“I want to go on record by saying this is a bad idea.”

Genvass glanced over at Captain Hadad from his own seat aboard Gyrfalcon. “We’ve never had issues with the Oivu. In fact, there are many people alive today because of the goods they donated during the Yīqún Conflict.”

Remi shook his head in disgust. “You can’t be that naïve.”

Now it was the Dharmist’s turn to look irritated. “They came to us, opening up their warehouses and asking for nothing in return. They’ve never attacked us or discriminated against us. I’d say that earns them the benefit of the doubt.”

“You mean they asked for nothing yet,” the pirate countered. “You mark my words, they’re going to use that ‘generosity’ as a wedge to get their foot in the door.”

The newly appointed Terran ambassador just sighed and turned away. The Oivu had responded almost immediately when he sent out the message regarding the conclave. At first, he’d been unsure what that meant exactly, but after speaking with Rúna, aka Gunnery Sergeant Aukes, he now had a better handle on the importance of this mission. Obviously, the meeting needed to take place off-world, as no alien could set foot on its surface or even get close to New Terra under Athena’s watchful gaze. Coupled with the Oivu’s long-standing practice of holding all meetings aboard their vessels, it quickly became apparent that he needed a ride. Given their previous working relationship, Captain Hadad and Gyrfalcon were the obvious choice.

Not that the Corsair was happy about being tapped for this favor.

As they exited New Terra’s system, Genvass spotted several alien vessels lurking in the vicinity, though thankfully none belonged to the races that had once comprised the Troika. Considering how badly they’d been mauled in the final battle, he didn’t blame them. Still, it never hurt to keep one’s eyes peeled.

“I have the Oivu ship on sensors,” the pilot announced, “bearing 013 by Mark 357.”

“Hail them,” Remi ordered. “Explain that we have the ambassador on board and request docking instructions.”

“Aye aye, Cap’n,” Xiulan nodded, as she bent to her console to send the message.

“... you know they screwed us over that first FTL drive, back when there was still an Earth,” Remi said casually, the comment obviously meant for him.

Sighing, he turned back to face him. “They’re merchants, looking to make a profit. Sure, we could have gotten that engine cheaper elsewhere, but without that drive, there was no elsewhere for us. The Oivu were simply following the ancient custom of supply and demand. I can’t fault them for that.”

The pirate grunted, deciding to keep any further observations to himself. That was fine. Truth be told, Genvass preferred a minimum of distractions as he prepared himself for the upcoming conference. While he’d never met the Oivu, he’d known those who had, and by all accounts, they were a friendly, honorable race. Sure, they’d try to gouge you and would squeeze a credit till it screamed to get the best deal they could, but no one had ever accused them of cheating or reneging on a deal. They were sharp operators and businessmen, but they were careful to remain on the right side of the law.

Which made their request something of a concern. He was under no illusions this was to be “just” a parlay, and despite his obvious distrust, Remi was probably onto something regarding their motives. He’d consulted the Provisional government regarding their policy on such matters, and they’d explained to him their position in return. They simply needed to work out a compromise that would satisfy both parties.

Genvass shook his head ruefully. If it were that easy, anyone could do it.

The merchant vessel grew in their display as Gyrfalcon maneuvered to dock. A solid jolt reverberated through the ship’s hull as Xiulan killed the thrusters. “We have hard dock,” she informed them. “Thrusters are now offline, main engines on standby.”

“Very good,” Remi said in approval, before rising to his feet. “The bridge is yours. Genvass, let’s get you to the airlock.”

The two men headed aft, arriving at the main hatch as the Captain turned and faced the Dharmist. “Just remember whose side you’re on,” he said bluntly, as he cycled the airlock.

Genvass gave him an impatient look. “Do you think for even a second that I would suddenly forget I’m Terran?” he insisted.

“You’re here to negotiate,” the pirate fired back. “Fine. You do that. Just don’t hand over the keys to the Kingdom while you’re at it.” The airlock light turned green while the hatch slid open, as Remi gestured towards the Oivu ship. “Your public awaits.”

He glared at the captain, before taking a deep breath and forcing himself to shake it off. This was not the time. Squaring his shoulders, he moved forward, crossing through the airlock and onto the Oivu craft, where one of the alien merchants awaited him.

“Ambassador Genvass Shaafvaazif?” they inquired.

“That’s right,” he smiled, putting on his best face… no simple thing, when your counterpart had no face, or anything else recognizable. No one knew for certain what sort of species they were, other than the Oivu themselves, that is. Their bodies comprised thick ropy tendrils they manipulated to assume shapes roughly similar to those of their guests, but that only proved to make them appear more grotesque, not less. Perhaps it was the reason they worked so hard to put their clients at ease, though the uncharitable chalked it up to more sinister motives.

“Excellent. If you would please follow me.” The Oivu turned and glided deeper within the ship as he trailed behind them, glancing about as he took in his surroundings. The interior was pleasantly decorated, though austere and somewhat subdued in tone and color, giving the vessel an understated quality. It was almost as if they were putting a pleasing yet carefully calculated non-threatening foot forward to conduct negotiations. Given that they were well known for doing nothing not meticulously premeditated, that was likely the case.

Arriving in a cozy sitting area, four other Oivu awaited them. He’d heard they preferred negotiating in groups of five, though once again no one knew why. A sampling of refreshments sat on the small table between them, all familiar to a Terran. Making himself comfortable, he addressed the cluster of merchants.

“Since you asked for this meeting, it seems fitting to give you the floor,” Genvass told them, though it wasn’t purely out of politeness. Their request for a conclave had come as something of a surprise, so anything that gave him a better idea of why they were here seemed a prudent course of action.

The five aliens turned to one another, communing briefly before their spokesperson turned back in his direction. “We thank you, ambassador,” they said politely. “Much has happened in recent months, the repercussions of which are yet to be determined.”

“I see you have a flair for understatement,” he chuckled. Between the Troika’s downfall, the disappearance of the Yīqún, and humanity’s colonization of New Terra, the Perseus Arm was experiencing a seismic shift not felt in over five thousand years. How it would all play out in the end, no one knew for certain.

“Indeed,” the individual replied, inclining the clump of tendrils that roughly corresponded to what would be a head on any other species. “While we foresaw some of what transpired, there is much that even we were not prepared for. The shifting fortunes have presented us with new opportunities, as well as new hazards. One must be mindful of both if one is to survive.”

“I suppose that’s true,” he agreed. Genvass was waiting for them to settle down and get to the heart of the matter, whatever had prompted the request for the meeting. So far, all they‘d done was exchange pleasantries and small talk. The real meat and potatoes of what they really wanted had yet to make an appearance.

Something passed between the Oivu, small and obscure enough to escape most individuals’ notice. He didn’t know for certain what exactly had transpired, or what it signified, only that something had. Leaning forward, he looked at the aliens expectantly.

Another communing, before they finally took the plunge. “As you know, during the Yīqún Conflict, we provided much in the ways of food, medicine, and other essentials to those in need. We did this as valued members of the Alliance since we are unsuited for a military role. We asked for no recompense, instead focusing our efforts where they were most needed.”

“And those efforts are indeed much appreciated,” he said evenly. They were definitely working up to something, but what?

They communed yet again before the leader pressed on. “It has been most curious to see the planet you call New Terra pulsing with life. For uncounted eons, it has sat bereft of intelligent beings, guarded solely by a defensive network intent on allowing no other race entrance. And yet, to the incredulity of all others, yours did just that.”

“It has been an experience,” Genvass agreed, as he fidgeted in his chair. If this was going where he thought it was going…

“We are merchants and traders,” they continued, “and we are always exploring new markets, as well as procuring new goods for our inventory. The sudden emergence of New Terra as a potential trading partner, as well as the untapped resources it may possess, opens up many interesting and unique opportunities.”

A sinking feeling landed in the pit of his stomach, as he realized what the Oivu were really saying. They wanted to get their tendrils on Precursor technology and would pay handsomely for the privilege. Whatever price his fellow Terrans insisted on, they’d pay it without hesitation. Even if they charged the Oivu the moon and stars for a Precursor can opener, there were entities out there who would gladly pay ten times that amount, in the hopes the scientific and technical knowledge gleaned would put them far ahead of their competitors.

The Oivu were proposing a technological arms race, one where they could sell to all sides while taking a healthy cut straight off the top. It would make them rich beyond all imagining, more powerful than even the Troika once had been.

… who cared if the galaxy burned, right?

“That’s… an intriguing offer,” he answered, choosing his words with care, “and I will be certain to discuss it with those empowered to make those decisions. But we are still evaluating the artifacts we have discovered, and we need to exercise caution in what we make available to other parties.”

“Of course,” the Oivu agreed, “and it would be in both our best interests to ensure that any items you made available remain strictly controlled. It is a wise policy, one that we wholeheartedly support.”

Translation: We don’t want to flood the market and drive the price down. Not to mention risking their customers slaughtering each other before they’d soaked them for every possible credit.

“In fact,” the spokesperson continued, “we would ensure you received a generous stipend for your efforts in promoting a mutually beneficial relationship between our race, and yours,” they said, dangling a less-than-subtle bribe in front of him.

Something hardened within him as he slowly rose to his feet. “As I said, I will gladly convey your offer to those in authority,” he said, stonewalling them. “It may be some time, however, before they can render a decision.”

The Oivu stood up as well. “We hope it will not take too much time,” they replied, as a dark undertone seemed to suddenly make an appearance.

“What do you mean?” he asked, thrown by this change of tactics.

“As we stated, we have provided a great deal of aid to those suffering deprivation because of the Yīqún,” they answered, as Genvass suddenly felt unclean by their presence. “We continue to do so, even now. Bringing those affected by this disaster back to the level of prosperity they once knew will be a long and ongoing process, most likely taking several years. It is also, I regret to say, expensive.”

Genvass felt his jaw drop. “Just what is it you’re saying?” he demanded, horrified by the implication they were alluding to.

“We are saying that without an increased revenue stream, this level of uncompensated philanthropy is not sustainable,” they said oh so smoothly. “If we cannot enhance earnings elsewhere, we will soon be forced, sadly, to make drastic cuts in what we can make available for charity.”

His hackles rose in anger as he glared at the alien merchants. “Is that a threat?” he all but snarled.

“A simple statement of economic fact,” the Oivu riposted. “However, I would be remiss if I failed to point out several key, relevant details.” The alien drew close, so close in fact that its sheer abnormality made his skin crawl.

“What details?” he whispered.

“That it was us who first informed you of the world you call New Terra,” it fired back. “That it was us whose help you required to create the Alliance, without which the Troika would have long since defeated you. And finally, that it was us who kept billions from starvation and death, without demanding recompense. You may retreat to your world if you so choose, you and the rest of your race, secure knowing that you are forever untouchable.”

A tendril reached out and caressed his cheek as he flinched and pulled away. “But one day you will emerge from your protective cocoon,” it all but oozed. “And what will you find when you do? Friends eager to greet you? Enemies, preparing for war? Or perhaps a wasteland, where only death reigns supreme.” The Dharmist stared in shock as the creature drove their point home.

“You owe us a great debt, Genvass Shaafvaazif,” it cautioned him as he backed away, desperate for escape, “and what you decide will have repercussions far beyond your precious new world… a world you would not possess, were it not for us.”