Antithesis (first chapter)

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I usually post short stories, but for a change, here's a chapter from my 'finish when they stop publishing CRPGs' epic. It's LOOOOOOOOONG. So all I'm asking is that you start reading, and then tell me at what point you get bored. That way I'll know where to speed up the action.

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I earned my bitterness.

- "Revelation as Revolution", Amanda


And the music returned.

Softly insistent, the sounds wrapped around her, whispering, echoing, pleading for her attention. The crisscrossed undercurrent of melody upon melody drifted through her mind, each one bubbling to the surface for a moment, only to submerge beneath its neighbors. The gentle competition of these concurrent patterns piqued her interest, as the mix lazily flooded her head, engaging her curiosity as to which melody would predominate.

She was vaguely aware that there was something important going on, and that she really should be focusing more clearly on where she was and what she was assigned to do, but first she wanted to see if she could retain a sequence which was just now evaporating. She wondered who, or what, it applied to, trying to massage it back to a place where she could memorize it for future study. It was delicate work, and...


"Amanda!"

Amanda whirled, anger flaring as suddenly as her concentration was broken.

"You're going to miss the introductions," said Samantha, poking her seatmate. The both of them had prime balcony seats, high above the hundreds of noisy partisans seated below them.

Amanda took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," apologized Amanda, leaning over the wooden railing, shaking her head to clear her thoughts. Disoriented, her blue eyes spun around the length of the hall. The long, wooden chamber was lined with row upon row of glass windows, and even the roof was partially retractable to allow in sunlight during the day. Now, for the evening debate, the roof was open only enough to allow the smoke from the torches to escape. "I was...listening."

"I can't hear a thing in here," said Samantha. "Too many people - they drown out the music."

Below them, the crowd of partisans were engulfed in a chaos of shouts and counter-shouts, engaged in their own personal pre-debate work. The Conference Hall itself was set on the top of the highest hill in Cassandra, making it visible from all over the city.

"When we control the Conference," continued Samantha, adding to her mental list, "we're going to have to do something about the acoustics. We can't forfeit our music every time we hold a debate."

"Mm-hmm," said Amanda, already regressing to the music coursing through her.

Samantha was dressed in flowing formalwear, the most expensive blue dress she could convince her husband to buy. She justified the expense for "political reasons" for the campaign speeches, always held by the shore. Eyes as blue as the ocean, long brown hair catching the coastal breeze, neck strung with sparkling gems, and with the navy-blue dress hanging just so - she looked the perfect ornament. She liked to joke, only half-kidding, that the only reason Vittorio's Harmony Party had come within striking range of electoral victory was that he'd married her that year.
The only thing she was missing tonight was the weapon she always carried - but then, everyone in the hall had been disarmed for the debate.

"It's the same thing at our rallies," said Samantha. "These crowds just cancel themselves out."

Amanda nodded sleepily, suffering from the opposite problem - a host of melodies that seemed content to coexist, flowing from the hundreds of spectators, pleading only that she pay attention.

Amanda, in contrast to Samantha and the other assembled Harmony elites, looked embarrassingly casual. Unlike her fashionable seatmate, Amanda had prepared for the evening debate with as much foresight as any other campaign event - meaning, none. She had her traditional, highly functional white shirt-blue longskirt combination, plus a last-minute light blue jacket tossed on in case the chamber got too cold as the night wore on. She had even forgotten to bring a hat to cover her unbrushed, windblown blonde hair. Despite the fact that only a few years separated Amanda from her older friend - Samantha had married right on her twentieth birthday - the casual-formal contrast made Samatha look older still.

"When is this going to start?" asked Samantha impatiently, leaning over the balcony. "I want to see him thrash Edmond."

Naturally, "Vittorio's girls" had gotten the best seats in the house. Samantha was indispensable - long a speechwriter, recently a wife. Amanda had been Vittorio's personal attaché for almost three years - long before he became a successful politician.

Listening to the music of the crowds below, Amanda began to drift away once more. Hundreds of melodies, sifting, searching, changing...

A sudden noisy jolt rushed through her body.

"Here's Bosola," said Samantha, watching the old man walk carefully to the front of the Hall. Raising his hand and slapping his metal-tipped cane against the ground, the elderly powerbroker quieted the audience. "He's about to start the...wait, are you all right?"

"I'm fine," said Amanda, blinking quickly, listening as the hundreds of competing melodies drained away into silence, submerged under a dominant theme.


"Ladies and gentlemen," said Bosola, his distinctive bass calm and clear. Despite his advanced age, he stood straight and tall, hardly leaning on the cane that complemented his austere suit. His brown eyes were still bright and lively. Behind him was the chair reserved for the daily Conference Hall moderator, and behind the chair was the large stage, upon which had been set two podiums. "I wish to thank you all for your attendance tonight. This will be the final official debate between the Coastal Party and the Harmony Party before the elections."

Amanda had always been interested in Bosola's theme. Every partisan had tints from their particular party, but Bosola's music had always seemed...detached, more single-mindedly patriotic.

"I know the timing of this event was unusual," admitted Bosola dryly, to much laughter. "Advent was the only night we could find where no one had anything scheduled."

Every year, on the anniversary of the disappearance and reappearance of the stars - Advent - the citizens of the Coastal Republic held a day-long celebration. At sunset, everyone locked themselves indoors, closing their windows to the outside - not as a superstition, but a useful tradition that let people rest after a full day of relentless partying. Technically the tradition permitted continued celebrations after sunset, provided the guests stayed indoors until sunrise - not a difficulty for the most raucous revels.

"You'll note the way that curtains have been drawn," added Bosola, smiling. The Conference Hall was set right on the waterfront, and the west and east walls were thin membranes of local wood and imported glass, offering a spectacular view of the tranquil ocean to the west and the city to the east. This time, however, long curtains had been positioned across both lines of windows, blocking the view entirely. Torches provided the only light source. "The windows and doors will not be opened until sunrise, per tradition. If anyone falls asleep during this evening's events - well, I won't blame you."

Bosola smiled modestly. "In three days, half our cities will elect new leaders, and those leaders will be responsible for delivering representatives to our Conference." Thus far, the Conference had always been controlled by a coalition dominated by the Coastal Party, the largest minority - but this election offered the historic opportunity of tilting the balance. "Our parties are subject to our Republic, not vice-versa, and it is because of this that all our parties face the coming election unafraid. Parties win or lose, but the Republic always wins."

Each city organized and timed its own elections, and was free to decide how long its representatives' terms would be - some as short as a month. In practice, the cities had been gradually adjusting their electoral dates and terms to coincide with Cassandra, the virtual capital of the Republic. Cassandra was the largest city in the Republic and geographically set almost exactly between the northern and southern halves, so it had been chosen as a home for the Conference Hall.

Bosola looked out at the sizable audience, estimating the attendance. "We are all - Coastal and Harmony alike - gratified to see such a large turnout. The respect that this shows for our institutions and our procedures is yet one more sign demonstrating that though we may have our disagreements, in the end we are mutually unifed around our great Republic."

The audience applauded politely.

"One of the strengths of our Republic is that we do not fear debate," continued Bosola, "nor do we fear competition. That is why the leaders of our two parties have arranged this evening's discussion."

Many in the audience murmured in objection.

"Pardon - I mean, the leaders of our two largest parties," smiled Bosola, correcting himself. "We are thankful to have with us tonight representatives from a great many of our Republic's political organizations." In fact, of the nearly one hundred minor parties, more than half had sent representatives to the evening debate. Most parties limited themselves to just one or two cities; only the Coastal and Harmony parties managed to field representatives through all the Republic.

"It is our hope that, tonight, we can achieve a mutual dialogue which will enable all participants to accurately judge the strengths and weakness of each party's program," said Bosola. "Our Republic is founded upon the principle of truth, and truth is best served by debate."

Amanda's melody took an uncomfortably ironic turn.

Bosola turned to the stage. "We have many hours to discuss the issues at hand, and many means. Later we will divide into focus groups to consider particular issues, and there will be a question and answer session directly before sunrise - for those who are still awake! But at this time, to initiate our proceedings, I would invite Edmond and Vittorio to take their places."

"There he is," whispered Samantha, prodding Amanda, interrupting her music. The room was engulfed in cheers. "See, I told him he'd look better in that color!"

Samantha's husband, leader of the Harmony Party, was dressed in a dark blue suit to match his equally dark blue eyes - and, incidentally, his new wife in the balcony. The balcony height, and a decade, separated them. As he strode confidently to the podium, he pointed to Samantha, smiled, and mouthed "thank you".

"Allow me to introduce both of these gentlemen," said Bosola, loudly tapping his cane on the floor, summoning silence. Once quiet, he lifted his cane and pointed to the brown-suited gentleman by the left podium. "On the left side of the stage we have Edmond, leader of the Coastal Party."

The crowd erupted into cheers and boos, forcing Bosola to again slap his cane against the floor to force quiet.

"I ask that you withhold your applause until after the debate is complete," said Bosola, knowing the request was futile.

Achieving quiet, Bosola continued with his introduction. "Born in this city, Cassandra, Edmond has spent his entire life working to unify the coastal cities under the banner of the Coastal Republic. As head of the Coastal Party, and as this year's elected Conference moderator, Edmond has worked tirelessly to promote his vision of liberty and equality, writing numerous books and pamphlets, including the recent bestseller, 'The Purpose of the Conference'."

Edmond was dressed just like Bosola, in a dull brown suit that oozed dignity and discipline. In his forties and already balding, with brown eyes that looked too sincere for a true politician, he was an unlikely symbol for the head of the Coastal Party. Yet Edmond's writings provided the philosophical glue that had held the Coastal Party together, even as other parties splintered apart over city-specific issues.

Amanda had difficulty detecting Edmond's melody beneath Bosola's.

Bosola shrugged his shoulders in a half-apology. "I could say more, but given that I have spent the past several years working with Edmond...you might think my testimony suspect."

The audience laughed knowingly. Bosola was widely recognized as the master architect of the ever-shifting Conference coalitions, and despite his strong connections to the Coastal Party hierarchy, he was clearly the best choice as moderator for the evening's debate. After all, it was Bosola who had corralled the Harmony and Coastal representatives into agreeing to the debate in the first place, over Edmond's objections.

Amanda's melody, too, found the testimony suspect.

"To your right is Vittorio," said Bosola, waving his cane towards the imposing figure behind the right podium. The musician's black beard was in perfect trim, enough of an appearance of maturity to balance the fact that he looked much younger than Edmond, though only about fifteen years separated them. "Vittorio launched the Harmony Party just three years ago, a party which since has skyrocketed to claim the second-highest membership in all the Republic." The word 'skyrocket' was clearly appropriate, given that all the Harmony campaign rallies ended in a fireworks display.

More cheers and hisses escaped the crowd. Bosola smacked his cane against the floor to summon quiet.

"Vittorio has also written a number of books, including the recent pamphlet, 'Music and Legitimacy'." Actually, all his books were ghostwritten by Samantha. "He also is an accomplished composer - and Vittorio, let me make a personal request," said Bosola, smiling. "Whether you win or lose this next week, please don't stop providing music for our Republican Symphony."

More laughter from the crowd, even from the Coastal partisans.

"Let me take a few moments to explain the structure of this evening's debate," said Bosola, getting back to business. "I have a list of questions that have been submitted by members of these two opposing parties. I will ask one of our speakers the question, and his opponent will then have the opportunity to rebut his explanation. The original speaker will then have a brief chance to counter the rebuttal."

Bosola continued, "Our speakers have no advance knowledge of the content of these questions, but should not be surprised by them, for they have been carefully selected to reflect the persistent themes of this campaign."

Amanda tried to focus on Bosola's persistent theme, but the music kept shifting. Some other melody was trying to intertwine with his, but...he seemed to be pushing it back, somehow.

"I hope you will indulge an old man," smiled Bosola, stepping toward the swiveling chair reserved for the Conference Hall moderator, set right in front and between the two podiums, "and permit me to sit while these two young gentlemen stand."

Both Edmond and Vittorio graciously assented, and Bosola settled himself snugly, setting the cane in his lap. "I had better enjoy this while it lasts," he chuckled, testing the chair with a few short twists. "This is the only chance I will ever get to sit here as moderator."

The room erupted into laughter. Bosola had never held any elected office, much less been delegated the official moderator's position, but his firm control over the Coastal Party machinery - and the Coastal Party's lock on the Conference politicking - guaranteed that no one could be the Conference moderator without his permission.

"My secretary, Kayla, holds the box with the preselected questions," said Bosola, swiveling the chair so that he faced the audience. A few feet away from him, a blue-eyed woman dressed as austerely as her employer held up a thin box for the audience to see. She was late-middle-aged, but she looked particularly young contrasted with Bosola. "To be perfectly fair and unbiased, she will be extracting the questions randomly."

"We keep trying to recruit Kayla," whispered Samantha, poking Amanda. "But she's too loyal to the old man."

Kayla's melody barely registered in Amanda's mind, completely overshadowed by Bosola's competing themes.

"With those preliminaries complete," announced Bosola, "we may proceed with the debate. Kayla, please bring me the first question."

Kayla extracted a folded piece of paper from the jumbled box and walked it over to Bosola, who unfolded it, rattling it for dramatic effect.

"The first question is for Edmond," declared Bosola, still facing the audience. Despite his age, his voice was still powerfully loud - and the excellent acoustics of the Conference Hall guaranteed that everyone could hear him speak. "Concerning the recent Valencian incursions, what solutions would you propose to end the conflict?"

"That is an excellent question to commence this evening's proceedings," said Edmond, in his trademarked tenor, calm and soft - yet not so soft that the room's acoustics could not carry his voice all the way across the room. "The matter of the territorial intergrity of the Coastal Republic is a concern of the highest order, to our citizens, to our cities, and to our Conference."

"Here we go again," whispered Samantha, rolling her eyes. "Let's see how long it takes him to actually answer the question."

"The question that has been raised is a great deal more complicated than an observer might suspect," continued Edmond, pushing back what was left of his hair, a childhood habit. He much preferred writing to speaking, and could not understand why Bosola had insisted upon this lengthy public debate, particularly on an inconvenient holiday like Advent. "To begin, we must consider the nature of our adversary, and the foundations of his motivations that are leading to the unfortunate behavior we have endured for these past several months. Until we truly understand whom we are dealing with, we cannot expect to develop or sustain any kind of significant solution."

Edmond gripped the podium nervously. "To that end, I am convinced that the current Conference policy of consultations and negotiations with the Valencians is the correct course of action. We have an obligation to examine the reality of the situation, lest we make a hasty misstep and create cause for regret. Even as we work assiduously to ward off the unpleasant details of the current Valencian situation, we are convinced that positive future growth and cooperation is a distinct possibility, but only if we gauge the situation accurately and devise the appropriate responses, without risking overreaction."

Amanda recognized a Valencian echo among the melodies.

"Therefore, we hold that the best way to end the conflict is to end the sources of that conflict. To that end, the Coastal Party is committed to discerning those sources, and then acting accordingly in the best interests of the Republic. A final solution will be determined as reliable information makes such a solution possible."

Bosola swiveled his chair to face the right podium. "Vittorio, you now have an opportunity to rebut Edmond's recommendation."

"Let's get to the point," pronounced Vittorio, pounding the lectern. "These are not mere 'incursions'. They are attacks, pure and simple. They are acts of war."

"Look how much livelier he is than Edmond!" whispered Samantha gleefully.

"I can tell you what the sources of the conflict are," he continued, eyes blazing. "Our peace and prosperity. We have cities that are strong and free, and the Valencians want them. Well, we're not going to solve the source of the conflict, because we're keeping the cities. And the only way to keep our cities is by a strong defense. We're not going to let any gas-masked thugs stand in the way of our freedom. That's why the Harmony Party is committed to a major armament program to keep our Republic safe and secure. The Harmony Party stands for a strong defense."

"Thank you, Vittorio," said Bosola, "and now..."

"Let me finish, Bosola," said Vittorio boldly, not waiting for permission. "When Castor Point fell to the first Valencian attack, who was it that liberated the city? It was the Harmony militia. When Callicles-Trieste was overrun, who rescued its citizens? It was the Harmony militia. It wasn't negotiations or..."

"Again, thank you," said Bosola firmly, cutting him off. "Edmond, would you care to respond to Vittorio's rebuttal?"

"I would emphasize that we have not been idle in dealing with these incursions," protested Edmond heatedly, caught off-balance by Vittorio's fiery retort, and his early bending of the debate rules. "We have fought off every attack, recaptured all cities that have been briefly lost, and remain committed to defending the territorial integrity of the Republic. But the solution cannot be so simplistic as merely barricading our beaches."

"Father's finest hour," murmured Samantha, remembering Bradley's successful attack on the Valencian asaltadors at the Callicles-Trieste port. Her father was the head of the Harmony militia - and, in fact, her father had been the one to introduce Samantha to Vittorio. Bradley had not been pleased that the evening debate required all partisans to disarm. "I wonder where he is now?"

"He's right below us, pacing back and forth," said Amanda.

"How can you tell?" asked Samantha, leaning over the balcony. "I don't see him."

"I can hear him," said Amanda simply.

"Oh, you're right," agreed Samantha, barely catching his melody.

Kayla walked over with the next question.

"Our first question for you, Vittorio," said Bosola, pointing his cane at the right podium. "What should change in the political relationship between the cities and the Conference?"

"Nothing," said Vittorio succinctly.

A short pause.

"Would you care to elaborate on that in your time allotted?" invited Bosola.

"Nothing," repeated Vittorio. "I know that there's been a lot of empty talk by the Coastal Party about strengthening the Conference at the expense of the cities. I'm here to tell you that the Harmony Party is bound to the independence of our cities. We don't need a centralized bureaucracy like the Regime, and frankly, plans like the Coastal Party has in mind bring us one step closer to turning the Republic into an extension of the Regime."

Amanda heard faint regimental overtones, reminiscient of the dominant power that lay east of the Republic. But the sound was not nearly as strong as the Valencian echoes still drifting through the room.

"Edmond? A response?"

"To begin," said Edmond forcefully, getting into the debate after his cautious beginning, "I reject the comparison between the plans to strengthen and rationalize the Conference to the bureaucratic tyranny of the Regime. It is possible to be over-organized, and it is possible to be under-organized, and currently we are faced with the latter. One of the reasons we have fared so poorly in protecting our coast against the Valencians is that we do not have any kind of centralized military force."

"We do have a centralized..." interrupted Vittorio.

"Please wait until Edmond has finished," warned Bosola.

"Administration is weakly coordinated, and the Conference is the perfect locus for managing cooperation of all kinds, particularly legislative, throughout all our Republic's cities," continued Edmond, thankful that Bosola was there to keep Vittorio from verbally trampling him. "As it is, negotiation of treaties with possible allies in the Protectorate and Syndicacy is badly limited by the relative disunity of our diplomatic apparatus."

"Now you may speak, Vittorio," smiled Bosola.

"We do have a centralized military," insisted Vittorio, continuing his last thought. "Our party militias are perfect for providing common defense. We don't need centralized laws because each city should be free to decide and enforce its own rules. And we don't need centralized diplomacy because treaties are a waste of time."

"Treaties are not a 'waste of time'..." snapped Edmond, before catching himself.

"I am gratified to see the honest passion here," laughed Bosola, breaking the tension. The audience echoed him, weakly. "Cynics are unwelcome in our debate tonight. Kayla, the next question?"

Kayla handed him another piece of paper.

"That's odd," whispered Amanda.

"What?" asked Samantha.

"Someone is docking at the pier," said Amanda, listening to the melodies filter past the curtained window.

"Oh, that's silly," said Samantha, shushing her friend. "Who would go boating on Advent?"

"This question is directed to you, Edmond," said Bosola, swiveling towards him. "Oh, this is well-timed. Our question asks if the Coastal Republic should make an alliance, and if so, with whom."

"Excellent timing indeed," said Edmond, running his fingers through his thinning hair. "Let us begin with the first part of the question - the question of 'if'. Vittorio has already proclaimed that treaties are a 'waste of time'. The Coastal Party, however, recognizes that the situation is a great deal more complicated than Vittorio has presented. In a sense, our own Republic is one grand alliance, with each city its own unit, voluntarily bound together in common unity around our Conference. The principle of alliance - independence within unity - is sound."

Many of the representatives from the small city-based parties cheered.

Edmond swallowed, then continued, "The Valencian difficulties have offered us a new rationale for defending the reasonableness of an alliance with some outside power. If we can combine our strength with the strength of our neighbor, then perhaps together we can limit the damage caused by the Valencian asaltadors, until such time as we can more fully discern their intentions and pacify them accordingly."

Edmond ticked off three names on his fingers. "Naturally, there are only three possibilities: the Regime, the Syndicacy, and the Protectorate. The Regime has more than proven its military prowess, and their soldiers could play a useful role in protecting our cities from Valencian attack."

"Over my dead body," muttered Vittorio.

"We would never ally with the Regime," echoed Samantha bitterly, anger flashing across her face. "Not after what they did to us."

Amanda did not probe her friend to clarify what she meant by 'us'.

"Ahem," said Edmond crossly, before continuing. "The Syndicacy has also demonstrated its military power - during raids on our cities. We would be unlikely to ally with them before we can detect and resolve our underlying differences. The Protectorate is less militarily prepared, but we have always been on the best of terms with them."

Edmond shook his head. "Yet, given the political weakness of the Conference, I would be hesitant to commit to anything that our Republic could not hope to politically guarantee. So in the final analysis, I would have to conclude that an alliance would be perilously unwise at this time. I cannot discount its utility in the future, but for today, such a path is not feasible for our political system as presently constituted."

"Vittorio?" prodded Bosola.

"I agree with you, Edmond," said Vittorio, a rare statement indeed. "It will be a dark day when we allow outsiders to dictate to us. The Harmony Party is committed to the independence of the Republic, now and forever."

"Perhaps you misunderstand me," said Edmond coolly. "An alliance, per se, is not necessarily a bad idea, but at the moment..."

"It is a bad idea," insisted Vittorio firmly. "We are a republican government with republican control. We rule, not outsiders."

"Again, to clarify," persisted Edmond, "an alliance is not the surrender of republican control that you would have us believe. And were we unable to single-handedly defeat these Valencians, or any other intruders, then we would be justified in turning to outside help. Faced with the destruction of our Republic, we would be justified sacrificing some small measure of political autonomy..."

"Unacceptable," snapped Vittorio, pounding the lectern for emphasis. "Absolutely unacceptable."

"Gentlemen, please!" said Bosola, trying to retake control. The audience was growing louder and more animated as the debate energy flowed into the crowd. "I think we have had enough rebuttal and counter-rebuttal for that question. Let's move on to the next, shall we? Kayla, please?"

Amanda listened carefully as Kayla handed another piece of paper to her employer.

"They're blank," whispered Amanda. "Bosola's just making up questions."

"How can you tell?" asked Samantha incredulously, trying to peer down from the balcony to where Bosola was sitting.

"I can hear it," she said.

"Don't be silly," smirked Samantha. "The music wouldn't tell you that even if you were...well, maybe if you were right next to the paper, but even so..." Samantha watched him wrinkle the paper before announcing the next question. "Still, I wouldn't put it past him."

"He's guiding the debate," whispered Amanda. "Why?"

"You don't know that," retorted Samantha, "and even if he were, the 'why' is simple - the old man wants Vittorio to lose."

"I don't think so," said Amanda, listening to Bosola's melody intertwine with something other than the usual Coastal melody.

"Our next question is for Vittorio," said Bosola. "What should be the proper tax rate for the Conference?"

"Taxes are too high, period," proclaimed Vittorio, raising his arms in the air. "The longer that the Coastal Party stays in control of the Conference, the higher your taxes rise. Soon we'll reach regimental levels of theft. The Harmony Party is committed to lowering taxes, and we promise that when we win this election, your taxes will fall by half. That's a promise."

"How can you possibly square that with your guarantee to simultaneously increase armament expenditures?" demanded Edmond.

"Edmond," advised Bosola, "it's not your turn yet to..."

"I'll tell you how," pounced Vittorio. "The Harmony Party is committed to arming citizens, not the Conference. The Harmony Party is committed to empowering cities, not the Conference. The Coastal Party has controlled the Conference for too long, and you're more interested in strengthening the Conference than the Republic. We can reduce taxes by reducing the number of jobs that the Conference has. Like this latest project to construct roads connecting all our cities. What a waste of citizens' money!"

"Now, Edmond, if you would like to..."

"The Conference is the servant of the Republic," protested Edmond, "our greatest source of unity, and our only legitimate opportunity for joint action and unified decisionmaking. Surely you believe so, given the fervor with which your own party has endeavoured to seize control of the Conference."

Applause from the Coastal partisans in the audience.

"There are a great many tasks which are most properly republican, rather than city-based, and those tasks are best left to the Conference. Those tasks also require money," said Edmond, sweating. He looked enviously at Bosola, sitting comfortably in the moderator's chair. Edmond much preferred his normal role as Conference moderator, devising creative compromises and promoting peace, to this friction-filled atmosphere.

"As our Republic grows in power and prosperity," he continued, "naturally the number and importance of those tasks will increase, and so too the need for additional financing. Efficient roads, for instance, offer us trading opportunities with our neighbors, and given that the Valencian asaltadors have the naval capacity for blockades, our own self-defense demands a road network that would allow us some measure of movement flexibility. As well, should we ever intend to expand our Republic inland..."

"We don't need roads," retorted Vittorio. "All our cities are along the coastline. The only purpose for roads would be to give routes for outsiders to enter our Republic - outsiders like regimental soldiers. Is that the real Coastal plan?"

"Good heavens, no," said Edmond, shocked. "How could you even suggest such a thing?"

"We have information that Coastal members are plotting to betray the Republic to outsiders," accused Vittorio darkly.

"Ooh, bad move," murmured Samantha, listening to the crowd erupt with indignation. "Rumors should never be mentioned during debates."

"This is completely outrageous," sputtered Edmond angrily. "We would never entertain such a treasonous, dishonorable, contemptible, shameless...I never...I demand an apology!"

"Of course I didn't mean you personally, Edmond," said Vittorio, quickly backtracking, "only that..."

"Let's move on, gentlemen," interrupted Bosola. He looked as flustered as Edmond. "Kayla, another question, quickly!"

Amanda listened as the intrusive melody from earlier in the program melted away, leaving Bosola's theme alone.

"Oh, another well-timed question," said Bosola conveniently. "Edmond, you mentioned earlier the role of roads in expanding the Republic. This questions asks what you see as the future of the Coastal Republic."

"An excellent question," said Edmond gratefully, still bitter about Vittorio's accusation, but eager to talk about one of his favorite topics. "This touches directly upon the central philosophical core of the Coastal Party - equality. We are wholeheartedly convinced that all men are equal - in nature, in purpose, and in value. We believe that all men are capable of thriving in the kind of political free association that we have constituted in our fine Republic. Therefore, there is no reason why our great Republic will not some day encompass the entirety of this continent."

"I want to echo Edmond's conclusion," said Vittorio, "if not his reasoning."

"Oh? And what is your reasoning?" asked Edmond, frustrated by his contrarian opponent.

"You talk about equality," lectured Vittorio. "But that equality is an illusion. The reality of life is inequality, and that is why our republican system is the best. Our electoral process recognizes those among us who are superior, freely elevating them to positions of responsibility. That is why our Republic will grow - because while the Protectorate follows family lines and the Regime obeys bureaucracy, we accept our inequality and reward merit with power."

The Coastal partisans in the audience booed this mercilessly.

"An interesting analysis," smiled Bosola. "Edmond, a response?"

"I stand completely at odds with Vittorio's assessment," said Edmond fiercely. "The Harmony Party's views on equality fundamentally devalue human life in general and the worth of every citizen in particular."

"That's not true," interrupted Vittorio, as the Harmony partisans in the audience loudly booed Edmond's attack. "We're not devaluing anyone, especially not our fellow citizens..."

"You've already had your opportunity for rebuttal," chided Bosola, cutting off Vittorio. "Kayla, another question, please?"

"Bosola's leading up to something," said Amanda suspiciously, as the unusual melody returned to touch Bosola's tune. "But I can't tell what it is."

"I'm not sure either," replied Samantha. "Vittorio's not saying anything he hasn't already said at countless campaign rallies."

"I don't think he's looking for something new," said Amanda thoughtfully. "I think he wants some kind of...confirmation."

"Confirmation for what?" asked Samantha, perplexed.

"I don't know," said Amanda, trying to focus. "I'm trying to listen..."

"Good luck," sniffed Samantha. "There's not a musician here that can catch any kind of clear music in this crowd - and the debate still has two hours to go. Maybe if we talk to him during the intermission?"

Amanda didn't hear her - in fact, she was focusing so fiercely on the music that she hardly heard the next question.

"Vittorio, what is the proper role of normal people in a musician government?"

"Careful, dear," whispered Samantha, even though her husband could not possibly hear her, and Amanda was beyond listening to her seatmate. "It's a trick question."

To Amanda's ears, this was the central question. Bosola's melody and its competitor seemed frozen, waiting for the response.

"First, I want to protest your description of 'normal'," said Vittorio, choosing his words carefully. "There are no 'normal' people. We are all individuals. We all look different, work at different jobs, and like different things. I would challenge anyone to define what is meant by 'normal'."

"Easily done," interjected Edmond. "First..."

"Let him finish," warned Bosola.

"All of us are born with different traits," continued Vittorio, with unusual caution. He knew that this was the most delicate issue for his party. "Some are born with a talent for business. Those with this bent succeed in business, and rightly; those without it fail, as rightly. Some are born with great intelligence; those with this gift succeed in our schools, appropriately, and those without it struggle. These gifts and talents are unearned, and we make of them what we will. The wonder of our great Republic is that we are free to live our individual lives as most appropriate to those gifts and talents we have been given."

"If I may respond..." attempted Edmond.

"Not yet," hushed Bosola, ignoring the time limits.

"Music is also a gift," said Vittorio, treading warily. "Those with the ability to hear the music have an extra edge, just as another may have an edge thanks to their beauty or charm or strength. We are convinced that music is an advantage in governance and defense, and we know that the actions of our elected Harmony representatives, and Harmony militia partisans, have more than proven it."

"Answer the question clearly," insisted Edmond. Before the debate, Bosola had warned him that Vittorio might try to dodge this question, and Bosola had instructed Edmond to make certain that he got a straightforward answer. "What is the role of non-musicians in a musician government?"

Vittorio paused for a moment.

"He's listening to see where Edmond is trying to go," whispered Samantha.

Amanda was more interested to see where Bosola was trying to go. His theme and its unknown competitor were locked in a deathgrip together.

"If the Harmony Party is able to assemble a Conference coalition after the next election," said Vittorio slowly, "then there will certainly be a significant role for those who are not musicians."

"You've just told us that musicians are better politically than non-musicians," probed Edmond. "Doesn't that logically imply that the best government will only have musicians?"

"On a practical level, no," dodged Vittorio.

"But you concede the logical constraints?" demanded Edmond.

The audience fell silent, waiting.

"On a practical level..."

"Your own Harmony Party is run exclusively by musicians," accused Edmond, an exaggeration; in fact, only about three-quarters of the membership were musicians. "If musicians are unequally qualified to run the government and protect the Republic, then why should we even allow non-musicians to vote?"

"Again, on a practical level..."

"Logic becomes practice," intoned Edmond triumphantly. "By your own words..."

"By your own words, you prove yourself wrong," snapped Vittorio, leaving caution behind. "You protest our defense of inequality, and claim to think all men equal. Fine! Then why even bother with these elections? Why bother with these debates? Why not just choose a hundred people randomly off the street? If we're all equal, then it shouldn't matter who we pick to represent us."

"That's an oversimplification," complained Edmond. "As I wrote in my book..."

"Yes, you write, and people read your books," persisted Vittorio, hands waving, fingers pointing. "People acknowledge that you are politically wiser than themselves, so they read your books, join your party, and vote your way. No one is forced to read your books or vote for you - they do it voluntarily, on their own judgement. Well, it's the same for us," he said, words spilling out in a torrent. "Citizens vote for us because they recognize that musicians are better. So let's judge by the results. That was musician blood spilled to save our cities. The Harmony Party has already proven its commitment to defending the Republic. The Coastal Party has only proven its ability to fail the Republic."

"Fail the Republic?" gasped Edmond. "Why, that's..."

"Open your eyes, Edmond!" shouted Vittorio ferociously. "Not a week goes by without an attack by gas-masked brutes from the islands! We have to act! And if the Coastal Party can't stop the flood, then so help me, the musicians will. And if the musicians are all that can save the Republic, then I know - yes, I know! - that we'll win the elections. We will win!"

The audience exploded into a cacophony of cheers and boos. Several fistfights broke out between the disarmed spectators.

"Gentlemen, please!" choked Bosola, his voice scratchy and faint. He seemed to be caught in a vicious coughing spell, finding it difficult to breathe.

Amanda listened as the unknown theme won out.

Bosola pounded the floor with his cane, unable to speak, he was coughing so loudly.

"Give me a moment to speak," pleaded Edmond, trying to rally a crowd that could not hear him.

Again, Bosola slammed his cane against the wooden floor, so fiercely that it rattled the glass windows lining the hall. The dark windows were overshadowed by the flickering torches, oozing smoke into the thinly opened roof.

"Quiet!" he gasped, eyes watering. His voice was hardly audible over his coughing. Unable to quiet the crowd, he signaled to Kayla. "Water, please!"

Kayla rushed over with a glass of water, which Bosola promptly downed. He shook his head, throat clear.

"Again, quiet!" demanded Bosola, much more clearly, along with several more cane slaps against the floor.

The room finally quieted down to the point where Bosola could be heard.

"I would remind you all that this is a debate, not a fighting ring," rebuked Bosola, his voice still rough. "This is a place for arguing, not fighting. We are here to find truth."

"He found it," whispered Amanda softly.

"Kayla?" asked Bosola. "The next question, please."

"He found it," repeated Amanda, more loudly.

"Found what?" asked Samantha.

"The next question is for..." Bosola cut himself off with a cough, then continued. "It's for Edmond. Edmond, some have asked..."

"His confirmation," whispered Amanda, staring right at him.

"My apologies," said Bosola meekly, pulling out his handkerchief, adding another blast to Amanda's music. "A moment, please."

"A confirmation of what?" asked Samantha. Above them, the roof creaked in the night wind.

"I'm not as young as I used to be," said Bosola, half-smiling. He swiveled the chair back and forth a few times quietly. "Not near so young."

Kayla walked over with another glass of water. Bosola took a long sip.

"Thank you, Kayla," said Bosola gratefully. "Now, Edmond, some have asked if..."

Suddenly Bosola doubled-up and launched into another dreadful coughing fit. Kayla rushed over with the glass of water.

"I'm...I'm sorry," said Bosola weakly. "I...I'm going to take a quick break, I think," he added with another cough. "I should be right back. We're not quite to the intermission, so...Kayla, if you could please ask the questions in my absence?"

Kayla nodded and picked up a new piece of paper, as Bosola limped out of the room, cane quietly knocking against the floor.

"Hey, that's not the paper that Bosola had before," observed Samantha, as Kayla announced the next question. "I wonder what the previous question was supposed to be? What do you think, Amanda?"

Amanda wasn't listening; she was transfixed by the figure of Bosola walking away, coughing lightly as he went, in perfect time with the music.

"Well, no wonder he's been coughing," said Samantha, looking up at the ceiling. The retractable roof had been completely shut. "Someone closed the roof. All the torch smoke is collecting."

"I...I have to get out of here," murmured Amanda, tapping Samantha's shoulder.

"It's Advent," objected Samantha. "If you need to take a nap, we're in the balcony - just lay down, no one will see you."

"No, I have to leave, now," pushed Amanda irritably, a little too loudly, listening to the music wrap around her. She clenched and unclenched her fists, trying to hold it in. "I need a...a quick burst."

"Oh," whispered Samantha, suddenly understanding. "A 'burst'. All right, then. I'll walk you out."

"Thanks," shouted Amanda, hardly able to hear her own voice above the rushing noise from her music.

"Quiet down!" shushed Samantha, embarrassed, taking her friend's hand. Some partisans in the audience were staring up at their balcony, surprised by the noise. "Don't say anything until we're outside."

Halfway down the stairwell, Amanda stumbled, dropping to one knee, leaning against the wall, sending sparks flying.

"Not yet," urged Samantha, pulling her up. "Everyone will see."

"I can't hear you!" yelled Amanda. The music was overwhelmingly loud now, and she could barely hear herself think. "It's too loud!"

Attracted by the commotion, a lonely figure emerged from the bottom of the staircase.

"What's wrong?" asked Bradley, intercepting the two as they scrambled down the stairs.

"We need to leave!" Amanda shouted, unable to hear her own words. The music was elevated to such a fever pitch that she was completely deaf to the outside world.

"Is she having another seizure?" asked Bradley, squinting from the girl's volume. Samantha's father had once before witnessed one of Amanda's seizures, a brief mess of uncontrollable shaking. As the leader of the Harmony militia and Vittorio's father-in-law, he had to deal with Amanda frequently, since she was Vittorio's personal attaché.

"Not exactly," said Samantha evasively. Amanda wasn't shaking violently - she seemed dazed, as if just waking from a bad dream. "I'm taking her outside for a few minutes."

"Not out the front, I hope," said the widower disapprovingly. "The candidate's wife breaking Advent tradition? We don't want to make a scene."

"Oh, I was going to take her out the side door, of course," lied Samantha, turning away from the main hall towards the side exit.

"Let me unlock it for you," said Bradley, walking with them.

"It's locked?" asked Samantha.

"It's Advent, you know - and security purposes, they said," explained Bradley. "Like why they disarmed us - and it's a good thing, after that last question. Those Coastals just can't restrain themselves!"

Bradley unsealed the door and swung it open.

"Get some fresh air, and come back in after..."

Sudden screams from the audience.

Several dozen plumes of green smoke burst out of the center of the room, mixed with ichor fumes. Horrible choking and gurgling filled the Conference Hall.

"Get out!" shouted Bradley, pushing Samantha and Amanda out, kicking the door shut.

From outside, the curtains prevented them from watching the stampede break out in the center audience, as everyone ran for the main doors, partisans climbing over their fellow party members in a frenzied rush, as the hideous smoke seethed through the building, oozing panic.

Amanda seemed caught in a struggle of her own, trying to stay alert and awake as the music poured over her, relentless and unstoppable.

A Coastal partisan lunged against the window in front of them, ripping down one of the curtains as he succumbed to the toxic gas, leaving the manic scene clearly visible to the three musicians huddled outside.

"Vittorio!" screamed Samantha, clawing at the window, watching her husband collapse next to Edmond and Kayla.

"Quiet!" hissed Bradley, seizing his sobbing daughter and putting his hand over her mouth.

"It's Bosola," shouted Amanda, trying to keep from drowning in the tremendous pressure from her music - and failing.

"I said, quiet!" ordered Bradley, eyes quickly scanning the area, looking for a place to hide, a weapon, anything.

Amanda couldn't hear him; she couldn't even hear herself anymore. She watched Bradley blankly as he mouthed instructions, while behind him, through the windows, a mass of silent screams ricocheted against the glass, unready dancers writhing through the green smoke. Samantha was wailing voicelessly, piteously, trying to pull away from her father and failing.

All she could hear was the music.

 

You're kidding, right?

Just let me say that I've come into work on a Saturday to put in some overtime (unpaid, of course), and instead I'm reading one of your stories. And I don't regret it at all.

I'm by no means an expert on writing, but for me, the pacing is excellent. You've set the groundwork for a very interesting story, answering some questions and leaving others unanswered for now.

Once again, you've got me hooked. I can't wait for the next instalment (or, better yet, the best-seller).

 

I have to agree. When is the final thing on the shelves??or will i have to beg u to send me the final thing through an e-mail??

If the rest is like the 1st chapter then we gunna ave a best seeler once its finished

 

Excellent work, Grey. Please keep it coming. Just as Spunge said...it never got boring.

 

Um. I got bored at the start.

I ended up scrolling until I realized that the fun stuff was with the women's dialogue and settled in at that point.

The interesting stuff, of course, is the position and power of musicians here, so I'd like to know a bit more about it up front. The teases here and there aren't quite enough to give your reader an idea of what Samantha is experiencing when she's listening. Is it telepathy? Empathy? Is she listening to the tenor of a voice or the music a mind makes? Is there some sort of Dune military application?

You can allude to this and be delicate with it without leaving your audience confused.

Of course, all of this is tempered by the fact that I'm at work and not paying as close attention as maybe I should have.

Your writing here, as with everything I've seen from you in Creativity Surge, is very good.

 

This is truly superb, albeit slower paced compared to your other CS contributions but that is to be expected since this is a great deal longer. I particularly enjoyed the mystery behind the exact nature of the 'musicians'.

 

brilliant, whens the next part due??

also you leave a very intriguing history to the people your writting about, like the musicians. i would love to know more about the people in your story.