Stranded on a Tiny Planet

Landing

It took several sun cycles and countless meetings of the Ansheetan Council and the Rogashay to finally establish an agreement that was both beneficial and agreeable to both sides. The Accord stipulated that the Rogashay tribes would be given a swath of forest that would be deemed their 'territory' where they could farm and make the land productive. In return they would agree never to raid, pillage, or attack any Ansheetans or their settlements. Understandably there still appeared to be tensions between the species as the agreement was made.

Wishing to be sovereign and not overruled by the Ansheetans, the Rogashay stipulated that the Ansheetans would not be allowed to land and enter their territory unless given permission. The Ansheetans agreed but retained the right to monitor activities from the air, but in short intervals. No permanent establishment of flying sentinels would be allowed. The land was established so there was plenty of territory between them and the borders would not be tense. Trade and commerce would be established at a later time once the Rogashay had a grasp of their new land. It would definitely take time to mend old wounds and sate deep grudges.

As promised, once the Accord was signed, Merco went out to assist in the mammoth task of removing the trees from the territory. Before, the idea of deforesting a patch for farming had been brushed aside as the task was too large and strenuous to be deemed viable. However, that was before Merco arrived. For him the trees were saplings at their biggest and weeds beneath that. His great size and strength reduced the labor to mere sun cycles instead of a full rotation and more.

The Accord, as requested strongly by the Rogashay, also forbade the Ansheetans from using Merco as an entity of destruction against them. Though the giant alien made it clear that he was his own entity and would do no such action, the Rogashay didn't completely trust the Ansheetans not to use his considerable might against them. That "might" was made even clearer as the Rogashay watched how he was able to rip massive trees, long rooted in the ancient soil, from their seats and toss them aside. It was a sobering marvel to them. Such strength and power harnessed for a noble task could prove devastating should it be wheeled against them.

...

During the proceedings, Merco would sometimes be called to make assurances to Emissary Kriees and the other Rogashay Tribal Leaders as they deliberated with the Anashee Council. He felt like a mediator and was almost treated as one but he felt a bit awkward in the position. He felt as if he were intruding in a literal cultural revolution and had no idea what the future ramifications would be. There was probably some intergalactic law against what he was doing...but he wasn't sure.

He was shocked to realize that Boroxle, the Rog Bandit he had captured, was actually the leader of the entire tribe and Emissary Kriees was his mate. They'd somehow kept that fact a secret until much later in the proceedings; most likely a tactic to keep their weaknesses hidden. Boroxle, Merco came to realize, still held a grudge against him but was equally eager to enter into negotiations for land. It was after the second day he had gotten to work clearing the trees that he actually spoke one on one with the Rogashay leader.

Wiping honest sweat from his brow and brushing his hands together after about an hour of work, Merco went out toward a small extension of Anashee Lake to cool his head and get a drink. He drank deeply, wiping water up over his hair and around his neck. Definitely was feeling his age. His prosthetic certainly made the task easier since it was more powerful and didn't get fatigued but the familiar start of an ache in his back and through his shoulders reminded him.

"I don't understand you." Boroxle's gravelly voice announced off to his left.

Merco glanced down at him, standing with his spear staff in the ground like a walking stick. His rough, broad shoulders were raised back and his chest was jutted. It seemed to Merco any time he conversed or came into contact with one of the Rogashay they postured themselves that way as if to make themselves look bigger and more confident; like a cat arching its back in front of a big dog.