CHAPTER 6: HARD BALL POLITICS
March 1st, 371 SD
Mid-morning
Guest Room, Cross Castle, Kingdom of Cross, Expel
It only dawned on Claude the next morning. "I think I just ruined my career," he declared—quite unprompted—as he lay in bed and stared straight up at the ceiling.
Rena, draped over his left shoulder, groggily cracked open one eyelid. "Isn't it a little early to be talking about your former space forces career?" she asked.
Although she had meant the comment as a joke, it still didn't stop the blood from draining from Claude's face. She sighed. "Just keep reminding yourself that you did the right thing, honey," she advised, switching tracks. "Captain Mitchell and your mom both think so, otherwise they wouldn't have let you come back down at all. And all the volunteers think so, too, otherwise they wouldn't have come with you." She then snuggled in deeper against Claude's side. "Now, go back to sleep, or I'll cast Energy Net on you."
Although the threat was only half-serious (...probably) Claude nodded and (some of the color having returned to his features) obediently closed his eyes and leaned back...
...only for he morning's silence to be shattered by a very energetic knocking, followed shortly by a decidedly un-Rena-like string of curses.. As Claude sat up—and Rena flew out from the covers to hastily throw a robe over her nightclothes—the door flew open, and the Princess of Mars Hill swept into the room.
"Good morning, darlings!" Celine declared, not bothering to close the door behind her. "Now, we've got a lot of work to get to this morning, so I think it best if—" It was only at this point did Celine notice the half-dressed and otherwise groggy states of her two 'charges.' "Oh, I'm sorry," Celine said, one gloved hand flying to cover the perfect 'o' of her mouth, "Were you two still asleep?" she asked, honestly surprised.
Rena glared at Celine as she slipped on a pair of slippers. "And here I seem to have memories of you being the heavy sleeper of our group."
Celine breezily shrugged as she dropped into an overstuffed chair near the room's (currently unlit) fireplace. "That's because a dungeon full of treasures doesn't care if you plumb its depths at the break of dawn or the dark of night. I'm in politics now, Rena dear, and politicians have a nasty habit of knocking off early right after lunch." She theatrically tossed her hands up into the air. "Not that we get that much work done before lunch anyway..."
A frown creased Celine's delicate features, before she broke back into a sunny smile. "Well at any rate, we do have a lot of work to do today, and that starts with an audience with Chris and Father. So, hurry up, get ready. I'll wait," Celine commanded.
Claude and Rena exchanged looks, and the exact same thought occurred to them both at the same time: being royalty apparently agreed with Celine a little too well.
OOO
Late morning
Main Hall, Cross Castle
The second that Claude and Rena were even somewhat presentable, Celine ushered them out from the guest room. The three then marched down the corridor from the guest room into the castle's main hall, then up the stairs toward the audience chamber. Any sense of nostalgia Claude and Rena may have had was quickly drowned out by Celine going on at length about the Cross government's efforts to quarter and feed the returning Federation volunteers.
"...But all this is only going to be a stop-gap for the time being," Celine continued. "We're going to need you to hammer out some sort of at least semi-official sounding treaty agreement soon, Claude, otherwise the lords and ladies we're imposing on for aide are going to start grumbling and complaining that the Federation volunteers are just free-loaders."
"But we're here to help," Claude protested.
Celine nodded patiently. "I know that, Claude. And Chris knows that, and so does Father. But it costs a lot to feed and maintain just the Cross army, Claude, and the crown is dependent on those lords and ladies to do that much already—something they're already not very happy about. If we add more demands on their resources without anything official, I don't doubt at least a few of them might start protesting... maybe even with weapons."
The thought that even just provisioning for the Federation volunteers might drive Cross into something approximating a civil war was not something Claude had even considered. But where else could he have taken the volunteers? The leaving Federation transports had dropped him and his men off at the site of the old EXCOM main campus (now, sadly, little more than a chain link fence surrounding a few dozen abandoned pre-fab buildings), with only what few personal effects and weapons they could carry. It was either a quick march to Cross for aid or starving out in the field...
"What sort of agreement would placate them?" Claude asked, sounding dubious.
Celine frowned. "Father and a few of the more hawkish among the nobility seem to favor out-right annexing your volunteers into the Cross army itself."
"I don't think we could do that," Claude protested, sounding appalled. Admittedly, he had never been the most stalwart adherent to the UP3, but putting Federation troops under the control of one local nation-state was a bit too far even for him.
Celine held up one gloved hand, forestalling any more of Claude's protests. "I know, darling. More importantly, that overt a power grab by Cross would no doubt only antagonize Lacour, possibly into action."
"Into... action?" Rena repeated, sounding aghast. "Would Lacour... Would Lacour really go to war over something like that?" she asked in disbelief. Enough that all Expel was facing the beast crisis! Any thought of a war between the two allies on top of that was surely absurd...!
(Absurd in the most frightening way, Rena would later admit to herself. She had grown up in a time of unprecedented peace between Cross, El, and Lacour, where war between any of the three had been just a distant, unpleasant memory. A historical boogeyman, if you will, whose sudden reappearance was deeply unsettling.)
Celine shook her head. "No," she said after a moment's consideration, "I doubt they'd go that far—they're stretched as thin as we are at the moment. But they would not be happy if Cross suddenly had a monopoly of Federation resources, enough that they might refuse any further international cooperation." She shook her head again. "And I don't need to tell you how much of a disaster that would be at this stage. We're barely holding our own as it is." For a moment, Celine looked incredibly tired.
(And for a moment, the exact same thought occurred to both Claude and Rena: being royalty was—despite all the perks—clearly taking a toll on Celine.)
"For that reason," Celine continued, "Chris and I have both been doing our best to convince Father to change his mind, but I don't doubt that the final push is going to be up to you, Claude." She inclined her head. "That's part of the reason that we're having this meeting this morning."
"Only part of the reason?" Rena asked, with a certain tightness. (Apparently she still hadn't quite forgiven Celine her morning wake-up call.)
"Well..." And here Celine's expression turned uncertain. "You'll see."
As the three crested the last stairwell onto the foyer before the audience chamber, Claude nodded. Well, I'll do what I can..." he promised. Even so, his expression was troubled. "But General Mackwell is the highest ranking officer among the volunteers. He should probably have the final say."
At this, Celine came to a stop on the stairs, turning back to look down at Claude. She shook her head. "We can definitely get some input from your general, but you need to be the point man on any treaty, Claude."
"Why?" Claude asked, although he got the distinct feeling that he wasn't going to like the answer.
At this point, Rena jumped back in. "It's like I said earlier, Claude: the volunteers are all only down here because their following your example," she explained.
"That's right," Celine agreed, nodding energetically. After a moment, a wicked glint entered her eyes and she added, "...General."
Claude's expression blanched immediately. "Please don't call me that," Claude replied immediately, hunching his shoulders and suddenly looking very uncomfortable.
Rena entwined her arm with Claude's. "That's right, Celine. You shouldn't tease Claude so much." Rena paused, and then an impish smile stole onto her face. "Besides," she continued, "Claude's former Space Force, so that would properly be 'Admiral Kenni.'"
The look on Claude's face was positively priceless.
OOO
Later morning
Audience Chamber, Cross Castle
A bright smile broke across King Cross' wrinkled features. "Rena! Lieutenant Kenni!" he called, leaning forward from the throne. It showed his acclimation to Expel's off-world visitors that he barely tripped over Claude's (foreign) military rank. As the two presented themselves with a formal bow and a curtsey, King Cross sagely nodded. "Excellent, now we may begin in earnest."
At his right hand, standing just below the dais, young Prince Chris discreetly locked eyes with his wife. At Celine's nearly imperceptible nod, Chris lightly cleared his throat. "Father, perhaps we could begin by approaching Lieutenant Kenni with that matter you and I had discussed earlier?"
"Perhaps you are right, Chris," King Cross answered, looking considering. "Yes, I suppose we should clear up that matter first. Lieutenant Kenni, I realize that to come back down here to help us, you have had to leave your former organization. That sacrifice is great, and not one to be dismissed lightly. As such, I would like to offer you and your troops a position in the Cross Army."
The directness of the question threw Claude for a moment, but after a hasty glance over to Celine (who favored him with another of her nearly imperceptible nods) Claude bowed his head. "While I would consider it a great honor, your majesty, I'm afraid I must decline. Although we're technically no longer part of it, the rest of the volunteers and I are Federation through and through. I do swear to you here, though, that we will stand by Expel no matter what."
King Cross looked disappointed, but seemed to accept his answer anyway. "I suppose I can understand that."
The king looked like he as if he was about to continue, but Prince Chris coughed lightly. "Well, excellent, that settles that matter—we can draw up something official later on. Right now, we should move on with our other plan." He paused for a moment, before turning to his father. "Don't you think so, father?" he asked, sounding completely innocent.
"Plan?" Claude asked.
King Cross nodded, turning his gaze back to Claude and Rena. "We're calling a meeting. With the vast majority of the Federation forces having gone, Expel now needs to work closer together than ever before if we're going to solve this problem."
Prince Chris folded his arms, wrinkling the military cut jacket he was wearing. "We've already contacted both King Lacour and the El-government-in-Exile, and even representatives for the blue dolphins."
Claude could see where this was headed. "Then the Federation volunteers will be there, too."
OOO
Blumio 12th, 1349 UCEC (United Church of Expel Calendar)
Late Afternoon
Southern Nature Preserve, Kingdom of Lacour, Expel
It was surprisingly hot for an early spring day, and somehow even the shade of a Lacour forest did little to help. In the sweltering heat trudged the doctors Neuyman—Graft a'fore and Precis at rear—slowly dragging along a large wagon. On the bed of the wagon was a large metallic device, which looked roughly like a cross between the boiler from a steam engine and a radiator. Its decidedly low tech looks, however, were belied by several high-tech gauges and screens clearly scavenged from several Federation quad-scanners.
"Remind me again why we're out here?" Graft asked, as he shifted the heavy harness on his shoulder.
Precis' mood—already not in a great place—soured. "You were the one who said there was a chance that the purifier prototype would explode once the Kurtz effect hit critical!" she ground out as she continued to push the wagon along from behind. "And I'm in no mood to rebuild the workshop again."
(Precis, you see, had never quite forgiven him for the spectacular failure of the Graft engine. The Graft engine—designed to satisfy Graft's long held desire to create a heavier-than-air flying device in the long years before being introduced to Federation technology—had not only managed to catastrophically self-destruct, but had managed to catastrophically self-destruct on Precis' 16th birthday. Precis' birthday memories for that day consisted almost solely of, yes, rebuilding the workshop and parts of their house.)
"Only a minor chance!" Graft protested although, notably, he didn't stop tugging away at the front of the wagon.
The duo continued along for another quarter hour, before Precis called for a stop in a small clearing. "I suppose this will do," she said at last. The clearing was a good fifteen yards across, so the chances of a catastrophic purifier failure bringing the trees down on them seemed about as minimal as they were going to get.
"Thank Tria," Graft exclaimed, dropping the harness and sagging against the wagon.
Precis dropped her heavy backpack to the ground. It landed with a clunk—in addition to her tools, her bag also had her piston powered combat fists, just in case. She unzipped the top. "Come on out, Bobot," she called. Bobot popped out of the bag. He squinted up at the sun, before straightening and saluting Precis.
"I still don't see why Ashton couldn't come out and help us move this thing," Graft continued, sounding sulky. "I mean, what's the benefit of you two dating again if he doesn't come out and help his father-in-law to be move very large and very heavy equipment?"
Precis turned bright red. "T-that's... W-were not... He isn't—" She folded her arms. "He was busy helping the Linga militia, thank-you-very-much, and I'll ask you to mind your own business about my personal life!"
From his slumped position at the front of the wagon, Graft weakly waved a hand. "Yes, dear, if you like."
As Precis (and Bobot) climbed up into the wagon's bed and began fiddling with the prototype, she shook her head. "Besides, Dad, you need to work out more anyway," she chided.
Graft sniffed. "My mind is the only muscle that I need to exercise, thank you."
Precis' expression turned shifty. "Well, I suppose if you don't mind the beer belly, sure..." she muttered.
"What was that?" Graft asked, shoving himself back up to his feet.
Precis but on her best smile. "Nothing!" she declared cheerily. "Are you ready to get started?"
Graft came around to the side of the wagon, inspecting several of the dials and gauges. "Ready when you are, my darling little engineer."
It only took them another few minutes to get the prototype into working order. When everything was ready, Precis hopped off the wagon bed. "So, uh, I guess we can get started?" she asked, sounding a bit confused. It felt as if this moment should be more... momentous, especially if this thing could save Expel as advertised.
Graft didn't seemed concerned by any such thoughts, though, and casually flicked the purifier's ON switch. A few levers started to whir, and the entire machine started to hum. All the gauges and indicators slowly flickered to life, hovering on the low side.
"Is that it?" Precis asked.
Graft frowned. "Well, what did you expect? Sparks and a big gout of steam to—"
As if on cue, several gouts of steam burst forth from the machine, as well as a shower of sparks from several of the higher tech components. All the gauges and indicators jumped up dramatically. The sudden noise caused Precis and Bobot to jump.
"What's happening?" she asked, after she had recovered her composure.
"It's... working," Graft said, his voiced sounding awed... and a little frightened.
Precis wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, before exchanging looks with Bobot. "Isn't that the idea?" she asked, sounding dubious.
"Yes, yes, of course," Graft replied, sounding irritated, "I just didn't think that it was going to work quite so... well. Or so quickly..."
As if to underscore his words, the prototype hummed again, and seemed to kick into another gear. All the dials and gauges quickly shot up to their maximum. A steam whistle on the top of the prototype let out a shrill call. Precis frowned. "Is that one of those good sounds?"
"No, no, no, no!" Graft shouted, less an answer to Precis' question than an exclamation of dismay. He tapped several of the indicators, as if he couldn't believe that the readings they were displaying were accurate.
"Dad...?" Precis asked. Her eyes were locked on the radiator grill looking bit on the front of the assembly. The air itself around the metal radiator blades had started to turn an odd sickly green...
Graft didn't answer, but instead started trying to turn the prototype down. When the machine didn't even seem to slow, he scowled, reached boldly into the device, and yanked out a mass of cables. The prototype started to hiss to a stop. The greenish glow from around the radiator blades started to dissipate.
After a few moments, Precis' heartbeat finally slowed. "That was a bit dramatic, don't you think?" she asked, holding one hand to her chest. When Graft didn't answer, she took a step closer. "Dad? Did you really—"
Graft however, held up a hand for silence, his head cocked to one side. It looked as if he was listening for something. "Do you hear that?" he asked.
Precis frowned. "No." In fact, she didn't hear anything, aside from her, Graft, and Bobot. The forest was quite suddenly ominously silent. She frowned. "Nothing at all, actually." A chill traveled up her spine.
"I was afraid of this..." Graft said slowly.
Precis' expression darkened. "Afraid of what exactly?"
"The purifier hit critical," Graft explained.
Precis looked skeptical. "Well, it didn't blow, so I'm willing to call that a win if you are..." she deadpanned.
Graft shook his head. "Part of the testing we were going to do today was to see how much concentrated heraldic pollution acts as a beacon for infected wildlife," he explained clinically.
Precis' expression blanched. "Beacon for infected..." she began, only for a look of horror to steal onto her face. "You mean like what happened at Salva!" she demanded.
Graft nodded, quickly picking up a nearby spanner and hefting it grimly. "Yes. A mass of the heraldic pollution in energy stone—be it naturally like in the Salva vein they found or, apparently, artificially in our purifier here—draws any nearby infected to it like a moth to a flame."
Precis stared at Graft blankly for a long section, before a boiling rage took over. "And you didn't think this would be important enough to mention!" she shouted. If you had, I might have actually tried to talk Ashton into coming with us...
Graft raised his hands defensively. "I never expected the prototype to work at this level! And before right now it was just a theory!"
"Wonderful..." she muttered, as she raced back to her bag, "We're going to die because we were simply too good at inventing, lovely."
She was literally only steps away from her bag before a gray blur leaped out in front of her. A wolf growled at her—or rather, what had been a wolf before heraldic pollution had added a few extra claws, fangs, spikes (Really, spikes? Precis wondered to herself silently), and a pair of the nastiest red eyes she ever had the misfortune of seeing. With a howl, several more of its compatriots edged into the clearing as well.
"Dad?" Precis called, taking several large steps back from the alpha wolf squared off against her.
"Little... busy... at the moment... darling," he grunted out. Precis risked a glance back over her shoulder. Two of the wolves had him pinned against the purifier prototype. One of the wolves had its jaws locked with Graft's spanner.
"This... isn't looking good..." Precis muttered to herself.
But then a new shrill sound pierced the clearing. "BEEPBEEPBEEP!"
Precis' eyes widened. "Bobot!" she exclaimed in surprise.
Streaking in from somewhere on her left, Bobot's charged into battle. His legs were pumping like pistons, his eyes flashing as he overclocked his systems to speed to the rescue. At the last moment, Bobot leaped forward, his right fist extended and clenched into a fist. He shot forward like a missile right at the alpha wolf's chin...
...Only to bounce off harmlessly, managing only to slightly annoy the alpha wolf as it shook Bobot off with a toss of its head. Bobot went flying, beeps of distress echoing after him.
"Well, so much for the rescue..." Precis muttered.
"Glaive," a new voice called softly into the clearing. A wall of rock spires shot up between Precis and the wolves. "Stone Rain," the voice called again, and fire and stone rained down onto the wolves on the other side. The wolves shrieked, then whimpered, then ran off into the woods. Before Precis could even begin to collect herself, the voice called out a third time. "Magnum Tornado," it called this time, and the two wolves attacking her father were unceremoniously tossed away by sudden gale force winds, leaving Graft slightly mussed but otherwise unhurt.
Graft and Precis exchanged looks with one another, then both glanced towards the direction of their rescuer. Smiling amiable and looking for all the world like he was simply talking an easy nature walk, Noel Chandler walked into the clearing from the shadow of the trees. He waved a hand in greeting. "Hello," he said simply.
(He was obviously too humble to mention that he had just saved their lives, you see.)
"Noel!" they both exclaimed at once, picking themselves up and rushing over to him. "What are you doing here!" Precis demanded happily, slugging him in the arm in (what she viewed) as camaraderie.
Noel winced; rubbing his now sore arm, he began to explain. As it turns out, Noel had been simply taking an easy nature walk... well, at least before the impromptu rescue, anyway.
(Also, Noel's idea of an easy nature walk would probably translate better as 'week long camping trip with minimal gear,' but that's besides the point.)
At any rate, Noel had broken away from the blue dolphin delegation's negotiation wrap-up in Lacour City to seek the outdoors before the delegation swung west for the big Lacour/Cross summit in Hilton. "It's all anyone is talking about anymore," Noel concluded. "Everyone is buzzing about what the Federation volunteers will be able to do." His expression blanched, and the tips of his ears curved down. "I'm starting to get worried that they might be their hopes up about what the remaining volunteers will be able to accomplish."
Graft nodded gravely. "Yes. There's only so much the volunteers can do, without the Federation backing them up with resources and materials." But not a lot of people on oh-so-desperate-Expel were going to be that discriminating at this point – there were some Feddies who had come back to save them, after all!
Precis folded her arms. "Well, I guess that means we have less than a week, then," she declared without preamble.
"A week until what?" Noel asked.
"The conference," Precis replied, as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world.
Graft frowned. "What about the conference?" he asked dubiously.
Precis looked less than impressed. "Clearly we're going to the conference, where we can explain in person what you and I just accomplished here with the purifier (aside from the part where we were nearly killed), and get them to use it in a massive plan to put an end to the beast crisis once and for all," she explained in a pained tone.
"You do realize that we weren't invited to the conference, right, dear?" Graft asked in a brittle tone.
(Privately, Graft viewed that as something of a snub, you see. Hell, what was left of the Linga Research Board was invited, and they weren't even really an organization anymore!)
"Details!" she scoffed, dismissing the concern with a wave of her hand. "If all else fails, I'm sure that Noel can get us in." And here she turned to Noel, putting on her (according to her) 'most winningist' smile in the process. "Right, Noel?" she asked sunnily.
Noel started at being so suddenly put on the spot. "Uh... Uh, I suppose I could talk with my colleagues in the delegation..." Noel answered uncomfortably, scratching his cheek as he thought about it.
This was apparently enough of an answer for Precis. "Fantastic!" she proclaimed without hesitation. "So, then, that leaves us about a week to get this thing working properly again," she continued, smacking the now-inoperable purifier prototype with a hand. "And then later, the fact that the Kurtz effect works faster than we thought only helps us to structure it for a large scale."
"Large scale?" Noel asked, his ears twitching.
At this point, Precis spun around on her heel, looking fired up. She clenched a fist in front of her. "Yes! We'll need to design and start work on a new model of purifier, one powerful enough to absorb all the heraldic pollution on Expel!" She then broke into what would charitably be called a mad cackle.
(And someplace, somewhere in this universe or the next, even the mad scientist side of Indalecio was duly impressed by her sudden outburst.)
Noel and Graft exchanged looks. The last time she had sounded like this, she had (more or less) single-handedly designed and built Expel's first interstellar craft and had led the gang halfway across the galaxy to the bluesphere.
(...That Precis' ship—the Longshot—had unceremoniously crashed upon reaching the bluesphere was but a trifling detail… or so Graft and Noel sincerely hoped.)
OOO
Blumio 18th, 1349 UCEC (United Church of Expel Calendar)
Morning
Entrance to Hilton Meeting Hall, Port of Hilton, Kingdom of Lacour, Expel
As it turned out, Noel couldn't get Precis and Graft into the conference. Although the entire blue dolphin delegation had no qualms with trying to help the good doctors out, the officials at the conference weren't as supportive. While they had been told Noel would be accompanying the blue dolphins, they were unwilling to admit two additional non-dolphin hangers-on in with the delegation.
Fortunately, there was Bowman.
"What in Tria's name are you two doing here?" he exclaimed, marching directly past the security at the entrance and out to where they stood.
"Bowman!" Precis said, looking immediately cheered. They exchanged a quick hug, before Bowman energetically shook Graft's hand. "Oh, you know," Precis continued, "just trying to get into the super important conference so we can help save Expel from disaster." She shrugged. "The usual."
Bowman nodded sagely, before jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the security guards. "They giving you trouble getting in?" he asked.
Precis nodded. "Yup."
Graft sniffed, folding his arms. "It's almost as if they don't know who Dr. Graft Neuyman is!" he declared, his delicate sensibilities having just taken too much.
"Welp, follow me," Bowman declared, before turning on his heel and marching towards the entrance.
This time, when the guards trying to stop them, Bowman waved his delegate badge, made some a vague growl in the back of his throat, and kept walking, the two doctors close on his heels. The guards, sufficiently cowed, then waved them on (significantly, after they were long past).
"That... was surprisingly easy," Graft said.
Bowman shrugged, not breaking his stride. "You just have to know how to handle them," he explained breezily as they three walked into the cavernous meeting hall.
In order to accommodate the huge numbers of delegates making up each of the five (well, considering the El delegation, maybe more like four and a half...) major parties, the meeting hall was actually a converted warehouse. Two, actually, if truth be told: a shared wall between two warehouses had been knocked out, creating a impressive theater-like space. Down the center of the space and number of tables had been set up for the delegate, each arrayed surrounding a central lectern for each faction. On either side of the main hall were bench risers, set back behind velvet ropes for spectators. On the far side of the hall—opposite the main entrance and just in front of a wall of newly installed windows—was the head table, where the presiding officer would be (hopefully successfully) to moderate the proceedings.
"You could hardly tell that it was a fish packing warehouse less than a month ago..." Precis wondered quietly to herself.
"Hmm?" Bowman asked, glancing back.
"Nothing, nothing," Precis replied, waving off the question. "Just talking to myself."
Bowman just nodded, and turned back to leading the way. After a moment, though... "How's Ashton doing?" he asked, his tone as even as if he had simply been asking about the weather.
Even so, Precis couldn't help but blushing a bright red. Well, of course Bowman knows, she chided herself, Ashton was crashing at his house before... before...
"Good," she blurted quickly, her voice a little too high. "Uh, yeah, good, he's good. He's trying to find the three of us lodgings for the night, actually, right now." She scratched the back of her head. "Heh, should have tried to make some reservations before coming into town, you know?"
Graft cast a sidelong look at Precis. "Anyway..." he broke in quickly, sensing Precis' discomfort, "How'd you get a delegate pass, Dr. Jean?" he asked, changing the subject.
Bowman shrugged. "The mayor of Linga more or less press-ganged me into it," he continued, as the trio pulled up to tables reserved for the Linga group, "Chiefly, I suspect, because I'm one of the few important people who never got around to leaving Linga... just like Keith here!" he added as an afterthought, as he dropped into the chair next to Linga's resident linguist.
"Don't drag me into your delusions, Bowman Jean," Keith deadpanned, as he shook hands with Graft and smiled at Precis, "And don't let the mayor hear you talk like that, either," he cautioned, sotto voce.
Bowman waved off Keith's concern. "You worry too much, Keith. I'm practically an institution in Linga," he declared, kicking up his feet onto the table. "Who else is the mayor going to get to replace me in our part of the delegation?"
As Bowman and Keith then settled into what sounded like a (well-rehearsed) friendly argument, Precis let her attention wander. Her father was already embroiled in a glaring contest with parts of the former Linga Research Board—no surprise there. Up ahead, Princess Rosalie and her father sat with Leon's parents... although Precis was surprised that Leon wasn't with them
(In fact, Precis didn't see Leon anywhere...)
But she did spot a number of her other friends. Across the room, towards the front, Claude and Rena were sitting with the Federation volunteers. Sitting just in front of the Cross delegation, Claude had turned around was in an animated discussion with Celine and Prince Chris. When Claude caught her eye, he offered a little wave—
(Yes, her heart did still skip a beat, Precis was a one man lady, happy with Ashton, and pretty much completely over Claude, but that crush had lasted for years, and some reflexes died hard, thankyouverymuch!)
—and nudged Rena at his side. When Rena turned and saw Precis she broke into a huge smile and moved to get up... but then a messenger rushed over to the four of them. She shot Precis an apologetic look (which Precis acknowledged with a 'what can you do' shrug) and was quickly drawn back into what looked like a fairly serious discussion.
Noel looked to be introducing several of the blue dolphin delegates to several of the other delegates at other tables. Precis watched as he smoothed over several misunderstandings even as he was just making the rounds. She scratched her chin thoughtfully. You know, he'd never ever consider it, but I think Noel would actually make a pretty good politician.
(It was his easygoing smile, really. It was just so damn trustworthy!)
But the biggest surprise for Precis was seeing Chisato at the back of the room, near the door. She had several different pieces of recording equipment and an open laptop on a small desk. When Precis spotted her, Chisato was slowly panning a hand-cam back and forth over the hall, apparently narrative one of her news pieces. At first she wasn't sure that Chisato had seen her but then without stopping her narration or breaking her anchor's poise, Chisato offered Precis a very friendly wink. An anchor's work is never done, I suppose, Precis thought as she smiled back, but I didn't even realize she was on Expel again!
OOO
Mid-Morning
Hilton Meeting Hall, Port of Hilton, Kingdom of Lacour, Expel
All at once there was a commotion at the front of the room as, from a side door, the presiding officers marched in. Precis settled back into her chair and watched as the three man group took steps at the head table. The presiding officers were all mayors, one each from Cross (Elder Regis), Lacour (Mayor Rol), and even the mayor of Oruba (Glu'glan). As the host city for the meeting (and as an a concession to Lacour to even get the conference in the first place...) Mayor Rol would be acting as the lead moderator.
After Mayor Rol banged his gavel and brought the room to order, each of the three officers made some opening remarks (snore), then opened the floor for the opening remarks of each of the delegations (double snore), and then there was a fifteen minute recess (and Precis was unconscious).
Graft discreetly elbowed Precis back to consciousness just as things were picking back up. "Hrk," she snorted groggily (perhaps a bit louder than was polite), looking disoriented. "Whad I'd miss...?" she asked blearily.
Graft shot her a disapproving stare, and nodded back towards the front of the room where Princess Rosalie of Lacour was already well into her speech outlining Lacour's plan to deal with the beast crisis.
(The fact that Lacour was outlining its plan first was another one of those concessions.)
"...can only be one reasonable course of action for this esteemed body to consider. The greatest weapon that Expel has ever—"
(And here there was a slight pause, and for a second Precis thought she had been about to say it was the greatest weapon Expel had ever 'seen'—obviously no longer true thanks to the Federation.)
"—developed," Rosalie continued instead, "was the Lacour Hope. And although the Hope was tragically lost at sea before it could prove to be the instrumental turning point in the Sorcery Globe war that it so rightly was—"
(And there was as fine a bit of revisionist history as Precis had ever heard!)
"—There is no doubt a new Hope is the most powerful weapon at Expel's disposal at this juncture. And with the Federation no longer... present to protest the development of new weapons, now is the time to develop a second Lacour Hope.
"In fact," Rosalie continued, "I can see no reason why we don't create a system of Hope-style weapons across Expel. The Federation was kind enough to secure much of the underground system of the Hoffman ruins before they left, so Lacour will have no problems supplying energy stones to develop the weapons."
"It is of course needless to mention," she began, apparently still intent on mentioning it anyway, "that this plan—designed by Expellians, for Expellians—requires little input from any... foreign powers."
And at this point there was no missing the distrustful stink eye with which she favored the Federation volunteers across the room.
"Therefore, it is the stance of the Lacour Kingdom that this is the best solution at hand for—"
"Point of order," someone from the Cross delegation suddenly called. Precis was mildly surprised to see it was Celine of all people. Barely waiting for any acknowledgment from Mayor Rol, Celine continued, "Princess Lacour, need I remind you that these fine men and women from the Federation that you suddenly seem to have an issue with have voluntarily given up everything they know and love if only to help us with our problem?" Celine's expression turned flinty. "I'd ask you to keep that in mind when discussing our esteemed colleagues."
Rosalie—who had seemed as surprised as Precis that suddenly Celine was speaking up—picked her next few words carefully. "I... apologize if anyone was offended, for none was intended." A calculating look stole into her eyes as she appraised Celine. "And as much as I appreciate the sacrifice of these volunteers, the bottom line is that the Federation proper has left Expel behind.
"Ultimately," Rosalie continued, gaining steam, "it will be up to our technologies and abilities to solve this crisis." She nodded to herself, apparently having found her rhythm again. "And there is nothing more advanced in Expel's arsenal right now than the Lacour Hope." She then turned her attention back to Celine, as if daring her to protest again. "Wouldn't you agree, Princess Celine?"
But Celine seemed ready for that. "Admittedly, the Lacour Hope is the most powerful weapon Expel has right now," she conceded. "Cross is just unsure that a new Lacour Hope—that a weapon—is what is needed right now," she explained in an even manner.
Rosalie's eyes narrowed. "Oh?" (And Precis spotted an uncertain look pass across Celine's face before Rosalie continued.) "Cross seemed a little less concerned with 'new weapons' when it was the Federation and its weapons riding to the rescue of Salva."
Celine frowned. "That's not what I—"
But Rosalie offered her no respite. "Or is Cross' hesitance because we're talking about a weapon that Lacour developed?"
(And here Precis imagined that she had heard a loud bang, because it seemed that the trap had just swung shut. And from Celine's expression—suddenly all thunderclouds—she felt the same way.)
Rosalie continued. "I had thought that this conference was about unity and working together for the betterment of Expel, old rivalries put aside."
For a long second, Celine was silent, just glaring at Rosalie. Finally, she seemed to make up her mind. "In that case," Celine began, "I suppose that I should apologize if I gave a different impression." Judging from the expression on Celine's face, the words apparently tasted like ashes. "Working together is the goal of the conference..."
Celine trailed off as someone tugged on her sleeve (from where Precis was sitting, she couldn't she who). A look of relief (and then of mischief) flashed across Celine's face, before she turned her attention to Mayor Rol. "And in the spirit of working together," Celine ad-libbed, "I'd like to turn the floor over to my colleague. Leon?"
Precis watched as Leon stood up from the Federation delegation. So that's where Leon was, Precis thought to herself. He had been sitting just out of her line of sight the Federation, instead of over with the Lacour delegation like she had been expecting.
Mayor Rol nodded to Leon, as he marched up to the Federation's lectern. "Well, go ahead, young man and—"
Leon's expression soured. "That's Doctor Geeste," he corrected testily.
Mayor Rol gave him a pained look, but relented. "Dr. Geeste, then. The floor is yours."
Leon nodded. "Thank you. As the former head of the Lacour Special Weapons Lab, and the lead designer of the original Lacour Hope, I hope you all will take what I have to say with the utmost seriousness: developing another, or two more, or ten more Lacour Hopes will not solve this problem."
Such a stern warning set the hall immediately to murmuring among itself. (For her part, Princess Rosalie looked like she was about ready to slap irons on Leon as a traitor.)
"He's certainly cutting right to the quick," Graft muttered.
"That's my boy," Bowman whispered back, proudly.
"The problem is twofold. One, even assuming that current heraldic pollutions stay level, the only way to completely eradicate the threat of further beast attacks using Hope weapons is to completely eradicate the supply of potential beasts. In other words, immediately eradicate all animals on Expel. Damages to the biosphere would be irrevocable, and ultimately doom us as well—it would be the end of all life on Expel as we know it.
"Two," Leon continued, barely waiting for the first point to settle in, "and by far the greater concern, by all accounts, heraldic pollution levels are still rising. More and more energy stone is reacting, and in turn releasing more pollution, meaning these attacks are only going to get worse. Even more trouble, recent research seems to confirm that in sufficiently high concentrations, heraldic pollution theoretically could even begin to affect Expellian and blue dolphin psyches."
(And a few chairs away, Rena shifted uncomfortably at the sudden deluge of memories of a beast called Alen-Tax.)
Leon leaned forward. "So, even assuming that we could manage to wipe out enough of Expel's biosphere in time to stop the current crop of beast attacks, if nothing is done to treat the cause and not just the symptoms it won't matter, for we'll be next."
And now Leon did pause, to let the seriousness of the situation sink in. "There needs to be another solution," Leon declared finally.
This was the moment—Precis' excitement got the better of her. "And we've got it!" she blurted out, jumping to her feet. As every head in the meeting hall swung toward her, it only then occurred to that she had perhaps violated parliamentary procedure. "Uh..." she stammered.
Fortunately, there was Bowman. Languidly getting to his feet, he belated raised one hand. Mayor Rol banged his gavel. "T-the chair recognizes Bowman Jean of the Lacour delegation."
"Mister Chairman, I believe one of my colleagues has something she would like to say." A half beat, in which no one said anything, then, "So if no one objects, I'll turn the floor over to my colleague here... Dr. Precis Neuyman."
There was another long pause. Bowman coughed discreetly into his hand. "That means go ahead, Precis..." he added softly.
"R-right!" Precis replied quickly, awkwardly sidling up to the nearest lectern. (She would later realize that, with Princess Rosalie still at Lacour's lectern, she had accidentally co-opted the blue dolphin delegation's. Fortunately they were so laid back that they didn't feel the need to raise a fuss. And Noel was too polite to point that out when she was so clearly flustered!)
Precis cleared her throat lightly. "My father and I... er, uh, Dr. Graft Neuyman and I, Precis Neuyman, uh, a doctor as well... uh," she began haltingly. Stop screwing up, stop screwing up, stop screwing up! her mind started screaming over and over again. "We, uh... we developed a... thing..." she continued awkwardly. That's still screwing up! her mind hammered.
It was at this point that she noticed a movement off to the right. Someone slipped into the meeting hall and took a seat at the far side of one of the risers. The two dragons jutting out from his back made it quite obvious who had arrived. He had an interested look on his face, and at his encouraging smile upon seeing Precis at the lectern...
She took a deep breath, and began again. "My name is Dr. Precis Neuyman. Working with my father, Dr. Graft Neuyman, we have developed a working device that is capable of absorbing the ambient heraldic pollution released from the mineral we call the energy stone. This purifier device can and will end the beast crisis," she declared, in her best 'academic lecture' voice.
Suffice it to say, no one was expecting that bombshell. And by the time Precis had finished explaining the broad strokes of how the purifier operated, the number of jaws that hadn't hit the floor could be counted on one hand.
Into the silence after she finished, Mayor Rol was the first to regain his wits. "I think on that we'll adjourn for the day." His gavel banged home.
END CHAPTER 6
Author's Notes: And so it lives! Federation Morning is, I suppose, not quite dead yet. The completion of this chapter puts us, more or less, back to where we were before the great Computer Crash of '09. And it only took a year! Isn't that just amazing!/sarcasm
(Well, actually, that's not true—originally this chapter and the next were both just one incredibly long chapter, but as it ballooned into some sort of Frankenstein's monster of politics, I just had to break it in half. So, next chapter means we're all officially caught up.)
Not that this (and the next chapter) were particularly easy to write—I had real troubles trying to figure out a way to introduce the conference in the first place. I finally had a break-through though, and that's part of the reason why this chapter is so Precis-heavy. Out of all my potential viewpoint characters at that meeting, I feel like Precis had the most straightforward-yet-still-involved view of the bunch, and thus the least confusing and most entertaining (...hopefully). And it flowed so well from the scene in the forest with the purifier~!
Anyway, if any of you are still out there, please, review and tell me if I've still what I like to call the 'Fed Morning touch.' Oh, and if the political back and forth between Rosalie and Celine worked.