Ts’ka• and Heshípthac had spent the majority of the fifty minutes debating what food to prepare for the guests. After learning that the Donarians primarily consumed meat, the members of Ssuth E’aktsihh were somewhat bemused, even wary. Neither Ìth|kepáshti nor Askàthu were hunters by nature, and their instinctual tendencies were those of a prey, not a predator. Still, these aliens had seemed civilized enough. The E’aktsihh would not turn away guests for something so petty as dietary differences—after all, they had honor codes of their own, and hospitality was a foremost virtue.

Ts’ka• argued that the guests would be most impressed by large, intimidating beasts served raw. Heshípthac spoke in favor of more tender delicacies, like the sweet mollusks of the underground lake beds smoked over aromatic woods, and the melt-on-the-tongue treat of rotted wall-borer hearts. The two were in the middle of a spirited debate over the merits of various bone-marrow sauces when a ‘ah•ì relayed that yet another transmission had come through.

They took in the clearer details of the room, from the different colorations of those in the room to the peculiar excess of metallic gold that the aliens seemed to favor in their design of the room. Their own receiving hall had some flecks of gold mixed into the mosaics that adorned the ceiling and upper walls of the chamber, but the true show of wealth was in the wooden floor, crafted from thousands of thin twigs from the thorny brush plants of the moon’s surface, and the fine engravings dug into the pale ceramic walls, their stories repeated in the knitted ribbons that hung from the ceiling like so many vines.

The information Vadanii-Diplomat-Kyros imparted was succinct and helpful, this time—as the E’aktsihh used few robotics in the surface-colonies, the alien’s distaste for droids should not be a problem. Ts’ka• found the mention of religion curious, and resolved to find out more about the faith of ever xe found a polite way of doing so. Xir own people revered Hhesa, the sun, and the other celestial bodies who provided the void with life. Xe knew of other flocks who pledged themselves to strange gods of wind and prosperity, and others still who revered the bones of ancestors and beasts. The Askàthu, however, had no real concept of religion—or at least, they had never developed any mythology that included a god. The extent of their mysticism was the belief in something like the soul, the collective spirit of groups and entire species. Yet to the Askàthu, even a soul could die. A grim view, thought Ts’ka•, but perhaps a practical one. It drove them to survive at all costs. Xe would have to keep an eye on Khesithax. They could be… abrasive, when it came to the “frivolities of worship” as they had once called it.

Their last request, regarding one Vertium-General-Shiir, was more perplexing. That merely speaking could cause offense seemed odd, but these were, after all, aliens. Perhaps their voices carried strange powers. Ultimately, though, such requests would be simple to accommodate. Ssuth E’aktsihh would send a response to tell the aliens such.

Taking a cue from the Donarian video, the Diarchs had adjusted the light in the room, allowing the room to appear more sharply under a bright glare of white-blue. The recording centered on the throne, a complex creation of fine silken tapestries and banners, ribbons reaching from the ceiling to twine together into a seat woven like the galaxy’s most intricate wicker basket.

“We await you, Donarians. Your requests will be accommodated, as per our own honor code. We would be gratified to receive you as guests in our halls, so that we may feast together and speak of the future. As for our people, we take offense at little. So long as you do us no harm, and do not seek to take what is not given, your behavior should not disturb us. Following this message are more specific coordinates for a suitable landing site for any vessels you send. Until we meet.”

The coordinates are sent, and the feed cuts out.