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Justinius kept his gaze level with G’nax.
This line of questioning was very much in line with his attitude and approach. It was a blistering opening salvo, designed to shock the opponent and spur them into a defensive stance. G’nax wanted Justinius to squirm, to try and rationalize, to justify their decisions and try and explain they were the betrayed party.
Justinius refused to rise to the bait.
“Betrayal?” Justinius replied, “What betrayal do you mean?”
G’nax snorted, “We find you out here in the dark, raiding Conclave worlds and raising a flotilla of stolen ships. Not a word to Committee HQ. Not a message or a polite nod. What are we supposed to think?”
“I’ll leave a note next time,” Justinius sarcastically responded, “Just so you don’t worry.”
“And furthermore-”
Justinius cut the alien Admiral off.
“You know what is a betrayal though? Planting spies in human crews. I must admit I’m impressed you managed to pull that one off.”
G’Nax bristled at the interruption,
“Justified.” He growled, “Given that-”
Justinius cut him off again, with a caustic bout of laughter and a wave of his hand. The alien admiral's eyes flared in simpatico with his slit-nostrils.
Justinius had decided from the outset that this would be his strategy. G’Nax could always be relied upon for his anger and bluster. The Terran could not approach the entente with any measure of good humour or earnestness. Such an approach would see him trampled beneath the heel of the G’nax and his temper. Justinius was resolved to not be the first to broach the main talking point. The Committee had known of the humans on Iunthor. They had lied about first contact with humanity. They had rewritten history to ensure humanity sided with them.
“We’re at war are we not?” Justinius replied after his false laughter subsided, “Usually that does entail raiding into enemy space. I seem to recall some piece of paper being signed that gave us free reign to prosecute the war.”
“In conjunction with the Committee,” G’nax responded, “Not on your own remit, without regard for the rest of the committee members.”
“We’re doing them a favour too.” Justinius continued, “Weakening the enemy for the coming fights.”
G’Nax hesitated. The meeting was slipping out of his control, and like Justinius, he did not want to be the first to address the sticking point. Justinius hammered in on the hesitation.
“So you send out a battle-group to chastise us?” The Terran continued, “Aren’t you needed elsewhere? Or do you intend to follow us around, yelling criticisms from the back trenches while we do all the work for you?”
The alien admiral tensed, gritting his teeth together at the insult.
“No.” He said, “I’m here to ensure you maniacs don’t do anything foolish…”
He let the last syllable draw out ominously, like a school teacher warning a wayward student.
Justinius judged G’Nax was as riled up as he was likely to get, the prideful fool.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“Foolish…” The Terran mused, “I don’t think I’ve done something foolish. Could you give me an example? Perhaps there was a decision the committee made that was foolish that you could use as an example?”
G’Nax grunted. He slowly removed his gloves, and unclasped his cloak, hanging it haphazardly over the back of his chair.
“Enough snide jabs Justinius,” He whispered, “We both know why I’m here.”
“I’d like to hear you say it, old friend.”
G’Nax looked uncomfortable, but in a resigned tone he replied.
“Your…prisoners.” He ventured, “The ones you recovered from Iunthor. They’re humans.”
“Yes.” Justinius replied.
“They’re a group of humans, descended from those taken from Earth prior to contact with the committee.”
Again, Justinius kept his reply simple.
“Yes.”
“You intend on taking them back to Terra. To repatriate them.”
“Yes.”
G’nax sighed. “And their existence no doubt raises some questions for you.”
Justinius nodded. “If it’s okay with you, I think it’s my turn for some questions.”
G’nax leaned back in his chair and gestured for Justinius to continue.
“The Committee kept this a secret from humanity. Deliberately. Which means there is something that the lie protects. What is it?”
The alien admiral sat silently for a moment, pondering his response.
“Humanity is a good warrior species. This has been known for a very long time amongst the other species in this part of the galaxy. A long time ago, there was no conclave, nor any committee, instead there was an organization referred to as the council. They administered the relationships between all the spacefaring civilisations, maintaining a fragile peace for a very long time. At some point during their reign, Terra was discovered and the merits of human warfare were observed. You were bloodthirsty, even then, and though you did not possess space flight in any meaningful way, many species in the council were interested in you.”
“And so there was infighting.” Justinius assumed.
G’Nax nodded, “It was civil at first. Litigations and petitions. Meaningless pieces of paper and delegations of worthless bureaucrats. The council was torn on what to do. It was not permitted under council law for non-advanced species to be contacted or interfered with, but some wanted to develop you as weapons, or to ally themselves with you by initiating first contact on their own terms. The debate ended up splitting the Council in two. The committee was born from those who initially opposed contact, and the conclave from those who were intent on bringing you into the fold in one way or another.”
“And war broke out?” Justinius queried.
“Very quickly. Before the council there had been a long period of conflict in the galaxy, and we all fell back into that easily. The committee was determined not to let humanity side with the conclave, but we wouldn’t contact you. We blockaded your system, and tried to prevent access. Evidently, we didn’t do a very good job. The conclave would raid in, abduct humans, then flee. For a long time that was it. Then one day, they came in force, intent on wresting wholesale control from the committee. We were forced to intervene directly to prevent the loss.”
“And when you told us why you had intervened, you lied.”
“We couldn’t take back first contact at that point,” He explained, “We could only control the narrative. We lied and brought you into the fold slowly. We kept you close and prevented any contact between you and the Conclave that might betray our deception.”
There was a genuine look of sadness in G’Nax’s eyes. Much of what he described had happened before he was born, and Justinius felt some sympathy for him. He was not responsible for the sins of his predecessors, but nonetheless Justinius felt a deep burning anger, a rankling fury that despised the manipulation, and bred a deep mistrust.
Justinius stared at G’Nax, square in his eyes.
“Then there’s only two questions left.” The Terran remarked, “Why be so forthright now? And why have you come all the way out here with a battlegroup?”
G’Nax looked down briefly, before raising his eyes to meet Justinius’.
“I tell you this, because you deserve the truth Justinius. I am free to tell you because you won’t be able to relay this back to Terra. My orders are to detain or destroy you, this fleet, and any living soul who knows this secret. Failing that, I am to destroy any Terran-loyal vessels to weaken you for the coming fight.”
Justinius knew this already, but it was good to have confirmation.
“Figures.” Justinius quipped, a smile coming to his face.
He quickly reached his hand under his breastplate, and drew out his concealed detonator.
“Mind if we try an alternative plan?”