by Autumn Birt
“Are you feeling better, dear?” the brown haired man asked, his hand holding hers.
“Yes. Thank you for your help,” Danielle answered, voice sounding like it came through a paper cup.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” he asked, sitting next to her.
She shook her head. “I’m ... not feeling myself. Forgive me,” she answered. Polite. She had been taught to always be polite to her daddy’s associates.
“David, David Eldridge. I’ve known your father a very long time.”
The name caught a spark of recognition. British. But she could have guessed that from the accent. Political, of course. Other details felt as ephemeral as if she reached to grab mist.
“It has been a long time,” David said into her silence. “You were quite young, but have grown up into a fine young lady. How old are you now, dear?”
“Twenty-one,” she answered, thinking again of her brother, only thirty-two and dead.
“I wish we could have met again under better circumstances. My sympathies. Your father said how close you were to your brother.”
Danielle nodded, the motion dislodging warm tears. David stayed with her, escorting her to the graveside. He was a solid presence next to her, speaking the correct phrases when necessary to keep people away from her. Danielle didn’t need to say anything. Across the graveside, her father watched her and David warily.
After, David escorted her to her father’s car. With a tender smile, he abandoned her, Danielle’s father joining a few minutes later. It was a silent ride back to her father’s house. All Danielle wanted was to shut the door to her new bedroom and never come out.
—
“Get up,” Renault demanded, throwing the covers back from Danielle’s bed.
She clutched at them, squirming like a frightened girl. Her father grabbed her foot and dragged her from the tangled mess of bedding and pillows. She hit the floor on her rump.
“You are not a child! Act your age, Danielle. You are my daughter and you will behave as such.”
Her father stood over her, hands on hips. It had been a futile attempt to defy him, refusing to leave her bed for dinner, breakfast, or a shower. He’d let her be for a day, probably too busy to bother with her small rebellion. But now he’d come.
She’d already crossed him. There wasn’t much more to lose.
Danielle sat up and reached for the blankets. Pulling them over her head, she wrapped herself in the downy folds, twisting out of grabbing hands. The thick fabric padded smacks and befuddled ripping fingers. Tangled as one, she and the bedding were yanked upright and pushed forward.
Stumbling against a door jamb, Danielle was too disoriented to direct her journey. The blankets impeded her now, blinding her vision and encumbering her movements. Every time she pulled away from the ruthless guidance, she stumbled against a piece of furniture or a door. A table crashed. A final push forward sent her careening into a cold wall. Colder water spouted onto her, soaking the bedding. She screamed and cried as she fought with the sodden mess. No hands held her down or helped. Fumbling, she at least managed to bump the water to warm.
Finally free of the last of the sheets, Danielle met her father’s gaze where he stood at the door to the bathroom.
“Be presentable and downstairs in half an hour.”
There was no “or else.” There was no choice.
Danielle rested her head against the shower wall, tears joining the falling water. After a minute, she reached for the soap.
The next two days were completely unlike any she had imagined on the few occasions she’d pondered capturing her father’s attention and joining the family enterprise of politics. She’d thought of fine suits, stylish grooming, rehearsing speeches. She thought she’d have to run for election and win.
“We are at war,” her father told her flatly.
“So they are just going to hand me a seat on the new EU Parliament?” she scoffed.
“Yes.”
Danielle had been joking. She thought he was as well. But under his steady stare, she realized he wasn’t.
“How? I don’t understand. We are a democracy and ...”
“Have you not been paying attention to anything that has occurred the last two years?” Renault snapped.
Her cheeks pricked with heat. “Of course, we are at war with the FLF.”
“And?”
“Formed a single governing body for the EU after the simultaneous attack and destruction of each country’s government. The surviving parliamentary members from each country were formed into a single emergency government.”
“Well, at least you know that much. How many members? What happens if one is killed?”
“I ... I don’t know. There’d be an election, I suppose.”
“Really? When? Have you heard of any elections being scheduled?” Renault asked. He spoke to her like she were five and incredibly dull witted. Tears smarted her eyes as she struggled to think.
“No. But the radio and telly have been intermittent. I haven’t managed to go online in over a month and even then most of the websites were down.”
“That is because we are at war,” Renault repeated. “The FLF is attacking the power grid. News stations have been targeted and are mostly pirated stations now, half of which are run by the FLF. Large servers were one of the first things destroyed ... in the US. Lets not discuss the situation in Europe. The internet is nearly collapsed, dear. Please spend some time paying attention to the reality outside of the house for a bit.”
He left her then. Which was a relief. Feeling like a fool was not something she relished, especially when her father was correct. She didn’t have a clue to what was happening other than the war had killed her brothers.
The need to prove she was worth something to her father lured her out of her grief. Mind shaking off its fog, she pondered who she could ask for information as she stared out her bedroom window at quiet streets. Few people scurried between buildings, keeping to the shadows as though the war were in Paris already. Well, it was in a way. That was where her brother had died. She wondered for the first time where the front lines were. Wasn’t that what they called the line of fighting between sides?
Turning away from the window, she saw a flash of red, blue, and white on a fluttering bit of cloth. A shirt of one of the few pedestrians wore had the imprint of the UK flag. Then Danielle knew whom she could call. Her father would hate it.
She found Eldridge’s number by sneaking into her father’s study. It was easy enough to find. She knew where her father kept his important things. But reaching David was less so. The phone crackled with static the first time she tried to call. The next time it was dead. Once it rang, but no one picked up. Finally, after two days, a voice answered. It was David Eldridge.
“What is it dear,” he answered once she explained who she was, and that she had a few questions.
Cheeks burning enough that she was grateful that a video chat wasn’t possible, Danielle asked the questions her father had refused to answer.
“You understand he and I are part of ... let’s call it the core of the new government.”
“It was an emergency Ministry, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. Ministry Operations Targeting Holistic Emergency Response, MOTHER, they’ve called it. We’ve helped hold Europe together since the first attacks.”
David painted a picture of her father she didn’t want to know. It sounded heroic, saving the country from government-less chaos. But she knew the truth. It was her brothers who had fought, and died, in the war.
“But there is a Parliament now. How do we elect representatives?”
“We don’t. How could we hold elections with the fighting breaking across borders and chaos erupting in cities without warning? This is an active war, here on home soil. If we held an election, the polling stations would be the next target.”
“But we won in Voltzcrag.”
“One battle. Yes. It shifted the fighting and for once we have a frontline. But
there is FLF in every country. There is fighting in every city as we try to purge ourselves of them.”
“So how? How do we have a government?”
“We’ve gone back to a few old traditions: inheritance. If a member is killed, his seat goes to a family member. If there are no more family members, the choice of an adequate replacement is made by one of the Secretaries in MOTHER. We rotate the responsibility.”
“And my father has the next choice,” Danielle said, understanding at last.
“No. I do. I will choose you. When it is Count le Marc’s turn. He will choose my son.”
—
Danielle had to confess how she learned the information. She’d hoped that hearing she had been speaking with David Eldridge would anger her father. Instead, his lip twitched a smile.
“Good, I am glad you are growing acquainted. He will be your official mentor once selected.”
“When will that be?” Danielle asked, regretting her ‘election’ would come with the death of someone as much as she looked forward to a time when she would no longer be ruled and watched over by her father.
“The way the fighting is going? Soon.”
It turned out she already had been. A senator from Switzerland had been killed along with all immediate family the week before. No cousin, aunt, or uncle stepped forward within the short space allowed. The responsibility of nominating a new member fell to David Eldridge. As agreed, he chose Danielle. He hand-delivered the paperwork.
“My son will be chosen next,” David said to Renault. A haze of sweat on his forehead gave the impression that David very much wanted the paperwork in his hand to contain a different name than Danielle le Marc.
“As promised. He is still fighting?” Renault asked, tugging the official documents from David.
“Yes,” David answered, voice roughened so that he had to clear his throat. “I cannot convince him to come home.”
Danielle understood the worry in David’s eyes at that moment. She leaned forward, ready to speak. A cold glance from her father pushed her back into her chair.
“The next choice falls on Prime Minister Diamante and then me. It will not be long, not ...”
The three of them stiffened, avoiding eye contact. Of course, if the fighting were bad enough to need two new parliamentary members because all other family were dead, it did not bode well for David’s son either.
“How long has he been fighting ... your son? I’m sorry, I don’t remember his name.”
“Derrick. Three years now, he re-enlisted as soon as the war started. Left behind a UK parliamentary seat to fight after not even holding it a year,” David answered with a shake of his head.
“He is the Earl of Kesmere Estate. Inherited the title from your brother-in-law, did he not?” Renault added. David didn’t answer other than with a stiff nod. “The next meeting of Parliament is in three days. We’ll introduce you then and get you acquainted with your new duties,” Renault said to Danielle.
Danielle couldn’t wait. Her freedom waited three days away. Warnings about potential bombings did not worry her. Her brothers risked death. She would as well. Fears for the safety of the senators kept the meeting locations secret and moved frequently.
The three of them left before dawn, driving through darkness in her father’s car. Beyond the horizon, lights flashed. Muffled explosions peppered the quiet. She had seen fighting before and heard explosions throughout Paris. But this was the first time the war felt vast. It ate the continent, even UK and Ireland. No solid front line, Danielle thought. Internal chaos was eating them alive like cancer.
When they arrived in the early afternoon, Danielle’s ideas of what the new EU Parliament would be were shattered. She expected marble halls, men in suits, and women dressed in smart fashions. There would be a building with graceful columns and people discoursing on wide steps. They would be making decisions that mattered.
Instead, it appeared more like an army camp using an empty warehouse as a headquarters.
“We’re meeting here?” she asked, dismayed.
“I preferred the old French estate,” her father replied, his voice holding the same disdain as hers.
“I’ll see what I can find out about lodging,” David said, walking away.
Danielle was given a field cot. Not a room. Just a field cot. It was set in a row of dozens spaced barely six feet apart located in a different section of the warehouse, one designated for women. She stood staring at it as a middle-aged woman dropped her bags at the foot of the cot next to Danielle before settling onto the stretched fabric.
“They aren’t that bad this time. Don’t worry, dear. It really isn’t so horrid.”
“But ... this is no better than an army barracks!” Danielle insisted, refusing to sit.
“Oh, you are very new then. This is much better than the army barracks. I don’t think they get a foot between cots. And the soldiers tend not to worry about showers, the men or the women. We’ve got a luxurious five feet at least between each other!”
Her name was Myrna. She took Danielle around to bathrooms, kitchen, and meeting hall, latching onto Danielle when she spoke her last name of le Marc. Apparently war didn’t change all things in politics.
Danielle didn’t see her father or David Eldridge the remainder of the day. It left her feeling abandoned amidst the influx of people. That night she barely slept. The room was stifling with no air flow. Sounds of people around her, shifting, coughing, and snoring grated her awake. She could have cried for her home. The home she’d been so desperate to leave. It made no sense, and she hated her emotions for playing such infantile games with her.
In the sleep deprived numbness of morning, she rose before the others to have whatever private time she could in the community style bathroom to prepare for the day. One night of discomfort would not deter her from escaping her father’s control. Her name granted leniencies and access. She could use that unlike yesterday when she’d wished she had given a fake last name. Today, she would be a le Marc. But not her father’s daughter.
A rat’s maze of chairs filled the main warehouse. Parliamentary members slowly filled the room, buzzing the air with talk of the war and how to deal with the ephemeral lines of battle. Danielle tried to absorb it.
“The unified armed forces need more weapons,” a man two rows down argued.
“Yes. But from where? Most of the world is hedging their bets on who will win. They won’t aid us for fear the FLF will take down their governments like they did in Central America,” Myrna answered, speaking from where she’d sat next to Danielle.
“Canada and Australia are still our allies!” someone argued.
Myrna flicked her fingers at the talk, turning back to Danielle with a frown. “It’s odd. We should have commenced by now. They are never late.”
“How do they usually start?” Danielle asked, scanning the empty podium in the front of the room. In the shadows, a few men spoke briefly before one paced away. She didn’t recognize anyone, but the brisk walk dried her mouth. Something was wrong.
“Prime Minister Diamante usually speaks and then we are updated on the war. After that, the roster of actions needing vote is given. We spend as much time as we can risk together going over those.”
“How long do you usually meet?”
“A week was the longest, but recently they’ve kept it under three days. The FLF wants the rest of us dead a little too much to risk the time,” Myrna said the words with a laugh, as if she were a rebel stirring trouble. Danielle wondered if she’d lost anyone to the war yet.
“MOTHER gives the update?”
“Oh goodness. No. They were dissolved a year ago, dear. They only had authority until we were formed.”
Danielle stared at Myrna, too confused to speak. Her father and Eldridge hadn’t spoken like MOTHER was dissolved. They had acted like they were in control.
“I—”
Danielle was interrupted by a gavel pounding on the wood of the podium.
“I have
very grave news,” her father said, addressing the members of Parliament. “The Prime Minister was attacked enroute. We believe he is deceased, but that hasn’t been confirmed. The FLF has issued a statement in combination with a new series of widespread attacks. They say they had once hoped to utilize Europe for its resources, proven agriculture, and industry, but our resistance has destroyed their goodwill. They will make a second example of us. In light of this, I must ask that you please depart. We will send information and a new arrangement to meet as soon as possible.”
Danielle turned to ask Myrna what she thought her father did if MOTHER was disbanded, but the woman was gone. Most of the people filling the warehouse were on their feet, moving quickly to exits as if the building were about to explode. Not knowing where her father was, the car, or Eldridge, Danielle sighed and kept her seat.
The podium was empty when the crowd dispersed enough for Danielle to have a view. She waited. A soldier trotting through the warehouse paused when she caught sight of Danielle.
“Danielle le Marc?” she asked. “I’ve been looking ... there has been an emergency meeting. Your father asked me to find you and make certain you were ready to leave.”
“There really was an emergency then?” Danielle asked, embarrassed she hadn’t believed her father when the soldier gave her a double take.
“From what we’ve learned so far, the Prime Minister was caught up in a series of attacks meant to weaken our forces. Captain Prescot is organizing the troops and we are responding, but only MOTHER has open communication lines to all the forces. There has been a lot of casualties and what is happening still isn’t clear.”
The soldier’s words were as succinct as her pace, each clipped and fired off as she hurried Danielle across the room and along a hallway. She left Danielle in front of a closed door, leaving in such a rush that Danielle didn’t get an opportunity to thank her and only realized afterwards she’d never gotten the soldier’s name.
Confronted by a closed door and an empty hallway with no chairs, Danielle knocked. It opened. A woman of about forty peered at Danielle in consternation.
