“... to hell with the Oivu.”

Genvass winced as Commandant Zakiyya of the Valkyries glared at the others, daring them to disagree as the clan leaders quarreled over his report. He’d known the merchant’s ultimatum wouldn’t go over well, but the reality was turning out far worse than he’d imagined.

“It’s not that simple, Gerel,” Grand Master Makar, representing the Knights, disagreed patiently. “This threat is the last thing we need right now. They were absolutely correct in just how much aid they provided to our refugee centers… are still providing, even now. Without that food and supplies, people will start dying. It’s bad enough I had to pull our clan out of those camps because of Exodus, but we intend to return when the situation is more settled.”

“I don’t mean to sound callous, but how is that our problem?” Sibyl KriZ/AliZ said from their monitor, casually blowing a smoke ring from their hookah. “I get you that want to help, Osman, and that’s laudable, but if the Oivu are going to hold this over our heads, then let them deal with the fallout.”

“And what about the Alliance?” Admiral Van Aalst said quietly. “We’ve built up a great deal of goodwill, but if we just fort up here on New Terra and let the galaxy fall apart, you can kiss that goodbye. I think the Ixians might stick with us, a few others, maybe, but the rest?” He shook his head. “The next time we see them, it’ll be across a missile broadside.”

“Give me two years… three, at the most… and I’ll hand you a fleet of ships so advanced they won’t dare cross swords with us,” Diplom-Ingenieur Svéd of the Tinkers interjected. “We’re working around the clock to master this technology, but given enough time…”

“No offense, Kalina, but I find your timetable to be overly optimistic,” Dàifu Khatsakhox interjected, holding up a tablet. “I’ve been going over the survey reports, and they all say the same thing. We’re learning more every day, that is true, but we’re barely scratching the surface. “It will probably be decades before we can build the fleet you’re proposing. Perhaps, even centuries.”

“If we could get back to the business at hand?” the Grand Master said impatiently. “I desperately need to get my Knights back into the field. The humanitarian crisis we’ve been dealing with didn’t suddenly go away, just because the Yīqún did. How soon, before we can arrange transport?”

“If they leave the protection that Athena provides, I’m afraid I can’t promise their safety,” the Corsair Admiral informed them. “The truth is, we’re still licking our wounds from that last battle. Given our current resources; if you leave New Terra, you’re painting a target on your back.”

“Then we need to seriously reevaluate our policies regarding the other Perseus Arm species,” Commandant Zakiyya growled. “After everything we’ve done for them, breaking the Troika and eliminating the Yīqún, and yet this is how they want to treat us? I believe we’ve earned at least a modicum of respect, and it’s well past time they started showing it.”

“I’m unsurprised by this sudden pivot from the Oivu,” Sibyl KriZ/AliZ revealed. “I never believed for an instant their unexpected generosity during the Yīqún Crisis to be anything other than a ploy for leverage, and frankly, neither should have any of you. A leopard doesn’t change its spots, and neither do avaricious alien merchants. As Gerel so colorfully put it… to hell with them.”

The argument continued, growing increasingly heated as Genvass silently rose from his seat and slipped out of the chamber unnoticed, searching for a quiet place to think. They were supposed to be building something here, but instead, it was the same old arguments, the same clan divisions all over again. Hadn’t they learned anything from the Clan Wars?

Apparently not, he thought sourly. The plan had been to pull together now that they had a permanent home, but that future was getting harder to envision every day. A rough draft for the new government was scheduled to be published weeks ago, but recent updates now stated it was “undergoing revision”. From what he’d just witnessed, he was starting to doubt it had ever gotten off the drawing board. The “Provisional government” was little more than the old clan heads fighting the same old battles. Humanity had unified and fought as one at the end of the war, so why couldn’t they do the same with the peace that followed?

He looked up in surprise when someone sat beside him, as the Dàifu managed a chagrined expression. “They called for a recess,” she explained, “to let folks cool off.”

“Are they always like that?” Genvass asked quietly, avoiding her gaze.

“Most of them, yes,” his clan leader admitted.

“No wonder the new Constitution is still stuck in committee,” he said bitterly.

“We’re doing the best we can,” she said in gentle reproof.

Genvass lifted his head, looking at her. “The most damning thing about that statement is that I believe you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Convinced you could do better?” the Dàifu snorted.

“I could hardly do worse,” he fired back. “Now more than ever, we need our leaders to put aside their differences and think about what’s best for our people, all our people. But that? That was Lord of the Flies.” He shook his head in disgust.

“Welcome to what it means to be Terran,” she sighed, settling into her chair. “In the space of a heartbeat, the universe changed all around us. Everything we’d hoped and prayed for these last two centuries came true, and it’s going to take us some time to adjust.”

“Time is the one thing I’m almost certain we don’t have,” he said darkly, “if my meeting with the Oivu was any sign. This is just the tip of the comet.”

“I see,” she said primly, folding her hands. “Should I then expect to find your resignation on my desk tomorrow morning?”

“I won’t lie. I’m considering it,” he answered. “What happens if I do?”

“I’ll have to appoint another ambassador,” she shrugged.

Genvass nodded as she confirmed his suspicions. “Anyone I know?”

“I suspect you’ve at least heard one or two of the names on my list,” she said offhand.

“In other words, no,” he grimaced.

The Dàifu placed her hand on his. “You were my first choice for a reason, Genvass. You weren’t always; when I nominated you for the mission to Earth, I didn’t hold out much hope for its success. I thought perhaps a linguist might come in handy, but being completely honest? Part of the reason I selected you was that you were expendable.”

His jaw clenched hard at her admission. “I’ve suspected that was the reason for some time now. Nice to have it confirmed.”

If she took umbrage at the sudden chill in the air, she gave no sign of it. “I’m a clan leader, Genvass,” she reminded him, “which means occasionally I am forced to do things many would find unpalatable. It’s my job to think the unthinkable and assume the worst, and it is a responsibility that I do not take lightly. Because we’re all expendable. Every one of us, if the stakes are high enough… and deep down, even you know that to be true.”

His grunt at that statement was decidedly noncommittal. “However,” she continued, “the man who returned from that mission differed greatly from the one I sent. You found a sense of purpose during your journey, a cause to believe in, and even to fight for. I know we clashed repeatedly when you started your crusade, because you were upsetting the apple cart. But even then, I knew your tirades against our dependence on alien goodwill were likely to prove prophetic.”

Genvass stared at her, dumbstruck. “Then why?” he demanded. “If you knew our clan was on the wrong path, why did you defend it so fiercely?”

There was a chuckle, both sardonic and short-lived. “Because our people needed me to,” she explained. “The whole reason our clan exists is because the ones who choose this life craved one thing above all else. Stability. Something few Terrans have experienced these past two hundred years. Constantly living in fear, wondering from one day to the next if the air was going to suddenly be sucked away, or if they’d be facing an attack from the Troika… Genvass, if you had another choice, wouldn’t you take it?”

“I did take it, as you well know,” he reminded her, “or at least, my father did. Growing up, I always believed he made the right choice. It wasn’t until the mission that I realized just how much that stance was costing us.”

“A realization I had myself, long before I was elevated to Dàifu,” she informed him, as he stared in shock. “Don’t look so surprised. One doesn’t last long in this job if you are unwilling to face the truth without flinching.”

“Then I must ask ‘why’ once more,” he said after a moment. “Why would you accept command of a ship whose engines are about to fail, and whose hull can no longer hold an atmosphere?”

“What other choice could I give them?” she asked frankly. “We may have lost a handful each year to the other clans, but the vast majority preferred taking their chances with us. Why, you ask? Because quite simply, we offered the illusion of safety. And it was an illusion, as you yourself eventually realized. We talked about the benefits of living planetside as our ancestors did, breathing free air and having full bellies. What we didn’t discuss is what happened when a host world decided they no longer desired our presence, something that occurred far more frequently than we acknowledged. Or how often one of our own ran afoul of the local government for some real or perceived fault, disappearing into their justice system, never to be seen again. And yet despite all of that, most still clung to the illusion that we provided, anything to avoid facing the harsh reality of their wretched existence.”

“So, you continued to promote the lie instead of admitting the truth,” he said bitterly. “And what… prayed for a miracle? Something to absolve you of your responsibility?”

“Spare me the tragic martyr routine, you don’t do it very well,” the Dàifu sneered. “I played the best hand I could with the cards the universe dealt me. That’s all any of us could do. If you asked the other clan leaders, assuming they were being honest, they would all tell you the same thing. Jibril especially, poor bastard.” She shook her head sadly. “He inherited the worst of all worlds, but his mistake was believing that his masters actually gave a damn about the Protean clan. He was a useful tool, nothing more, and when he tried to be something more than that, he paid the price for his hubris.” The older woman sighed. “Besides, don’t kid yourself. Name one Terran in the last two centuries who didn’t pray for a miracle. Including you.”

He had no response for that, fixing his gaze instead at the floor beneath his feet. The two sat in silence for several minutes as he wrestled with this paradigm shift. Finally, she asked, “... do I need to appoint a new ambassador?”

There was a long, heavy sigh before finally turned to her. “No,” he said at last, “I’ll stick with the job. If my meeting with the Oivu taught me anything, it’s that our relationships with the other races are more important now than they ever were.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” she smiled. “So, what’s your next move?”

“The Alliance,” he said immediately. “As long as we can maintain that rapport, we have a decent chance of weathering whatever storm is coming. If we lose it, however, then the situation looks very bleak indeed.”

“I concur,” she nodded.

He nodded in agreement. “Looks like I need to contact Captain Haddad for another charter,” he said in resignation, rising to his feet.

The Dàifu reached out and touched his arm, bringing him to a halt. “I believe we need to consider a more permanent arrangement,” she said candidly. “Even if you decide at some point to resign your post, it has become quite clear to me that New Terra requires an established ambassadorial position going forward. We are no longer just a mere handful of clans, each going their own way.” She paused and then grimaced. “Despite all appearances to the contrary.”

“What are you suggesting?” he asked her.

“That if you are going to be taken seriously by the galaxy at large, then you require the trappings that such an august office demands,” she informed him. “A permanent staff, a suite of offices, and a ship specifically dedicated for the post to start.”

“Post? What post?” he sputtered.

“Why, the New Terran Diplomatic Corps, of course,” she chortled. “If we’re going to do this, then it will be done properly. When you enter a room, I expect the conversation to come to a grinding halt.”

“It usually did,” he shrugged, “at least around non-humans.”

“Not like that,” she spat out. “An ambassador requires respect to function, above all else, and it’s up to me to see that you get it. No more ‘Move along, you filthy Terran, move along’.” She sighed, leaning close in. “Besides… I’ve had my suspicions regarding the good captain for some time now. I don’t think he’s the proper candidate to ferry you about.”

“Who then?”

“I’ll find someone, don’t you worry,” she assured him. “Eventually we’ll require an entire department, but for now a few advisors and a ship will do. Oh, and a security detail,” she amended.

“A security detail?” he said in confusion. “Why would I need that? Who would take a shot at me?”

The Dàifu just shook her head. “If you’re doing your job right?”

“… Everyone.”