::I’ve got the hierarch on the line,:: Roentgen said. ::Audio and video.::
::Pipe her into the general feed,:: Sagan said. ::And Alex, stand by the gurney. You get to be the camera.::
Roentgen nodded and stood in front the gurney, fixing on Sagan and allowing the audio and visual feeds to his BrainPal from his ears and eyes to serve as microphone and camera.
::Piping in now,:: Roentgen said. In Jared’s field of vision—and in the field of vision of everyone in the transport—the Hierarch of Enesha appeared. Even without knowing the map of Eneshan expressions, it was clear the hierarch was incandescent with rage.
“You fucking piece of human shit,” the hierarch said (or the translation said, eschewing a literal translation for something that expressed the intent behind the words). “You have thirty seconds to give me my daughter or I will declare war on every last one of your worlds. I swear to you I will reduce them to rubble.”
“Shut up,” Sagan said, the translation coming from her belt speaker.
From the other end of the line came multiple loud clacks, indicating absolute shock from the hierarch’s court. It was simply inconceivable someone would speak to her that way.
“I beg your pardon,” the hierarch said, eventually, shocked herself.
“I said, ‘shut up,’” Sagan said. “If you are smart you will listen to what I have to say to you and spare both our peoples needless suffering. Hierarch, you won’t declare war on the Colonial Union here because you’ve already declared war on us. You, the Rraey and the Obin.”
“I don’t have the slightest—” the heirarch began.
“Lie to me again and I’ll cut off your daughter’s head,” Sagan said.
More clacks. The hierarch shut up.
“Now,” Sagan said. “Are you at war with the Colonial Union?”
“Yes,” the hierarch said, after a long moment. “Or will be, presently.”
“I think not,” Sagan said.
“Who are you?” the hierarch said. “Where is Ambassador Hartling? Why I am negotiating with someone who is threatening to kill my child?”
“I imagine Ambassador Hartling is in her office right now, trying to figure out what’s going on,” Sagan said. “As you did not feel the need to enlighten her concerning your military plans, neither did we. You are negotiating with the person who has threatened to kill your child because you have threatened to kill our children, Hierarch. And you are negotiating with me because at the moment I am the negotiator you deserve. And you can be assured on this matter you will not be able to negotiate with the Colonial Union again.”
The hierarch fell silent again. “Show me my daughter,” she said, when she spoke again.
Sagan nodded to Roentgen, who turned and showed Vyut Ser, who had once again downshifted into whimpering. Jared saw the reaction of the hierarch, who was reduced from the leader of a world to merely a mother, feeling the pain and fear of her own child.
“What are your demands?” the hierarch said, simply.
“Call off your war,” Sagan said.
“There are two other parties,” the hierarch said. “If we back out they will want to know why.”
“Then continue preparing for war,” Sagan said. “And then attack one of your allies instead. I would suggest the Rraey. They are weak, and you could take them by surprise.”
“And what of the Obin?” the hierarch said.
“We’ll deal with the Obin,” Sagan said.
“Will you, now,” the hierarch said, clearly skeptical.
“Yes,” Sagan said.
“Are you suggesting we can simply hide what happened here tonight?” the hierarch said. “The beams you used to destroy my palace could be seen for a hundred miles.”
“Don’t hide it, investigate it,” Sagan said. “The Colonial Union will gladly help our Eneshan friends in their investigation. And when it’s discovered the Rraey are behind it, you’ll have your rationale for war.”
“Your other demands,” the hierarch said.
“There is a human, named Charles Boutin,” Sagan said. “We know he’s helping you. We want him.”
“We don’t have him,” the hierarch said. “The Obin do. You can ask them for him, for all I care. Your other demands.”
“We want assurances that you will call off your war,” Sagan said.
“You want a treaty?” the hierarch asked.
“No,” Sagan said. “We want a new consort. One of our choosing.”
This generated the loudest clack of all from the court.
“You murder my consort, and then you demand to pick the next one?” the hierarch said.
“Yes,” Sagan said.
“To what end?” the hierarch implored. “My Vyut has been consecrated! She is the legal heir. If I meet your demands and you let my daughter go, she is still of the Hio clan and by our traditions they will still have political influence. You would have to kill my daughter to break their influence”—the hierarch paused brokenly, then continued—“and if you do that, why would I fulfill any of your demands?”
“Hierarch,” Sagan said, “your daughter is sterile.”
Silence.