Specter of War --- Chapter Two

Two

Councilor’s Chamber, The Great Hall

Capital City, Novia Prime

United Republic of Planets

First Viceroy Parnell Star ran his hand through his graying black hair and took a deep breath as images of what was left of the Harcadia Colony flickered and died on the large vidscreen in the center of the Great Hall. A heavy silence fell upon the room and Parnell looked at the thousands of humans and Albeings that made up the Republic Council. He saw in them a mixture of fear and anger that mirrored his own. He knew that they would all be looking to him now, expecting him to provide answers that he did not have. He leaned back in his chair and for a brief moment he was reminded of the way the Great Hall looked when he was a boy. The triangular shaped building, with its large seats that seemed to climb to the sky, somehow seemed vaster and more intimidating in those days. Perhaps it was. There were more species and more planets then that were willing to do whatever it took to keep the Republic together and at peace. That was before the Great War. Now it seemed that every system, even those in the Interior, were only out for themselves. It didn’t anger Parnell; it only made him sad. Republic citizens no longer trusted their government to look out for their best interest. The Great War had left scars and every planet now held onto a deep fear that the Maraudan Empire was this great big, shadow monster that could strike again at any time. The raid on the Harcadian Colony meant the monster had returned. His thoughts were interrupted by yet another fight that had broken out between the Spigot and Camarala Counselors. He watched as the Spigot’s white skin turned crimson; while the Camarala’s yellowish skin was turning white. He didn’t need to hear their words to know what they were arguing about. No doubt they were regurgitating every minor incident that occurred during their races thousand yarnz blood feud. He would never understand how two species that started off as the same race could have such a deep hatred for each other, current physical differences aside. The two still had many genes in common, or so Parnell was told although the Spigots stayed pale, short and relatively slender, while the Camarala, to adapt to the giant forests they now called home, were dark, tall and stocky. The concept was a little hard for Parnell to grasp. Humans, unless they were mixed with some type of Albeing, were pretty much the same: brown skin, brown eyes, wavy or course hair. There just weren’t that many radical differences in his species. He thought about the dark gray eyes that were a Star family trait and how their enemies had unsuccessfully used their unique eye color for yarnz as “proof” that the Republic’s first family had Albeing blood. Would the galaxy ever be free of these ridiculous prejudices? Parnell grimaced as the Spigot Councilor, Fernan, started twitching hysterically.

“These horrors are a punishment from Yah,” said Fernan, his high-pitched voice taking on its customary prissy tone, “a warning of what happens when you turn your back on the gods. For yarnz we have moved away from the religion that once united our ancestors. And now look what has happened. Rava has risen up from the ashes to start his reign of terror once again.”

Warma, the Camarala let out a very loud, disgusted sigh. “Not this cripe again, tell me Spigot do you think that throwing ourselves at the mercy of your god will give us the power to beat back the Maraudans, yet again?

Fernan leaned in closer. “Yah commands all power in the universe.”

“Really?” smirked Warma. “Well, all the power in the universe didn’t help when the Maraudans took over your planet Spigot. In fact, if I recall correctly it wasn’t a divine hand, but the cold hand of technological, the weapons of science that saved your race from extinction.”

“That is exactly the kind of blasphemy that I expect from a Camarala,” said Fernan, practically foaming at the mouth and shaking even harder. “You are an abomination to our shared Sacred Ancestors.”

“And you…,” countered Warma, pointing his stocky finger at Fernan, “have spent too much time in Maraudan Space. Perhaps you and your ilk should return there where you belong. After all, they fight their wars in the name of your gods. Oh,” he continued, his wide mouth twisting into a cruel smile, “you can’t can you?”

Warma’s menacing smile sent a chill up Parnell’s spine.

“Everybody knows that the Queen is a notorious humanphile,” Warma continued. “She sees all Albeings as beneath her.”

Fernan shot Warma a pointed look. “In some cases they are.”

“Enough,” said Parnell sternly. He needed to bring this tedious fight to an end. This petty bickering was tearing the Republic apart. It was a bigger enemy to them than the Maraudans could ever be. Before he could speak again, he felt a calming hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Second Viceroy Shalimar Manoor staring back at him. His thin, yellow antennas were drooped down to the side of his yellow face and his green eyes were cloudier than usual. Shalimar spoke in his usual, regal tone and the two Counselors stopped fighting at once.

“We are here to discuss where we go from here, not to dredge up old clan rivalries,” Shalimar said. “Now if you two Councilors can enlighten us on why the Maraudans would attack their own people at the Harcadia colony the Council would love to hear it.”

The two Albeings shook their heads humbly, Warma mumbling what Parnell knew to be a Camarala curse.

“Perhaps they attacked them because they were their people, retribution for leaving the Empire.”

Parnell looked for the source of the outburst and was not at all surprised to see the confident face of young Major Van Dylan staring back at him, his brown eyes coolly fixated on him.

“Or maybe she did it as a test,” the boy continued as a bead of sweat fell from his cropped, black hair, “a chance for her to see the type of hold she still has on the populace and when things didn’t go as planned she destroyed it.”

Young Dylan’s statement created a quiet buzz in the hall that only quieted when Chief Medical Officer Veera Dylan moved to the center of the room. She and Parnell’s eyes locked briefly as she gave her report on the Harcadia massacre.

“Do you think there could be any survivors?” Parnell asked. He had directed his question to Veera, but it was her son that responded.

“Humans maybe,” said Van matter of factly, “but I doubt any of the Bargel made it out alive.”

“Except as potential slaves,” Veera interjected grimly. Her face remained impassive as she made the remark, but he didn’t need to see her disheveled appearance to know the suffering at Harcadia deeply troubled her.  As a medic in the last war, and now the head of Republic Medical, Parnell knew she understood the fate of those caught in the crossfire of war. He also knew she never got use to it.

“The truth is Harcadia has kept a very low profile since the war ended,” she continued. “We don’t have any statistics about the human colony let alone the Bargel tribe that lived there.”

He nodded at her words and understood the unspoken truth behind them. Harcadia wasn’t the only colony near The Edge that was vulnerable to attack. The Empire had the ability to strike out at a number of their outer colonies and they wouldn’t even know the extinct of the damage until it was too late. The implications were not lost on the Councilors as they began voicing their fears and anger all out at once. The Yalman Councilor finally spoke. The rapid clicks of the brown, hairless Albeing were hard to understand, even for the translators, but there was no mistaken her meaning and the truth behind her words. Once word got out about the colony attack it would throw the Republic into a panic they could not contain. It was not something Parnell wanted to see happen. They were having a hard time holding themselves together as it was.

“But we can not simply ignore this,” said Warma, daring to speak again.

“The Queen is young,” offered Fernan. “She might be testing us. The Maraudan Empire has been shrinking for yarnz, they are mired in rebellions, and she may just be playing some type of mind game with us to prove The Empire is still capable of such acts.”

“Then we need to send one back,” said Van suddenly, the tone of his voice demanding attention. “We all know what this latest attack by the Maraudans mean. Their new queen has been tightening her grip on her empire for yarnz and now she has set her sights on trying to steal ours. We must strike fast and hard. We must let them know that this time when they come after us things will be different.”

A loud burst of applauds and whoops echoed throughout the hall. Van looked very pleased with himself. Parnell turned his attentions back to Veera, her mouth fixed in an amused smile. Parnell was reminded once again how much like his father Van was. That hot temperament was a Dylan family trait and it seemed to him that at times Veera was amused to see that reckless spark in her son and daughter override their judgment. It was a feeling he didn’t share. When the cheers died down Parnell took the floor again.

“Would you like to continue the session Major Dylan? Or would this be a good time for me to interject my thoughts?”

“Sorry Viceroy,” said the young man sinking a little lower in his chair.

Parnell was pleased to see that he felt the sting of his words. “Despite what our young major may believe, we can not afford to make any rash moves,” continued Parnell. “This attack is obviously something we can not ignore, but we have to come up with the right response to this or we could make matters worse.”

A soft voiced responded. “I think we should wait and do nothing.”

The entire room went silent and turned its attention to the Danor Councilor. She seemed unphased by the attention, sitting calmly in her seat, her long, graying hair in a bun, her brown eyes calm and unclouded.

Parnell was the first to speak. “With all due respect Roma that is the one thing we can not afford to do.”

“You’re wrong First Viceroy,” Roma responded as calm as ever.  “It is the only thing we can afford to do. What is the alternative? War. I doubt that any human or any of the Albeings here want that.”

A low, angry rumbling was now making its way across the hall.

Roma would not be silent. “There is not a Councilor here who did not either experience the war first hand or suffer as a result of it. Most of us now have children of our own, children who now face the same horrors that we once did. Who will condemn them to that, you?” Roma said, pointing to Van. “What about you Parnell?”

Parnell shook his head violently in an attempt to deny her reasoning. “Are you talking about appeasement?” The word choked in his throat.

Roma’s expression hardened. “Yes, if it comes to that.”

The muffled sounds were quickly transforming into a low roar. Parnell bit his tongue to literally stop the angry words from coming out of his mouth. He understood that humans who had isolated themselves on Roma’s world were pacifist. Tartrus, he even admired her ability to stick to her beliefs after the horror she witnessed in the war. But there were times when her strong beliefs just seemed to hinder him from doing what needed to be done.

“Spoken like a true Danor,” said Warma, his voice spitting out the last word like a curse. “This is why our planet nearly perished in the last war... cowards like you.”

Roma didn’t blink as Warma continued his tirade.

“Tell me Councilor, how many lives were lost in the war because of your neutrality?”

“We are healers,” she answered calmly. “We save lives.”

Warma snorted, “As long as there is no risk to your own people.”

“And how many more lives will be lost in a new war?” Roma countered, her eyes betraying her deep convictions.

The room erupted. Once again it was Shalimar who finally silenced the Councilors.

“I think Councilor Kamus is right,” Shalimar said. “We all know what will happen if we find ourselves in a full-scale war again. We must try to avoid that any way we can.”

Many councilors started applauding, while others started screaming angrily. Parnell heard the large, green Bolo Councilor yell “that this was madness, that the Maraudans could not be reasoned with,” as the tiny, orange Sourvo Councilor shrieked “that the Republic was now too weak to protect them.”

Parnell tried to center himself. This was too important a decision to make on the spur of the moment. Everything inside of him screamed that even thinking about appeasement was wrong, but the other alternative would be war. And war was the last thing he wanted for his son.