Chapter 273: Historical Archive (P'Thok Signs His Name)

The High Matron exhaled Blue Raz Cotton Candy in a thick cloud, dispelling the anxious feel of the room as she entered. She looked at her gathered assistants, which consisted of P'Thok's combat team, two Matrons, and six Young Matrons. She folded her bladearms under her sash and gave out a pleased hum before rubbing her wings together for a moment.

"P'Thok?" she said mildly, taking a small sip off of her power-smoker.

"Yes, Matron?" the big warrior caste Treana'ad answered.

"How close have you been to Terrans without combat?" she asked.

"When I was on Terra I bumped them quite often. They usually did not take offense," P'Thok said.

"Have you interacted with them much?" the Matron asked.

"Only while interrogating them subtly with my spy training," P'Thok said, watching the lights on the wall change from red to yellow, signalling that the docking tube had locked on.

"Are they truthful or deceitful?" she asked.

"Both. They deceive not only others but themselves," P'Thok answered. "However, for the most part, you can rely on them to do as they have promised."

"Good, good," the Matron said. "I know they are fierce combatants, unusually strong and aggressive for primates, with intelligence to match typical primate cleverness. I was just wondering if we could believe any promises they make to the Treana'ad people."

P'Thok thought for a long moment about what he had seen on Terra. A confusing welter of memories behind ice cream overdose and fear.

"I believe so," P'Thok said. "They can be impulsive and rash, they have no real concept of personal danger, but unlike the Mantid and much like us they are individuals, not a hive mind."

"Good, good," the Matron stepped backwards slightly as the airlock irised open.

P'Thok led the group down the armored docking corridor, keeping his hands away from the two plasma pistols he had in holsters. He had gotten used to wearing the weapons in such a manner as he had assisted the Matron in convincing the Hive Queens the value of his discoveries. Moomoos didn't like the big rifles, it made the mean moomoos aggressive to carry a rifle, but the pistols they ignored.

At the far end was a human delegation. Armored Terrans with sidearms in holsters on their belts, matte black cybernetic arms, eyes that glowed a soft amber color that P'Thok found comfortable. He was larger than the Terrans but knew that one on one they were the better fighters. There were six Terrans in uniforms with braids and jeweled ribbons in a stack as well as fancy hats with wide polished brims.

He didn't let it worry him, he wasn't here to fight.

"How should I address you?" the uniformed Terran with the fanciest hat and the most braids and jeweled ribbons asked, stepping forward.

P'Thok held up one hand, turning the High Matron. "He wishes to know how he should address you."

"High Matron Me'Luki will suffice, as the Hive Queens renamed me," the High Matron said.

P'Thok turned back to the Terran with the fanciest hat, idly wondering how he would look in it and if it would be appealing to females within reason. "You may address her as High Matron Me'Luki."

The Terran gave a stiff formal nod that P'Thok had learned from his time on Terra was a gesture of assent and agreement.

"If the High Matron Me'Luki will accompany us, we can move straight to the diplomatic suite, unless she would prefer to delay," the fancy one said. His body language showed no deceit or ill-will toward the High Matron or P'Thok from what the insectiod warrior had learned from his spy mission about Terran body language.

P'Thok repeated it, making sure to include a translation for the subtle movements of the primate's face and body.

"They do not use pheromones, High Matron, so much of their conversations take place by expressions on their faces as well as how they move their bodies," P'Thok told her.

"How interesting," the High Matron mused, staring at the hat on the fanciest dressed one's head. It radiated authority and command and she found it fascinating with all the polished gold braid.

She decided that she would demand it as part of the peace process and have P'Thok wear it for their next breeding. The High Matron felt that the large warrior would look particularly dashing and dominating in such a fine headgear.

The Terrans led them deep into the small but deadly Terran battleship. They needed much less space than the Treana'ad for corridors and maintenance spaces as well as crew stations and P'Thok could tell they had devoted it to additional armor, weapon systems, and defensive measures.

The ship vibrated sheer menace and promise of lethality around the Treana'ad and one by one they all lit cigarettes at the High Matron's command.

The admiral wondered for a moment if he should let the Treana'ad diplomatic mission know that smoking was prohibited on Republic military vessels, then changed his mind when he realized they had all been getting agitated before the big High Matron had chittered something at them and they lit their cigarettes.

With my luck it'd be some kind of terrible cultural snafu to make them stop smoking, the admiral thought to himself.

He led the High Matron and her accompaniment, all wearing balaclavas and cowboy hats, to the briefing room. It had been cleared out and then had additional recording and surveillance systems added in to make sure that every detail was recorded of the first meeting between Treana'ad and Human that wasn't over gunsights.

The High Matron appraised the room before stepping into it. Her delicate antenna could detect the electromagnetic frequencies in the air and she highly approved of the vast array of recording devices that were undoubtedly there to record her magnificent presence. She noted the table was an oval and she motioned for the other females to stand against the wall, each guarded by two warriors, and moved to one end, P'Thok next to her.

The Admiral noted what she did and signalled his own staff to line the opposite walls, sitting down with the JAG lawyer beside him.

"Now, High Matron Me'Luki, are you willing to inform the Terran Republic what this is all about?" the Admiral asked, staring at the High Matron but knowing the big warrior, the only one not wearing a balaclava, would do all the talking.

"The Treana'ad People wish to present their demands upon the Terran Republic. Meet these demands, if you are willing, and there will be peace between our peoples," P'Thok translated the High Matron's words.

The Terran just nodded and P'Thok noted that his face went still, the micro-expression disappearing, and that his escort all went perfectly still.

"Very well, please table your demands," the Admiral said.

The High Matron frowned, then leaned forward, speaking directly into the table's surface.

"Table! Heed my words, for they are backed with ice cream and cigarettes! As is the will of the Hive Queens, you will return to us the two systems you have taken, open up trade of moomoos, ice cream, and cigarettes, and we will return your two yellow star systems. Accomplish this, and there will be peace between us," the High Matron said.

The table dutifully printed out her statement in Treana'ad script and the strange blocky Terran script that looked so artless and crude.

The High Matron remembered what she had decided and looked up at the Terran even as she continued to speak. "And I demand your leader's fancy head ornamental covering."

"Um, she doesn't actually have to speak at the table. It's a phrase that means present your demands," the Terran Admiral said.

The High Matron glanced at the females and saw the agitation at what they felt was a calculated humilation toward her by the Terran Admiral. She took a hit from her power smoker and exhaled a cloud of Carnival Cotton Candy Bliss around herself.

The Admiral, who had been able to smell the sharp acrid smell of agitated Treana'ad and could see the movements of the brightly colored (what he assumed was) females, was startled to see them all calm down immediately when the largest one took a hit from her vape and then exhaled a cloud that filled the room.

It dawned on him immediately what he had just seen. He reached down and overrode the environmental system before it would start working on clearing the room of the smoke.

"First clarification, what is a 'moomoo'?" the Admiral asked.

"One of these," P'Thok said, setting down a cube. He ignored the slight shifting of the Terran guards and the way the amber glow in their eyes grew stronger.

He was a warrior. He knew the Terran eyes would go red before they were really dangerous.

A cow appeared over the holocube, happily chewing on a mouthful of cud, surrounded by luxurious grass underneath a massive dome. A bull appeared beside it, pawing its hoof and menacing several worker Treana'ad who were offering it food.

"Both the milk moomoos and the mean moomoos," P'Thok said, "are vital to this agreement."

The Admiral wondered if he'd suddenly gone insane. Sure, it explained the night-time raid three months ago where the Treana'ad had made off with hundreds of head of cattle, not to mention a dozen ice cream trucks and a hold full of ice cream and cigarettes, but...

seriously?

"You wish to open up trade, specifically 'moomoos', cigarettes, and ice cream?" the Admiral asked. "In addition to giving us back the two systems you took?"

"Only if you also agree to return the red giant systems you took. Those are vital and are not open for discussion," the High Matron said through P'Thok.

P'Thok made sure to moderate the tone and agitation.

"Might I ask why those systems are so vitally important to you?" the Admiral asked.

The High Matron scoffed. "As if you didn't know that those are the only systems where planets that civilized beings prefer. We know their value, humans, just as we know those yellow star systems are so dangerous as to be nearly worthless due to the solar activity and harsh radiation."

The Admiral glanced at his JAG Officer.

Did I just have a stroke? he asked the JAG Officer over his datalink.

Not unless I just had one too, the JAG Officer answered.

The Admiral thought fast. The Treana'ad had attacked without warning only a few years prior. He used his datalink to check the two systems that the High Matron was demanding.

One was taken in combat after nearly a year's worth the fighting that had a horrific casualty rate. The Treana'ad kept assaulting the system, kept trying to take it back.

The other had been surveyed and a colony placed on it only ten years ago.

The Admiral looked at the dates.

The Treana'ad had attacked after the colony was founded on the sandy cool planet that was stuck in the middle of the Amber Zone. It had a high nitrogen content, very little wind, and was virtually covered with the local equivalent of trees.

The checked the other planet.

Same kind of trees. Exactly.

He had a sudden, sinking feeling.

"The Terran Republic demands that the Terrans present on the first world be returned without harm to the Republic at the Treana'ad People's expense," the Admiral said. "Not held as hostages or slaves."

It took a minute for the High Matron to be informed on the meaning of the last two concepts.

"Of course, the Treana'ad People are a wise and graceful race. Are you sure they would leave such wondrously lush and lavish planets to dwell somewhere else? We can protect them from the Great Hatching," the High Matron said.

Oh... no...

"Ahem, well, perhaps it might be best if they returned to the Republic until our peace can be formalized and our people understand each other better?" the Admiral tried.

The High Matron gave a solemn nod, something she had practiced repeatedly on the trip.

"An excellent point," the Maton said. "Agreed," she turned to P'Thok. "You were correct, P'Thok, they are most agreeable after a scoop of ice cream," she looked back at the Admiral. "I must insist upon your head covering. I covet it greatly."

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The treaty took six days to finalize. Both sides felt as if they were getting everything they wanted, especially when the Admiral informed his staff that the Terran Republic had apparently colonized and started to terraform a planet that had already been xenoformed.

The Treana'ad Ambush had not come out of the blue.

It had been in response to the Terran act of war.

The signing was lavish, to the High Matron.

It took place in a landing craft hangar. A wide open space, with the assault shuttles idling at the sides, ranks of Terran Republic Marines drawn up respectfully to witness, and her own envoys at attention. The High Matron, escorted by P'Thok, danced up to the table and signed her name in the delicate formal script, with a pen that left behind gold. She stepped back and motioned at P'Thok.

"None of this would have happened without your genius," she told him. "You shall sign for all males, as I have signed for the Hive Queens."

P'Thok nodded, signing his name with a flourish.

The Admiral presented his extra dress hat to the High Matron.

And the Human/Treana'ad War came to and end.

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MANTID FREE WORLDS

Are you watching those old videos again?

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TREANA'AD HIVE WORLDS

Yeah. I wanted to show our new siblings.

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TELKAN FORGE WORLDS

So, wait, she wanted the hat because she believed it granted some kind of powers?

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TREANA'AD HIVE WORLDS

Since she laid a clutch that nearly twenty survived to adulthood, she wasn't wrong.

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MANTID FREE WORLDS

That whole war was just so goofy.

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AKLTAK FREE FLIGHT FORESTS

Both sides were so new. The Terrans had only claimed those worlds, they hardly had any presence on them and the Treana'ad had less than ten.

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TREANA'AD HIVE WORLDS

That's why those two worlds were so important. There was a Great Hatching coming and we desperately needed the room.

It could have been ugly.

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TNVARU HOME

How so?

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TREANA'AD HIVE WORLDS

Back then, it was a little savage. See, the eggs are laid, then they hatch to grubs. The grubs eat the roots and bugs in the ground and each other. About half the grubs get eaten by their siblings. Then they make a cocoon and when the cocoon hatches the little hatchling ones come out. Those ones are highly aggressive. The male ones run to the outside while the females begin fighting over territory. About two thirds of the females kill each other. The males began metamorphising into worker and warrior caste. The warriors fight it out with each other at first, about a third of them die. The workers build fortifications, about twenty percent work themselves to death. Then the females overwhelm several warriors and a couple dozen workers, then take over a fortification. They fight until the end of puberty in little petty wars between fortresses.

A Great Hatching means a trillion eggs laid, across a planet.

It's pretty savage. Luckily, a Great Hatching is, was, only every couple centuries.

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TELKAN FORGE WORLDS

My God. How many of your young in each generation died fighting each other?

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TREANA'AD HIVE WORLDS

Before the P'Thok Liberation?

Eighty percent killed and ate each other before adulthood on average.

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...

...

...

MANTID FREE WORLDS

"We die free."

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TREANA'AD HIVE WORLDS

Exactly.

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TNVARU GESTALT THINGY

My God...

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