“No need to talk to the Grammians. You’ll talk directly to me,” Baila said with a sharp look.
Egar’s skin became redder, if that was possible. He was in an unbearable situation even for someone without the scruples of the Rigulians: on the one hand, he had no intention of handing Gill over until he received the approval of his superiors, and on the other hand, he couldn’t ignore Baila’s request. Omal had made several mistakes, and Egar didn’t want to be the one blamed for the collapse of the talks. He’d be sent to the sarken irrigations long before Rico 3—and not just for 50 years…
“Greatest Baila, I’m just a poor medir. Such decisions have to be made by our ambassador!”
“Then bring forth your ambassador!”
Egar shouted to the sphere, “Rico 3, have you arrived yet?”
Soon, a vat holding a Rigulian collapsed over its edge and shaking from all his hams floated in the room, escorted by another vat with an individual double his size.
“What haaaaappeeeened here?” Omal 13 babbled, his eyes drifting to the ceiling. “Where am I?”
“Ambassador,” Baila hissed through his teeth, “I ordered your medir to transfer Gillabrian immediately to one of the Grammian ships…”
“Mom? Mom, you burst your buds again?” Omal 13 asked Baila.
“Great Baila, please excuse us!” exclaimed Egar, horrified. He then turned to Rico 3 and shouted, “Get the ambassador into a prehibernation pool!”
“Leave me alone, beast! I want to fly in space,” Omal exclaimed, flapping his arms, attempting to take off. He tried to shove Rico away when he approached his vat. Unfortunately, the difference in size was not on his side; Rico 3 wrested his arms aside and pushed the vat out of the room.
“I’m sorry for this incident! It seems our ambassador needs a little rest…”
“I’m in a hurry, Medir Egar 9, I want him transferred right away! And I want everything he has—including that… that bracelet.”
“What bracelet?”
“The one on the table,” Baila pointed at it, trying in vain to hide the sparkle of greed in his eyes, pretending he had no idea what it was. “Please hand it over to an Antyran from the Grammian ship and not directly to a Grammian.”
“Great Baila, I have to contact the Grammian medir.”
Instead of an answer, Baila’s hologram extended, allowing them to see that he was inside his underground lair. Dozens of Grammians swarmed around him, working at all sorts of bizarre displays and devices. The image shocked Egar so much that he wasn’t able to make a sound from his gaped mouth.
“You’re not going to contact any Grammian medir. I speak for them, so heed my orders!”
“I… I need Sirtam 4’s approval from the roadworking rail-planet, which is now in orbit around Lacrilia,” he muttered after he found his voice again. “We’re going to be synchronized soon. Please allow us a little delay.”
“I won’t give you more time! Hand him over to the Grammians, or suffer the consequences!” the prophet shouted angrily.
“We are the ambassadors of the Galactic Federation! You dare to threaten us?” exploded Egar, forgetting all the diplomatic protocols.
“I’m afraid you heard right.”
“I won’t surrender him without approval,” Egar replied.
“All right, in that case, I’ll give you a little time to think about it,” he said with a wicked gleam in his eyes.
Gill, familiar with the prophet’s vile ways, knew what that meant all too well… but the Rigulian seemed unable to smell the danger because he did nothing after Baila’s hologram disappeared.
“If I were you, I would prepare the weapons,” Gill told him. “He’s going to attack us.”
Egar ignored him, pretending there was no one in the room, babbling at the floating table, “Come on, Sirtam, why don’t you appear already?”
“Arm your weapons if you have any!” Gill shouted in vain.
Egar kept ignoring him, but he couldn’t do the same with one of the Rigulian ships, which unexpectedly disintegrated in a violent deflagration. Countless laser beams and nuclear bombs burst from the seven Grammian ships, aimed at the bulky bodies of the Rigulian ships.
Egar’s face twisted in horror. Nothing could have prepared him for such an atrocity: their own Federation partners firing on his ships on the orders of a savage from a newly discovered world!
“The… Grammians… are… attacking?” he stammered, incredulous.
“Yes, and I dare to say they’re doing it quite well for a species that doesn’t have the word war in the dictionary,” Gill said, taunting him. “Maybe now you will fight them?”
“What have you done?” Egar looked at him, maddened. “You’ve condemned all of us to death!”
“On the contrary, Medir! Baila won’t destroy this ship because he’s afraid of killing me!”
Indeed, the other Rigulian ships were destroyed without returning a single shot. No escape pods were released, but after the first hits, the ships disassembled into small modules that ran from the battlefield—except the ones too crushed to do so. Even from the first spaceship, exploded so artistically, most of the modules limped away, losing gases through their cracks. The Grammians didn’t bother to chase them, pointing their laser lenses at the ship hosting Gill.
In a blink, Baila’s hologram appeared again.
“Well, Medir? Was the delay enough to think about my request?” he grinned sarcastically. “What say you? Will you transfer Gill now and spare your ship, or do I have to send my soldiers to board you and get him out of there?”
“Fight!” shouted Gill. “You can do it!”
For the first time, the Rigulian looked at him with different eyes, letting him understand how much he regretted that he hadn’t believed his seemingly absurd story. He shook his head, abashed.
“I don’t want to fight,” he whispered.
“Nobody asked if you want to fight! Wanting is for smelling seeds, not for fighting! You take the fight when it comes, or you die like a coward!”
“You don’t understand,” he moaned. “After we defeated aging and diseases, we became more afraid of death than a creature like you. We can’t risk losing our eternity…”
“Then your problem is solved!” Gill exclaimed mockingly. “No matter what you do, Baila’s going to kill you to get rid of the witnesses. Now you can—”
“You’re wrong, Gillabrian,” Baila said, addressing him for the first time. “I don’t care if they get away!”
“We can’t keep you,” the medir told him. “Someone has to tell Sirtam what happened, and if we are destroyed, nobody will.”
“It seems that reason and common sense won!” Baila proclaimed, satisfied. “Finally, I’ll get my hands on you,” he exclaimed with the eyes of a hungry predator.
“Or maybe not!” Gill replied dryly.
“This time—”
“Take a look at your back,” Gill interrupted, smiling.
“Ha-ha, the little archivist—”
“The little archivist will show you his tail again, Your Greatness.”
Still grinning widely, Baila looked at a monitor in his lair, and the grin turned into a horrible rictus. A golden silhouette was approaching quickly, closing in on the Grammian fleet!
The Grammian ships were undecided on what to do next. In the end, they turned back to face the new enemy that had appeared out of nowhere. The first salvo fired from a great distance belonged to the Sigian vessel, and it ripped one of the gray ships to pieces. The terrible explosion threw fragments and hot gases in all directions. The others charged forward, but the second Grammian ship was sliced before it had the chance to open fire. It appeared that even after 1,250 years, their technology was no match for the Sigian destroyer… and the latter belonged to a whole different class than the Grammian vessels.
“What’s this?” asked Egar 9, astounded.
“This? This is Sandara!”
The destroyer jumped in the middle of its enemies. It was moving with a fury hard to describe, completely immune to the laser lenses touching it, mockingly blasting every bomb launched at it, without even bothering to avoid them. Hit after hit, the surviving ships ended up adding their twisted debris to the carnage. None of them tried to retreat, proving that the Grammians were at least much braver than the Rigulians, even when they had no chance.