“The humans, they are rather more… numerous, and less grateful, than your projections when you initiated the program during the Posleen war.”

“All plans require adjustment as part of the process. We have discussed the purpose of the job of management before, Your Ghin.” How did he always do that? The obsolete fossil had the annoying habit of posing just the question that prodded the most inconvenient aspect of any operational plan. But the Tir’s control over his own body language had improved over the years, and he cocked one ear slightly in a gesture that coasted just between polite condescension and careful attentiveness.

“With respect, Your Ghin, profits are up and contingency plans to manage the humans are functioning well within acceptable parameters.” He had an itch on the left side of his muzzle, just below the top of his whiskers. With effort, he resisted twitching them. Or squinting his eyes. Decreases in light tended to cause the slit-pupils to round noticeably, making even a slight squint more pronounced than it would have appeared in a round-pupilled being.

“Your parameters fail to take account of recent evidence of active hostile human resistance.” The one thing he could admire about the older Darhel lord was his control over his expressions and gestures. The humans had an oddly apt expression for such control. A poker face. They used it to describe a game. One of the few personal interactions he chose to engage in with humans was an occasional evening playing this poker game that the human Worth and a couple of his underlings had taught him. The contact was annoying, but you could actually win money at this game, and he regularly did, which the Tir found fascinating enough to outweigh the disadvantages.