His eyes refuse to follow her mouth; he opts to trace the elegant floral arrangements of purple and silver draped around the midline of the room, and follows their path as they lead out to the terrace - which he suddenly longs to return to - and back in. The rectangular room is a giant distraction from the double wide doors on one end to the stage that mirrors them. The windows on the wall opposite him, even though they sit open, do nothing to alleviate Perry's unease, nor does the crowd of celebrants filling out the shape of the room.
Annika grabs his arm. Her nails cut into the sleeve of his dress jacket, pulling him into the moment. "Listen to me. Pay attention. We loved you once, Perry. You were the man who took us off the Irene and gave us soil to stand on; you made each and every one of us stand in front of a Belovore just so we'd know there was nothing to be afraid of. But now people don’t know how to treat you."
Annika Granger had once been his pride and joy, the kind of soldier he should have been proud of. She’d done everything he’d asked, even teach the Belovores from his approved curriculum of stories. But she'd never been a soldier, and because of that, she embodies everything he despises. He'd fought so hard to keep the human perspective away from the beasts, yet he'd handed it to them through Annika. They didn't need to know how humans survived long-distance interstellar flights; as far as they knew, humanity was one with the gods in their eyes. Why tarnish that? But she'd disobeyed him and fled towards the Belovore settlements as they dwindled, had shared her secrets and experiences with the enemy, claiming to be on a humanitarian mission.
She claimed that he, as an Admiral, should have known better, and he belatedly realized she was right—but he didn't know how to fix that without admitting that he'd inadvertently sent them to their deaths. He'd already gone above and beyond the call of duty in rationalizing his actions, claiming that sending the Belovores away was for the good of all the colonists, so how could he turn to his people and say the opposite? He’d even convinced the Belovores.
So Perry played the dreamer, and Annika played the pragmatist. He showed the Belovores how they could attain their greatest dreams by soaring amongst the stars and reach for bold, brave new horizons; she told them about the realities of space travel: sickness, the perpetual expanse of darkness that would become their daily routine, population control, and everything else that could end their journey prematurely. She had given every detail of survival on Irene with a stoic expression, unafraid of the consequences. It almost ruined everything. Yet, through every waking moment, Perry knows that Annika represents everything he should have been. He resents her for this.
He downs the rest of his glass, hoping it would drown the hatred souring his stomach. The taste, he notices, is getting better. Bearable. Because now, when the thought occurs to him that he could change, he doesn't back away. He doesn't shy away from what people might think about what he'd done.
"How many have you had, Perry?" Annika asks.
He huffs, presses his empty glass into Annika's bare hands, and steps away to follow a server carrying a tray of more champagne near the centre of the room.
He grabs two, swallows one, and stops long enough to look back, where he watches Annika attempting to hide a mask of disappointment. The look stands out to him as bright as the sunrise. She backs away and rubs a hand over her hair, patting down any yellow strands that have escaped her ponytail.
It was for the good of the colony; they can survive, Perry insists silently. This happens every day and every second. It’s the only way to be forgiven.
He stops at a pillar close to the stage and scans the crowd. The room is a slur of colours. He can see a swarm of eyes and bodies listing past him, each one someone he feels he needs to talk to - his brain tells him he has something to say to each and every one of them, something big, and something important. Today’s the first day in years that he feels like he’s part of a community again. This Belovore Initiative has stolen most of his time, and guilt – he should be able to apologize to people, but can’t. The only face his eyes focus on are Annika’s. She laughs and talks with an older man holding the kind of composure Perry attempts to mimic by straightening his shoulders and stiffening his spine.
By then, the Blanc de Noirs swirls in his empty stomach, rushing through his veins with a pleasurable warmth that begs him to ignore the upcoming breakfast. The promise of a platter of crepes stuffed with traditional Sondranos fruits alongside a table-top of scones and muffins no longer holds any appeal.
"Ladies and gentlemen," a plump, short woman wearing a velvet cravat interrupts the thrum of the crowd – Miss Russell, attaché to the absent Belovore ambassador. She looks to the edge of the dais - through Perry - and starts again, slower, but with a sense of purpose behind her words. Russell left him after she became obsessed with convincing the Belovores. She never agreed with his methods, but she agreed with the intent behind it. She extended her arms in a practiced but welcoming gesture, "Ambassador Velric would like to say a few words now that, as he says, the morning is in full bloom."
The crowd bursts into applause; it’s nothing like the polite welcome Perry had gotten when he'd arrived earlier. This kind is loud, obnoxious thundering. What he'd assumed would be a gentle event strikes at him like a knife twisting in his throat, severing his ability to speak. He pulls another drink off a passing waiter's tray, hoping this drink would dull his hearing. "I'm sorry, sir," the waiter grabs his tray and turns to face Perry, "That glass has already been used. I would be happy to bring you a fresh glass--or perhaps you would like to wait until breakfast has been served?"
"You mean it hasn't already?" Perry whispers, and gulps it down. He stares at the waiter, ignoring the applause as it dies down, and hands the empty glass back. Perry doesn't know whose idea it was to serve champagne in the morning - even though such a ceremony calls for it - but the Admiral does know that he is starting to feel its benefits.
Everything is melting away, replaced with the tender thought that he really can fix himself; admitting his faults is hard, but it no longer seems impossible, as he'd once thought.
The double wide doors next to Perry open, revealing the ancient grey colour scheme of the hallway, directly contrasting the spring coloured foyer. In the arch, Ambassador Velric, leader of the Belovores and the one who'd stayed behind, stops long enough to bow to the crowd.
He is a tall, gaunt creature. A bronze sheen evens out the ridges around his mouth, giving his flat face a gilded look; like all Belovores above maturity, his skin has hardened into a protective shell, sectioning off his limbs and joints like a knight’s armour.
The Belovore hulks through the doorway; the ghost of a smile haunts his lips. He shuffles past the empty banquet tables and towards the stage. Seizing the opportunity, Perry steps into the path of the Belovore and holds up his hand. The Belovore stops in front of him and eyes him with a curious glance through bloodshot eyes. "I just want to say, Velric," Perry makes sure his voice is loud and clear, "I am proud to have been the first human your people began to trust. It was a great honour being such a distinct figure in your history."
Nobody applauds; Perry looks around, expectant: he'd thought they would appreciate the gesture. This is him now; this is a leader prepared to admit his mistakes.
Annika stars at him through the sea of faces, the only pair of eyes that can frown back at him and burn a judgmental hole through his chest.
"Thank you Langston Perry," the Belovore speaks. "I am glad for your honour."
A collective sigh and general delight sweeps over the crowd; it’s a response to Velric, but not him. As the Belovore steps past him, Perry feels the moment slipping away. He wants to say something else, but can't find the words. Instead, he looks around for another glass of Blanc de Noirs. When he can't find one nearby, he scans the crowd, worried they can read his gaze, and returns casually to the pillar next to the stage. Perry knows it isn't over. He’ll have another shot. But first, he wants another drink.
"Anger, love, frustration, resentment," Vel
ric begins after stepping up onto the dais. The entirety of the crowd, except for Perry, watches eagerly. "None of these can change. They are the foundation of our greatest problems. I, as Belovore; you, as human: both stagnant. That can no longer be a wall we conceal ourselves behind. We have taken the first steps to the next ontogenesis."
Perry takes in a deep breath and falls back against the pillar. He can't do it. His mind swirls in time with his gut. He feels like he could slip out without anyone noticing, but is too tired to make the first move.
"The Belovores, as a race, were dying because there was no change. We spent civilizations attempting to secure our evolution, trying to reach for a conversion that did not come. We needed a step forward, something bigger than our own existence. We needed allies on the path. We needed the human race to show us that the stars were our salvation." Perry stifles a nervous laugh when he hears the Belovore utter that last word -- it was all the justification they'd needed, all Perry had to invoke to convince the Belovores to flee the planet in search of some cosmic development. "There is a single being to show gratitude for this. And, as such, today, I wish to give credit to this being."
Perry stiffens up, the slow haze that’s been ebbing itself over his brain melts away in an instant. He had been responsible for the change to which Velric referred. He flattens down the front of his button down, navy blue uniform, straightens the medals pinned to the left breast, and pops his neck to the side.
"Annika Granger," Velric calls out, "please join my side. I wish to thank you in the way the Belovores know most intimately."
Another burst of applause and cries of excitement startle Perry; his head knocks into the pillar when the sound cracks against his ears. His heart drops into the furthest, darkest chasm in his chest; a lump of heavy guilt throbs just below his throat. He watches as Annika strides through the huddled mass of people, each one stepping out of her way, eying her with a grandeur that makes Perry want to punch something. He knows that the intimate gratitude Velric mentioned is nothing more than a genuflection, but it still bothers him. It should be his.
Annika's heels click against the marble platform as Velric helps her stand beside him. Perry responds by attempting to turn around and make a bee-line for the door. However, as he turns, he realizes that he's set his own trap. The crowd has huddled up behind him, close enough so that he can't leave without causing a commotion. Attempting to shuffle around the pillar provides no exit either, as it straddles the same wall that has been used to line up the banquet tables. He could either climb over the tables or draw direct attention to himself by attempting to push through the crowd. Right now, he feels too old to do the first, and too hazy to commit to the second.
"Thank you, Ambassador Velric," Annika says. Perry's head pounds at the sound of her voice. "I am extremely proud to be the one chosen for this rite. But I can't steal that honour from you."
"Annika," Velric intones, "Your leader gave us the technology. But because of your integrity, we attained the dignity and the knowledge to survive. I would not have asked had I not already realized the implications. Please, perform the rites."
"I only did what certain people couldn't to do," Annika smiles, gracious. She looks at the Admiral. "We all set our own traps. I wasn't going to let the potential death of your species weigh on my conscious."
"Stop it!" Perry can't take anymore; guilt is eating at the cores of his eyes. "Just stop it. None of this would have happened had I not spearheaded the entire campaign!" He feels his body taking a lurch forward before his mind tells it to do anything; he watches from the corner of his mind as he climbs up on the stage and stumbles towards Annika.
"Admiral," Russell, adjusting her velvet cravat with a nervous hand, calls to him from the opposite end of the stage. Perry has forgotten the Belovore's attaché was there. "I'm going to have to ask you to come down."
"Let me speak," Perry yells. He looks out at the sea of faces. Everyone gives him their undivided attention: as it should be, but his heart aches.
"Sir, the ceremony," Russell interrupts. A trio of blue uniformed guards join her at the edge of the stage; their staunch faces rebound between Perry and Velric with indecision. Perry knows they won't move against a superior officer. Good, he thinks, give me my chance.
"I suggest you step down, Langston Perry," Velric says, stepping into Perry's line of sight.
He stares down the Belovore. "No," he says, resolute, "I've stood to the side long enough. I let Annika be your hero because this place needed one; but it ends here. She isn't a hero; she's just another one of my people, one of the tools I planted in front of you to get you to leave Sondranos."
Perry barely feels the words leaving his mouth. They’re like a sickness pouring out from his lungs, riding the stench of alcohol.
"We know who you are," Velric says. "And Annika Granger is more a hero than you will ever be. You tried to pass fiction off as truth, unwilling to admit the truth within the fiction."
Perry's mind races, grabbing at every, and any, memory that surfaces. "She was my voice, and you listened."
"Annika told us you would say something like this eventually. She said you suffer." Velric says. "Rest assured that we hold no ill will against your actions. Your natural intention to fool us entirely failed."
"I'm sure you have no idea what I've suffered from," Perry rasps. His throat is parched, he wants another drink, but instead savours the words that have begun to feel like whiskey scouring the back of his throat. His inhibitions have drowned with the last glass; his heart and cloudy mind race in their stead.
Annika stands behind Velric, watching Perry with a careful glare. Another one of her thin looks adorns the corner of her cherry-red lips, mocking him. Perry steps towards Annika, not knowing what he’s going to do. He hears Russell call out to him again, and orders the guards to intervene.
"Stand down," Perry calls to the guards, "I'm not done here."
As he tries to step around Velric, the Belovore refuses to move. He steps to the other side, almost tripping over the distance of his stride. Velric mirrors him.
"Weren't you listening?" Perry yells. He feels something moist stinging at his eyes. Nothing can penetrate the creature's thick skull. Without feeling it, Perry lifts his fist and strikes the Belovore in the chest. He pulls his hand back with the sound of his popping knuckles, his throbbing fists. A gasp issues from the part of the crowd closest to him. The Belovore does nothing.
"Lieutenant Benn," Perry shouts an order to the largest of the guards, "Please escort Ambassador Velric out of my way."
"Admiral Perry," responds Benn as he climbs onto the stage, walks around Velric, and approaches the Admiral's side. "I am afraid I have to ask you to stand down, under the authority of the new Sondranos militia." The sound of a weapon being charged rises in the air, the tension as thick as a cloud of mist.
"What do you think you're doing, lieutenant?" Perry faces Benn.
"You are currently incapacitated," he says. "We have to assume that you are not acting in the best interest of Sondranos."
"The best interest of Sondranos was getting rid of the Belovores in the first place!" Perry yells. That’s why so few of you argued with me!”
His heart freezes in his chest; he can recall saying that same exact phrase to so many others - including Annika - after the program had begun. Something about Benn's uniform causes him to see red blistering the corners of his sight. Perry rips open the cover of his own jacket, scattering his medals to the floor – it’s easy to forget they had been decorating his chest like leaves on a dying tree.
"Why do you think I promised them space flight? Why do you think I sent Annika to convince the Belovores that the only chance they had at survival rested in leaving? I did it, I destroyed them!"
That hits him harder than he expects. The words linger on his tongue, bitter and distinct. He feels disappointment welling up inside his throat, replacing the hatred. His eyes, his throat, his lungs hurt; tears ache from his periphery.
"
I've only ever had the best interest of Sondranos at heart," Perry slumps. He looks past Velric's massive shoulders, at Annika. "That's all. I used to think that was enough."
The lieutenant steps towards him and releases his hand off the holstered weapon. Benn regards him with sympathetic eyes; his care is deep and dark. Perry considers asking for another drink, just to calm his nerves. "It'll be okay. Let's go out to the terrace and get you some fresh air."
Perry no longer wants to see anyone in the room, so he turns away, gathering what shreds of composure he can muster. He'd let his emotions take over; he'd gone too far. Sometimes men have to let go before they can do what’s right for their home.
"I apologize on behalf of Admiral Perry," Annika's voice rebounds throughout the room behind him.
Perry stops. The sound of her voice gives rise to something harsh inside him, something wicked. All the hatred he feels looking in the mirror reflects back in Annika's eyes, striking at him deeper than ever before. She is the embodiment of the parts he hates most about himself.
Perry rams his elbow into the Lieutenant and grabs the weapon in Benn's holster. He pushes past people while fingering a switch on the butt of the gun to full power, safety off. He treads heavily on the marble, placing Annika within the sights of the barrel. Perry squints at the little red dot fixated on the girl's chest, right above her heart. Perry pulls the trigger; a deafening explosion rocks his ears, replacing the cries of the crowd with a shrill, crisp whine.
A hulk of bronze interrupts his sight: Velric stands in front of him. He can't feel the trigger; he can't feel his fingers. Something is wrong, this isn't him. And God -- his leg pulsates with pain. He needs another drink. Now. Something to bring back the man he was before; bring back the soldier, the Admiral.
He can't stand; his legs give out beneath him. Something has happened, he’s fired the gun, so why was he the one going down?
Sondranos: The Narrative of Leon Bishop Page 20
