The early weeks of the war blurred together in a timeless mess of death and destruction. Nessah and Cyrix were doing an excellent job minimizing military casualties, but civilian deaths were increasing at an alarming rate. For that, they had little solution. There was nowhere safe to evacuate to when the whole planet was under attack. Entire cities were being razed in the span of days, sometimes hours. Their desecrated ruins then became gru’ul outposts where the enemy could regroup and resupply. There was little Nessah or Cyrix could do to stop them from gaining a foothold planet-side until the planetary shields were repaired and the gru’ul could be contained.
People in the surviving untouched cities had yet to feel the harsh reality of watching their loved ones get butchered by nightmarish monstrosities before in turn being massacred in the same violent manner. For them, the war was a distant affair that was constantly being aired on every news channel. Their regular shows were disrupted by that hour’s flavour of breaking news while military ships flew low overhead going only the gods knew where.
At best, the war was a minor inconvenience. Martial law had everybody under strict curfew, but the skeleton military squads patrolling simply weren’t enough to fully enforce it. Nessah and Cyrix couldn’t spare the resources to fully control the populace when their entire military was deployed and only their reserve forces could do the peacekeeping.
Angry that a war they hadn’t asked for had been brought to their doorstep, people increasingly viewed Mihn’s videos and fell victim to her false passion. Pushback grew along with rampant looting and destruction caused by a growing resistance against the all-encompassing authority the military had granted themselves.
Orryn was in her office in a rare moment of respite from the constant Tribunal meetings reviewing reports on the antagonistic movement currently hamstringing their supply chains. What she saw angered her. The idea that the gru’ul would simply return home if the faction stopped fighting was absurd. Those who fell for it clearly weren’t grounded in reality if they believed the gru’ul were the victims and would simply leave them be.
All because of one angry High Diplomat and a jaded mother.
Orryn sighed. Checking a clock on the wall, she saw that it was time for yet another meeting with the other Elders. She still didn’t know how to broach deposing Kaius for daring to go against a unanimous edict that he himself voted in favour of and neither did Cirrus. Commander Cyrix was on standby, ready to testify at a moment’s notice.
Orryn stood up from her chair and went into the sealed meeting room she normally used. Taking her usual place, she pressed a button on her data slate and the rest of the Tribunal winked into existence around her.
“That makes everyone,” Kaius said. “Orryn, we were just about to announce the latest disturbing news from the front lines.” He looked down at his data slate and projected an image for everybody to see. “The gru’ul have done as we feared,” he continued grimly, paying no mind to the still image in front of him. “They’ve weaponized one of the chemicals for use against the people.”
Quiet, mortified gasps came from several of the Elders at the news and more than one paled to a sickly shade of purple. “Those monsters!” Orryn exclaimed. “Creating them wasn’t enough? They actual sought to employ them during the war?”
“That’s what they were ultimately designed for,” Darros said somberly. The Elders turned to look at him. “We already knew the chemicals were created to punish us,” he continued, “and that was before the gru’ul realized we knew their secret. Our society must have been advancing too rapidly for them to properly control and so they planned for this eventuality.” The other Elders nodded along as Darros spoke. “Make no mistake, these chemicals’ sole purpose is to make us feel a pain so pure we’d never think of raising a hand against them.”
“The logic is disgusting,” Orryn said. “They have no qualms using chemical weapons against us because they feel it is their right to do so as our creators. It’s always been difficult to understand how the gru’ul think, and I’m convinced no a’vaare would have been able conceive such horrendous chemicals.”
“Regardless of how strongly our society feels about the use of chemical weapons,” Darros said, “the gru’ul clearly have no such compunctions.” He shifted his attention to Kaius. “Where did these reports come from?”
“Our soldiers reported finding people contorted in pain with no other visible injuries,” Kaius responded. “General Nessah has been receiving similar reports from across the planet. The team that first came to the realization as to the cause was Captain Jyn. Given their role in everything that’s happened, they were swiftly able to identify the source.”
“Captain Jyn?” Darros said, his eyebrows raising. “As in, the same Captain we’ve been told was psychologically unfit to lead a team?”
“Yes,” Kaius replied. “He was the one to make the discovery as well as the one who provided the evidence.” He gestured to the hologram he’d projected previously and started the video. Everybody was immensely disturbed by the abrupt end to the civilian’s screaming. Once the team cleared the area of enemy gru’ul, they inspected the body and noticed a dart stuck in the woman’s back leaking an orange fluid. Brief though it was, the Elders unanimously agreed that one of the chemicals was clearly the cause.
“Does that mean that person’s brain decided to kill itself to escape the pain?” Cirrus asked. “There are no other injuries, and we already know that the orange chemical doesn’t necessarily cause death. After all, both Reya and Adrian survived the use of the chemicals.”
“We have research logs that Adrian repeatedly ‘expired’ after being subject to the purple chemical,” Darros pointed out. “Those very same logs also mentioned reanimation somehow, but they never went into detail. He was never subjected to the orange chemical as far as we know.”
“It’s not like we can ask him now that he’s been abducted by the gru’ul,” Cirrus said. “Again,” she added after a short pause.
Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!
“With that in mind, the only known survivor of the orange chemical is Reya,” Darros continued. “If other soldiers reported identical cases, then it’s either the dose was changed to make exposure to the orange chemical lethal or it was already lethal to begin with.”
Cirrus frowned. “If the chemical was already lethal, how come Reya is still alive?” she asked. “It’s far more probable it was made lethal by upping the dose.”
“Reya was experimented on as well,” Darros replied calmly. “She was injected with all manner of unknown substances that ultimately transformed her into the same species Adrian was turned into. It could be that those experiments are what helped her survive.”
“But how?” Cirrus asked, still not fully buying into Darros’ theory.
“How on Verilia were the gru’ul able to literally turn Adrian into a different species down to a genetic level?” Darros refuted. “I haven’t the faintest clue, but they somehow still managed that miracle of science. My point is, we have no idea what changes were already occurring in Reya while she was being used as a test subject. Despite the fact that the changes to her were slow and subtle, my point is that she was already primed with everything she needed to also transform. The rest of our populace is not.”
Cirrus blanched. “So by all means Reya should be dead?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Darros said. “The dose she was given was probably different to the one the gru’ul are currently using in their weapons. But I’m convinced that any dose of that chemical is inherently lethal.”
Orryn was green and could barely find it in her to speak in the face of her realization. “That means that everybody who’s exposed to that chemical will literally die the worst death possible.” She ran a hand over her face. “And we brought that upon them. If it wasn’t for us, we would’ve never learned about the Mandate and given the gru’ul cause to use the chemicals. We could’ve remained none the wiser and avoided all of this.”
Darros shook his head. “We were always going to be subjected to those chemicals. They were already developed when we found Adrian. It was just a matter of time before the gru’ul would’ve felt threatened enough to use them, regardless of whether we knew of them or not.” He paused for a moment in contemplation. “Adrian’s role was to be the poor soul they perfected it on before deploying them.” He shuddered. “I struggle to imagine what he’s going to go through this time now that he’s been captured.”
“We awarded Reya the Silver Star for surviving the orange chemical,” Cirrus said. “Do we do the same to anybody who survives it during the war?”
“We won’t be able to,” Orryn said sadly. “They’ll probably all be dead. I think we should create a new award, to be granted posthumously so that we remember the ultimate victims of this awful war.”
Cirrus arched a brow. “What about everybody else who perishes?”
“We could include them too,” Orryn said with a shrug, “given how macabre their deaths were. Assuming we survive the war, that is.” The mood in the room somehow darkened further at her comment.
“We will survive,” Cirrus said firmly. “Everything we’ve done has been for this moment. We can always rebuild. What do you want to call this new award?”
“The Silver Soul,” Orryn proposed. “To remember and honour all the poor souls who suffered the most during this tragedy.” Murmurs of agreement were muttered throughout the room and the motion was adopted by Kaius.
“We can focus on what the medal for the award will look like later,” Kaius said. “We’ll have a problem identifying all the dead, though.”
“We’ll do a census once the fighting is over,” Darros said, waving the matter aside. “Those still alive can tell us who they lost and anybody left that doesn’t respond can safely be assumed to be dead.”
“Very well,” Kaius said. “On to the next topic,” he continued. “How do we respond to the use of the orange chemical on our populace? What can we do to protect them?”
Cirrus’ ears perked up and she saw the perfect opportunity. “About that,” she interrupted before anybody else could speak, “Orryn and I have an official complaint that needs to be addressed collectively.”
“Do we truly have the time for a complaint?” Kaius asked, frowning. “People are dying in droves right this moment. It’s hardly the time for petty squabbles.”
“While I would normally agree with you,” Cirrus responded smoothly, “this is something very important to all of us.”
“Very well,” Kaius said. “What is your complaint? Once we’ve all heard it, we can decide whether it merits being dealt with now or a later point in time.”
“We bring forward a motion accusing the Arbiter of going against the unanimous edict regarding possession and research into the orange chemical,” Cirrus said. “Without the Tribunal’s explicit approval, you have stolen a sample of the orange chemical and researched it. We demand an explanation as well as everything pertaining to your research.”
The bomb was dropped, and the other Elders were stunned silent. All eyes were on Kaius, who broke out in a cold sweat. There should have been no traces of his orders. He narrowed his eyes. “That’s a bold accusation,” he said. “What proof have you that I have done this?” he asked, knowing full-well there would be nothing tangible.
“Testimonies, as well as other documented proof of suspicious activity,” Cirrus responded.
“Testimonies are hardly reliable,” Kaius said dismissively. “And whatever you deem to be suspicious activities are nothing more than anecdotal conjecture without offering tangible proof. I will ask once more, what proof have you to back your accusations?”
Cirrus sported a predatory smile. “I hereby call upon War Commander Cyrix to provide the opening testimony,” she said. “You want proof? Very well. Your trial begins now.”
“Our War Commander is complicit in this?” Kaius asked, his expression darkening. “You accuse me of treason at the most critical moment in our history. I overturn your request for a trial immediate and demand your detention for an attempted coup.”
“Request denied,” Cirrus said gleefully. “Any motion against an Elder, the Arbiter included, may not be overturned. You lack any power and jurisdiction to strike our motion.”
“I am War Arbiter!” Kaius exclaimed. “The final decision for any law is vested in me by the same laws you cite. I hereby decree that this nonsense is invalid and demand you retract your accusations. So it has been decided, so it shall be.”
“But Kaius,” Cirrus said with a smile, “the War Arbiter may only have final say in the rest of the Tribunal’s decision if there’s a tie. You do not have, nor have you ever had, the ability to directly impose your will on the Tribunal. Therefore, I call a vote amongst all Elders present, save the Arbiter, to determine whether to proceed with the presentation of our evidence that supports our accusations. All in favour, vote now.”
Kaius flushed in anger. He knew Cirrus was correct and could only watch helplessly as six orbs appeared in the air over each Elder’s head. They all stared at him with accusatory glares, ready to mete out justice to the one who dared to study one of the most horrendous chemicals that would ever exist without proper sanction and oversight.
“I believe that settles it,” Cirrus said. “Orryn and I may present our evidence, and it shall be the other four Elders who will vote to determine whether we speak the truth. Orryn and I, along with Kaius, shall have no voting power or say in this decision.” She looked at Kaius. “So it has been decided, so it shall be,” she said, mirroring Kaius’ earlier words. “I hereby summon War Commander Cyrix to testify and present evidence.” She pushed a button on her data slate and Cyrix’s figure appeared before the Tribunal.
The trial had begun.
