“We honor them and the memory them by becoming greater as a race. But we do not become a better race by destroying one.”
“That is not what we want. We are not asking for use of unrestricted force to destroy all the inhabitants of these worlds, we are asking for it so we can be on the offensive and stop this growing opposition before they become too great. We need to protect ourselves.”
“There’s too little of a difference between that and destroying the entire race, at least with you and my brother involved. You have driven them to fight against you. You cannot incite these people to violence, then destroy them under the guise of self-defense.”
“Then what can we do to protect ourselves?”
“You must call for peace.” That concept was as foreign as it was disturbing to Tettarov, but he did his best to hide his hatred of the idea and the people that it would protect.
“Your brother will never call for peace.”
“Yet he will complain as the victim in war,” Jeccan said incredulously. Tettarov immediately realized that he was at an impasse. He took a moment to contemplate his next words.
“We only want a home for our kind, one that is secure and peaceful.”
“What being doesn’t?”
“Don’t forget how it is we found the first world; warring with themselves on their moons. They were destroying themselves, and they had weapons at the ready that could have eradicated all life on their world. If they could not coexist with themselves, how could they ever coexist with us?”
“Do you believe that there was never strife and war among our ancestors, even as there is a conflict between us now? Arguably our greatest moment of unity was brought on by our dire circumstances, because we could not afford such dissension. And just as that may have benefited us when we were at our lowest, it might also serve these humans that you have oppressed.”
“What if it has to the point that they are now a danger to us?”
“It is what you have driven them to. They have nothing to lose. Of course they are a danger to you. A wounded animal fighting for its life is at its most dangerous, why would we or they be any different?” Jeccan spoke very matter-of-factly.
Tettarov was greatly angered by his acknowledgement of the threat, and with his seeming lack of concern. “And you will continue to bind our hands even as you see that they are a threat?” he asked, the anger and frustration beginning to rise in his voice.
“You feel that your hands are bound only because you refuse to see any other way to use them.” Tettarov closed the distance between he and Jeccan slightly, and spoke in a bold and straight-forward.
“I will not jeopardize our kind,” he asserted as the two stared fiercely into one another’s eyes. Jeccan closed the distance even more, so that they were nearly nose to nose.
“I will not jeopardize our kind…or their honor.” He let his words sink in for a moment before continuing. “Is it not recorded that our ancestors said, in the moments as our predecessors boarded the great vessel, that in all we do, it must be ‘our end before our indignity.’” With Tettarov unable to muster a response, Jeccan savored a brief moment of silence. “They could only choose ‘a fine few,’ to carry on our kind. I pray you do not force me to make that same decision.” Still the two stared one another down. Jeccan’s resolve was clearer than ever. Tettarov knew it was time to excuse himself from this fruitless exchange.
He turned and began to walk out before stopping and turning back to face Jeccan for a moment. “Faalcomana are dying, and will continue to so long as you will not back down. Their blood is on your hands.”
“Not yet, but it will be if you go to war with those people.” Caught off guard by the threatening response, and upset with their exchange, Tettarov could only begrudgingly say his farewell.
“Faalcomana, my lord.” Jeccan did not reciprocate ‘Faalcomana,’ as it was used as a saying of solidarity in the cause of honoring their ancestors and ensuring a prosperous future for their race. Since Jeccan questioned the integrity and intentions of Fre’erik and company, he could not honestly say it in return, so he chose not to. He simply bowed his head in return. Tettarov bowed and exited the throne room as Jeccan watched on, also disturbed by the exchange.
Just outside of the throne room were the two guards of Jeccan’s, two Faalcomana soldiers that accompanied Tettarov, and two Faalcomana guards standing by Marael, the young native woman who had gained the affection of Jeccan. She had a unique and stunning beauty that even most Faalcomana could not deny. She was adorned with cosmetics, jewelry, and attire usually reserved for wives of high-ranking Faalcomana, adjusted to fit her small frame. Tettarov despised Marael because of her race, and even more so because of her relationship with Jeccan, something viewed as detestable by many Faalcomana, even many loyal to Jeccan. Marael was in her mid-twenties, and by no means naïve, thus she knew how most Faalcomana felt about her.
Tettarov made no attempt to hide his disdain for her, but when that failed to antagonize her, he resorted to verbal attempts. He got uncomfortably close to the much smaller woman and snarled as he looked down on her. “You’re disgusting relationship may mean the end of us, but I will not allow that” he said angrily in his native tongue. Understanding his language well, Marael stood firm before the intimidating figure of Tettarov.
“I know you do not like my kind or the feelings that Jeccan and I share with one another. While I’m sorry it offends you, I make no apologies for who I am or how I feel,” she said firmly in her own language. Tettarov cocked his head and gestured to his ears as though he could not understand what she had said, smirking slightly as he did. Marael now opted to speak to him in his language. “I know you understand what I said. I will not apologize for or change my feelings for Jeccan.”
The confrontation put the other Faalcomana in the room in an unpleasant position. The guards for Marael and Jeccan were to protect and aid Marael, but to do so here would mean to oppose a very high-ranking Faalcomana. The majority of the Faalcomana in Sancharann had grown fond of Marael because of her kindness and the genuine interest and concern she had shown for them and their culture; these guards were no exception, hence their predicament.
“You are a conniving woman who feels only for herself. Your relationship with Jeccan is an abomination. You whore yourself to him in exchange for your safety and the safety of your kind. You disgrace your kind and mine.”
“You dishonor your ancestors…” she began to say to him in retaliation, but Tettarov quickly eliminated what little space was left between them, causing her to stumble back a couple of steps as his body came in contact with hers. At that moment her two guards stepped between them, going as far as each placing a hand on Tettarov, who was noticeably larger than everyone else in the room. He was at first outraged by their actions, but it quickly dawned on him that he had crossed a line and would do well to not further any strain between he and Jeccan. He stepped back, and the guards did likewise. Though she was not too shaken by the situation, she took a second to collect herself before deciding to continue to exchange words with him. “We’ve done nothing to you. Why do you hate us?”
Tettarov grinned at the question, as if it was preposterous. “I hate the persistence of your kind. How many insects and rodents have been displaced and killed by your kind as you sought to expand your cities? How many resisted rather than simply flee, realizing what was once theirs now belonged to a larger, more powerful, species? That is how it is between your kind and mine. You are nothing more than ignorant, stubborn vermin we long to rid our new homes of,” he said with a sense of superiority.
“This is our world,” she said resolutely as she continued to stand bravely in front of Tettarov. He snickered in response.
“The planet belonged to the primitive, populous creatures before your kind became greater. Now you share their fate; we have come - smarter, stronger, and greater.” He paused briefly as he prepared to speak in he
r language. “Your worlds belong to us,” he said unflinchingly. The two stared one another down.
“We won’t let that happen.” Tettarov had grown tired of the conversation, and decided he would end it. He simply shook his head no. Seeing her words and stance as having no substance, a disagreeing head shake was more than an adequate response in his mind.
“I’m sure you will be going to Jeccan about this. You long to drive our kind apart,” he said as he turned and began to walk away.
“You’re wrong in so many ways,” she said defiantly in her own language. Tettarov paid the comment little attention as he continued walking away with the soldiers that had accompanied him following close behind. Marael was upset by the encounter. She had hoped over time these types of encounters would subside. Though the frequency of them was much less than it had been, this was in fact one of the more intense encounters she ever had. “Thank you,” she said graciously to her two guards. They merely bowed their heads in response. “Jeccan needn’t know about this.” All four guards nodded their head in response to the comment. Marael stared down the long corridor, watching as Tettarov and company walked away, shaking her head in disgust and disappointment.
The Faalcomana fortress in this