I planted my broom on the stone tiles, formed a tunnel between the closest section and House Meer’s quarters, and opened their doors.
“Greetings, my fellow beings!”
Gaston cut a striking figure in the middle of the stage. He’d changed into a stunning white and gray outfit, embroidered with silver-blue thread that complemented his silver eyes. It fit him like a glove while still projecting the air of what he called “gentlemanly menace.” He had looked like a space pirate before. Now he looked like a space pirate prince who had done very well for himself.
His voice matched his new for-TV persona, resonant and smooth, as it blasted from the hidden speakers. It took him exactly four words to get everyone’s attention. Sean, a few yards away at the edge of the stage, might as well have been invisible, despite his robe, his spear, and his tendency to loom.
“Welcome to the First Trial!” Gaston announced.
The 12 delegations cheered, stomped, and made species-appropriate noises. Even Kosandion in the chair to my right clapped politely. Gaston clearly missed his true calling.
“I know all of you have been waiting to find out how our contestants will showcase their talents today. Are you ready?”
The delegations roared to indicate they were most definitely ready.
“He’s turning it into a spectacle,” Resven murmured.
“It is meant to be one,” Kosandion told him. “People love a good show.”
“Today’s challenge is…DEBATE!”
The alien equivalent of “wooo!” was rather loud.
Gaston waved them on, inviting more noise, then made a sweeping gesture that somehow brought instant silence.
“Our spousal candidates will face off in randomly selected pairs. Both candidates will be asked the same question. One will respond first, and the other will reply. The winner will be determined by a combination of popular vote, the Sovereign’s opinion, and the feedback from our esteemed debate moderator.”
He gave them a moment to digest and went on.
“Our debate moderator is truly a scholar of great renown. He has devoted himself to contemplating the mysteries of the universe. Beings from every corner of the galaxy travel thousands of light years to seek his advice.”
The floor behind Gaston split, and an SUV-sized stone egg positioned on its side with the narrow end toward the center of the arena rose from under the floor on a metal stalk.
He didn’t.
The metal stalk carried the egg up and stopped about fifteen feet above the stage.
Yes, yes, he did.
“Recipient of the Starlight Quill, Sage of the Great Tree, Vanquisher of the Sphinx, the First Scholar Thek!” Gaston roared.
The stone egg split in half lengthwise. The top half retracted, revealing the First Scholar in all his glory, holding his teaching stick, his hat firmly on his noggin with the glittering white feather attached to it. His two assistants dutifully stood behind him, looking down and playing the part of modest disciples.
“An egg?” I hissed into the mike.
“It’s funny.”
Ugh.
“He thought it was appropriate.”
The arena greeted the First Scholar with resounding applause. He nodded to them, waving his hand-claw benevolently.
The original moderator had encountered unexpected travel delays because his second wife kidnapped him, and now his other four wives were having their own debate on the merits of rescuing him. We needed a substitute in a hurry, and the First Scholar Thek was the talk of the galaxy after the Sphinx escapade. Orata practically drooled when Sean suggested him.
They didn’t have to twist Thek’s wings. He demurred at first, but I had a conversation with Orata prior to her visiting him, and once she told him that it was a chance to illuminate millions of minds with the wisdom of his scholarship, he was all in.
“I keep waiting for his hat to slide off,” Sean murmured.
He was right, the headdress should’ve slipped off his feathers by now. “Whatever his disciples did, it seems to be working.”
“Maybe they glued it.”
“I hope not.”
The First Scholar preened at the show of support and waved his teaching stick. His voice rolled out of the speakers.
“Let us begin.”
A line of delicate glass flowers sprouted from the stage floor below the egg. They looked like three-foot-tall dandelions, each topped with a white sphere the size of a basketball swirling with white and gold. One orb per candidate. When a candidate’s name was called, their orb would descend under the floor so they couldn’t accidentally choose themselves for the debate.
I bounced the white light between sections, highlighting their retaining walls, and stopped on Team Frowns. A small section of the front wall slid aside, and a ramp unfurled from the gap leading down to the bottom of the arena.
Ellenda rose. She wore a black robe with an elaborately pleated, deep hood. It was an odd choice. I’d noticed it when their delegation took their seats. The fabric of her garment was plain, almost coarse. It looked out of place compared to everyone else’s formal wear.
The Uma woman descended the stairs, approached the orbs, and lowered her hood. Kosandion became very still. Her face and neck were splattered with gold paint.
I had encountered only three Umas counting Ellenda, and one of them had stayed at my parents’ inn. He also wore the gold paint. I was six years old back then, and I told him he looked very pretty. My father apologized and later explained things to me. The Uma wore that gold paint when they were in mourning. Someone either died or was about to.
It was a safe bet that nobody in the arena recognized the gold for what it was. The Uma guarded their culture very closely. But Kosandion would know. They were his mother’s people. Why was she here if she was in mourning?
“Choose your opponent,” the First Scholar Thek prompted, indicating the orbs with a sweep of his wing. They looked identical.
Ellenda put her hand on the closest orb. Its transparent shell popped like a soap bubble, releasing a swarm of glowing golden insects into the air. They surged up, turned, streaked to the Murder Beaks’ section, and hovered around Pivor.
Pivor rose with a big smile, bowed to the left, bowed to the right, grinned again, displaying even, white teeth, and made his way down the stairway that formed from his section. He crossed the arena and stood opposite Ellenda. They faced each other with ten feet between them. Tiny blue sparks by their ears announced their mikes being activated.
“The question the two of you must contemplate today is…” The First Scholar paused dramatically. “What is more important, happiness or duty? You have one hundred moments to consider your answer.”
The arena fell silent. Seconds ticked by.
The First Scholar’s egg turned white. The time to prepare ran out.
“Daughter of Uma,” Thek said, “The floor is yours.”
“Duty,” Ellenda said.
The First Scholar turned to Pivor.
“Happiness,” the Murder Bird candidate said.
Silence.
The First Scholar waited for a couple more breaths and turned to Ellenda. “You must defend your answer.”
“Happiness is fleeting, subjective, and selfish. Submitting to and successfully carrying out your duty ensures the continued survival of society.”
“Duty is equally subjective,” Pivor answered. “If I see a child being chased by a predator, is it my duty to intervene?”