“Let’s begin,” one of the T-Bro’s huffed angrily, with a nasty glance at the diminutive human.
In the center of the table was a squeaking, puffing machine. On the one side, and pointed at the Bingnagians, were an arrangement of transparent tubes, one for each of the seated Bros. On the opposite side a set of thin threads ran across the table from the machine.
A cluster of tiny, cockroach-like aliens were standing very close together on a high stool where the threads ended in a set of tiny microphones. There were five of the aliens, although it was hard to count, since the four or five or six of them were in constant motion. During a lull, while the smallest one licked the feet of the others, Sam could actually count them. There were five, he was sure. Each was clothed in shining black leathers and had feathery antennae poking through its helmet. On second thought, perhaps those weren’t leathers but their integument.
“Had to wait, had to wait,” the translator barked as one of the largest Adrinns squealed into its thread.
“Ugly primitive,” another squeaked as the huge machine on the table hooted and Sam’s trusty silver box translated its words into Glax.
“Won’t pay for this! Won’t pay for it! We. Are. Not. Going. To. Pay!” three of the middle-sized ones chanted emphatically. Another of the aliens began to examine the pedal extremities of its companions.
The other little Adrinn heads nodded in unison with each emphatic bark. Sam was dismayed that the tiny aliens would choose to take such an aggressive opening position.
Bro B slammed his fist down on the table. It sounded like an explosion. “No way, Number One! We said we were going to ask the human to help and you said it was OK. You owe us your share, fair and square!” Bro B and Bro K shifted nervously at their chair-Bingnagian’s outburst.
“We didn’t agree to using it,” Number One squeaked in protest, “we’re not going to pay.” The smallest Adrinn started to examine the feet of his larger companions. Sam wondered what the fascination might be. Were all of these creatures pedophiles?
Number One’s words clearly had an immediate effect on the seated Bingnagians. They pushed their translator tubes to the side, put their heads together, and huffed quietly for a long time. Bro B, with much claw-clicking and tossing of his ears, finally emerged from the huddle.
“All right, we’ll pay,” he hooted, grudgingly.
“Got you, got you!” One barked.
“Don’t have to be damn proud of it,” Bro T said angrily. “You won’t always get your way!”
“Will too, will too,” another Adrinn squeaked.
Sam couldn’t believe his ears. The Bingnagians, with the exception of Bro, were practically frothing at the trunk at the tiny alien’s taunts, but did nothing. Clearly, any of them could squish the entire Adrinn contingent with one well-placed stomp. What was it about their little opponents that held them back? Would the Adrinns bite the Bingnagians, nibble their shorts, build nests in their hair, that is, if they’d had hair?
“I think it is time that I stepped into this,” Sam announced as he calmly walked over to the table and laid his translator next to the huffing machine. “But, before we go any further I would like to talk with both parties in this dispute. Is that agreeable?”
“Waste of time!” Bro roared. “They won’t talk!”
“Will too, will too,” Number Four squeaked. “Show you!”
“Won’t do any good,” Bro B hooted. “They can’t keep a promise. Won’t stick by their own words.”
“Do too,” another of the Adrinns barked sharply. “But only with the M-Ditsch. We’ll talk to the—”
“Enough!!” Sam shouted and slammed his fist down on the table. The two translators jumped and vibrated as they honked and chirped away. “We are going to have no resolution of this problem if all you can do is insult one another. Now, let’s all try to be reasonable.”
Bro jumped to his feet. “We have been reasonable, damn it! Let me tell you about—”
Sam quieted him with a fierce glare and a raised hand. “I meant that I should talk to each side in private,” he shouted.
“Oh.”
As best he could decipher the situation, the Bingnagians claimed a bit of real estate, a planet in a nearby system. The planet was, they told him, absolute heaven; great shallow lakes, fine wallows of mud, flat plains that stretched as far as the eye could see. They were preparing to settle it when another set of galactics, known as the Gormlies, had secretly slipped a few hundred thousand of their kind onto the surface. In no time, the plains had been dotted with their burrows on which a running Bingnagian could break a leg. Worst of all, the Gormlie engineers were considering diverting the streams that fed the mud wallows. They were ruining the plains!
What was worse, the Gormlies absolutely refused to remove themselves from the planets claimed by the Bingnagians, citing religious differences—they being of the burrowing persuasion and the Bingnagians of the stomping. The Adrinns, who had trade relations with both sides, selling Gormlie and Bingnagian raw materials throughout the sector, had volunteered to act as intermediaries.
When Sam discussed these accusations the Adrinns admitted that the Gormlies had done all of those things, and more. “But,” they squeaked, “it is their way to honor the Gods of holy trespass. There is no joy in taking what someone does not own.”
Even when Sam casually mentioned that the Court would possibly intervene, the Adrinns reported that the Gormlies still refused to take a single step in the direction of resolving the dispute. The day ended with nothing resolved, nothing settled, not an iota of progress.
As did the next. And the one that followed. It was if the Adrinns were deliberately going out of their way to avoid resolution of the problem.
On the other hand, in each session the Bingnagians seemed inclined to soften their demands. Sam suggested that they agree to holding onto the only thing that mattered to them—the central plains, untouched by civilization. The remainder of the planet’s surface could be held solely by the Gormlies. He asked the Adrinns to offer the same compromise position to the Gormlies with confidence that the remote aliens would refuse. Yet the Adrinns reported that they did.
By the end of Day Four Sam was on the verge of using the phloomb-driven ansible to contact Ahbbbb and tell her that the situation was hopeless. The only thing that held him back was that he hated to admit defeat. That, and the enmity that he would earn in Ahbbbb’s mind, who would no doubt retaliate by ensuring that he was assigned only to the most unappealing hell-holes in the galaxy. Not that they would be too much of a step down from those he had so far; still, it was the principle. He decided to try for one more day. Then he would make the call.
His ship was to depart in three days and he planned to be on it.
The Bingnagians finally agreed that they were willing to share space with the Gormlies, wanting only the plains areas. It seemed as if they had finally reached a basis for compromise, an equitable division of the planetary land.
There was just one complication, a small thing, hardly worth noting. The only Bingnagian whom the Gormlies trusted to sign the agreement was the M-Ditsch, not his underlings. To that end they would send their own leader to Bingnagia to ratify the deal. Otherwise they refused, according to the Adrinns, to discuss a schedule, provide a date certain, or even discuss a protocol to discuss the matter. The Gormlies were adamant. They had to meet with the M-Ditsch himself or there would be no agreement!