by Trevor Wyatt
"Why?" I ask dumbfounded.
She looks askance at me, "Why?” she asks back, arching a delicate eyebrow.
“Have we not danced around this for three years? Have you not lain awake at night when The Seeker has been out on assignment and wondered what it would be like…to have me? To realize how much I’ve wanted to have you?" I duck my head but I smile at the compliment.
Then I get serious, "Well, I also was a catalyst for the war," I say as my smile disappears. “You never know what a night with me might bring.”
In the past, I’ve learned to joke and diffuse the sexual tension that Marjda exudes into the atmosphere.
Marjda leans toward me, her seductive voice taking on a serious tone.
"From everything I have learned regarding the initial conflict that lead to the war, you acted in the best interest of your people with the information you had at the time." She looks into my eyes. "Frankly, I think you were very brave and decisive. All decisions we make have consequences; however, if we are too afraid of those consequences then we become stagnant in our actions. I think it is better to take action, even if it might be the wrong one, than to do nothing at all. If we do nothing, then we might as well give up. After three years, you do not strike me as a man that easily gives up." Marjda slides toward the edge of her chair bringing her closer to me.
I am watching her move, still enchanted by her voice, when I notice my body is responding more than it normally does. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my manic heart beat. As I breathe in my pulse doesn’t slow, but I find myself not caring that my attraction is becoming obvious. Marjda leans down toward me. The v-neck of her dress billows out revealing more of her cleavage. Her breasts are barely covered. I can see the outlines of her nipples straining against the seam of the fabric. I watch as she casually slides a hand up her stomach to the bottom of one breast. She keeps her eyes on me as she hooks a finger into the side of the v of her dress, tugging it down to expose a ripe pink nipple.
My mouth is dry as sand. I feel trapped in her gaze. My mind is screaming at me that I need to be careful as my body is sending me an entirely different message. I feel like I have an angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other.
My brain reminds me that Terrans who had sex with the Drupadi say it’s the most intense experience of their lives. However, some Terrans never share their experiences because sex with a Drupadi can have extreme side effects. Most notably, sex with a Drupadi sans protection (in this case mental shielding via white noise earplugs) can result in permanent insanity. However, many are more than willing to risk madness in order to experience sensory heights of pleasure with a Drupadi.
But for me there is more on the line than my own sanity. I need this information to save the galactic council. Self-preservation for the good of all is a strong motivator.
I pull myself out of my lusty reverie, but seconds later my mind returns (as do my eyes) to Marjda. What is going on?
Then it hits me.
I remember—and realize I always forget this crucial fact.
Pheromones.
How could I have forgotten? For a moment I almost chuckle, thinking that it is a good thing that first contact was not with the Drupadi. Things might have gone much differently.
I place one arm over the other, gently pinching the skin to rouse myself. The pain works. I'm able to focus my thoughts.
"Marjda," I say, "I’m honored to have your trust in this matter." I do not move my hands, my imagination has decided that the glue I used on my hands are super glue. "I would love to continue to chat with you, but unfortunately the information you have to give me is indeed very urgent. So if you can please tell me I am eager to take care of this."
"Of course, of course," says Marjda. I am relieved that she’s going to tell me until she says, "I will need to come whisper it to you. After all it is a secret that is only for your ears." She stands and walks toward me. I feel like a rabbit facing down a fox. I cannot escape. I look down at the circle of silver around my left finger on my left hand. Ashley.
I feel like an asshole for only thinking of her now. I realize that I had let my mind wander to the possibilities of this meeting as soon as I touched down planet-side. It's like the saying that one hand doesn't know what the other one is doing. Well, part of my brain was focused on the business of my mission while the other part of my mind sealed out everything focusing on another objective. Sex with Marjda. A chance of a lifetime.
And I was prepared to forget the fact that I was a married man. That I had a beautiful trusting wife off-planet waiting for me. That she and I have a great sex life. And hopefully a great future together.
A future I could destroy in one act.
I realize that there is so much on the line in this one meeting: the galactic council, the possibility of universal peace once the council is established and now my marriage to Ashley.
I could lose it all.
Or I could win.
Losing is not an option.
All this runs through my mind as Marjda slinks toward me. Her body is even more impressive up close. As her dress shifts her nipple plays peek-a-boo under the fabric. I think of how sensitive her nipple must be as the silk slides against her flesh. She leans down to my ear. Her scent engulfs me. She smells sweet, alluring and ripe. My mouth goes from desert to water. Her tongue darts out, licking her lips. I sit still as stone as she whispers in my ear. Her breath tickles my ear. Her hand rests lightly on my shoulder as she whispers to me. Her information jolts me enough to move away from her, breaking the spell of her seduction.
"That's true?!" I say completely astounded. This means...
Marjda smiles with delight at my response. She leans forward putting one hand on my chin pulling my head up.
“Now for what I’ve waited three years for, Admiral Montgomery,” she whispers.
She steps back releasing my chin. I watch as she moves her hand to her waist. I see a cord I did not notice earlier. Marjda gently pulls the cord loose from her waist. Her dress falls away revealing her body in all of its splendor. I'm awestruck at the perfection of her form.
My hands begin to lift from my pants. My "glue" dissolves as does my will power. She moves in closer. Her breasts are level with my face. I can reach out and touch them, put them in my mouth...
Slap!
My left hand has risen and struck my right leg. The ring on my finger, my wedding ring, leaves a mark on my trousers. I don't think it cut me, but one thing is for sure: the pain has snapped me out of my lust-fueled fantasies.
I stand quickly, stepping around and away from Marjda.
"Thank you, Marjda," I say my voice more shaky than I'd like, "You’ve helped me immensely."
"My pleasure," she purrs. She looks completely at ease as though she is not standing before me without a stitch of clothes on. I turn doing my best to appear to walk normal from the room.
The truth is a part of me wants to run out the door.
While another part of me wants very much to turn around and go back.
Back through the door into the waiting sweetness of Marjda's embrace.
Maybe one day. In a different life.
But not today.
Ashley
Jeryl and I walk into the diplomatic hall, where the delegates are assembled. The murmurs die out as Jeryl takes the head of the table and I stand by his side.
“Have you all reached a decision?” he asks.
There is a complete silence.
“We have chosen Ambassador Gomar of Sonali to speak on our behalf,” says a delegate from the Vozelian Peoples.
Ambassador Gomar stands to his feet, draws in a long breath, and begins to speak in a low, but strong voice.
“I was on the plains of Ashnak when I first heard the clarions of war. My heart beat faster than a Bushdi horse fleeing from terror.
“It was a dark, windy night and I had just finished mating with my wife. Oh, what a beauty she was. Our three male children were in their rooms, asleep
and locked in. Our house was the only house on those plains for miles, and no air gliders or shuttle traversed this area of our home planet. So we had mated all night on the bare ground, in our carnal, natural state.
“It was in this state that I heard we were going to war,” he whispers.
“I was young back then. A Novitiate within the Military Caste, despite the fact that I was an admiral with a bey of ships at my command. We are not a violent race, as many takes us to be. We may be intense, arrogant and unabashed sometimes, but this is just who we are. This is our society. And at that time, all I felt was the thrill of battle. This is what I had been raised to do.”
I take a deep breath and think of if I faced Gomar in combat. He looks at me and Jeryl.
“I went to war against your kind,” he whispers. “I transported entire platoons to land on your planets and burn your cities. Destroy your crops. Kill your people.”
My chest starts to tighten but I continue to listen to Gomar.
“And your people…the Terrans…they were unused to the level of warfare that we hoped would remove you from the conflict. But they met us, barbarism for barbarism. Savagery for savagery. We glassed one planet, you came back and attacked ours,” he says in subdued voices.
“Humans have a saying …war is the mother of all invention. Indeed, how true this saying is. For during our five year conflict with your species, we saw your species transform from the naïve childlings of the galaxy to vicious killers that shocked even our most battle-hardened members of the Military Caste.”
I feel Jeryl fidget. Gomar continues.
“All three of my children died in the Terran assault on Rylos. When your ships came and dropped mass terraformers onto our atmosphere, causing civilians to choke to death as they tried to breathe, my people knew that we had opened the door to hell,” he says, looking directly at the two of us.
I shudder. I’d been involved in the attack on Rylos. Well, The Seeker was. We’d battled the Sonali, taking high casualties as we attacked military bases in the system. Armada Intelligence had apparently dropped the terraformers without telling anyone else as the battle began to be lost. This was in the second year of the war—when we thought we would lose.
“My wife died on Aldereen IV when a Terran frigate refused to be defeated and set its FTL on course to collide with the most densely populated settlement on the planet. My friends perished on the front lines as we laid waste to your cities.”
“My wife, who was laying by me naked as the cry for war went out—how much I would give to hold her again. My sons. My friends. 5 billion Sonali.”
The Ambassador pauses as what looked like tears pooled in his eyes. But they don’t fall off. Instead, their mist out of his eyes and disappear in the air.
“Excuse me,” he says and he tried to get himself together.
The entire audience is spellbound, including me. I can’t even imagine how deep his agony goes. All the while, I have been convinced that Terrans had suffered the most during the war with the Sonali—but the Sonali had suffered equally. I begin to realize how easy it is to judge people when you don’t know the circumstances that framed them into being who they are now.
“People talk about scars,” the Sonali continues. “People have physical battle scars. Some even have emotional scars. I will carry scars with me to the day that I die... “
Jeryl is visibly affected and I wipe a tear from my eyes as well.
“The first two years of our war saw us defeat the humans on every front. They were severely handicapped with the way they designed their ships. Yet, they displayed an ingenuity and cunningness that was beyond what we knew or experienced. They not only employed their war tools, they employed it with grace and excellence. The tides began to turn and we began to really feel the full brunt of the conflict.
“The Terrans…have known nothing but war for the entirety of their existence,” Ambassador Gomar states quite plainly. “Their race has only known technology for the blink of an eye—maybe two thousand years. The Sonali were once like you, Admiral Montgomery. We fought amongst ourselves and once almost destroyed our own home world. It took us fifteen hundred years to recover before we tried again to venture into space. It took your race a tenth of that time. You are so violent as a species…but on the other side of the face, you are filled with wonder and ingenuity. Curiosity and the desire for peace. For tolerance.”
I look at Gomar with an awe built on respect.
“Such repulsive ugliness and such unfiltered beauty the galaxy has never seen,” he continues slowly. “When the final human assault came towards Beta Hydra III, I knew as I went into the conflict that should the Shrine of the Holy Combine be destroyed, then the backbone of the Sonali would collapse. More important than even our home world was Beta Hydra III.”
Silence reigns in the chamber.
“And then came Jeryl into the conflict. The Avenger of The Mariner himself. Warbringer, my people called him. Our Military Intelligence had painted him to be a war monger, a man that feeds off the fear of the Sonali and eats their flesh and bones for breakfast. Which is why I was stunned, when I heard him call a cease fire. He had finally realized we had nothing to do with The Mariner vessel, and he was willing to accept that he had led his people to war with the Sonali by mistake. He placed his own life between two opposing forces to stop the conflict. That day, the galaxy paused as your ship set itself between both our fleets and you told your own people to stop their advance. I said to myself, that is a man of honor.”
All the while, the Ambassador had been addressing the room filled with delegates, marines and some personnel from The Seeker. Now he focuses in on Jeryl, who is sitting at the head of the table.
“You are a man of honor, Vice Admiral Jeryl Montgomery,” he says. “When you brought up the idea of a Galactic Council, when we were negotiating the terms of our ceasefire and truce. I made a statement to you. Can you remember?”
Jeryl nods, totally impassive.
I know why Jeryl is so impassive—because he’s moved by the Ambassador’s speech. He’s trying not to show weakness, and by weakness I mean he’s trying not to shed tears before everyone present.
“You said to me, ‘As long as I know that Captain Jeryl Montgomery is a man of honor, I will follow him to the ends of the galaxy to see this Council become reality.’”
The ambassador nods his head.
“I said that even though the last thing we as a people wanted to do was look a Terran in the eye. I said that even when the weight of our loss still weighed like a stone in my heart. I said that even though Terrans still represented the apotheosis of all that was bad and evil in the galaxy to me—for the great fire with which you wasted our bases, deep space stations, planets…Yet, I made that statement, because you had demonstrated irreproachable character and because all is fair in war.”
He pauses again and catches his breath. He cracks a half smile, which isn’t exactly the worst thing in the world.
“We have not necessarily been the most agreeable of people,” the ambassador says, waving his hand across the delegates. “However, we do believe in this Council. We have either witnessed or experienced interstellar war to know that the survival of our respective species depends on this Council. And I speak for my fellow colleagues that we know of no better person to usher us into this new millennia of galactic development than Jeryl Montgomery, the Avenger of The Mariner.”
There are no cheers. Only nods and silent agreements.
The Ambassador draws to his full stature, all notion of emotions vanishing from his person like steam from air.
“Vice Admiral,” he says in a firm voice. “All eight races are willing to sign into the Galactic Council. We believe in you. We believe in this Council and realize that it is bigger than one man or one race. We have also each contacted our respective governments and they are all dispatching ships to the Omarian system.”
Even though I don’t respond (I’ve been learning the nuances of diplomacy), I feel a burst
of joy in my heart.
Peace.
A chance to die…not in fire. But in peace.
The greatest wish every soldier has today.
Jeryl
I stand to my feet after nodding my agreement to the delegates’ decision. Overwhelmed, but successful in hiding it, I motion for Ashley and Colonel Masters to follow me out of the conference room.
In the hallway, Colonel Masters says, “Well, that went well.”
Ashley is beaming at me.
“We couldn’t have asked for a better resolution than that,” she says to me. Then she frowns a bit and says, “Does it seem as though it always requires a provocation of war for peace to come?”
I think about it for a moment. It wasn’t until after the World War II that the United Nations was born in early twentieth century to foster a more integrative international environment. It wasn’t until after World War III that the Terran Council was born and we were ushered fully into the space age. It wasn’t until the Sonali War started that we came to an agreement with the Sonalis and got to know about other races and species.
Now, it would seem, that provocation with the Tyreesians is a necessary factor for the establishment of a Galactic Council.
Do I like it? No. Do I think it is necessary? No. Am I going to accept it?
Yes. It may not be ideal—just like the Terran Union waiting to be pushed to the wall before fully getting behind the Galactic Council decision—but if I want peace, I may have to first go to war.
“What do you want to do with them?” asks Colonel Masters.
I glance at Ashley and she nods at me.
“Well, we’ve held them for too long,” I reply. “So, they can do whatever they want to do. We have achieved our aim. Now, we have to go and meet the Tyreesians in the Omarian system.”
Colonel Masters says, “Roger that.”
Ashley and I return to the shuttle and are airborne in minutes. As we shoot higher and higher into the air, I can’t help but think back to how far we have come. I think back to Ambassador Gomar’s tale of his life before, during and after the war. I can’t help but compare his experiences to our experience.