Duvauchelle Estate
The hills above Nouveau Paris
Calédonie
French Tendril
Wednesday 20 July 2259
"Just take that out to the garden, will you Nakha?" Marie Duvauchelle handed the tray of aperitifs to the Mekunou serving girl and turned back to the kitchen counter.
The Mekunou struggled under the weight of the tray with her diminutive frame (barely a meter tall). Cautiously, she steadied the full pitcher in the midst of precious hand-blown glassware with her third hand, while the fourth helped support the heavy tray.
"Run along," Mistress Duvauchelle chided from behind the counter. "And come back quickly for the entrées."
Nakha stepped gingerly across the flagstones of the garden, careful not to tread on the imported Earth moss growing between them. Across the garden, which grew in a courtyard in the center of the Duvauchelle main house, three men were deep in discussion under a hovering shade. High-powered hunting rifles were propped against the table next to each of the men. The gun oil glistened where the sunlight sneaked past the hovershade.
"C'est une connerie!" the well-groomed youngest man said throwing his reader onto the table.
"Now, now Jean-Pierre, we all agree," replied the oldest, a fit man in his late 60s who was dressed in black riding boots and wore a wide bush hat. He stopped to draw from a cigarette before continuing. "Mon fils, there is not one man on Calédonie who does not feel as you do but..." he wagged the index finger of the hand holding the cigarette, "anger will not solve our problems."
"Hanging the bugger from the highest tree will..." Jean-Pierre started to reply heatedly before the third man - his older brother Étienne - waved him down and nodded toward the approaching Mekunou serving girl.
"Ah, Nakha, excellent! Tell my daughter we are very hungry after our...hunt today." Monsieur Duvauchelle stubbed out his cigarette and slid the ashtray to the side to allow the Mekunou to place the tray on the table.
"Oui, Monsieur." Nakha released the tray, careful not to disturb the rifle propped against the edge of the table. The brothers stayed silent until the small alien retreated back toward the kitchen.
"Killing Katani Bossi is not going to solve the underlying problem," Duvauchelle said after pouring the seltzer and wine and spooning a small amount of syrup into it. He passed the pitcher to his oldest son. "The Chinese will just prop up another révolutionnaire."
"But the Chinese wouldn't have a chance here without the natives, father," Étienne replied.
Duvauchelle lit another cigarette, took a pull, and leaned back into his chair. "Maybe not. It all depends on what the "Immortal Son of Heaven" has to throw at us...and what the République will reply with."
"I hear that the Legion is being sent," Jean-Pierre said.
"I hear a lot of things, mon fils," Duvauchelle replied taking a sip. He set the glass on the table and returned to his cigarette. "The Legion is spread thin as it is. With the Chinese also on Nouveau Corse, the Germans on Fontainebleau, at Richelieu, Roosevelt, Montmartre, Villepin, Nytt Heimili, etcetera etcetera etcetera. What does poor Calédonie have to offer that those do not?"
"The mines..." Jean-Pierre began but his father waved him down.
"Yes, yes, the mines," he said. "Surely that is why the Chinese are coming in the first place. Especially given our proximity to many of the Chinese systems. But remember that for France, our mines are just more mines and our exports are the same as can be had from the Bonaparte asteroid belt or the moon of...whatever that place is called..."
"Nouvelle-France des Etoiles," Etienne replied.
"Oui, that is it. Silly, pretentious name is it not? I cannot believe the Ministère let it pass. Anyway, so you see we have little to offer the République that cannot be had from somewhere else."
"So does that mean they will just abandon us then?" Jean-Pierre asked incredulously.
"No, of course not," Duvauchelle replied. "That would not be French. We will fight. They will send someone to help us fight. But they will not risk much. A mercenary company perhaps. It does not really matter."
"How can you say that father?" Jean-Pierre said.
Duvauchelle took a long draw from his cigarette while looking between the boys. "Because, my sons, there are over 200 million Mekunou on this world and there are less than a million Frenchmen. And the Chinese have promised them much."
A terrible scream came from the kitchen. All three men sprang up and snatched at their rifles. They rushed across the garden and through the open double doors. Marie sprawled, lifeless across the tiles - a spreading pool of red seeping out from beneath her neck. Above her, silent and staring at the three men, stood Nakha. A kitchen knife, as long as the small alien's forearm, dripped blood onto the grey tiles.
The Mekunou raised her head defiantly. "Liberté," she said.
The rifle exploded into the silence and the small alien was flung backward across the kitchen to crumple into a heap. Duvauchelle lowered the rifle and ejected the old-fashioned shell to ping off the marble countertop. He exhaled and turned to the young men. "It has begun."
