Of Common Clause

chapter 3: enemy

posted first on Oct 11, 2024

The darkness recedes slowly, sharp pains throbbing in my head. Colors begin to flicker, blurring against the blackness. I feel nauseous. Incredibly nauseous. Oh shit, is this life? Am I alive?

I want to groan but can’t. I still can’t see where I am, so I remain cautious. Slowly, I open my eyes wider, and shades of gray and white begin to seep in. I’m staring at an unremarkable ceiling. White light. A mostly empty room. I’m lying on my back in a bed that feels far too comfortable. Too perfect. It’s that sterile kind of coziness you only find in hospitals. God, how I hate that. The smell of disinfectant hits my nose.

Suddenly, I notice a man standing beside me, dressed in white, looking down at me. He speaks.

“There, there. Easy, man. You’re safe for now.”

“Where am I?”

“You’re at the Manides. It’s okay. You’ll recover.”

“Manides? Who are the Manides?”

“The people of this planet. A soldier brought you to the infirmary.”

“What soldier?”

“The one you attacked.”

What!? The terror swells in my mind, and the scream I want to release gets stuck in my throat. My eyes widen as I stare at the man. He’s not a Meses. He’s human like me. I can tell by the way he leans over. He looks concerned. Somehow, he understands what I’m thinking.

“Don’t worry! The Manides won’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe.”

“Am I a prisoner? Am I captured?”

“Yes, sort of. You’re on the planet of the Manides. Your ship was destroyed. Your attack failed. You’re in the infirmary, and the Manides will make sure you recover.”

“The Meses are the Manides?”

“Ah, yes. Manides, Meses, same thing.”

I stare at him, confused. He’s obviously working for the Meses—or the Manides, or whatever they call themselves. He’s working for the enemy.

With that realization, I slip back into an exhausted sleep. When I wake again, the man is gone. Instead, some Meses are moving around the room, adjusting a stack of monitoring machines that must’ve been tracking my condition. They’re no longer needed, I guess. As they work, I notice I’m strapped to the bed. Probably standard procedure for injured enemies.

Then, without warning, one of the Meses grabs hold of my bed and starts pushing it out of the room.

“Wait! Where are you taking me?” I shout, but they only respond with chatter in a language I don’t understand. Of course, they don’t speak English, I think, letting my head sink back onto the pillow. Wherever they’re taking me, I’m at their mercy.

They wheel me into a smaller room that looks like a prison cell. Clearly meant for just one person. For me. They position the bed against the wall and leave. Alone and still strapped down, I eventually drift off into another uneasy sleep.

Nightmares plague me—my colleague’s head being torn off, replaying over and over in grotesque variations. When I wake again, a Meses enters the room, setting a tray of food and water on a small table. He begins unfastening my restraints. As I rub my wrists and stretch my stiff limbs, I notice he’s entirely unbothered by my movements. He seems relaxed. It’s no surprise—Meses are far stronger than humans. Their legs and paws move with a kind of powerful elegance. If we weren’t enemies, I’d almost admire them. But now, I’m just terrified. These creatures could rip a human head off without any effort.

Hours pass before the man in the white coat returns, this time with a Meses by his side—probably his bodyguard. It’s a good thing, too. Without that bodyguard, I’d have slapped the traitor across the face.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“How do you think I feel?” I shoot back, unable to hide my anger.

“I understand this is disorienting, but I need to assure you that you’re in a manageable situation.”

“Oh, really?” I retort, still bitter.

He remains calm. “In a few days, you’ll have a hearing. You’ll get a chance to explain how you ended up here and what you want. You have the right to request asylum. If you don’t, they’ll offer you a painless termination. Unfortunately, we can’t send you home.”

It takes me a few moments to process what he’s saying. Is this traitor seriously offering me death or asylum like it’s the most normal thing in the world? I can’t stand him.

“Tell them I don’t care.”

“It doesn’t matter. The hearing will happen, and you’ll get a lawyer.”

He pauses, then adds, “Do you want the lawyer to be human or Manide?”

“Manide,” I answer without hesitation. I trust humans even less than the enemy at this point.

“Alright, Manide it is.” He shows no emotion, then turns and leaves, the towering bodyguard following behind him.

Days go by. The cell is boring, but the food’s decent. The aliens aren’t as bad as I’d expect. That’s what makes it worse—nothing is more dangerous than an enemy who’s nice to you. It’s all a trick. You can’t trust it.

Then, finally, the day of my hearing arrives. They provide me with clothes that fit surprisingly well, both in size and style. Another spineless human briefs me on the proceedings, then escorts me through a series of long corridors until we reach a courtroom. The hall is grand, filled with both Meses and humans. It’s not much different from a court on Earth, except for the seating—higher and differently shaped to accommodate Meses. Even the wooden furniture glows faintly orange when the light hits it.

The Meses and humans stand as I enter, watching me silently. Their expressions are unreadable, though some appear curious. Strangely, the Meses faces remind me of people from Earth—like they’re strange reflections of old acquaintances. But they’re not, of course. There’s a certain nobility to the way they stand, a grace that makes me think of ancient tales of devils, charming their victims. The humans here are noticeably shorter, and from what I can tell, well-integrated into this society. Traitors are rewarded, apparently. It disgusts me.

The hearing begins, and the judge speaks in that strange, guttural Meses language. I sit beside my lawyer—another Meses, as I requested. He glances at me with suspicion, which I return. His papers, written in right-to-left Meses script, capture my attention despite my situation. The judge continues speaking until, suddenly, my lawyer responds in Meses.

“Hey, what are you saying for me?” I snarl.

The room falls silent, and all eyes turn to me. My lawyer responds in perfect English, his voice low and calm.

“I informed the judge that I’ve received the necessary documents about you.”

I stare at him, taken aback. “Oh... okay,” I mutter, feeling foolish.