The tiny green alien merely nodded and blinked.
* * *
Grant paced before the three Zrthn-built transportation portals and considered how best to approach the Earth Leadership Council. He had five minutes before the scheduled time and he waited, unwilling to pass through the first portal earlier than necessary. He wanted the council members to be seated, waiting for his arrival. It was a cheap manipulation, but in his experience, it worked well on modern-day humans.
He considered the three portals arranged before him. All were spoils of the conflict with the Zrthns on Telgora nearly two years earlier. The devices were genius and allowed immediate transportation between whichever portal he stepped through and a similar portal at the opposite end of the journey. The Waa were working diligently to reverse engineer the systems so they could create their own portals and were supposedly very close. For now, though, all they had were these seven: three on Waa, one each on Telgora and Earth, and one on each of the two new battle cruisers.
As impressive as the near-immediate communication capability they’d also captured was, it couldn’t compare to the ability to step through a doorway and find yourself on a completely different planet. The immediate delivery certainly beat traveling months in a mothership.
Grant watched the clock until the appointed time arrived, then waited another fifteen seconds before nodding his readiness to the portal guards and stepping through the doorway that would deliver him to Earth.
When he exited the other side, he stood still until he felt the now-familiar pop as his ears adjusted to the difference in air pressure. He also noted a slight increase in temperature and humidity. After a few seconds to allow his body to acclimatize to its new environment, he nodded to the portal guards on this side—human now, not the Waa he had just left—and strode from the room. The council’s chambers were a quick thirty-second walk down the hallway. The doors stood open and he entered the large formal space with his head held high and his back erect. One thing his fellow humans respected was self-confidence, and Grant Justice had that in spades.
He walked directly to the podium that sat in the center of the room and faced the semicircular table where the six culture leaders sat. He nodded to each and received a mixed reception in return. The N’mercan and Urop’n representative smiled and nodded. The leaders of the Musl’n and S’mercan cultures frowned and appeared to look down on Grant, despite the fact that he stood and they remained seated. The As’n and Afc’n leaders merely sat and observed, seemingly unmoved by his presence one way or the other.
For as long as Grant could remember, it had always been this way. Political factions aligned themselves according to their own interests, needs, and desires. The council represented the six remaining cultures of Earth—though Grant knew calling them “cultures” was a stretch. They were geographical regions more than anything. He had six hundred years of objective experience to tell him that time, and the overwhelming tendency of humanity to conform itself to accepted norms, had watered down any real differences between the groups.
Despite the changes to their ethnic dress, food, and beliefs, however, the political wrangling of those in power hadn’t seemed to change all that much. Culture leaders were elected to nine-year terms. Elections took place every three years, for two cultures at a time, on a rotating basis. It just happened to be poor timing that the Urop’n and Afc’n leaders were being voted on now, in a month-long process that would either reelect or replace two of the faces in front of him. He wondered how much that fact would have an effect on what he would propose today. Would they do the right thing for all of humanity, or would they act to protect their own self-interest? Grant knew how the leaders of his own time would vote; they would do whatever was needed to retain their place at this table.
The old warrior drew a deep breath, released it slowly, and reminded himself to keep his wits. It wouldn’t benefit the cause if his personal feelings regarding politics were revealed now. He reminded himself that though these six were the most influential humans on the planet, this was still just politics as usual.
“This session of the Leadership Council of the Peaceful Earth has begun,” Randalyn Trevino, the culture leader for the N’mercan Culture, and the Council’s Leader Elect intoned.
The words sounded as formal and irritating to Grant as ever. In Grant’s time, he would have referred to it as the Queen’s English. Now it was merely called “Earth Standard.” He’d worked hard to get his soldiers to adopt a more informal tone, but he could never fully escape the clipped, nasal tones of modern-day humans.
“General Justice, Leader of the Shiale Alliance Defense Forces, has requested this assembly of the Leadership Council. All members should have received the briefing that General Justice prepared in advance,” Randalyn continued, her eyes moving from one peer to another. “Unless there are questions, I propose General Grant brief us on the situation and then we can proceed to an open discussion.”
Randalyn received nods from the other members of the council, then tilted her head in Grant’s direction. “General, the floor is yours.”
“Thank you, Culture Leader Trevino,” Grant smiled and nodded, thankful that she—and not someone like Carlito Fuente, the S’mercan Leader, or Quasan Alla, the Musl’n Leader, had been chosen as Leader Elect. Randalyn was not only his own culture leader, but a true visionary and a personal friend. Along with Tane Rolan, she was responsible for his being alive today. Not only that, but she understood and knew what was needed to maintain peace for the Alliance.
Grant took a breath and gathered his thoughts. Then, over the next fifteen minutes, he told the council everything he knew about the events on Cerbius, then discussed in broad strokes his proposal for taking back the planet. He was careful to leave out the details around Eli’s death; he didn’t want them thinking his plan was about revenge. It wasn’t. His plan was about the long-term survival of the Shiale Alliance, and in turn, the survival of the humans on Earth.
“Are there any questions or points I might be able clear up?” he asked when he’d relayed his plan.
Alla, the Musl’n culture leader, raised his hand and was acknowledged by the Leader Elect.
“The people of my culture have grown weary of war,” the culture leader stated. Although Alla had never been a fan of Grant or the Shiale Alliance, at least he was consistent. Grant appreciated that consistency; he never had to wonder where he stood with the Musl’n leader. “They desire Peace, not continued fighting. They are especially disinterested in fighting that involves an unknown planet hundreds of light-years from Earth. What do I tell them when they hear about your plans? What do I tell them when their sons and daughters return to them encased in a ceremonial death urn?”
“Please, Alla,” Reginald McKay, the Urop’n representative, interjected before Grant had a chance to respond. Unlike Alla, the Urop’n leader seemed to understand the issues at play and the need for a strong defense. Unfortunately, he was one of the two leaders up for reelection, and Grant knew he was facing a significant challenger who was backed by the more peace-loving members of his culture. If McKay lost, Grant didn’t know how Earth’s future might play out. “We have had this debate numerous times,” McKay continued. “Peace is not a right of humanity. At best, it is merely a temporary state purchased by the deaths of those willing to sacrifice for our race.”
“Perhaps,” Alla replied. “But we are the ones who decide when and where those sacrifices take place. What makes this planet so important that we are willing to spend lives to keep it? Why not just let it go and move on? We do not have any presence there. We’ve survived this long without it and its resources. I do not see the benefits of allowing our people to commit violence over it.”
Grant rankled but bit his tongue. He’d been struggling against this type of thinking for more than twenty years and had finally come to understand that being right wasn’t good enough. Being right didn’t help others understand why you were right. Fortunately, there were several on the Coun
cil who did understand. In the past, he might have ranted and railed at Alla’s naiveté. But he didn’t. Instead, he took another deep breath and allowed those on the council who understood to speak out. They came across as logical and persuasive while he came across as—at best—argumentative and self-righteous.
My goodness, Grant, I think you’re growing up, he thought. About damn time.
There were several more minutes of debate, but Grant was barely listening. His thoughts were on what he should be doing: planning, logistics, and strategy. He should be focused on Cerbius and the unknown enemy there, not stalled by the political gymnastics that were currently on display.
His attention was yanked back to the Council chambers when he heard the name “General Mouse.” He replayed Randalyn’s last sentence back in his mind and heard it in full.
“I’ve asked General Mouse to assess the situation and be prepared to speak. Shall I invite him into the chamber?”
Mouse was one of Grant’s best and oldest friends—the oldest friend he had on this modern version of Earth. He was also the highest-ranking soldier on the planet and was in charge of the Shiale forces assigned to protect Earth. As such, he was a direct subordinate to Grant, although many on the Council viewed General Mouse as Earth’s personal representative in all things related to the Shiale Defense Force. In effect, he was viewed as being their general.
No one objected, and Grant watched as Mouse was escorted into the Council Chamber. The general nodded to the man who’d saved him from a life sentence in Violent’s Prison so long ago. Grant returned the gesture and stepped away from the podium. He couldn’t help but smile when Mouse took his spot at the podium and became the focus of the council. The giant had always been much more comfortable addressing politicians than Grant would ever be.
Mouse faced the Council and began calmly taking their questions. Grant looked on in amused appreciation as the persuasive, confident, and charming man addressed every question directed at him and eased every fear that was presented. Twenty minutes after entering the chamber, Mouse and Grant watched as the Council passed a unanimous resolution to support Shiale military actions on Cerbius.
The pair left the chamber together. Once the doors were closed behind them, Grant turned and clapped Mouse on the shoulder.
“I wish I could do that,” Grant offered with a grin. He’d missed his friend and was glad to see him.
“We all have our talents, Grant.” Mouse beamed a full set of golden teeth at his boss and shrugged. “You’re the military genius. The rest of us just do what we can.”
“Uh-huh,” Grant smirked. “Well, your ‘talent’ at dealing with people likely saved the entire Shiale Alliance. Good job. I couldn’t have gotten them to agree without bashing some heads.”
“Ha! Now, that’s something I’d have enjoyed watching,” Mouse laughed. “Alla and Fuente could both benefit from some light bruising.”
“Yeah,” Grant agreed, remembering the battles he and Mouse had been in together. And they weren’t the only ones in the chamber who’d fought. “Randalyn has seen action. She knows the deal. The others . . . well, violence is a tough sell for them.”
“Yeah, it would be nice to make service in the defense forces a prerequisite for election to the Leadership Council,” Mouse teased. “Too bad that will never happen.”
Grant could only nod as he considered the suggestion. Unfortunately, the defense force was still young and relatively few humans had ever served in any significant capacity.
“Sue heard you were coming home,” Mouse continued, changing topics. “She wants to know if you have time to stop by. Maybe have dinner?”
Grant hadn’t seen Mouse’s wife in more than three years, and the thought of having a casual, friendly meal with old friends was enticing. But there was so much going on, so much still left to do. Instead of declining, though, he compromised.
“I’d love to stop by and say hello, Mouse, but I can’t stay for dinner,” Grant replied. “My next stop is the Shiale Alliance Council meeting. They’ll be voting on our plan next. I assume you still live close by?”
“We do, and that sounds great. She’d love to see you.” Mouse jabbed an elbow in Grant’s side as they began walking toward the exit. “You need any help convincing the Shiale Council? I’d be glad to help.”
“Heh heh! Thanks, Mouse, but I’ve got that one covered,” Grant joked. “Dealing with the Waa, Minith, and Telgorans is a piece of cake compared to what we’ve just been through.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. They still consider you the all-knowing, does-no-wrong warrior-hero, right?”
“Well, I wouldn’t—”
“General Justice.” Grant heard a voice calling from behind them. He turned to find Randalyn Trevino walking their way. “Can I have a quick word?”
Grant looked to Mouse, who said, “I’ll wait for you outside.”
“Thanks, Mouse. I’ll just be a few minutes.” Mouse nodded at Grant, offered a casual wave to Randalyn, then turned to leave the two alone.
“He’s a good man,” Randalyn said, stepping up to Grant. She had to look up to meet his gaze, but her look didn’t falter. She was the Leader Elect of the human race, confident in her skin, and was meeting with a trusted friend.
“One of the best,” Grant agreed. “That was a good call, inviting him to speak to the Council.”
Randalyn just smiled. They both knew that Grant’s inability to tolerate political maneuvering was Mouse’s forte. The fact that she’d been the one to think of having the other man present Grant’s case was just one reason she was the Leader Elect and he was the general.
Her lack of response also let Grant know she didn’t want to talk about Mouse, or the council, or even the situation on Cerbius. He suspected what she wanted to talk about but held his tongue and waited for her to broach the subject.
Because they were both busy people, he didn’t have to wait long.
“How is Becca?”
Yep. He might not know how to persuade a group of political muckety-mucks, but he could read people. Randalyn and Rebecca Conway were star-crossed (literally) lovers who, because of their chosen careers, had never been able to make things work long term. It takes a lot of commitment and diligence to make a relationship work. When you’re separated by light-years, it’s virtually impossible.
“Conway is doing well,” Grant answered, unsure of how much to share. He felt for both women—liked and respected each immensely—but their decisions and their personal issues were their own. He settled on staying professional. “She was recently promoted to full colonel and seems content. She’s an important part of the Shiale Defense Force.”
“Yes, of course.” The Leader Elect looked down at her feet, and Grant felt she wanted to say more. So much more. Instead, she said, “Please send my regards.”
“I will, Randalyn,” Grant said. He felt for her. She was obviously in pain, and he wished he could offer something that would help. But he had nothing.
The Leader Elect took a deep breath, lifted her head, and once again possessed the regal bearing that Grant had come to expect.
“How are Avery and Eli doing?” The unexpected question dropped the pain of his own reality back onto his shoulders, and Grant’s knees nearly buckled from its weight.
He must have lost a moment or two because Randalyn had somehow managed to cross the space between them without his noticing. One moment she was two steps away; the next she was right beside him, holding his elbow and asking him what was wrong. Suddenly, he couldn’t wait to get back to his quarters on Waa, where he could shed his tears in solitude.
“Grant?”
Grant took a deep breath and released it as a long, tired sigh. He had to tell her. How could he not?
“Eli was on the Agate when it was attacked,” he explained simply, trying to hold himself together. His son was dead and his wife blamed him, and she was probably right to do so. “He didn’t make it.”
“Oh, Grant. I’m so sorry.”
&nb
sp; Grant forced his pain down, pushed it down as deep as he could, and struggled to regain his composure. There was too much that needed his attention right now to mourn. Maybe that would come later, but he willed himself to concentrate on the task at hand—preparing for war.
“Thank you, Leader Elect,” Grant said, using her formal title. It was his way of putting the topic behind them and getting back on solid ground. He stepped away, gently disengaging from her grip. He debated telling her that his plan to take back Cerbius had nothing to do with Eli’s death but quickly discounted the notion. He already had the council’s approval. “I have to go now.”
“Of course, General.” Being the consummate pro that she was, Randalyn took her cue from him and also retreated to her professional persona. “May peace be with you.”
He doubted he’d have any peace in the near future, but he appreciated the maxim for what it was—a modern day way of saying “Have a good day.”
Grant nodded, then turned to go. He’d find Mouse and politely back out of the invitation he’d just accepted. He had work to do and the portal door awaited his return.
The portal door.
Grant stopped, turned, and found Randalyn still standing there, watching him.
“Randalyn, I’m scheduled to meet with the Shiale Council in two hours. Would you be able to accompany me to that meeting?”
Randalyn’s head tilted and her eyebrows lifted.
“Our position will be communicated to Tane, Grant. He’s supremely capable of representing Earth to the rest of the council.”
“I’m not questioning Tane’s ability. I know he’ll do well,” Grant explained. Tane Rolan was the scientist who’d brought Grant back to life so many years earlier. He was still a scientist, but now worked closely with the Waa. His presence on that planet also made him an excellent choice for being Earth’s representative on the Shiale Council. “It’s just that I’ll be taking the portal to Telgora immediately after the council meeting. I thought you might want to join me for that, as well.”
Stranded Justice (The Justice Trilogy Series Book 2) Page 9