OUR LIVES, CHAPTER 30: "FOR YOU, HUGHES…"
By The Binary Alchemist 2013
"Colonel Hawkeye! Jean! You gotta let me in! It's important!"
Somebody was hammering on the door before Riza Hawkeye had finished her first cup of coffee. That was nearly as risky as sneaking up on her in a dark alley. She frowned at Havoc. "You get it."
Checking that his side arm was loaded, Jean Havoc cautiously opened the door and was immediately knocked down by a speeding blonde bombshell.
A wild-eyed Gladys Turlough grabbed Hawkeye by the sleeves of her dressing gown. "Have you seen the papers?" she shouted. "It's all over the front page!" Her eyes were teary and her mascara was starting to run. "Oh, we gotta help him! We just gotta help him!" She shoved the morning paper into Hawkeye's hands.
The President's right hand woman read the headline and felt sick inside, sick enough that she didn't even considering firing a few rounds at the feet of their unexpected visitor to speed her out the door….
###
"How you gonna play this?" Ed wanted to know, straightening Roy's tie as he dressed before heading out to the steps of Parliament to address the media about the morning's headlines.
"As briefly as possible." His attire was a simple three piece dark suit that Carson had picked out. A power suit—but not so much power that you intimidate, Roy had been advised. "Short and to the point….rather like you—OWWW!" Ed had leaned forward and nipped him sharply on the lower lip as a warning. "—used to be."
###
The head of his press corps was banging on his hotel room door before breakfast, shouting to be let in. "It's in the papers," he gasped. "Mustang's been subpoenaed by Parliament! He'll making a statement this morning, but the word on the street is that he's not gonna fight it. You've won, sir! You've won!"
It took a few minutes for the words to chisel though Samuelson's hangover. Roy Mustang-answering for Ishbal? For Lab Five and the Promised Day?
He placed a few calls. He listened to his pundits. He should have been elated.
So why did he feel so uneasy? Wasn't this what he wanted to happen, years ago when he saw that tall, grim figure stepping out of the smoke, reeking of the roasting corpses he had just left behind him in the smoldering ruins of the Ishballan ghettos of Dahlia? Hadn't this been the point of calling him out in the election, to see the Flame Alchemist answer at last to the charges of genocide history had laid against him? Wasn't this part of the reason he'd decided to run—to end the corruption he had seen in the Amestrian state military for as long as he could remember?
Samuelson had backers—well, one in particular. During an interview two years ago he had casually remarked that perhaps he, Donal Samuelson, ought to run for office if Mustang's Democracy Initiative and free elections ever came to pass. "You do and I'll back you," came the scornful retort. "Let's see if you can give that greenhorn a run for his money. If he wants to stay in that office, let him earn it." When the amendment passed and the qualifications published for presidential candidates, Samuelson had met each one. A phone call was made and after a great deal of derisive laughter, a check was deposited into Samuelson's campaign war chest-a check so large that the bank had called the donor to make sure that the stratospheric number of zeroes was not a misprint.
It paid for radio commercials, billboards, flyers, buttons and ads in the newspapers and magazines. It put gas in his car, paid for train tickets and hotels and meals for his staff and for large hosted lunches and banquets on the road. It paid men to make picket signs and march in peaceful protest against the current government—and paid for beers at the pub after they were done for the day.
It did not, his backer sternly reminded him, pay for acts of violence or public vandalism. "Call off the dogs, Donal. One week"
But there was too much momentum. Even though he had changed his message to point out that alchemy had its peaceful applications—medicine, construction, science, invention—and that his only objection was using alchemy for war-it was too little, too late. He was not like a famed Ishballan cleric who stopped an insurrection single-handedly be vowing to fast until either the violence ended or he died. Out of love for the old cleric, those red-eyed bastards lay their arms down and made peace. If Samuelson threatened a fast, all he would do was drop a few pounds. The disgruntled may have liked his message but they didn't love him. The only person he knew of that might be able to pull off such a threat would be the very man Samuelson wanted to oust from the presidency.
There had been an alchemy book-burning in the town square in Pendleton—oh, sparsely attended, to be sure, and quickly extinguished. That had been last night and made the front page of the Central Times below the fold. Hopefully his backer wouldn't count this as 'violence'. If the plug was pulled on his supply of campaign cash his candidacy might fizzle out in the last crucial
weeks before the vote….
###
They called it the VOG box—short for Voice Of God. Of course, Maes had invented it. Using a wire recorder inside the portable box and a small radio and speakers, it had a series of buttons on the front labeled "VOG" and "Ruffles and Flourishes". Kain connected it to the p.a. system and hit the VOG button:
"…Ladies and Gentlemen, The President of Amestris"
He pressed the R/F button and a crystal-clear quadruple military fanfare rang out as Mustang approached the podium…
"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, distinguished members of Parliament and to all the citizens of Amestris and its territories…
"I'm aware that this morning's headlines have raised concerns all over the country—and I believe that to be a good thing. A nation that considers and asks questions is a nation that is less likely to be led around blindly by its leadership.
"This was not the case at the beginning of this century, or for much of the century that preceded it. For decades, the people of Amestris were treated…well, to be blunt….like children. Your leaders patted you on the head, told you 'everything's fine, go back to sleep' and that was the end of the discussion.
"This ended in the spring of 1915. There is not one single citizen in the nation who is old enough to remember who does not recall what occurred that day, because it affected every man, woman and child. A faction in the military had attempted to misuse alchemy in a manner that endangered the lives of the entire population. Lives were lost—including that of Fuhrer Bradley—and there was catastrophic damage done to Central Command.
"Under the experienced leadership of General Grumman, the factions in the military that were responsible for these actions were brought to justice and under his guidance our nation recovered—a testimony to the strength and spirit of the Amestrian people.
"But the story goes deeper than that. Recent books and discussions during the presidential campaign have brought the events of the past into sharp focus once again. Those of us who served in the ranks as soldiers and State Alchemists have been called to account for the aggressions of the past—presumably, in hopes that our bloody history will not repeat itself.
"There have also been scattered attacks on alchemists and teachers of alchemy—few but violent. And while it appears to be the work of a specific organized group with their own agenda, it cannot be excused. While it is right and fitting that the actions of the past be brought to light in national court, let me be quick to remind you of one of the most important truths I have ever learned in my fifty years:
"Violence begets violence. Rage is a sharp weapon that turns on the people who use it.
"You are entitled to answers. You will not gain those answers through violence—those who pursue that course will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. As for those who seek those answers sincerely, I give you my word that to the best of my ability, I will see that you get them. Bear in mind that you may not like those answers, anymore than I liked them as a young army officer—but it is time to seek the deeper truth about our own history, and if we find those answers disturbing or shameful then we as a nation will find the courage and strength to move forward and change our nation—and ourselves—for the better.
"To this end I will cooperate fully with the Parliament in its investigation. I will do this because it is the right thing to do, because you deserve my honesty—and to honor my friends and comrades who lost their lives searching for the same answers you seek today.
"Thank you….and good day."
###
Gracia wasn't surprised to find him alone in the cemetery, his bodyguards a respectful distance away.
Saying nothing, she touched his arm, and that arm slid around her shoulders in a comforting embrace. How far we've come,she considered. How much we hurt each other once upon a time.
Looking down she noted the sheaf of pristine white lilies resting on her husband's grave—and two red roses. One for her—and one for himself. Years ago that gesture would have wounded her. Now she felt comforted that she and Roy Mustang could both stand before the grave of Maes Hughes and say, 'we loved you".
"I…I don't know why I came here," Roy sighed.
"Because you saw him in the Gate. You know he's watching." She leaned against his side. "You're doing this for him, aren't you? At least in part?"
"I owe it to him. Maes died for the sake of the truth, in a day and time when the leader of our country thought no more about killing a good man for telling the truth than crushing an insect—because in his mind, that's all we were to him. And we've been painting him as a hero and martyr to freedom. How do yo think the people will cope with the idea that Bradley wasn't even human—that the smiling, fatherly Fuhrer regarded them as nothing more than a resource to exploited?" Turning, he placed his hands on her slim shoulders. "Gracia…you realize this story is too fantastic to be believed, right? Mad gods, chimeras—an undead army made by alchemy….it's insane. Even I have trouble believing what I missed before my sight was restored. I have no idea what the hell is going to happen."
She smiled up at him and her confidence shook him more than a little. "Think of what Maes would have done—what he would have said-and say it. And," her eyes misted over, "when it gets hard, just say to yourself, 'I'll do it for you, Hughes. I'll tell them what you can't'. "
###
The courtiers addressed him as 'the Ninth Hereditary Prince to the Chrysanthemum Throne of the Xingese Empire". Behind his back, they referred to him as The Smart One.
Emperor Ling Yao had the imperial scribes enter his ninth son's name into the family scrolls as Huo Ma Sheng Yao. His begetting was the result of a political alliance with the Nihon Empire. Hikari had been the 23rd of his fifty-odd wives, but she was pretty, intelligent and her son had demonstrated a good head for numbers, details and administration. Ling had the boy groomed for a place in the royal court, and now at nineteen he was content to run after his honorable father taking dictation, making phone calls and dealing with all the tedious little details of command that Ling had no time for.
He was buried in a mountain of paperwork over a trade agreement with the Ishballan Free State when the phone rang, half concealed under a tall stack of alchehestry books, since Sheng was studying for his examinations at the Collegium under Lady Master Mei Chang.
"Sheng-sama? It's Alphonse Elric."
Sheng Yao straightened his glasses and his face broke into a sunny grin. "Uncle Alphonse! I was just making the travel arrangements for Father to fly to Central for the wedding—it hasn't been called off, has it?"
"No—but can you set up a conference call? Something has come up—"
"—about the Promised day?"
Al whistled. "How did you guess that?"
There was a warm chuckle on the other side of the phone. "Uncle, our spies are as good as Mustang's. You know we run that restaurant three blocks from the Capital. And tell Miss Ruby that if Uncle Edward doesn't pay up on his tab Shao Tsu is going to spit in his noodles next time Uncle Ed orders take out. Now, " Sheng grabbed his notebook, "tell me how we can help…."
###
Christmas Mustang drew a deep drag on the fifteenth cigarette of the day. "Well, this sucks," she growled into the phone. "But we knew it was gonna happen. Tell me what you need, Roy-boy"
###
"Even…even if I agree to leave my clinic….we can't tell them the truth."
"Doctor Marcoh, if you would just hear me out—"
"Ed, can you convince me that it is going to make a difference? This is not going to bring back the dead of Ishbal, or the soldiers turned into chimeras, or—"
"-Mustang needs you…and besides, we both want you there at the wedding."
There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the phone. "Well….."
###
Roy looked uncomfortable. "Mrs, Bradley—I never intended-"
"—to what, Mr. President? To call upon me—me, who owes her very life to you, and the life of my son!—when you are facing such a challenge?"
Mustang shook his head. "Ma'am…there may be information about…up to this point, there has been a deliberate effort to turn blame away from King Bradley—"
"-to keep the nation united. I know that. I understand. And I also understand that years have passed and we are strong enough now, I think, to face the truth." Anna Bradley looked determined.
"But…what about Selim?"
Her smile was full of a confidence Mustang himself did not share. "Ask him".
###
"Alex?"
Armstrong nodded once. "General Hughes would have agreed. I can't speak for my sister, but I'll contact her tonight."
"Havoc?"
The major grinned around his cigarette. "Maybe they won't want to know all the details about my little ice cream truck full of machine guns….but yeah. Goes without sayin'. I'm in."
"Breda?"
"Got you covered, sir."
"Fury? Falman?"
"Ready, sir!"
"Colonel Hawkeye?"
"You don't have to ask…."
###
"I don't imagine that most couples have to worry about testifying before the highest court in the nation right after their wedding."
"Shit, I hope not." Ed tugged off his glasses and slid under the cool sheets, snapping off the bedside lamp.
"Everybody's been called or contacted?"
"Yeah. And except for the Ice Queen up north, they're all on board. And since they'll all need some place to stay, Sebastian's busting his nuts getting sleeping arrangements set up. Far as anybody knows, they're all coming for the wedding."
"I'd like to thing this was very well managed on my part."
"You would, you smug bastard. Did you know you were going to be subpoenaed?"
Roy folded his arms behind his head. "I had a hunch—and it was a good one. Samuelson's been provoking a lot of people, and the book from Winchell and Archer sure as hell added fuel to the fire."
Ed leaned up on one elbow, a hand idly stroking his lover's chest. "What's up with Maud the Muckraker?"
Roy grinned in the dark. "Oddly subdued. She'll be at the wedding, of course."
"Aw, fuck now!" Ed's fist slammed into the pillow." Goddamn it, Roy—what the fuck did you have to do that for?"
"Take it easy, Ed. I've got someone to keep an eye on her…."
###
"Mistah Alphonse…y'know I'd do anything for you-and anything for Mistah Mustang-"
"-and Roy wouldn't ask this of you if he didn't have absolute confidence in you, Gladys. Just….you know…stick close and keep an eye on Miss Winchell at the wedding. Make sure she stays out of trouble, okay?" His voice dropped into a persuasive register. "Use your acting talent."
Havoc nodded, as did a reticent looking Colonel Hawkeye.
The Ice Cream Blonde sighed dramatically. "Well….if it will help Mistah Mustang…I'm in. But," she lifted a manicured nail in warning, " if Kelley Winchell starts any shit, I'm gonna rip her tits off!"
…TO BE CONTINUED…..