Admiral Yullenov strode down the interlink corridor between the port landing facility and the central conference
complex with an air of easiness and confidence about him that contradicted his true apprehensions regarding the forthcoming
peace talks. He walked heavily down the vacant hall, snapping his fingers repetitively every few seconds, partly to relieve his
mounting anxiety, partly to occupy his hands as his uniform lacked pockets in which to place them. He stopped mid-stride,
glanced abruptly at his wrist-watch, looked through a nearby window and counted to ten. A large vessel came into view and
slowly, ever so gently, lowered itself into the docking facility from which he had come.
“ Their punctuality is admirable.” he noted out loud. He waited a brief moment longer, then continued his walk to the
complex where the rest of the Confederacy delegation awaited his arrival. The doors at the end of the hall slid open to allow
his passage, and revealed a massed crowd of blue and silver uniformed men and women. A stalky Lynzran approached Yullenov,
and before he could put down his brief case, she grabbed his hand and shook it with vigour and sincerity.
“ It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Admiral.” said the dark woman who, strangely, bore little resemblance to the other
Lynzrans Yullenov had met in previous encounters. “ The conference should be getting underway just as soon as the
Manojarran delegation arrives.”
“ They’ve just landed.” he replied as he cast a fleeting glance at the rest of the Spacecom personnel who loitered in the
main lobby, hoping to find one man in particular. Then focusing back on the Lynzran, “I’m sorry, Ambassador. Would you
happen to know where Admiral McCarthy is right now?”
Her reply was subtley questioning. “Admiral McCarthy was held up on Seldan Four. The trade summit lasted longer than
expected.”
“ Oh, really?” Yullenov grimaced slightly, then began snapping his fingers again. “ How about Stateland? Is he here?”
“ I’m not sure, Admiral. Should he be here?”
Yullenov began scanning the area again, trying to locate either one of them. The Ambassador repeated herself, then looked
behind to see what it was that Yullenov was staring at.
“ They’re not here, Admiral. Is everything alright? There’s a comm-unit back behind the fountain if you would like to
contact Spacecom. The only Admirals here are Hudson and yourself.” Her look over Yullenov’s shoulder told him that the
delegation had arrived.
Yullenov turned around in time to greet the Manojarran Ambassador and his entourage of aides and body guards. The
Lynzran Ambassador stepped forward and welcomed the Manojarran with ample pleasantries, then led the group towards
the conference room and opened the door, allowing the guests to enter first, followed by the Confederacy members and the
Spacecom personnel.
The conference hall was rounded by several hundred seats and centered by a grandiose table and podium, much in the style
of a parliament or council chamber. Massive flags lined the walls, as did magnificent stained glass windows depicting the
historical heritage of the native Orius culture. At the head of the room, behind the podium, hung the flag of the Confederacy
and next to it, the flag of the Manojarran Empire.
The Confederacy Ambassador rose from her seat alongside Hudson and Yullenov and headed for the podium. The room had
quieted to a low murmur of whispering voices, people shifting in their chairs and the plastic sound of visio-text documents
being handed out from row to row. She climbed the dozen or so steps to the podium, centered herself in position and clutched
the edges of the podium surface with her hands.
“ Ladies and gentlemen. I’d like to welcome you all to Orius III and to this historic peace summit between the Unified
Confederacy of Interstellar Authority and the United Empire of Manojarr.”
An impressive round of applause ensued, intensifying the stress of the situation for the Ambassador, as she quickly
flipped through her documents to reassure herself that the material she needed for discussion was not left at her seat next
to the Admirals. The applause gradually subsided and the hall quietened.
“ At the request of the Confederacy Council three weeks ago, I opened a dialogue with the Manojarran Ambassador,
Sesta’Nul, in hopes of securing a peace treaty with the objective in mind that one day, in the near future, our two
governments would share a mutually agreed upon Pact of Non-Aggression. I think we can all share a degree of relief and
new-found security when indeed, we are gathered here today in order to witness this remarkable occasion, when this document I
hold in my hands is signed by both governments. Our two governments have decided to settle our differences peacefully
through negotiation and not through confrontation. I believe this is an integral step towards a future relationship that is
both useful and prosperous for both sides...”
The speech carried on, as the Ambassador continued to remind everyone present of that which had been achieved so far
and what still remained. Admiral Hudson and Admiral Yullenov shared a quick nod of approval, then returned their gaze to the
Ambassador.
“... peace does not only promote security, it also nurtures growth in economic and technological sectors...
preliminary plans for a new Confederacy-Manojarran trade corridor spanning well over seventy-five systems are currently
underway... the possibility of the establishment of a free trade zone remains reassuringly strong ... a three-phase plan for
the dismantling of Spacecom and Manojarran military installations along the border is on the drawing board and could
be ratified by the Council within days...”
A man walked towards Yullenov and Hudson. He motioned to them, then spoke briefly. The three exited the room quietly,
avoiding unnecessary disturbance.
“ Der’Nus - Beran Virus?” snapped Hudson as the door closed softly behind him.
“ The Beran Virus?” repeated Yullenov, equally astonished. “That’ll decimate the entire colony within days!”
The other man pulled out a Spacecom visio-text and offered it to Hudson. “ The Manojarrans don’t have the equipment
or the medical knowledge to combat this. Der’Nus may be their colony, but Fleet Admiral Krighton has ordered the Intrepid in to
assist. He wants you both back at Spacecom HQ before tomorrow noon.”
Hudson looked at Yullenov. “ Well, that means we leave now. With any luck we’ll be back before ten hundred tomorrow.”
“ What has the Manojarran Central Command said about this?” questioned Yullenov, while packing the conference
documentation back into his brief case.
“ Nothing, yet. We’re not even sure they know about it. Space Station Duran VII received a distress call just two hours
ago. Spacecom bases along the border have been alerted, and, if all goes well, the Intrepid should be able to apply the
anti-viral vaccine to most of the population within a few hours of her arrival.”
“ Well,” began Hudson as he started to head towards the interlink corridor that led back to the port facility. “ I don’t
know how this’ll go over with Central Command. Once they find out a Spacecom ship has entered Manojarran space and interfered
in Manojarran affairs, sparks might begin to fly.”
Yullenov groaned in concurrence, picked up his brief case and followed Hudson to the shuttle that awaited them both.
Inside the conference hall, the Manojarran Ambassador took his turn to speak of the wondrous accomplishments of both
governments in the recent peace initiatives, and urged everyone to participate in the peace process, warning carefully
that, while peace could be attained, it also had to be maintained. He took out an aqua-green pen from his left breast
pocket, placed it beside the document on the table below the podium, then stood in wait. The Confederacy Ambassador rose from
her seat and walked calmly towards the table to set down her pen. The Manojarran took his pen, bowed in respect to her, then
the audience, and signed his name. The Lynzran took her pen, bowed in a similar fashion, then began to sign her name. She
stopped.
The Manojarran paled suddenly. The background noise of the audience vanished. All was silent.
She glanced up from the document and saw the Manojarran standing next to her, quite alert and evidently confused. The
silence loomed for yet another long moment. She chuckled lightly.
The Manojarran stepped back in utter bewilderment, rose an eyebrow, then permitted a desperate smile. The Lynzran
chuckled a bit more, then stepped back to offer her pen to the Manojarran.
“ You signed on the wrong line.”
The Manojarran’s face flushed with embarrassment - his paleness now quite gone. The audience, initially confused to the
point of worry, now erupted into a buoyant laugh that began softly and uncertain but grew forceful and genuine. The tension
of the moment was eased by a quirky error, and everyone appeared relieved that no real problem had emerged from the
signing.
The document was quickly signed by both Ambassadors, and was then raised and posted beneath the two flags behind the
podium. They shook hands and continued to smile and laugh while the medias flocked from the first few rows of the audience
and devoured the picture opportunity in the name of posterity.
The two Ambassadors stepped back until they were aligned with the podium. The Manojarran moved to address the audience
informally, to at last express his true feelings of triumph and gratitude - triumph over the naysayers, gratitude towards his
fellow diplomat and the Confederacy as a whole.
But a ruckus developed in the upper audience. A man emerged from the sudden commotion and exclaimed above the steady
noise of the near thousand people present, with all his might he bellowed:
“ Bomb!”
The crowd of diplomats, aides, personnel and observers erupted into chaos. People scrambled to escape the hall. Hundreds
simply ran through the main entrance, others scurried through the emergency exits, some climbed on top of others in the madness
of the moment - all attempting to escape the impending disaster.
After a brief moment of perplexity shared by both Ambassadors, a torrent of body guards swooped down upon each of
them and carried them off towards the exits at optimal speeds. What had been, for more than three hours, a peaceful
discussion had now evolved into a state of fear and anxiety. The challenge now was to survive and live to tell the tale... or
die trying.
It was too late. A brilliant wave of fiery light illuminated the conference hall, blasted through the entire
complex, and engulfed the past efforts and future histories of two great Empires. Unto perdition’s gate would this fireball
of fury forever mark the trail of hatred and fear, the eternal path of distrust and anxiety...a path with the potential
for an end to the death and destruction... a lasting peace.
Or for Armageddon.