The Frisian, Part 3
11/9 Memorial Fountain, Discovery Square, New Berlin - November 9, 2014, 1:00 PM
“Discovery Square hasn’t been a regular square in 13 years,” Thierry said, speaking in front of the memorial, “Thirteen years ago, the terrorists had slammed the plane into the square so brutally that the entire area was destroyed. Thousands died here on that tragic day. While that day showed the worst of humanity, it also showed the best. The first responders risked their lives to rescue those trapped by rubble and flames, some even making the ultimate sacrifice.”
He pointed at the fountain, which depicted firefighters helping civilians out of rubble and beating back flames with firehoses, from which water sprayed. It was surrounded by four Roman flags.
“This fountain is a monument to their bravery,” Thierry continued, “Over the next few days, our fellow citizens gave food and shelter to those without either. Because when the time comes, we rise to the occasion. We put aside our differences and backgrounds, for we are all Romans, and we are all in this together.”
The crowd cheered and waved little Roman flags.
“I am honored to have been chosen to speak at this dedication ceremony,” Thierry said, “But I wouldn’t be here without the help of my colleague. Please welcome Jacob Baldouin!”
The crowd applaued again, and Jacob stepped up to the podium. He shook Thierry’s hand.
“Thank you, Thierry,” Jacob said, “Gee, is it great to be back here. My wife grew up in Nsorala, and I hope she’s watching right now since she’s quite busy with our foundation work. In case she is…hi honey! Love you, hope I made you proud!”
The crowd laughed.
“That is something I wanted to talk about today,” Joel said, “She was a first responder back on that fateful day, and she was one of the lucky ones who got away unharmed. Many of her colleagues were diagnosed with lung cancer or other health effects because of their efforts that day. Some have even died. I want to bring attention to this pressing issue…”
Thierry, meanwhile, made his way offstage, where he met Kurt Moreau and Joel Ostler by a registration booth.
“How are things going, Joel?” he asked.
“The outreach is going really well,” Joel said, “Oh, this is Kurt Moreau from the Swords to Ploughshares Initiative. He’s helping me out today, as he’s a veteran.”
“Nice to meet you, Kurt,” Thierry said, shaking his hand.
“An honor, sir,” Kurt said.
“So, you want to talk about the outreach?” Thierry said.
“We registered a hundred veterans at this event,” Kurt said, “Also about thirty active-duty service members.”
“Well done,” Thierry said.
“Neurhomania has no shortage of veterans and service members,” Joel said, “Especially those who have seen the damage the KRA is doing to the Amazon.”
“Too bad it looks like it’s the KRA will become even more entrenched in this province at the end of the year,” Kurt said.
“We’ll at least gain a foothold,” Thierry said.
“As you said, Thierry, the road is long, but we’ll eventually make it,” Joel said.
“Alright, good job,” Thierry said, “Keep up the good work.”
He started walking again.
“Herr Baudet,” Kurt said.
“Yes?” Thierry said.
“I…I just want to say thank you for your words earlier,” Kurt said, “It really resonated with me. Growing up in a poor family, I didn’t have many opportunities until entering the service. Now I just want to give back to the community and preserve our world for the next generation.”
“Well, it’s nice to know my words are inspiring others,” Thierry said, “We’d love to have you continue contributing to our campaign and, if you’d like, our party proper.”
“I’d be honored, sir,” Kurt said.
“Well, you think about that,” Thierry said, “Take your time, as I don’t want to rush you. Joel can give you my email. Send me a message with your decision when you’re ready, and we can work things out from there.”
“Will do,” Kurt said.
Thierry walked off and smiled. Everything was going much better than he expected. With every speech he and the other chairmen made, The Forum gained ground in not only the polls but in the national conversation. Just a little while ago, barely anybody had heard of him. And now he was a serious contender. Although he probably wouldn’t win, he would at least get a foot in the door. The same couldn’t be said for bin Laden, whose campaign had completely imploded from over a dozen scandals (and that was a very conservative estimate), leaving his party dead in the water. If the predictions were correct, The Forum should completely eradicate Alternative for Rhomania’s gains in a month.
Bill Hansen’s house, Athens - December 21, 2014, 8:00 AM
Tara Hansen looked at the model manger on the mantel. She noticed someone had put Thor and Obi-Wan Kenobi action figures next to the baby Jesus.
“Not again,” she muttered, taking them out.
She took a Christmas card from one of Bill’s military friends and put it on the table just as the doorbell rang. Before she could react, seventeen-year-old Matthew Hansen raced down the stairs and opened the door, welcoming Angela, Erich, and Magda.
“Well, Merry Christmas,” Angela said.
“Merry Christmas, Aunt Angie,” Matthew said, hugging each of them, “Grandpa, Grandma.”
He helped Erich walk inside and helped take off his coat. Erich, propped up on a cane, slowly made his way into the living room with Angela’s help.
“And how’s our birthday boy doing?” Erich said.
“He’s not turning 18 for at least another week,” Tara said, walking over to them.
“Aw, damn,” Matthew said.
“What did I tell you about language, young man?” Magda said.
“Sorry, Grandma,” Matthew said.
“How are you doing, Tara?” Angela said.
“Good,” Tara said.
She noticed the stack of files in Angela’s arms. “I see you’re still busy as ever.”
“You have no idea,” Angela said.
“At your age?” Tara said. “You should be letting go a little. Probably prepare for retirement.”
“I think I’m fine where I am, Tara,” Angela said, “I’ll worry about that when I get there.”
“Of course, I have a child to take care of,” Tara blurted out.
Angela glared at her. Tara looked down, clearly realizing her mistake.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Tara said, “And of course I had to say it here, of all places, of all times…”
Bill walked into the foyer from the kitchen, wearing casual clothes instead of his usual uniform. He had a can of beer in his hand.
“Oh, morning, Mom, Dad, Angie,” he said, “Uh, welcome. Sorry about the state of the place. We’re still remodeling the living room.”
“Oh, no, it looks great,” Erich said, “Put the settlement money to good use, right?”
“Say, Angie, didn’t Anders got 265 million marks from one of your cases a few months back?” Bill said. “Civil forfeiture or something?”
Everyone looked at Angela, expecting a good answer.
“It wasn’t exactly civil forfeiture,” Angela said, “The guy who won the lottery committed a murder and then died. The laws are really weird in Nineveh, so Di got some of the money. The rest went to the town budget. She’s spending it on a charity.”
“Nineveh, am I right?” Magda said.
Bill laughed.
“Makes you wonder what she and Anders still do at the Athanatoi when they got all that money,” Tara said, “And with all those budget cuts too.”
“Anyways, Mom, Dad, you’ll be staying in your old room, as usual,” Bill said, “Angie, you have the guest room.”
He took their suitcases and hauled them upstairs, Matthew following close behind.
“He’s been so tense lately,” Tara said, “What with the situation in North Eimerica. It’s like the Naxalites but worse. He’s worried he’ll be deployed again. I can’t blame him for that.”
“Let Bill be Bill,” Angela said.
“Of course,” Tara said.
Magda and Tara went upstairs. Angela and Erich went to the living room, where paint cans and brushes still sat on tarp and parts of the walls remained their original color. Angela opened her file and read through it, while Erich slowly lay down on the couch.
“Angie, it’s Christmas,” Erich said, “Relax.”
“I’ve been meaning to find time to tell you something, Dad,” Angela said, “About where Corporal Georgios was.”
“What do you mean?” Erich said.
“I searched maps of the area around Schnitzelberg,” Angela said, “Corporal Georgios said he was taken in by villagers. But I didn’t find any villages in the area. The satellites would’ve found them.”
“Maybe the satellite maps were inaccurate,” Erich said.
“That’s what I thought,” Angela said, “Until I found what appeared to be a Chaw Thai tunnel network running through the area.”
“So the Chaw Thai was there,” Erich said, “They were all over Siam.”
“Corporal Georgios also mentioned a UN humanitarian team finding him on their way to Laos,” Angela said, “But I checked the UN’s records. There were no UN humanitarian teams on their way to Laos passing through that area during that timeframe. But…”
“But?” Erich said.
“There was a classified Scholai Palatinae operation happening at exactly the same time,” Angela said, “A Scholai Palatinae operation which hit the Chaw Thai tunnel network, where as it turns out a rogue Chaw Thai cell had been operating in secret for the last forty years. They had been holding Roman prisoners of war, experimenting on them. Martin Georgios was among them.”
“Impossible,” Erich said, “How could the Chaw Thai be operating for so long? How could they have held prisoners of war for so long without anyone knowing? And why didn’t they announce the rescue? Why did Martin appear on that street unannounced?”
“I don’t know,” Angela said, “Maybe they had a benefactor….maybe Sentinel or someone else in the Roman military…as crazy as that sounds.”
“Are your sources correct?” Erich said.
“I’m sure,” Angela said, “Colonel Dandolo knows what he’s doing.”
Erich looked down and sighed.
“This is crazy,” he said, “It could mean everything Martin knows is a lie.”
“I’m sorry,” Angela said.
“Angie, I need to ask a favor of you,” Erich said, “Could you not tell Martin about this? Those memories he has, as fake as they might be, are basically the only things holding him together. The truth would break him.”
Angela thought for a little bit. What should she do? As a member of X-Division, she had always worked towards exposing the truth. But here she was, with the truth in hand, and her father asking her to hide it for his friend’s sake. On one hand, it was the truth, and Martin deserved to know the truth of why he was in Siam for so long. On the other hand, he probably wouldn’t react well to hearing his life for the last fifty or so years was a lie. And who knew what the Chaw Thai had done to him in that time, or what their benefactors may have given them? Could she really destroy his happiness? What would that say about her? What would it say if she did cover up the truth?
“I…I promise,” Angela finally said.
“Thank you,” Erich said, “I just don’t want to put my friend through hell again.”
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