How many times must a man look up

Before he can see the sky?

How many ears must one man have

Before he can hear people cry?

How many deaths will it take till he knows

That too many people have died?

The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind

The answer is blowin' in the wind

Peter, Paul and Mary - “Blowin' in the Wind”

The two fleets kept an uneasy watch on one another, just out of weapons range, as they waited for the Ministers to arrive. Nassat had brokered that much at least, from his bed in Sickbay. None of his injuries were life-threatening, despite how close he’d come before Tango’s rescue. His memories of those last minutes were still hazy and in disarray, though every time he struggled to recall what had happened, he was left with a feeling of intense sorrow.

Perhaps, it would be better to leave them buried.

They had commandeered an orbital platform for the summit, limiting access to only those parties involved. Jiyazh, now Dhyaksh once again by popular acclaim, and Azhum Ganakh representing the Khonhim, while Admiral’s Fujimoto and Matevosian spoke for Humanity. For the old Triumvirate races, Nassat and the respective Ministers were pressed into service, with Leandra Singh acting as Moderator.

They’d done their best to keep things formal and civil...but it was already spoiling to be a bloodbath.

“You betrayed us!” Hélène snarled, pointing an accusing finger at Jiyazh. “We stood by our alliance to the letter, and then you turn around and stab us in the back?” Her face was a mask of wrath as she hissed at him, “We should have finished you when we had the chance!”

“And I was supposed to stand by while you slaughtered my people, again?” he fired back. “Our ‘Alliance’ was formed to defeat Chugaz Uydan. With him gone, that purpose had been served.” He met the Admiral’s glare with a steady gaze. “Before all else, I am a patriot, and you forget that at your peril.”

“How dare you…” Admiral Fujimoto shouted as the Prime Minister held up her hand, silencing her.

“Turning this into a shouting match solves nothing,” she said, giving each party a stern look. “Unless we can come to some agreement, it leaves us in the same position we were ten years ago...with nothing resolved, and festering resentment on both sides.” She sighed and shook her head. “How many billions have died since this began? How many more must be killed before we end this, once and for all?”

“We have never been the aggressors,” Hélène answered, her eyes shooting daggers at Jiyazh, “not in either war. In both cases, we were defending ourselves.”

“The Khonhim never once threatened Earth in the first war,” Azhum Ganakh informed her, “in fact, the first human ship we spotted in orbit over Jituttaz was allowed to depart in peace. We had no quarrel with your kind...and yet you involved yourselves in our affairs anyway.”

“That’s because the Triumvirate lied to us,” Admiral Matevosian said, giving Nassat and the Ministers a brief glance, before turning back to face the Khonhim. “Had we known the truth we would have stayed out of it.”

“Then I suggest you take that up with them,” Jiyazh said. “But speaking for the Khonhim, we will not allow ourselves to be exterminated, nor will we submit ourselves to be your slaves. If you cannot accept those conditions, then it seems we have nothing more to discuss.”

“No one is suggesting that Dhyaksh,” Leandra said, “but you have to see things from our perspective. Twice now the Khonhim have come boiling up from the depths of space, bent on genocide, and twice we have beat you back. Only a fool would allow you a third attempt, and I assure you, we are not fools.”

“If you demand I view the universe through your eyes, then I insist you do the same,” Jiyazh said. “Ten millennia ago we were all but wiped out, and for what?” Once again, he glanced over at the Triumvirate contingent, who so far had said nothing for the record. Instead, they were huddled amongst themselves, in heated discussion. “For the crime of being omnivores...and had they held onto that ability, they would have visited the same fate on your race.”

“They might have tried”, Leandra said, as Hélène shot to her feet.

“I am sick to death hearing you whine about something that happened ten thousand years ago! It’s ancient history!” Hélène snapped.

“Not to us,” Azhum Ganakh growled. “That act of genocide has haunted us since the very beginning, and we will not allow ourselves to forget.”

“Of course, you can’t forget,” Leandra sighed, “but by the same token, how long will it be before you can forgive?”

“Until the debt is paid,” Jiyazh said, as he eyed the human Admirals. “What was that phrase you used, at the end? Ah, yes…Blood for Blood.”

“Try it, asshole,” Admiral Matevosian snarled.

“Enough!” Leandra barked, slamming her hand onto the table. “Will only death slake your thirst for vengeance?” she asked him. “Or yours?” she said to Admiral Fujimoto. “Do you have any idea how many years before the war I had to go to the Triumvirate Ministers, hat in hand, and beg for a chance to be heard? Do you?” She sneered at both parties; her lip curled in contempt. “Far too many, I can assure you, only to be snubbed and turned away every time. They called us ‘Barbarians’...and maybe they were right. Maybe that’s all we are...both us and the Khonhim. Maybe the only way we’ll ever know peace is to kill and kill and kill until no one is left!”

The conference room was silent, as the Prime Minister closed her eyes. “Maybe that’s all we deserve,” she whispered.

“...No...it isn’t,” a voice said behind her.

Leandra opened her eyes and turned around, as Minister Thrassath rose to his feet. “The Dhyaksh is right...we owe his people a debt.” He gave her a wan smile, “...and yours.”

The Prime Minister cocked her head, regarding him. “What are you saying?”

Thrassath sighed and spread his hands. “We cannot change what our ancestors did to the Khonhim, and they have every right to demand justice. In our defense, I can only say that we did not know the truth ourselves, not until the Prime Minister uncovered it.” He grimaced, as a look of shame came over him. “It is not an easy thing, to learn your people were once monsters. We have spent the last ten years in denial of that basic truth...but we can hide from it no longer.”

The Saurotaur minister shrugged, as he turned to the humans. “And then we compounded our mistake, by asking Earth to fight our battles for us. That they did so at all speaks well of them, considering our treatment of humanity. They too were in the right to demand we share the burden, though we did so only with great reluctance. With all due respect to Marshal Nassat,” he said, bowing towards the commander, who watched him without expression, “we are not warriors. We learned to fight by necessity, but it is not our nature. But that does not mean we have nothing to offer.”

Jiyazh leaned back in his chair, regarding the Minister. “What is it you have in mind?”

“That while we will never be the soldiers you are, we are skilled in the sciences, in engineering, and in many other areas. Let us use those talents, to make amends.” He looked at both groups, entreating them to listen. “Both the Khonhim and Humanity have suffered in this war. Both of you have worlds that are now all but wastelands. Allow us to rebuild those worlds, to bring them back to life, to share with you both our technology, and our resources. We have over a hundred worlds to draw from, more than enough to give you back what you have lost.”

“I’ve heard this song before,” Admiral Matevosian said. “It almost cost us Earth.”

“I know,” Thrassath said quietly, bowing his head. “We accept responsibility for that. We failed to supervise what was taking place, and humanity paid the price.” He took a deep breath and raised his head. “Which is why we will welcome both Khonhim and Human observers at every step of the process, from beginning to end, to ensure that does not happen again.”

“...You offer a great deal,” Jiyazh said at last, as they considered the Minister’s words, “but you ask for much in return. You seek to pay a blood price with bricks and seedlings, and many will say the scales do not balance. Just how long are you prepared to make this restitution?”

Thrassath met his gaze. “Until you say it is enough.”

Admiral Fujimoto raised an eyebrow. “You’re serious. This isn’t some subterfuge to placate us?”

“Quite serious, Admiral. This war must end, for all our sakes.” A wan smile touched his lips. “What is the price of a few bricks and seedlings, compared to that?”

The two Admirals glanced at each other for a moment and then nodded. “We must speak with others...but I think they might just be willing to listen.”

Jiyazh scratched his chin as he considered the proposal. “It will not be an easy task. Many of my people will not accept your help.”

“Not at first,” Thrassath agreed, “but in time, perhaps, we can convince them our intentions are honorable.”

“Perhaps,” he said with a smirk, “though I have a condition of my own.” His grin grew wider, as his eyes settled upon his target. “That Nassat be in charge of the project.”

Nassat rose to his feet and gazed around the room.

“...No,” he said.

Leandra blinked in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said no, Prime Minister,” he repeated. “For ten years I have done nothing but serve. You have called me to duty time and again, and each time with the same words. That you needed me.” He gazed at them with a fatigue than went far beyond mere physical weariness. “I have given everything to the cause, and I am finished. Let others take my place, for I am done being your puppet. The war is over...and my services are no longer required.”

Nassat plucked the Marshal’s rank from his collar, laying it on the table...and walked out of the room without another word.