Chapter 51

He was surrounded by a sea of expectant faces. Those who arrived first had already claimed seats around the tables. Off to his left sat Riza, General Armstrong, Major Miles, Breda, and Havoc. To his right were Scar, Rada, Dejan, Shua, and as many of that group as could squeeze itself at that table.

The two younger girls had taken up positions under the table. Everyone else stood, and he couldn't even see where the crowd ended. A rumble of subdued voices surrounded him, but he could make out a few individuals. He heard Madame Christmas say something about a "good house" and "SRO," and he heard Dejan wearily admonishing his father to behave himself. There was no podium, so he simply stood in the center of the mess tent. Juggling his papers and the microphone in one hand, he pulled out his pocket watch. There were just a few minutes left. As he slipped his watch back into his pocket, the old priest, Saahad Bozidar, stepped up beside him.

"May I take a moment to ask for the blessing of Ishvala on this endeavor?" he asked quietly.

It certainly couldn't hurt, Roy thought. "Of course," he said. "Would you like to use the microphone?"

The old man's eyes brightened, like a child who had been offered the loan of a toy. "Yes, if I may."

"Here you go." Roy handed the microphone to him and slid the switch to the "on" position. He then lifted Saahad Bozidar's hand slightly so that the microphone was closer to his mouth. "Whenever you're ready," Roy said, stepping back.

"My children," Bozidar began, and smiled at little at hearing his voice so amplified. "This device truly shows us what an age we have entered. Much has changed, and more changes are in our future. Let us ask the Creator for the wisdom to recognize what is good."

He closed his eyes and half spoke-half chanted in Ishvalan. Roy could hear in the particular intonation of the old man's voice that the words he spoke were deeply ingrained and deeply familiar, used countless times on countless occasions.

Then the old man switched to Amestrian. "Grant your people the sight to see beyond ourselves, O Creator. Grant your people the understanding to hear beyond words. Open our hearts and minds to recognize your will in what we are about to undertake." After a few final words in Ishvalan, Bozidar handed the microphone back to Roy.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"Thank you, Master—Saahad Bozidar," Roy replied, and he turned to face the crowd.

There was a palpable stirring that rippled from the inner circle of the crowd out to the outer edges. Roy stood for a moment, realizing that he had become surprisingly calm. All he had to do now was let the documents speak for themselves.

No, he thought with a slight frown as he looked down at the first page. That wasn't quite true. Roy's hand holding the paper dropped to his side and he looked out at the crowd.

"I was given an official letter of apology from the Amestrian government, drafted by a Parliamentary committee that obviously did not realize the enormity of the task given to them. Those people aren't even here. They're back in Central, probably congratulating each other on a job well done.

"What they don't realize is that there are no words of apology that would be even remotely adequate. I can't just stand here and read this out loud. I can't just say 'I'm sorry' or 'the Fuhrer's sorry' or 'my government's sorry.' Each one of us who was involved in the War of Extermination has our own feelings about what happened." Roy lifted the sheets of paper in his hand. "This letter will be available for everyone to read, but those who weren't here can't speak for us." He contemplated the faces looking back at him, and his voice turned bleak. "And there are no words that can adequately describe my remorse. I can't turn back time and change history. All I can do is pledge to you that what happened here will never be forgotten or repeated."

It was eerily quiet, and Roy looked around at the faces before him. They gazed back at him, intent and expectant, but he could have sworn that there was a sense of relaxing throughout the crowd. He had gotten through the initial stage, and they were ready for the next. He looked back down at the papers in his hand, slipping the top letter to the bottom a little clumsily while trying to hold the microphone.

"These proposals," he continued, "are the end result of a lot of debate. I've read them over numerous times, and they're about as straightforward as they can be." Reading from the page before him, Roy gripped the microphone and read out loud. "'Contingent upon an officially and legally conducted electoral process, if those citizens of Amestris who currently inhabit the region of Ishval choose to secede from the nation of Amestris, they will be recognized as a sovereign foreign nation and will be free to form whatever government they so choose. The current reconstruction and reparation agreement established between the Amestrian government and the Ishvalan people will still be honored until a year from its inception. After this time, the nation formed by the Ishvalan people will receive no aid or revenues from Amestris other than from subsequent trade agreements.'"

Roy paused and looked up at the crowd. "This last part isn't meant to be some kind of retaliation. The truth is, the Amestrian economy is currently suffering a crisis bordering on depression, and the national budget simply can't bear the weight of any long term reparation programs or foreign aid. The Ishvalan Foundation that was started by Mrs. Bradley is a private organization, and they are free to give you whatever they can, but that'll be it, and it may be a little harder to convince Amestrian people to contribute to it if you choose to no longer be Amestrians."

Turning back to his papers, he read on. "'Also after this time, all Amestrian military personnel will be removed from the territory of Ishval and the Ishvalans will be free to create their own military body. The nation formed by the people of Ishval will be invited to open diplomatic channels with the nation of Amestris and will be encouraged to consider treaties of mutual benefit with the nation of Amestris.'"

Turning to the next page, Roy went on. "'Contingent upon an officially and legally conducted electoral process, if those citizens of Amestris who currently inhabit the region of Ishval choose to remain a part of the nation of Amestris, Ishval will be elevated to the status of a semi-autonomous province, with all accompanying rights and privileges, as well as recognition of the validity of all local customs and religious beliefs and practices. The office of provincial governor will be created for whomever the people of Ishval choose to elect to this position.'" Roy paused for a moment. The next item was going to be a real kicker. "'The Province of Ishval will be awarded a seat in Parliament, and the Ishvalans will be free to elect their own representative.'"

Roy allowed himself a slight smile, pleased at the stir this news caused among the crowd. It had received some objections from some of the die-hard conservatives in Parliament, but it was inevitable that it would pass. The last part might be a little tougher to sell.

"'Furthermore, if the people of Ishval elect to remain part of Amestris, they will be given the opportunity to decide whether they will allow the establishment of an Amestrian garrison in Ishval for the defense of the territory and its borders. If so, the Amestrian military will lease the land upon which any facility is built for a period of time to be determined and agreed upon by both the Amestrian government and the people of Ishval, and this lease will be brought up for review at the end this period. The people of Ishval will also have the opportunity to make recommendations for and will be granted final approval of the garrison commander.'"

Roy let the murmuring die down as the crowd absorbed this information, then he continued.

"'The people of Ishval will be given a period of two months to prepare for and conduct an election no later than the thirty-first of January, 1916, which will coincide with the next Parliamentary election.'"

Roy drew in a deep breath and lifted his head. "All of these documents will be available to read if you wish, and I have brought several copies. Are there any questions?"

Heads turned searchingly, almost daring each other to speak up. Then one man standing just behind the tables called out.

"Why do we need to wait two months to make our decision? Why not now?"

His voice carried well, and many heads nodded in agreement. Another man said, "We've been arguing over this for weeks!

This seemed to be a sentiment shared by quite a number of the Ishvalans, and Roy considered the question. They apparently had no idea what a labyrinth of a bureaucracy the Amestrian government could be. Before he could even try to start to explain that, out of the corner of his eye he saw Scar stand up. Somewhat relieved, Roy helpfully held the mic out to him. Scar gave it a slightly distasteful look, then stepped over and took it. The effect was a little unnerving.

"If all we can do is argue over it," Scar's voice boomed startlingly over the loudspeakers, "then we're clearly not ready to make a wise decision, particularly now that we know what the outcomes are."

A different set of heads nodded in agreement this time, but then someone shouted, "All we've ever wanted is to govern ourselves as a free people! Do we need two months to consider whether or not to raise our pride up out of the dirt?"

There were a number of angry "Nos!" that were called out in response to this. The sound ran like a ripple through the crowd, but there seemed to be just as many people who were in disagreement, not necessarily with the sentiment, but with the haste urged by the first group. Roy watched uneasily as numerous arguments started breaking out all through the crowd, including a number of shrill female voices. He turned to Scar, hoping that he would be able to use his authority to prevent a possible riot.

"You've got the mic," Roy muttered. "Say something."

Scar frowned darkly at the crowd and was about to raise the microphone to his mouth, but it was suddenly snatched from his hand by Shua.

"I've heard enough," he grumbled.

"Shua, what are you doing?" Scar demanded suspiciously.

Shua waved him aside. "Go sit down." He raised up the microphone and putting two fingers in his mouth, he blew out a piercing whistle. The people in the crowd cringed and fell silent for a moment, and Shua took immediate advantage. "Shehai li Ishvala!" he declared contemptuously. "How's a man to sleep with all this caterwauling going on, eh?"

There were a few snickers from the crowd, and Roy was sure he heard Madame Christmas' low chuckle. Shua took a few steps forward and, laying his hand over his heart, he made a little bow.

"Shua's the name, for those who don't know me, although you'd have to be blind and deaf not to have noticed me around lately." He surveyed the surrounding assemblage. "I recognize a few of your faces." He lifted his hand. "Now, don't worry, I won't say who, since I might recognize you from your trips to Old Vashto's place back in the day." He gave a wink. "But of course, you're much to proud to admit that you ever did such a thing.

"Now, as soon as somebody up and mentions 'pride,' everybody gets all hot and bothered." Shua shook his head. "Me, I've got no pride." He raised up a finger. "No, I take that back! I'm proud as hell of my son and his lovely bride and my sweet little granddaughter and all those young musicians. They are Ishval to me! That is something I can see and touch and hear. But beyond that, you can keep pride." He began to walk slowly back and forth, looking out at individual faces in the crowd and locking eyes with them for a brief moment before moving on. "You can't eat it. You can't drink it, more's the pity. It won't keep you warm at night or keep the sun off your head. And you sure as hell can't make love to it. You'll end up hungry, cold, and alone. So what's it good for then, hmm? Well, let me tell you…" He raised his voice sharply. "Fuck all!"

As the crowd seethed with a mixture of laughter and hisses of disapproval, Shua looked over at where General Armstrong was sitting. "Beg your pardon, ladies!" He grinned cheekily at the glare she gave him and turned back to the assemblage.

"Now, like everybody else here," Shua went on in an easy-going manner, "while the Amestrians were busy stomping on our balls, I sneaked out of Ishval as soon as a chance presented itself. And like a lot of you, I did a bit of travelling. Unlike a lot of you, though, I didn't spend my time sniveling about how miserable I was or how ill-treated I'd been. I took advantage of every opportunity that came my way, and all I had to my name were some raggedy clothes and my trusty fiddle. Oh, and a bit of cash I had borrowed from a friend, but other than that I had nothing but my wits to live on.

"I started heading east and just kept going. There's a great, big world out there, in case you didn't know. A lot of little countries, a few big countries, and they're all full of people. Some of them are welcoming and friendly and they'll feed you for nothing more than a song and a good tale because they've figured out that there are better things in life than pride. Others are not so warm and friendly. There are some places where you don't dare step into a tavern or even walk down the street without the right papers for fear of having your ass thrown in prison for being a spy. There are places where the rich are shamefully rich, the poor are shamefully poor, and there's nothing in between. After a while, you can start to smell the kinds of places that are good to avoid."

Shua smiled at his recollections. "I have seen some grand things. Like when I finally reached the sea! God, that was a glorious sight to see! Along the eastern coast there's a little country called Shumao. I'd picked up enough of several languages along the way to get by nearly everywhere I went, and although it took a little work to get my tongue around Shumalo, I managed to understand and be understood. They're fisher folk, mostly, very friendly and hospitable, and absolutely piss poor. But they made me feel like family! I even went out on their fishing boats with them to earn my keep.

"Now, as wonderful as this all sounds, my brethren," Shua went on in a more somber voice, "I have also seen shit that would turn you white! One day we had ventured pretty far out on the ocean in search of a good haul. Normally these fellows were a jovial crew, singing along with their work and joking with each other. But on this particular day, there wasn't much joking and no singing. Lookouts were posted fore and aft. One of them even had an ancient telescope that he kept scanning the horizon with. Suddenly this fellow gets all excited and yells at all of us to haul up the nets and come about fast. I could just make out something on the horizon, and I asked what the problem was. The fellow hands me the telescope with a grim look on his face.

"What I saw, my brethren, was a line of battleships," Shua pronounced in a hard tone. "Not bouncy little boats with fluffy white sails. Battle fucking ships! Ah, what did they call them?" he growled, grimacing as he tried to remember. He snapped his fingers and looked up. "Dreadnoughts! Anyhow, our boys all scrambled to pull out every oar they had on that boat and we set to. I had never seen those fellows so scared. And as if that wasn't enough, our lookout starts screaming that the ships had begun to pick up speed. Then we heard a distant booming sound, and somewhere far behind us but still too close, there was a huge splash. Our fellows were nearly hysterical with terror, but they kept rowing like their lives depended on it, because it did. Finally, the dreadnoughts fell back, but we kept up our speed. When the captain called a halt in sight of their own shore, the whole crew was completely exhausted and silent. We pulled in without much of a take for the day, but we were still alive.

"I asked the captain who those people were and why they would possibly need to fire on a harmless fishing boat. He told me that the country on the far side of that ocean was the terror of all the neighboring lands. Anyone unlucky enough to be anywhere near their waters is snatched up and sent to work as slaves down in their mines or God knows what else. None of the other countries are strong enough to challenge them, and they all live in the fear that one day, these ships will cross the ocean to their shores and take them all.

"So why, you must be thinking," Shua went on, "should any of us here care about what's going on half a world away? Because that world can get very small in a very short time. If those people have the means to build ships like that, who's to say they might not take to the land someday. It would take a strong, well-armed nation to defend itself against that kind of power." He gave the crowd a hard look. "Not a people struggling to survive who have nothing better to throw at an invasion force than pride and goat shit!

"Now, the brigadier just gave us some fairly decent terms to consider, and he gave us a fairly decent time in which to consider them. If I were you, I'd take advantage of that time to give some good hard thought to what's really important to you." Shua turned away from the crowd and shoved the microphone back into Roy's hand. "They're all yours," he said cheerfully

Roy watched him as he sauntered back to his seat, then he considered the microphone in his hand. He looked up at the crowd and lifted his shoulders slightly.

"There really isn't much I can add to that," he said. "I should tell you that whenever you decide to have your election, my government is not currently in the position to consider the results until the time given in these documents. It's not my place to tell you what to do. All I can do is recommend, like Shua said, that you take advantage of this period of time to discuss these issues with your families and give your decision the careful, considered thought it deserves. I won't keep you here any longer. I'll be here for another few days, so if any of you have any further questions, please don't hesitate to ask." He drew himself up slightly and said in an authoritative tone, "Thank you for your time."

He turned to Karley and nodded, and the Briggs radio man flipped off the switches on the console. Many of the Ishvalans still seemed dissatisfied, but they took the hint that the presentation was officially over and started drifting away from the mess tent, some still arguing amongst themselves. Roy looked over at Shua as he stood up to join the others who were leaving.

"Thank you," he said. "You gave us all a lot to think about."

Shua gave a modest shrug and was about to reply when he caught sight of General Armstrong approaching them.

"That was impressive," she said with gruff approval. "Maybe you're not a complete moron."

Shua gave a quiet chuckle. "Oh, sweetheart, I love it when you talk dirty!"

Olivier gave him a look of utter disgust and stormed away.

"Exit, stage left," Madame Christmas remarked drily as she came up. She turned to Shua and patted him on the cheek. "That was brilliant, my dear! You reminded me of Murgatroyd Guildersleeve when he did that marvelous Act Three speech in All Your Boys Will Come Home. He got five curtain calls every damn night." She fitted a cigarette into her mother-of-pearl holder. "Never a dry eye in the house."

"Why, thank you, Madame!" Shua said with a little bow. "That's very high praise, coming from you."

Roy reached into his pocket for his gloves, but Madame Christmas shook her head. "Not here, Roy boy," she warned quietly.

Roy pulled a slightly embarrassed face and quickly took his hand out of his pocket. "Sorry. Force of habit."

"Tricky little buggers, aren't they?" Madame Christmas pulled an ornate cigarette lighter from her reticule. Roy started to reach for it, but Shua took it from her and flipped it open, holding the flame to the end of her cigarette. She took a delicate puff from the end of her holder and blew the smoke off to one side. "Thanks, duckie." She cocked her head in the direction in which General Armstrong disappeared. "I suppose it's amusing, but she's really not your type. Frankly, I don't think she's anyone's type."

Shua gave her a wink. "All the fun's in the chase."

"Meaning you wouldn't know what to do with her once you caught her?"

"That wouldn't be a problem," Shua replied. "My only dilemma would be choosing from all the possibilities."

Madame Christmas burst out laughing and gave him a playful shove against his shoulder. "Well, dear, send me a postcard!"

Roy turned away from them, shaking his head, and he found himself facing Scar.

"I have a question," the big Ishvalan said. Roy spread his hands, inviting him to continue. "I'm surprised at what we're being offered if we choose to stay. It's more generous than I would have expected. What guarantees are there that these concessions will be honored? Not just to this generation, but for those who will come after us."

"Apart from my personal word of honor?" Roy asked with a slight smile.

"Yes."

Roy held up the documents. "This is actually worth a bit more than the paper it's printed on."

"Is it? I have your personal word of honor on that as well?"

"Well, let's see…" Roy affected a look of concentration. "That's Scar, ten, state alchemists, zero. I'm not sure I'd like to risk those odds by lying to you."

"Zero?" Scar moved closer to him, emanating just a little menace. "Thousands, Flame Alchemist. Thousands."

Roy held up his hand. "Point taken." He returned the Ishvalan's intent gaze. "How about this, then? Old Man Grumman isn't going to last forever in his current office. At some point he's going to want to retire because he's too fond of his leisure time. When that happens, I'm going to be the next Fuhrer. You have my personal word of honor on that, too." A grin spread across his face. "And if you're still an Amestrian citizen by then, you can vote for me!"


"Hi, Mom!…Yeah, it's your boy…yeah, I can hear you just fine…Listen, could you…yes, Mom, I'm fine…no, I haven't caught anything…Mom! Listen!…I need you to send some stuff out for me on the very next train, okay? I know it's short notice, but…okay, I need you to send me three sets of ladies thermal underwear…no, Mom, of course not! It's for a lady who's moving up to Briggs at the end of the week. She's getting married to Major Miles. Remember him?…yeah, it's great. Anyway, she's gonna need some boots, too…oh, heck, yeah! Wool socks, straight from Resembool. Put her down for three pairs of those…well, okay, four pairs. The major's paying for it…Oh, you've got those in, too? Oh, that'd be swell! Do they have hoods? Absolutely!…Oh, yeah, hold on, I've got 'em right here…"

Havoc pulled a slip of paper from his shirt pocket. "You got a piece of paper handy? Okay, it's thirty-eight, twenty-six, thirty-seven," he read wistfully. "…Yes, Mom, I'm aware of that…It's not like I haven't been trying… Aw, Mom, I've been my absolutely most charming, gentlemanly, helpful best. You'd be so proud of me! But those two had their eyes on each other from the get go…no, I didn't measure her myself! One of the other ladies did. Rada, the one who's been using the sewing machine you sent…yeah, she's a peach!…no, she's getting married, too…no, there are actually quite a few ladies here with equally impressive measurements…well, that's really open-minded of you, Mom, but it's going to have to wait until the election…yeah, I hope so, too…" Havoc looked down at his legs stretched out in front of him as he sat in front of the radio transceiver. "Part of me kind of belongs here…Did Dad talk to you about me opening a store here?…Sure, it'd do well, especially if they okay the garrison. They'll want Amestrian goods…But I'm gonna stop talking about that. I don't wanna jinx the whole thing…You got that right! Anyhow, if you could get that stuff out here as soon as…Gloves! Oh heck, yeah! Sure, Mom, anything else you can think of. I'm pretty sure she's not used to the cold.,.thanks! And send the bill along with it. I'll make sure Major Miles gets it and pays up…Yup! Thanks again!…Say hi to Dad for me, and everyone else!…I'll talk to you again in a few days…I love you, too, Mom."