The plain was hot and airless. The ruined shell of the council building stood in mute testimony of Lilliasa's treachery and the Patrol's visit. The space port was littered with the wreckage of ships. One stood just outside the field, a tall gleaming shape of silver that reflected both heat and light.
Lilliasa waited under a makeshift awning at the top of the hill. The house she'd stayed in for High Festival was gone, only a trace of ash marking its foundation. She turned back to the people waiting patiently for her decision.
"You will send help for my people? But you do not want our worlds. You do not make us slaves." She studied the short man in front of her suspiciously.
Roland smiled benignly. His round face was streaked with sweat. He bowed to Lilliasa. "Just as we agreed. You join our Federation. You pledge a certain percentage of your ships and people. In return we help protect you. We send aid to help you rebuild. And no more slaves. For you or anyone else." He cocked his head to one side. "Your economy functions well enough without them. They cost more than they were worth."
"I know that," Lilliasa said, pouting. She looked very young in that moment. She sighed and straightened her tunic. "Then on behalf of the Electoriate, and the people of Trythia, I will sign your papers."
"Welcome to the Federation," Roland said and grinned. "My advisors will settle here, for now. We hope to establish a permanent presence on your world within a year or two. And you are welcome to visit our other worlds."
"You will forgive us for holding your people as slaves? For hunting them down?" She still sounded unsure. Such an insult would result in generations of hate for the Trythians.
"You didn't know better," Roland said. "You do now. Don't make that mistake again. Don't ever assume we're weak." There was a threat in those bland words, a threat that Lilliasa believed all too well.
She bent over the table and signed her name to the papers with a flourish.