"Hi, Vikus," said Gregor gently.
"Sometimes I do not know," said Vikus abruptly.
"Don't know what?" asked Gregor.
"I just—I don't know about this constant warfare," he said slowly. "We keep slaughtering living things. And for what? It seems we never stop. It never gets better. We just keep killing and killing until every living thing is dead!" Yes! Wasn't this exactly what Gregor had been trying to say to Luxa? Oddly, Gregor found himself trying to comfort Vikus, even though he agreed wholeheartedly with what he was saying.
"But it does get better," said Gregor. "I mean just look at the rats—sorry, gnawers—look at the gnawers. You managed to create peace!"
"True, true," said Vikus, looking slightly heartened. "But it seems to me that we only overcome one obstacle to be greeted by another larger one." Vikus sighed deeply. "Maybe it would be better if we simply surrender," he said. "I may be able to keep my people alive. But that would certainly mean moving out of Regalia, and it is doubtful we could survive for long. We have thousands of soldiers and if I say so, they will fight to the death. But I can't help feeling I am ordering my own people into their graves," he said heavily.
"Don't say that, Vikus," said Gregor. "We'll figure something out... have you tried negotiating a peaceful resolution with the cutters?" Vikus shook his head.
"No. but I wouldn't even know where to begin. And I doubt the cutters would agree."
"You can always try," said Gregor encouragingly.
"I do suppose we could attempt something of the sort," said Vikus slowly. "But I'm afraid I don't even know how we would tell the cutters of our desires. If I were to send soldiers, they likely would be killed within seconds." He frowned in thought.
"Can the cutters read?" asked Gregor hopefully.
"No," said Vikus.
"Oh," said Gregor, disappointed. He had been going to suggest they have a bat fly over and drop a written message in the cutters' territory. Well, clearly that wouldn't work. "Can they even talk?" asked Gregor.
"I believe they can communicate a little in crawler, though I am unsure," he said, evidently still thinking.
"Is there a group of animals that get along with the cutters that could deliver a message for you?" said Gregor.
"None, that I can think of," said Vikus.
"Can we send a crawler on a bat to talk to them?" asked Gregor.
"Possibly," said Vikus, "But the crawlers cannot project very far. We need the sound to carry." he continued to mutter under his breath, his eyes half-closed. "I can think of only one person who speaks crawler and can make sufficient nose."
"Wait, so you thought of someone who can do it? Great!" Then, it dawned on him. "No way! Boots? Really?" His little sister? Seriously?
"I am afraid she is our only option," said Vikus.
"Can't Hazard?" asked Gregor.
"Hazard is... surprisingly cruel when it comes to the cutters. He wishes to avenge his father's death." Gregor could see Vikus felt similarly about the situation, whatever he might say.
"If this is to succeed, it must be Boots." Oh boy! Gregor wasn't looking forward to telling his mom he was taking Boots to translate for a group of giant ants who only spoke crawler. Still, it was better than the alternative—war on a massive scale.
"Okay, Vikus, let's do it."
"You are sure?" questioned Vikus. "we cannot guaranty your safety.
"Yeah, well, if we can avoid a war, we've got to try, right?" He wasn't too worried. He had been in plenty of tight jams before and he always squeaked by.
"So, what do we say?" asked Gregor.
"I can have my speechwriters draft a request for a meeting to discuss a peaceful resolution," said Vikus, making to leave.
"Hold on," said Gregor, "make sure they make the words easy. She's four. I don't know if she's up to translating anything too big. You know, for the giant ants to understand."
"Fair point," said Vikus. "I shall inform my writers."
"Why do you have writers?" he asked before he could help himself. "I mean besides writing speeches for four-year-olds?" Vikus smiled.
"They do a variety of things. They word official documents, they write speeches for the current king or queen..."
"I see," said Gregor, nodding. "Where exactly would we be going?" asked Gregor.
"I will strategize with Mareth and Perdita," said Vikus, rising to his feet.
"Okay, I guess I'll go"—Gregor swallowed nervously—"talk to my mom about this," he said with resignation. Maybe it would be wise for him to talk to his dad first. He would be more easily persuaded than Gregor's mom. Once he had convinced his dad, they could double-team his mom. Plus, Gregor hadn't had a chance to check in on him. Which he should: He should go find his dad and warn him about the approaching war.
When Gregor arrived at his dad's hospital room, he was delighted to see his father was looking greatly improved. He was sitting up in bed, absentmindedly stroking his usually clean face, which now had a stubbly beard. "You grew a beard," commented Gregor. His dad looked up in surprise.
"Gregor!"
"Hey, dad," said Gregor, smiling back at his dad.
"What's going on?" asked his dad.
"What do you mean?" said Gregor.
"I heard Regalia's about to be at war... again." It wasn't a question—it was a statement of what his dad knew. He didn't know they had to stay yet, if he did, it would have been the first thing he had said.
"Yeah," said Gregor. "That's actually why I'm here. Boots and I are about to leave for the cutters' land. We're trying to avoid the war."
"Well, that's something I can support," said his dad. "when do you leave? How long will you be gone? Will you be in danger?" His father started questioning him. Gregor started with the first question.
"Uh... I don't know exactly when we're leaving, probably as soon as we can. We probably won't be gone too long. But I'm not sure. And," Gregor hesitated, "well, it's probably going to be dangerous. But it's not nearly as bad as some of the stuff I've been through... listen, I don't have much time, I just wanted to stop in and say goodbye," he said.
"Okay, I understand," said his dad solemnly. Gregor leaned in and hugged his dad.
"Stay safe," said his dad hugging him back.
"Yeah, I'll see what I can do," he said and turned to go find his mom. He didn't make it far though. As he turned and started jogging out of the hospital, one of the doctors noticed the large stain of blood seeping from his wound. Him running to find his dad must have opened it up again. To be honest, it didn't even really hurt, but the doctors seemed to find it more concerning than he did for he barely made it twenty yards before he was tossed onto a stretcher and brought back into the hospital. He tried to speak out, to tell them that he was okay, that he needed to go find his mom, but before he could talk, they forced a swallow of some liquid down his throat and that was the last thing he remembered before blacking out.