The guards quickly whisked the clan leaders away to another part of the ship, while the Paygan escorted Genvass and Rúna to his private quarters. He poured drinks for all of them, something dark and red, and then sat down, eyeing the Terrans from across the table.

“Turning over your leaders may buy you some time, Ambassador, but I’m afraid it is not enough to end the hostilities between us,” he said gravely. “Too much blood has been shed.”

“We recognize this, Paygan,” Genvass answered, “and even if it were, it would do nothing to remove the root cause of our dispute.”

“Your monopoly on Precursor technology,” he agreed, coming straight to the heart of the matter. “Until that issue is dealt with… to everyone’s satisfaction… I fear there will never be peace.”

“You are as insightful as always, Paygan,” the Terran ambassador replied. “We’ve been discussing the situation among ourselves ever since the shooting stopped, and while we have options before us, most do not end well for the galaxy.”

“You could retreat behind the shield your ‘Athena’ provides, and attempt to wait us out,” the Ixian suggested. “However, given what’s at stake, not to mention the lure of the prize you hold, I doubt we ever willingly abandon our positions here. The Grand Alliance is vast, Ambassador, and we could maintain a picket around this system indefinitely. The Troika managed it for centuries, with far fewer ships at their disposal.”

“We came to the same conclusion,” Genvass nodded. “As you said, the allure of what the Precursors can offer is simply too great.”

“It represents a fundamental shift in the balance of power across the entire galaxy,” he said darkly. “What a single ship did to the To’uuk homeworld is proof of that.” The Ixian took a long draught from his glass before fixing his counterpart with a hard look. “Your race murdered an entire world, Ambassador, an entire race. Oh, there are survivors, of course, ships that were elsewhere when your Peacemaker came calling. They are now adrift, without safe harbor, unwanted, and condemned to a lingering death.” The climate in the compartment turned decidedly chilly as he laid the accusation at their feet. “Ironic, is it not?”

Genvass managed not to wince. Rúna didn’t bother trying. “Obviously we bear full responsibility for what befell the To’uuk,” he said carefully, “and we welcome a discussion with the Grand Alliance about how we may make reparations for their loss.”

The Paygan glared at them. “You know what they want, Ambassador. That hasn’t changed. That will never change. No matter how sincere your apology, or how much you may donate to balance the scales, without offering that which they desire more than life itself, your efforts will prove fruitless. They will spurn your attempts at diplomacy and focus their energy instead on creating ever more powerful weapons of war.” He stared into his glass, his demeanor one of foreboding. “Nothing can prevent that now,” he said softly.

The trio sat in silence as they digested the Paygan’s words. Finally, Genvass spoke.

“What if I offered an alternative to endless, pointless war?” he asked. “What if there was a way to bind our races together instead of driving them apart?”

“I would say then that it is the dream of fools,” he answered. “There is no solution to our dilemma, Ambassador, not one that both sides would accept. You have made your position quite clear, as have we. If there is a middle ground to be had, I fear it eludes me.”

“Then perhaps I am a fool,” Genvass admitted, “for I have to believe there is a way to bring both sides to the table and come to an agreement. It will not be easy… far from it… but I believe with all my heart that it can be done.”

The Ixian snorted in disgust, then turned to the Valkyrie. “And you? Have you succumbed to this madness as well?”

“Maybe it is madness,” Rúna said slowly, “but what other choice do we have? A galaxy constantly at war, with a body count in the trillions? You can’t want that, any more than we do.”

“Of course not,” the Ixian agreed, “but the fundamental disparity between us remains unchanged. So long as your race has sole access to Precursor technology, and we do not, there will be war.”

“There doesn’t have to be,” Genvass vowed. “I believe we’ve come up with a way to prevent all that. It’s not what we want,” he confessed, “not by a long shot. But it’s a far better alternative than the bleak future you’ve just described.” Taking out a tablet, he pulled up a file before sliding it across the table. “Our proposal,” he said simply.

The Paygan took the device begrudgingly, giving it a look of disdain as he began to read. That expression quickly changed, however, as his eyes went wide. He gripped the tablet tightly in both hands, his eyes now darting back and forth at a fever pitch as he sped through the document, his countenance growing ever more incredulous. Finally, after several minutes, he set the device down, staring at the Terrans in disbelief.

“You can’t mean this,” he said at last, barely above a whisper.

“We do,” Genvass confirmed. “And perhaps we’re simply exchanging one nightmare for another, but… we have to try, don’t we?” he said desperately. “Will you support us, Paygan?”

Leaning back in his chair, the Ixian was silent for several long moments. “You Terrans,” he said in wonder, shaking his head. “From the day I first met you, you have managed to confound and astonish me. I sometimes wonder if you reside in the same reality as the rest of us.”

“Well…” Rúna began.

“A discussion for another time,” Genvass interrupted, giving her a look. Explaining how their ancestors were actually castaways from another dimension was a conversation in its own right. “At the moment, there is a proposal before you,” he continued, getting the discussion back on track. “Your voice carries a great deal of weight, and where you lead, others will follow. Will you stand with us, Paygan? Will you help us convince the others to at least discuss our overture?”

The Terran ambassador held his breath, waiting for the Ixian to answer. Finally, he spoke.

“Whatever this insanity it is that your race carries, it must be infectious,” the Paygan chuckled. “If you are truly serious about this… then you have my support.”

As Sigurd detached from the Ixian vessel, Rúna was strangely silent. Genvass cocked his head, regarding her. “Something wrong?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No… nothing,” she answered, though her words were less than convincing.

He sat down across from her and smiled. “Hey, it’s me,” he told her. “Is it about the Paygan? Because I think that actually went pretty well, all things considered.”

She shifted position to face him. “Except for the whole turning over our people to be executed part, sure.”

Genvass sighed. “Rúna, we had no choice. We had to, if there is ever going to be peace for our people.”

“I know,” she nodded. “I don’t like it, despite knowing it had to be done. Something about it just rubs me the wrong way. If they have to die, we should do it, not them. Us Terrans have been at the mercy of other races for too damn long, and just giving them up like that hits a little too close to home.” Her expression darkened. “Not to mention that a part of me really wanted to do the job myself.”

“Then why didn’t you?” he asked, frankly curious. “With Samara gone, there was no one to stop you. You could have killed all of them and claimed self-defense, with no one the wiser.” He thought for a moment. “Besides, I’m pretty sure Samara would have helped, given the circumstances.”

“Because I don’t want any more blood on my hands,” she said softly. “I’m tired of the killing, Genvass.”

He reached over and took her palm in his. “You don’t have to,” he said gently. “You’ve done more than enough.”

Rúna shrugged at that, unconvinced. “You want to hear something dumb? When Samara died, it was like losing one of my Valkyries all over again.” She snorted in disgust. “Hell, I didn’t even like the bitch. How stupid is that?” She wiped a sleeve across her eyes, now growing misty.

Genvass considered that for a moment, as a bittersweet expression appeared on his face. “Any man's death diminishes me,” he quoted, “because I am involved in mankind. So do not ask for whom the bell tolls… it tolls for thee.”

She stared at him in confusion. “What’s that from?”

He sighed at that. “It’s an old poem, about being connected to others. Maybe you didn’t like her, but she was still a human being. She laughed and cried, loved and lost, just like the rest of us. That’s why her death affects you, despite your feelings.”

It was some time before she decided to respond. “Maybe,” she said at last. “You’d think I’d be used to it by now.”

Genvass just squeezed her hand.

“Rúna, I pray you never get used to it,” he told her. “You’re far too caring a person to end up like that.”

Upon their arrival back at New Terra, Genvass faced an unwelcome task.

He sat composed behind his new desk, formerly the Dàifu’s seat of power, as the door opened. Captain Remi Haddad entered the office with a scowl, escorted by Rúna. He gave the Valkyrie a nod. “Thank you, Captain Aukes. If you could wait for us outside?”

She nodded. “Of course, Ambassador,” she answered formally, before turning on her heel and exiting the suite, closing the door behind her.

The Corsair glared at him, his arms folded across his chest. “You mind telling me why I was rousted from my bunk and dragged here against my will?” he demanded.

Genvass gestured at the chair across from him. “Please, have a seat.”

The pirate didn’t budge, the scowl on his face unchanged. The ambassador shrugged. “Very well, if you wish to stand, that’s your choice.” He set a tablet on the desk and opened a file. “I asked you here today so we could discuss your part in the Peacemaker Incident.”

The scowl darkened. “Somehow, I had a feeling,” he growled. “You going to throw me to the wolves too, like you did the clan leaders?”

The ambassador’s expression hardened. “The clan leaders… former clan leaders, I should say… are being tried in open court for Crimes Against Humanity and Genocide. Charges, I should point out, that could equally apply to you.”

“So I’m a war criminal now, is that it?” he sneered. “Whatever happened took place outside your jurisdiction, Ambassador, so I don’t see how you have any right to tell me anything.”

“You’re a Terran,” Genvass snapped, “and since I find myself heading our fledgling government, despite my attempts to wriggle off the hook, that makes you my problem. And even if you were correct about my jurisdiction, a point I’ll happily argue, the Grand Alliance most certainly can claim sovereignty in this matter.” He leaned forward in his chair, eyeing the Corsair with scorn. “Perhaps you should ask yourself who you would rather decide your fate: them… or me.”

For the first time, a hint of uncertainty crossed his face. “Wait a minute, you heard what Samara and Guardian said. It was all the clan leaders’ idea,” he argued.

The ambassador’s demeanor was now downright frigid. “Are you seriously going to stand there and tell me you were just following orders?” he snarled. “You started a war! Murdered an entire species! Do you think I give a damn who ordered it? It was your order, not theirs, that reduced the To’uuk homeworld to a burned-out cinder!” His nostrils flared as he glared back at the pirate. “So how about you lose the attitude, sit down, and start taking this seriously. Because rest assured, I certainly am.”

Remi stared back in shock at his outburst, before easing himself into the chair. “Look, I saved your life back in the POW camp,” he reminded him. “That’s gotta count for something.”

Slowly, Genvass forced himself to calm down. Losing his temper now would serve no one. Finally, he gave the Corsair a curt nod. “That you did,” he said at last, “and I believe that act does mitigate whatever decision I render. So let me make my position perfectly clear. I could hand you over to the Grand Alliance, but that would set a precedent that’s detrimental to our cause. The clan leaders were a one-off, a necessary sacrifice in order to get the Alliance to listen, but’s not something I wish to repeat.”

“Then what are you saying?” Remi asked him. “Are you planning on arresting me and sending me back to the camp?”

“I won’t lie, that option is still on the table,” Genvass warned him. “However, you’re extremely fortunate that Samara is far more infamous than you are, and with her death, the Alliance isn’t actively howling for your blood.” He paused for a moment, and then said quietly, “And then, of course, there’s the matter of your crew.”

Something akin to panic grabbed hold of him. “Now wait a second, they were just following my orders!” he shouted, before realizing what he’d just said. He shook his head like a maddened bull before trying again. “They’re not responsible for this, I am,” he petitioned him. “Leave them out of this, and you can do whatever you like with me.”

Genvass nodded in satisfaction. “I was wondering if you’d cast them adrift, in order to save your own skin. I’m glad to see there’s still some trace of honor left within you, after all.”

“I’d throw myself out the airlock before betraying them.” Remi fired back. “They’re family.”

“Believe me, the last thing in the world I want is to arrest your crew,” Genvass said honestly. “So answer me this: are you willing to be judged, here and now, and accept whatever punishment I mete out?”

The pirate returned his gaze, measure for measure. “If it spares my crew, then yes… I am,” he vowed, though the strain was obvious in his voice. He sat perched on the edge of his seat, awaiting his verdict.

He took a deep breath. “Then it is the decision of this government that you are to be barred from serving aboard any Terran ship, in any capacity,” he said gravely. “Furthermore, you are forbidden passage aboard any Terran vessel for the rest of your natural life.” A hint of regret found his eyes as Remi stared back in dismay. “I’m grounding you, Captain… permanently.”

The pirate closed his eyes, desperate to shut away the pain. “And you’ll spare my crew?” he asked once again, his voice now hoarse with emotion.

“I give you my word, no charges will be brought,” Genvass avowed. “Do you accept this verdict?”

The barest of nods, as he whispered, “... I do.”

Genvass regarded him with something resembling pity, but there was still more that needed to be said. “Then know this; any attempt to violate the terms of your sentence will ensure that I send you to the deepest, darkest hole I can find… and anyone who assists you will share your fate.” Remi winced, the words hitting him like a gut punch. “Do you understand?” the ambassador asked him.

Another nod, so slight he almost missed it. He pressed an icon on his desk; the door opening moments later as Rúna stood waiting to escort him out. “Then you are dismissed,” Genvass informed him.

The pirate rose slowly, on unsteady feet, shambling his way past the Valkyrie, a broken man. Rúna closed the door as he departed, then made her way to the chair he’d just vacated, taking a seat, while Genvass removed a bottle from the desk and poured for them both. The pair sat in silence, draining their glasses, before she finally cleared her throat.

“It had to be done,” she said at last.

“I know,” Genvass said quietly, “but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”