The closer his Manta got to the known Klikiss hive at Pym, the less convinced Admiral Diente was of his chances of success. The Chairman had given him only one cruiser for the ambassadorial mission, blithely putting all his faith in the old Ildiran translation system (though he hadn’t sent an Ildiran engineer along to monitor it) and in Diente’s negotiating skills.

Basil Wenceslas was confident that the Admiral had sufficientincentive to work miracles — and Diente hated him for it.

He had been the commander of the Grid 9 forces. He had always been quiet, almost taciturn, except when at home with his family. His house had been filled with love; he had giggled and wrestled with his children. He hadn’t seen any of them in more than a month, been denied even a letter from his wife.

The Chairman assured him they were well and being held in “protective custody.” They had been taken hostage shortly before Diente received his orders to seize the Mage-Imperator’s warliner. That had been the first instance of blackmail; this was another.

He was Admiral Esteban Diente. “the Tooth” in Spanish. As he had worked his way up the ladder of command during his military career, his comrades had joked that he had “fangs,” that he could clamp onto a problem and not let go until it was solved. Now, though, he felt toothless.

And he had to make some sort of pact with the Klikiss. It was a naive and human-centric view to assume the hive mind would comprehend, much less agree to, standard negotiating tactics. Did anyone really know how the Klikiss thought or reacted? To prepare himself, he had studied all available background information. General Lanyan had delivered a full report after his disastrous clash with the Klikiss on Pym, but his sparse information was unobjective and, frankly, questionable. In his reports Lanyan had been unable to hide how shaken he’d been by the encounter.

The General had begun shooting at the Klikiss as soon as he saw them. Not a good foundation for peaceful negotiations. Diente hoped to do better, but he was hampered by not knowing anything about the psychology of the insect creatures. What made them tick? How would they react? Diente had no idea where to begin. Such musings did not inspire him with great confidence, yet he had to take the old Ildiran translating device and do his best.

“I’ll be in my ready room.” He stood from the command chair. “I need time to think. Let me know when we arrive at Pym.”

“It’ll be less than two hours, Admiral.”

“Then that’s two hours I need to myself.” He left the bridge and closed the door to the quiet chamber. Although he knew that he needed to be alert, he had slept poorly for several days. He ordered a double-strength coffee from the dispenser and gulped it quickly.

Even though the alien insects would not understand EDF uniforms or rank insignia, Diente pulled his dress uniform from the wardrobe unit and made his appearance as authoritative as possible. He even imaged pictures of himself to be stored in the ship’s emergency log for his family, just in case something happened.

Following the set mission profile, his Manta came in over Pym making no threatening moves, its weapons systems on standby. Diente would personally take an armored diplomatic shuttle down to meet with the hive mind on the surface, while the Manta hovered overhead, supposedly to show its muscle.

His legs moved mechanically as he climbed aboard the small craft, accompanied by twenty-eight guards, just enough to form an impressive entourage, though he doubted the Klikiss would understand such gestures. His stomach felt leaden. He did what he was expected to do.

The ambassadorial ship dropped out of the lead cruiser. Diente drew careful, even breaths, centering his thoughts. He could feel the tension in the men around him. Two of the soldiers nervously tried to joke with each other, but their comments fell flat, so they dropped into silence again.

Below them, the convoluted hive complex came into view on the blindingly white alkaline desert, where murky bad-water swamps bubbled up from evaporated lakes. The organic-looking city was a spreading infestation with giant towers, knobby battlements, and spearlike fortifications. It sprawled for kilometers and kilometers.

Diente’s heart sank. In General Lanyan’s previous attack here and his rescue of the few surviving colonists, his soldiers had inflicted a great deal of damage. Diente had reviewed the images recorded by combat suitcams. Now, though, he saw no signs of damage whatsoever. Not a mark. Everything had not only been repaired but greatly expanded.

Assailed by an overwhelming sense of dread, for just a moment he was tempted to abort the mission, to return to Earth and ask the Chairman to reconsider his approach. But Chairman Wenceslas was not a man to reconsider; he saw it as a sign of weakness to change his mind once he had made a decision.

The shuttle descended toward the heart of the hive complex. Everything he did and said was being automatically recorded and uploaded to the Manta above. Unfortunately, since the EDF no longer had access to instantaneous telink communication via green priests, Diente had no way to maintain a direct line to the Hansa. He had insisted that log drones be launched back to Earth hourly once the mission began. That way at least someone would have a record.

On its landing approach, the diplomatic craft came in unchallenged, though Diente expected swarms of insect ships to rise up and intercept him. He thought the Klikiss would sound an alarm and rush out to destroy his ship, or at least demand to know his intentions. The translation system was ready.

But as far as he could tell, the Klikiss merely ignored the intrusion. He did not understand these creatures at all.

The shuttle set down in a powdery white clearing near the center of the enormous hive city. The Admiral closed his eyes for two seconds, pictured his wife and children, and remembered why he was here.

Swallowing his instinctive revulsion, Diente stood at the hatch, straightened his uniform, and opened the hatch to taste the bitter air of Pym. Each breath felt choked with a caustic dust. His eyes began to burn, but he marched down the ramp and onto the cracked alkaline ground. Per his instructions, the honor guard followed several steps behind him.

The Klikiss were a riot of different shapes and forms, all of them covered with hard body armor; some were ponderous workers and diggers while others looked designed for combat and mayhem. He couldn’t tell if they were curious, or hungry.

Diente tried to identify one creature that might be a spokesman. He activated the Ildiran translator from a transmitter box at his hip. “I am a human. You have encountered us before. We mean you no harm.” He allowed a moment for the translation device to process the words. “The Terran Hanseatic League has no quarrel with the Klikiss.”

With hissing, clacking sounds, four of the ominous-looking warriors stepped closer. Behind them towered two larger creatures, gigantic forms whose shells were striped with black and silver. They clicked and whistled, but Diente received no translation from the device, although it appeared to be functioning properly.