“And would our workers receive any kind of personal compensation?” Elandria prodded.
The chairman hesitated. Trevain noticed that his hand clutching the remote seemed to twitch nervously—he did not have a slide to lean on for his response. “You would receive the military protection you seek.”
“Ah,” said Elandria. Her chin tilted upward and a small peal of laughter escaped her throat. “Gentlemen, I am over five hundred years old. I know a thing or two about indentured servitude, so let’s just call this what it is.”
“No, that’s not…”
“Please,” Elandria responded, with a deep sigh. “For how long would we be bound to serve you?”
“Until the bridge is complete, and then in lesser measures afterwards to maintain the structure.”
“Would our protection be dissolved upon completion?”
“No, of course not. You will have it for as long as you require.”
Despite Elandria’s stony formal bearing, Trevain could see that she felt defeated and trapped. He knew that it was time for him to step in.
“I am sure you all understand,” Trevain began, “that as a country which has been established and sovereign and autonomous for centuries longer than your own nations, this is a difficult step for Adlivun. These people are part of a proud and dynamic society with a rich cultural history. Adlivun is home to some of the finest artists you find anywhere else, mainly because they have been refining their art for their entire lifespans, which are so much longer than ours in the water. It would be a great tragedy to rob them of their freedom to pursue their passions.”
“It would be callous,” Elandria said frigidly. “Adlivun is the seat of the last stronghold of undersea independence. The rest of the oceanic world has been conquered by the Clan of Zalcan. We are vulnerable now, but if you take advantage of this vulnerability, troves of precious knowledge and tradition will be lost. They will never be regained. Countries never recover from this kind of subjugation.”
The sound of her voice sent a chill through Trevain—he was not sure if it was just the rarity of her speech which created this effect, or whether it was the incredibly royal quality of her delivery and carriage which amazed him. Since the first time he had heard her sing he had considered her voice divine, but now he realized that it was not just a physical talent that moved him. It permeated his eardrums like liquid metal when she spoke. There was something about the passion and concentration of prudence placed behind the words. There was something about her soul.
“Adlivun may be physically situated beneath you, but we are by no means fundamentally beneath you,” Elandria said in an achingly sweet voice. It prickled the ear canals of those who listened with a lethal combination of honey and needles. She swept her aristocratic gaze across the room, making momentous eye contact with all of her onlookers. “We must respectfully decline your offer. I fear that I cannot consider serfdom a valid option for my people.”
“Elandria,” Trevain interrupted a bit too quickly, but at least three other leaders began speaking at the same time.
“Please, please, Princess Elandria—we meant no insult. The last thing we want is to make your people feel exploited,” said the South Korean president. “You must understand how important this bridge is to us.”
“This will change the world,” the Canadian prime minister added. “It will unlock untold possibilities for industry and small business…”
“I apologize. We cannot agree to these demeaning terms,” Elandria spoke forcefully and finally. Her entire body remained rigidly upright and perfectly still as only her lips moved.
“Princess,” spoke the female Russian prime minister in a kind and sympathetic voice. “Please allow us to sweeten the deal. We want to protect you, and perhaps help you expand your kingdom. We are prepared to offer you the Diomedes.”
“The Diomedes?” Elandria repeated.
“Yes. The two islands directly between Alaska and Russia—they will be situated at the center of the bridge. They are small, but we intend to expand their size and offer them to Adlivun as an officially recognized territory; a gift. They are nicknamed the Tomorrow Island and the Yesterday Island, as the international dateline runs down the center. The Russian Diomede is twenty hours ahead of its American neighbor, even though you can walk across in the winter.”
“Fascinating, isn’t it?” said the American president. “Defy time by being at the corner of Yesterday and Tomorrow. That would make a swell tourism gimmick.”
“It will once the area is accessible.”
“So you will have a stake in this bridge too. The islands will be at the center, and they will be a new hub of businesses and tourism, malls, entertainment…”
“Possibly a casino,” added the Chairman of the Council of Economic Advisors.
“A massive airport will be built, maybe even an ice hotel like this one. A cruise ship industry, fishing industries, maybe a university. The possibilities are endless. And of course, housing for all of your people, so that they might live on land in addition to the sea if they choose. And bunkers. Bunkers for safety in event of an attack, all of the citizens working on the bridge can be transported to the Diomedes for protection.”
Trevain could not help it; he suddenly found his mind racing with the prospects of development for Adlivun. In mere minutes, he had gone from having anxiety about the survival of nation to being obsessed with the possibility for exponential expansion. He realized that this was absurd, and that he was falling prey to his own natural human greed, but he could not curtail the fire that had been lit under him.
“Our land is the most precious thing we have to offer,” the Russian prime minister proclaimed. “You may know that Alaska was sold to the United States by Russia in 1867, for a mere $7.2 million—it seems ridiculous now and worth a good laugh. Look at how far we’ve come today. The bridge to Alaska will be worth hundreds of billions! We will be pitching in the funds together—the governments of the APEC countries along with many major corporations are heavily invested in this project. The Diomede Islands may not be much, but someday soon, especially after this bridge is built… they could be a prime territory to own.”
Elandria nodded; it was an imperceptibly small nod. Trevain was not sure, but he did not believe that the offer of the islands had caused her decision to waver in the slightest.
“Please consider this proposal,” said the American president. “You have something special to offer us which we do not take for granted. Your physical gifts are outstanding—you are exactly like us, except God must have smiled on you a little more.”
“Perhaps at first. It seems to me that even your great God prefers not to peer beneath the tempestuous waves,” Elandria said with a small smile.
Trevain could not have agreed more. “When do you need your answer?” he asked the heads of state. He felt the unmistakable dismay of the cornered king on the chessboard.
“We are in no rush,” said the Russian prime minister. “Writers, politicians, and visionaries first proposed a crossing between the Chukotka Peninsula and the Seward Peninsula well over a century ago. It will be an exciting day in history when we finally bring this concept to fruition, and hopefully we will all live to see its fulfillment.”
“Make no mistake,” said the American president with emphasis, “we will have this bridge at some point in the future. This is an opportunity for you to accelerate something great and be a major part of world progress—to be a part of modern history. The moment you sign the documents, we will contact the Secretary of Defense and begin your protection. It should take about 48 hours to determine a strategy—we can work with your military if you prefer to be involved, and within another 48 hours, the naval troops will be deployed.”
“We will give you an answer in the morning,” Elandria said, rising to her feet. “I need time to discuss this with my cabinet and military council. Until then, I hope that you will all enjoy dinner and your accommodations for the night. I have ensured that you will be pr
ovided with the best that Adlivun has to offer.”
Elandria inclined her head respectfully to the dignitaries before she politely excused herself from the room. It seemed to Trevain that she was close to the point of tears.
Elandria closed her eyes.
She heard when Trevain entered the room, and she did not even open her eyes to confirm his identity. She seemed to know his footsteps.
“We’re going to have to accept,” she said softly. “Your signature and mine would be enough.”
“I must admit that the offer of the Diomedes is rather attractive,” Trevain said.
“Like dangling carrots before mules.”
“If the islands are expanded to support the massive volume of travelers—well, Adlivun would have an actual spot on the map. We could join the United Nations, and…”
Elandria opened her eyes then, to study him curiously. “You’re sold on this, aren’t you? Well, I understand. You are the king after all, and you are being offered a new territory. I don’t want to think about this anymore. I will defer to whatever you decide.”
“No. We need to talk about this together,” he insisted.
“I see that our only options are surrender. We either surrender to Zalcan, or we surrender to the land-dwellers under the pretense of a partnership.” Elandria sent him a small smile. “What can we do? Shiretoko has fallen, and the Rusalka have fallen. Zalcan controls everything around us, and we have no allies if not for the land-dwellers. We’re sold.”
Trevain took a deep breath as he looked at her defeated expression. “We can try to find another way.”
“I cannot think of another way,” she said sadly. Her eyes suddenly narrowed. “But perhaps Visola or Vachlan can. The general is a font of ideas—I will not ratify without Visola’s consent.”
“You’re kidding, right? Have you seen my grandmother lately?”
Chapter 14: Ramaris Family Curse
“Visola? Visola?” Trevain said, snapping his fingers. “General Ramaris? Grandma?”
The woman was sprawled in an unattractive heap on the floor beside Queen Amabie’s healing pod. She was clutching an empty bottle of bourbon tightly to her chest.
“How much did she drink?” Elandria asked impatiently.
“Enough that she lost her senses and tried to throttle me,” Queen Amabie responded with displeasure. “She called me an ‘enemy spy’ and put her hands around my neck, but luckily my arms are perfectly fine and her reflexes were particularly slower than usual.”
Vachlan crouched beside his wife and pushed her red hair aside to examine her head injury. He looked up at the others dejectedly. “I don’t think this was all because of the bourbon. She has been having these… episodes. She attacked me a few times, and she has been harming herself as well. But mostly me.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Trevain asked. “I knew she was drinking a bit too much, but…”
“You had enough to worry about,” Vachlan said, as he stroked Visola’s hair. “I thought she would get better once she sobered up and calmed down but…”
Visola groaned, reaching up to swat her husband’s hand away. “Ow. Elephants sat and squashed my head. Bring me something fermented fast.”
“She seems fine to me,” Elandria commented. “Visola—I need your help.”
“Sure, Princess,” Visola said huskily. “Bit hung over here, but ready at arms.”
Elandria began to pace as she related the details of the situation as succinctly as possible. She explained about the transpacific bridge, and offer of the Diomede Islands.
“Will they be paying our workers?” Visola asked, with one eye open, and one hand clutching her throbbing head.
“No. They said they required our labor in exchange for their protection.”
“Absolutely not,” said Visola, sitting up abruptly. “That’s slavery, Elan. Sla-ver-y. How can you even consider it?”
“But the defense…”
“Hello. We’ve seen this before. We’ve done this before. Remember Australia? Remember Chile? They didn’t even need our help, but we forced them into thinking they did. Vachlan and Kyrosed manipulated them and laughed about it.”
“I did not laugh,” Vachlan protested.
“You laughed. Now here we are on the receiving end; we’re the little bitches this time. ‘Cause they’ve got the nukes. And they want to get rid of my whole army and turn them into construction workers? That’s like cutting off my penis.” She turned to her husband angrily. “How would you feel if the United States wanted to cut off your penis?”
“Not so great,” Vachlan answered.
“Well, that’s exactly how I feel. I like my penis. It’s like a sick churning in my gut. I think I’m going to vomit.” She paused for a moment, with a hand on her stomach. “What if there is no Clan of Zalcan? What if it’s all a game, and all the attacks were just some kind of ploy to make us afraid so that we would do what they wanted? It’s a conspiracy, man.”
“The Clan of Zalcan exists, Viso,” Vachlan said, gently rubbing the back of her neck. “I lived and worked with them for over a century. They’re a real threat.”
“Okay, fine. You can all go and be slaves, but I think I prefer to go and be dead.” The room was quiet after Visola’s statement. The general closed her eyes and laid her head down in Vachlan’s lap, wrapping her arms around his thigh. “I’m dreaming. I’m dreaming, and when I wake up, Zuri’s gonna tell me it was a joke. And Alcie will laugh and say ‘gotcha.’”
Queen Amabie ignored her friend’s rambling and turned to the princess. “You must ratify this agreement, Elandria. There is no other way. Take it from me; I have learned my lesson about pride. It is better to be slaves and to be alive than to lose your country altogether. I have lost mine. The price is too great.”
Visola spoke without opening her eyes. “If we don’t have our dignity and our freedom, what do we have? Chocolate s’mores? Oysters and seaweed? Saxitoxin?”
“Safety and security,” Elandria responded, trying to convince herself. “The bridge will only take a decade to build. After that, perhaps things will return to normal.”
Trevain nodded. “They’re offering naval protection and NORAD monitoring. They’re also going to help us find Zuri…”
“Blah,” Visola muttered, “she’s dead.”
There was a silence in the room, which was broken by Visola’s soft laughter. She writhed uncomfortably on the ground, digging her nails into Vachlan’s thigh “Dead. Didn’tcha know? So dead. Along with the baby in her tummy.”
Elandria grabbed one of Trevain’s hands in both of hers when she saw the stormy look on his face. She was afraid of what he might do. Trevain took a moment to calm himself, and squeezed Elandria’s hands until she thought he might crush them. Finally, he released the pressure, and nodded at her with gratitude for grounding him.
“She’s not sober,” Trevain said, not noticing that he was slightly hyperventilating. “She doesn’t mean it. She doesn’t even know what she’s saying.”
“I regret to tell you she speaks the truth,” Queen Amabie said, “the truth as far as we know. We weren’t going to tell you, because the information isn’t confirmed, but the warriors who attacked me said that…”
“No,” Trevain said. “I’m not going to believe it. They’re just trying to fuck with our heads. Wouldn’t I be able to intuitively feel it if Zuri was…”
“Dead,” Visola muttered. “Face it, kid. It’s the Ramaris family curse to lose our children. Your little baby’s dead, just like my Alcie is dead. Everyone’s dead. You have Ramaris blood, so it all gets ripped away. Your children and your spouse—you never get to keep them. Love something and it dies. So don’t love anything anymore.”
“I’m right here,” Vachlan said, stroking Visola’s hair. “You get to keep me, darling.”
“Temporarily,” she mumbled against his leg. “You’re the enemy. I need to execute you soon, ‘cause everybody said. I forgot to do it yesterday and wash the dishes. Troj
an horse. It’s all going down tonight. Necrosis. Let them rot. Like Amabie’s legs; the maggots eat the death, but the death spreads faster. I’ll make them all rot.”
Elandria cleared her throat. “Alright. We already know that a prison cell won’t hold her, but hopefully her husband can. Vachlan, please restrain Visola in solitary confinement until she is better. Watch her constantly—keep her safe from herself, and keep everyone else safe from her.”
Vachlan nodded, putting a hand on Visola’s chin and turning her head to examine her empty green eyes. He frowned. “What if she doesn’t get better?”
“She will,” Queen Amabie said. “Ask Sionna to recommend something, but I think she mostly needs to get some rest. Losing a child is not easy. She just needs time.”
“Fine. I will inform the heads of state that we need more time,” Elandria said. “I will not ratify the documents until she’s better and can approve of my actions. Insane or not, she is the cornerstone of this country.”
Trevain was pacing back and forth on the thick expensive carpets which covered the floor of the new ice palace. His joints were beginning to ache again from staying above water for too long. He could not stop thinking about his grandmother’s psychotic break. Having grown to depend on the unwavering Visola, it was disturbing to watch her fall apart. He paused at his window, and unlatched the small circular opening. The windows of the palace were very small to keep in the heat, but Trevain felt an urgent yearning to look at the sky. Seeing the bright huddle of the Pleiades, he thought of his mother. Alcyone had been named after a star in the constellation; he tried to remember the names of other stars in the cluster, but his mind drew a blank. Was there Electra? He also considered that a lovely name for a girl.
He cursed out loud at the thought. Was he still thinking of names for his unborn child? How long would it be until he realized that she was not… A knock on his door startled him. He obediently moved across the room to answer the door, grateful for the interruption to his train of thought.
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