#communiverse

Melmac stepped in. “These are cupcakes. They’re a popular pastry for social gatherings.” 

Danthera raised an invisible eyebrow, picked one cupcake, and bit into it. 

“…You were supposed to remove the wrapping first,” said Elio. 

Melmac would explain what each snack was, and Danthera would taste it, except for the tiny fish eggs called caviar. Slowly, the other soldiers started tasting the food, with some of them even grabbing more. 

“You guys don’t eat seafood?” asked Elio, staring at the untouched caviar tray. 

 “Nope. We get sick,” said Glordon before munching on a chocolate e’clair. 

Once they’d picked up more snacks, Elio led him into one of the hangars. In the neighboring one, Glordon spotted two soldiers from the Blood Legion, Dad’s personal guard, posted outside the closed doors, dwarfing two humans clad in black to their right. Dad must be in there with Mr. President. 

“Just so you know, birthday parties are usually funnier than… this.” 

Elio sourly gestured to a space with colorful stuff, including a carpet with rows of circles, a board with a picture of a long-eared creature, and what seemed to be toys. 

“Are those games?” 

“Kinda, but most of these are for little kids. A party for kids my age would have water guns, a bouncy house, and a piñata.” 

“They look better than wrestling over a silk ball,” admitted Glordon. And that’s without mentioning that the other larvae never wanted to share their ball with him; in fact, he remembered they’d take his ball. 

“Still, I hate it that the President basically turned my birthday party into a diplomatic meeting! We were supposed to have a good time!”

Glordon placed a nub on Elio’s shoulder. “I’m just happy to see you, Elio.”

“Hey, Elio!” 

Another boy entered the hangar. He was taller than Elio; his skin was darker, and his head balder. Elio’s expression lit up, and he went to greet the newcomer—Glordon’s quills twitched uncomfortably when the human boys made a handshake similar to their own.

“You made it!” said Elio excitedly. 

“Yeah, though we had a little trouble at the entrance. My mom had to call your aunt so they’d let us in.” The newcomer held up a box wrapped in colorful paper. “Happy birthday!” 

Glordon’s ears drooped as he realized he hadn’t brought Elio a present. He’d been so preoccupied with convincing Dad to let him come that it’d completely slipped his mind. 

Elio led the other boy closer. “Glordon, this is Bryce. He’s a friend from school.”

“Nice to meet you!” greeted Bryce. “Wow, you’re bigger than I imagined.” 

“Likewise!” said Glordon, his quills twitching anxiously as he shook the boy’s hand. 

Bryce glanced around. “Man, you weren’t kidding when you said the President kidnapped your party.” 

“I know! I bet those presents aren’t even for me,” Elio pointed to the table with the gifts. “They wouldn’t even let me have a bouncing house.” 

“What’s that game about?” asked Glordon, pointing at the picture with the creature. 

“It’s pin the tail on the donkey. It’s not complicated; you just gotta pin this,” Bryce picked a furry item and pinned it on the animal’s rear, “Here, with your eyes bandaged.” 

“It sounds fun!”

“Yeah, for an eight-year-old…” murmured Elio. 

Glordon checked over the carpet with the colorful circles. “What is this one for?”  

“That’s one’s called twister. It’s a bit more active.” 

“Can we try it?” 

Elio shrugged. “I guess so.”

—*O*—

Once the ‘President’ clarified that Earth doesn’t have a single leader—apparently human civilization is still divided into tribes—Grigon figured it wouldn’t hurt to hear the man out. They held their ‘meeting’ in an empty docking bay, as Earth’s doorways were too small for Hylurgians, and they set up a wide table there. On one side, there were people seated, likely Whitmore’s advisors.  

“Keep an eye on my son,” instructed Grigon to the Blood Legion. The guards clad in crimson armor bowed before the doors closed. 

He moved over to the opposite side of the table, where three of his soldiers crouched into a seat for him, and Uk’ron and Fel’gur stood at his sides, eyeing their hosts critically. 

To say that the following silence was awkward would’ve been an understatement; Whitmore’s council nervously whispered amongst themselves, likely discussing what to say without offending him, until Whitmore cleared his throat.

“Lord Grigon, I hope you’re having a good time on our humble planet.” 

“Normally I wouldn’t bother with such a primitive world, but my son really wanted to see his ‘friend’,” murmured Grigon.

“So we don’t have to worry about a war,” said a man in a pristine dark green uniform adorned with badges and medals. Whitmore had introduced him as a General, but he looked nothing like one; he showed no scars of past battles, and his attire didn’t look like something a warrior would wear. 

Grigon scoffed. “War? HA! From what little I’ve seen of your technology, you puny earthlings wouldn’t stand a chance against my Armada. You haven’t even ventured beyond your star system!”

The ‘General’ frowned, clearly offended, but another council member gestured him not to respond, to Grigon’s disappointment. 

“I understand, Lord Grigon,” said Whitmore. “But surely we could reach an agreement. I’m sure there’s much we can mutually learn from each other.” He quickly added. “Elio mentioned your kind is fond of spicy food.” 

At Whitmore’s gesture, human servants wearing white rolled in trolleys with many fruit bowls and what seemed to be dishes. Grigon sensed a tiny amount of heat from a few.

“These are the hottest peppers and dishes our planet has to offer, your Wrath. There’s phaal curry, Carolina Reapers, Sichuan hot pot…”

As the servants, apparently cooks, explained the dishes and fruits, Fel’gur picked a wrinkled berry—a phantom pepper—, sniffed it, and gave a tentative bite. 

“Well?” asked Grigon, somewhat curious. 

“It’s mild, sir. I barely felt a tingle,” said Fel’gur.

Intrigued, Grigon reached for a phantom pepper and plopped it into his mouth. Like his brother-in-arms said, it barely tingled his tongue. It’s nothing compared to Hylurg’s volcanic burners. 

“I’m not impressed,” he said earnestly.

The earthlings seemed more surprised than disappointed at his verdict. Guess their palates are less developed when it comes to heat tolerance. Regardless, Grigon decided it wouldn’t hurt to try the rest of the stuff—though Uk’ron took over as his taster, given that Fel’gur liked the phantom peppers and had all but claimed the bowl. To his disappointment, Earth’s ‘hottest’ food was mild by Hylurgian standards; to be fair, the Carolina Reapers and phaal curry were a bit hotter, but they barely tingled his tongue. 

Grigon eyed the human general again. “You,” he called out. “Are you truly a warrior?”

The man straightened up. “Of course!” 

Smirking, Grigon eyed Fel’gur and made a motion with his head. His brother-in-arms understood and approached the humans’ side to place the bowl in front of the General. 

“Taste it, then. Show me the caliber of Earth warriors.” 

He didn’t miss the nervousness beneath the man’s serious facade. To his surprise, the man picked up a pepper and bit into it; Grigon chuckled as the human’s face turned red, his eyes became watery, and he started to sweat, but somehow he swallowed it. 

“P-Piece of *cough* cake! N-Nothing I can’t handle!” the General said in-between coughs before reaching for a glass of water.

“Not bad. Perhaps one day I’ll let you taste Hylurg’s volcanic burners,” said Grigon.

“It’d be an honor, sir,” said Whitmore, but Grigon didn’t miss the hesitation in his voice. 

Grigon heard someone speaking to Uk’ron via intercom. His lieutenant leaned down to whisper into his ear with an urgent tone.

“Your Wrath, we have a situation.” 

—*O*—

They were in the middle of their first—and likely only, judging from how Glordon unintentionally ended up squashing Bryce when trying to reach for the corresponding circle—round of Twister when Tía Olga suddenly came in.

“E-Elio, some is looking for you.” She said.

Curious, Elio headed outside, with Bryce and Glordon not far behind, toward a spot where a group of soldiers, both human and Hylurgian, had gathered around something (or someone). Somehow, he pushed through the crowd and toward the center. His eyes widened once he spotted a familiar blue shape.

“Oooo?” 

The liquid supercomputer turned to him and passed over a Communidisk before talking. “Greetings, Ambassador Solís.” 

“What is that thing?” asked Bryce, intrigued. 

“That’s the Communiverse’s liquid supercomputer,” said Glordon. 

“You understand it? I’m only hearing musical sounds.” 

“What are you doing here?” Elio asked Oooo. 

“I’m here to confirm the coordinates of your social gathering.” 

Elio blinked. What did it just say? 

He had barely processed Oooo’s words when it opened up a portal, and a group of familiar people came out.

“Hello, Ambassador Solís!” greeted Questa. 

“So this is Uh-Earth. Looks nice, if primitive,” said Mira, looking around. 

“Looks like the Hylurgians came, too,” whispered Auva.

Tía Olga’s superior stepped forward, clearing his throat. “Excuse me… I’m Lieutenant Vazquez of the US Air Force. Do you come in peace?”

“Greetings, Lieutenant Vazquez. We mean no harm. We received the invitation to Ambassador Solís’ party,” explained Naos in perfect English, which seemed to surprise Vazquez and the others. 

Glordon whispered into Elio’s ear. “Did you invite the Communiverse too?” 

“I didn’t intend to, but the invitation must have reached them,” Elio replied. Granted, he was more than happy that they’d showed up. If anything, they might spice up the party a bit. 

He noticed three other Gomians following Questa, all way smaller than her, likely her children. The first, half the size of her mother, was a hot shade of pink and light yellow, like Questa, but her fronds and tail were pastel blue; the second, half the size of his older sister, was a dark navy blue with silver fronds and spots scattered throughout his back; the third, so small she might as well fit into a baseball cap, was lavender and white, and unlike her siblings, she didn’t have any fronds yet. 

“Ambassador Solís, these are my children Styria, Hanen, and Gerdian,” said Questa, floating aside. “Say hello, children.” 

“Nice to meet you,” said Styria, the oldest, bowing her head. 

“Hello,” said Hanen, the second, waving a ‘wing’.

The youngest, Gerdian, tilted her head in the way a six-year-old child would. “Your head is big.” 

“Gerdian!” chided Questa gently.

Just then, Grigon came out of the hangar, looking more irritated than anything. However, he didn’t even spare the Communiverse a glance and instead looked skyward as President Whitmore followed.

“What’s that?” shouted someone, prompting everyone to look up.

A sort of portal opened up in the sky, some good distance away from Grigon’s ship, and a second one flew out of it, but this one wasn’t a Hylurgian vessel. Unlike the Karajor, it had a… reptilian aesthetic to it, and its colors were a variety of aqua-greens rather than black and orange.