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Monday, 4th April, 2089

"Just try not to make any jokes," Rangostein says.

I glance over at the drone. Rangostein floats near me, silent but for a faint whirring sound that I suspect is just played from a speaker somewhere so I know it's there, rather than because of any actual function.

"Why not?"

It floats forward until it's level with me. "The Dramoc are prideful. They may take offence to something you say, and they will take any excuse to ignore what we say and throw us out. They may not understand if you are joking."

I study the drone. Human faces are easy to read, and most anthros have recognizable expressions. GodGen made sure of that. But Rangostein doesn't have a face, or even a collection of features my mind can trick itself into imagining a face. Four cameras arranged in a square on the front of its casing is the closest thing I can go off. (Do they make them like that on purpose, so we don't anthropomorphize something that doesn't really think? I suspect they do but I have no way of knowing. I suppose I could ask Rangostein but I don't want to offend it.)

"Agreed?" it says testily. At least its voice has intonation.

"I promise I'll try not to start an interplanetary war by making an ill-timed joke," I say.

Rangostein turns away and approaches the main screen. It clicks on and shows the view in front of us: a planet floats in the inky blackness of space, surrounded by stars. Ruddy orange and yellowish clouds swirl over the surface in complex patterns like paint spilled in water, and on the other side of the terminator that separates night from day, cities show up as little pinpoints of light like dew on a spiderweb. Just above the surface and directly ahead of us, the Greater GodGen Conglomerate General Habitation Structure floats, slowly spinning and growing larger as we approach.

The station, and the small planet it orbits, is home to the Dramoc, as they call themselves, but most people simply call them dragons. They've established a community and want independence, so the GGC sent me to prevent that from happening and keep them under our rule. But Dragons are a stubborn species, and they know it. They're known to respond with anger and violence to people who try to order them around. It's a good thing I have Rangostein with me.

The ship we're on is named, for whatever reason, the GGC Don't Even Think About It. I'm pretty sure I've asked Rangostein why it was named that but I've forgotten and I don't want to annoy it by pestering it with questions. Funnily enough, I can just ask the drone to not get annoyed or offended, using only a voice command and it could switch off that part of its programming. But I feel that's cheating, somehow. If machines are so much easier to speak to than humans, why bother even speaking to humans at all? I'd rather have a drone that's so annoying it makes me want to talk to a person. At the same time, I wonder if it's cruel to force the drone to feel negative emotions just because I want it to. But whether it's really feeling them, or just acting like it, isn't a question I can answer. I'll leave that to the philosophers.

Technically, the drone doesn't even belong to me, it belongs to the Greater GodGen Conglomerate, just like the ship we're on, and the station we're approaching. But Rangostein will do what I say, short of destroying itself. Officially, it's only there to fly the ship, and to provide translation between me and whatever species we encounter. (And apparently, to prevent me from making an unconscious break of etiquette, which I think is unnecessarily cautious, and slightly insulting. The whole reason I'm here in the first place is to provide an organic touch to negotiation, otherwise a drone could do this mission itself.) But it can defend me, if it needs to. It has an electrical attack that can stun or incapacitate a human or anthro. A flash of light that can blind people, or sound that can deafen. When I asked if it had any lethal tools it just floated there, inscrutable as always.

There's a beep and "INCOMING CALL" flashes on the main screen. Then half the screen is filled with the scaly face of a Dramoc. He looks like the kind of dragon you'd see in movies, but standing upright, freeing his hands to manipulate objects, and with just enough anthropomorphism in his face to make him look like a person rather than an animal. "GGC diplomat craft," he says, "transmit authorization before you will be allowed to enter the sphere of influence of the Station."

"Transmitting," Rangostein says. A pause, and I see the Dramoc glance down at something. "Authorized. Proceed to visitor dock and await escort." The screen blinks off without another word.

"That wasn't Keyovde, was it?" I ask Rangostein.

"No. When we meet the Dramoc king, you will know it is him."

I have to hold back a snort of laughter. Enwike Keyovde was chosen by his people to represent the entire race and its interests. Even though he was democratically elected, he chose the title of "king" for himself, despite it being meaningless. His people will do what he says so he's the one I have to talk to. I heard he abuses what little power he has, and rules out of fear rather than respect, but that's none of my business.

The station comes closer and as we approach there's a shudder beneath my feet as our ship turns to match rotational velocity and now the station is stationary and the planet and stars start slowly revolving around it.

"What kind of jokes do you think I would make that would offend him, anyway?"

Rangostein kind of wobbles in the air, I think it's supposed to convey an eye-roll. "Something like, 'I don't want this meeting to drag on.'"

I laugh and say, "Wow, your sense-of-humour module must be overclocking now."

"It's not a module, it's a subroutine."

"I have a better one. Want to hear it?"

"No."

"What do you get when a dragon sneezes?"

Rangostein floats, perfectly still, perfectly silent. I count four rotations of the planet through the window until the drone finally says, "fine, tell me."

"Out of the way." I laugh at the absurdity of it. Without a word, Rangostein turns and floats over to the window and I wonder if it's capable of self-destructing.

An hour later I'm standing in what looks like a throne room. One wall is dominated by a floor-to ceiling window showing the planet below. A throne sits in front of the window and on it, a Dramoc sits, who can only be Enwike Keyovde. He clears his throat and addresses me. "Representative of the Greater GodGen Conglomerate, you are here to discuss terms of our application to leave the rule of the GGC, and establish our own, independent society." Gold chains hang from his horns and they jingle as he talks. His green scales are swathed in either paint or tattoos (can you tattoo scales? I'll have to ask Rangostein later) and he's wearing a robe that looks like its made entirely out of gems on gold wires. I wonder if it's meant to impress me, and I consider telling him that gold and gems are no more valuable these days than good steel or carbon foam but he might take offence so I don't bother.

I take a step forward. "Dramoc representative, the Greater GodGen Conglomerate is prepared to allow you to run this station and the colonies below it as you see fit, and you may choose your own leaders as you've done. This station itself, however, as well as the structures on the surface, belong to the GGC. That is the official stance of the GGC, and will not be changed."

Keyovde shook his head, rings jingling. "The planet below us is barren and dead, and this station was obsolete decades before we were put here against our will. Neither of them are any use to the GGC or to humanity. We only ask for a place to call our own. For too long have we been beholden to our corporate human overlords, to whom we share no ancestry."

I speak loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. "I understand that you want independence, and the freedom to run your society as you want it. I get that, it's an enticing idea. But to be fair, independence wouldn't do you any good. You don't have the resources to keep your own civilization running. You don't have any technology that we haven't given you. Your culture, your society, even your entire species was created by the Goddard Genetics Corporation before it was reformed into the Greater GodGen Conglomerate. This station, your ships, the buildings and equipment in communities on the surface," I nod to the planet slowly rotating beneath us, "belongs to the Greater GodGen Conglomerate. If you're an independent kingdom, you would have to give up all of this. You can't survive in space, or on the surface, without our tech, which was only loaned to you, not given."

"We are prepared to pay-" the ambassador starts.

I interrupt him. "Your money is worthless to us, as is any service you could offer. There's nothing you've created that has any value to the GGC or to humanity. You are, in every respect, our subjects. Since you can't survive without our tech, and you can't buy it, that means your only option would be to steal it."

I step forward and rest one foot upon the steps leading up to his throne. "And if so, the next GGC ship to approach would not be a consular craft, and it will not have a diplomat aboard. It will be a military ship, full of combat drones. I promise you, they will not be programmed to care about your freedom."

As if on cue, Rangostein moves forward, humming loudly. A hatch opens on either side of its casing, where I know the electrical attack launches from. It's remarkable how it manages to look threatening despite being bright green and small enough to hold in both hands.

There's a tense silence, during which I wonder how many people Rangostein can disable before his batteries run out, then the king laughs. It sounds like a broken washing machine. "You want to offer us the freedom to live under your rule." He shakes his head and the gold chains rattle like coins. "I will confer with my staff. In the meantime, you will stay in our visitor rooms. We'll send along refreshments and something that might change your mind." His face is hard to read but there's an unmistakable smile on his face as he speaks the last words. He motions to his guards and they escort us out.

* * *

"Is it in their nature to make us wait this long?" Rangostein floats around the visitor room, exactly as if it was pacing back and forth.

"It hasn't been long," I say. "Keyovde knows there's nothing he can do but he doesn't want to appear weak so he'll let his underlings argue until they wear themselves out, and he'll eventually agree to what I say. Or they'll try to throw us out of an airlock, you'll stop them, and the GGC will come and kill them all."

"They are planning something," it says. "I just know it."

There's a knock at the door and it opens. Another Dramoc comes in, carrying a tray. This one's a female, the first I've seen since arriving. She has similar gold chains hanging from her horns that I saw on the king, but thinner, and studded with pink gemstones. Gold rings around her ankles and wrists look more like shackles than jewellery. She sets down a tray of drinks and awkwardly stands near it.

"Refreshments," she says in a thin voice barely above a whisper.

I thank her and pick up a cup. If they wanted to poison me I suppose this would be the way to do it, but I don't want to be impolite so I take a sip but it tastes like old barbecue sauce and I wince.

I turn to dismiss her but I freeze. With a single, casual motion she slips out of her robe and lets it drop to the floor. Underneath, she's wearing what looks like a short skirt and some sort of shawl over her chest but it's so thin it's nearly transparent and I can see right through it. She turns away from me and kneels on the counter, raising her tail so that the skirt lifts up and I can see everything that's under it. I'm still holding the cup and I don't know what to do. Normally I'm good at unexpected situations that happen in negotiations but this is unprecedented.

Rangostein is the first to recover. "Ma'am, this is not how the Greater GodGen-"

"Quiet, drone," I say.

"Do you not see what the Dramoc are trying to do? They want you to-"

"Rangostein, full shutdown, confirm."

The drone drops like a stone and bounces off the carpet and lies still. Its main cameras are still pointed at us so I pick it up and wrap it in my jacket. It's heavier than it looks, like it's made of cast iron.

"Sorry. It won't disturb us now." I wince, and say, "That came out wrong. I mean it won't disturb us while we're talking." I toss the bundle in a corner. "Please, put your robe back on."

She's not looking at me. Still turned away, tail up, exposed and I can see her back is covered in purple markings, triangular shapes too irregular to be tattoos. Beams of light cascade down on her from a window above us, coloured gold from the planet. "I'm supposed to help you change your mind..." she says, and it's so quiet it's like she's talking to herself. "...and accompany you back to Earth, if you want."

"You won't change my mind. Not like that. Please, put your clothes back on, sit down, and we'll talk."

She pauses, then does as I say.

"What's your name?" I ask.

"Outeil."

"Outeil, I'm sorry but it's not my mind that has to be changed. It's the entire Conglomerate, and the Earth Directorates who make these laws. I'm not really here to bargain with your leader, I'm just here to inform him of our policy: that the Dramoc will continue to live under our rule. Even if I vouched for your independence, the GGC wouldn't listen to me, and they'd just send a different ambassador. And if diplomacy doesn't work, they'll try something... else. And it will end badly for your people."

Outeil is quiet, hugging her robes around her, just looking down and breathing. "Did you ever hear about Alex Chapman the martyr?" She doesn't look up at me.

"Of course I have. We all learned about how he tried to tell people about the GGC... well, back then it was just Goddard Genetics, and it was just a corporation. He tried to convince humanity that Goddard products were more than that; they were real, thinking people."

She makes a sound that was halfway between a chuckle and a sob. "And you killed him for it. He threatened to expose you for what you really were, Goddard killed him, and took his dragon for-"

"Outeil, that wasn't me, it wasn't the GGC that exists today. That was more than half a century ago, and nobody who worked for Goddard Genetics back then is even alive today. It's not the same thing. I'm sorry, but you won't get what you're fighting for. If you want to convince the GGC that you deserve your independence, you have to prove that you can live without them. Right now you can't."

I pull up a chair and sit in it, then reach for the tea (or whatever it is) and remember what it tasted like, and let my hand drop.

"I wish I could help your people, but I just do what the GGC tells me. I'm just..." I pause for a second, thinking for the first time how this sounds. "I'm just a tool of theirs. Like the ship I came here in. Or a drone." I nod to the bundle in the corner.

She's so quiet I have to lean in to hear her. "I don't want to be a tool." she looks up at me, and her eyes are glossy enough I can see my own reflection in them. She has no eyebrows or lips, but there's sadness on her face, I can see it clearly as if it's written on a screen. "I'm tired of this. I'm tired of being paraded around and put on display like a trophy. I'm tired of servicing people whos name I don't even know." She takes a shaking breath and I know she's been wanting to say this for a long time so I stay still and let her continue. "Everything I see is manufactured, even us. Your people made us to amuse you, to serve you, then once you were finally forced to admit that we're real people, and not just property, you put us on these stations and in camps on the surface of some backwater world to live and die in squalor. We have no culture of our own, nothing that wasn't manufactured for the sole purpose of providing the most basic and flimsy backdrop. It's a culture made of plastic." She huffs a single breath, like she's amused by her own bitterness.

I think she's done so I say, "But you can create your own culture, from a blank slate. You can shape your own history and society, and you can..." my words fall apart even as I say them as I realize what I'm saying.

"We can't shape our own society if we're not allowed to have one."

I sit back, frowning. "Honestly, Outeil, I wish I could help, but I'm not in a position to set your entire race free."

"Not even one?"

I look at her sitting there, barely covered by her thin robe and jewellery that looks like chains. "Not even one."

"I told you, Keyovde said you could bring me back with you if you want. They wouldn't even notice me gone. And it'd be better than the alternative."

"What will happen to you if you go back and you haven't changed my mind?"

She looks away and draws her arms together, hugging herself tight.

"You know I can't just take you with me, right? How would I explain you to the GGC when I arrived? And I can't stow you aboard the ship, that doesn't even belong to me. I wish I could, but I can't."

She nods slowly, then stands and gathers her robe around herself. Now there's no sadness on her face, nothing at all. Her face is as blank and impassive as a machine. "I'll tell Mr. Keyovde that you won't change your mind. I'm sorry I wasted your time."

"Outeil," I say, and she looks back, one hand on the door. I say the first thing I think of. "What do you get when a dragon sneezes?"

She looks at me, and there's a twitch at the corner of her mouth. "Out of the way," she says, and smiles. It looks good on her.

"I've never heard of being given an ambassador as a gift. But if that's what Keyovde wants, then the GGC will accept it if I say that to refuse was impolite, and I didn't want to offend the king. But if you come with me and you get to Earth, you'll be on your own; I can't give you somewhere to live or something to do. Most humans don't even recognize anthros as individuals or real people. You'll be able to find some of your own people but I can't guarantee they'll accept you. You'll be, effectively, homeless and poor."

"You'd do that? For me?"

"You're positive they wouldn't care if you went missing?"

She nods eagerly, her chains jingling like bells. "They'd probably just think I stepped out of an airlock. Most of his harem end up doing that after a while. After I was gone for a week, he wouldn't even remember I was gone."

I go over to where Rangostein is bundled, unwrap it and click it on. It rises to just above eye level, buzzing. "What the hell was that for?" it hissed. Somehow it manages to look like it's glaring at me.

"Rangostein, Outeil here was sent as an offering from the Dramoc to the GGC. To refuse such an offer would be a terrible breach of protocol, don't you agree?"

The drone swivels and darts towards her, stopping inches from her face. She watches it unflinching as it hovers in front of her. It turns to me. "A gift?"

"That's what I said. We don't want to offend our subjects, do we?"

"Is that the end of negotiation, then?"

"It is."

"If I was allowed to refuse, I would do so. However, since I am programmed to do as you say, I cannot. We will take this 'gift' and be on our way."

"I'm glad you see things my way, drone. Let's go."

* * *

Outeil watched as the station shrank to a point and disappeared, and soon after it, the planet it orbited. She made sure the door was locked and held her ear to the wall. When she was satisfied she was alone, she pulled off her robe. And pulled off two devices disguised as gold plates holding her thin clothes together. The first she used to scan her small cabin, making sure she wasn't being watched or recorded. Satisfied the GGCDon't Even Think About It wasn't spying on her, she turned on the other device, a portable, long-range communicator. She unfolded the screen and turned it on and typed out a message:

King Enwike Keyovde:

It worked. I'm aboard the ship, on our way to the GGC. The rep doesn't suspect anything but I think the drone does. I'll take care of it.

-Your faithful servant, Outeil