05-24-2018, 07:29 PM
Two weeks earlier
Sonja Virtanen-Alvarez checked her watch for what seemed like the hundredth time since she'd arrived at the adoption agency.
"Sorry, she's always kept late at work," apologised Sonja to the woman behind the desk, who acknowledged it with a nod of her head. Sonja took out her phone and dialled her wife.
"Josie, I know your work is important and all but it has taken so long for us to get this meeting, so if you could please come by before they close! You know how much being late makes me nervous. Thanks," she hung up.
She rested her head against the wall behind the chair in the waiting room and stared at the soundless TV displayed behind the reception desk. She absentmindedly scratched at the scar on her arm from her childhood while the news cycled through the same stories about fugitive Catholics and Bigtopian pirates as had been shown 15 minutes earlier.
She noticed what she was doing to her arm and made herself stop. Before coming to Lauchenoiria, she'd grown up in Kerlile during their civil war. At 13, her parents had been late home one night. The next day, she found their names on a list of people who'd been executed by the government for no good reason.
She'd spent most of her teenage years with the resistance movement, until the day they knew they were going to lose. Then she fled. The scar on her arm was not the only one she had from that time.
"Excuse me," said the woman on the reception desk, "If your partner doesn't get here soon, we're going to have to cancel."
Sonja sighed and picked up the phone to dial Josephine again, when the TV flashed with a breaking news notification, and a picture of the parliament building appeared.
"Could you turn the sound up please?" Sonja asked the receptionist, who did as she asked.
"... shots have been fired. The whereabouts of several cabinet ministers are unknown, including Foreign Secretary Josephine Alvarez. We cannot confirm if anyone has been killed yet. Some are calling this a coup d'état, but we won't know more until..."
The phone clattered to the ground from Sonja's hand, and she screamed.
--------------------
Present day
Sonja stood at the gate to the back garden of the house they were using as a base of operations. She was waiting for Leonie to report back. Leonie was late. Sonja tapped her fingers together to try and calm her nerves when she heard the screech of bicycle tires rounding a corner too fast. Leonie cycled through the gate without braking.
"Sorry I'm late!" she called, in the manner of someone apologising to a school teacher. The 18-year-old swung one of her legs over the bike before it had fully stopped and pulled it to a stop by running alongside it. She took off her helmet, shaking out her hair.
"Go inside, and report to Ross. I have somewhere to be," Sonja ordered. Leonie tilted her head slightly to the side as if she was confused. Then she shrugged and walked into the house through the back door.
Sonja pulled the scarf tighter around her head and headed out into the twilight down the way Leonie came. She checked the time. 43 minutes to curfew. She'd have to be quick.
She headed down the path to the river through the suburbs north of Buttercity. She passed a few dog walkers and some teenagers smelling of alcohol despite being 5 years too young to purchase it legally. She checked to see nobody was looking, then ducked under the tape declaring the stairs to the river unsafe and walked down the crumbling steps.
She had to try several different bricks before she found the loose one her contact had hidden the phone behind. She took it out and dialled the only number in the address book.
-------------------------------
Laura Moore paced back and forth around the garage in the poverty-stricken district on the east of Summersea. She fanned herself with a spam leaflet about pizza delivery services as she waited for the phone to ring.
"She's late," Peter commented. Katya gave him a withering look, and the silence resumed, apart from the flapping leaflet and Peter's leg shaking as he sat on the rickety looking chair. The garage belonged to Peter's girlfriend's grandparents, who were in a care home.
The phone rang, and they all jumped. Laura rushed over to pick it up, but Katya held out her hand and answered it herself.
"Smith's Repairs. How can I help you?"
Laura couldn't hear the voice on the other end, but apparently the response was correct, because Katya held out the phone towards her.
"Sonja?" gasped Moore.
"Don't use my name," warned the voice on the other end. "I know you're new to this, but really."
"Sorry. What's the news?"
"The resistance is growing. After Chaher's crackdowns on immigrants and the news that Jo... I mean, Foreign Secretary Alvarez, is in jail, more and more people are seeing this for the illegal coup that it is. Chaher's still denying it, but our support is growing and his grasp on power is fragile."
"Are you behind the graffiti stuff in Buttercity?"
"Nah, that's a bunch of schoolkids. It's kind of amusing actually, Chaher can't even catch some adolescents with spray paint."
"If it came to an armed conflict, who would win?"
"Well," Sonja sighed over the phone, "we have a lot of support on the streets, and as far as I know there are still elements in the military loyal to Walker, but if she's impeached, I anticipate that will drop away. We might have numbers, but they have the weapons and the training. We need to avoid a war."
"The way the numbers are now, the impeachment vote doesn't stand a chance," responded Moore hopefully.
"If he doesn't have the numbers, he'll just find an excuse to lock up enough of the opposition, like with Josie."
Moore sighed and sat down on the table in despair. A crack appeared on the top and she quickly jumped off.
"I can't just sit here doing nothing!" she exclaimed.
"You're not doing nothing. You're staying alive, you know fine well they'll shoot you in the head if they find out where you are."
"Please don't!" squeaked Moore, still in denial about the imminent threat of death.
"Sorry. Look, sit tight, and I'll keep building resistance here. Good luck, Laura." Sonja hung up.
Moore put down the phone, blinking away some tears that threatened to come out. Katya took the phone and smashed it against the brick wall.
"Come on," Katya said. Laura pulled back on the poor-quality wig and they headed back across the courtyard to the block of flats they were staying in. Someone had painted a hammer and sickle on one of the other garages, and Moore let the hair of the wig block her view of it. A group of young men passed them walking the other way, and Katya put her finger on her weapon.
The men passed without giving them a second glance, and they arrived at the flat without incident. Moore entered the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. She looked at her reflection. She'd lost a lot of weight, and the dark circles under her eyes wouldn't leave. She didn't recognise who stared back at her.
She couldn't just sit tight and do nothing.
--------------------------
Keitha Noguera looked out the window at the top of the old town hall of Liaville, glancing towards the mainland. There were no signs of an approaching fleet of ships, no sounds of aircraft flying overhead.
"You were worried about nothing," she told her husband, Anael.
"Just because they have not invaded yet, does not mean they never will," he cautioned. "You have done a very dangerous thing."
"On the contrary, Lauchenoiria is about to have a civil war. I've kept Aeluria out of it," she smiled.
"I hope you're right," he responded.
She walked into her office and he followed. She sat down and opened the envelope at the top of her pile. It was a letter.
"Comrades of Aeluria," she started to read aloud. When she got to the end, she turned to see Anael raising an eyebrow.
"I'm not sure what that means, honey," he said.
"It means that the international community is taking us seriously."
"Are you sure?"
Noguera chuckled. "Sure enough. Now come on, it's almost time to pray."
They walked together down the large staircase and out the front door. The sun was setting, and they held hands as they stood by the trees outside, eyes closed and faces towards the sky in prayer. Others in the town square were doing the same, and bemused tourists wandered around them, some snapping pictures.
Just when it seemed like nothing would disturb the peace, a single gunshot sounded.
----------------------
Suleman Chaher swore as he threw the report across the doom. The new Defence Secretary, Charissa Clarke, dodged. The Communist MP was far more ruthless than most people knew, and he had chosen her because he anticipated a war.
Rowan Martin, his Foreign Secretary, took a step back. He had been Moore's Foreign Secretary, until she fired him in September for voting against the Private Sector Legalisation Act. Now, back in his old job, it struck him that the new Prime Minister was rather fond of creating projectiles out of everyday objects.
"I want you to arrest every Laeralite in this nation until you are sure none of them are intelligence agents. Walker is hiding in their country, and for all we know she's convincing them to invade right now! And for the love of butterflies, deport the Skodesmen. They have been trying to undermine this country for years!" Chaher yelled.
Jonas nodded franticly, and exited the room, practically squeaking in terror.
"Are you quite sure that's a good idea, Prime Minister," queried Martin. Chaher walked right up to him and stared him in the eye.
"Are you questioning my commitment to this, Mr Martin?"
"No, sir, I'm merely suggesting that antagonising Laeral and Skoden could backfire on us."
"That's Clarke's problem."
Charissa Clarke stopped eating her sandwich.
"Ig Laewal orw Shkoden shtart anyfing," she mumbled, then swallowed, "I will be ready."
"Good," responded Chaher, "in the meantime, find whoever keeps painting pictures of Laura Moore's face on buildings in the city."
Jonas ran back in the room.
"Sir, reports of shots fired on Aeluria."
"From who?"
"We have no idea. Our guys in Aeluria were watching Noguera as you instructed when someone started shooting at her."
"Did she survive?"
"Yes, they missed. She's been whisked away by security."
"Find out who it was."
"Aye, sir." Jonas exited once more.
Chaher walked over to the bulletproof window and stared at the darkess as the clock chimed 9pm, incidating the start of the curfew. He sighed, wondering what was to come.
------------------------------
Six hours later
"I was so sorry to hear about your ordeal. You should know you have my support in this matter, and if Aeluria wants independence, well, we can talk after this crisis has passed." Leanna Walker said over the phone.
"Thank you so much, Madam President," Noguera responded, her voice shaking.
"You should know, we've managed to get pictures of Chaher's men in the vicinity of the shooting. We didn't anticipate him attempting an assassination though, and for that I apologise."
"It's not your fault."
"Anything I can do, just let me know. I'm safe here in Laeral, if you want sanctuary I am sure you will be welcome here."
"Thank you."
"Goodnight, and safe travels."
Walker hung up the phone and leaned back in her seat. She chuckled to herself, as the news channel on the TV announced Chaher's assassination plot to the world. She shuffled her papers together and took a sip of her coffee. Nobody would ever assume that the shooter missed on purpose. Or that the whole incident had been organised by her.
Sonja Virtanen-Alvarez checked her watch for what seemed like the hundredth time since she'd arrived at the adoption agency.
"Sorry, she's always kept late at work," apologised Sonja to the woman behind the desk, who acknowledged it with a nod of her head. Sonja took out her phone and dialled her wife.
"Josie, I know your work is important and all but it has taken so long for us to get this meeting, so if you could please come by before they close! You know how much being late makes me nervous. Thanks," she hung up.
She rested her head against the wall behind the chair in the waiting room and stared at the soundless TV displayed behind the reception desk. She absentmindedly scratched at the scar on her arm from her childhood while the news cycled through the same stories about fugitive Catholics and Bigtopian pirates as had been shown 15 minutes earlier.
She noticed what she was doing to her arm and made herself stop. Before coming to Lauchenoiria, she'd grown up in Kerlile during their civil war. At 13, her parents had been late home one night. The next day, she found their names on a list of people who'd been executed by the government for no good reason.
She'd spent most of her teenage years with the resistance movement, until the day they knew they were going to lose. Then she fled. The scar on her arm was not the only one she had from that time.
"Excuse me," said the woman on the reception desk, "If your partner doesn't get here soon, we're going to have to cancel."
Sonja sighed and picked up the phone to dial Josephine again, when the TV flashed with a breaking news notification, and a picture of the parliament building appeared.
"Could you turn the sound up please?" Sonja asked the receptionist, who did as she asked.
"... shots have been fired. The whereabouts of several cabinet ministers are unknown, including Foreign Secretary Josephine Alvarez. We cannot confirm if anyone has been killed yet. Some are calling this a coup d'état, but we won't know more until..."
The phone clattered to the ground from Sonja's hand, and she screamed.
--------------------
Present day
Sonja stood at the gate to the back garden of the house they were using as a base of operations. She was waiting for Leonie to report back. Leonie was late. Sonja tapped her fingers together to try and calm her nerves when she heard the screech of bicycle tires rounding a corner too fast. Leonie cycled through the gate without braking.
"Sorry I'm late!" she called, in the manner of someone apologising to a school teacher. The 18-year-old swung one of her legs over the bike before it had fully stopped and pulled it to a stop by running alongside it. She took off her helmet, shaking out her hair.
"Go inside, and report to Ross. I have somewhere to be," Sonja ordered. Leonie tilted her head slightly to the side as if she was confused. Then she shrugged and walked into the house through the back door.
Sonja pulled the scarf tighter around her head and headed out into the twilight down the way Leonie came. She checked the time. 43 minutes to curfew. She'd have to be quick.
She headed down the path to the river through the suburbs north of Buttercity. She passed a few dog walkers and some teenagers smelling of alcohol despite being 5 years too young to purchase it legally. She checked to see nobody was looking, then ducked under the tape declaring the stairs to the river unsafe and walked down the crumbling steps.
She had to try several different bricks before she found the loose one her contact had hidden the phone behind. She took it out and dialled the only number in the address book.
-------------------------------
Laura Moore paced back and forth around the garage in the poverty-stricken district on the east of Summersea. She fanned herself with a spam leaflet about pizza delivery services as she waited for the phone to ring.
"She's late," Peter commented. Katya gave him a withering look, and the silence resumed, apart from the flapping leaflet and Peter's leg shaking as he sat on the rickety looking chair. The garage belonged to Peter's girlfriend's grandparents, who were in a care home.
The phone rang, and they all jumped. Laura rushed over to pick it up, but Katya held out her hand and answered it herself.
"Smith's Repairs. How can I help you?"
Laura couldn't hear the voice on the other end, but apparently the response was correct, because Katya held out the phone towards her.
"Sonja?" gasped Moore.
"Don't use my name," warned the voice on the other end. "I know you're new to this, but really."
"Sorry. What's the news?"
"The resistance is growing. After Chaher's crackdowns on immigrants and the news that Jo... I mean, Foreign Secretary Alvarez, is in jail, more and more people are seeing this for the illegal coup that it is. Chaher's still denying it, but our support is growing and his grasp on power is fragile."
"Are you behind the graffiti stuff in Buttercity?"
"Nah, that's a bunch of schoolkids. It's kind of amusing actually, Chaher can't even catch some adolescents with spray paint."
"If it came to an armed conflict, who would win?"
"Well," Sonja sighed over the phone, "we have a lot of support on the streets, and as far as I know there are still elements in the military loyal to Walker, but if she's impeached, I anticipate that will drop away. We might have numbers, but they have the weapons and the training. We need to avoid a war."
"The way the numbers are now, the impeachment vote doesn't stand a chance," responded Moore hopefully.
"If he doesn't have the numbers, he'll just find an excuse to lock up enough of the opposition, like with Josie."
Moore sighed and sat down on the table in despair. A crack appeared on the top and she quickly jumped off.
"I can't just sit here doing nothing!" she exclaimed.
"You're not doing nothing. You're staying alive, you know fine well they'll shoot you in the head if they find out where you are."
"Please don't!" squeaked Moore, still in denial about the imminent threat of death.
"Sorry. Look, sit tight, and I'll keep building resistance here. Good luck, Laura." Sonja hung up.
Moore put down the phone, blinking away some tears that threatened to come out. Katya took the phone and smashed it against the brick wall.
"Come on," Katya said. Laura pulled back on the poor-quality wig and they headed back across the courtyard to the block of flats they were staying in. Someone had painted a hammer and sickle on one of the other garages, and Moore let the hair of the wig block her view of it. A group of young men passed them walking the other way, and Katya put her finger on her weapon.
The men passed without giving them a second glance, and they arrived at the flat without incident. Moore entered the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. She looked at her reflection. She'd lost a lot of weight, and the dark circles under her eyes wouldn't leave. She didn't recognise who stared back at her.
She couldn't just sit tight and do nothing.
--------------------------
Keitha Noguera looked out the window at the top of the old town hall of Liaville, glancing towards the mainland. There were no signs of an approaching fleet of ships, no sounds of aircraft flying overhead.
"You were worried about nothing," she told her husband, Anael.
"Just because they have not invaded yet, does not mean they never will," he cautioned. "You have done a very dangerous thing."
"On the contrary, Lauchenoiria is about to have a civil war. I've kept Aeluria out of it," she smiled.
"I hope you're right," he responded.
She walked into her office and he followed. She sat down and opened the envelope at the top of her pile. It was a letter.
"Comrades of Aeluria," she started to read aloud. When she got to the end, she turned to see Anael raising an eyebrow.
"I'm not sure what that means, honey," he said.
"It means that the international community is taking us seriously."
"Are you sure?"
Noguera chuckled. "Sure enough. Now come on, it's almost time to pray."
They walked together down the large staircase and out the front door. The sun was setting, and they held hands as they stood by the trees outside, eyes closed and faces towards the sky in prayer. Others in the town square were doing the same, and bemused tourists wandered around them, some snapping pictures.
Just when it seemed like nothing would disturb the peace, a single gunshot sounded.
----------------------
Suleman Chaher swore as he threw the report across the doom. The new Defence Secretary, Charissa Clarke, dodged. The Communist MP was far more ruthless than most people knew, and he had chosen her because he anticipated a war.
Rowan Martin, his Foreign Secretary, took a step back. He had been Moore's Foreign Secretary, until she fired him in September for voting against the Private Sector Legalisation Act. Now, back in his old job, it struck him that the new Prime Minister was rather fond of creating projectiles out of everyday objects.
"I want you to arrest every Laeralite in this nation until you are sure none of them are intelligence agents. Walker is hiding in their country, and for all we know she's convincing them to invade right now! And for the love of butterflies, deport the Skodesmen. They have been trying to undermine this country for years!" Chaher yelled.
Jonas nodded franticly, and exited the room, practically squeaking in terror.
"Are you quite sure that's a good idea, Prime Minister," queried Martin. Chaher walked right up to him and stared him in the eye.
"Are you questioning my commitment to this, Mr Martin?"
"No, sir, I'm merely suggesting that antagonising Laeral and Skoden could backfire on us."
"That's Clarke's problem."
Charissa Clarke stopped eating her sandwich.
"Ig Laewal orw Shkoden shtart anyfing," she mumbled, then swallowed, "I will be ready."
"Good," responded Chaher, "in the meantime, find whoever keeps painting pictures of Laura Moore's face on buildings in the city."
Jonas ran back in the room.
"Sir, reports of shots fired on Aeluria."
"From who?"
"We have no idea. Our guys in Aeluria were watching Noguera as you instructed when someone started shooting at her."
"Did she survive?"
"Yes, they missed. She's been whisked away by security."
"Find out who it was."
"Aye, sir." Jonas exited once more.
Chaher walked over to the bulletproof window and stared at the darkess as the clock chimed 9pm, incidating the start of the curfew. He sighed, wondering what was to come.
------------------------------
Six hours later
"I was so sorry to hear about your ordeal. You should know you have my support in this matter, and if Aeluria wants independence, well, we can talk after this crisis has passed." Leanna Walker said over the phone.
"Thank you so much, Madam President," Noguera responded, her voice shaking.
"You should know, we've managed to get pictures of Chaher's men in the vicinity of the shooting. We didn't anticipate him attempting an assassination though, and for that I apologise."
"It's not your fault."
"Anything I can do, just let me know. I'm safe here in Laeral, if you want sanctuary I am sure you will be welcome here."
"Thank you."
"Goodnight, and safe travels."
Walker hung up the phone and leaned back in her seat. She chuckled to herself, as the news channel on the TV announced Chaher's assassination plot to the world. She shuffled her papers together and took a sip of her coffee. Nobody would ever assume that the shooter missed on purpose. Or that the whole incident had been organised by her.
LIDUN President 2024 | she/her | Puppets: Kerlile, Glanainn, Yesteria, Zongongia, Zargothrax