Young Writers Society

Cassandra’s hair had visibly grayed. Over the past several months, she had aged decades, having done all she could to prevent another war. The New Englanders had been stubborn, but they were also in the right. Italiana was a threat, she could admit that much, but they were powerful nonetheless, and that was how things worked in this day and age. Britannia had worked tirelessly to stop both nations in their tracks, but now it seemed to be all for naught. New England was staunchly opposed to tyranny; Italiana had adopted a join or die policy. Neutrality was becoming less and less popular by the day.

President Channing had repeated time and time again that New England was staunchly opposed to war, but Italiana was so unpopular there that if war broke out, peace would not be an option-- only victory. Yosef de Espin, the Italian “president,” had claimed to want peace but done everything possible to provoke the Six-- no, Seven Nations. There were seven of them now.

“That’s going to take some getting used to,” Cassandra mumbled to herself. New England, California, Enoch-Hezekiah, the Gulf, Francia, Poland, and now Quebec. Seven nations, united against tyranny, standing in favor of national sovereignty and human rights. If only her government were so brave… then again, her government would probably be wiped out immediately, either through force or economic sanctions. Britannia remained the last trading partner with the Seven Nations, providing additional supplies and funds to keep the global economy from crashing.

New England was in the right. New England had called it months ago, from the moment that their ambassador to Italiana, Dorothy Winthrop, had resigned and declared that de Espin was an autocrat. Most of the world, including Britannia, had scoffed at the thought. But then the evidence came out, and most of the world ignored it. Things escalated, and then they continued to escalate… Ten treaties had been signed over the past seven months, and all had been shredded after Italiana had violated them. And yet most of the world refused to see the truth.

Cassandra had refused to see the truth.

It was easier that way. Ignorance was so much easier than taking a stand against the real threat. Then The Three Nations formed. Three became four, four became five, and then five became six. The Six Nations made a name for themselves as a united force that opposed de Espin. Others were vocal about their opposition but took no action. Others were drawn to the Six but then became quiet, fearing retribution. The world had chosen to ally with a colonialist and oligarch rather than the democrats because they didn’t want to look like they were wrong. Italiana controlled most of the world now, either directly or indirectly influencing everything. But Britannia had remained mostly independent, though the pressure was mounting to choose a side.

A knock at the door shook the Briton from her thoughts. “Come in,” she lamented, desiring more time alone.

A woman in her mid-forties entered, a streak of white hair flowing from the crown of her head. The rest of her hair was dark brown; her hazel eyes glimmered like dying stars, a mix of light and darkness fighting for victory. “Prime Minister Hepburn-Smith, it’s a pleasure to meet you at last.”

“Please, call me Cassandra,” she replied meekly. “Our meals should be here quite soon, I think… Please, sit.” She motioned to one of the three empty armchairs surrounding the ovular wooden table. Honey-colored light lit the dim room, matching the scarlet-and-gold color palette used to decorate the room.

“I prefer Margaret to President Channing, anyways,” the other woman replied, taking a seat. “What will we be dining on this evening?”

“Rotisserie chicken with green beans two ways, roasted potatoes, and roasted carrots. Our other guests will be having a steak and potatoes. Don’t worry about the meats being cooked together, we take the greatest care to ensure the safety of our guests.”

“That’s reassuring,” Margaret chimed. “I’m sorry that Senator Winthrop is not able to join us this evening; she and Senator Organa are working on our plans for international healthcare systems.”

“I take it that things are going well with President Davis, then?”

“Oh, yes,” the New Englander agreed, nodding. “Roy has proven to be so much more acceptable than President Alexander was. North America has come so far since he was elected-- if it weren’t for the fact that trade was so limited right now, Atlanta, New York, and Sacramento would be the greatest trade centers in the world.”

Cassandra nodded now and again, only half-listening as Margaret Channing described the economic pros and cons of allying against Italiana. When perhaps ten minutes had passed, there was another knock and a man entered the room, followed by several men holding food on trays.

“I’m afraid that my pride got the better of me and I got lost,” the first man said. He stood about six and a half feet tall with French roast brown hair with wistful gray eyes. “Luckily for me, I ran into these fellas with all this chow, so I just followed my nose.”

“Were pleased to have you,” Margaret smiled as he joined them at the large round table. The men carrying food starting setting out plates and left them with a large bottle of whiskey, iced coffee, and green tea. Steam rose off of the vegetables as the delicious, delicate aroma of beef and chicken filled the room. “This smells absolutely marvelous.”

“Indeed,” Cassandra sighed. “Please, eat…” The thin, enfeebled woman’s gaunt brown eyes were dim and lusterless.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Roy laughed, picking up his fork and knife. “Tell me, Margaret, have you spoken with anyone from Quebec today? I spoke with Monsieur Rousseau this morning, but haven’t spoken with anyone else.”

“Er-- yes, I think, though it might’ve been yesterday. I talked to Toussaint about the crises in Japan. He thinks that strengthening global agricultural supply trains might be better than focusing on creating a new healthcare system.”

“That makes sense, to a point,” Roy agreed through a mouthful of succulent steak. After swallowing, he turned to Cassandra. “What do you think?”

The Briton hadn’t taken a bit of anything yet; part of her was unable to eat. “I think that my nation has been trapped in a web and that using shears to clip ourselves out of it will only lead to war.”

The room seemed to grow dark. “I thought that you didn’t want to discuss this today,” Margaret reproved gently.

“It’s not possible to ignore it any longer...“

“This doesn’t have to be your responsibility.”

“Yes, it does,” Cassandra snapped ferociously. “I-- I apologize, I’ve not slept much lately. The past few months have taken a toll.”

“On all of us,” Roy agreed. “We’ve all suffered.”

“And it could’ve been avoided had more of us realized what was going on sooner,” the Briton interrupted. “Doing something costs something. Doing nothing costs something as well, but usually more. I realize that now…”

“Better now than never.” Margaret set down her utensils, straightening her back. “What can New England do for Britannia?”

“And the Gulf,” Roy added.

Cassandra shook her head. “There’s not a thing that can be done,” she whispered. “If we join you, our economy will collapse. If we join Italiana, we will be forced to close trade routes with your, hurting your economies. Neutrality… neutrality isn’t an option.”

“Then look into your heart and ask yourself what is the right thing to do for your people. Don’t think about how you will be remembered. Do what is best for your people.”

Well, isn’t that reassuring? Cassandra thought. Closing her eyes, she tried to picture both decisions in her mind...