by M. D. Neu
He met her gaze, his hair now tied up in a perfect bow, no longer falling off his shoulders. “There was one man, and the outcry wasn’t for the Nentraee that died, but for their own people.” His tone was more defensive than he wanted. It didn’t matter—he was tired, frustrated, and by all rights, upset.
“You’re wrong, my love. We mourned together. These humans may be barbaric by our standards, but how different are we?”
Her face tilted to the side, and a hint of light from behind gave her a glow. The vision melted his heart.
“Sometimes all it takes is one person.” Laina turned to the books on the shelf across from him. She crossed over and pulled out one, scanning it rapidly. “What of our history, our past? We were not that much different. We brought our world to the brink of destruction, and we were able to repair it. It was only by a cruel act of fate that we had to leave. Again, my love, sometimes one man is all it takes.”
“You can’t judge the value of an entire planet on a small group of people, or even one man, no matter how noble his actions are,” Mi’ko said. “There are so few of us left, and once we’re gone our culture is dead. What happens if more of us die because of incidents like this? Our histories may be similar, but what did it cost us?”
Laina put the book on his desk. “What happens if Colony Ship Seventeen loses pressure again? Instead of us being able to fix it, what if it implodes? Ten-thousand people dead.” She opened the book. “What if our agricultural ships turn barren, and we can’t feed our people? One hundred thousand dead. What happens if a nanite containment field fails, and there is nowhere to evacuate the people involved? One hundred dead. These are the risks we face every day. Some are greater and some are smaller, but they are risks, nonetheless.”
She sat on the edge of his desk again, reached out, and touched the side of his face with the back of her hand. “You can be so emotional. That isn’t always the best thing, my love.”
He pursed his lips.
“But it is part of why my love for you has lasted these years.” Laina inhaled and peered deeper into his eyes. “We can’t judge an entire planet on the actions of a small group either.”
Using my own words against me. Calling me a hypocrite without using the words.
She tapped the open book and squeezed his good arm. She went to leave but turned back at the door. “Come to bed when your mind is clear. But tomorrow you rest, or I’ll order a tranquilizer for you.” With that, she slid out of the room.
Mi’ko ran a hand over the open pages of the book she left for him. It was a book on the history of their people prior to the Clan Wars. A passage caught his eye.
“Special Envoy Dra-mic of the U’Xraee clan sacrificed herself to save the leader of the Dentraee clan. After the senior cleric of the Temple of J’Veesa was beheaded as an example of disloyalty to the faith. The clan elders were at a regional meeting of the clans to debate membership of the Denmaee clan into the Dentraee clan. Fifty members of the…”
When he finished, he turned to his declaration. “We cannot risk our lives on a planet that has no value for life. There is too much at stake…” He scowled. He pondered what he just read and turned to the other books on the shelves. They were filled with Nentraee history and stories.
He considered his own words. Was he overreaching? Was he blaming them for one incident? He glanced out his window, thinking of the little blue planet that waited out there for his next move. He picked up the datapad, and with a sigh, he deleted the declaration. He opened a fresh file and began to write.
“We cannot judge a planet on the actions of a few, nor can we overlook our own history. Are we any different from these humans? The actions of one human…” Mi’ko continued to write. He was no longer stumbling over the words; they were flowing freely.
By the time the document was ready, the hours had melted away. He knew the arguments he would now face. But after reviewing their history, he realized they were no better than the humans, and the idea of running away didn’t sit well with him. Despite his emotions, he had to convince Mirtoff and the others, and that wasn’t going to be easy.
TAPPING HER FINGERS on the council table, Mirtoff’s shoulders dropped, as did her eyelids. Sleep had not come easy since the attack. Her words and internal thoughts haunted her. Was she doing the right thing? Did they have another choice? She rubbed her temple, but she couldn’t focus.
The council doors opened. “Ah, Mi’ko.” Mirtoff stopped tapping and pushed the datapad over to Danu. They had been discussing the upcoming Speaker’s House meeting. She picked up her cup of tuma and took a sip. Her posture relaxed as she studied Mi’ko.
All the fighting and negotiating with the Speaker’s House is over. The final piece, the declaration, is here at last. Thank J’Veesa.
The Speaker’s House would be meeting later in the day, but it was good he was here so they could talk.
He looks rested.
“Madam Speaker, I need to talk to you.” Mi’ko’s body seemed stiff, and his arm was still in the sling.
She thanked J’Veesa every day that his injuries weren’t worse. The only positive thing that came from this attack was that his tieback was perfect—something she was sure Laina had a hand in.
“Vice speaker, I see I’ll need to chat with your wife for keeping you from your duties. Was the extra day of rest necessary? For what? A small cut and a few bruises,” she teased. Mi’ko and Vi-Narm were the only two Nentraee to survive the vicious human attack.
They murdered twenty-eight of their own good people.
She turned to Danu. “Please excuse us.”
He bowed and faced Mi’ko. “Mister Vice Speaker, I’m glad you’re recovering well.”
The Chamber Hall was one of the grandest places in the entire fleet. The design was pure Benzee; it had high ceilings with smooth curves throughout. Granite mosaics of ancient events and landscapes covered the floors. Much of the hall was original and from their home world; however, the parts that could not be saved during the evacuation had to be reconstructed to fit the space. Even so, the Chamber Hall could hold several of their transport shuttles.
Ancient, hand-painted portraits of past leaders filled the walls, their watchful eyes serving as reminders of past struggles. Mirtoff’s would be added at the end of her term to forever keep a vigilant eye on the Nentraee people. The hall and the paintings reminded the government what actions they took now would never be forgotten and would help shape the future of all Nentraee.
Gazing from face to face of the past leaders inspired Mirtoff and forced her to always think about the future and how her people would continue on.
I wish you were all here now. Am I doing the right thing?
“The declaration is ready for your review.” Mi’ko passed it over to her. It was assembled as a traditional scroll with leather straps.
Mirtoff forced a grin. Once they approved it, Mi’ko would seal it with the vice speaker’s traditional mark melted onto the leather fastenings. It was an antiquated tradition she found charming. “I don’t need to read it. We’ve already discussed the details.”
“Not this one, Madam Speaker.” Mi’ko massaged his wounded shoulder. “I want you to read it before I present it. My feelings have changed.”
Her brows raised as she picked up the final ceremonial document. She undid the straps and read it. Her confused expression changed as she absorbed the declaration. Her heart pounded angrily in her chest as her eyes grew larger.
“Mi’ko, this is a late boat on a river.” She pushed the document back to him.
He refused to take it, and it dropped to the table almost knocking over her cup of tuma. She put her hand on top of it to stop it from falling over.
“Madam Speaker, I don’t agree. I have spent hours going through our legal books and historical records. There is nothing that says we can’t do this. In fact, it was very common—”
“Enough!” She cut him off. “It was very common before the Clan Wars.” Her tone was dangerous. “Befo
re the bastards nearly destroyed us, and our world—oh yes, I understand Mi’ko.” Her stare bore into him. “I understand too well our history, and I’m trying to avoid repeating those mistakes.” She pointed at the document. “But this. You even agreed coming to Earth was a mistake; one we can now fix.”
How dare you. You betrayer!
“General Gahumed is ready to go to war.” She slammed her hands on the table. “War, Mi’ko! The Rádo was stationed and ready to launch a full attack on New York as punishment. Almost nine million humans would have died.” Her ears were hot with anger. “It’s by sheer force of will that I’m able to keep her steady, and therefore, keep the military from attacking. Your resolution, the resolution to leave, was the only thing keeping us from a path of blood.”
Mirtoff took a breath. “Now you’re changing your mind and doing so only hours before the Speaker’s House is to meet. You’re making a fool out of me. Surprising me in this manner is reminiscent of our past leaders. Did you find that in our history books as well? Gahumed will definitely call for a vote of removal. Not just of me, but you as well.” Her hands shook.
How can you do this to me? You’re my closest friend. It’s because of me this happened.
His betrayal mocked her as he stood there. She had insisted on only using human security. Only Denes and Vi-Narm were sent, and now, one of them was dead. Mirtoff wanted to trust the humans, and this is how they repaid her.
“Mirtoff, please. That was not my intent,” said Mi’ko.
She scowled at him and he bowed.
“This is your choice, Madam Speaker.” He paused. “Please understand that I cannot support us leaving, not any longer. If a vote of removal is called, I will not support it, and it will not pass. I assure you. Madam Speaker, we cannot judge them on the actions of a small group of cowards. To do so, we will let them win. And that is weakness. There is more at stake than you and me.” He pointed to portraits of the past speaker generals. “How will history judge us and this moment?” He stopped. “I’m sorry.”
She pushed past the chairs, banging them into the table, and stood eye to eye with him. “Mister Vice Speaker, I expect you to support me on the original declaration to leave Earth as we discussed. Remember, you are not the only one who understands tradition and history. I can use it as well. So can the other members of the Speaker’s House, especially General Gahumed.” Her voice softened. “If a call for removal succeeds, General Gahumed La-Enn will be named Speaker General, and J’Veesa help the humans then.”
“What of the humans now?” he asked. “They suffered a greater loss than us. Consider how they are responding. All one has to do is watch their media feed, and our own, for that matter.”
He picked up a datapad from the table. His fingers danced over the display. He pushed the information to her. “They are pulling together in ways no one ever expected. They didn’t realize there would be an attack. Their religious leaders are calling for prayers for both our species. Their governments are putting aside grievances and offering support for those lost in the attack. Countless messages are being sent to us daily from their people saying how awful it was, and how we can’t let these radicals win.”
He swiped the images to the table monitor where she could not ignore them.
“These terrorists do not speak for the majority of the humans, and we cannot ignore them because we are angry and afraid. What message does that send? The Clan Wars would have destroyed us if brave females and males didn’t put their arms up and stop it. Nentraee are similar to these humans. Madam Speaker, this might be a greater opportunity than we first recognized.”
Mirtoff was quiet while viewing the information.
Is he right? Can we risk it? Do we have a choice? Should he have come to me with these changes sooner? Why did he wait until before the meeting to surprise me with it?
Mi’ko pulled the device away from her and tapped his fingers on it. He swiped the holographic image to the table showing her the ships that were still being repaired. “Plus, can the fleet last another ten or fifteen years while we search for another planet?”
“We’ve been repairing them,” she huffed at him.
“I need you to hear this and to understand,” Mi’ko pleaded with her, his eyes large. “You’re not only our speaker general, but my friend. I recognize you feel betrayed.” He licked his lips. “Madam Speaker, Mirtoff, please. Finish reading the declaration.”
He put down the datapad and waited.
It took several moments, but she finally picked up the scroll and read it.
Her eyes lifted from the scroll as she closed it. “You assume this will make a difference, calling on our old traditions. Traditions, mind you, that haven’t been used since before the Clan War?” She shook her head. “What of the humans? Do you believe they will understand this and the other suggestions you are making?”
Mi’ko adjusted the sling for his arm. “Madam Speaker, I will use the same argument I used with you. Everything is here on this datapad, including the estimates on how much longer our fleet can survive in space. All I’m certain of is that we try, and I need you to help me. We’ll have more to convince than just General Gahumed, but tradition is on our side. Ritual is a strong ally, in particular Gahumed and her Dentraee Clan. As for the humans, I can’t say, but they have as much to gain as we do with this offer. Plus, if my guess is correct, it might be the hand of peace we need.”
“I allowed your words to convince me to change my mind on this world once before, and you were almost killed. Killed, Mi’ko! Need I remind you of that?” The tips of Mirtoff’s ears were cooling off. They deflated slightly calming her even more. She was no longer shouting. “Not to mention those that did not survive, including General Gahumed’s son. Now you are asking me to trust you again. At what price?”
She thought of her brother, Ecra, and niece, Suloff. She thought of her cádo, Faa. All the Nentraee that were counting on her. As with every choice she made, it came with its own burden.
What pushed her the most was that Mi’ko was right on one thing: the fleet. The ships were getting older and needing repairs more often. The chance of them lasting another five, ten, fifteen years was a huge worry. They had lost more people on the decaying ships—including her brother’s mate—than during this human attack.
She scrutinized the declaration, then Mi’ko.
“What you ask me to do…”
“I know, Madam Speaker. Trust me, I know. If I thought there was another way…” he trailed off.
She collapsed on the chair. “What we’re doing…what I’m doing, I do in the name of all the Nentraee we lost. Not just those lost in the attack, but those lost during our travels in space…those left behind to face certain death when our planet was destroyed…and those that were lost during the Clan Wars. I do this for them…to honor them. It may be the only way that some of our people will survive.” Every part of her body slumped, even her elaborately braided hair. She rested her head on her intertwined fingers.
“If this doesn’t work, or if they want blood, I will provide it.” Mi’ko bowed. “I will accept the responsibility. I will ensure it is my blood, not yours.”
Seeing the resolve, she was sure he reviewed all the Nentraee protocol books on how this was handled. How the arm of gratitude would be extended. There would be a lot of work involved; they were facing a battle with the House of the People and the Speaker’s House. The confrontation would take their combined political prowess to overcome. “And I suppose you have someone already picked out.”
Mi’ko shifted, the weight of their existence now showing on his face. “Yes, I do, and believe it or not, you may thank Laina for the idea.”
“I’m sure there are a great many things to thank Laina for,” Mitoff said. “Something tells me she had a strong hand in changing your heart.” She examined her cup and the last of her tuma. Then she pushed it aside.
Eighteen: New Opportunity
“TODD? MISTER LANDON, sir? Are you awake? Is this a good
time?”
He turned his aching body, not wanting to deal with another doctor or nurse. How many of them were there anyway?
“Todd.”
The voice sounded familiar. Jerry! He opened his eyes and lifted his head, but Jerry wasn’t there. Instead, he saw Mi’ko and Vi-Narm. Some man in a plain brown business suit that he didn’t recognize—and didn’t care about—stood next to the two Nentraee.
Todd pushed away the tray of mostly uneaten food. Everything was in a fog. He didn’t remember the food being brought in, and he didn’t remember forcing any of it down.
Sitting up, he attempted a smile. Ignoring the man in the dull brown suit, he turned to his guests, who were dressed in similar suits to what they had on the day he first met them. The difference today was they had on cloaks. Mi’ko’s was dark blue and Vi-Narm’s was a deep red. But what stood out was the lopsided tieback in the vice speaker’s hair wasn’t lopsided like it had been the day of the attack.
Todd swallowed hard.
After a moment, he noticed one of the vice speaker’s arms was covered by a bandage and in a sling. “Mister Vice Speaker, Vi-Narm, it’s good to see you’re healthy. How’re you doing?” Todd pointed to a couple of chairs. “Please come in and sit.”
“We are fine, Todd Landon, thank to you,” said the vice speaker in his awkward English. “You risked you life for mine, and we are very grateful.” A polite smile adorned his face.
The man in the suit approached Todd. “Mister Landon, I’m White House Chief of Staff, Greg McNeil.” He stuck out his hand. Todd ignored it, and McNeil self-consciously withdrew it and shoved it deep in his pocket. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve been asked by President Zachary to personally check in on you and see how you’re doing.” He smiled. “Also, I’m here to ensure that all your needs are taken care of, and if there is anything that we—or I—can do for you.”
