High society

The conspirators aiming to free their world from Durathisian influence all appeared to be from Tylaxian high society. That didn’t really surprise Dustin all that much. After all, the life of an ordinary person probably hadn’t changed - they’d still have to deal with looking after their families, cooking meals and going to work regardless of whether the fruits of that labour filled the coffers of their government or the war machine of an alien race light years away.

For the rich and influential, however, the weight of the Durathisian yoke would be much higher. There, plans to improve the lives of their fellow Tylaxians could be stymied by an ill timed request for goods, while the ongoing development plans that looked to make them into a multi-planetary society with a resort for a homeworld required the giant colony ships that even now orbited high above to be complete. Shipbuilding used a lot of materials, and if they were being tithed to build Durathisian battlecruisers, they couldn’t also help with the Tylaxian dream.

On entering the estate, Dustin and his lovers were introduced to a whirlwind of people. Minor island nobility, industrial technocrats, officials in the state-run media, and more than one member of the government’s secretive bureau of public information and affairs which Dustin immediately mentally noted as being some kind of spy organisation. Eventually, however, Dew excused them from the larger gathering and lead the way through a set of double doors into a brightly lit conservatory, dominated by a large blossoming fruit tree.

“It was important to give everyone out there a chance to meet you so that they know we are working on our… issue,” the Tylaxian murmured as she gestured for them to take some of the comfortable seating that lined the space. “They should also be on hand in case we need them after we have planned our next moves, which is to say after you and the premier have planned our next moves, and will make an adequate reception for the dinner in your honour your highness. In the meantime, I’ll go and bring the premier in and we can get on with the real discussion.”

The Tylaxian premier was once again shorter than Dew; a grey-haired statesman with antlers chipped by time rather than by a lack of care. Smiling, the elder Tylaxian settled into a seat, resting the cane he’d been using to help him walk at his side and turning to rest a hand on Dew’s arm before she could leave them to their talk. “Stay with us please, dear. You are currently the closest from our little group to replacing me when my term is up after all - should anything unforeseen happen, you knowing the content of these talks will help for continuity.” Then he chuckled and added “besides, consider it good training.”

Dew nodded, pausing only to ensure they all had jugs of water and glasses in easy reach before she settled into her own seat. “As you wish, premier Fjord, although you flatter me by suggesting I could ever replace your governance.”

The old man snorted. “You’d make less of a hash of things than I did, and you know it. If I recall correctly, you advised that we shouldn’t take the Durathisians at their word when this whole mess began. Perhaps if I’d been a little bolder… ah, but that is hindsight. Let us not dwell on the past, but instead look to the future.”

Dustin leaned forward at that comment. “And what do you see for the future, sir?”

Fjord snorted again in reply. “Taxes and hard work, regardless of what I do. But, ideally, a future where my people can worry more about what drinks to serve visitors to the islands than how many minerals we can mine and if we can achieve our quotas for the year. I understand your people defended your homeworld and have built some kind of new council?”

The surprise at how well informed the Tylaxian was must have shown in Dustin’s face as the old man laughed and shook his head. “Traders cross borders all the time, the front between the old and new council is more porous than either side would like, and it doesn’t take a genius to listen to the whispers coming from the bars around a starport. Especially when the Durathisians try too hard to prevent any questions from being asked about what happened to their Sol expeditionary fleet. So, the question becomes not one of if you have the strength to help us, it becomes one of if we can trust you to do so and how we can work together…”

Discussions about future plans took quite some time. Truth be told, they weren’t really hashing out any particular specifics - that would come later, once Earth had sent a proper diplomatic group - but instead were talking in generalities, areas of shared concern and so on. At least on paper, they’d reached an agreement that the new council would shift the front of the war to systems past the Tylaxian homeworld, ensuring the antlered people could move their lives and society beyond a constant struggle to meet quotas.

“So, we have an accord for the immediate future. Your people will send diplomats once you return to your space, and we will await the arrival of your warships.” The premier smiled warmly and leaned back in his seat. “What will it cost us though? That is the question, is it not? Oh, I know you’ve said you can’t completely negotiate Ambassador, but you must have some thoughts on what your government is likely to want. I don’t wish to make the same mistake twice and trade one set of mineral demands for another.”

Dustin sipped his water thoughtfully, thinking about the view of the world he’d had on the flight in. “In my experience,” he began carefully, making sure he wasn’t accidentally promising anything EarthGov would take issue with, “we tend to try and ask species to contribute what they are good at. My father-in-law for instance provides quite a lot of skilled staff from the empire, while the Rabythians produce ship hulls at a truly fantastical rate. I understand you wished for this to become a resort world before the war began?”

The premier nodded, so Dustin continued his thoughts. “One thing we lack currently is good opportunities for the crew of our ships to get shore leave. It’s a long flight back from the front to any of the core worlds, and the colonies - even those of established species like the Velca - are often not equipped to deal with intermittent influxes of holiday-seekers. I suspect, and it is only a suspicion mind you, that the new council will offer to assist in your colonizing efforts and move our fleets in exchange for being allowed to rotate ships from the front in for rest and relaxation.”

Dew’s eyes flickered to the premier at that, both Tylaxians smiling. “An influx of mostly humans?” the old man chuckled. “We’ll have to request additional medical supplies when dealing with your government.” At Dustin’s quirked eyebrow, the old man stroked one of his antlers and managed to look slightly embarrassed. “Ah, details of your people’s… capability when it comes to producing offspring - they were widely discussed by the heads of state prior to the collapse of the council. At least widely enough that I had heard of it. While we’d welcome being allowed to turn our society to the relaxed resort we dream of it becoming, I’d rather ensure it doesn’t also lead to a massive population boom of children with absentee parents that are light-years away fighting in a war.”

At the mention of absent parents, Dew’s eyes narrowed and she gave her premier a calculating look while she topped up his glass. “There is the other matter, Fjord. I think it’s safe to tell them, don’t you?”

The old man sighed and nodded, draining his glass before leaning forward. “We… no, I have a favour to ask. Not of EarthGov if I can avoid it, but of you personally, Ambassador.”

Dustin noticed the faint creases of concern on the elder Tylaxian’s face and set his own drink down. “What is it? If I can help, I’ll do my best.”

It was Dew who answered, the woman speaking before her leader could. “The Durathisians have taken a large number of our people… well, hostage, I suppose. When quotas were missed, when there was civil disturbance, when they posted too rudely about the Durathisians on the galactic net… we’ve tracked down where they’re being held, but we lack the means to free them. Can you…?” Dustin had started to nod before she finished her sentence. The timing might be tricky, with everything else he had to do - but there was no way he’d let innocents rot in a Durathisian prison camp if he could help it.