The Broken Peace

Demetrius Varro rose from his seat, straightened his blazer, and slowly proceeded to the podium. He took his time, deliberate in his actions. The light in Assembly Hall glinted off his bald head while he prepared for his speech. Varro gazed out at the members of the Assembly, regarding them with a mixture of respect and contempt. He waited a moment more before he began to speak.

Varro took a calming breath before he began. “Fellow members of our sacred Assembly, the situation in orbit above Meteora is one of the most urgent concerns.” Varro’s deep voice resonated through the crowded chamber. There were more ekklesians than usual for an Assembly meeting, but with the tensions boiling high over Meteora this session had a greater significance than most other meetings.

He continued, “While a small number of radical elements exists, it hardly warrants the extermination of the entire population. Even in the tragedy that unfolded, even with the loss of life, we can not allow our righteous indignation to lead to actions that will disgrace our people. Far better to find and remove that element that would bring disunity to our alliance while manifesting goodwill to the remainder. Surely, my fellow ekklesians, mighty Anatoli could afford such a small measure of mercy.”

Applause erupted from the ekklesians as most of those assembled rose to their feet. Varro briefly reveled in their adoration, but he was troubled. To his left, a small clique remained seated, unmoved by his words. Ekklesian Brexton Cleon cast an icy stare toward Varro even though many others around him voiced their approval. Cleon knew Varro outmaneuvered him this time, but the man still plotted. Varro knew that another confrontation was soon in the offering.

The Assembly overwhelmingly granted Meteora clemency from the previous vote to destroy the planet. An hour later, with its business done, the Assembly was adjourned. Each ekklesian went about their daily routine. Some immediately moved toward the press corps, while others stood around and chatted about the latest gossip or the comings and goings of other ekklesians in the chamber.

Varro left the chamber shortly after it adjourned. His aides met him outside the chamber. “Ekklesian Varro, we have a meeting with Chancellor Marquette in an hour,” said Vanessa Saritese, his chief of staff.

“She’s undoubtedly unhappy that I sent her son to Meteora to aid in the negotiations. The Chancellor shelters him too much, and it’s time he did something important.”

“I think the Chancellor disagrees,” said Saritese. Vanessa Saritese graduated from the University of Thiva School of Diplomacy and Political Science at the top of her class. Her shoulder-length black hair was utterly straight except at the end, curling slightly below her chin. Her face was expressionless, with a pointed nose and deep green eyes.

Varro chose her as his chief aid over several more experienced candidates. It wasn’t solely for her beauty, as one might expect of an older man, but for her ability to organize his duties and keep a rigid schedule. Saritese was a tireless worker and very good at her job, so Varro decided to groom her for greater responsibilities later in her career. In some ways, he thought of her as the daughter he never had, though Varro did not let on to Saritese.

“My nephew needs to gain experience if he is to one day take his place in the chamber. I-” Varro stopped as his group rounded the corner. In his path stood Cleon alone. “Vanessa, would you please excuse us?” She bowed slightly and signaled for the two others in the group to follow her.

“A word with you, old friend,” Cleon requested.

“Of course. How may I be of service to you, Brexton?”

“Ashton Vandergrift.”

“Who?”

“Ashton Vandergrift,” Cleon repeated. “Do you know him?”

“No, I can’t say that I do.”

“I thought not. He’s not someone you would know. This is his picture.” Cleon handed the photograph to Varro. “A handsome young man, isn’t he?”

“Yes, indeed he is. Could you-”

“He’s dead.”

“What?”

“He died in the bombing of the postal center on Meteora,” Cleon said.

“That was a tragedy.”

“He didn’t die in the blast, Demetrius. Ashton survived. He crawled from the wreckage of the building, gravely wounded but alive.”

“You just said-”

“The three men from the crowd beat him to death as he lay on the sidewalk beside the building. They crushed his skull with debris from the building itself. All while others cheered his attackers on.”

“What is your point, Brexton?”

“No point, Demetrius. I only wish to show you the true face of those your ‘measure of mercy’ supported today. Keep the picture.”

Cleon turned and walked away. Varro watched him leave and then looked down at the photo. Cleon was right about one thing. Until now, the bombing was an isolated event that hardly affected Varro. Now he had a face to associate with the bombing. Somehow he knew whatever Cleon’s next move was, the man had fired the first shot.