Stalled Progress....Once Again.

Posted on Sat Feb 8th, 2025 @ 9:58pm by Admiral S'iraa

1,212 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: Let That Be Your Last
Location: Sidona Ocularis Prime - Tri Nation Chambers of Deliberations.
Timeline: Present Day

Shouting and yelling could be heard to fill the chamber, disagreements boiled to outright frustration as no party could satisfy the needs of the other two no matter the compromises made.

Chancellor Vixothor stood up from his table that was arranged in a triangle with the other delegates that had attended. Rain could be heard tapping against the windows that lined the 3-sided room yet no hint of chill or weatherly unpleasantness could be felt by those inside the room. Vixothor could feel the sessions irritation on his skin, tight about the almost bone like structures that made up his face, bald by Human standards the defined ridges on his head adorned with the accolades of a military career turned diplomat. His eyes, a mix of red and orange as if on fire crowned yellow iris. He was an imposing figure, broad set of shoulders, tall, a voice deep with a commanding tone forged by many years in command and military service.

"Esteemed delegates." His voice almost echoed the room, enough volume to command the moment without seeming to shout or demand silence. He was trying his best to maintain his composure but lately these talks proved fruitless and a waste of his time and energies. "For too long now we have come to these chambers, we talk of peace, offerings, gestures and compromises but each time we hang ourselves by cultural pasts and history. If we do not learn and move on from the past then we only risk repeating it, setting our nations back generations of social progress and scientific development on this, our world."

Minister Ith'ix, a female with almost leathery blue skin that seemed devoid of suppleness that water or fluid might otherwise bestow stood up next. Bones were clearly defined such as a jawline, sunken eye sockets and nasal space. She herself was a politician, trained for it since birth and coming from a long line of political family members tugged on her robes as she straightened. "Chancellor, it has taken our world decades to rebuild after the devastation wrought by your nation upon it. Territorial expansion, racial dominance, outright subjugation of anyone not of your kind is a history that is not so easily forgotten. You talk of peace, stability and growth yet it was your kind, your military that sought to take by any means necessary."

Vixothor paused letting the honoured delegate finish speaking and though she had a point, his nations people had caused considerable damage to the world at the expense of millions of innocent lives and a land that still bore the scares of battle. "Minister, you are right of course, my nation's history is not without blood on its hands both military and civilian, terrible acts were committed but you are selectively silent on the fact much of what happened was because your people were developing and testing biological weapons, which even your own government had admitted to after the war. I find your conduct beneath you, do not paint yourself the victim of my nation without first accepting your nation also bears blame. How many people were killed when your nation released its weapons on the agri farm not far from this very location. 80,000? 90,000?"

Ith'ix's skin paled slightly along the hard edges of her face. Vixothor was right of course, and she knew that but while the war was started by Vixothor's nation, her own also bore responsibility. "93,719." She spoke, she spoke the number to demonstrate respect, that she knew the number of people her nation had killed, that even though she was much younger during those times. "Each of our nations have done wrong, history is tainted by violence, the horrors of war, they are not forgotten nor easy to forgive."

The last of the trio to stand was King Zwon'taa. A race of people that crashed landed on the world after their own was destroyed when it's sun went nova. Of nearly 300 ferry vessels but only a handful made the journey, most ran out of supplies, ships failed for one reason or another, a civilization of billions cast down to a few million at most. A race that excelled in building and manufacture, they build a capital for themselves in relatively short order compared to the other nations. The other nations wouldn't openly admit so, but they admired the King's people for their abilities. The King was shorter than the other delegates by several inches, his head an off white in colour with chitinous segments and plates forming his elongated head, his eyes were black, his hands thin with slim digits on each hand. Muscle structure and bundles could be seen in tightly coiled lines all over his neck, as a race it was almost like they were skinless but bone and muscle, joint and bone bare for all to see. Two holes served as nostrils and the lipless mouth couldn't hide the teeth. To most, his people would seem starved, but everyone knew better. His hand reached up as if to speak, inserting himself into the heated conversation.

His mouth moved and there was a delay in any speech due to the translator having to catch up and verbalize his words in a language for the others to understand. "Blame is constant but progress slow in its comparison. Eager to remind but reluctant in moving forward. Many times, we have stood in these chambers, but our efforts have far outweighed progress made. Mediation is required, a neutral party, unburdened by our pasts, our history, racial wrongdoings and our achievements. Neutrality, equal to all of us. I have sent message to Starfleet to act as mediators, it is my hope that they with a Federation of thousands of worlds, cultures, beliefs and histories can help brings stability and much sought progress to our one world, our three peoples."

Silence lingered for what seemed and felt like minutes. It wasn't often the King spoke and while his own nation was hardly innocent during the war everyone else respected that when the King spoke, they would be foolish to not listen. Perhaps mediation was needed, history was still too raw to be put aside by any one nation.

"When?" Ith'ix spoke next, uneasy about permitting outsiders into such sensitive matters.

"8 cycles." The King answered.

Vixothor was next to speak. "Then I would ask that we rest this session until then, where we can be rested, prepared and welcome these mediators in the resumption of these deliberations." His choice or words were calculated, both for his own irritation but also in the hope that Starfleet might in some way bring some measure of pause to the endless history retorts.

Each individual tapped a symbolic chime on the table before them signaling agreement, they would each then leave the room through respective doors behind the desks.

Even with the room empty its walls hung with drawings from each nation capturing history and elements of pride but for the others it was a reminder and a stark one that the past was harder to move on from due to the progress of others came at the nations expense. Starfleet would be challenged in many ways if it was to bring some measure of meaningful peace and stability to the planet and its inhabitants.

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