Admiral Baryton thought yearningly about summary executions while he listened to the Maker senior captain Waldo natter on in Allspeak. Makers were smaller, weaker, covered with fur instead of scales. They had tails, but theirs were slender, flexible, useless for anything except grasping a small item or helping a Maker’s balance. They were also anarchistic super-geniuses and incredibly difficult to command.

“. . . and even if you had the mental capacity to understand the problems involved in evaluating the effect of our colony on the native ecosystem, your training is entirely in military matters. Regrettably, in addition to your inferior intellect, you have no training in any important, any practical field . . .”

Torture. Torture is good, thought Baryton.

“. . . so you will just have to wait until the simplified summary is ready.” The Maker smiled smugly.

Baryton took a deep, calming breath before replying, also in Allspeak. “So. You don’t know how long that will take.”

Waldo’s eyes shifted frantically. “I . . . I didn’t say that!”

“You didn’t have to. You have just spent a half-hour explaining that I am too stupid, too uneducated to understand your problems without telling me what any of the problems are. So you don’t know what the problems are. If you knew what the problems were, you would have a presentation and probably a couple of computer simulations of the problems with your proposed solutions just to show how smart you are.”

“I . . . I . . . I . . .”

Baryton held up his left hand with all three fingers straight up. “As you say, I am an unintelligent, untrained military man. I am also impatient. I will give you three, three eight-days to present a report. If the report is not ready by then, I will replace you. I am sure your successor will be glad to succeed where you have failed.”

Baryton selfishly took a few moments to enjoy the purple color of Waldo’s face before he said “Baryton out.”

“You didn’t make a friend, today,” said Mezza softly in the Singer Common Language.

“He wasn’t interested in making a friend. He just wanted to show he is too smart for a mere military man to control, for me to command.”

Baryton steepled his hands and looked at his mate thoughtfully.

“Makers are odd. I was in the First Contact fleet as a junior officer. They were having a civil war about how to interpret the quantum mechanics equations. Not about land, not about wealth, but about math. When the Master presented them with an experimental solution, they instantly accepted zir as their ruler even though zie looks only a little more like a Maker than we do.”

Mezza shrugged. “Well, in all fairness, the correct interpretation is important; it led to our AIs, to our starships.”

Baryton stood and began to pace. “Yes, yes, it is an important subject, but the only thing that really matters to a Maker is being right or rather being seen to be right in his or her chosen field. Every time a new idea is proposed, fighting breaks out. If they were any good at fighting, they would have exterminated themselves long ago!”

“It’s how they select their leaders. We’ve done worse. That dynasty thing, for instance.”

Baryton sighed. He turned to look at the holoscreen which now displayed the new colony world, as yet unnamed, still referred to as Colony World 17. “Yes. You’re right, of course. But it is very frustrating dealing with them, especially with their leaders. Being seen to be right is more important to them than being right. Sometimes I wish the Master had selected someone else to be Admiral.”

Mezza chuckled, walked over to her mate and gently stroked his scaly muzzle. “Go argue with the Master. Can you think of anyone better suited to lead a colony fleet than you?”

Baryton smiled, shrugged. “None better. A half-dozen as good.”

“With anything like your experience with Makers?”

“Wellll, no, not really.”

“So there you are, you silly man.” Mezzo moved closer and rubbed her muzzle on Baryton’s who smiled, moving his muzzle in turn. They were silent for a long time, enjoying each other’s closeness, holding hands.

Finally, Baryton sighed and moved away. “I still wish the Master had waited another decade or two to try to wield the Makers and us into a single culture, waited until one of the Goldens had enough experience for this job. A mixed colony, a mixed crew of Makers and Singers by all the Gods in Hell! It’s enough to drive me mad!”

“I don’t see how the Master could have waited. Not even the Master can predict how long it will take to find another potential colony world. To start unifying the Mastery, to get Makers and Singers to live together, work together, the Master had to start here, start now with what zie had available. The Goldens may have been genegeneered to better understand Makers, to work with them more effectively, but the Makers have refused any such modification, as is their right. A Golden Admiral might find the task less frustrating, but it would still be an overwhelming job. And it would not be easier for being put off for nobody knows how long.”

Baryton nodded reluctantly. “You’re right, as always. I suppose we’ll muddle through somehow.”

Mezza hugged him. “Of course we will! And . . . maybe this is the wrong time to mention it but watching Situra and her children has made me think that perhaps we should take a few years off after this mission to have some more children. What do you think, my love?”

Baryton embraced his mate. “Dearest, you always have the best ideas!”