Second Contact

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Atvar, the commander of the Race’s conquest fleet, poked a control with a fingerclaw. A holographic image sprang into being above the projector in the fleetlord’s office. In the forty years since the conquest fleet came to Tosev 3 (half that many local years), he had grown all too intimately familiar with that particular image.

So had Kirel, shiplord of the 127th Emperor Hetto, the bannership of the conquest fleet. The body paint on his scaly, green-brown hide was more ornate than every other male’s save only Atvar’s. His mouth fell open in amusement, revealing a great many small, sharp teeth. A slight waggle to his lower jaw gave his laughter a sardonic twist.

“Once more we behold the mighty Tosevite warrior, eh, Exalted Fleetlord?” he said. He ended the sentence with an interrogative cough.

“Even so, Shiplord,” Atvar answered. “Even so. He does not look as if he would cause us much trouble, does he?”

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