No matter how hard he tried, or how comfortable his parents tried to make him, seven year old Mathieu kin’Fontaine could not get comfortable in his bed. It was too new: the bed, the house, the city. Especially the city. Crannock-by-the-Sea may sound like a quaint bay-side fishing village, but history and politics chose otherwise, transforming its once idyllic environment into the seat for the global government of the former Earth colony of Nova Terra.
For the most part, the city planners had done their best to at least nod in the direction of its spa-town past, but civic centers are aphrodisiacs to anyone drawn to power, graft, naive ideals or the game of politics itself. These people need a place to live and play and the property developers were only too happy to supply the demand. Besides, where power takes root, there is money to be made, no matter the intentions.
Still, as government housing goes, the Villas at Horseneck Point were among the best. Each unit was spacious and private with its own stretch of rose sand beach. Servants, including a personal chef, were provided to each household to tend to the property as well as help the dignitary’s wives cope with their added responsibilities. Everyone, servants and visitors alike, was nice and polite and deferential and it almost made up for the fact that Mathieu’s parents didn’t smile as often as they used to. It was slowly becoming a comfortable life, mostly.
Tonight’s problem was that Mathieu, like other Kin-Marked, was a mountain boy. The endless soft summer swells of the waves that caressed the nearby beach were not soothing to him. The occasional birdsongs of the nocturnal grents were foreign to him as well and only filled his nights with nostalgia for the uninterrupted hush of cool mountain breezes and the distant cries of the summithawks. Even the stars themselves had been taken away. The crisp, clean air of St-Laurent, nestled in the gentle col, nay, the gentle bosom of the Tetons, did not suffer from the light pollution that is inevitable in a city as large as a government capital, in a city that teems with energy even into the wee hours of the morning.
It wasn’t fair, he thought for the millionth time, unconsciously kicking both jammied feet into the air in a mild fit of frustration. He kept his complaints to himself now, though, after being chided by his father for the declared “last time”. “We are duty bound”, his father had explained. “When called to serve, especially in a time of crisis, we answer the call. We have been chosen by our peers to serve and serve we must. In the end, we must all do what is right: for our family, our people, our world. This is not mere obligation. It is high honor. And every one of us, even you Mathieu, must do his part.”
Mathieu sighed deeply at the memory of his last scolding and at a nearby low-gliding grent, its cooing call drifting in through his open window. Turning his gaze to the left, he saw the red-lit chronometer turn over to 22:00, well past his bedtime. Sighing again, he decided that his parents were probably still awake and that he didn’t want to lay in the dark alone anymore listening to the stupid waves and the stupid birds. He wanted his Ma and his Pa and he wanted some hugs and he wanted everything to go back to the way it was. And maybe, if he asked politely, he might get some chocolate milk too.
Five steps from the bottom of the stairway, Mathieu abruptly stopped upon hearing his father’s booming voice come roaring from the sitting room. “Christ à Calvare!” Thinking the ancient expletive was meant for him, Mathieu was about to run back to his room when he heard his mother’s “What’s happened now?”
“The Dasheen have left.”
A strained pause preceded his mother’s next question. “Marcel, I don’t understand. What do you mean ‘the Dasheen have left’? All of them?”
“Just about. Everyone of import anyway. Ambassadors, bureaucrats, military officers, contractors, merchants, their families, everyone. Gaston just sent me a squeak across the darknet. He says that over the course of the afternoon all the Dasheen have left Crannock, leaving scores of resignation letters and closed up shops in their wake.”
“But why would they do that?” his mother asked. “It’s certainly not going to win them any friends in the Senate. I bet the Calderans are thrilled.”
“Not really,” Marcel replied. “The Calderans were hoping for the Senate to help bring their war to a quick end. The Calderans might have the upper hand right now, but the fighting has been taking its toll on their infrastructure and morale. They were hoping for either a negotiated settlement or some sort of Federal intervention in the war on their side.”
“An intervention? Wouldn’t that just make things worse?”
“Certainly, but a sharp, shorter war might cause less long-term damage than a slow burn that lasts forever. Besides, with most of Nova Terra’s mineral processing plants in Caldera, no one wants this thing to go on much longer” Seeing the concern in his wife’s eyes, he continued, “I know, Jeanette. I wouldn’t worry too much. The idea of Federal involvement in what is essentially a clan war isn’t a popular one. Quite a few of my colleagues thought that rattling the saber might give the Dasheen pause. I suspect the Dasheen saw through the ruse.”
“Perhaps, but with the exodus of the Dasheen delegation, might not the war escalate now, especially if the Senate changes their mind about intervening? If that happens, what will happen to the Kin Mark? Marcel,” Jeanette’s worry growing, “our home is not that far removed from the conflict.”
“The Kin Mark will probably be safe,” Marcel replied, though the hope he tried to express did not touch his eyes. “No one likes to fight in high mountains. It’s too expensive for too little gain. I’m sure that we’ll be able to avoid the worst of what’s to come.”
“That may be so, Marcel, but I’m still worried.” Jeanette paused, trying to figure out the puzzle. “Is it possible they took the threat more seriously than was meant?”
It was Marcel’s turn to pause. “Reasonable people would have been able to interpret all of the exertions of the past few months for what they were: posturing, negotiating, going through the formalities and presenting the tea leaves in order to discern everyone’s intentions. The Dasheen, however, have been anything but reasonable since this thing started. All manner of ideas have been floated as to why the war started and why the intensity of the war has been so … calm as these things go. The most popular theory, especially among the economists, is that the Dasheen are still upset that Caldera got the lithium mines in exchange for the monetary settlement in the last war, only to lose that advantage when the monetary system was overhauled. They feel that the Dasheen have been purposely keeping the tempo of the war low in order to minimize collateral damage to spoils they might win in a negotiated settlement.
“I don’t buy it, though. If they had really wanted a negotiated settlement, they could have responded to any number of the overtures that were presented. But they didn’t. They didn’t accept any. They didn’t make any counterproposals. They didn’t flatly reject any. They never even got angry at the most outrageous of them. They just politely received the proposals as they were and promised to discuss them among themselves. Side channel discussions were fruitless as well. They offered nothing; they shared nothing. At least, that I know of.”
After a lengthy pause, Jeanette asked the fundamental question. “So why did the Dasheen delegation come to Crannock in the first place and why did they, presumably, take all of their brethren back home with them?”
Marcel remained quiet for a time. “Some of us suspect that the Dasheen are not only upset with Caldera. We suspect that their leadership may be chafing under the ties to the global government, to the Union of Nations. They may be thinking of secession.”
“Secession?! Marcel, that’s ridiculous. The Senate wouldn’t just let that happen, would it? Wouldn’t that guarantee Federal intervention?”
“Quite probably, but nothing’s certain. Seceding from the union would certainly be a major challenge to Federal authority and they would certainly have to intervene to avoid a total collapse of the government. On the other hand, such a move would isolate them from the other nations in the union, unless, of course, they have allies that are entertaining similar ideas. The Kin Mark, of course, fully supports the central government, as does Caldera. The other clans probably do. At least, none of the other nations have given any indication that they are unhappy with the status quo.”
“Is there any way to find out? Or could the Dasheen have contacted Earth or one of the colonies for some kind of assistance?”
“I highly doubt it. Nova Terra’s been independent for 43 Earth years now. While we’re not exactly friendly, there’s no animosity that I’m aware of. And with contact being made with extraterrestrials within the last 30, I’m sure that the last thing any of the human worlds want right now is to show some sort of fracture within the community.
“No. The more we talk about it, right now I’m convinced that the Dasheen are merely testing our res-“
Marcel’s response to his wife’s question was cut short when his head was jerked violently backward and a thick deep slash appeared across his exposed throat. His surprised gurgles were drowned out by Jeanette’s horrified scream. Mathieu ran down from his perch on the stairs and turned the corner into a living nightmare.
Within a few feet of the room’s entrance, Mathieu stopped in time to see his mother’s body inexplicably doubled over and the end of his father’s weakened death struggle on the carpet. Blood was everywhere, yet no intruder could be seen. He yelled. Suddenly, his mother’s body dropped lifelessly to the floor, more blood pouring from an unseen wound, and, in two heartbeats, his face was forcefully taken by the chin and his body thrust backward against the wall. He felt a sharp unseen object press against his throat. He wanted to scream and cry, but his absolute terror kept him from doing so. His bladder, however, had no such inhibitions. For infinite seconds, Mathieu was pressed against the wall, immobilized, with a trickle of blood flowing down his neck from the worming of an invisible blade.
Before his eyes, a shimmering form began to take shape. It coalesced into the figure of a nude human female, beautiful in shape but horrific to behold. She was hairless, with penetrating ice blue eyes. But the most distinguishing feature was her skin, a dynamic display of shifting monochromatic electric noise. The visual effect turned his stomach and added to his terror.
The blue eyes bored into his soul as her lips parted into a snarl, revealing colorless teeth within. Violent emotions played upon the effervescent form of her face as the blade wormed slightly deeper into his neck. Finally, however, she released the transparent blade from its work, but kept Mathieu’s chin firmly in her grasp.
“No, little one,” she said. “Xyla won’t kill you tonight, though The Touch has given me enough reason to finish the task. Do not take this as a kindness, however. It would be a mercy to end your days here and now, but tonight is not the night for such things.” A sudden sadness flashed across her face. “Bon chance, ‘Ti Mathieu. À destinées se croisent encore…”
As quickly as the attack occurred, Xyla released her grip on Mathieu’s chin and faded from view. He immediately dropped to the floor, where he lay for several stunned minutes before his anguished cries joined with the echoes of others throughout the capital city of Crannock-by-the-Sea.