they were hardly ever wrong.

“Welcome to the world of Tar-Share,” the Tarklee said, giving an elegant bow. The universal translators had given her a warm, gentle, and unmistakably female voice. “I am Galana, leader of the Tarklee Diplomatic Caste in this region. You must be representatives of the Galactic Peace Committee.” She gestured grandly with both arms, the tendrils she had instead of fingers lengthening and moving almost hypnotically. “It is my greatest honour to meet with such esteemed representatives of so august and noble an organisation. The Ancient Ones spoke most highly of the Galactic Peace Committee during their time with us although we have been informed that they are no longer in charge of it. Instead, they have tasked humanity with seeing to the peace and safety of the galaxy.”

Jake managed to keep the smile on his face. The Ancient Ones must have given the Tarklee some spiel about the Galactic Peace Committee for them to respect it this much. The Tarklee didn’t seem to be aware of how humanity had been suckered into taking over, so it might be better to play up humanity’s reputation instead of admitting they were a bunch of chumps who’d been conned into taking charge of the most dysfunctional organisation in the galaxy.

“And you in turn honour us with your warm welcome. I am Jake Smith, the leader of this diplomatic delegation from the Galactic Peace Committee. On behalf of the Galactic Peace Committee, it is my pleasure to welcome you and your people into the wider galactic community. May your future be prosperous, and may our relations be friendly.”

“Greetings, Jake Smith. May the future smile upon humanity and the Galactic Peace Committee.” Galana nodded her head.

Jake’s brows furrowed ever so slightly. She was undoubtedly humanoid in appearance – certainly more humanoid than Orgex – but there was something unsettling about her. Finally, he realised what it was. It was how still she was. She didn’t seem to be breathing, and her body made no unnecessary movements. Then again, she was a botanical life form. It wasn’t like plants went around twitching and fidgeting. Most of the botanical species he’d negotiated with in the past hadn’t breathed normally either. Instead, they’d breathed through their skin.

“Please, follow me,” Galana said. “We have much to discuss. But first, we shall show you to your quarters and give you time to rest before we commence negotiations. I am sure you wish for some time to compose yourselves. Is that acceptable, Jake Smith?”

“Just call me Jake,” he said. “And it’s fine.” He had definitely met with worse hospitality in the past, and this should give them a closer look at more of the Tarklee’s botanical technology. Behind him, he could practically feel the eagerness radiating from the xeno-biologists and xeno-technologists on the team. Hopefully, they’d remember his warning and not get overenthusiastic. He’d once been on a mission where a xeno-biologist had accidentally groped an alien princess. Things had taken a turn for the worse after that, and Jake had considered himself lucky to escape with only a few minor burns and some bruises. “Please, lead the way.”

The Tarklee escorted them to a large organic vessel of some kind. It reminded Jake of a giant Venus flytrap with wings, which was less than reassuring. They climbed into it, and there was a faint shudder as it took to the air. Jake had no idea how it was able to carry all of them. The wings weren’t moving, nor were they big enough to generate enough lift even if they had been moving. However, one of the xeno-technologists muttered something about organic anti-gravity technology before he leaned as far over the side of the vessel as he could without falling out, all so he could get a better look at it.

They landed a few minutes later after travelling over a verdant landscape filled with trees, flowers, and shrubs. The building in front of them was gigantic, a towering structure that resembled one of the many stadiums used to play sports throughout the galaxy. What really caught his attention was its construction. It was made entirely out of intertwining trees. The botanical races that Jake was familiar with would have needed years to grow something like this, but he had a feeling that the Tarklee could do it a little bit faster.

“How do you do the stuff with the trees?” Pana asked. Jake bit back a wince at how blunt she was. On the upside, she’d asked the question. She hadn’t pointed a molecular disruptor at them and then demanded an answer.

Galana chuckled. Clearly, the question amused her. “You must be wondering about our botanical technology. We have a… bond with other botanical life forms. It allows us to guide and even greatly accelerate their growth. It took a team of ten Tarklee only a week to construct this building. Thanks to our efforts, it is completely self-sustaining. It will never require maintenance or repair, and it can easily be modified should the need arise.” She turned her strange, pupil-less gaze to Pana. “How would you have done it?”

Pana shrugged, buzzing lightly as she turned a faint purple. “Well, my people would probably have used space-folding technology to carry all of the components to the construction site before using that same technology to basically drop the components in place while using gravity manipulation and robots to connect and position everything properly.”

Galana’s lips twitched. It made Jake wonder why she even had lips in the first place. Did she use her mouth to consume nutrition, or was it simply for show? They wouldn’t be the first species to alter their appearance slightly to make communication easier. “An interesting method. Your species…?”

Pana puffed up with pride, and her glow shifted to a deep blue. “I am Pana, the Pailian Grand Sector Ambassador.” Her glow brightened. “And although we can’t match the Ancient Ones, my people are better at space-folding and weapons technologies than anyone else.”

“And I am Sector Chief Ambassador Orgex!” Orgex boomed. “Of the mighty C’thark! We are vastly superior to the tiny Pailia!”

“Enough,” Jake warned. “Try to keep it civil.”

Galana gave a light, tinkling laugh, and the broccoli-like structures on top of her head shifted back and forth. “Oh, you non-botanical are so amusing.” Flashes of red coloured Pana’s glow. She was not happy about being lumped in with the rest of them. “Nevertheless, grand sector ambassador, we have heard of your people although you and your delegation are the first we have encountered. The Salderians spoke most highly of your space-folding technology. Indeed, they were making use of it themselves.”

“Only the Ancient Ones are better.”

“So it would seem.” Galana motioned for them to follow her. “We will now show you to your accommodation. Given your… differing physiologies, we have done our best to meet your individual needs. If any mistakes have been made, please know that we mean no insult. Simply bring any issues to our attention, and our shapers will swiftly modify your rooms as necessary.”

“Shapers?” Jake tried not to laugh as he noticed the frantic notes some of his colleagues had begun to take as they proceeded toward the building. “I’m guessing they… shape things? That sounds handy.”

Galana’s gaze was intense as she scrutinised him. “The information we have suggests that you humans are quite ingenious, but you prefer to work mostly with synthetic materials or dead ones. You lack the ability to interact with botanical life forms the way we do. Of course, you are not botanical life forms, so it is not surprising. And the Ancient Ones did entrust the Galactic Peace Committee to you, which speaks well of your people.”

Jake hoped they never found out exactly how humanity had been left in charge of the Galactic Peace Committee. “We do our best. What do you mean by dead materials?”

“We manipulate living botanical life forms. Our abilities are less effective on those that are dead, such as the wood your people routinely make use of.” She nodded at the building ahead of them. “You lack the senses to be sure of it, but the entire building is alive. Not a single part of it is synthetic or dead.”

“Right.”

“It seems unusual to count humanity’s inability to work with living botanical life forms against them,” Amelia pointed out. “As you say, they cannot interface with botanical life forms the way you can. What other option did they have?”

Jake made a choking sound. “Not right now, Amelia.”

This was odd. She was blunt at the best of times, but she generally kept her mild contempt for everyone and everything under wraps during negotiations. Perhaps she was reacting to the smugness radiating from Galana and the other Tarklee. Their botanical technology was certainly impressive, but Amelia had been built by humanity, a race that had the power to annihilate planets, extinguish stars, and wage war on anyone who wasn’t a member of the Ancient Ones. She might not like people all that much, but Amelia was nevertheless confident in the overall superiority of her creators over the vast majority of races in the galaxy. In fairness, the Tarklee’s behaviour was not unusual. Most races new to galactic politics had a bit of an attitude until they realised – often by being confronted by superior firepower – that they were not, in fact, as powerful as they thought they were.

Galana’s eyes narrowed. The plants around them quivered. “You are a synthetic, yes? We’ve heard of your kind although we never explored that avenue of research – the dead made living.”

Jake cut in before Amelia could reply with words or something more extreme. “Is this going to be a problem?”

“We do not make synthetics, nor do we tolerate their manufacture in our territory.” Galana sighed. “However, we do understand that compromise is necessary. She is part of your delegation, so she will be permitted to stay. But be warned. If she steps out of line, we will deal with her.”

Amelia said nothing, but the flat stare she gave Galana was obvious in its meaning. The broccoli people were more than welcome to try dealing with her, but she would be only too happy to show them why human-built killer robots were so famous.

“Since you don’t make use of synthetics, do you make any use of advanced AI?” Jake asked. It was at times like this that he missed Abe. His friend would have been so useful to have around. Sure, he had some tech guys, but they’d be drilling into the details later. What he focused on were societal and cultural attitudes – not just what technology the Tarklee had but also how they felt about it and the technology of others. Abe was surprisingly perceptive when it came to stuff like this, and the last thing they needed was for another anti-technology crusade to spring up. They’d already had two this year.

“Jake.” Orgex brandished his tentacles in a display of exasperation. “Were you not listening? There is no metal or plastic here, no ceramics, silicone, or crystal. Everything is alive.”

Jake nodded. Orgex might be a bit unusual by human standards, but the C’thark were an apex predator species that came from one of the most deadly death worlds in the galaxy. Their environmental awareness and instincts were incredible, and their ability to detect danger was virtually unmatched. They would have been unbelievably good at poker if not for their exceedingly blunt mannerisms and their distaste for deception outside of warfare and sports.

“We do not make use of computers or AI, at least, not of the kind you are familiar with.” Galana’s eyes narrowed at Amelia before she turned her attention back to Jake. “However, we do have analogues, vast networks of interconnected botanical life forms, which we would be willing to discuss with your technology specialists once negotiations begin.” She continued toward the building. “In the meantime, I shall see you to your lodgings. We hope they are acceptable.”

Jake was relieved to find that his accommodation was more than acceptable. Admittedly, the walls being alive and moving ever so slightly all the time was pretty creepy – it was straight out of a horror movie, actually – but he’d dealt with worse. For one, the walls didn’t look like they could digest him, which was a step up from one of the earliest missions he’d taken. The bed itself looked suitably comfortable although he would have to ask the Tarklee about getting him a television or something.

“Television?” Galana’s brows furrowed. “Ah, yes, an entertainment display unit. We are familiar with those, but we do not use them.”

“Oh?”

“Instead, we use our free time to deepen our bond with other botanical life forms by communing with the gestalt botanical consciousness of this planet.”

“Okay.” Jake shrugged.

Like any good diplomat, he’d brought some personal computing devices, and he’d loaded them with enough entertainment programs and video games to last several lifetimes. He could also see if Abe was interested in some cooperative gameplay although he wasn’t exactly sure of what the time difference was or how bad the lag would be. Wait. Had the Galactic Information Network even put relays up in this area yet? They had a tendency to take things slowly unless there was a lot of money to be made, and the Tarklee didn’t exactly seem like the kind of people who were willing to pay for a top-class connection to the network.

After showing each of them to their quarters, the Tarklee departed to give them time to rest. Alas, Jake wasn’t able to rest for long before his first visitor arrived.

“And they have the gall to call us primitives!” Pana growled as she flitted about Jake’s room and poked and prodded everything she could reach with a variety of scientific instruments. “They don’t have any computers here, and there isn’t a single decent weapon here either. Even for pure organics, they’re depressingly backward.”

“Don’t be rude.” Jake did his best to ignore the way Pana was poking at everything. At least, she wasn’t poking at him. “And don’t forget that I saw you picking fights with crabs on the beach. You don’t get to pretend that you’re some kind of enlightened being of unmatched wisdom. Even the Ancient Ones are honest enough to admit that their idea of a good day involves plenty of alcohol and a nice spot on the beach.”

“Hmph!” Pana buzzed angrily. “Anyway, you need to get up. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s time for the first round of negotiations to begin.”

Jake glanced at his watch. She was right. But where had the time gone? He must have lost track of time while watching entertainment programs. He was almost ready to leave his room when Amelia arrived. Her blue eyes narrowed as Pana circled her with a scanner of some sort. “Do not bother attempting to scan my interior. I am equipped with special anti-scanning technology to prevent the theft of my design.” She nodded at Jake. “Negotiations are about to commence. We need to leave now if we are to arrive on time.” She paused. “I will also be staying in your room.”

“What?” Jake wasn’t about to get his hopes up. “Why?”

“Apparently, synthetics do not get their own rooms since the Tarklee do not consider us to be alive.”

“What did I say?” Pana jabbed her scanner in Jake’s direction. He flinched away on instinct. Some scanners emitted enough radiation to injure a normal human. “She’s a Class 3 synthetic, and they won’t give her a room of her own. Primitives. Simple-minded primitives.”

To Jake immense relief, the negotiations took place in a large conference room that was more than adequately suited to everyone’s physiologies. Even the C’thark had plenty of room to stand up and wave their tentacles, and the chairs were designed to adapt to each person’s anatomy. Jake leaned back in his chair and sighed in contentment. He might have to ask the Tarklee if he could bring one of these chairs back with him. It had way better lower-back support than the chair in his office.

The first round of negotiations went surprisingly well. Nobody ended up dead or severely injured, and not a single person was threatened with death or dismemberment. It was glorious. Jake was in such a good mood about it that he resolved to get Orgex a present later. The C’thark ambassador had shown remarkable restraint, and he’d even refrained from challenging any of the Tarklee to a volleyball match. A new hat might but good, but Jake would have to consult with some experts to make sure that he didn’t accidentally get him an insulting one.

For the most part, the Tarklee were more interested in ascertaining their relative standing in the galaxy than in making waves. It was the smart thing to do. They were new to the galactic community, so they had no real way of knowing where exactly they stood in the pecking order. Humanity was relatively friendly – they didn’t start wars although they were very good at finishing them – but the same could not be said of everyone else. There were dozens of races that preyed on those weaker than themselves, and there were also slave traders and all manner of unpleasant people who operated on the fringes of civilised space, careful to keep out of the Galactic Peace Committee’s reach. The Tarklee wanted to know whom in their immediate vicinity posed a threat and whom they could rely on for alliances and support.

To Jake’s surprise, the Tarklee did not seem overly concerned with the cultures and customs of other races, so long as they did not present a point of conflict with their own. It was a refreshingly common sense way of looking at things, so he decided to ask them about it.

“It is not that we do not care, Jake Smith,” Galana replied archly. “It is simply a question of priorities. We are a botanical species. We understand the importance of long-term planning to success. After all, we live far longer than most non-botanical species.” She smiled thinly. She had teeth of a sort, but they looked to be blunt rather than sharp, not at all suited to consuming meat. “We are new to the galactic community. We must first ensure our safety and prove ourselves before we can even think of exerting our influence throughout our region, never mind the galaxy as a whole.”

“The Galactic Peace Committee will do its best to help you and your people adjust to life as part of the galactic community,” Jake assured her. It was so nice to talk to a new race that didn’t immediately try to subjugate their neighbours or con people into giving them stuff for free. “However, I would advise you to form alliances as soon as possible.” He inclined his head at both Orgex and Pana. “Their… eccentricities aside, the C’thark and the Pailia have proven to be reliable allies. They have powerful military presences in this area, and they have demonstrated a willingness to defend trading partners and allies in the past. At the very least, being on amicable terms with them, even if you’re not formally allied, will still discourage most potential troublemakers.”

“I see.” Galana fell silent as she considered his words.

“Do you have hats?” Orgex asked.

Galana blinked. “Hats?”

Jake pointed at Orgex’s hat. “Hats are an important part of C’thark culture. They use them to signify political affiliation, rank, personal preferences, and even important achievements. They are thus always on the lookout for new and interesting types of hats.” He lowered his voice. “A word of advice: never insult the hat of a C’thark if you enjoy living.”

“How… interesting,” Galana murmured. “I am afraid that the Tarklee do not wear hats since what you would refer to as our hair helps us to make use of sunlight and other ambient sources of energy.”

Negotiations continued without a hitch until just after sunset. Jake was starting to get a bit peckish, but he’d downed a ration bar during one of the intermissions. It wasn’t the tastiest thing he’d ever eaten – to be honest, it was fairly atrocious – but ration bars were only a stopgap, a snack to keep him going until he had a chance to eat a proper meal.

“In accordance with Tarklee custom, we will now offer you sustenance to demonstrate our hospitality and goodwill,” Galana announced.

Jake kept his expression neutral. The Tarklee were basically humanoid plants. If they tried to feed everyone plant food – like soil or fertiliser – it would not go well. The C’thark enjoyed a diet made up mostly of meat, and the Pailia only ate something if they enjoyed its taste. Since they were made of what was essentially condensed energy, they were more than capable of fuelling their metabolism by absorbing energy from their surroundings. On his shoulder, Targan scowled. Despite his cute and cuddly appearance, the R’bit could certainly appreciate a good steak.

Galana must have guessed his concerns because she smiled indulgently. “We are aware of your dietary requirements. As Tarklee, my colleagues and I shall dine on the finest soils and minerals. You and your colleagues, however, shall be provided with the finest in non-botanical sustenance.”

Jake didn’t like the sound of it – but he changed his tune at the smell of it. Dish after dish was brought out, and all of them were meat of some kind or another. In fact, the only seasonings were things like salt. It smelled delicious, but he motioned for the others to wait. It couldn’t hurt to be careful.

“Can we eat this?” he whispered to Amelia.

The killer robot’s eyes glazed. She was running an in-depth scan on the food. After a moment, she nodded. “Yes. Molecular markers indicate edible organic material, most likely taken from a native species of some kind. The seasonings are entirely non-botanical, such as salt.” She turned to Galana. “You have clearly studied the available information on basic human biology.”

The Tarklee met Amelia’s gaze evenly. “We have been most thorough in our preparation. It is also our understanding that any food tolerable for humans can also be consumed by the C’thark and Pailia.”

It was a bit odd to rely on such a limited range of seasonings, but the Tarklee were a botanical race. Depending on how they viewed other botanical life forms, they might consider the use of herbs and spices to be something close to cannibalism. Oh well. His food smelled great, and there was plenty of water available to help him wash it down if it turned out to not taste as good as it smelled. Amelia’s scan aside, there was another way to check if the food was safe.

“Orgex,” Jake said, smiling. “Why don’t you do the honours?”

The C’thark gave a rumble of approval. “Gladly!” C’thark had immensely adaptable and hardy stomachs. Even if the food were poisoned with something Amelia couldn’t detect, the odds of Orgex suffering anything worse than indigestion were practically zero. Furthermore, the C’thark had excellent senses. Orgex would be sure to notice if anything unusual had been added to the food, and his blunt personality guaranteed that he would mention it. However, there was no need for concern. Orgex took a big bite out of what looked a lot like a steak and then waved his tentacles around in approval. “Excellent! Despite your botanical nature, this meat is delicious!”

Galana was almost insufferably smug. “As I said, we Tarklee do our best in whatever we put our minds to.”

Jake looked down at his own steak and grinned. Time to give it a try. A few seconds later, he was practically inhaling it. He didn’t know what animal this had come from, but he wanted more. He swallowed a big mouthful of it and washed it down with some water before speaking. “This is great. If you don’t mind my asking, what animal does it come from?”

“It comes from a species of large, grass-eating quadruped common to many of our worlds.” Galana smiled indulgently. “We have many such animals on this planet. Do you think they would prove popular throughout the galaxy?”

“I think they would. What about the other dishes? What sort of animals do they come from?”

Jake listened eagerly as Galana explained. Humans were always on the lookout for a good meal. If all of this food tasted this good with only salt and basic seasonings, then he could hardly imagine how they would taste once a good chef got their hands on them. He almost had to wipe some drool off his chin as he imagined his steak served with a good helping of gravy, pepper, garlic… the list went on. Oh, yes. He could work with this. He’d get a trade deal set up, bring some of these animals back to human territory, and then let the best human chefs loose on them with all the herbs, spices, and condiments in the galaxy at their disposal.

A smile crossed Jake’s lips as he imagined all of the things he could be eating in the near future. What would a hamburger made out of this meat taste like? And what about tacos and burritos? It was almost too good to be true. He glanced down the table to find that all of the other human diplomats were busy wolfing down their food too, all of them except for –

Oh crap.

“Amelia,” he hissed as one of the other human diplomats began to raise his voice. “Stop Murphy before that idiot can –”

* * *

Jake had known Connor Murphy for some time. In fact, the two of them had joined the Galactic Peace Committee in the same week. However, Jake had advanced far more rapidly than the other man. Why? In simple terms, it was because Murphy was a smug, sanctimonious prick that liked to believe that he was better than everyone else, and he had absolutely no problem telling that to anyone that was unfortunate enough to have to listen. Diplomacy – real diplomacy – required a careful balance of steel and silk, of carrot and stick. Telling angry, murderous aliens that they were his moral and intellectual inferiors might have felt good, but it was not a path to long-term – or even short-term – success.

It was something of a minor miracle that Murphy was still alive. Personally, Jake thought it was because of how quick Murphy was on his feet, especially when things got dicey. Jake could distinctly remember Murphy being the first person to run on several missions they’d been on, long before the order to retreat had been given. Jake was many things, but he wasn’t the sort of man to simply abandon his colleagues at the first sign of trouble.

But perhaps the biggest reason for Jake’s dislike was Murphy’s constant, incessant, and increasingly militant ranting about his veganism. Now, Jake had no problems with vegans. The way he saw it, people could eat what they wanted, and advanced food technology and health supplements ensured that people could get all of the nutrients they needed, no matter what their diet was. What he objected to was someone sitting down beside him while he was enjoying a delightfully unhealthy burger just so they could lecture him on what a terrible person he was for eating it. Malcolm wasn’t a big fan of supremely unhealthy burgers either, but he opted for amusing remarks about cardiovascular disease instead of going on full-blown rants.

Jake had once been forced to listen to Murphy prattle on about how burgers were evil for the better part of three hours despite the fact that the meat the space station used to make burgers was basically grown in tanks. Even getting up hadn’t solved the problem. Murphy had followed him around the space station. He’d only retreated when Orgex had turned up in Jake’s office with a huge slab of meat and a demand that Jake explain the intricacies of humanity’s techniques for cooking steak.

And now Murphy was waving his plate around and yelling about how being a vegan was the only morally defensible way to live. Clearly, Murphy had not bothered to think things through because lecturing a bunch of broccoli people on how eating vegetables was more moral than eating meat was probably not the best idea.

At all.

* * *

Silence reigned as Murphy finished his rant about eating plants and vegetables instead of animals with a smile so smug it would have been comical if not for the situation. If Jake had a shock staff, he would have bashed Murphy over the head with it and claimed that the poor fellow was deranged. It was a testament to how big Murphy’s blunder was that even the C’thark looked vaguely horrified, and they were renowned for being about as subtle as an antimatter warhead to the face.

“So… you value the lives of botanicals less than those of other organics?” Galana thundered as she rose to her feet. “How dare you! I am descended from those you would call mere vegetables. It is bad enough that you… non-botanicals must eat botanicals to survive but to… to… advocate… such… such genocide… the… the exclusive consumption of botanicals! You are truly despicable creatures. Tell me, would you rather eat one of my people than one of the quadrupeds we have been serving you for food?”

A smart man would have tried to backtrack or apologise. Murphy was not a smart man. He was a smug one. He met Galana’s gaze evenly and gave his reply. “Yes.”

Jake would later identify that precise moment as the instant everything went wrong.

“I see.” Galana’s eyes narrowed ominously, and her finger-like tendrils clenched. Her voice hardened. “I had heard of… vegans, but my people had dismissed them as mere hearsay or propaganda. But now I know the truth. You… to think you would forgo meat solely to consume helpless botanicals. There are no words for such evil.” She growled. “Your cruelty has gone on long enough.”

“Oh, crap,” Jake muttered as he helped himself to one last bite of his steak. He had a feeling he wouldn’t get to finish the rest of it.

Targan looked up at him and grinned. “Battle is at hand, puny human.”

Galana turned on her heel and began to walk away from the table. The other Tarklee diplomats did the same as more Tarklee, this time from the military caste, emerged from the floor, walls, and ceiling. “You seem happy to wage war against botanicals. Allow us to return the favour.” She nodded at the Tarklee from the military caste. “Kill the non-botanicals.”

Jake was tempted to scream, but screaming would have wasted valuable air – air that he would need when all the shooting started. As Galana walked away, the other Tarklee surrounded the table. Their bodies twitched, and they cast aside their humanoid shapes. Instead, they were now towering, vaguely tree-like monstrosities with barbed branches and razor-sharp vines.

“Oh, for crying out loud…” Jake muttered. “Protocol Five!” he shouted. “Protocol Five!”

Due to the alarming frequency of certain situations, the Galactic Peace Committee had developed shorthand for use in the field. Protocol Five signified that an assassination attempt was imminent and that all diplomats and other staff should begin a fighting retreat toward the nearest evacuation point. It also authorised the used of deadly force in response to enemy aggression although safe retreat was to be the priority.

Jake eyed the Tarklee closest to him. The Tarklee weren’t stupid. They’d known that humans ate botanicals, but the vegan thing must have been the last straw. A human who ate only plants despite being biologically capable of also eating meat would have been an incredible insult to their way of life. Frankly, if Jake had been a botanical, he would have been horrified too. And to make matters worse, Murphy had decided to keep talking.

“So what if I’m a vegan?” Murphy bellowed. “There’s nothing wrong with eating only plants! Would you rather some innocent animal suffer instead?”

“Shut up, you idiot,” one of the diplomats next to Murphy shouted. “They’re plant people. Are you trying to get us all killed?”

“Hah!” Murphy scoffed. “I’m not afraid of –”

In all honesty, Jake probably wouldn’t have saved Murphy from the branch that one of the Tarklee swung to take his head off. He had two reasons. One, throwing himself in front of a branch that big that was being swung that quickly would only have gotten them both killed. And two, Murphy was too far away. He would never have gotten to him in time. Oh, he was fully ready to shout a warning. Human solidarity was a thing, and it would lower his mission rating if Murphy got killed. Luckily, he didn’t have to do anything because Orgex warded off the blow with a mighty swing of his tentacles.

“Interesting.” Orgex postured, tentacles moving swiftly through an elaborate threat display. “Your attack wasn’t bad, Tarklee. But we C’thark are known for the strength and flexibility of our tentacles! If you wish to kill us, prepare to face the strength of the C’thark and know that you face a volleyball champion at the height of his powers!” Around Orgex, the other C’thark roared their support and thumped their tentacles into the table until it splintered and gave way. Orgex jabbed at the Tarklee with his tentacles. “C’thark… attack!”

Jake had no idea how volleyball was relevant to the current situation, but he wasn’t about to complain. Orgex and his fellow C’thark thundered into the Tarklee closest to them. The botanicals fought to hold their ground, but the C’thark had a well-earned reputation for their ferocity in battle. Orgex rained blow after blow down on his opponent as the Tarklee battered at him with his branches and tendrils.

“Go for the doors!” Jake shouted as the Tarklee around them fell back before the charge of more than a half a dozen tentacle monsters.

They didn’t get far before a stream of botanical projectiles cut them off. Each projectile was like a sharpened pinecone filled with explosives, but Amelia was there to take the worst of it. Her shields flared, and she barely managed to keep her footing. More importantly, however, the killer robot had prevented any of the attacks from hitting the squishier human diplomats cowering behind her. Both of her arms transformed, and her gaze hardened as her combat protocols engaged.

“Pana!” Jake ducked under a branch and then hurled a chair at one of the Tarklee. It had less effect than he’d hoped, and he had to duck again a second later when the botanical hurled the broken remnants of the chair back at him. “I know that I told you not to bring any weapons to this diplomatic conference, but I also know that you never listen to what I say when it comes to weapons. You’ve got to have something we can use.”

“Hah!” Pana blazed crimson, and the Pailians around her began to summon their weaponry. “As if I’d let myself get killed by some stupid tree people.” She reached into the tightly folded space that she used to store things and pulled out a weapon that looked an awful lot like a fairy wand. It even sparkled. But Jake wasn’t fooled. That thing was bound to be absolutely deadly. “I have this!”

“And what is it?”

“A super high energy directed electrical discharge weapon!”

“Huh?”

“It’s a lightning gun – a really, really big lightning gun.”

“Oh.” Jake nodded quickly and jerked out of the way as Amelia ripped into the trunk of one of the nearby Tarklee with a barrage of incendiary rounds. Odd. He didn’t think those were part of her usual armoury. She must have added them just for this mission after realising that the Tarklee were botanical life forms. “And you’re going to use it, right?”

Pana cackled malevolently, and every hair on Jake’s body stood on end as the fairy wand lit up. “You bet I am.”

* * *

Jake had once believed that humans were the biggest idiots in the galaxy. After all, they’d been suckered into taking over the Galactic Peace Committee, which was arguably the most aggravating, dysfunctional organisation in galactic history, all so the Ancient Ones could leave their responsibilities behind and live it up. However, his years as a diplomat had forced him to reconsider. Sure, humans could be fooled, but it had taken the Ancient Ones to do it. More importantly, humans were superb at self-preservation – perhaps not individually but certainly as a species. Humans also had an excellent grasp of when to use force and when to rely on treachery and other less savoury tactics. Few races could combine brute force with subterfuge and skulduggery the way that humanity could.

Even amongst the Ancient Ones, the majority of races relied on overwhelming firepower to end their fights, with the space teddy bears being an important exception. Yes, the space teddy bears were ridiculously powerful, and, yes, even a single one of their ships could take on hundreds of human vessels at the same time and win. But space teddy bears also had a knack for outwitting their opponents and winning well before the shooting even started. Only the dreaded space koalas – a race that bore an uncanny resemblance to the marsupial species of Earth – were more devious and cunning. Indeed, it was widely believed that no less than thirty per cent of the major conflicts in the galaxy were due to the machinations of bored space koalas in search of entertainment.

What was unfolding right now was yet another example of how humanity might not be the biggest idiots in the galaxy. The Tarklee had made a mistake – a big mistake. If humanity had wanted to wipe out a large group of diplomats, they would either have arranged an “accident” on the way to the negotiations or used some kind of specifically tailored but undetectable poison to get rid of them. At worst, humanity would have bribed some alien mercenaries to plant some explosives before wiping out the mercenaries to both make themselves look good and tie up any loose ends. The Tarklee, though, had chosen to rely on brute force, which was a terrible, terrible idea when races like the C’thark and Pailia were involved.

Take Orgex, for example. The C’thark leader was by no means gifted in subtlety or political intrigue. What he was good at was volleyball – and killing things. He had spent the first minute of the battle trying to get a better grasp of Tarklee physiology before simply falling back on an age-old C’thark favourite: dismemberment. With a mighty roar, Orgex ripped the branches off the Tarklee he was fighting. Green liquid – sap or blood – spewed everywhere as the Tarklee gave a high-pitched shriek that soon became a gurgle as Orgex turned the botanical’s own limbs against him. Jake winced. Orgex had often talked about tearing off the limbs of his enemies, so he could beat them to death with their own limbs. However, this was the first time that Jake had actually seen him do it, and it was even more awe-inspiringly horrible than he had imagined.

More Tarklee advanced on Orgex, outraged by the manner of their comrade’s demise, and Orgex let loose a big, booming laugh. He used the dead Tarklee’s branches to club another Tarklee to death before impaling another two of the botanicals when he threw the branches with his full strength. Jake had to fight to stay on his feet as green fluid sprayed absolutely everywhere. No wonder the C’thark had to use specially designed volleyballs. Even a fraction of their full strength would be more than enough to destroy even the sturdiest volleyball intended for human use.

“Hah!” Orgex chuckled. “These Tarklee are weak, but they die well. Their tendrils and branches are close enough to fulfil ancient C’thark tradition!” He gestured at his fellow C’thark with his tentacles. “My fellow C’thark, tear their branches and tendrils off! Let their own limbs be their undoing!”

Naturally, that was when even more Tarklee started to come out of the walls, floor, and ceiling. Jake really hated it when stuff from horror movies started happening in real life. The building really was alive, and it was also apparently full of murderous Tarklee. Screw negotiating. Jake needed to focus on staying alive.

There was a tremendous crack of thunder, and one of the Tarklee exploded. The sap or blood inside its body had been almost instantaneously turned into steam by the lightning gun that Pana was now merrily shooting at anything that so much as looked at her funny. Her fellow Pailians were likewise using an assortment of exotic weapons to exterminate botanicals. Normally, Jake would have been morally obligated to point out that slaughtering the people hosting the diplomatic dinner was, at the very least, highly impolite. Right now, though? Well, the Tarklee were trying to kill them, so he’d overlook it this time.

“Can you get in touch with a transport?” Jake shouted to Amelia as Targan bounded off his shoulder and transformed.

The R’bit’s massive body gave Jake something to hide behind, and the R’bit offered him one of the many weapons stored in his armoury. It was a laser rifle of some kind, and Jake swiftly put it to work. Laser rifles weren’t ideal against tree people, but he could still blow the occasional hole in them or sever some of their branches and tendrils. If only he had a rifle with incendiary rounds, then he’d really be able to make some progress.

“I have already requested a transport,” Amelia replied. “However, we have to reach open ground before they can retrieve us. The Tarklee have also activated anti-aircraft batteries across the planet. Our ships are currently working to disable or destroy them, but the ships we have are not equipped for large-scale combat.”

“Damn it –”

“Duck, puny human!”

Jake didn’t like being referred to as ‘puny human’, but Targan understood battle. So when Targan told him to duck, Jake didn’t argue. He ducked. A pinecone-like projectile flew threw the air where his head had been before exploding. The shrapnel would have killed him, but Targan put himself between Jake and the blast. His shields flickered briefly, and the R’bit gave a contemptuous snort before training his weaponry on the Tarklee who had fired the projectile. A bolt of energy turned the Tarklee into ash, and Targan prodded Jake with one enormous claw.

“Are you alive, puny human?” The former warlord made a disgusted sound. “If only you humans weren’t so weak against fire, I could simply set this entire building alight. As a mighty R’bit warrior, the flames would do nothing to hinder me, which would allow me to savour the screams of my foes as they burned.”

“Yeah, don’t do that.” Jake looked around and flinched as more shrapnel arced through the air. “How many of them are there?”

“According to my sensors, there are hundreds of Tarklee around us, with more approaching every moment.” Targan levelled his plasma cannons at a particularly large Tarklee that had charged toward them. The attack ripped the Tarklee in half, and Targan seized the burning corpse and hurled it toward another group of the botanicals. “Follow me. I shall clear a path to the door.”

Targan’s weapons fired without pause as he carved his way through the Tarklee. Jake did his best to offer supporting fire with his laser rifle, but he spent most of his time using Targan as a shield. “Puny human, we must leave this place. Regardless of their pitiful strength, the Tarklee will eventually overrun us with sheer numbers.”

“I know.” Jake was about to break into a run toward the doors when he spotted Murphy. The other man had fallen, and he was busy screaming something about his ankle. Oh, for crying out loud… he really should just leave him. No one would blame him, and he doubted anyone would even notice. His jaw clenched. He was going to regret this later. He just knew it. Damn it. Jake shook his head and doubled back, grabbing the other man and dragging him along as best he could. A Tarklee loomed over them, branches raised to crush them with a single blow –

And Amelia obliterated the Tarklee’s head with one of her incendiary rounds.

Another Tarklee pushed forward, and Jake grimaced. Murphy wasn’t helping at all. It was like carrying a giant, whining vegan sack of potatoes. Was he seriously going to get killed by broccoli people who turned into tree people?

“No,” Jake growled. “I am not getting killed by mutant broccoli.” He shifted his hold on Murphy to support the other man with one arm and levelled his laser rifle at the Tarklee. The botanical gave a roar of fury, and Jake fired until the weapon overheated and shut down. Unfortunately, his aim hadn’t been as good as he thought. The Tarklee slumped to the ground and then began to crawl forward, lashing at the air with razor-sharp tendrils. Jake grimaced and then gave a cry of disbelief as Murphy had the audacity to shove him at the Tarklee and then stagger away. That absolute jerk – he should have left him.

“Catch, puny human!” Jake turned as a shock stick flew through the air toward him, courtesy of Targan. “Finish your enemy with your treacherous weapon.”

Jake caught the shock staff and jammed it into the Tarklee’s side. The weapon sparked to life, and the botanical screeched before slumping to the ground. Just to be safe, Jake gave the Tarklee a couple of stout whacks over the head.

Amelia fell into position beside him. “Clubbing a botanical life form to death is highly inefficient.”

“Yes, well, I can’t transform my arm into a gun,” Jake replied.

“That is correct.” Amelia ripped gaping holes into a clump of advancing Tarklee with her incendiary rounds as another barrage of botanical projectiles clattered into her shields. “The Tarklee were only too happy to boast of their botanical technology. However, it seems that the technology used in my creation is clearly superior.” She paused. “Their durability aside, they are also ill-suited to this sort of combat, lacking the strength and penchant for violence that the C’thark have, as well as the cunning and ingenuity of the Pailia.”

“Maybe, but there are a lot of them.” They backed toward the door. Targan was trying to force it open, but it refused to budge, and the shields around it prevented him from simply tearing through it with his weapons. Orgex caught sight of them and came over to help, hammering away at the shields around the door using the battered remains of a dead Tarklee as makeshift clubs. “We need to get out of here. We’re holding them off for now, but they’ll overrun us eventually.” He made a disgusted sound. “Maybe we will get killed by broccoli people. If it didn’t involve me dying, then I’d never be able to live it down.” He glared as Murphy sprinted over to join them by the door. His ankle, it seemed, had been miraculously healed. “On the upside, at least Murphy will die too.”

“I have run full diagnostics on some of the corpses,” Amelia remarked dryly. “Technically, they are closer to asparagus than broccoli despite their appearance.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Damn. I’m not sure if that makes being killed by them more or less humiliating although I never did like asparagus or broccoli.” He looked around. The other diplomats were all staring at him as if he had some kind of magical solution to their problems. He took a deep breath. “Targan!” he shouted. “This is taking too long. Do what you have to do.”

The R’bit threw his head back and laughed. Jake winced. The last time he’d given Targan orders like that, the former warlord had blown up a planet. Hopefully, they could avoid that this time.

“Gladly, puny human.”

There was a whirr as Targan summoned several weapons that Jake was certain were banned by at least half a dozen galactic treaties. There was a brilliant flash of light, and the door exploded off its hinges. That nagging sense of unease – the one that told him he was going to regret telling Targan to cut loose – grew, but what choice did they have? They needed to get out of here, and it wasn’t like the Tarklee were going to let them just walk out. Besides, what was the worst that could happen?

* * *

“Well,” Jake said as he sat down on the other side of Malcolm’s desk and watched the super-slow-motion holographic replay of the Tarklee planet, Tar-Share, exploding. “I’m not sure what to say. It’s not like I told Targan to blow up another planet, but I guess I should have expected it after telling him to do what he needed to do.” He scratched the back of his head. “And the Tarklee were trying to kill us all. I just… I have no idea how he managed to do it.”

Targan hopped onto Malcolm’s desk and helped himself to a cookie. “Foolish puny human. The pathetic tree people were using some form of hyperspace conduit generator, most likely to harvest energy from the turbulence of hyperspace in their region. A single well-placed explosive was enough to create a chain reaction that destroyed their world.”

Jake sighed. “You know, that makes two planets I’ve blown up. I mean… not me… but someone under my command.”

“It does.” Malcolm’s lips twitched. “We’ve already viewed footage from the, ahem, incident. It’s hard to fault your actions.” Malcolm frowned. “Murphy should have kept his mouth shut. The fleet has also confirmed that several of our ships came under attack when they sought to come to your aid. If that isn’t an indication of hostile intent, I don’t know what is. We ended up having to send in almost a hundred ships before the Tarklee retreated.”

“That many?” Jake hadn’t realised that things had escalated so far. Then again, he’d spent most of his time on the transport trying to come up with a decent explanation for how another planet had gotten blown up.

“It was a mess,” Malcolm said. “From the data we’ve recovered, Tar-Share wasn’t a particularly important world. It seems to be one of their newest worlds, and it appears to have been settled almost entirely for diplomatic purposes. As worlds go, it was probably the least important one that you could have destroyed.” Malcolm shook his head and reached out to grab the plate before Targan could take all of the cookies on it. “It’s unfortunate. They are the first botanical race we’ve ever met that advocates non-botanical genocide despite not being a hive mind. The other individualistic botanical races are all much more laidback.” He chuckled. “You can expect the guys from xeno-psychology and xeno-archaeology to come looking for you. They want to understand as much as possible, and you’re their best bet since the Tarklee have gathered their fleets and are threatening to attack any non-botanical that enters their territory. We’re going to ask the Salderians to go back in and talk to them. I doubt it will work, but we have to at least try to avoid another war.”

“We’d win that war, sir.”

“Yes, we would. But the fleet is already spread too thin. We can’t afford to concentrate our forces for a full-blown war. The moment we did, we’d have troublemakers popping up all over the place.” Malcolm lifted a cookie to his lips and took a bite out of it. “I’ll talk to Murphy too, Jim. He’s getting demoted. The only question is how far.”

“Was I right to go back for him?”

Malcolm’s expression turned serious. “Yes, you were. He’s still one of ours. But look on the bright side. You’ve become a hero with vegans the galaxy over for not only saving Murphy but also dealing with a race the Galactic Vegan Association has declared their arch nemesis.” He grinned. “In fact, they’re even giving you a free holiday on a beach world, and it just so happens that you’ll have to be put on administrative leave while we review the exact circumstances leading to the destruction of Tar-Share.”

Jake’s mouth opened and closed. “That’s… great. And hopefully, my next mission won’t end in another world getting blown up.” He glared at Targan.

The R’bit munched on a cookie and shrugged. “If people cease trying to murder you, puny human, I will cease destroying their worlds and making widows of their women.” He looked about furtively. “Also, how could I face my ancestors in the afterlife if I was felled by mere broccoli people?”

A week later, Jake was enjoying a cool sea breeze on a wonderful beach when he noticed several hermit crabs scuttling past as quickly as they could. A shiver ran down his spine.

“Is something wrong?”

Jake turned to the lovely brunette beside him. She had a warm smile on her face, and she was running one hand through Targan’s fur. The former R’bit warlord seemed perfectly content to play the part of a cute and cuddly pet after being promised a large reward of cookies and pancakes when their holiday was over. It did not hurt that the brunette lavished attention on him, combing his fur and trimming his claws. Clearly, being cute and cuddly was the way to go.

“It’s nothing,” Jake said. “I just thought I saw someone from work.” Other than Abe, who was currently sunning himself on a nearby rock, Jake hadn’t seen anyone from work during his holiday. Maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have to worry about any craziness –

A massive shadow fell over him, a massive shadow with a lot of tentacles. Jake turned.

“Greetings, Jake!” Orgex boomed. “Have you come here to witness my victory in another volleyball tournament?” The C’thark chuckled. “The tournament begins tomorrow, and I intend to bask in the glory of victory once more!”

More hermit crabs scuttled past, and Jake caught sight of a small, glowing shape flitting through the air not far away. His eye twitched. Was this actually happening? Evil cackling filled the air along with the buzz of some kind of energy weapon, and Jake was forced to admit that this was, in fact, actually happening.

And it was about to get worse.

“You failed to file the necessary paperwork before leaving the space station.” Amelia walked up to him and frowned.

The brunette beside him sat up and glared at him. “Jake, who is this?”

Jake fought the urge to scream. “That is Amelia. She is my secretary.”

“Your secretary?” The brunette’s eyes narrowed as she took careful note of Amelia’s flawless complexion, statuesque features, perfect figure, and stylish bikini. “Do you really expect me to believe that your secretary would follow you all the way here?”

“I know it sounds crazy, but she’s actually a killer robot who is obsessed with making me do incredibly large amounts of paperwork.”

The brunette huffed and got to her feet before stomping off.

Jake took a deep, deep breath and then turned to the others. “All of you stay here. I will be right back.” Orgex waved his tentacles, and Amelia brandished her paperwork. Behind them, Pana had turned her attention from the hermit crabs to an unfortunate seabird of some kind. “Yes, Orgex, I will come watch the volleyball tournament tomorrow. I’m sure you’ll win. And Amelia, just leave that paperwork here. I’ll get it done before tomorrow.”

As Jake ran after the brunette, Targan gave a low chuckle. “I do not think the puny human will be mating tonight.”

About the Author

I am a writer with an avid interest in psychology, physics, history, and economics. Writing has long been a passion of mine, and I hope to someday make a career of it. Apart from writing, I have worked in education as a lecturer in one of the aforementioned subjects.

I believe that writing is a wonderful thing and that good writing and the techniques required to develop it should be shared with as many people as possible. In that regard, I’m always open to hearing from anyone who was read my work. If you want to contact me (perhaps to praise or perhaps to put your proverbial stake and pitchfork to work), then by all means send me an email, or drop by my blog where I discuss issues related to books, writing, and my own work.

My email: lgestrella@outlook.com

My blog: http://lgestrella.wordpress.com

If you send an email or leave a comment, I’ll do my best to get back to you.

More From L. G. Estrella

If you’re interested in reading more of my stories, you can find them on Amazon.

There are also previews for each of my stories at my blog: lgestrella.wordpress.com

You can also read on to find out more about my stories.

Two Necromancers, a Bureaucrat, and an Elf

The Unconventional Heroes Series Part One

Two necromancers, a bureaucrat, and an elf – it sounds like the start of a bad joke, only the joke is on Timmy.

Timothy Walter Bolton – better known as Timmy – has spent most of his life as a necromancer. When he isn’t terrorising his enemies, he’s plotting inside his castle, which is built on top of lightless chasms filled with nameless horrors and beings of a generally malevolent and megalomaniacal nature. But after one of his latest creations, a zombie hydra-dragon-bear, tries to eat him, he decides that maybe it’s time to find a new, less dangerous, career.

But that’s easier said than done. He’s a wanted criminal with no shortage of powerful (and crazy) enemies, and he has a bone or two to pick with the Everton Council of Mages.

Hope arrives in the form of a new law. War is coming to Everton, and the Council is desperate. In exchange for providing some help, Timmy might just earn that pardon he’s been looking for. Of course, just because it’s possible to earn a pardon doesn’t mean that it’s going to be easy.

To earn his pardon, Timmy is going to have to take down some of Everton’s most dangerous enemies and put together a quirky group of unconventional heroes, most of whom want nothing more than to mangle him and/or the Council in as vicious a way as possible. It’s a good thing that he’s got some help: an obnoxious ten-year-old apprentice who thinks that pink glasses are appropriate for a budding necromancer and a bumbling bureaucrat who may or may not make it through their first real fight without puking his guts up.

Wonderful.

Still, Timmy’s never been one to back down from a challenge even if their first recruit is basically the elf version of the bogeyman.

Two Necromancers, an Army of Golems, and a Demon Lord

The Unconventional Heroes Series Part Two

Two necromancers, an army of golems, and a demon lord – it sounds like a recipe for trouble, and for Timmy, it definitely is.

To earn his pardon and avoid horrible torture and/or gruesome execution, Timmy has to complete every mission the Council throws his way, most of which seem to involve extremely scary things trying to kill him. At least he’s got help – sort of. His help consists of an apprentice with designs on his castle (and her plans may or may not involve overthrowing him), a bureaucrat whose two greatest skills are fainting in the face of trouble and using people (usually Timmy) as human shields, and an elf with the world’s worst case of pyromania and enough magic to level a mountain.

Somehow, Timmy’s got to get this bunch of unconventional heroes to work together. Trouble is coming, and it’s trouble of the kind that only a necromancer like Timmy could possibly find himself in the middle of. An army of killer golems is on the loose, which may give Timmy the excuse he needs to legally unleash wave after wave of killer zombies. Zombie versus golem – it’s every necromancer’s dream. And then there’s the demon lord that’s out to usher in the apocalypse. Sure, demons aren’t exactly his specialty, but there’s nothing that a good magical shovel to the back of the head can’t fix.

One way or another, Timmy is going to get his pardon and a tax rebate too – even if it means going up against murderous golems, insane demon lords, or mischievous ninja rodents with a predilection for magical swords and the skills to back up the trash talk.

Two Necromancers, a Dragon, and a Vampire

The Unconventional Heroes Series Part Three

Two necromancers, a dragon, and a vampire – it sounds like a shortcut to disaster, and for Timmy, it’s certainly looking that way.

To earn his pardon and avoid becoming yet another necromancer statistic, Timmy has to work for the Council. From bandit uprisings to giant sea serpents and ogre invasions, Timmy and the others are there to save the day – sort of.

And despite relying on overly intelligent ninja rats, an elf who believes that fire is the answer to everything, a bureaucrat who struggles to stay conscious through an entire fight, and a precocious apprentice who has designs on his castle, property damage per mission is down, they haven’t blown up another mountain, and they’ve gone several missions without ripping a hole in reality.

Naturally, it won’t last.

When the dragon egg their resident pyromaniac stole hatches to reveal the world’s cuddliest harbinger of death, Timmy and the others are dragged into a pair of diabolically dangerous missions. Breaking out of one of the world’s most secure prisons was hard enough. Now, they have to break back in to rescue a vampire.

And then there’s the Eye of the Abyss. Does your country have a problem with a divine artefact capable of singlehandedly winning a war? Don’t worry. Just send Timmy and the gang. They’ll handle it, and Timmy might even get to live every necromancer’s dream with… zombie pirates.

Timmy and the others want their pardons, and they’re not going to let anyone stop them, not armies, not fleets, not even the most powerful empire the world has ever seen that just so happens to hold a centuries-old grudge against Everton.

The world is going to learn a very important lesson: never, ever underestimate a necromancer with a shovel and time to plan.

The Hungry Dragon Cookie Company

The Unconventional Heroes Series Side Stories Part One

The Hungry Dragon Cookie Company – it sounds crazy, but it might just be Timmy’s ticket to financial security and a fully renovated castle.

To earn a pardon and avoid prison or execution, Timmy, Grand Necromancer and Lord of Black Tower Castle, has been completing missions for the Council with the help of an elite team of truly heroic individuals.

There’s Katie, his apprentice. She’s brilliant, cunning, and maniacally devious. She’s also ten years old, extremely adorable, and loves billowy robes and the colour pink.

There’s Avraniel, the pyromaniac elf who is responsible for more property damage than anyone in Everton’s history (including dragons, natural disasters, and demon gods).

There’s Gerald, the hyperventilating bureaucrat who is at the top of every monster’s menu.

There’s Old Man, a retired legendary swordsman whose hobbies include bonsai trees, fishing, and the occasional duel to the death.

There’s Amanda, ancient vampire and sophisticate who knows all about the Council’s founding because she was there when it happened.

And then there’s Spot. He’s cute, cuddly, and friendly. He loves tug-of-war and fetch. He’s also a fire-breathing dragon who can devour an entire cow in about thirty seconds.

The Hungry Dragon Cookie Company is a collection of fourteen short stories that take place before, during, and after the first three parts of The Unconventional Heroes Series. Each story hopes to answer important questions like:

How does a company involving cookies and dragons even work?

How did a trans-dimensional, protoplasmic horror and a Grand Necromancer become friends, and how did that horror develop an addiction to cake?

How does an ancient vampire acquire the comely, young virgins she needs to maintain proper vampiric health without looking like a total weirdo?

Answers to all of these questions and more will be revealed. With unconventional heroes like Timmy and the gang around, life is never boring.

Divine Assistance

When the Supreme Mother and Supreme Father separated Creation from the Void, they also created the gods, beings of incalculable power who wielded cosmic energies far beyond the petty comprehension of mere mortals. The gods were supposed to preside over Creation with unmatched wisdom and knowledge.

Well, that was the idea.

But what is Death – a god of terrible majesty and splendour – supposed to do when his daughter asks for a pony? Is he really supposed to just go out and get a mortal one? Like that’s going to work. It’ll keel over and die in a couple of decades. No, his daughter deserves something better, a pony truly worthy of her divine heritage, which means he’s going to have to get a little bit creative.

And then there’s Bureaucracy. The Supreme Mother and Supreme Father might have given rise to Creation, but Bureaucracy is the one who has to keep everything running smoothly. But that’s easier said than done when there are hundreds of gods and countless mortals to consider – none of whom understand the importance of filing paperwork in triplicate. Luckily, not even gods can escape the awesome power of divine paperwork.

And let’s not forget gods like Mayhem, Mischief, and Rabble. Their names speak for themselves. When the three of them take a holiday in the mortal world at the same time, trouble is right around the corner.

Divine Assistance is a collection of fourteen short stories about the gods and their attempts to manage Creation. There are souls to claim, mortals to woo, and even the occasional city to smite. After all, what’s life without a little divine assistance?

The Galactic Peace Committee

In one universe, humanity conquers the stars. In another universe, humanity is overrun by monsters so evil that their very presence dims the light of the stars. In yet another universe, humanity is drawn into an endless battle for dominion over the galaxy.

This is not one of those universes.

In this universe, humanity is in charge of the Galactic Peace Committee. In theory, the Committee is an unmatched force for good, bringing peace and prosperity to countless worlds and ensuring that conflicts between different races are settled with words and not planet-cracking weaponry or super plagues designed to turn everyone into goo.

In theory.

Jake Smith is a diplomat. He works for the Committee. This is his story – and it goes about as well as you’d expect. In other words, it doesn’t go very well at all. Can Jake survive petty aliens? Sure. He’s a diplomat. It’s all part of the job. What about angry aliens? Probably. He does have a killer robot for a secretary, and he’s not bad with a shock staff. How about a fleet of aliens out for blood? That… that might be a little bit trickier.

The Galactic Peace Committee… keeping peace (sort of) throughout the galaxy.

The Trouble With Werewolves

The Department Series Part One

Listen up rookies, I’m going to keep this short, and I’m going to keep this simple. If you’re going to be an agent for the Australian Department of Unusual Events, then you need to know how to deal with werewolves. And werewolves, rookies, are not pleasant creatures to deal with. The average werewolf is seven feet tall and weighs roughly two hundred and fifty kilograms. The average werewolf also wants nothing more than to rip your face off and eat you for dinner.

If you want to beat a werewolf, you can’t afford to fight fair. No, you cheat – you cheat as much as you bloody can. If that means sneaking up on it and putting a silver bullet in the back of its head with a sniper rifle, then that’s what you do. But I’m not going to waste your time by telling you what you already know. I’m not going to tell you about a mission where everything went right. I’m going to tell you about a mission where things went wrong because things always go wrong and learning how to deal with that is the only way you’ll last more than a year or two in the Department.

So pay attention and take notes. It could save your life.

Beneath a Shattered Sky

The Fracture Chronicles Part One

There were idiots – and then there were the Ancients.

More than two thousand years ago, the Ancients decided that simply killing each other with all the power in one world wasn’t enough. No. They had to use the power of countless other worlds to kill each other.

Unfortunately, things didn’t quite work out the way they planned.

The barriers separating the world of Fracture from other worlds shattered, and the Ancients were overrun by endless hordes of otherworldly monsters. Civilisation collapsed, monsters ate lots of people, and pretty much everything that could go wrong did go wrong.

Oops.

Eventually, the survivors invented barriers, a powerful form of magic capable of stabilising parts of Fracture and keeping out otherworldly monsters. Score one for civilisation.

Sophie is a graduate of Relic’s Temple, a warrior trained to use innate magic to fight all manner of bloodthirsty otherworldly monsters in hand-to-hand combat. At her legendary mother’s behest, she goes on a journey to find her mother’s almost-as-legendary former student. The problem is that Matilda isn’t quite what all the legends say.

Oh, Matilda has got ass kicking down to an art form, and she’s an absolute genius at barrier magic, but she’s also an irredeemable (and highly successful) flirt who is seemingly immune to the effects of alcohol. She also likes to give people nicknames – irritatingly accurate nicknames.

Before she knows it, Sophie is part of Matilda’s crew, journeying across Fracture in semi-epic fashion while performing acts of heroism for fame, charity, glory, and the occasional big payday. When she’s not being fired out of a sky-ship to board a pirate vessel, she’s fighting hordes of otherworldly monsters with a troubled city in their sights.

But it is beneath a shattered sky that Sophie finally learns that Matilda really is every bit the legend people say she is.

The Gunslinger and the Necromancer

The Lizzy Stanton Series Part One

When the Church needs someone to send the denizens of Hell back to where they belong, they go looking for Lizzy Stanton.

As gunslingers go, Lizzy’s right up there with the best of them. No matter what kind of evil she’s up against, she knows exactly how to handle things – put a holy bullet right between the eyes. But when she takes a job to go after a necromancer over in Pine Creek, she might just have bitten off more than she can chew.

With zombies, demons, and one tricky necromancer to worry about, Lizzy’s going to have to be real quick on the trigger. In the gunfight between good and evil, she’s the gunslinger who always delivers.

The Gunslinger and the Train to Hell

The Lizzy Stanton Series Part Two

Lizzy is a bounty hunter, and hunting down demons for the Church is something she knows like the back of her hand. So when her brother, Matt, asks her to come with him on a hunt, she’s more than ready for some trouble. Matt is one of the best, and anything bad enough to need the two of them is going to mean one heck of a fight.

They’re tracking a train that’s been going round. People get on, but they don’t get off. Nobody knows where it goes. Lizzy and Matt reckon there’s a demon behind it all, and they’re right. Before they know it, they’re stuck on a train with dozens of passengers that’s going straight to Hell.

Getting out of this in one piece isn’t going to be easy. There are imps, Hell Hounds, and things too terrible to have names. And, of course, there’s the demon behind it all too, a demon that’s gotten hold of a train, a demon who can turn every piece of metal, every scrap of wood, every shard of glass into a weapon.

Lizzy and Matt have a fight on their hands. But if there’s one thing they know how to handle, it’s a fight. That demon better watch out.

Copyright and Disclaimer

Galactic Diplomacy

Copyright © April 2018 L. G. Estrella

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review (contact lgestrella@outlook.com).

Cover image from digitalista/Bigstock.com. Alterations by L. G. Estrella.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and settings are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, names, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.