Chapter 47 Fault Lines
Chapter forty-seven
Fault Lines
Azaleen rose, planting her feet, every muscle taut, as she fumed. It took every ounce of self-control to maintain her composure.
“You are a rude little man,” Juliette declared, her wrinkled face drawn tight with disapproval.
“Little?” He laughed, glancing around the room.
“I’m the biggest one here.” No one else laughed.
All eyes fixed on the president. “What?” He lifted empty palms. “I don’t mean offense.
I mean, the chief here is clearly Native, and LeCun and Frost are White.
I’ve never seen someone who looks like Ms. Redfern—that’s all.
Curiosity. I mean, LeCun? You understand.
Do you have people like her? What do you call them? ”
Azaleen wanted to punch Luther and surprise him with the power of it. She wanted to draw blood. Instead, she glared, curling her lip.
Prime Minister LeCun drew in a breath and stood, angling toward Irons while keeping his distance.
“We would call her a crisis mediator. Neither the Oligarchy nor our Oracle considers the color or characteristics of one’s body to be of any significance.
Our society values intelligence, knowledge, unity, and obedience.
Such trivial concerns are unworthy of our notice. ”
“Gee, I was just curious,” Irons said, brushing off his bluntness.
Azaleen, who couldn’t stand to look at the arrogant fool, turned her gaze to Tamsin.
Her first thought was how stunningly beautiful she was, a unique blend of East Asian and African characteristics.
Verdancia had plenty of citizens who shared her look.
During the past two centuries, people from all over the world immigrated to the South.
They blended culturally and genetically with the Black and White populations until such mixing became the norm.
She recalled reports citing that hardline conservatism was on the rise in the Red River Republic, fueled by religious interpretations and propaganda.
Was Luther the perpetrator or merely a follower of the trend?
Tamsin stepped in front of her chair. “Does my ethnicity cause a problem for you, President Irons?”
“No,” he said with a shrug. “Nor does being a woman, though I feel a bit outnumbered.” His second attempt at a joke also fell flat.
Wanting to move the conversation forward, Azaleen spoke. “President Irons, why did your army invade my country, and why did you abruptly recall them?”
“Well, now, Frost, your highness, that was an unfortunate misunderstanding,” he said with an apologetic expression, opening his palms toward her.
A fresh wave of rage rushed through Azaleen. She kept her volume low but couldn’t hide the icy bite in her tone. “Unfortunate misunderstanding? Irons, your army carved a wake of destruction across Verdancia, killing tens of thousands of my people.”
“Well, now,” he answered defensively, taking a step toward her. “According to my reports, the Republic has suffered more casualties than your country.”
Her mouth fell open, heat surging through her.
“You attacked us! And not just soldiers. Your General Garcia is a heartless brute whom you unleashed on Marchland. He’s been waging war on the civilian population—old people, women, children.
He blew up a hospital with over a thousand wounded noncombatants inside, plus doctors, nurses, and medical supplies we can’t replace. ”
A flicker of fear crossed Irons’ face. He lowered the finger he had been about to point. “Garcia did that?”
“Yes,” Azaleen clipped. “He also burned crops, killed livestock—”
“Killed livestock?” Irons repeated in disbelief. “No.” He rubbed his chin, brows drawing together. “I never ordered him to attack civilians, and lord knows we need the livestock. I mean, the whole reason for the invas—incursion,” he corrected, “is because we don’t have enough food.”
“Did you instruct your general not to kill civilians?” Juliette slid from her seat and stood beside Azaleen.
“I didn’t think I had to,” Irons said. “I just told him to hurry up and get it over with.”
“What was it, Irons?” LeCun asked. “Were you merely intending to raid Verdancia and make off with food stocks, or was your plan to defeat and annex them into the Republic? We in Appalachia have heard about your expansionist doctrine.”
Irons spun to LeCun in surprise, jabbing a finger in his direction. “And what were you doing? Trying to crush us both with one swift blow?”
“That was an accident,” LeCun said, taking a step back. He pushed up the glasses on his nose.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Tamsin said. “If we could all please take our seats. I feel it would be helpful to address one concern at a time.”
Irons ignored her completely, turning to Azaleen. “Let’s let bygones be bygones,” he said in a losing attempt at charm.
Azaleen’s fingers curled against her palms. “If you needed food, we were willing to trade. Verdancia and the Republic engaged in peaceful trade in the past.”
“That’s not just up to me,” he said, feigning innocence.
“And what about your Manifest Destiny?” Juliette asked.
“It’s a popular belief among the voters,” Irons explained. “You know. The continent used to be all one country.”
“And how well did that work out?” Juliette spat, standing her ground at five feet even. She propped her fists on her hips and raised her chin.
“Look, I don’t control the past. I wanted to trade with Verdancia, but the popular religious opinion is that we can’t lower … can’t compromise with … you know. I don’t see you as less than,” he declared, gesturing to himself. “But the voters insist our principles be adhered to. You know how it is.”
“It is clear your principles don’t include placing the most intelligent people in positions of leadership,” LeCun sneered.
“Hey, watch it, loony.” He shot an angry glare at LeCun. “At least my citizens are too smart to worship a stupid computer. You think I use propaganda?” He turned back to Azaleen and Juliette. “His Oligarchy has mastered the art. The Oracle knows best,” he scoffed.
“Please,” Tamsin repeated. “Let us all take our seats. President Irons has yet to explain the true reason behind this meeting.”
Azaleen’s eyes flashed. “I thought we were here to sign a peace agreement, a nonaggression pact—with witnesses—to keep your army out of my country.”
“Now, Queenie, don’t get your panties in a wad.”
Without warning, High Chief Juliette Batise stepped forward and slapped Luther Irons across the face. His head jerked to the side. Her hand left a mark. Everyone stared in stunned silence.
“You are nothing but a liar and bully,” Juliette pronounced. “A spoiled child who wants all the toys. You have insulted everyone here. That is no way for someone who needs us to behave.”
Irons lifted a hand to rub his jaw, looking like a scolded schoolboy.
“Ms. Redfern is right,” Juliette continued. “You didn’t call us here to make peace out of the goodness of your heart, but for an ulterior motive. You are Wasichu, a greedy man with a bad way of being. You show no respect. That makes you worthless in our eyes.”
“Perhaps an apology is in order,” Tamsin suggested in a soft tone. “At this point, we need a reset. My father would call it a ‘do-over.’ President Irons?”
“Well, sure,” he said, dropping his chin. “I really didn’t mean to insult everyone. I’m accustomed to being the one in charge and failed to show you the proper respect, my fellow leaders.”
“Maybe we could all take our seats,” LeCun suggested, “as Ms. Redfern instructed.”
“Yeah, sure.” As soon as Irons settled into his seat, the others did so as well.
“Prime Minister LeCun,” Tamsin said. “Let’s begin with you. It seems that you created a robot army that attacked soldiers of both the Red River Republic and Verdancia on Verdancian soil. Could you provide an explanation?”
LeCun pushed up his glasses, then folded his hands into his lap.
He didn’t make eye contact and spoke with a professor’s cadence.
“Appalachia hasn’t maintained a large army.
We rely more on technology than numbers.
However, since the Dominion Party’s rise in the Republic, the Oligarchy has grown concerned.
We may choose to isolate ourselves, but we remain aware of what is going on in the wider world. ”
“Nobody threatened you,” Irons said.
“You didn’t threaten us either,” Azaleen interjected. “You just invaded. If not for my intelligence operators, we’d have had no warning at all.”
“Please,” Tamsin said. “Let’s return to Prime Minister LeCun. It is his turn to speak.”
LeCun nodded to her. “Thank you, Arbiter. As I was saying, to secure our national defense, our scientists have been working on a project to manufacture mechanical soldiers. While the units were being tested, something went wrong. I am embarrassed to say that we lost control of them—briefly—during which time they marched south to Stonevale and engaged your armies. We immediately assigned our top programmers to correct the error. As soon as we regained control, the units were withdrawn. I assure you, Appalachia had no aggressive intent. I offer our sincerest apologies for any damage or loss of life caused by our machines.”
“I appreciate that,” Irons said, the snark returning to his tone, “but sorry isn’t good enough. Your robots killed hundreds of my soldiers. I have grieving widows and parents who want compensation.”
“I understand,” he said meekly, and swallowed. “Our government doesn’t hoard money.”
“Ah, but you do hoard knowledge!” Irons sat back with a smug grin. “Like those laser rifles. Am I right, Queen Frost?” He looked to her for collaboration. It was an intriguing idea.
“Your mechanical units used handheld laser rifles,” Azaleen confirmed. “Our scientists are examining some now, but our current technology is not on par with yours.”
“And what about the robots themselves?” Irons asked.
“The AlgonCree don’t care about soulless tin soldiers.” Juliette glowered, folding her arms.