“We are agreed then, we have a treaty?” Treth, the negotiator for the alien race known as the Darjo asked.

Maxwell kept his small, polite smile plastered on his face. As much as he personally disliked the scaly, poisonous aliens, humanity needed a treaty with the first advanced species they'd met. He personally knew how bad war could get among humans, he didn't want to even think what a xeno-war would be like. “It seems we do, as soon as our leaders sign the treaty we can begin trading.”

He reached out to clasp Treths' wrist. Of the six humans in the room, he was the only person who could physically touch the alien without going into toxic shock. That little problem had made meetings a bit difficult, but strong gloves and a no touch policy for everyone else, had avoided an interstellar incident.

“Now we feast,” Treth said. Turning to a smaller species that looked something like a child size furry caterpillar, he kicked it hard enough to send it flying across the room. “Get the feast ready, scum!”

Maxwell gritted his teeth and kept silent. He wasn't sure what the little creatures were, for all he knew they were an organic robot, but the Darjo treated them like punching bags. The first day of negotiations had almost ended when the alien negotiator poured a cup of hot liquid on one of the things, claiming it was too hot. None of the human delegation had been happy about it, but they were there to make a trade deal and peace treaty, not to save the universe.

More of the furry caterpillars came and took the table away, replacing it with a much larger one. Platters, knives and unknown implements followed. A few that didn't move quickly enough were cuffed or kicked.

As the work progressed Maxwell turned to the diplomat. “What exactly are those creatures?” he asked.

“Workers. My people uplifted them centuries ago to work for us. They are cheaper than your drones, but you need to be harsh or they get lazy. We may be willing to sell your people a few million breeding pairs if you are interested,” Treth replied.

“So they are sapient?”

“Barely.” Treth grabbed one of the furry caterpillars, holding it up to his face. “Tell Maxwell how smart you are.”

The little alien curled up defensively, its mouth parts clicking out in barely understandable English, “I good. Work hard. Follow orders. I good.”

“I see,” Maxwell said, fighting to keep his tone even. He saw his team struggling to keep their own feelings too themselves.

The tense moment was broken by the sound of tinkling bells. Treth dropped the little one and clapped his large hands together. “Excellent! We may begin our feast. Don't worry, we made sure you can eat everything safely. The food will be a little bland, but we have tried our best.”

“I'm sure we'll enjoy it,” Maxwell said.

Strange fruit like objects, jellies, and what looked liked baked pastries were place around the table. It smelled odd, but not unpleasant. Maxwell breathed a sigh of relief, at least this would be easy and then they could head back to human space and forget they had ever been here.

A louder bell rang. Four of the caterpillar workers came crawling in, on their backs rested a platter with a large, fat caterpillar, its dozen of little feet embedded in some wine red crystal. It twitched and swayed trying to get free, as its mouth parts clicked rapidly. The platter was placed on the table.

“You are going to enjoy this,” Treth said, picking up a large carving knife. “We engineered their flesh to be sweet and tender. This one has been fed with the finest grains and juices, so it will be particularly flavourful.”

Maxwell heard several gasps and curses from his people. He willed himself to stay still. He couldn't risk the treaty over some bio-engineered creature.

Treth raised his knife and brought it down on the neck of the caterpillar.

There was a clang as the knife hit metal.

Maxwell didn't realize he had moved until the knife cut through his artificial skin and lodged in his cybernetic arm.

Treth looked at him in shock. “What are you doing? I didn't mean to cut you. Are you hurt?”

Maxwell took a second to regain his composure. “We do not eat sapient creatures,” he said. He realized the days of talking, and months of setting things up had probably just gone straight to hell, so he decided that if he was going to end his career he might as well make it big. Grabbing the platter and the would be meal, he motioned for his team to leave. “We will bring the treaty and this creature with us. After a long talk with our leaders, we will send you a message. Good day.”

As he marched out of the room, he heard Treth say in its own language, “The blade bent on his flesh!"

A Breakdown in Negotiations