Town Nine, Idima

Henri was a war reporter, now. Reporting was both his vocation and his calling. He hadn’t planned on being a war correspondent, but he was in the right place at the right time…or perhaps the wrong place and time. He was still divided on that.

He had been on the planet covering the people affected by the arguments between the beetle-like Rinikians and the furry, six-limbed Atalans. The argument had played out in the Galactic Unity for months. Both claimed ownership of a star system that wasn’t worth the effort to colonize.

There was no love lost between either of the species and the majority of the GU. They were both forbidden from certain technologies and sanctioned by at least half the member species for sapient rights violations.

Still, being driven by the need to know and show the reality of a strange situation, Henri had landed on the only habitable planet in the system. What he found was a string of small towns surrounded by farms tied together by a well-trodden path.

The mixed communities of Rinikians and Atalans who had managed to escape their respective repressive regimes, lacked any convenience. Despite the harsh conditions, linguistic barriers, and a lifetime of conditioning that “other” was the same as evil, the two species worked well together.

What had started as a last-ditch effort at escape for dissidents and enemies of the state, had evolved into an agrarian society with shared values, an elected board of leaders, and a few common-sense laws. Another thing Henri found there was a completely new language; a patois of Galactic Common and bits from Rinikian and Atalan languages. Personal translators were nowhere to be found.

He had spent nearly seventy local days reporting on the community and culture of this expat haven. He was careful not to show any faces or identifying features of those he interviewed for the safety of their families that might still be in danger. It was while he was still gaining the trust of some of the more cautious members of the community that the shooting started.

“This is Henri Duono, reporting from the planet known by the inhabitants as Idima, the local language word for ‘sanctuary.’ The ongoing fight between Riniki and Atal playing out in the GU is not about resources or strategic location; it is strictly an attempt to silence an already marginalized community of dissidents from both systems.”

He turned so that the burning field behind him took up the full of the frame background. “This field behind me, torched by Rinikian troops was the last hope the people of Idima had for food in the coming winter.”

Henri walked the path to the nearest town, the camera drone following. “As you can see, little is left of this town beyond rubble. The same is playing out along all fourteen towns that made up the entire population of the planet.

“Both Riniki and Atal governments claimed to be fighting a ground war on the planet referred to as G-7344-1-B, in order to establish a presence. Yet, of the entire planet with no other population, they chose to carry out their war here.

“To assume that either side is trying to do anything other than kill escaped dissidents is to be blind to the reality. Since the first shot was fired seventeen local days ago, Riniki and Atal troops have never fired on each other, despite their claims.”

He walked to a bombed-out structure made of mud bricks and led the drone camera into the part that was remaining. “Riniki troops claimed Atal troops were hiding in this building, yet the Atal have not entered Town Nine once in the past seventeen days.”

He picked up a piece of paper with a crude drawing of a Rinikian and an Atalan side-by-side under a purple moon with writing in the Idima script below it. “This schoolhouse, a direct target of Rinikian troops was being used as a shelter at the time of the attack. This child’s drawing is exactly the sort of thing that both governments are trying to erase.”

An inbound rocket caught his attention, and he ducked behind the rubble as an already flattened building was hit again. “These sporadic attacks have been going on for hours now. Idiman casualties have been estimated by the surviving members of the leaders board to be between ten and twelve thousand. Nearly a full third of the entire population.”

He set the camera to do a slow sweep around the building. Rinikian and Atalan bodies littered the rubble; all in civilian clothes, many obviously children.

After walking back to the edge of the field, he composed himself and looked into the camera again. “For now, the remaining population remains safely hidden away in a location unknown to either the Rinikians or the Atalans. I have only intermittent communications with them, but they tell me that they are doing everything they can to keep their spirits up.

“They are lacking medical supplies and food, and the current actions of the Rinikian and Atalan troops seem to be aimed at starving them out. It is not an exaggeration to call the actions of both governments genocidal.”

He moved into a closeup position. “The population of Idima is a unique culture, bound by shared hardships, and a shared history. The destruction of these people is a heinous crime, and it is high time the Galactic Unity recognize and act on this.” His eyes filled with tears as he struggled to choke down the sobs that threatened.

“This is Henri Duono, reporting live from Idima, just outside Town Nine.”

He hit the button on his subspace transmit pack to end the transmission and dropped to his knees and wept. The danger didn’t bother him, but the cruel destruction cut him to his core.

I don’t know if I can keep doing this, he thought. The images of the small bodies in the schoolhouse returned to him, especially the Atalan child that had died clinging on to a Rinikian adult. I have to keep doing this, for them.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat watching the field burn, but as the fire reached the native plants around the edges of the field it sputtered out. The sun had set and the bluish moon, smaller than Earth’s but still large for a planet this size, shone from overhead.

A movement in the plants outside the field caught his attention. A Rinikian child looked in all directions before running toward him. His instincts had him start transmitting.

“Elder Henri,” he said in Idiman patois, “my friend hurt. You no get shot at, you help?”

He responded in the same patois. “I help. Where friend?”

The small, beetle-like creature bent his foreparts up like a centaur and held a manipulator up to hold his hand. “I show.”

He let the child lead him out to the high bushes that made up most of the foliage in the area. Hidden there among the bushes was an Atalan child with an injured rear leg.

“I need to make a splint,” he said, before realizing he wasn’t speaking patois. “I make thing to hold still.”

He scanned the ground around him but found nothing stiff enough. He removed his armor vest and removed the front flaps where they connected and overlapped the stiffer back. The odd shape of the front panels wouldn’t work, so he stepped on the back and lifted the edges to bend it into a U-shape.

The curved armor panel, combined with his jacket liner for padding and the outer cloth of the armor vest for straps made a sturdy splint. It was a little longer than the child’s leg, but it kept it immobile.

“How you get here?” Henri asked, carefully picking up the injured child and cradling it against his chest.

“We in school when…booksh!” The Rinikian child made the sound of a bomb.

Henri couldn’t think of a word in the Idiman patois for bomb or missile and thought there might not be one…yet. The Atalan child clung on to him in silence.

“What names you?” he asked.

“I Rirari,” the Rinikian child said. “She Silah.”

“Your elders?” Henri asked.

Rirari pulled his legs into his carapace. “In school. They die.”

Silah pulled tighter to Henri and let out a low keening he knew to be their form of weeping. He rocked her and whispered in her ear, focusing on his tone of voice to carry the message rather than trying to translate everything to patois. “I’m here for you, and I won’t let go until we find you someplace safe.”

The camera drone chimed. Something was heading their direction. Henri stood to see what was coming. A Rinikian troop carrier was trundling across the field. He didn’t expect them to fire on him, since neither they nor the Atalans wanted to risk a war with Earth.

They called out over a loudspeaker in Galactic Common. “Release the Rinikian child to us and we’ll let you go.”

Rirari ducked half behind Henri’s legs. “What they say, elder?”

“They want you to go with them.”

“No! No no no no no!”

As the word was the same in Galactic Common, the soldiers knew the child’s opinion on it. “We will bring you back to your real home,” they said, “with the best food, the best schools, and help you become someone important.”

Using Henri as a translator, Rirari answered with, “No! You killed my parents and hurt my friend. Go away! I’ll stay with Mister Henri.”

One of the troops raised a rifle and aimed at Henri. He turned his back to the soldier, trying to shield Silah. The camera drone flew in for a closer look at the soldier before backing up to put the scene into context.

At least one of the soldiers had enough sense to put a stop to it. Henri’s translator picked up part of the conversation as the camera recorded and transmitted it.

“Don’t shoot the Terran, idiot! And don’t do anything while the camera is watching. Those kids are already dead anyway. The Atalans are making a sweep, and we’re swapping east with them, so we need to clear out.”

By the end of the week, with Henri reporting nearly around the clock, and the children always on camera with him, a relief ship touched down in the burnt field outside Town Nine.

The medics properly set Silah’s leg and treated the malnourishment of both children and Henri. As the ship flew both the flag of the GU and the Terran allied planets, both armies kept their distance.

Aid workers, supported by GU peacekeeping forces, set up a safe area for refugees there in Town Nine, and still Henri continued to document the unfolding story. The aid ship brought more drone cameras, on which he caught Atalan and Rinikian troops passing each other, while shooting toward the towns they were “trading.”

When the truth about the planning of the sham war came out, both the Rinikian and Atalan governments were stripped of all their privileges in the GU and the leaders of both were wanted for crimes against sapients. The troops on Idima were returned to their home worlds except for a few who managed to run away and ask for asylum with the aid workers.

Henri had never considered himself the parenting sort, but after a year with Silah and Rirari, it just felt normal. While the GU managed to get the warring factions off the planet, it considered the system too sparsely populated to be considered for inclusion in the GU. That didn’t mean that they pulled the continuing aid and security forces, though.

“This is Henri Duono, reporting from Town Nine on Idima, where rebuilding is continuing at an increased pace.

“The Idiman board of leaders is currently considering an offer from the Terran Alliance to become a member system. If they choose to, Parliament has guaranteed that they would have a voting seat in both the Terran Parliament and the GU, giving up one of the four GU seats currently held by humans.

“Until that decision is reached, however, the Idiman people are still reliant on aid from the GU.

“You see behind me the rebuilt schoolhouse, once a scene of major tragedy, now a symbol of hope. The wing there to the side — with the currently long queue — is the new Office for Adoptions and Child Welfare where last week I got these.” He held up two adoption certificates in Idiman and Galactic Common.

“You can see there’s quite a line of volunteers for foster care or adoption, but nowhere near enough. Nearly a thousand orphaned children are still in need of a home. The newly passed adoption laws allow non-Idimans to adopt here, with the stipulation that the child is raised on Idima until the age of majority.

“Many of those volunteers, from several systems, have come to teach the sciences, technology, galactic history, and languages and have made fostering children part of their mission. Meanwhile, Idiman patois has been recognized by the GU as an official language and added to most translators.”

Rinikian, Atalan, and a few human children began pouring out of the schoolhouse. Rirari and Silah ran for Henri and grabbed his waist. “Hi daddy!” they called out.

Henri put a hand on each of their heads and smiled. “This is Henri Duono, Town Nine, Idima.”