Chapter Text
Had he been asked to picture the Viltrumite Grand Regent, Cecil would not have described Thragg. Although he held himself with the still certainty of a seasoned commander and cut an intimidating figure in hard angles of grey and red, beneath it he seemed almost...human. Perhaps that was intentional; perhaps it made him more unsettling.
He didn't trust himself to read Thragg, but he guessed that he was running similar measurements. Sizing up his foe, ultimately finding him wanting. His calculations finished, he turned his cold gaze back to Mark.
"This?" Said with hesitancy, as though this all might be in jest.
Cecil was certain he appeared underwhelming; a frail conscious speck braced against the wind, whose vitality had been waning since cresting forty, each precipitous heartbeat flushing vitiation anew through his blood. A wholly unworthy opponent. But that illusion had served him well before, and Thragg's disequilibrium, minuscule as it was, was enough for him to find his nerve. "Not a lot of people left willing to treat with Viltrumites."
Thragg's dark gaze was on him again, its pressure cold and palpable. A thousand dead civilizations rested in its depths with the subtle promise that Earth might join them. "Viltrumites do not treat, we impose. It is our subjects who decide when blood must be shed."
"Your side's starting to run out of blood." Cecil steeled himself for the reaction, but Thragg was slow, temperate.
"One of mine is worth millions of yours. I am here to offer terms, but should that fail, my people stand ready."
"So do mine." Cecil said it carefully, but he was certain weakness now would end with as much death as blunt aggression.
With a burst of air Thragg was on him, stopping just short of running him through. Cecil managed to avoid giving ground, to keep his footing. He held Thragg's iron glare.
"You swore no violence!" Mark was bracing to attack, but Cecil motioned him to stand down.
"Take your shot," he told Thragg. His voice was steady, but his heart raced; subconsciously he was bracing for annihilation. "But how sure are you that you'll get out unscathed? That you'll find another compatible planet?" The seconds that followed seemed an eternity, but Cecil felt only a cold, numb acceptance. With death so close it was harder to perceive, harder to fear.
At long last Thragg drew back. His boots touched down, his fury subsided into a cold distaste. The vacuum of space withdrew from Cecil and his heart slammed back down into its socket, firmly on earth once more.
"You know my terms. We will not harm your planet; we will not influence it. But you must not attempt to seek us out or sabotage our work."
"No, I need a bead on your people at all times."
Thragg's brows knit. "To what end?"
"You dropped thirty-seven atom bombs on my planet. I need to know if one's about to blow."
"No. I will not hand you the means to make a coordinated strike against us."
"It wouldn't be worth the risk to Earth. You keep your word and I'll keep mine."
"You cannot be allowed to plot with the Coalition. I would need collateral."
"Earth is your collateral," Cecil replied, firm.
"A direct line to all your communications. If you track my people I must know that you cannot move against them. There can be no secrets from me."
"Do I look insane to you?" Said as though he were arguing with an unruly young super and not an intergalactic war criminal. "You want the nuclear codes as well?"
"I already have everything I need to destroy you. Keep your word, and I'll keep mine."
Cecil hesitated a moment more, weighed his options. "Fine," he at last said. "I won't stop you from rebuilding your people. But Earth isn't new Viltrum, it's not your staging ground for another war. You will launch no attacks, attempt no subjugation, as long as you're here."
A bright fury flashed in Thragg's dark eyes. "You forget yourself," he warned, his voice slick and acidic. "Your small, weak little rock cannot stand between my people and their birthright."
"If you want refuge here, then it does."
"Understand this-"
"No, you understand!" By some miracle Thragg acquiesced. "Your empire has failed! Your people are about to go extinct, and the best leverage you have is keeping my planet out of the conflict you just escaped. If it ends with us dragged in anyway, why not just fight now and let the Coalition finish what they started?"
There was a long fraught moment wherein Thragg simply watched him, and Cecil wondered it he had been too blunt, too presumptuous. The threat of destruction, the promise of terms, the wounded pride of an ancient dictator, were suspended heterogeneous in the frigid air. But still Thragg did not react.
Cecil knew what he was thinking, knew he was trying to recall the length of a human lifespan, the decay of memory over generations. He wouldn't keep his word, not when the decades it took to rebuild his people had passed and the minuscule creatures with whom he'd bartered were dead and forgotten. He would be strong then, enough to obliterate this unruly planet for the indignities it had paid him. But Cecil told himself that it mattered still, that all he had to do was buy time. That no child, Viltrumite or human, would abide the destruction of the people and planet that had nursed them. That the tender, fleeting miracle that had shaped Mark and undone decades of cruelty in Nolan could work again on these centuries old war machines. It was their only chance.
Thragg couldn't conceive of such a weapon, it was anathema to his very existence, so he made for him the obvious move and debased himself, temporarily of course.
"Very well. We will leave the galaxy to its rot." The 'for now' was almost tangible. "But should you attempt to contact the Coalition, to undermine us in any way, your planet will be the first unmade."
"Understood."
For a long moment the only sound was the wind, and for the first time Cecil was conscious of the cold.
"It is done, then." It was half statement, half question.
Cecil sighed. This was really all outside his purview. "Yeah." For now. "As long as we're all playing nice, the GDA can get your people set up on Earth."
Thragg looked mildly offended and maybe a bit amused. "We don't need your help. My people have infiltrated uncountable civilizations.
"So they've all got bank accounts, then? IDs, employment history...?"
Thragg's silence was answer enough.
"Look, it's in everyone's best interest that you all blend in. If the Coalition figures out you're here..." He wasn't naive enough to believe that the Coalition would stay their wrath to limit collateral. Not with the object of their oppression so close to destruction.
"Help them, then. But I will be watching closely. Break your terms and retaliation will be swift."
"This planet is complicated and frustrating. I'd prefer your people check in with us before going apeshit on it." Cecil paused, weariness beginning to replace adrenaline in his blood. "But you're on your own for the repopulation mission."
"That will not concern you. You are unworthy of any of us."
"Thank Christ."
Thragg crouched fractionally, the only warning before he burst upwards with an explosion of dirt and snow.
"Jesus, what an asshole," Cecil spat after he'd recovered.
Mark leaned forward, gripping his knees with a deep exhale. "Oh, god. I'm so sorry, Cecil. This is all my fault."
"It's not your fault, Mark. You made the right call. We're in a better position than we were this morning."
"They're here, they're all here! And they're playing us, they're biding their time! Earth will never be safe until they're gone."
"I know, but we've bought ourselves some breathing room. We'll figure out how to stop them."
Mark straightened, running his hand through his hair. "I don't think we can. You didn't see them out there, Cecil. You didn't see him."
"Why don't you sit this one out for a bit? Take some time-"
"No, I can't let you handle them on your own!"
Cecil managed a pained smile. "Most of my job is managing kids that could rip me apart if they tried. I can take care of myself."
Mark made no response, seemingly unreachable. Cecil placed a hand on his shoulder, more than a little worried that he wasn't immediately rebuffed. He had long ago learned to keep his guard up around his charges, but the glazed, faraway look in Mark's eyes was still hard to bear. It was the inevitable wear that settled on all his people. The faint memory of a long dead, fragile optimism that withered away so quickly. His work was half of the engine of its death; he was the executioner using naive kids as swords and shields. And what option was there but to continue? He sighed and withdrew. "Is your dad still on world?"
"No," Mark said. "He left this morning."
"Probably for the best. For now the Coalition needs to stay in the dark" He took a deep breath. The warning system felt suddenly like a noose. "Go home, Mark. Get some rest if you can. Whatever happens, it won't happen tonight."
Mark for a moment looked as though he wanted to argue, but he nodded. He looked so young yet so beyond his years. He took off with less force than usual and slipped into the clouds.
Cecil remained, digesting the magnitude of what he'd done, what must be done, and how little it would all matter if this thing went awry. The wind blew on unaware, but the cocoon of the atmosphere felt suddenly tenuous, as though at any moment the veil could be ripped away, the ground split, the millennia of cultivation destroyed in moments. Most puzzling perhaps was the tired acceptance, maybe even relief. That if this must happen, it may as well happen like this.
He drew himself up and went back to work.