Unless Somebody Trusts Somebody
By Laura Schiller
Based on: The Orville
Copyright: Fox
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"What do you mean, Mercer let you go?" demanded the General.
Teleya shifted in the hard metal chair in front of his desk and squinted through the dim green light. She couldn't get used to being on a Krill ship again. After the cushions, potted plants, bright lights and elegant furniture on the Orville, the austerity of the Divine Vengeance felt strangely cold. And she couldn't tear her eyes away from the trophies on the General's desk, a twisted, blackened hull fragment from a Union ship among them. He'd probably keep a Human skull there if the ship's priest didn't require them for services.
That thought didn't fill her with the reverence it ought to. Worse yet, it made her sick.
"Just what I said, sir," she replied, doing her best to sound calm and professional. "He asked me to deliver a message to you: We can keep fighting each other, or we can talk."
The General, a tall man with sharp horns whose armor was studded with medals, bared his teeth in a contemptuous smirk. "So said the herdbeast to the butcher. I knew these humans were foolish, but not that foolish. Rest assured that we will give Captain Mercer every reason to regret letting you go."
Teleya waited for the pride of accomplishment to fill her. She waited for the satisfaction of knowing that her brother's killer, the man who had infiltrated her ship and burned her comrades to death, the man who had tricked her with a lie into feeling joy for the first time since her brother's death, was going to die. Surely she would feel it, any moment now …
But all she could think about was the look on Ed's face when he'd given her his Billy Joel collection.
"General … " She swallowed hard and lifted her chin. "Permission to speak freely?"
"You are not on a Union ship anymore, Agent Teleya." The General's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You can drop those silly mannerisms."
"I beg your pardon, sir. It's only … "
Her mind raced for a way to phrase this that wouldn't sound like treason or blasphemy, even though it most likely was. What else would you call it when every word of the Ankana was suddenly thrown into doubt because of a few kisses and movie nights, a campfire conversation, a shared jacket, a look in your enemy's eyes? But how could she still believe aliens didn't have souls when Ed Mercer had shown her at every turn that he was capable of more mercy and forgiveness than she was?
He had spared the children. No Krill soldier would have done that.
That ridiculous song from one of his movies wouldn't stop playing in her head. There'll be no one left on Earth excepting fishes … Her brother's death might have shattered her world, but it was just one small link in a long chain of violence that might go on forever if someone didn't stop it. If you substituted the galaxy for Earth and space debris for fishes, you were left with a dreadfully believable outcome.
"In my report," she said, nodding towards the closed screen on the desk, "I've compiled a summary of all the tactical data I could gather. I think you'll find that they are not exactly "herdbeasts" … in fact, Union Fleet is equal to ours in strength, and a war between us would result in extreme damage on our side as well as theirs. The galaxy may be ours by the will of Avis, but we cannot guard it properly if our entire fleet ends up in His kingdom."
Silently, she prayed for Avis to forgive her if she was using His name to argue against His purpose. But was she? The Ankana had been written by Krill, not by Avis Himself. What if those ancient scribes had let their own biases interfere with their judgment? What if nobody, from herself to the high priests, had any real idea of their god's true will?
"You overreach yourself," said the General coldly. "All you need to do is gather information. It is not your place to lecture me on how to use it."
"Of course not, sir." She bowed her head with a contrition she didn't feel.
"You're dismissed, Agent. And in the meantime, I suggest you pay a visit to the chapel. You've always been such a good, pious young lady. You must have missed it during your time away."
That fatherly manner was more odious than anything else. It dripped with insincerity; he was suspicious of her and they both knew it. To her dismay, she realized it had been easier to play Janel Tyler – bright lights, new face, flimsy uniform, alien culture and all – than to play the part of a loyal subordinate to this bloody-minded man.
"Thank you, sir. I will." She stood up, gave him her best smile, and saluted on her way out of the room.
Alone in the corridor, she leaned against the wall and took several shaky breaths, feeling as if she'd just ducked out of the sunlight into the blessed, sheltering dark. But the relief was only temporary; the rays of the General's suspicion might fall on her again at any time, unless she gave him the most brilliant performance of her life.
She wasn't cut out for the Divine Fight. That was her problem. She was too soft and always had been; her brother used to tease her about it, patting her headscales and pretending to find wool growing there. That was why she'd been assigned to teach the children instead of becoming a full-fledged soldier herself. That was why she'd been too afraid to lower her gun almost the whole time she and Ed were trapped together. And that was why she'd been unable to kill him, even on the hilltop, which would have been the perfect chance.
When she died, would she meet her brother again in heaven? Would he still smile and pat her headscales? Or would she be cast into hell as a traitor?
She would go to the chapel, though. She would read the Ankana with a critical eye and meditate on what she learned. And she would do everything in her power – as limited as that was – to work for peace between the Krill and the Union.
And someday, perhaps, by the grace of Avis – or despite Him - she would take Ed Mercer up on that offer of another movie night.