Page 65 of Meat

He was Harema, the old woman’s favorite among her many grandchildren.

Her children numbered in the hundreds, her grandchildren in the thousands. She had earned the right to pick favorites.

Harema spoke the language of the humans, spoke it fluently. His grammar was flawless. His pronunciation was only slightly mangled by his tusks.

The Earthling chancellor scoffed.

“I’ll talk to that old crone any way I choose. Don’t you know who the fuck I am?”

Harema bristled and snarled at these words. He was naked to the waist, dressed only in a simple, traditional loincloth as the other ukkur were. His muscles rippled with tension as he prepared to pounce.

But the old woman raised one weathered hand, gestured for him to hold.

“Be still, Harema.” She spoke using neither the language of the Earthlings, nor of the nith, but the secret hunter’s cant that only the ukkur could understand. “Be still. Not yet.”

The tension went out of Harema’s muscles, and he stepped back, but not before sending a dangerous glance toward the human leader who had spoken so insultingly.

Not yet.

But soon.

She nodded to the Earthling chancellor, who was struggling to keep his body from trembling after Harema’s aggressive display. Even the Earthlings’ arrogance and false courage had its limitations.

“All right,” the old woman said. “Let us begin.”

One of her mates, the largest one who wore a hoary beard, pulled out a seat for her and she filled it. The other ukkur followed suit, taking their places around their section of the table. Two of her huge, musclebound mates sat on either side of her. The bearded one, however, remained standing protectively behind her chair, his massive hands firm on her shoulders.

The ukkur seated to her right was Jale. The young one, though he was hardly young anymore. But his eyes still crackled with the same youthful fire as when she had first seen him all those cycles before.

He was her right hand. Her knife hand. The one who struck down her enemies openly and violently.

To her left was Ravnar. He was her left hand, devious and cruel. Weaver of knots, fashioner of traps. He was the one who had designed the very trap in which the Earthlings and the nith were now sitting.

And behind her was Krogg, sturdy as stone. He was both her spine and her shield. He kept her strong, and he protected her always. If any assassin wished to put a knife in her back, they would have to go through Krogg’s back first. That would be unwise, to put it mildly.

Her three mates. She drew on their strength to do what she had to do in her role as the Mother of the Ukkur.

She cast one last glance around the negotiating table, and in a slow, serene cadence, she began to lay out her terms.

Her demands were simple.

The ukkur would continue to supply the Earthlings with the valuable ksh that their overpopulated planet so desperately needed to survive. In return, however, they would no longer accept the shipments of human meat as the nith had once done. The ukkur had no use for such meat. They did not eat humans.

Once upon a time, sixty-five cycles before, three ukkur had considered it briefly, but they had quickly changed their plans.

Instead of human meat, the ukkur would demand other payments from the Earthlings. Precious minerals. Iron and steel. Technological implements which they could use for hunting and building. All of this in vast quantities.

They would also take money, though they had no real use for it. The money would all be burned. It was simply a means to keep the Earthlings from growing too strong again. A way to keep them under control, treacherous little creatures that they were.

As the old woman rattled off her list of demands, the faces of the Earth representatives grew tight and red with pent up shock and anger. The nith, as always, remained inscrutable.

Finally, the old woman finished listing her terms for the treaty. She lay her hands palm down on the table in front of her, signalling that she was done.

Silence gathered. Seconds stretched into a minute. Finally, the human chancellor spoke.

“Outrageous!” he shouted.

Spit flecked his lips, his pink jowls wobbled, and his eyes bugged out in rage. He seemed to have forgotten his fear from before.