Ortega was dragged naked and bound into the presence of the alien leaders. He was dirty, bruised, and had lost half an ear from the beating the guards had given him. But he was still standing. Being the highest-ranking official left on the planet, he was determined to present himself well. He wanted those who might remember this day to know that humanity did not go out crawling on its belly. Humanity, as a species, would die on its feet - proud (if not defiant) to the end.

The reptilian monstrosity that held the other end of Ortega's leash gave it a sharp yank so that the middle-aged father of four was pulled to his knees. The man caught himself on the edge of a table but not without spilling several platters of gnawed bones and bloody meat to the floor. The pungent stench of roasted flesh assaulted him and made him gag. All around him there was the sounds of hissing and snarling.

Ortega looked up to see that the alien diners were not pleased by his arrival. They were seated in a broad semi-circle and they were staring at him. The aliens reminded Ortega of alligators -- they had since the moment he first saw them. With large heads, broad snouts, cold pupil-less eyes, and mottled bluish-green skin they would have appeared perfectly normal in any swamp in the world. But these alligators were bipeds, flew star ships, and killed without mercy. They were naked to the waist and the single greatest difference he could see between them and alligators were the gills running down their sides. When they breathed the open slits would flutter and raw purple flesh was exposed.

The creature that had brought Ortega into the room placed a small square device on the table and tapped its lid. Suddenly, beneath the sounds of hissing and grunts, Ortega could hear the words "disgusting" and "repulsive" being echoed by the box. At least, Ortega thought, they would understand his words even if they decided not to listen to them.

"Why," hissed an enormous individual in the center of the semi circle, "did you bring this thing before us?"

"It claims," clicked the guard, head lowered and eyes averted, "to speak for the humans. It says it is their leader."

The large individual began making a guttural sound deep in his throat that the box did not translate. Ortega took it be the alien equivalent of laughter. "And what makes you think this creature has the right to make such claims?"

The guard glanced at Ortega. "Because even as we beat it, it would not abandon its demand to see you."

The leader hissed at the guard. "Then you did not beat it enough!"

"Master, these creatures are puny and cannot withstand the full force of our interrogation."

The leader nearly leapt out of his seat, his eyes wide and teeth bared. "You dare answer me? It still walks. You can break all four of its limbs without fatally injuring it. Did you break any of its limbs during your interrogation?"

The guard now shook with suppressed anger and shame. "No, master." It dropped its head even lower in submission.

"Then you are a fool," the leader declared. "You are demoted two ranks. Now leave. And take your meal with you." The leader turned and retook his seat. The guard eyed Ortega with such hatred that the diplomat's fate could be read in those dark orbs.

"Oh great one," Ortega said as he dropped to all fours and lowered his head. "I do speak for my kind. I was selected by my people to request your terms for our surrender." Ortega kept his eyes lowered. The guard had shown him the proper stance. The box emitted a series of hisses and clicks as it translated his words and there was a collective gasp from the diners.

"This food-animal dares to speak to us?" A voice cried out from Ortega's left. It was not the creature Ortega identified as the leader. "I will eat its lungs before its heart ceases to beat!" There was a thrashing sound as someone big climbed over the table and came stumbling towards him. But Ortega held his ground. It had only been by refusing to be chased off that he'd managed to convince the guards to take him to their leaders. They had been impressed by his determination. Now, as heavy legs stomped their way towards him he would have to show his determination again.

Just as the individual reached him there was the clang of metal hitting something. Ortega looked up to see a large blue-skinned brute reeling from a blow to the head. A heavy golden platter had been thrown at the individual like a disk and it had bounced off his thick skull. The room burst into laughter.

"You do not command here," came the soft growl of the leader.

For the first time in over a week Ortega felt hope. It didn't matter the species or the world you came from, politics is the same regardless of origin. And politics was something Ortega understood. There was a rival in the tent and that rival had just saved his life.

"You would tolerate the filth that would spew from this maggot's mouth?" The large brute declared as he stroked the side of his head. "A true leader would never sink so low."

"And what," the leader said without the slightest hint of irritation, "would you know of leadership." The room laughed again. "Besides," the leader continued, "the creature did not run. Our warriors reported that not all of the maggots are without honor. Some stood their ground, fought, and died well. Perhaps this is one of the 'honorable' maggots." There was more laughter as the diners began to see the value of this entertainment.

The leader turned his attention to Ortega. "You have not said or done anything, maggot. Are you too afraid to speak?"

Ortega took a deep breath. "No, oh great and powerful leader, I was just waiting my turn."

The alien hissed angrily. "I am not some senile old fool who needs to be stroked with pretty words. I am 'The Leader.' That is all you need say. Insult me again with useless flattery and this conversation ends. Understand?"

Ortega nodded his head. "I do."

"Then get up and look me in the eye," the leader declared. "Show me what kind of being you are."

"Disgusting!" Declared the blue brute. "You give it too much leeway."

"No more than I give you, Grak," the leader said with a grin. Grak stiffened but he held his tongue. "And you, maggot," the leader said returning to Ortega, "do you merit the honor of standing on your feet like a warrior, like a True Being?"

Ortega did not hesitate. "I do." There was a smattering of laughter but his bravado had caught their attention. He decided to take a risk. "And it was not I who attacked without warning. Who slaughtered without provocation. It was not I who fought without honor." There was a short intake of breath as the insult stung more than a few of the diners.

"You are misinformed," the leader said without anger, obviously amused by Ortega's behavior. "It was your leadership who were without honor. It is our right to rule. The Universe decrees that only the strong should survive. Upon detecting your world, we determined that you are food-animals. You are to serve. So we sent emissaries to demand your surrender. But your leaders were cowards. We would have been honored if they had defied us as you just did. If they offered combat as True Beings. But instead they attempted to 'negotiate' a settlement with us. They offered each other's lands and followers to us if we would guarantee their individual safety. Your leaders disgusted us and we gave them the fate they deserved." The alien pointed off to the right and Ortega glanced in direction. In the gloom he was just able to make out a roasting spit. Tied to the pole, still smoking in the flames, were the remains of a man. The charred head was thrown back and frozen in what appeared to be a scream. It left no doubt in Ortega's mind that this world leader had been roasted alive.

"And a pitiful meal did it make," Grak snapped from behind him. The diners all laughed again.

"So, maggot," the leader continued, "you said you were selected to speak for your kind. I assume that means you are a great warrior. How many did you kill for the honor to speak for your species?"

Ortega hesitated. This was a martial culture. They honored physical prowess and the ability to kill. To say that he'd become the ambassador for the human race by default would not only insult them but guarantee humanity's annihilation. Ortega squared off his shoulders. "There were a dozen rivals but three were cowards and would not fight." This was met with positive nods and several of the diners clicked their tongues appreciatively.

"And how did you dispatch them?" The leader asked. "You have no teeth, no claws, and no strength worth mentioning. Our warriors reported that in physical combat your kind died easier than it lived."

Ortega's mind raced. "Where it is true that, compared to your warriors, we have no strength. When battling each other, we are well matched. My rivals and I were locked in a steel cage and -"

"This is ridiculous!" Bellowed Grak as he charged forward and knocked Ortega to the ground. The diplomat fell against the table again. "The puny exploits of this food-animal are not worthy of our noble ears. Only a fool would tolerate such a display."

The leader of the aliens rose to his feet. "My patience is wearing thin, Grak. Declare your challenge or remain silent." The leader's entire body tensed for battle.

Ortega watched as the situation began spiraling out of control. If Grak challenged the leader at this time it would mean the end of everything. Grak would not listen to any plan that allowed humanity to survive. Ortega knew that without even trying. The present leader might, if approached properly, be willing to accept their subservience. Humanity would gain the opportunity to regroup, to live till the day the aliens could be driven off.

"You are too old to lead," Grak was saying with a growl. "You sit back and feast while true warriors are drenched in the blood of -"

Ortega spotted a long-handled knife stuck in the table. Its razor-sharp edges gleamed in the firelight. But reports from the battlefield had stated that the alien's skin were like hardened leather. A regiment of Ghurkas had thrown themselves at the creatures armed with only their traditional knives and the blades did nothing but bounce off the creature's hides. The Ghurkas were torn limb from limb.

"You are a RUNT!" The leader was shouting from across the room. He'd left his seat and had taken several steps towards Grak. The gill slits in his sides were flaring angrily as his breathing came in huge laboring gusts.

"I will drink deeply from your skull," Grak snarled in response. His own gill slits flaring.

That's when Ortega realized what he had to do. Without thinking about what it could mean if he guessed wrong, he reached out with his bound hands and snatched the knife from the table. Rolling onto his back, he looked up at the infuriated Grak. "You dare to call my exploits puny!"

Grak turned his massive head towards Ortega. He glanced at the knife the diplomat held and actually paused before bursting out in laughter. "The maggot thinks he's a -"

Ortega lashed out and drove the knife into one of the creature's gill slits. The skin might be as tough as leather but the gill slits implied there were some moist supple lungs he could reach. The blade slid into the slit almost to the handle before it met any resistance. Grak's head snapped back and he howled with pain. Purplish blood began to stream down the length of the knife. But it was not a killing blow. Grak raised a heavily muscled arm and prepared to smash Ortega's head in. Ortega pulled the knife from side to side in the hopes that the double edges would sever a vital aspect of the creature's anatomy. Blood now gushed from the wound and down Ortega's arms. Grak screamed once more, regurgitated blood onto himself, and collapsed. The immense body landed heavily beside Ortega. The room was absolutely silent.

Ortega stared into Grak's lifeless eyes before rising to his feet. There was blood all over him and it stunk of things Ortega could not even imagine. The blade slipped easily out of the body and he held it loosely in his hands. All of the aliens were now staring at him. There was no way he could handle them all if they attacked. Ortega placed the knife on the table. "That," he said softly, pointing at Grak's corpse, "is how I defeated my rivals. The arrogant being revels in his apparent victory. But that is a mistake. For though the True being may surrender - he is never defeated."

The alien leader stared at Ortega for a moment before a look of appreciation crept into his eyes. He then stepped back and casually took his chair. "Bring this maggot a seat," he called out. "I believe he wishes to speak for his kind." Guards, who Ortega had not seen in lurking in the shadows, rushed forward with a cushioned stool and placed it beside him. Ortega was stunned. He had succeeded. He was now an individual worth talking to.

"And what would you like to do," the leader said with a snarl of disdain, "with your trophy?" He pointed at Grak's corpse.

Ortega thought about it for a moment, remembering all that he'd seen. "Have it dragged outside," he said. "My children will have something to eat tonight." Once again laughter filled the room. Only this time, it wasn't aimed at him.

-End-