Mare Dwellen busied herself at the tiny kitchen counter, slicing vegetables while keeping one eye on the roast in the oven. The years seemed to fall away after her good fortune in receiving this place in the city to live, as well as the entry of Tugby into her life. They shared a happy existence together in the modest cottage, shining in one another's adoration. Tugby proved to be the perfect companion, accepting her somewhat rougher character of one who worked a farm most of her life, and injecting their union with the niceties of his more cultured upbringing.

"Is that heavenly smell this evening's dinner?" Tugby bubbled, coming into the cottage with an armful of bags and papers.

"Your favorite my dear and nearly ready too," Mare grinned, eyeing the packages he set on the table, "what's that you have there?"

"Oh some papers I have to go over for the Belgar proposal. We're meeting tomorrow to select a delegation."

"Not the papers dear. The packages," she sighed patiently.

"These? Oh nothing, just some things I picked up on the way home," he glanced up giving her a mischievous smile.

"Tugby! What are you up to?" Mare dried her hands on her apron and came to the table, fingers flitting over the wrapped parcels.

"Open this one and see," he said, pushing the larger of the two toward her.

She stretched the string over one end and tore the paper away from a box that contained a most magnificent stole. "Oh Tugby! It's beautiful. It's-" she shook out the crimson cloth and whisked it around her shoulders, stroking the gold and silver threads of the silken fringe, "where on Azwan did you-"

"One of the ladies in the art centre presented me with it on behalf of my- our- anniversary," he gazed hesitantly at her with watery eyes.

Mare gaped dumbstruck; she had no idea that anybody had actually timed their relationship. Certainly, she knew, she hadn't. Embarrassed, she stepped forward and embraced him tightly, straining to impress him with every last ounce of her reeling emotions, affection, gratitude, love and devotion.

"Mare, be careful! I'm liable to burst," Tugby took her arms and held her apart, "just having you here is anniversary enough for me, and," he added slyly as she was about to protest, "the benefit of eating the best cooking in all of Azwan, or the whole of the Fornax Constellation for that matter."

"Dear Tugby. You've made me cry," she said, wiping at her eyes with the corner of her apron, "I'll serve you that meal in two jigs," she gathered the stole about her and beamed her sparkling eyes at his ruddy expression, "thank you Tugby, with all my heart."

*****

Gothag waited patiently as the murmured rumble of disagreement washed over the dozen or so members of the committee. Voices rose louder and angrier competing for attention. Bearing the disturbance for what he felt was a reasonable time, Gothag banged his gavel on the surface of the huge stone committee table, and the sharp thudding smothered the debate with an abrupt blanket of silence.

"Enough! This is the discussion of a peace proposal not a declaration of war!" He glared sternly around the table, "Our purpose here is to decide upon the make-up of the delegation we will be sending to Belgar. First of all, regardless of any official representatives, the ship requires a captain, an engineer and a navigator. Beyond that, logic dictates that we send an official representative of the committee with legal signing authority for the plan, a senior educator to discuss its format and at least one senior military representative to assess any possibility of deception on the part of the Belgars. That means at most, six or seven people."

"But if there is deception, how will these people be protected? We need a small armed force to ensure their safety." Another swell of murmurs filled the room following the speaker's words.

Gothag banged the table again and turned to feel Marc's hand on his arm.

"Members," he began calmly, reiterating Gothag's earlier persuasion, "either we proceed with this idea in good faith or we abandon it altogether. I don't think the Belgars would be intimidated by any force we might send on one ship. And arriving on Belgar with an army would look just like that; a blatant attempt to intimidate." He gazed at the faces around the table looking for further objections.

The member who had spoken before huddled with a tiny group seated near him, their expressions showing anger, uncertainty and resolve.

"I see the sense in your argument young Marc, but I am still of the opinion that it would be folly to go unprepared for treachery."

"In that case," Marc responded with a nod of deference to Gothag, "I then suggest we put it to a vote- a democratic vote- similar to the proposition we are offering the Belgars."

Once again the thud of the gavel on the stone table quelled the beginning of any protest.

"A sound suggestion," boomed Gothag, "a vote it is. Those in favour of our stated proposal raise your hands."

After a moment of hesitation, a majority of the committee members raised their hands.

"Opposed?"

The speaker and two others stubbornly held their hands high.

"The proposal passes," Gothag thumped his gavel once again, directing his attention to the dissenters, "I appreciate your concerns Damon and in no way do any of us dismiss them. We are the ones making the offer and must therefore, as Marc has stated, enter this in good faith."

"Our position is firm Sire, but our support will be total. Young Marc's allusion to democracy cannot be dismissed. It is, after all, the foundation of Azwan's existence."

"Your position will be respected and your support welcomed," Gothag beamed around the table, "now we must choose the delegation."

********

"I thought you supported this whole plan?"

Kress blushed and wagged her head, "I do. I mean- well, I do but- but why you?"

Marc went about pouring wine for Mare Dwellen and Tugby who were seated at the dining table, watching the young couple silently.

"Mainly because your father asked me and because I have his authority to sign on his behalf. But aside from that, the committee elected me."

"I think it was a clever choice," Tugby piped up, raising his wine glass in salute," Marc is ably suited to lead our delegation. Don't you agree Mare?"

"I've never doubted my grandson's abilities," she smiled softly, a slight crease appearing on her smooth brow.

Kress stumped about the kitchen gathering plates of food for the table, "I don't doubt Marc," she huffed, "I just wish it didn't have to be him."

"Well I'm not champing to go myself, "Marc admitted, "but it'll only be seven or ten days at most and once it's set in motion, I'll be out of it."

"You mustn't fret Kress," Tugby smoothed, "Marc will be in good company. The ship's crew is our best; Captain Wilde, engineer Church and the navigator is Dell Given's son, Ramos. Prer Jolly is one of our most senior educators and Commander Zag and his Lieutenant, Timon, are all sound men."

"Prer Jolly's an old man," Kress objected, realizing too late that her words had stung Tugby.

"Old men still have desirable qualities Kress."

"You can say that again," Mare Dwellen blurted, eyes twinkling.

Her comment knocked the tension out of the air and the group relaxed with Kress wrapping her arms about Tugby and planting a kiss on his warm, bald head. Marc immediately began dishing out food from the bowls and placing the servings in front of everyone, encouraging them to dig in.

"So grandson, when do you go on this historic journey?" Mare inquired, cutting into her meat and tasting a mouthful, "Mmm, delicious Kress."

"Two days. It'll take two days to ready the ship."

"Two days!"

"Kress!" Marc admonished.

"I know. I'm sorry- but two days." She looked at him with a worried expression.

"Sooner gone. Sooner back. Now eat and let's talk of other things," Marc saluted the group with his glass and drank down his wine.