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randommushroom
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The Perils of Peace, Part One
"In reality, if it is not impossible for for a particular will to agree on some point with the general will, it is at least impossible for the agreement to be lasting and constant; for the particular will tends, by its very nature, to partiality, while the general will tends to equality."
Jean-Jacques Rousseau
Palace of Versailles, Paris, 1800
As the leader of her people, Joan D'Arc had no doubts that granting men the right to vote had been the correct decision. Many had died on the Franco-Roman Isthmus without much of a say in the matter, and those battles had caused all of the French to clamor for such equality. But men! Wasn't it their foolishness that had created the impetus? First there was Hiawatha who had unexpectedly thrown his mounted warriors against the French pikemen. Then Caesar had attacked with his pillaging knights. The latest idiot had been Lincoln of the Americans, who had tried to storm the former Roman lands. Fearful of embroiling the whole world in war, Joan had instructed her commanders to fight only to defend. The French defensive forces of infantry and artillery tore apart all intrusions by American cavalry, and after 50 years of senseless bloodshed, Lincoln sat down and signed a peace treaty.
Still, if it hadn't been for those testerone induced aggressions, Joan would have been at greater ease of mind. The olive trees outside her palace's bedroom window were blooming, and the wind brought the rich scent of incense from the nearby hills. She sighed and looked at her latest consort; he was still fast asleep. Quite beautiful somehow. It would be wonderful to dally alongside him, and forget about the cabinet meeting scheduled for the afternoon.
Joan rubbed the short stubble on top of her head. It was quite a change and much cooler. Why hadn't she thought of it before? Cooler heads will prevail, she thought and smiled to herself.
That Afternoon, French Cabinet Room
Colonel Napoleon Bonaparte's face had turned a bright red, threatened to turn more so. All his efforts to persuade his leader, Joan D'Arc, had might as well been given to a janitor for disposal. Tanks? No! We can build a stronger millitary! No! Battleships! NO! What would it take to make this woman listen?
Napoleon took a deep breath. "Listen. These times grow perilous. Even though I am not ignorant of our history and tradition, we cannot ignore those around us. We've been attacked suddenly three times in our past, and the countries around us continue to develop increasingly more dangerous weapons. Should we continue to be so passive? I'm telling you that our lack of offensive forces makes them feel bolder. Yes, we can defend ourselves, but we lack deterrence."
"No," Joan replied, "I will not turn my back on our tradition of peace. I will not build anything that is meant to kill aggressively."
"But we don't have to use them, we just have to have them."
Joan shot back sternly, "I will not have them. I will not have such evil to tempt us. If men build such, such..." Joan paused, "..toys, they end up using them."
Napoleon exclaimed, "Don't you see then! The others will! A hammer itself is not evil--if it is used to pound nails, that is a good purpose. If you use it to kill a man, that would be evil."
His fist thumped the table for emphasis. Joan closed her eyes, as if in thought. Ma Dieu, might she have actually heard?
"Leave, Napoleon. Just leave," she said wearily. "There are just some things that can't be compromised."
Napoleon snapped to attention. "Fine, but when the French soil turns red, what will you have sacrificed for this?"
He spun on his boot heels, and walked out of the meeting.
Outskirts of Paris, the SETI Project
Dr. Curie rubbed her eyes and looked at the computer screen. Her heels left the floor as she leaned forward in her chair. Across the screen, the usual random gibberish as analyzed by the computer programs had been suddenly replaced: 2 3 5 7 11....
One after another, the prime numbers ticked off. She moved her mouse and brought up the data information screen. This signal had been received from Alpha Centauri. Another world, out across the empty and cold expanse of space, was transmitting a series of prime numbers. Dr. Curie blinked, and picked up the telephone from the cradle.
Tours' Waterfront
After another long summer day in the northern port city of Tours, Captain Robespierre wanted a cool drink. He also wanted an actual fleet of ships, but was forced by circumstance to be content with taking care of a transport vessel, whose one footnote in French history was shuttling some settlers, workers, and defenders to French Haiti and supplied the country with rubber. But with a stiff enough drink, he wouldn't have to think about that.
In the warm evening, the bars and cafes had plenty of men and women drinking and eating in the outdoor sections. Many of the women had shaved their heads like Joan D'Arc. This world has been changing rapidly in my time, Robespierre thought. He liked it when the women had worn their hair long, he had liked the way his wife had looked when her bangs had fallen down over her eyes. But she was dead and old men sometimes have to be satisfied with memories over future plans.
He entered a bar and sat down at the end. The beer was cold. And just as he was taking his first sip, someone tapped him on his shoulder. "Captain Robespierre?"
He looked to find two women dressed in dark suits, sunglasses, hair cropped short. "Yes, that's me. What do you want?"
"Sir, come with us, quietly."
A knot of anxiety twisted in his throat. But he forced himself to remain calm and said, "May I at least finish my beer?"
--to be continued
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17-04-2002 23:43
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