The dome sparkles, calling us home.

“They’ve done amazing,” Calista says to Jolie. “I can’t believe they were able to transplant so easily. I never would have thought it would take that well.”

“I know, right?” Jolie agrees. “We should have thought of that instead of trying to adjust our own seeds to this environment.”

The two of them haven’t stopped talking about the Tribe’s garden since we left. Ladon and Sverre are out to either side, ostensibly scouting. I can’t help but wonder if they aren’t escaping their wives’ incessant chatter about plants. A smile forms on my face. Different species, millions of miles from Earth, but the problems of couples remain the same. Even with the Zmaj’s primal claiming of their mates, males still go out hunting to escape from their wives.

It’s been a good trip. We’re closer to actual trade than we were, but more important, I know I have an ally in Visidion. My core tightens thinking of him. The rippling of his abs when he stands or sits, attractive, sure, but what holds my attention is his eyes. So deep green, but more—so piercing with a sharp intellect behind them. Visidion, I believe, could share in my vision of the future. Certainty fills me that together we could forge that future.

It’s only a matter of walking the steps to get us to that point. Along with keeping Gershom at bay long enough. My stomach sinks thinking of him. He’s moving faster than I expected, and that’s a problem. I need a little longer. Long enough for the seeds I’ve planted to come to fruition. Then it will be past the point he can change the overall outcome. I will have won in spite of his self-centered efforts of personal aggrandizement.

A little longer. It’s all I ask.

Reaching the dome, I punch in the code, letting the others go through the airlock first. Sverre and I are the last, waiting to enter.

“They’re not wrong,” Sverre says, while we wait.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“We should deal with Gershom. He’s growing bolder. We may not have time.”

Sighing, I nod.

“I know,” I say.

“Then why do you withhold us from acting? Please Rosalind, lift the restraints. Let us deal with him.”

“And then what?” I ask.

“What do you mean? He’ll be dealt with, it will be over.”

“Would it?”

“Of course it would, how could it not?”

“Because he has followers. Those who really believe the crap he pays lip service to. Gershom uses the rhetoric but he doesn’t believe it. What if the leader of the Humans First was a true believer? What then?”

“We deal with the new leader the same,” he says.

“Sure, let’s do that. While we’re at it how about we deal with about sixty percent of the surviving human race in the same way.”

“It wouldn’t be-”

“Yes it would!” I exclaim, cutting him off. “Sverre, you’re smart, but you have to think this through. If we were to cull Gershom, in any manner, then he becomes a martyr. They’ll rally around him. We’d lose control.”

“We’re already losing control!” he says, voice rising, hands balling into fists as his wings rustle.

“No, we’re not. Barely, but we’re not.”

“How do you think that?”

“Because, Sverre, I have to. I’m looking at the future of both our races. We have to let this play out. We can’t afford to lose that many people out of the pool of survivors. It reduces our odds of long-term survival by too much.”

Sverre hisses and turns, staring out over the empty desert we just crossed. He turns his head and spits before turning back to me.

“Fine,” he concedes. “But I don’t like it. We both will regret this before it’s over.”

“Let’s hope not,” I say, entering the airlock with him.

The moment we enter I’m ready to eat my words.

“Rosalind!” Gershom says, his voice booming and full of himself.

“Gershom,” I greet him, looking at the men with him.

All of them are armed with guns we confiscated from the pirates. Apparently he’s no longer hiding where they had disappeared to. Bold, too bold. The others who traveled with me, including all the Zmaj stand in a tight group. Ladon stands at the front, his hands balled into tight fists, his tail up straight.

“I’m so glad you’re back. How was your trip?”

“Fruitful,” I say. “I’ll make a full report to the Council.”

“Oh, that, yes,” he says, shaking his head and smiling from ear to ear, sunlight glinting off his greased-back hair. “Well, you see, there’s been a decision made while you were away.”

“Oh?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.

“Yes,” he grins. “There’s to be an election. Something I’m sure you will agree is long overdue. We are, after all, a democracy.”

“Gershom, this has been discussed already. It was agreed we would hold elections once we stabilized our position here on Tajss. Survival is more important than elections right now.”

“We thought you might say that,” Gershom says, shaking his head, shoulders slumping as if sad. “Didn’t we discuss that?”

“Yes we did,” several of the men with him respond, bringing their weapons up to mid-chest.

“Rosalind, that’s a tired excuse. We’re surviving just fine, here. In fact, the only threat we see is the one the Zmaj represent. So many people have come to me and expressed their concerns, their fears, that I can no longer ignore them. I, after all, have a duty as a member of the Council to listen to our people.”

“You don’t listen, you manipulate,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Rosalind!” he exclaims, a hand flying to his chest as if wounded. “I can’t believe you’d accuse me of that. I’m only looking out for our people.”

“Raarrr!” Ladon roars, grabbing the man nearest to him and lifting him bodily into the air.

Guns rattle as the men wielding them bring them to their shoulders, all of them aiming at Ladon.

“Ladon!” I yell.

Calista jumps to his side, a hand on his face. He turns to look at her, the man still over his head, but I see the rage flowing out of him at her touch.

“Ladon, please,” Calista says.

Illadon on her hip gurgles at his father. Ladon sets the man roughly down on the ground and steps back.

“That’s better,” Gershom says. “No one wants anything untoward. It’s an election, a democracy. All we’re saying is let the people have a say in the direction of their future.”

Possibilities whirl through my thoughts, none of them ending well. The only option that has any viability is to play along. Gershom’s supporters openly sporting arms from the pirates tilts the odds in their favor. The strength of the Zmaj had always weighed in my favor since his supporters outnumber my own. That advantage is gone and he knows it.

“When is the election?” I ask, conceding to him.

“Oh, did I forget to mention that? It’s tomorrow,” he grins, then turns and walks away, his men falling in behind him in a sloppy formation.

Bile rises in my throat.

* * *

Staring at myself in the mirror, I resign myself to the day. Gershom has planned it perfectly. I should have seen it coming, but hindsight is for the weak.

My hand trembles so I cover it with my other hand to stop it. Staring at my two hands, one covering the other, memories come unbidden. The first time my hand trembled I had dismissed it. Only when it happened so many times more that I could no longer dismiss it did I go to a doctor. I think even then I didn’t want to know what they would say.

After they told me, I threw myself into work even more than before. That was on the ship, before the crash and all of this.

Someone knocks on my door and I jerk around knocking one of my only small glasses off the counter to shatter on the floor.

“Damn it,” I curse, bending to pick up the broken shards.

“Rosalind?” Sarah asks, entering at the sound of the breaking glass.

“It’s fine,” I say, not looking up.

She kneels down without a word and helps with the cleanup. One of the things I appreciate most about Sarah is that she knows when to keep her mouth shut. Sometimes silence is truly golden.

Picking up the last shard and adding it to the small pile in my other hand, I rise, then go to the small basket I use for waste. The shards catch sunlight and sparkle as they fall. Beautiful, tinkling shards dropping into oblivion. Suppressing a snort at the allegory of it, I face Sarah.

“Good morning,” I say, straightening and squaring my shoulders.

“Morning, you okay?” she asks.

“Fine, yes,” I say. “Anything new to report?”

She grimaces. “The voting is underway.”

“Good,” I say and give her a reassuring smile.

“You know… it’s not looking good, right?”

“It’s often darkest before the dawn Sarah,” I say.

“And before a storm, a really big shit storm,” she says, despondently.

“Sarah, no matter what happens, it will work out,” I say, gripping both her shoulders.

“You’re going to lose, Rosalind,” she says, a tear making its way down her cheek.

I wipe the tear away then pull her into an embrace. She stiffens at my unusual display of affection then relaxes into my embrace.

“I know,” I say.

“Then how can you let this go through?” she asks, pulling back.

“Because it is what they need,” I say. “He’s right. We are a democracy. Let them see for themselves what will be. They will choose and I will follow their wishes. My part in this play is easy. Yours will be the hardest.”

“Mine?” she asks, eyes widening.

“Yes,” I say. “He’ll have to get rid of me if he wins.”

“When,” she inserts but I ignore her.

“Gershom is a snake, and he won’t be able to stand the threat of my presence. Also, for him to appease his followers he will have to get rid of the Zmaj. He won’t be bold enough for violence; his grip on the city isn’t strong enough for that. This means he’ll exile all of us.”

“Oh Rosalind, he can’t! I’ll go with you,” she says, tears flowing faster.

“No, you won’t,” I say, my voice firm.

“But—”

“No. No buts. You will stay here, in the City.”

She shakes her head, tears streaming, swallowing hard then she pulls herself together. I see it in her eyes as she calls on the inner reserve of strength she has. She wipes her tears, shudders, then meets my eyes and nods.

“Of course,” she says. “You’ll need me.”

“They will need you,” I say. “But yes, I will too.”

Squaring her shoulders, she accepts her role in what is to come.

“Now we have work to do. Go to Calista, Jolie, and Amara. Tell them I want them to pack for a journey. Have them get Shidan to take supplies outside the City. We might not have much time when things happen. We need to be prepared.”

Sarah takes mental notes of all my orders, then rushes out of my apartment to set my plans in motion. I walk over to the windows and stare out across the city. I didn’t have the time I wanted, but maybe I can make things work out anyway. I hope. It has to. If this doesn’t work then the future of two races is over.

* * *

“The votes have been counted,” Bill says, standing on the edge of the central fountain.

Bill is an honest, good man. I trust him to count the votes correctly. Election fraud of that nature isn’t going to be the problem. The problem is not nearly as clear-cut as that.

Bill doesn’t have to announce the results. The crowd around the fountain includes every citizen of the City. The divide among us is clear in where they stand. On one side is Gershom, his supporters and those who just want things to change. Gershom has enticed them to his team by buying them. He controls the water, has stolen supplies, anything he can do to make sure they think he’s the man with a plan. Then there are those who support me. The numbers are not in my favor.

“Gershom wins by a landslide,” Bill says, the crowd exploding into cheers and catcalls.

Gershom steps out of his supporters, armed men coming along behind him. The armed men line up, facing my group. Gershom makes his way to the fountain and I follow behind him. He climbs up next to Bill on the edge of the fountain, looking out at the crowds with his shit-eating grin.

“Thank you, citizens,” he says. “I am honored and humbled by the trust you place in me.”

Cheers and chants of his name. He basks in it, drinking in his moment. I stand watching, keeping my shoulders square, and my eyes locked on him.

“Congratulations, Gershom,” I say, holding my hand out to him.

“Thank you, Lady General Rosalind,” he says. Taking my hand, he shakes then lets go. “Now, for my first order of business I want to make good on my campaign promise!”

The crowd cheers even louder. My shoulders knot tight and my stomach clenches. This is it.

“This city belongs to Humans. We have to put our survival and the survival of our race first. So, all Zmaj are hereby banished. You have an hour to clear out of our city.”

Ladon hisses and leaps. I drop, extending my left leg out to the side and touching the ground with the palm of my right hand to balance myself. Ladon passes over my head gliding towards Gershom.

Shots fire, buzzing through the air, the electrodes crackling to life.

“NO!” Calista’s scream echoes as the crowd comes to life on both sides.

The electric bolts hit Ladon in mid-air, flipping him over. He lands hard on his back. Sverre and Shidan hiss, rushing forward to the fallen Zmaj. The humans who consider themselves on my side, woefully outnumbered, rush forward. The armed Gershom supporters bring their weapons to shoulder. Shots are fired before I can react, taking down several people.

Ladon leaps to his feet, ripping the tags out of his chest, spreading his arms wide and roaring in rage. The other two Zmaj at his side, all of them with wings spread, tails upright, arms wide ready to inflict damage.

Possibilities race through my mind. If I let this play out we have small odds of a ‘win’ but it will cost us dearly. Lives will be lost on both sides. Lives we can’t afford to lose. The future depends on all of us. Our numbers are almost too few to be viable now. I can’t let this happen. Decision made, I jump up from my crouch and land on the edge of the fountain next to Bill.

“STOP!” I yell, years of practice allowing me to pitch my voice to cut through the chaos.

The crowd doesn’t have the discipline of a military, though. They clash, fighting hand to hand, too close for the weapons to come to bear. My stomach churns as cold chills race through my limbs. Screams, cries of pain and anger mix as battle erupts. Bloody faces distorting in rage, the crowd degenerating into a mob—I have to stop this somehow.

Scanning the crowd, I try to find a solution. The three Zmaj are at the front of the joined battle. Lifting humans bodily overhead and throwing them, they clear an area around the three of them by knocking the crowd back with their own members. A sound strategy for a physical fight but it doesn’t allow for the guns that are in play. Three shooters hit Ladon who’s at the front. His body is wracked violently by the shock tags hitting him. Shidan makes the mistake of trying to help, grabbing Ladon’s arm. It sends the voltage through him too. The two of them are stuck together writhing under the electricity coursing through.

“SVERRE!” I yell, pulling his attention to me.

Rage dances across his face but his eyes focus on me. He’s in control, I think. I hope. Motioning with both hands, I urge him to join me on the fountain while looking for my other target. There, surrounded by a circle of armored guards each carrying a shield and staff, I spot Gershom. He’s grinning. Rage roars through me, I want to break him, wipe that sadistic grin off his face. He not only did this, he expected this result. The guards surrounding him prove it, I suspected this but to see it in fact… nausea grips me in a hard wave.

“GERSHOM!” I pull his attention away from the chaos he’s so clearly enjoying.

He schools his face, fixing a look of shock and regret. Ignoring the lie I motion him to come to me. He says something I can’t hear to the guard in front of him and as one, well trained, they move to the fountain, cutting their way through the crowd with indiscriminate use of shields and staff. They don’t care who they strike down as they cut through.

“Rosalind, we have to stop this!” Gershom says, his voice dripping with false concern.

Gritting my teeth to control my tongue I nod. Sverre makes the fountain, blood dripping from the side of his mouth, his left eye swelling shut.

“Climb up, both of you, I need both of you,” I order and they comply.

Gershom’s guards form a wall in front of the three of us holding the surging crowd at bay.

“The three of us, yell stop, count of three,” I command, yelling to be heard. “Watch my fingers.”

The two men nod. I hold up a hand with three fingers and count down.

“STOP!” we scream in unison.

It’s just enough. Our three voices cut through the noise and pull people out of the reactive mob mentality. A few more punches are thrown as the insanity winds itself down.

“Citizens please there is no-” Gershom stops.

“Enough,” I cut him off, slashing my hand through the air. “A vote has been held, the people have spoken.”

Sarah’s eyes stare at me out of the crowd. My throat goes dry, tears well in her eyes, swallowing hard I finish my thought.

“The Zmaj and I will be leaving the City. Those who do not wish to follow Gershom are welcome to join me.”

Gershom inhales sharply. Good, I still have a few surprises up my sleeve, you stinking snake.

“Lady General,” he says, but turning to him I glare and he stops.

“The survival of both our races is important. We cannot devolve into civil war. That is a sure path to both our destructions. I will leave, for now, taking those who wish to go. Those who wish to come along have six hours, then meet me at the airlock.”

Cries of “no!” mix with the cheers of those who think they’ve won. Gershom struggles to keep the grin off his face. He extends his hand and I stare at it.

“This is very noble of you, Lady General Rosalind,” he says, the hand hanging in the air between us.

“If doing the right thing is noble, then so be it,” I say. “This isn’t over. And I won’t let it be solved with chaos and violence.”

“Admirable,” he says.

I turn my back on him and his extended hand.

“Rosalind,” Sverre says. “What have you done?”

“The only thing we can, Sverre. You and Shidan get Ladon and get him out of here before he comes to. I want him out of the city before he wakes. He’ll need time to understand, and we need him far enough away so his rage won’t cause more problems.”

Sverre grimaces, then nods.

It’s done. Now to play out the game and hope I’m right.