You think you own whatever land you land on

The Earth is just a dead thing you can claim

But I know every rock and tree and creature

Has a life, has a spirit, has a name

You think the only people who are people

Are the people who look and think like you

But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger

You'll learn things you never knew, you never knew

Pocahontas - “Colors of the Wind”

Governor-General Viện Szabolcsi waited as the shuttles started touching down on Barsoom Field, in the Chryse Planitia region of Mars. There’d been some rather heated debate regarding the Khonhim refugees, the biggest being where the hell they would put them. He’d barely put down the phone before the local leaders started tramping in, every one of them demanding he send the children somewhere else.

Anywhere else.

It was a political nightmare, and one he would have handed off to some lesser functionary...except the Prime Minister had dumped this mess in his lap. Pawning it off on the junior Undersecretary of Social Services might be the expedient course of action, but he knew Leandra Singh all too well. In her mind, it would be a clear sign he wasn’t up to the challenge, which would mean being handed a pink slip and shown the door.

Some days, it just didn’t pay to get out of bed.

About the only region on Earth that didn’t have some rather large craters where cities used to be, thanks to the Khonhim, was Antarctica...and given the lack of infrastructure, not to mention the optics of exiling the kids off to the one place on the planet worse than Siberia, the idea was quickly shelved.

Next was Luna...and since the entire population lived either below the surface in carved out tunnels, or under domes, they’d be packed in like sardines. Earth’s moon wasn’t up to the challenge of absorbing that many refugees, even with support from the homeworld. So...Strike Two.

Which brought him to Mars. The red planet hadn’t suffered during the previous war, so there wasn’t the simmering resentment found on Earth. With the centuries of terraforming, it was almost as lush as mankind’s original habitat, with the bonus of lower gravity. It took a good deal of old-fashioned horse-trading with the Martian Governor to work out the details, not the least of which being that she wouldn’t be within a thousand kilometers of Barsoom when the refugees arrived. That way, if public sentiment turned against them she could place the blame on Szabolcsi himself, and wash her hands of the entire affair.

Ah, politics.

Crews were still hard at work constructing the needed facilities but based on their latest estimates, they should be able to stay one step ahead. A few companies had found their wheels greased to accomplish that minor miracle, but hey, that’s what contingency funds were for.

There’d been even more debate on how to greet the refugees once they arrived. Were it up to him he would have kept it as low key as possible...so much so he would have read about it on page fourteen of next week’s Intelligence summary...but that would have looked like he was trying to distance himself from a charitable and diplomatic event.

That he was attempting to do exactly that didn’t help at all.

So they kept most of the press out of the loop, downplaying it as much as they could. There wouldn’t be any speeches, thank God...he could just imagine how that would look when the media got done with it...just a brief and simple welcome before he handed the whole mess off to the professionals. With any luck, he’d be home in time for dinner.

The vehicles were standing by to take the kids to the...actually; they were still debating the name. “Internment Camp” was shot down almost immediately, and while there were a few wags holding out for “Vacation Resort”, the smart money was “Temporary Settlement Facilities”. Vague, innocuous...and it had the lovely word “Temporary” in it. All designed to smooth ruffled feathers.

As the lead shuttle’s ramp dropped, Szabolcsi and his entourage moved forward to greet them. A lone Khonhim female stepped off the ramp, her eyes squinting in the faint Martian daylight, squaring her shoulders as she spotted the incoming humans. Viện plastered his most sincere fake politician’s smile on his face and held out his hand. “Greetings. I am Governor-General Szabolcsi, and on behalf of my people, allow me to welcome you to Mars.”

The Khonhim stared at his outstretched hand, before copying the gesture. Szabolcsi grasped it gently, not wanting to startle her, and gave it the long-approved three up and down jerks. She seemed confused by it all, but gave him what appeared to be a shrug, as if to say, “I am in a strange land, and must therefore put up with the odd customs of the natives,” before replying to his greeting...after deciding which hand to use.

“I am Doctor Ksishad Bzukozh, in charge of this group,” she said, as she looked around the spaceport. “Unless they are necessary, I would wish to request those not needed for the actual transfer to stand clear.”

Szabolcsi stared at her in confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” he said, his smile faltering.

She seemed to deflate. “The journey...it has not been an easy one,” she mumbled. “Many of the children are frightened, fearing the worst. I would most appreciate anything that will ease the tension.”

“Of course,” he nodded, now that he was on a familiar footing again. He turned to his assistant and made shooing gestures, as she and the others scurried away.

The Khonhim doctor sighed in relief. “I thank you,” she told him. “If you will give me a moment, I will bring them out.” She turned and retreated into the shuttle, leaving him standing there feeling ridiculous.

Several minutes went by, with Viện feeling like a bigger and bigger idiot, before the doctor reemerged from the shadows, bearing a toddler-sized Khonhim in her arms. She stepped out into the light, motioning for others to follow as she descended the ramp. The human Governor plastered the smile back on, wanting to look his best for the distant cameras when the young Khonhim refugees first set foot on Mars.

The smile died a gruesome death, as they appeared.

They clung together in small groups, the smaller ones clutching at the older children, who themselves could not have yet been in their teens. Their eyes darted in every direction, wary of even the slightest hint of danger, each of them focusing on him as if he were a cobra, ready to strike. He blinked in surprise, before making a placating gesture with his hands as he stepped back, giving the children space. Doctor Bzukozh urged them forward, yet each step was tentative as if they feared the ground would give way beneath their very feet.

More groups emerged, with the oldest clenching the knives at their waists, mere babes forced to act as protectors for those far too young to defend themselves. There was a defiant fierceness in those eyes, as they stood ready to battle to protect their charges, but it was a fragile bravado, destined to shatter like glass in the face of real opposition.

Those old enough to stand on their own carried infants strapped to their chests, making cooing sounds to quiet them as they cried and sobbed...and far too many of the youthful nannies were shedding tears of their own. The youngest able to walk without help tottered along beside them, their grubby hands gripping a free arm or leg, unwilling to risk even for an instant the loss of physical contact.

“...my God,” he whispered, before turning to the doctor. “Are they all like this?”

“Most, yes,” Ksishad confirmed, as they lead the procession towards the waiting vehicles. “Being taken from their families, thrust among strangers, knowing those left behind are…” Her words trailed off into silence, as she forced a professional mask onto her face. “As I said...it has not been an easy journey.”

Viện looked away, unsure of his own expression, looking back at the line of refugees following them. “Where are the teenagers?” he asked. “Are they still on board?”

“Teenagers?” the doctor said in confusion.

“Yes...the adolescents,” he explained. “The young adults.”

This time it was the doctor’s turn to look away. “Once mature, we consider a Khonhim to be an adult. Those you describe stayed behind, to fight the enemy.”

Governor Szabolcsi skidded to a halt. “Wait...you left them to die?” he said in disbelief.

The doctor’s calm demeanor transformed in a heartbeat. She snarled at him, her free hands clenching into fists. “Do you think we wished this?” she snapped. “Even if we had room for the adolescents, none would have allowed themselves to be shipped away like mewling infants, not when there was an enemy to face. My people are warriors, Governor, from the age we are first able to hold a blade. Even those you see here would have fought...had cooler heads not prevailed.” She sighed as the fire went out of her eyes. “It was not so long ago the leaders of Zhis chose death, rather than surrender to the Tetrarchy,” she said quietly, “even for their own children. Perhaps this is what you call ‘Progress’.” She shook her head before raising her chin in defiance. “Had they had allowed me I too would have stayed behind, but we needed someone to look after the children. We drew lots to choose...and I lost.” The Khonhim doctor glanced at him with a look that could have frozen helium. “But then, I would not expect you to understand. You are an alien.”

For the first time in a very long time, the politician’s ready answer died in Viện’s throat. “...we were a lot like you, once,” he said at last. “We fought war after war amongst ourselves, always vowing to do better the next time.” He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “But when the next time came, we’d start all over again, killing each other like it was our favorite pastime. Hell...maybe it was.”

Doctor Bzukozh looked at him, her face all but unreadable. “I won’t lie to you...many people aren’t thrilled that you’re here,” Szabolcsi continued, before giving her a wry smirk. “I wasn’t, truth be told. But now?” He took another long look at the line of children, snaking their way to the trucks.

“...we’ll look after you,” he whispered. “I swear it.”