Fiction:Equals

Equals details the meeting between Prime Minister Alexandre Valéry of France and the Prince of Ballatay, the soon-to-become Foreign Minister of France.

Story
After the death of French foreign minister Jean Delonier in the Halcyon incident in 2800, the French cabinet had refrained from appointing a new minister to take his place for a year. Many speculated that it was due to President Maxime’s personal connection to the deceased, or to her desire to play a much more active and direct role in French foreign policy as the Gigaquadrant headed towards catastrophe. Indeed, she and Prime Minister Valéry had focused outwards, meeting foreign leaders, diplomats, and dignitaries almost daily in order to solidify France’s position and guarantee its survival in the coming storm.

However, the truth was that there was only two Heads of State of France to go around, and eight galaxies requiring their attention. At the suggestion of the French cabinet, and more recently of the French National Assembly, a new appointment was called for. The news of her selection was dropped on Valéry’s desk on January 1, 2801.

“She’s chosen Ballatay,” Connor Hathaway, Valéry’s chief of staff, told him.

“What?!” Valéry grabbed at the presidential order and glanced over it. Sure enough, the document read in big letters, VAVI DERUNO, followed by the presidential seal and signature.

“I thought you convinced her not to appoint him,” Connor said.

“I thought so too.” Indeed, Valéry had lobbied for another candidate, someone he knew well and had great influence over. Delonier had been ever faithful to Maxime, and it seems like she went to extreme lengths to bring in someone from the outside––someone Valéry had no ties to. “She’s always been strong willed in foreign policy,” Valéry sighed.

“Though you are going to sign it?” Every presidential order, including appointment of members of the cabinet, needed the countersignature of the Prime Minister.

“We have to choose our battles, don’t we?” Valéry chucked, grabbing his pen. With a flourish, he wrote his name under that of the French President.

“She’s going to be busy with the East Asian Ambassador all morning, so he’ll be shown directly to your office once he arrives.”

“Oh, that’s good news,” The Prime Minister looked at Connor with a smile from over the rim of his glasses. "I assume I have you to thank for that convenience.”

Connor’s lips drew into a smirk. “I am good at my job.”

“That you are, Connor,” Valéry said with a jovial attitude, handing him the signed appointment. “And don’t you forget it."

Connor left and the main office doors slid shut behind him. Once alone, Valéry had to admit that this choice of foreign minister surprised him. Vavi Deruno, a Filbeer diplomat, known as the “Prince of Balatay.” There was no denying that he was qualified, boasting a record of diplomatic feats unrivaled by even the most well-respected French Ambassadors. He had served the Filbeer Kingdom unwaveringly for thirty years, surviving the transition and overthrowing of four monarchies and two dynasties until he was exiled by the third. He had no claim or stake in French diplomatic affairs, which made him the ideal impartial argumenter. At the same time, however, no one within the French government had any experience with him, nor new if he could be trusted. Valéry would have to be careful with this one, find out what he wanted and how to satisfy him in a mutually beneficial way…

The phone on Valéry’s desk rang. When Valéry answered, it was the deep, almost consistently exhausted voice of Yves Cosson, the desk clerk, “Deruno is here to see you."

“Show him up.”

“Yes, Your Excellency,” the clerk answered and hung up.

It was only about half a minute before the object of their conversation stepped through the sliding doors into Valéry’s office. [insert description]

Valéry rose to meet him and was surprised to find him extending a hand in the human fashion. The Prime Minister took it with a smile and gave it a firm handshake before ushering him in the direction of his desk. They talked as they traversed the room.

“The President informed me of your appointment this morning, so I had little time to prepare my little speech,” he joked.

“We seem to be on even footing, then,” the Prince of Balatay replied in a similar tone.

“I will make no pretense,” Valéry said as he sat down at his desk. The Prince remained standing opposite him. "France is in a bad position. Our relationship with the DCP is deteriorating rapidly and we need allies if we are to survive the next year. Multiple fires within the Orion League are keeping us here for the time being, but we need someone to make diplomatic rounds across galaxies, strengthening our existing friendships and forging new ones.”

“And it turns out that that someone is me, correct?”

“Correct.”

The reptilian gave the Prime Minister a knowing smile that unsettled him. “You do not seem too pleased about that.”

Valéry frowned. “On the contrary, I’ve looked over your files, and I am convinced that you are more than qualified for the job. I––"

“My dear Prime Minister, there are two Machiavels in this room and nobody is fooled. Can we at least be honest with one another?”

Valéry sat, stunned for an instant before recovering his wits. It looks like he would have to attack this from another angle. His expression steeled and his tone lost all pretense. “Alright, fine. The president chose you for this job because you were by far the best for it, not––“

“––not because you particularly trust me, I know.” It was almost erie the way the Marquis finished his sentence, especially given the calm tone he used. “You have nothing to fear from me, your Excellency. I am yours to serve.” In saying this, the reptilian dropped into a low bow made sluggish by age, his head bent in a sign of respect while Valéry looked on with suspicion.

Suddenly, the statesman’s eyes lit up, as if with a wicked laugh. “Now look who’s being dishonest. In bowing, you hide your eyes. I can’t tell if you’re telling the truth. You’re Vavi of House Deruno, Marquis of Ballatay, Sixth Prince of Rusha––the infamous Prince of Ballatay who could as readily make a Basilius laugh as convince a Klingon to agree to peace. You’ve charmed your way into so many circles and survived so many governments that I have to ask––Why? Why come here in your exile?“

“Oh, my accomplishments pale in comparison to yours,” the reptilian said as he righted himself. "You know me by reputation, but you have made quite a name for yourself in certain circles: Alexandre Valéry, His Excellency Prime Minister of France. You’re known as the man behind the French Presidency, the Orion League, GITO, the fact that France––twenty years ago a minor power in Galactic affairs––is now leading the charge against one Gigaquadrant’s foremost powers…––you’re the man who holds the fate of the Gigaquadrant in the palm of his hand. You ask why have I come here in my exile? The answer is simple. Weasels like me are drawn to men like you––men of power.”

Valéry’s heart skipped a beat. Had he really been so sloppy as to be found out so easily, or was the reptilian bluffing, trying to coax his way into his good graces through flattery? Despite the danger, Valéry suddenly felt drawn to this new character. While the Marquis had far overstated his accomplishments, he had touched upon one of Valerie’s deepest desires, that of a hidden manipulator desperate for recognition….

The reptilian smiled, baring a row of sharp teeth. “Ah, you hesitate. Your Excellency is perceptive, but so am I… You can relax, your secrets are safe with me. I am merely an observer who made one too many observations.” That row of teeth made an appearance again, this time more sinister than the last.

Valéry now understood what he was dealing with––his equal. Was his match really going to bow down before him and offer his servitude? What did he want? Who did he really serve?

“If I wanted to betray you,” Ballatay suggested, preempting his thoughts. “I would not have divulged myself in front of you like this. I would have played the servant––worked from the shadows until the right moment.”

Valéry stared him in his slitted eyes. “You are not a tool to be used and dispensed with, you have made your point.”

“I am glad we have come to a common understanding,” he smiled, seeming content. “Now, about my mission as Foreign Minister this coming year…”



The bastard.