An Age of Peace

A group of friends bicker on a distant colony as a new era dawns on the galaxy.
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“Do you really think there’ll be a war?” Peter rested his scuffed elbows on the park railing. He looked dejectedly out over the colony spread beneath the mountain: the rough streets meandering through the dark-green trees, the blocky prefabs marking the town center and the wooden cabins dotting the clearings beyond. A Warthog trundled along the distant road, hitched with supplies for the Sangheili enclave. In the distance a shuttle lifted off from the airfield. Peter’s own house was hidden off in that scenic treeline. He’d lived his whole life looking out at this scene—he couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
He didn’t want to imagine this world lit on fire, invaded or bombed from orbit like the planets in the history videos. The thought made him shiver.
“There hasn’t been a war in ages.” Beside Peter, Jamat shoved a hand into a box of blueberries—fresh from his father’s garden. He munched pensively on the fruit, dark eyes taking in the colonial landscape. “Not near here, anyway. The oonskies don’t bother people this far from Earth. Not anymore.”
“Earth might not be the planet to fear.” Reia plucked a blueberry from Jamat’s box with her slender fingers. She passed the fruit between her mandibles, reptilian eyes narrowing at the alien food’s taste. “My sisters say there are more kaidons vying for power on Sanghelios. But we have warriors of our own here—all of our parents fought in the wars. Only a fool would attack this place.”
“You hinge-heads always want to fight,” Jamat muttered. He stepped out of Reia’s reach. “I bet the warriors at the enclave would love it if someone came to start something.”
Reia’s mandibles drooped in anger. She primly adjusted the hem of her robe, refusing to dignify Jamat’s words with an answer. Peter took comfort in her attitude. The Sangheili enclave—constructed around the beached hull of an old battlecruiser—was crammed full of warriors determined to keep their old legionary traditions alive. Anyone who came for this colony would have to go through them first.
The shuttle from the airfield passed by the Guardian drifting over the horizon. The Forerunner warship’s wings stretched out over the colony like a defending angel.
“Come on, Jamat, don’t be mean. Things are getting a bit too peaceful around here if you ask me.” Chloe watched the argument, eyes crinkled in mocking amusement. She’d tied her long dark hair up today to keep it from snagging on low-hanging branches. “The way I see it, the colonial committee’s too full of themselves. They think things will just stay the way they are so everyone here has to keep listening to them. I’d like to see how those smug blowhards act when there’s a real threat to public safety up there.”
Peter groaned. His sister was still smarting from her run-in with the Youth Morals Committee. She’d take the embarrassment out on Jamat for the next week—at least
“Don’t you dare say things like that,” Jamat snapped. “You don’t know a thing about war. Don’t wish it on this colony. It’s sinful.”
Chloe rolled her eyes. “OK, Mom.” She sprang, cat-like, up onto the railing. Her arms stretched out to hold her balance, dress fluttering in the breeze. “Peace makes us complacent. Stagnant. Governments are like muscles. If they don’t get enough exercise, they shrivel up. Just look at what happened to the UEG and the Covenant. Everyone around here just want things to stay the same forever.”
As she spoke she walked from one end of the railing to another. One false move and she’d go plummeting over the ridge. The very sight of her made Peter’s skin crawl with fear, but Chloe was as graceful as ever. She twirled to change direction on the railing, lips curled in a smirk as if daring gravity to challenge her.
Jamat’s scowl deepened at the gymnastic display. “You just want your father back in charge. Princess.”
He meant it as an insult. For all the time they spent together, Jamat really didn’t know Chloe well. She loved it when people called her that. She waved an arm out over the colony as if it really was hers to inherit.
“My father’s the only reason this colony even exists. Jamitov and the rest of those idiots on the committee know it. You saw how they all tripped over themselves when he interrupted their little tribunal party. And you know the Sangheili want him to be governor again. Isn’t that right, Raia?”
Raia ducked her head, embarrassed. “My people do prefer a single ruler. You humans have far too many committees for our liking. It is more fitting for a great lord to do business with another great lord. And a legendary warrior at that…”
Chloe flashed a triumphant smile. She was in one of those strange moods today.
Jamat wasn’t having it. “Your father’s legend is a pack of lies.”
“Half lies, half truth. He says the fun part is figuring out which is which.”
“Whatever. Just shut up about war. It’s not funny.” Jamat finished the last of his blueberries and stalked off. Peter wondered if Jamat’s father and his own father were fighting again. They’d make up in a few days like they always did but, in the meantime, Jamat was extra prickly with Chloe.
Peter watched his friend leave. He cast an accusing look at Chloe. “You’re being a jerk.”
“And he’s being too sensitive.” Chloe hopped down from the railing. “I’m just saying—"
She caught the look in Peter’s eye and finally deflated. “Fine. I’ll make it up to him. Jeez, you’re just like Mom.”
She joined him in leaning against the railing. The sun set slowly behind the ever-watchful Guardian. As long as it floated above the colony, they’d be safe—Peter hoped.
“I can’t stay here, Pete,” Chloe said. “When Dad was my age he’d already fought in two wars. What the heck have I done?”
“Mom too,” Peter pointed out.
Chloe’s grunt told him just what she thought of their mother’s accomplishments. She was a Venter, through and through. Peter was glad she’d taken more than her share of that particular inheritance.
Category:The Weekly