* * * * *
“What are you going to do about Orashean?” Dasan Mira asked, downing a glass of urbin spirits, the last of his girlfriend Enessa’s supply from Orian. We were sitting in Enessa’s apartment several tendays later, waiting for Chiren and the others to come back from the provisions center with enough rations to feed eighteen people.
“Who says she has to do anything about him?” Enessa said. “It’s not as though he’s done anything criminal.”
“Hasn’t he?” Mira countered.
“Not exactly. No one knows about Orian’s fate yet, not even most Orians. Or about Orashean’s comet fighters. He’s keeping that highly secret. Besides the Hollin-Morzenko treaty itself isn’t much help. The exact meaning of ‘cooperation’ and ‘reasonable aid’ are open to discussion.” Enessa shrugged.
“Maybe, but you have to look at the intent of it. He knew what he was doing, that he was violating the intent of the treaty.
“But do you think he should just get away with violating the treaty?” He demanded, glancing meaningfully at her. “His actions are almost begging Orian to retaliate.”
“It won’t go that far, not with Beren, anyway.” Enessa said. “He’s known the truth about Orian for years.”
“And what do you think that I should do to him, Dasan?” I asked, interrupting. But he didn’t seem to have an answer.
“I just want to save Orian.” He shrugged.
Saving Orian and is people was what we all wanted.
“Why should I care about Tiasennian politics?” Enessa asked. “Orashean’s predictable. That’s in our favor. Actually, so is Beren. The real problem as I see it is Beren’s nephew. Despite Orashean and Beren’s faults, they aren’t really the type that’s out to rule the world—or two.”
“And you think this Sargon is?” Dasan asked. I had told them most of what had happened, of my folly and blindness that had followed the most difficult period of my life, the loss of Hinev’s immortals, but I had not told them everything about the serum, or what Sargon thought of me.
Enessa nodded. “There are people like him, you know.” She paused, looking around as we heard rough, heavy steps and a scraping sound coming from outside the door.
“We’re all crazy, crazy I say.” Chiren muttered, bustling in with an armload of supplies, followed by the others. “There’s no chance in hell we could replace the food supplies Orashean used to send to Orian when we can’t even find enough food for ourselves. We’re crazy to even think we can do anything.” He insisted.
And I suppose we were. What could eighteen scientists do to save Orian? I didn’t know, but we were going to find out.
The Last Immortal : Book One of Seeds of a Fallen Empire Page 35