Matros called it ‘Holding the Diver Shell’. If you’re too timid, you’ll drop it and it’ll break. If you’re too aggressive, you’ll crush it between your fingers.

He understood the need to find the perfect amount of pressure, to keep his ocean kingdom. That didn’t mean he had to like it.

Fuath turned toward me and smiled. I kept my face neutral as rows of tiny serrated teeth flashed back. “This is your Femeni?”

“Yes, I am.”

Fuath’s eyes widened. “You allow him to speak?”

Matros’ voice lowered. “I’ve always allowed them to speak. You are thinking of someone else.”

“Quite right. Volardi do look alike.”

Not accurate, but what was true was the hostility in the room.

“We’re here to discuss the attacks,” said Matros.

“The attempts to make our voice heard you mean.”

“Destruction of Volardi property.”

“Response to sneaky Volardi changes.”

“Volardi do not sneak.” Matros’ voice rose. “We meet on the battlefield.”

“No. You offer races your technology and then take large chunks of the planet.”

“You didn’t have to take it.”

“I didn’t, our primitive ancestors did.”

“The reason you are no longer primitive is because of Volardi technology.” Matros’ hand went out toward the dome. “You would still swim in the murk if it weren’t for us.”

“You grabbed most of our planet.”

“Only one third and most of the oceans are yours. We raised islands.”

“Which we are not allowed on,” said Fuath.

“They aren’t yours.”

“Nor is this planet!”

Matros’ voice rose. “Enough. We do this every time.” His shoulders rose. I presumed it was an attempt to intimidate. “Do not mistake my patience for weakness. I have indulged your attacks. So far you have not hurt any Volardi. That is the only reason you stand. The Gloom killed our citizens and they are no more. Learn from a dead race.” He paused for several seconds before he continued. “I want your word that you will not attack the coastal cities.”

“And what do I get?”

“Nothing. No Volardi soldiers. No orbital rays from above.”

It was an inhuman voice, but I recognized the look of hate. “Yes, Matros. You have my word. No longer will we attack your cities.”

I stared even as Matros turned back toward our ship.

Why does this seem familiar?

***

The implant gave information. It had the tendency to tell me what I should think as opposed to discovering it on my own. Maybe it was my Earth heritage, but I preferred the good old monitor and keyboard.

Traditional.

The monitor grew out of the wall, while the matter-creator made me a keyboard. A few more minutes of explanation gave me a mouse and the ability to look up data.

Yep. Nice and old-fashion.