“Minister, I must speak with you,” The large alien said while bursting into her office.
Miria Hazud Kernabel, minister of Extraordinary Relations affairs, just barely suppressed a groan. That would be unprofessional.
Without saying a word, she let the man in and pointed with her long, light skinned fingers at one of the couches for him to take place while she herself poured in a glass of water. From the corner of her eyes she could see the Nardijash delegate waiting her attention eagerly. An onlooker would believe the minister was being needlessly rude. She knew however that she had just spend four continues hours speaking to the Nardijash, listening carefully to their proposals and weighing every single word she spoke. She was mentally exhausted and was not looking forward to another hour of trying not to say anything that could endanger their first diplomatic meeting with the Nardijash Empire - whatever ridiculing and arrogant posture the delegates were adorning themselves.
The man himself was tall for a Nardijash, 1.75 meters in height, surprisingly bulky and his head cleanly shaven. Military. Much like the others of his species, he had a light green skintone, five short fingers on each hand and rather than eyebrows, a row of small, yellowish coloured horns. Unlike the meticulous garbs of the other delegates, it seemed he choose something more flexible and practical, almost fatigue-like.
His large irisless eyes (or rather, not as vividly coloured as a Vwick’s or Kikiru’s would be) rested on the glass of water she presented him with as if he was expecting her to give him permission. A slight gesture from hers, and he raised the glass before her before he took a sip, which made Miria oddly aware of how she didn’t bother to wait with drinking hers and considered this would be the dumbest thing to lead to Kinorah’s invasion. She tightened her scarf around her yellow and orange dreads before she sat down for the next round of attention.
“You wanted to speak to me,” she said taking the couch opposite of him. Her light teal ministerial robe left room to cross her legs, which she happily did now she was no longer restricted by her pregnancy, but upon considering it perhaps made her look more hostile. She retained her posture non-the less.
“I don’t think you understand what you’re dealing with,” he said.
Inadvertently, her posture did become more hostile, “Then I’m happy to hear you explain it to me, mister...?”
“Helem Kopoali, head of the Imperial Personal Guard.”
Her years of lying to everyone paid off, because the revelation did not make her face flush. “Imperial Personal Guard?”
“I protect the Empress myself.”
“An admirable task,” she replied.
“Let’s not beat around the bush, I know you and I are not so different, Mazakur.”
Upon hearing her rebel name, Miria realised she was losing power in this conversation. And so, deliberately, she conferred even more power towards Helem - though this time of her choosing.
“That was a name I didn’t expect to hear today. How’d you know this?”
“I have my sources,” Helem spoke, “I am after all, in charge of the Empress security. It would be foolish of me to sit with a woman who was an accomplice or even a culprit in the assassination of at least five significant political leaders, and not know about this.”
“That may be so, but I represent my people,” Miria said, “that’s who you are speaking to right now.”
That reply made him sit up right, as if he understood that now he was the one engaging in a diplomatic faux pas. And with more care for his posture, he tried once more: “As I said: you and I, we’re not that different. And it’s from that mutual experience that I speak to you now, Mazakur.”
She stayed silent and just watched him. Provoking him into speaking again, “The Nardijash Empire is at war with another superpower. A war that bares no sign of being resolved any time soon.”
“That’s what your diplomats have been dancing around all this time.”
“Don’t blame them, they think that if you know this, you would be less inclined to resort to an alliance with us.”
“A correct conclusion,” she said with a laugh. “Why in the Heavens would you tell me this?”
“Because I don’t want Kinorah to ally with us. Friendly diplomatic relations, yes. Allied, no. Nothing good could come from that. In the least for you. An independent Kinorah is good for us, and for you. And so I’m hereby sabotaging any attempt for the diplomats to fast-track an alliance between our Empire and your Union.”
“You’re being successful,” Miria said, “that does raise the question why.”
Helem looked like he was mulling over some thoughts. And when Miria expected him to reject her request, he spoke, “Because your world is not the only world dealing with political turmoil in the last decade and I don’t want to be on the losing side. It’s good for Kinorah for me not to be on the losing side.”
But before Miria could request more elaboration, he continued. “The other superpower is a civilisation naming themselves the Taekon Republics. They’re notoriously anti-theist, which is where the bulk of our disagreement comes from. They believe we should be saved from Mardwen, our God, and we believe they should leave us and others alone in our worship. Needless to say, they will contact you and they will insist on you following their footsteps.”
“We’re a secular democracy.”
“That your Goddess apparently had a hand in establishing. Which leads me to another point: do not, ever, tell anyone you have a ‘Chosen One’. I care little whether this person is just a by god selected High Priest or an actual Godsharded being. Just do not *ever* mention it, not even as a joke.”
Her taken-back expression must have been enough of a reply to him, “Interstellar politics is a precarious field, even for civilisations as well established as ours. I don’t envy your position.”
There wasn’t much for her to say, besides thanking for his advice. And once he left she realised there was a mountain of questions still left to be answered. And with that realisation her scepticism flared up and reasoned why his warnings were little to nothing worth - potentially even manipulating her into taking a side. Still, she reached over to her PDA and sent the president a request to meet up. People had to be informed. Somewhere, this sense of insecurity and the anxiety of having to make the right choice awakened a comfortable nostalgia in her.
