Twister grimaced behind his helmet. Everyone on the planet seemed to be wondering the same thing tonight. "Why did you risk your lives to meet us face to face?" he stalled.

It was not, as it turned out, the best thing he might have said. "We called you here to learn what you are doing," Ha-ran said, his highlights turning nearly black. "And to perhaps seek an accommodation with you. Is that what you seek with the Warlord?"

"What sort of accommodation could we possibly want with him?" Watchman objected. "We came to this world to destroy him."

"Did you?" the old Eickarie retorted. "Or did you merely seek to conquer him?"

"For what reason?" Watchman persisted. "What could he possibly have—?"

"Watchman," Twister said quietly.

The other broke off. "We don't know why we're here tonight," Twister told Ha-ran honestly. "None of us is high enough in the counsels of our tribe's princes to be given such answers."

"They are called ‘generals,' not princes," Su-mil put in. "And you have no tribes, but only the single Empire of the Hand. Do not patronize us, stormtrooper."

Twister turned back to face him. There was something vaguely comical about the Eickarie's stance, a small part of his mind noted, sitting up there on the sealing table with his feet dangling half a meter off the floor.

But at the same time, there was a strength and resolve in his eyes and posture that silenced any inclination toward laughter. "You're right," Twister acknowledged. "I was merely attempting to speak in terms your people would be familiar with."

"We are familiar with many terms," Su-mil said.

"As I now understand," Twister said. "I ask your forgiveness for my unintended offense."

For a moment the other studied him. Then, his orange highlights faded to amber. "My forgiveness is given," he said. "You admit, then, that you seek to meet the Warlord face to face?"