Tor’laen and Nalyra approached the throne, the Outrunner Captain moving slowly to match the Crown Daughter’s dignified pace. He kept his shoulders square and his head high, drawing on his decades of experience in military parades and ceremonies. Even if the Ydani couldn’t rival the splendor of the Zakkili, they could still more than match their discipline.
As they approached, the Queen stood, elegantly rising from her throne. Tor’laen’s eye widened. She was huge. He had never seen a Zakkili that large, never heard of one this size in all his briefings.
The Queen Matriarch had to be at least a head taller than him, and the rest of her body matched her taller stature. She wore a magnificent dress, a vivid red, with threads of silver woven into it. Her curves filled out the gown in a way that was impossible for clothing to disguise. She wore less jewelry than he would have expected, but it only made her look more regal, as if dressing to impress was beneath her.
She approached them, looking down at the Ydani Captain and towering over the Crown Daughter. Tor’laen did his best to push the shock at her stature from his mind, not wanting a stray thought to cause offense.
Nalyra bowed low as her mother neared, giving a respectful formal curtsy, her hands holding each side of her dress. Tor’laen saluted, placing his right fist on his left shoulder, his spine straight as an iron rod, his eyes forward. The highest show of respect a Ydani soldier could give an enemy.
At his side, still bowing, Nalyra spoke a sentence in Zakkili. Maintaining his salute, Tor’laen let his gaze fall to his translator.
[Queen Matriarch]. As commanded, I bring before you the Ydani [Outrunner Captain], Tor’laen.
The Queen made a noise of quiet acknowledgment, her eyes traveling over him.
“Greetings, Queen Matriarch. You have my utmost gratitude for agreeing to meet with me.” He tilted the screen of his translator to face her.
She made a small tsk noise with her tongue, and spoke a short sentence in Zakkili, her voice both warm and imperious.
Tor’laen glanced down at his device. He only had a brief moment to read the words.
No, this will not do.
The Queen’s fingers came to rest on his forehead. Her mind burst into his.
Tor’laen had doubted his mental defenses would be able to hold out against Nalyra’s intrusions for long. Against her mother, his defenses were like a single leaf before a storm. Before he had even realized what was happening, she had already reached the depths of his mind, the core of his being.
Her thoughts raced through his head, leaving burning lines stretching across his mind. Tor’laen was no stranger to pain. It was more like an old friend to him. But this was excruciating, on a level that he hadn’t imagined possible.
It felt like she was simultaneously ripping him apart and stitching him into something new, at the same time. If his muscles hadn’t been locked tight from the strain, he would undoubtedly be on the ground, writhing in pain. He was past the point of swearing or protesting, his thoughts just a whirl of incomprehensible painful gibberish.
It had only taken a dozen seconds, but when she removed her fingers and her mind from him, Tor’laen felt like it had lasted for an entire bell.
He staggered, sweat pouring from him. Vaguely, he was aware of the Queen taking a step back, looking at him expectantly. Thoughts tumbled throughout his head, his mind screaming in protest at this latest intrusion.
A familiar mind brushed his, and he grasped at it as if he were drowning. Nalyra threw a splash of calm into his head. A single word rang above the chaos of his thoughts.
Composure.
Summoning every bit of discipline he possessed, Tor’laen straightened up, taking deep breaths.
The future of my people. The future of my world. he reminded himself grimly.
“There. Now we may all understand one another.” He heard the Queen say. “Is that not right, Crown Daughter?”
“Yes, Queen Matriarch.” Nalyra answered, her voice stiff.
Wait, when did they start speaking Ydanic? Tor’laen opened his eye, finding the Queen Matriarch gazing at him.
“Now then, Ydani. I will hear what you have come to say.”
He understood the words coming from her mouth, but the shape of them, the movement of her lips was all wrong.
“Y-yes, Majesty.” Now the words coming from his mouth felt strange. He understood them, they felt natural to his tongue, but they were wrong!
“You have given much for this opportunity, Ydani.” Nalyra said quietly, her eyes on him. Again, he understood her perfectly.
With mounting horror, he realized what the Queen Matriarch had done to him.
“I…I am here as a representative of my people.” He managed to say, the Zakkili words coming easily, fluently.
For a moment, he tried to reach for Ydanic. A phrase, a greeting, even a single word. He found only broken splinters, buried under the Zakkili that had just been burned into his mind.
Tor’laen clenched his fists, nails digging deeply into his flesh, and focused. He would mourn the loss of his language later. Just one more payment for the Ydani’s future.
“As I said when we spoke last, Majesty, we wish for coexistence. A mutually beneficial relationship for our two societies.” He said, strength returning to his voice. His objective remained the same, even if the language it was spoken in had changed.
“That’s not quite the way we do things.” The Queen chided gently. “If you have been observing us, that much, at least, you should know.”
“I do, Majesty.” Tor’laen acknowledged. “My people’s leaders also understand this.”
“Oh?” She looked at him, an almost pleasant look of curiosity on her face.
“I beg the chance to speak with you, to explain, Queen Matriarch.”
Tor’laen winced internally. The word he had meant to use had far different connotations than “beg.” This might be more difficult than he’d like.
The Queen was quiet for a moment, gazing at him thoughtfully.
“Very well. The tithe of your mother tongue has earned you some of my time. Come, let us walk.”
She started a slow pace, heading towards one of the hallways that led out of the throne room. Tor’laen was flanked, by the Queen Matriarch on one side, and the Crown Daughter on the other.
“My people, the Ydani, achieved spaceflight roughly 200 years ago.” he started quietly. “We were a theocracy at the time, and believed it was providence that led us beyond the skies of our homeworld. Our astronomers had discovered that our small system contained five planets that could support life, including our own. As if some higher power was smiling on our people.”
If the Queen was surprised or confused by his sudden recounting of his people’s history, she didn’t show it. In fact, she seemed quite attentive, or even interested in his words. Nalyra listened quietly from his other side.
“Unfortunately, we were quickly disabused of that notion. Hidden in the shadow of a gas giant, shielded by a heavy atmosphere of methane, there was actually one more ‘habitable’ world in our small system. A large moon more than a planet, really. That world was home to another race, one that had discovered spaceflight a mere decade before my people. The Cal’raz, we named them.”
He had trouble keeping the venom out of his voice as he named his people’s most hated enemies.
“They were an insectoid race, and it quickly became apparent that they didn’t see life, or even existence, as we did. They looked at us as our people might look at cattle, or crops. Communication was impossible. First contact ended disastrously. Second contact heralded the start of the war. For 180 years, we waged war across our system. Four generations of my people were born and raised, never knowing a day of peace.”
He struggled to keep his voice from trembling.
“Finally the day came when we pushed them back to their homeworld. The day we bombarded their hive-like cities and factories, their star ports and military installations, from orbit. The day we pushed them to inevitable, slow extinction. The day when all that was left of our mortal enemies were tiny pockets of life, wandering among the ruins of their once-mighty civilization.”
“Is that supposed to be a threat, Ydani?” Nalyra’s voice was sharp.
“It is not. They are just facts. Twenty years ago, when we cast down our greatest foe, there was one sentiment that echoed throughout the entire Ydani society: ‘never again’. My people would never again live in fear of annihilation, would never again let our future be threatened by a foreign power.”
He stopped, catching the Queen Matriarch’s gaze.
“That is what you face if you plan to vassalize my people. That is what will strike back against you. You’ve seen our technology, our tactics, our determination. That is what will turn against you.”
“You cannot win.” The Queen said softly, still sounding amused, entertained.
“No. We cannot.” Tor’laen agreed, his voice grim. “But know that every Ydani, down to the last man, woman, and child, will fight you until the final breath leaves their body. There will be billions of casualties, on both sides. We have mapped out many of your inhabited worlds, your trading hubs, your growing colonies, with data stolen from careless merchant ships. My people will fight dirty, will use every desperate, despicable tactic against your people.”
“I see.” The Queen’s face was thoughtful. “You say every Ydani will fight, will hate, and yet here stands a Ydani, suing for peace, despite knowing what our Monarchy is, what it will do.”
“I am.” Tor’laen’s voice was quiet. “Among the High Command, who rule my people, and the highest ranks of our military, there are those who see the big picture. Myself included. We see the current shape, and slow fate of the Ydani.”
There was a moment’s silence.
“And just what fate is that?” The question came from Nalyra, instead of the Queen.
“Our culture is drowning. Slowly.” He shook his head. “Our children’s toys are replica weapons and training simulators. Our meals are closer to rations. Our music; marches and war songs. The answer to every question for my people is ‘survival’, but we have forgotten what we are surviving for.”
He looked to the Queen once more.
“Our leaders are ready to submit to vassalization, but it cannot look or sound like vassalization. My people would never accept it. We just ask, we plead, that you keep up the act for a decade, two at most. We will offer resources, tribute. We will assist you in the event of war breaking out. We will follow your doctrines, and start to reshape our society, but it must feel like our choice.”
“And you think ten to twenty years will be enough to change your people’s minds?” The Queen asked softly.
“Once my people have experienced the Zakkili Monarchy, the life you offer your subjects, they will beg to become your vassals, Majesty.” He let some desperation creep into his voice. “They just need time. They need to remember what life can be beyond just survival. They need to experience art, music, delicious food, and entertainment. They need to relearn that there is more beyond preparing for the next war, the next enemy. That not every other civilization they encounter is a mortal enemy, a trial to overcome and destroy.”
The Queen stopped, looking over the Ydani. She was silent, tapping a finger against her chin. Tor’laen remained still, having no more words to plead his cause. The pieces were all in place, now he just needed to wait for the results of his gambit.
Queen Matriarch Azora made a small noise, a hmmm sound. Then she caught Tor’laen’s gaze and his world froze.