L.R. did not answer immediately.
She remained leaned against the bar, one hand wrapped around the stem of her flute, as Fiona’s account settled over her. The music continued around them, but for several seconds she no longer heard individual notes. She saw only fragments of the history Fiona had described: glass where cities had stood, delegates gathered around a grain silo, borders redrawn on bedsheets, and a new government built around the fear of ever becoming too certain of itself again.
When Fiona offered the cigarette case, L.R. glanced down at it and smiled faintly.
“No, thank you. I have enough habits Krahs would disapprove of.”
It was a small attempt at humor, but her voice remained subdued.
She looked across the lounge toward the photographs lining the walls. What she had first taken for decoration now seemed more like testimony. The room was not merely preserving an era. It was preserving everything that era had failed to protect.
“I knew Thessara had risen from catastrophe,” L.R. said. “I did not understand how closely you had chosen to keep the catastrophe beside you.”
Her thumb moved slowly along the enamel edge of the flag pin on her lapel.
“Zvlokiquix responded to collapse differently. We rebuilt by tightening everything. Government, industry, defense, public order. We looked at uncertainty and decided the answer was control. Thessara looked at certainty and decided the answer was restraint.”
She glanced back toward Fiona.
“I suppose that makes this partnership stranger than either of us admitted upstairs.”
A quiet laugh escaped her, though there was little amusement in it.
“Our nations survived by learning opposite lessons from the same kind of grave.”
L.R. lifted her prosecco and took a longer sip. The sweetness lingered, but the chill had begun to fade.
“When you expanded the proposed footprint, I believed you were testing how much territory the money could buy. Perhaps part of you was. Governments have instincts, even when their officials know better.”
Her expression softened.
“But you listened when I refused. You did not threaten the investment, withdraw the technology offer, or suggest that Zvlokiquix should be grateful for whatever it received. You changed the proposal.”
She nodded once.
“That mattered more than the thirty trillion.”
Fiona’s offer of personal help remained between them, heavier than the treaty had seemed when it was first placed on the table. L.R. looked down into her glass before continuing.
“I cannot ask you to protect me from my own government, Fiona. I represented Zvlokiquix willingly. It’s not the treaty itself that frightens me. It’s what happens when the treaty outlives your administration. Yourself. President Sterling. It’s the uncertainty of future partners that Zvlokiquix has no control over. Zvlokiquix has seen the fate of democracies. Of imperialism. Of blind trust. But I know Thessara is different from what Zvlokiquix fears. The old U.S. would never have given a non-democratic nation the time of day. Let alone the respect and offer that’s been shown.”
She laughed at the historical context and absurdity of the situation.
“A centralized nation at that.”
She raised her eyes again.
“But I will not insult what you offered by pretending I did not hear it. And I cannot say enough about your gracious character.”
Her voice lowered.
“Though I’d sooner die for my country than sell it out; no matter how much military training, patriotic duty, or propaganda they drill into your head, it’s natural to be scared of death. If I wasn’t afraid, I wouldn’t have come here with six armed soldiers. I’ve found that, in this business, if it doesn’t scare you, it’s probably not worth doing.”
She laughed. The admission seemed to cost her something. She breathed out slowly, then looked toward the band as the trumpet moved into a restrained solo.
“For what it is worth, your secret is safe with me. The official record will continue to describe Thessara as a terrifying financial monster.”
A genuine smile appeared.
“I would hate to damage your reputation by revealing that it is actually twenty-eight suspicious states in an expensive trench coat.”
She lifted her glass toward Fiona.
“To the people in the room who say ‘no’.”
Her expression grew more serious.
“And to the governments wise enough to listen before there is no room left to save.”
L.R. touched her flute lightly against Fiona’s.
The chime was almost lost beneath the music.
She drank, then leaned back against the bar with some of the stiffness finally leaving her shoulders.
“You called me a friend,” she said, turning the stem between her fingers. “That word is not used casually where I come from.”
She looked directly at Fiona.
“So I will not return it casually.”
Another moment passed.
“But I will return it.”
L.R. turned toward the stage as the trumpet player reached the peak of the solo.
“And you are right. We should start listening again before he creates a diplomatic incident.”
She raised two fingers toward the bartender, indicating their nearly empty glasses.
