by Yakov Merkin
“I will attempt to pay reparations for the destruction as best as I can, once this war has officially ended, and I accept full responsibility for what was done while I was in command of the Tyrannodon Armada. Unfortunately, I am being held hostage by your government and interrogated for information they want to use to continue this war, which, regardless of the victor, will see billions dead.” Legionnaires were entering the room now. Dalcon fired energy ribbons at them and the guards, knocking them to the ground. But he could not hold out for long.
“If I die, or if I am unable to speak with my subordinates, who knew nothing of my plot, this war will continue. There is not much time left. What happens next is not in my hands, but in yours.”
“Hold fire!” ordered a voice, slightly distorted—a transmission. Darkclaw turned and saw the interrogator, his eyes narrowed, staring at a projection from his multitool. It was a projection of a Talvostan wearing the seal of the Alliance—the new chairman, or at least the acting chairman. “I am Acting Chairman Telarius Reios-a’Virakkus,” the Talvostan said. With the authority granted to me by my post, I am willing to accept your offer, Tyrannodon.”
“The little flesh visible on the interrogator’s face was bright red, and he seemed about to respond before the acting chairman continued. “Congratulations, First Scion,” Telarius said contemptibly, the image turning to face Dalcon. “Your stunt has compelled us to change our minds. I pray we do not regret this.” He shifted his gaze to Darkclaw You will stand by what you just said?”
Darkclaw felt relief fill him. “Yes, I will. Though I think a different location would be more suitable for crafting an official treaty. I am, additionally, prepared to immediately order my forces to stand down, provided no further actions are taken against them.”
Telarius nodded curtly, and turned toward the interrogator. “Release him. I expect to be in direct contact with the Tyrannodon presently.” A moment later, the image vanished.
The interrogator visibly hesitated for a long moment, then motioned to one of the guards, who began to approach Darkclaw.
Just then, an explosion rocked the room, and after he opened his eyes, Darkclaw saw nine Felinaris commandos leap into the room through a hole in the ceiling. “Nobody move!” shouted the commander, who sounded familiar, though Darkclaw could not fully place the voice. He did almost laugh. Of all the times for them to show up. There were no better friends than Felinaris.
“Stand down,” he said. “I appreciate the rescue attempt, but we just now have come to an agreement. The war is over.”
The Felinaris commander paused, and was silent for a short time, presumably as he conferred with his superiors. “It seems we weren’t necessary after all,” he finally said with a laugh, and removed his helmet, and the Felinaris lowered their weapons. Davir, his name was. The chaplain.
The prison guards, who had been caught completely off guard by the incursion, finally had their weapons leveled at the Felinaris as they looked to their superiors for orders. “Freeze where you are!” Ordered the chief interrogator, who then spun to Darkclaw. “I shouldn’t be surprised at treachery from you, so quickly.”
“How could I have possibly orchestrated this from my position?” Darkclaw asked sharply. “This only further proves my earlier point that my people and my allies would assume this war was still ongoing without my presence. Now, can we continue?”
When the interrogator didn’t move, Dalcon walked over to him. “You cannot be eager for this conflict to continue,” he said. “Release Darkclaw, and let the Felinaris go. I am certain they will be willing to reimburse this facility for any damage done.”
The interrogator looked to Darkclaw again, then the Felinaris, and finally, back at Dalcon, teeth audibly grinding. “Fine. Release him,” he ordered.
A few moments later, one of the guards released Darkclaw from his bindings and assisted him in stepping off the interrogation platform. Darkclaw thanked him, then nodded at the Felinaris and Dalcon, who had begun to approach, looking genuinely happy for the first time since Darkclaw had met him. Now, the war was truly over.
CHAPTER 30
It took a good three weeks until the peace treaty was finally written out, signed, and officially announced. A thoroughly unpleasant process that Darkclaw hoped he would never have to repeat. Fortunately, several Felinaris and Snevan legal experts had assisted him, as he had no experience at all with Alliance law, nor with treaties apart from the very simple ones he had forged with the Felinaris and Snevans, and with the worlds that had surrendered to him. But as unpleasant as the process had been, Darkclaw could not really be upset. Things had ended up better than he had dared to hope.
He would not be prosecuted for the crimes he had committed while serving the High Lord, but the Tyrannodons, along with the Felinaris and Snevans, would be responsible for paying reparations for the destruction caused—though in the case of the Felinaris, the total for their share would be reduced by the amount of reparations and aid they should have received after the Selban Massacre. They were also all to become part of the Alliance. Whether that was a privilege or a punishment only time would tell, but they would be subject to arms treaties, and required to share technological advances. So long as they could coexist peacefully, Darkclaw did not mind, though he had no illusions that he and his kind would be accepted. Finally, the Tyrannodons were granted the right to settle themselves on an uninhabited world in an unsettled system near the Selakar system. It would need a name, at some point, but for now, Darkclaw was content to call it Home. Already the non-cloned Tyrannodons, who had survived the attack on Selixan Station, were building a colony with the help of the Felinaris and Snevans.
But as difficult as the negotiation process had been, Darkclaw dreaded the induction ceremony that he was en route to. It was a huge event, and would reportedly be no different from any induction ceremony, centered around a large dinner at which representatives of every system were required to come and welcome the new—and in the case of the Felinaris and Snevans, returning—members.
As his shuttle touched down on its predetermined landing platform adjacent to the private hall—the official setting that would normally have been used was still undergoing repairs from the battle—Darkclaw took a deep breath to ready himself. He had no illusions as to the reactions he would receive.
Once the landing sequence had been completed, Darkclaw opened the door and stepped out alone; no guards of any kind accompanied any of the guests at this event. Also, for the first time in a long time, Darkclaw was not wearing his armor, rather what could best be called a dress uniform, though no such thing had existed until he’d had a need for it. It was a black suit tailored according to styles Darkclaw had found in the recovered Reizan’Tvay files, simple but with strips of fabric hanging from the back of the collar, shoulders, and elbows—also accommodating Darkclaw’s tail. Over that, he wore the command cloak that he had hardly worn since the war had begun, black, with gold, silver and blue symbols—Reizan’Tvay markings of rank, he now knew. He felt even stranger with the stumps of his claws exposed, though he knew that those stumps would remind others what he had done for them.
He slowly walked away from the shuttle and through the colorful hallway to the massive hall, which was already quite full. Darkclaw glanced over the arranged tables and food displays, which had signs indicating if the item was potentially dangerous to a particular species, and he paused briefly at the raised table at the far end of the room, where he, the Felinaris King Feliar Khariah, and Supreme Warlord Sarkan would sit, along with the highest ranking Alliance officials, including the Talvostan acting chairman.
Unsure of what to do until the ceremony, Darkclaw spent a few minutes perusing the elaborate food displays, mostly to learn what they were, and to try a few. From what he knew, his kind had been designed to be able to accommodate any edible substance without risk of harm, so he was free to taste whatever he wished.
Once he lost interest, Darkclaw tried to figure out what to do. There was still alm
ost an hour until the official proceedings would commence—which at this point was purely for show, as the treaty was already signed. He was the only Tyrannodon permitted to come, and both the Felinaris and Snevan contingents had not arrived yet.
He decided to get the inevitable over with and approach some of the other representatives. He only hoped that a fight would not break out.
Darkclaw had expected anger, derision, but he had not expected to be ignored as much as he was. Sure, when others noticed him they pointed him out to their companions and began to speak quietly, but they did not approach him, and if he attempted to approach them, they moved away. He supposed it made more sense than an outburst. These were experienced politicians, unwilling to soil their image, so they resorted to other means of displaying their dislike of him.
The first representative willing to speak with him was the Talvostan premier, the leader of the interplanetary Talvostan Union. “Premier Volistar Nevias a’Vohkivar, Executor,” he greeted as he extended his hand. Darkclaw had never spoken to a Talvostan before, and was surprised by how similar the premier’s voice sounded to the Reizan’Tvay limited intelligence program. “It is an honor to meet you,” he continued.
Darkclaw accepted his hand. The Talvostan’s face, with its bony plates on the front of his face, toothy, inflexible mouth, hard ridges that ran around and over the head and protruded out in sharp points in certain locations, was near unreadable. “I would be lying if I said I expected so cordial a greeting,” he said.
“You are not the first member of this Alliance to join shortly after engaging in war with it. Almost three hundred years ago now, the Talvostan Union attempted much the same thing you did, but with less success. We take pride in our military strength, but that does not keep us from respecting those as strong as us, or stronger. No need to apologize to me for anything, Executor. The past is the past, and there is no sense in holding grudges, though I imagine some of my kind will. Personally, I’ve seen how well it worked for the Darvians, and I want no part of that.” He paused and lowered his voice to a whisper. “And I would keep clear of them if I were you. Their representatives are known to be less… polite than others.”
Darkclaw nodded. He had heard much the same from the Felinaris. “Thank you. I can only hope that this peace lasts, and that we have the opportunity to work together as allies.” Of course, the fact that Darkclaw’s forces had not launched ground invasions of any major Talvostan worlds would have had something to do with the warmth of this greeting.
Premier Volistar nodded. “In time you will become more accepted. But until then, I will be happy to represent one of the few systems that will gladly deal with you both economically and politically.” He paused. “Provided you pay your reparations, of course,” he added, though his tone suggested that he was not simply making a demand.
“As soon as I am able,” Darkclaw replied, and shook the Talvostan’s hand again, before moving on. In truth, he had no idea how the reparations would be paid, or how long it would take. There had been so much destruction. But that was a worry for another day.
There were only nineteen minutes until the ceremony began, and Darkclaw spotted the Felinaris contingent of Nayasar, Felivas, their king, and the king’s wife Serria entering the hall. Darkclaw was about to make his way over to them when he was intercepted by the First Scion and another Daeris, an elderly one by his faded orange skin.
“Executor,” Dalcon greeted. He too was not wearing armor, instead white robes and a matching cloak, in line with the Scionate’s dress code.
“First Scion,” Darkclaw replied. “It is good to see you.”
Dalcon smiled. “I am glad that we are both here, as opposed to what might have been.”
“Despite the current circumstances. My people might be a part of the Galactic Alliance now, but I do not know if we will ever be truly accepted.”
The old Daeris laughed. “You’ll have plenty of company in that, Executor. Domignuss Aerecar, the proud leader of what might no longer be the most maligned members of the Alliance.” He extended his hand, and Darkclaw accepted it.
“Then I should not apologize for usurping your position,” Darkclaw remarked.
Aerecar laughed again. “I like your sense of humor, Executor. Though I do suppose that I am biased, as we never came to blows during your invasion. And, of course, I don’t have too much issue with the Alliance learning it isn’t all powerful.”
Again with the sense of humor. Darkclaw still did not believe he was ever funny, even unintentionally. “I suppose I should be glad for the few friends I do have,” he said.
“Well, count us among them,” Aerecar replied. “Anyone who can get the most famous Daeris in recent history to come home again deserves my thanks.”
Darkclaw looked at Dalcon. The First Scion was well-known for his disdain of his own kind and refusal to visit his world. “I was not aware that I had any impact on your personal views,” he said.
“You were able to overcome your own nature to turn on your leader, at great risk, for the sake of your kind and everyone else. If you can do that, I think that I can overcome my own issues with my kind. Also, with the chairman’s death in the battle, I am the only original member of the advisory council still alive. Such happenings tend to make one think on things, do things they might have otherwise put off.”
“In that case, I am glad I could be of service. For your new perspective, at least.” Dalcon was surely not glad of the deaths of his colleagues.
Dalcon nodded. “It would probably be a good idea to get up to the high table a few minutes early, so that this gets going on time. Also, if anyone is going to cause a disturbance, it will be just before the ceremony is supposed to begin.”
Darkclaw nodded in return. “Thank you for the warning. It has been a pleasure to see both of you. I hope this will not be the last time we meet.”
“Definitely not,” said the domignuss. “We can start a club sometime, for everyone the Alliance mainstream despises. It’ll be fun!” He laughed loudly, ignoring Darkclaw’s very thin smile at his attempt at humor, and then headed over to rejoin the rest of his delegation.
“They seem to be growing back,” Dalcon said with a nod toward the stubs of Darkclaw’s claws. “Did you ever figure out how you were able to manipulate them from afar?”
Darkclaw shook his head. “All I know is that I can no longer sense them, and I don’t imagine I could experiment until they grow back—assuming they regrow to be the same as those I removed.”
Dalcon nodded. “There was nothing left of them when I investigated the site where the High Lord died—none of him, either.”
“Thankfully.”
“Any idea how long they’ll take to regrow? If they do grow back and function like they used to, I would appreciate a chance to test my imicry against them, so I can better confront the corrupted Scions when I find them.”
Darkclaw shook his head. “If they return, of course. But I have no idea what will happen. I almost hope they don’t grow back, if that makes any sense.
Dalcon smiled. “I think it does.”
Darkclaw smiled and nodded toward Dalcon as the first Scion headed back over toward the other Daeris, then moved on, making sure to avoid the large Darvian contingent as he made his way to his seat at the high table.
A few minutes later, Dalcon was proven right, when a handful of the Darvians, Cytans, and Tehlmans started shouting that the Tyrannodons, Felinaris, and Snevans had no place on Dorandor. Alliance security quickly removed them, but Darkclaw felt the sting of their words. Venariss II had been a largely Tehlman world. There was no chance that they or the Darvians would soon forget the events of the war.
Finally, everyone was in their proper place and Acting Chairman Telarius began to speak.
“We are gathered here today,” he intoned, “to welcome a new member to our illustrious Alliance, as well as to welcome back two others.” His gaze turned to Darkclaw, then to the Felinaris and Snevans, as he spoke. “While the wounds of
this war are still fresh for all of us, we must put our anger behind us, for the good of all. Whatever crimes he may be responsible for, the Tyrannodon executor has made tremendous sacrifices for our sakes, and he is willing to pay full reparations for the damage caused.” Funny how the chairman had not cared about Darkclaw’s actions before the entire Alliance became aware.
“And in turn, we must make amends for our own mistakes. It has fallen upon me to formally apologize to the Felinaris people for the atrocity wrought on their people at Selban those many months ago. Aid and reparations that they should have received from us will reduce the reparations they pay for their part in this war.”
The words were nice, but Darkclaw knew that the events of the short-lived war would not be forgotten quickly, and that integrating into the larger galactic society would not be so simple.
“But enough of this talk of death and war. Let us now look to the future, a future that cannot be brighter. Today, we welcome the Tyrannodon Ascendancy, the Snevan Dominance, and the Khadohs Kingdom of Felinar into our ranks. With the Tyrannodons, and the return of the Felinaris and Snevans, the Galactic Alliance is larger than ever before, and better for it. Let today be a new beginning for us all, forged from the fires of war.
“Delegations, please rise.”
Darkclaw rose immediately. The address had fortunately been short; he was more than eager to get somewhere where the entire room could not stare at him at once.
“Executor, if you will approach the dais to sign the treaty.” The formalized, ceremonial signing, he meant. Darkclaw did as requested, and approached the dais from which the chairman had been standing and inscribed his name on the oversized treaty. It would likely be framed and hung as soon as this was over.