“I just need you to know that I’m not about that ‘turn the other cheek’ life. Only when an oppressor knows they run the risk of response equal to their efforts do they learn to respect our lives.”

“It would be a poor time to be without diplomatic representation.” Camara Xola’s calm, low tones lowers the temperature of the conversation.

“I don’t suggest we do. Only caution with such an action. A last-minute replacement makes me … wary,” I say. “They need to be reminded the world, the stars, the universe are not theirs by birthright and never was. All that they have taken will be taken back by those they oppressed and hoped to extinguish.”

“An errant breeze makes you wary,” Bayard murmurs.

“As it should.” Camara Xola nods in agreement. Around the table, the Ijo echo his affirmation. “Still, refusing a diplomatic envoy is tantamount to a declaration of war.”

“We aren’t refusing their envoy.” I hold up my hand to fend off his next volley. “We’re refusing their timetable. All I ask is a delay. To run a more thorough background check. No one dictates to us when and how we do anything. Never again.”

“And if they interpret it as us saber-rattling?” Camara Xola arches a questioning eye brow.

“They should have thought about that before allowing the radical plank of their government to run roughshod as their voice. Riling up the very agitators they now seek to protect us from.” My critics, and I proudly have many, will politely say that my love of Muungano runs to the near xenophobic. The sentiment resonates in my heart. That’s how they read my confident sense of commitment and belonging; knowing who I am, where I come from, and most important, who I am going to be. They call me paranoid. I am hypervigilant when it comes to possible threats against my people. For that, I won’t apologize. “Under LISC’s ‘inclusion umbrella,’ ARM’s course has emboldened them. Their ‘Earth First’ rhetoric beats the war drums without fear of repercussions. Protests begin to erupt on Mars. There is heightened tension throughout the system. I do not trust their renewed interest in us.”

“They never lost interest,” Xola corrects.

The Ijo murmur, a current of support for my words.

“Maulana, update us on the condition of Jaha as soon as possible. Now, since we’ve broached the topic of the ‘heightened tension—’” Xola pauses. There’s a weight, an intentionality, to his studious gaze, an impressive maneuver given his poor eyesight. “I ask for an update from Titan.”