Please allow me to address the comments on the dialogue with no ready identifiers.

Usually, when I write, it plays a bit like a movie in my head. I "see" the room, the characters, what they wear and dialogue. I "hear" tone of voice and attempt to convey both sight and sound. With this story, it has gone, well, weird. In the early dialogues, I only "heard" the characters, but not completely. It came across muffled. In some scenes, I have a decent idea of who is talking but not perfectly. Strangely enough, the dialogue has actually fleshed out some, so when I go back after the next two chapters the characters come out more clearly. Upon attempting to add more to those dialogues, it came out flat, forced, and wrong.

In this instance, I rely on you, the reader, to enter my strange world, and let yourself imagine the scene.

I did write this as a K&A story (you are welcome, Ms. Wells, and the rest of the K&A shipping crew!) and will confirm the identity of the King and Queen.

Without further ado: Back to Connor. Who decided he did not like having a bit part.

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After two days of waiting, Connor asked his perpetual escort to take him to the training area for gladiators. He wanted a closer look at their training techniques and the blades the witch had developed. His guards reluctantly agreed, having learned that Connor did not listen to restrictions imposed by anyone without perceived authority over him. The diplomat had finally explained in blunt words that he answered to no one but a ruling council, a representative of a ruling council or monarch, or the head of state of a direct representative. Since on this planet, this meant the King or his advisors, and Connor had not heard from either, he would go where he pleased; escort or no.

Unlike the rumors, no miasma of doom hung over the castle or its inhabitants. Connor did not find it different from any of the dozens of worlds he had visited. No matter how far each society of people advanced, some rules never changed. The old guard fought changes from the next generation. The outsiders tried to find a way in to make changes until they themselves became part of the old guard. Backstabbing, political maneuvering, and fights for position abounded. Money changed hands for favors, children and dynasties rose and fell on bets on policy and positions.

Connor found it intriguing how the King had balanced his reputation amongst rivals and enemies versus his reputation amongst his court. The court view him as a ruthless negotiator, battle-smart, and expedient in his dealings with defeated enemies. In their culture, defeated enemies had lower status than slaves, and should expect treatment of the same. Some of the oldest couriers lamented for the old days under the King's father's rule, when fashion dictated nothing of floor length because one did not want to stain the fabric of clothing with the blood of lesser. They spoke with fond memories of casual bloodletting in the hallways of defeated enemies and sometimes the duels fought amongst the couriers themselves with "real" blades and not these new-fangled blades that did not draw blood or cause permanent harm.

He smiled at how the older generation remained the same regardless of planet of origin or species.

Although he could empathize with the sentiment regarding the former ruthlessness of the court.

Bringing himself out of his musings, the diplomat found himself outside the gladiator training arena. His guides brought him to a single door and proceeded to station themselves one beside the door, and one across from the door. With an inward smile of amusement, Connor opened and walked through the door. Experience kept the surprise off his face and out of his body language as he walked into a thoroughly modern office rather than a gym, training facility, or similar space.

The background noise of people speaking to others, tapping computer screens or doing dictation filled the room with a quiet hum. A person of indeterminate gender sat at an obvious reception desk across from the entrance, speaking into a microphone. A smile and a finger held up in the universal gesture, of just a moment, I see you standing there, left Connor feeling bemused at the similarities between species. Technology had advanced to the point where no one needed to use headsets, keyboards, or mechanical writing devices, but people of every species clung to these old habits. Perhaps because most species learned best kinetically. Perhaps because others needed the outward symbols of productivity or communication. Of course, Connor mused, most people did not like the appearance of someone speaking to thin air.

With a final sound of farewell, the being in front of him looked up, "And how may I be of assistance today?"

"I hoped to view a training session today and perhaps speak to some of the gladiators."

"A moment, if you please, while I check." The person at the desk spoke into a microphone, switching languages from the Terran language to another. A rapid fire conversation took place, ending with the person looking up with a smile at Connor. "Thank you for your patience. Trainer M'vak will be out in a few moments to escort you back to our training facility. May I offer you any refreshment while you wait?"

"No, many thanks. Do you mind if I look around?"

"No sir. You have been granted unlimited access to our facility. Any of our staff will be happy to answer any questions you may have. Trainer M'vak is our lead trainer of this facility and has the knowledge and experience to answer any of your questions."

"I offer much appreciation."

The person at the desk smiled and then turned back to a computer screen and began speaking in a third language. Connor recognized it as Obrekian. He wondered what the foremost trainer of military would want with the facility here. As he waited for M'vak, he heard the receptionist shuffle call after call, and heard at least seven different languages. Impressive. Connor, himself, spoke over a dozen thanks to some implants of rapid learning. He continued to learn more languages as he could afford the upgrades to his software and hardware. Over his years as a diplomat, keeping the fact he spoke so many languages close to his chest, had given him a distinct advantage over others.

"Diplomat Vath?"

Connor tuned and allowed the surprise on his face to show. "Trainer M'vak?"

The other responded to his surprise with a rueful grin, "Yes. And before you ask, it has long been tradition for my family to train here. We are a large clan and many of us rotate through the position."

"I would not think Obrek would allow the export of one of its superior trainers."

"Here, we have the ability to test many different training methods, observe many different species and continue to learn and advance our own understanding." He turned and began to walk toward a set of double doors across the room, continuing to talk as Connor fell in step next to him, "While some techniques remain the same, some methods of training have not changed in millennia, we have the tradition of change. By sending trainers here, we make sure to change our perspectives so we do not rely on the same when other worlds and peoples continue to change. One of our early rules, Psh'tah discovered this."

Connor nodded, "I have read of Psh'tah's reign."

M'Vak grinned, "I think the realities of Psh'tah have long since been relegated to dust, but the sentiment remains."

As they entered the doors, Connor noticed a second set. M'vak answered the unasked question, "Because it works as a sound break."

As the first set of doors closed, the second opened, and Connor understood. The sounds of metal clanking, voices yelling, and the thuds and thumps of bodies hitting various objects filled the air. M'vak continued talking, "This is our main training room. As you can see, it is divided into sections. The gladiators rotate through the different sections on a specific schedule. I can give you as many specifics as you wish on our training routines here, so rather than me simply blathering on with details you do not want, please tell me what you wish to know."

Connor let his gaze scan the room, and the return for a slower perusal. "You speak flawless Terran."

"Aye. Spent a number of years at one of the Garrison Training facilities."

"You mentioned a family tradition?"

"Goes back about to before the current King here ascended the throne. He visited on part of a grand tour of the Galaxy and became intrigued with the gladiator program we have in my home town. He wanted to build one of his own, and after long and drawn out negotiations, my family was chosen for the program. Turned out a good thing for us. Built wealth, increased our reputation, and all those things connections with Royalty and rulers of planets give."

"Ah."

Connor began following an obvious path around the room, walking slowly passed each training session. M'vak matched his pace, and calling out comments on occasion to the participants in the different parts of the room. When Connor started on the second circuit he glanced at M'vak. "Tell me about these training swords,"

"Two versions. One for the actual combat and one strictly for training. The actual combat sword does deliver a very high shock of pain that will only slowly dissipate over a number of days. The training version delivers a small shock, but no more than a traditional hit with the flat of a blade. We use the training swords so as not to interrupt training with days of recovery."

"Ah. And how are these swords created."

"I can only answer partially. The King's Witch warps the swords so they no longer cut or burn flesh, but instead impact the pain response in the nerves. The swords are keyed to specific species so that a sword meant to hit a human's physiology will not cause a reaction in an Obrekian's or any other species. I know they Witch keys the swords with a sampling of a species DNA, but the magic process she uses is a secret only she and her acolytes know."

"Acolytes?"

M'vak nodded. "She has an coterie of magic users she trains. Rumor says she is looking for some specific magic, but rumor also says she is ugly as they day is long and crazy as well."

Connor raised an eyebrow, "Rumor?"

"Aye. She rarely appears in public, and usually sends minions to do her bidding."

"I see."

Connor watched for several minutes as fighters continued their routines, occasionally asking M'vak a question. M'vak started walking toward a door on the side of the training room. As they went through the door, the noise of the training room gave way to the sounds of fighting. The second room held two training circles, both occupied by multiple beings. In the first circle, three groups practiced under the watchful eye of an instructor. In the second, a being in a helmet gave a demonstration. Connor walked toward the demonstration, and then turned to M'Vak, looking for a translation, he did not need.

M'Vak took the hint and began giving a synopsis. "Nadon talks about the purpose of this demonstration and why this particular disarm technique works against specific series of moves. As you see, he moves very slowly and deliberately to show the proper form. He says that until the fighters perfect the move at the slowest possible pace, they will not have the privilege of moving faster. Only by teaching the muscles slowly does the body learn." M'Vak paused at Nadon moved through the same series of movements at increasing speed until his body moved almost too quickly to track the individual movements.

"To the Varta series?"

M'Vak look surprised and nodded. "You are familiar with sword play?"

Connor shrugged, self-depreciatingly. "I have studied, yes."

M'Vak called out to Nadon, who turned and nodded. "Would you care for a round with Nadon? He is one of our most senior trainers."

Connor pretended to consider appearing hesitant, inwardly smiling at how everything fell exactly as he wanted. Finally he nodded, "Yes. That would be good."

M'Vak nodded and then spoke a series of commands, which several of the members of the group jumped to obey. Within a few minutes, Connor found himself outfitted with a helmet and carrying one of the practice swords designed for his opponent. As he entered the ring, the trainer spoke in the common language of Garrison, heavily accented. "Fight, you have?"

Connor nodded, and spoke slowly and clearly. "Yes. For several years."

"Testing, we do, yes?"

"Yes."

"Then, ready."

With that the trainer adopted a stance to indicate his readiness for a sparring match. Connor saluted the trainer and then closed the distance between the two of them. The trainer nodded, and indicated he would wait for Connor's first strike.

With an inward smile, Connor advanced. For the next several minutes, the trainer ran Connor through an increasing level of difficultly to gauge his experience. Connor found himself pushed to continue to remember lessons and allow his body to respond rather than his head. When he missed a parry, Nadon pulled the strike and nodded.

"For a human, very good. Now watch." Nadon first ran through the attack sequence he used, and then slowed down the defense sequence for Connor to watch. Connor attempted to follow the defense sequence.

"No. No. Too stiff. Relax shoulder. Let flow."

Connor attempted again, and the trainer again interrupted and then looked up at the ceiling. "I move you, yes?"

"Yes."

The trainer stood beside Connor and reset his body. Immediately, the diplomat understood what Nadon asked. He ran through the sequence again, not flawlessly, but feeling that he had done it closer to correct. Nadon nodded, "Good. Now 50 times."

"50?"

"Or until arm does not move. Yes?:

Connor nodded slowly, and then began the sequence again. By the 20th slow repetition, his arm ached and his clothing felt damp. By the 30th repetition, his muscles began to shake and the sword tip dipped toward the floor. After the 34th repetition, Nadon put a hand on the sword. "Hold. Done you are. Go and find massage and water. First walk twice around room and stretch."

Connor could not muster the energy to reply, but peeled his hand from the hilt of the weapon and allowed someone to take it from his hand. As he started walking, M'Vak fell in step beside him. "Nadon is impressed you made it past 20 repetitions, much less 30. He did not think a human diplomat would have such endurance."

Connor grunted, and took the water bottle another trainer handed him, swallowing deeply.

"You have a standing invitation from Nadon personally to train."

Connor nodded, but inwardly he smiled. Everything continued to proceed according to plan.

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"Cormak."

"Cormak? What kind of name is Cormak?"

"From an ancient Earth culture. Means Chariot Driver."

"What a Chariot?"

"Two wheeled device pulled by two horses. Often used in battles."

"No. Gulpar."

"Gulping down your food? Nope. Ansgar Warrior."

"Too cliché."

"Kallian. The Peacemaker."

"Lovely sentiment. Too hard to live up to."

"Oh for the love of Pete!"

The pair startled and looked up at the interruption.

"You two have done nothing but argue about names for the last two months. TWO. MONTHS. The rest of us have decided. As the child's best looking Godfather/Uncle/Best Thing to Happen to Him, I declare the argument is at an end. Arthur. We are naming him Arthur Kantu. Arthur after the legendary king who united all the tribes of Britain against the invaders and brought a golden age to the Isles and Kantu, after your Grandfather, Queenie."

"Don't call me Queenie."

"Don't change the subject."

The Queen glared for a moment longer at one of her husband's closest friends and advisors before turning to look at her King. "Arthur?"

The man reached over to pick up his wife's hand, "Arthur Kantu." He kissed the palm of her hand and smiled before caressing her belly. "Excited to meet you Arthur Kantu."

Applause from the rest of the room had the couple looking up and laughing at their friend as he took bows and put his two hands together into a large fist and waved them to the right and the left of his head in victory.

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Connor entered the nearly empty throne room, in a state of anticipation. He would either receive word of his success or he would become a permanent part of the king's displays. The man could hardly contain his excitement and took a moment to compose himself. He stopped in front of the dais, and gave a small bow to the ruler and then a nod of acknowledgement to the witch at his side.

"Word has finally arrived from my fleet. It will take them months to arrive at home, and as you predicted, the losses exceeded anything previous. We grant the temporary truce while we await the arrival of the fleet and can more closely question the commanders. You will remain our guest indefinitely. Go and tell your masters our decision."

The king waved his hand at Connor, who wisely said nothing but simply bowed and turned to walk out of the room. It took all his discipline to not pump a fist in the air in celebration. He felt a presence behind him and turned to see the witch walking next to him.

"You are different from other humans."

"I am sure I do not understand."

"Do not play coy. You do not resonate like a human. You do not stink of fear or anxiety or trepidation. At the gladiator games, you showed curiosity and enjoyment, and almost a sense of anticipation. I do not feel emotion from you as most humans."

"I have served as a diplomat, a hostage negotiator and an arbitrator for many years. Perhaps you simply see the culmination of training and experience." He continued to look forward, only glancing at the witch from the corner of his eye as they walked down the corridor toward his ship.

The witch laughed. "Come now. You play games. Do give me credit for studying humans."

Connor paused and gave the witch a small bow. "As you will." He paused to think about how much to reveal. "There are a few humans like me, scattered mostly among the colonies. On the primary human worlds, technology has grown to identify the gene mutation which causes us, and viral therapy can and does correct the mutation. On the colonies and outer worlds, the gene mutation often goes undetected or the worlds do not have enough resources do to non-essential corrections. Too, some families choose not to do corrections."

"All fascinating, I am sure, but that does not answer my question."

"No, it does not."

The two continued to walk down the hallways. The diplomat could feel the witch studying him as they walked, and simply ignored the study with ease of long practice.

"Rumor claims you have lived several human lifespans, lack any redeeming qualities, and can curdle milk by simply looking at it."

"Does rumor also suggest I punish severely those who dare tell me?"

Connor shrugged. "If you punished as many people as the rumors claim, I would have to cook my own meals and clean my own quarters. Since I am too lazy to do that, it is a good thing rumors lie."

Connor paused as the witch let out a true laugh, rather than the depreciating chuckle.

"Ah, diplomat, you are indeed a worthy opponent. Your queen chose well."

"In actuality, I have neither king nor queen."

"You do not look to Arus?"

"No."

He could feel the witch sorting through his answers. "And where does your loyalty lie, then, young diplomat?"

"With the alliance, of course."

"You did not say which alliance."

"No, I did not."

The witch moved to stand in front of Connor, bringing them both to a halt. She studied him from underneath her cowl, her face shadowed. "You play a long game here. I am not sure of what it means, but I will find out."

Connor shrugged and stepped around the witch to continue toward his ship. "As you will. I only follow my directives from my employers." He stepped into his ship and allowed the doors to close behind him.

The witch tapped a finger against her lips as she considered the young man. After a few moments, she turned and took a single step before disappearing from view.

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Author's note: My Great-grandfather McCormak (Or McCormack) became McCormick when he emigrated to America. A truly fun tale!