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All through my life, I have only ever been sure of two things.
Thing number one. Mysterious, paranoid communities consisting of omni-suited rodents armed up to the tits are inherently awesome.
Thing number two. Discussions about the economy are not.
So it was with mixed feelings that I boarded the sub to Letuposis as the Honorary Ambassador for Trade and Commerce on behalf of the United Kingdom of Species. In case you're unfamiliar with the jargon, it signifies that I'm supposed to be getting some more cash in for the British government. Apparently you can go on an international trip to the bottom of the North Atlantic (all expenses paid) on the say-so of less than six men, provided they book it on a Friday afternoon and everyone is bored enough not to be paying attention properly.
My brief was in two parts. The first was to attempt to establish a preliminary agreement of trade between the British and Terran governments. The second was far more interesting.
I tried to look professional, but I couldn't help but stare at Letuposis as we approached. The great dome loomed out of the darkness like a colossal bubble that refused to burst. City lights blinked and shimmered through it, magnified by the glass to create rays of colour that sliced through the murk towards us. Terran constructs hovered around the exterior of Letuposis - a combination of military vehicles and early-warning systems, all ready for the ever-impending apocalypse.
They greeted us politely enough, which is a nice way to say that they didn't open fire on us. A military escort guided our sub to the ports that lined the bottom of the dome. I was to meet with my contact there, who would take me to the Reeve; their equivalent of a sheriff.
The sub surfaced in a cramped, dark hangar. I picked up my suitcase, and checked the clasps. A brief glance out of one of the portholes revealed the Terran I guessed was there to greet me, watching impassively as water cascaded down the glass. Instead of an army helmet, a long dark hood hung ominously over his masked head, his long ears tucked somewhere amongst the folds. I scowled, thinking about those masks of theirs. An entire nation of creatures with perpetual poker-faces.
Covers started to descend over the portholes, which I guessed was supposed to nudge me towards the door. It hissed as I neared it, unseen mechanisms whirring and clicking within. Without warning, it suddenly swung open, and I just about suppressed an expletive as I saw the Terran standing calmly just behind it.
As you'd expect, the omni-suits have a tendency to make most Terrans share a largely uniform appearance. But now that he was closer, I could make out the subtle distinguishing features i0n his gear. The eyes of his mask were more circular than most I'd seen before, and he had patchy but apparently deliberate orange marks dotted around the casing, mirrored here and there on the body of his bright omni-suit. The filter was long and thin, and clouds of smoke emanated from it in short, sharp puffs. The dots on his omni-suit occasionally blinked furiously, before settling back into their natural continuous state.
Without a word, he held out a hand. I shook it. Then I was barely out of the sub before he was ushering me out of the hangar.
"You must be Mr Daric." he said, cheerfully. The mask slightly dulled the sound of his speech, but otherwise his voice was perfectly clear. It was faintly tinted with an accent I couldn't identify.
"You don't have to worry about the Mister." I told him, as he fell into step beside me.
His head momentarily snapped in my direction. "We are not yet on first name terms, Mr Daric."
"I don't have a surname." I explained. "So I'm on first name terms with everyone."
He didn't reply to that. A few seconds later, we were out onto the street. I barely had time to glance at the magnitude of their structures or the nuances of their design before I was hurried into a waiting cab, which screeched away from the seaport. All the doors immediately slammed closed, and covers descended over the windows, leaving only a sliver of light to bleed in from the sunroof.
The interior was surprisingly spacious, and I found myself on a large but comfortable seat. Straps dangled down from every side, but I didn't bother using them. I sat with my back to the driver's cabin, facing my guide and another Terran, both of whom had also eschewed their own straps.
The first, the one who had escorted me from the sub, had thrown back his hood. I couldn't help but stare slightly at his short, twitchy ears, which were more reminiscent of a dog's than a rabbit's.
The second appeared calmer, and I guessed he was probably higher up the ladder. The back of his combat helmet extended into a smooth, sloping neck-guard, and a long strip of metal ran up his mask from the top edge of his filter, before branching off into two segments that arched over the rims of his eyeholes. Two black half-moon cylinders curved forwards from either side of his filter, giving the slightly unnerving impression of pincers, or tusks.
"You are Daric." Said the second creature, leaning forward so that the light caught his conical helmet. His voice was muffled, but warm - like campfire in a fog.
"I am." I replied politely. "And you are Reeve Haast."
Hasst nodded serenely, indicating the Terran on his left.
"This is Vredell."
I inclined my head. Vredell gestured politely, but did not speak.
"So why have you come to see me?"
Here goes. "I'm here to negotiate a trade -"
"No, Daric." The Reeve shook his head. I could hear his smile through his voice. "The real reason. I must confess, I find myself concerned at the ineptitude of British foreign intelligence."
There was a brief silence as I adjusted.
"Firstly, we're testing the waters, if you'll pardon the pun." I admitted. "Wanted to see the state of your security, and whether it was up to scratch."
They both seemed amused by this. I think. It was difficult to tell.
"And is it?"
I waved a hand. "Seems to be, doesn't it?"
Vredell tapped his filter thoughtfully. "How did you expect to get through here with a half-baked cover story, Mr Daric?"
"It was a perfectly decent cover story for my purposes." I retorted indignantly. "Bond's were never particularly elaborate, and he always got the job done."
"James Bond is a fictional character." Haast pointed out, quite reasonably. "Also, he continually got his cover blown within about half an hour and always ended up dangling over pits of sharks."
Wow. I hadn't even expected him to get the reference. Hey - my God. He was right. James Bond is shit at covert spying.
"What's in the briefcase?" Vredell nodded at it.
I shrugged. "Forms Papers. Props. Nothing significant. It was for appearances only."
Haast nodded, satisfied. "Now, besides security. What is it you're really here for?"
"To be blunt, Reeve, the only function of the trade envoy act was to get me an audience with you. I'm buying the lives of two citizens." I said. They'd been honest enough with me, and the fact that I wasn't in chains being repeatedly poked with a vast number of unpleasant things at that moment was enough of a testament to their integrity for me. "Divers. Explorers. Pioneers of the unknown, masters of the natural world."
"The Dwarves."
"Yes."
Haast immediately became fidgety, and Vredell's hand flicked to the device on his wrist. I wondered if Vredell had ever heard of 'shooting the messenger'. His body language suddenly indicated he might well be considering it.
"They stole from us. Their sentence was execution." Haast said finally. His body language was stiffer, and the black circles he used for eyes were coldly impassive.
"I'm well aware of that." I replied calmly. "But they're still British citizens, and you can't just execute them without trial. This is a diplomatic matter, and I'm sure I speak for everyone when I say nobody wants a war over this."
They exchanged a glance.
Well, fuck.
I tried to keep my voice level.
"Now, gentlemen. I hope you realise that if you have in fact done as I'd feared - that is to say, fed my fellow countrymen to your genetically-engineered captive abomination to be atomised by the living parasites it carries around on its face - I will in fact be quite angry." I stretched out the next word. "Pret-ty livid, I daresay."
They were silent. Even Vredell didn't move.
"Is that," I spoke through gritted teeth, "what has happened?"
Haast glanced at Vredell, who didn't take his eyes off me.
"No." he muttered. He seemed oblivious to my small exhalation, instead checking his watch. "But it will in less than an hour."
The feeling of relief vanished.
"Where?" I snapped.
"Centre of Town Square. Zone Two."
"Take me there."
"Daric." Haast muttered. He seemed to have recovered somewhat, and small clouds of white smoke puffed from his filter in slow, relaxed breaths. "I want to help you. But I'm not a member of the government - I can't arbitrarily reverse this decision."
"I can." I barked.
"You and what army?" interjected Vedrell.
"The British army." I retorted.
He was silent, and his hands began twitching again. Ten points to Daric, I think.
"It's impossible." added Haast. "We can't do it with this timeframe."
I forced myself to stay calm.
"These Dwarves are not career criminals, Reeve Haast." I said, slowly. "They're refugees. They are not malicious, they are not cunning. They are simply desperate."
"I understand that." Haast replied smoothly. He stared at me. It took a second for me to realise he was thinking. "There may yet be a way out." he said finally. "As Reeve, I have the ability to call an appeal at any given point before the execution. No one has yet called for one for the Dwarves, and the accused can't do it on their own behalf. If the public vote sways in their favour, I can pardon them. But if the vote sways against them, they die."
I scowled. This was bullshit of the highest order. If the Dwarves died, especially in such a gruesome manner, the Home Office would not take it well. The Terrans were risking a lot for the sake of this one trivial law of theirs. But Haast was no politician, and he hadn't lied to me yet. He was making the best offer he could in good faith, and I couldn't fault him for that. Neither could I refuse him.
"Fine." I sighed. "How long until we're at Zone Two?"
Haast clapped his hands together, a surprisingly human gesture. The smile returned to his voice as I felt the cab slow to a halt.
"Shall we step outside?"

*

The unnamed Terran unfolded his arms, and threw them out wide as he launched himself backwards into the empty air.
Watching him sparked a vague recollection in my mind's eye. Just a brief image. A similarly dark figure, falling backwards into certain death. I banished the image from my head.
"Another thief?"
"No." Haast responded. "A serial killer."
My eyes tracked the condemned creature as he dived from the platform, plunging fifty feet before breaking the surface of the water with barely a splash.
"Nine people." Vredell said from somewhere over my shoulder. "Tore off their masks and gassed them."
"Hm." I replied, barely listening.
They say you learn something new every day. While I generally only hold that to be true if you're a schoolchild or a simpleton, I had discovered something interesting - Terrans literally don't fear death. When you grow up believing that the world will end at any moment, the Reaper sort of loses His edge. Not only that, but their pain tolerance is monumental. It's a conditioning. Just imagine. Any pain you're currently experiencing, or ever going to experience, is ending now. Not in a few seconds. Not in a minute. It ends this instant. Knowing that can help you endure almost anything.
So that was the reason why he didn't scream when he hit the water, and it was why he didn't flinch when a thin black tentacle the width of a man's arm wrapped itself around his midsection. Through the glass of the tank and the luminescence of the water within, I watched as the convict was brought level with the creature's face. More tentacles gripped his arms and legs. From high on the platform where we stood, I could make out the Terran's scarred mask turned at an angle, facing directly into the maw. I couldn't see, but I could imagine the serene smile on his face.
The monster opened its jaws, and bathed him in liquid smoke. It enveloped his entire body, shielding him from view.
It was only then that he started screaming.
I couldn't hear that, of course. All I could see was the creature's tentacles stiffen as they tightened their grip on the Terran's struggling limbs, while the parasites ate him alive. Blood started to emerge from the cloud, tinging the dark cloud with a layer of bright red.
"Fuck." I murmured. My knuckles went white, clenching on the briefcase I'd forgotten I was still holding.
I watched as the abomination scooted forward, hoovering up its miniscule companions and the remains of its victim in one smooth movement. Not one of the surrounding Terrans made a sound. Not a movement. In a way, it was almost more chilling than if they'd been cheering, or singing; at least that would have been a reaction. But there was no emotion in their artificial eyes. Not a single response to the fact that a living being had just been torn to pieces in front of them, like it was nothing. They barely even seemed like people - just a vast, emotionless swathe of the almost-living.
Suddenly, I remembered that I'd never seen a Terran's true face, and strangely, the thought made me angry. They were cowards, hiding behind their masks. They weren't really this impassive, but they pretended to be for the sake of each other, and for the sake of themselves. For them, this was just a fact of life, for the good of society. They had already rationalised it in their heads, and their minds were made up. Haast's vote would be utterly futile. The Dwarves would die horrible, pointless deaths - the price to pay for their lack of intricate knowledge about Terran laws.
And they were fucking refugees.
I think it was at this point that I finally dispensed with the politics. I wasn't going to let two innocent people die for the sake of an obscure law created by a society unwilling to entertain the slightest notion of mercy. Plan B. I dropped the suitcase with a thud, and put a hand inside my jacket. My fingers closed around a gun. If you're interested, it was a Tolok, an Orcan revolver manufactured in Holland, and it could turn a man's head into shrapnel at twenty paces.
Slowly, I drew it.

So - want to guess what happened next?