The following record was recovered from ambassadorial archives shortly before the arrival of Ambassador.
The transmission remains incomplete.
Proceed with caution.
I was out of the runner before I knew I was moving.
"On your knees," the attacker spat, dragging Dregan from the vehicle and forcing him to the ground. Leaves crunched under his weight as she shoved the muzzle of her gun into his face.
"Don't move." Her weapon didn't waver.
I met Dregan's eyes over the hood of the transport. Smoldering dark blue, even then, even on his knees with his hands raised, blood pounding in my ears. A second gunman moved in, searching the uniform beneath Dregan's robe.
"What's this." The man's sneer wasn't a question. He pulled Dregan's blaster from the holster at the small of his back and pocketed it.
"We know you are no Ambassador of Peace." The woman pressed the muzzle higher, more deliberately. "You are a captain of the Galaxy Protectors. You came here to spy. To find ways to tighten the Xenite grip on our resources. I should kill you right now."
"No." The word left me before the thought did. Adrenaline moved through my body like a current as I pushed past three attackers and around the front of the runner, putting myself between Dregan and the gun. None of them tried to stop me.
"Ambassador Kraylin." An unarmed man stepped forward, palms open and raised. The only one among them unmasked. His voice was calm. His eyes were not. "I can assure your protection. But our intelligence shows this GP soldier accessed private data links last night. I cannot allow that information to be used against us."
The woman swung the weapon to my face. My body began to shake, but I kept my eyes on the man near the vehicle and steadied my voice.
"Captain Dregan is here because I asked him to be here. He is my protector, and right now, he is my responsibility." I held the man's gaze. "If you mean to kill him, you might as well kill me. It amounts to the same thing." I let that sink in. "You want me to listen to you. Then let's go somewhere and talk. All of us. He stays with me."
The man weighed this. Me, Dregan, the situation he hadn't entirely planned for.
"Fine. The President can decide what to do with you both." He turned to the group. "Move now. The Xenite patrol won't wait, and this is already complicated enough."
The woman in front of me lowered the gun. Willing as she was to press it to Dregan's temple, her conviction wavered when I stepped between them.
The group moved quickly. Vehicles loading, doors slamming. The second gunman dragged Dregan to the back seat of our red runner, and I slid in beside him. Two guards took the front, the woman turning in the passenger seat to keep her weapon trained on Dregan.
One by one, the vehicles rattled down a dirt road toward the border, the Ziiskan transports comparable to the older solar-electric runner we rented from the Xenite side. A section of fence was opened for us, and looking back, I watched several men replace it, smoothing away any sign we'd come through.
Trees flew past the windows. Leaves lay thick beneath them, and large birds circled above. I might have enjoyed the drive under other circumstances.
I looked over at Dregan. His pale, blue skin shone with sweat, his dark hair ruffled by the open windows. He caught my eye briefly, searching, then moved his gaze back to the woman and the gun at his head.
I turned away and caught my own reflection in the side mirror. Dark green eyes, soft translucent skin, bright red hair, and a look I didn't want to negotiate from. I called on my training and began to breathe in deliberate rhythms until my mind and body found their footing again.
None of what happened made sense. Not just the threat two nights ago at the cultural event, or the farce of yesterday's negotiations with the Xenite government, or the information Dregan uncovered overnight. And now this.
It was supposed to be a simple preliminary meeting on the requirements for joining the United Planetary Alliance. This was something else entirely.
It all started with Captain Dregan.
His disgruntled attitude when we first met aboard the Starshade – a Phantom class stealth ship – amused his crew. They came around quickly. Pastries, as it turned out, were sufficient. Dregan was harder. He looked at the box for a long moment, then took one. A short nod.
"Thank you, Ambassador. I'm sure my crew will appreciate these."
"It is my pleasure to bring a small amount of joy to your team," I replied.
He was dressed in the standard special operations variant of the GP uniform. Black and gray where most troops wore colors specific to their designated planet or mission. The material projectile-proof, the cut functional without apology, and any number of visible and hidden pockets with a sidearm at his hip. His boots were a synthetic blend of material and digital tech, lightweight and durable, capable of changing color and shape to suit the terrain. The uniform suited him. He was a man built for action in the way I was built for patience, and I suspected we were each going to find the other inconvenient.
He set the box of pastries on a nearby table and motioned me to one side of the room.
"I was already on my way here for another reason, Ambassador," he said, lowering his voice. "We received word just before entering closed space that a rebel Ziiskan group filed an official protest with the UPA, challenging the Xenites' legitimacy to negotiate treaty on behalf of the planet. I'm hesitant to continue, but my orders are to defer to you on non-military decisions."
He didn't like that. It was written plainly on his face.
The Sept – the UPA governing body – and the Ambassadors of Peace were clear. A military escort was necessary, but the mission was mine. For now, I still called the shots.
"We will continue as planned, Captain," I said. "I will take the Ziiskans' objections seriously, but I cannot weigh them fairly without also hearing what the Xenites have to say. Avoiding the conversation only increases tension."
I looked at him. "How do you read the situation on Xenziisk?"
He hesitated. A brief, evaluating pause, then gave me his analysis straight.
"Our intelligence shows the Xenites purchased materials for weapons development well beyond what any conflict with the Ziiskans requires, or any domestic situation. There are also large areas near the Ziiskan border where mining of darcinian appears to be underway. Either they're developing a planet-destroyer, or they want it to look that way." He held my gaze. "Either way, Xenziisk is not a stable planet. And an unstable planet with planet-destroying capability, even when framed as deterrence, is a threat to every other planet in the system. Weapons like these don't stay deterrents for long."
I let his words settle before I spoke. "I won't argue that planets pursuing weapons of that magnitude must be stopped. But are violence and intimidation the right instruments? Does fear actually discourage development, or does it harden it?"
"It depends on whether the cost is high enough," Dregan said. "Unaligned planets do whatever they want when there are no consequences. That's not an ideology. It's a pattern."
I leaned forward slightly. "And if we use force to compel compliance, we don't prevent resistance. We manufacture it. Every revolutionary movement in history started as a response to exactly that kind of pressure."
"That's why deterrence exists," he said, not unkindly. "One planet cannot simply trust another. The GP are the reason terrorism and open war are as rare as they are. Remove that deterrent and the Alliance doesn't hold."
"Deterrence is not peace," I said. "It's the postponement of conflict under the threat of death. I'm not interested in postponements."
Dregan held my gaze for a moment, reading me, I think, the way he'd been trained to read a situation. Then his posture eased, just slightly.
"I can see that." He took a bite of the pastry and started to turn towards the door. "We'll proceed your way, Ambassador. But if the security of this crew or you are threatened, I will act. That's not negotiable."
"I wouldn't expect otherwise, Captain."
He nodded once and left.
I stood there a moment longer, looking at the box of pastries on the table.
We saw the world through entirely different lenses, Captain Dregan and I. His world required force and espionage to hold its shape. Mine fell apart the moment force became the answer. Neither of us was entirely wrong. That, I suspected, would be the problem.
And yet, here we were, held by Ziiskan rebels, racing from a border I hadn't been authorized to cross.
And it was all my fault.
*************************
Transmission continues in Ambassador.
Launching June 15, 2026.