Parties are not my scene, a party in my honor even less so. My entrance was punctuated by an announcer calling my name. A roaring applause. Indoor fireworks. I smile and wave and keep my arm wrapped around Vivvian’s wing and pretend I don’t want to die. Normally I’d slip off to a far side. Pound drinks and cram expensive appetizers down my gullet till I have fulfilled my social obligation enough to leave. As this in my honor, that is not an option. I need to be seen. Be heard. Represent the whole of the Union. And above all else, not embarrass myself.

  “Hi. Rovngolter with the Interstellar Nightly News. Can you explain why you chose a hideous green suit?”

  I’m going to skin Inanna and wear that at the next gala.

  “Well you know it’s important to stand out in a crowd."

  “That’s very true. Though it’s best to stand out for a good reason.”

  Skinned alive with a dull, rusty butter knife.

  “Fire burns. Rain falls. Suns rise and flowers bloom. All are equally mesmerizing. None care of the opinions those around them may have. Terror is beauty by another name.”

  No idea what any of that meant but the reporter seemed to like it.

  “Tell us Captain Tom, what are you hoping to accomplish with the coming negotiations?”

  “The goal, first and foremost, is always peace. I have been reviewing the grievances and believe we can come to a swift agreement.”

  “And what are your opinions on accusations of the Union escalating the conflict?”

  “A misunderstanding at worst, I assure you.”

  “And is this sentiment shared by your comrade Captain Conqtor?”

  “Ask him yourself, I’m sure he will agree.”

  “So you haven’t had the opportunity yet?"

  "No. If you will excuse me, he is just one of many I need to discuss a great deal of things with.”

  “We just have a few more questions-”

  “Wind travels where it must. The trees only feel the breeze as it moves.”

  Vivvian tugs me away, as if she needed to. The news bugs look disappointed until some other important shlub gets announced.

  “Thanks for the save.”

  “No one piece is a whole puzzle.”

  “Well I hope together we are close enough to make this image whole.”

  Now that I can actually get a look at this place, it’s pretty nice. This ballroom is based on some old building made some time long ago enough to matter by some dead rich ass we all pretend to care about. A real cultural wonder. High roof. Intricately etched pillars with a spiraling design. Windows equipped with holo screens that make it look like there is a pristine green landscape full of wildlife. If I wasn’t already aware the outside was actually a metallic structure in the cold void of space it might fool me. Music playing is less impressive, at least to me. Like classical if it was being played on a theremin and out of tune banjo. Vivvian seems to like it.

  There are only two things here I care about. The delegates I’m supposed to be negotiating with, and the bar. And I can only see one of those.

  “What will you have, honored Captain?”

  “Something strong, straight and on ice.”

  “And for the lovely lady?”

  “Sweet as a kiss, vibrant as a sunrise, strong as wet paper."

  I’m starting to think I’m the only person in the galaxy confused by Vivvian’s speech. I get a dark brown liquid with an X shaped ice piece in something close to a highball glass. Tastes of rubbing alcohol and mushrooms. Vivvian gets a Coupe with layered neon green liquid on the bottom and rosie pink on the top. A baby blue foam sits at the surface and a twirl of purple citrus hangs off the lip. Looks fancy. Glad we ain’t paying. Wait, this is the Protectorate. We might actually be paying.

  “So, this is what an Expeditionary Captain looks like.”

  Voice behind me has an undertone of disdain. Turning around I see an exceptionally tall elder Habruam. An eye is missing from some old injury. His purple skin, a duller hue than is healthy. His shirt is fancy and over the top. Almost as ridiculous as Inanna’s, except with real medals pinned all around to show off his accolades. He scowls without regard for my presence.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “I am utterly unimpressed. They let creatures as punny as you control a warship?”

  Well he’s pleasant.

  “The Union offers positions based on merit and talent rather than size. Expeditionary Captain Tom at your service. And whom am I making acquaintances with?”

  “I refuse to take a name in your backwater Union language. I am your Superior and you shall refer to me as such.”

  Ok. I have just found someone worse than the Zetas.

  “As you wish, Sup.”

  Based on that smug grin Sup thinks he won that little exchange. The one eyed giant purple people eater was blocking my view to another negotiator. This one is a Centrian. Named after Centaurs of old myth wich they resemble. Not as tall as you’d think. Less horses and more ponies with a thin humanoid torso upright in front where the animal head would be. Despite their looks, these guys are some kind of invertebrate. Closer to a starfish than a horse. The rough, bumpy skin that covers their entire bodies gives that away. This one is mostly brown with white spots and orange eyes on a flat, yet very familiar face.

  Upon this Centrian’s back is an animal. A Slaminne. Interesting. It’s a dog-like amphibian with a big, slobbering mouth. Vibrant blue with purple stripes and an expensive, jewel encrusted collar. Its big tongue hanging from one side of its mouth as it pants loudly.

  “Forgive my colleague. I assure you that we who truly represent the Interstellar Protectorate and its interests are happy to have such a prestigious guest.”

  Sup took that hard, retreating to the comfort of a stiff drink. The Habruam’s fall from grace was not that long ago. Old coot probably watched it all crumble before him. The Centrians, on the other hand, are 3rd or 4th in power depending on who you ask. All of it from humanitarian causes that so many others neglect. Producing vital food, medication and infrastructure that keeps the Protectorate running.

  “I am the CFO of Azoth Amalgamate. I am afraid my name has not yet been translated so feel free to take the time. The great, up and coming Captain Tom I presume?”

  His voice is calm. Respectful. His Slaminne pet yawns.

  “Does that little guy need a name, too?”

  “Oh no, I made sure Sklurmy’s name was properly translated. Isn’t that right Sklurmy? My little my Sklurffy worrfy woo. Yes it is.”

  Sklurmy wiggles and shakes as the CFO rubs him all over. He gets one spot under Sklurmy’s neck which causes some wild leg shaking. A rather sickening display if I’m honest.

  “Glad to meet both of you. How about, Buenea’Venture?”

  “Sounds quite eloquent. I accept.”

  “I suppose we should get down to-”

  “Certainly not.” Buenea’Venture stops molesting his pet for a moment. “This is a Gala. One in your honor. Just have fun with the inaugural dance.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Yes, we were planning to wait for Captain Conqtor to arrive first. Unfortunately the party can’t truly ` start until the first dance and we are behind schedule already.”

  Crap. There are many things I don’t do and dancing is near the top of that long list. Maybe I can-

  “Music is starting. You two need to get on stage right now.”

  Like that me and Vivvian are pushed gently but firmly to the center stage. All the lights are turned off, save a spotlight above us. I feel every invisible eye. There is nothing in the world right now but me, and Vivvian.

  It’s a good thing I made sure to go to the bathroom before the Galla. Because I would definitely be shitting myself right about now. You’d think ordering ten thousand lives to their possible deaths would be less stressful than something like a public dance. It’s not. This is faaaar more terrifying. Music starts playing. This is my actual nightmare.

  A soft, feathered wing brushes against my hand. Her eyes say it all. I just need to trust her. Take a deep breath. One hand on her shoulder. Another on her waist. Come in close. Practically mouth to beak. Deep breath, and let it happen.

  I don’t know how to dance. I don’t have to. Vivvian is good enough for the both of us. Her wings obscure my mistakes. Subtly leading me. Making it look like I’m the one in charge. We step in time to a pattern I never learned. Follow beats I don’t see coming. It starts like a waltz. In 4 step time but the same idea. Light prods and wordless suggestions tell me to get bolder. Arm extension followed by pulling her in tight. She does the fancy moves with a ballerina like twirl. Those feathers and dress flowing, mesmerizing, a tornado of color. I lift her height. Easier than it looks but she makes it seem difficult for the sake of my pride. Then comes the part I did not expect in the slightest. Vivvian lightly leapt off my shoulders, launching high as if an acrobat on strings. Gasps fill the ballroom at the spectacle. I have to bite my tongue to keep from joining the gallery in shock. That’s when her wings open wide. Wider than I’ve ever seen them. Vivvian cannot fly. At this very moment, you wouldn’t know it. Drifting slowly like a Dove after a great flood, directly back into my arms. I caught her gently. Turning into a deep dip. Her hair feathers just a smidge above the floor. All in time for the very end of the song. As she rises, the room fills with applause.

  We bow. Lights return. The band starts a new number as others come to join us on the dance floor. We embrace for a much less showy step to a slower beat. I don’t know how I could ever thank Vivvian for saving me. She hugs me closer. She must know. Is it wrong to kiss her? Am I going overboard in that thought? Dancing is just intimate by nature and well, I can’t understand a word she says most of the time. Am I reading all this wrong just because I like birds?

  One thing is universal. That look. That damn look deep in her eyes. Maybe this is right. Maybe there is something. Maybe, I-

  “LET’S GET THINGS REALLY STARTED!"

  Suddenly the ballroom is twice as full as it was a second ago. A flood of guests, most far less impressively dressed and with much poorer manners take the floor. Music shifts genres entirely to something fast and grungy. Me and Vivvian, and most of the others, are forced off by the rapid invasion.

  The stage where our band was playing was effectively hijacked. At the front is Tall, regal looking fellow acting anything but regal. A long red cape flowing of his gold and silver clothing. He’s a Regien. His 12 fingered hands and four long stalks sticking out off his head instead of eyes or ears , forming a sort of organic crown, are the giveaways. He wields some instrument like a deformed keytar and rips a strong beat.

  “Who in the Space Hell is that?”

  “That Captain Tom,” Buenea’Venture steps up to watch the catastrophe with us. “Is Expeditionary Captain Conqtor.”