He knows me too well to dodge.
“Yeah, don’t worry. I’m fine. My little family’s fine too.”
“Then spill it.”
He runs a hand through his dark hair and finally admits, “Neela… I think the Palace has violated the Pact again.”
I relax slightly. Oh, that again. It's not exactly a shock. The Palace has been pushing boundaries for months now.
“No really,” he presses, “Esteban and I found several weapons in a private room a few weeks back. And now we know they’ve been used.”
“What?! Don’t be ridiculous. Printing weapons is bad enough. You’re telling me they used them?”
“Neela… they’re killing animals. To eat them.”
Silence crashes between us. If he’s right, this is huge. It means Vassili—and maybe his inner circle—have broken the very first law of the Pact. Taking a life needlessly is the one rule we never break.
What does that mean for us, for our entire community? Nothing good. We’ve suspected for a while that Vassili Porkoff, self-proclaimed “Regent,” has been crossing lines. This just proves it. And if they’re willing to kill animals, how long before they start targeting people?
“You’re sure?” I ask, though I already know.
“Absolutely. I didn’t want to burden you, not while you’re dealing with the stranger. But I found a ram’s head next to the Palace incinerator.”
I’m stunned. We have rabbits and rodents around sometimes, but they know they’re safe near us. Rams, though? They livehigher up the mountain. That means the Palace sent an armed expedition—specifically to hunt.
And let’s be honest—we know our ancestors used to eat meat and animal products. It was part of being human: eat to survive, kill or be killed.
But it stopped being about survival and turned into something darker. Killing for pleasure. For control. Without restraint.
Humanity wiped out nearly all life on Earth—including itself. Without the Confederation, there wouldn’t have been a second chance.
So yes, life on Mars is tough. Much harder than it was on Earth. But we’re alive. And even though we’ve lost some freedoms, they help keep balance here. And now, Vassili’s spitting on the Pact, starting with its first rule. What’s next?
“I need to go to the Palace,” I finally say.
“Do what?” Kiran asks, alarmed.
“Investigate. I have an idea.”
“I hate how you said that.”
“Is Esteban on maintenance duty next week?”
“Yeah. Why?”
I go to my medical herb stash. What I’m about to do isn’t ethical… but this is serious.
“Here—two vials,” I tell him. “Give them to Esteban. He’ll pour them into the midday soup. It kicks in after a few hours.”
“What’s in them?” he asks warily.
“The first is a natural laxative. It’ll have everyone glued to the toilet all afternoon.”
“And the second?”
“A mild sedative. They’ll be drowsy, less alert. Esteban needs to call me in as soon as symptoms show.”
“Perfect! We’ll make it look like an outbreak. I’ll ask Francine and Armand to fake it too, really sell the story.”
