Potenkiah, the deathgiver

Chapter 2.2

Five senators formed a compact group before the throne. Their companions, except for two bodyguards in hooded black cloaks, waited outside, in the antechamber. At the center and slightly ahead of the others was a Melecian called Craimer Prat, who stood out because of his height and thin body, like a mantis. Several scars marred his face; his lime green jacket fell around his knees, which bent backwards. He appeared fragile, like a twig, but one should not be fooled: there were no stronger bones than those of his species, and even though they were not very agile, their long strides made up for their lack of speed. In contrast, Elmenetor Sahún, representative of planet Uloh, with muscles worthy of a champion weightlifter and dozens of tattoos, resembled a ten-foot steamroller. Like every other Ulohnese of the Ichnar caste, his skin was yellow, his head elongated, and he had three pairs of holes between the eyes instead of a nose. The human diplomats sported more common features: one was athletic, dark-skinned and had a large nose, while the other one was the opposite: obese, had yellowed skin and had eyes like slits. The last member of the group was a humanoid female, purple skinned, naked from the waist up and completely bald.

After the greetings dictated by protocol and a brief introduction, senator Prat spoke out.

“All of us five have agreed to vote for the Law of Nonintervention, your Majesty, and we hope for Eloah’s approval.”

Bridget decided to stay and listen. For that week’s debate, William Obrien, her mentor, had proposed a subject related to the Galactic Community and its role in solving domestic conflicts. The Princess had several of its representatives before her and a unique opportunity to see them interact.

Her mentor had explained that in a hypothetical case in which peace was threatened, the Community could issue ‘suggestions’ -from economic sanctions and commercial restrictions, to permanent expulsion- that could override a planet’s sovereignty in order to avoid other governments from taking part in a conflict and turn a local problem into an interplanetary one. Also, that whoever dictated the gravity of a conflict might be prone to manipulation and appearances.

To name an example, the unrest started by groups of fanatics who feared her own birth (associated with end of the world prophecies), was magnified by the sensationalist media, and because of that they went from annoying protests to be considered an ungovernability problem, a threat to peace, and an excuse for intervention.

Back then the Galactic Community had demanded that the Eloahn crown reveal the prophecy to appease the panicked protesters, but the monarchs had refused and still, seven beltas after the Suggestion was issued, they continued the appeal and fought to prove that said psicosis did not exist, nor did it present a threat to Eloah or other civilizations.

Now, the visitors spoke of a Law of Nonintervention. Judging by the name alone, it seemed someone had finally thought of closing the loops in the legislation, that allowed so many contributions from the Community.

Bridget found herself wanting to hear what her parents, the Queen and King, Alaissa and Jhon, had to say on the matter. Next time she would surprise her grouchy mentor William repeating their words. She watched them like a devout student does her teacher. Alaissa Andryl sported a gold dress with a long skirt and narrow sleeves, kept her straw colored hair short and done in braids, and wore a discreet diamond tiara. She did not need to add any other ornaments, she was already beautiful: fair skinned, had large blue eyes, and her wings were pure white, like an angel’s. To her left, Jhon Black resembled a pillar. From her position, Bridget could only see his profile and his long spotted wings hanging at both sides of the throne, but, had the diplomats asked her, she would have proudly stated that he was a handsome forty-seven belta old youth, seven feet tall, dark brown hair trimmed short, sharp face and thin lips. Then she would have had to explain that despite his height, he was not considered a very tall man for his species. Besides, and considering that the rest of the planets used the standard 360 days year for measuring time, she would have probably had to convert his forty-seven beltas to its equivalent, seventy-eight years, only to highlight how different and youthful Eloahns looked at that age compared to humans. To be fair, had the King been human, he would have looked like a twenty-five year old. His attire that day consisted in a suit with a black jacket sporting a double row of gold buttons shaped like falcons, and a scarlet cloak that hung over his shoulder and his left wing.

The Melecian was broadly explaining the law and its benefits which included, among others, a reduction in time during negotiations and respect for planetary sovereignty, everything based on regulation that would work as insurance against conflict between planets.

“In other words, with this law, the Community has no power to intervene in local conflicts. A revolution or a civil war would no longer be considered a threat to the entire galaxy, for the regulations would prevent sympathizing planets from joining in,” stated Prat. “And this is just one of its virtues. Once we sign, decreasing the burden of assessments, procedures and statements by third parties, which have little say in cases of trade agreements between two planets and only lengthen negotiations...”

“No,” the Queen said suddenly. “We will not sign.”

Bridget held her breath, surprised. Her parents held hands as a sign of mutual support. Senator Prat did not seem too upset at the negative, but Elmenetor Sahun, the Ulohnese, looked disturbed.

“A law intended to prevent a new war from spreading to the entire galaxy, that offers to limit intervention by the Community and speed up negotiations… and your answer is no?” he spat, addressing the King.

“We do not need a law that forbids alliances to guarantee peace, but to modify the rules of peaceful coexistence between our civilizations, so there is no unbridgeable disagreements,” the Queen said. “This bill is a patch, a remedy that does not address the actual problem. Besides, it contains several ambiguous statements that lend themselves to suspicion and abuse, senator. For instance, they’re equating the word association to the word help. Not forming coalitions is very different to not helping out. As a consequence, far from providing security, it could render the weakest members of the Galactic Community helpless. Eloahns will not be accomplices to such an injustice, nor will we risk our own planet.”

“Call it a patch, but it could reduce negotiations by even two years, vital for some domestic economies that are damaged mostly by the wait,” expressed Sahun, pained. Bridget realized that, while he had heard her mother’s words, the Ulohnese pretended she did not exist and only spoke to her father. “Just the benefit of an agile trade between Eloah and Uloh is worth the vote. How long have we desired to bypass the tariff the Community imposes on exports to protect other planets’ interests.”

“Much. We wish for it, too, sir. But not at the risk of abuse. You might want to return once those sentences have been revised,” said the King soothingly.

“Reconsider, Majesty. Signing could settle the lawsuit that you still have pending. The one regarding the demand for the publication of a prophecy that, to my understanding, concerns your daughter,” commented senator Prat bitingly. “Do you not see? It would close the door on them; the riots that one day set off the alarm among the pacifists would finally get their…”

“How dare you involve my daughter in this, senator?” the Queen protested, visibly upset.

“I meant that the Community would no longer have the power to…”

The Queen stood and stopped the Melecian from finishing his sentence. The King kept an indolent posture while he prepared his answer, but Bridget never got to listen. At that moment, one of Prat’s bodyguards, apparently feeling hot, shifted uncomfortably in his black cloak and stared in her direction. He looked into her eyes, as if there was no curtain between them. The Princess felt her blood run cold from sheer terror. She had seen albinos before, but this one had sickly yellow eyes, his features were spectral, and his face… she could not tell why it seemed sinister, vicious, a mask of hostility.

The drape fluttered for no aparent reason and threatened to expose more that just her hiding place, but also her identity, her life. She cursed in silence, prey to panic. There was no air current, she was doing it herself. Involuntary telekinesis, again. She didn’t know how to stop it; running away would be noisy. Staying still or running, both would give her away, but only one would save her.