Le Goumier - Bitterness in Victory, Joy in Defeat

[Lanakov]

Planet Amiens, Picardy system. Gallic core worlds.

The year is 730 AGS (814 in Sirian years). The Tau War has begun between Bretonia and Kusari. It is the height of conflict between the Cretans and the Hessians, while the Maltese are consolidating their hold on the Houses through various pacts. Tensions are brewing between Liberty and Rheinland over unorthodox experiments, which would prove devastating. Within Gallia, the Republican Council, after almost a century of preparation and secrecy, has come out of the shadows and is making open headway against the regime.

It is a time of violence and uncertainty. A few places in the sector are still sheltered from it, however temporarily. One such place is where our story begins.

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PART I : THE GENERATION THAT WILL CHANGE EVERYTHING

It all started in a stuffy classroom, as it so often does. The day was very warm, and the room buzzed with the energy of an old sleepy cat.

"...And that, children", entoned a dusty old teacher, with a practiced air of past glory about him, "is when the Alliance nations simply decided to call it quits. The Reds were, eh, a little everywhere, at that point, you see. Oh, we had given them a good run, and our ancestors more than most, of course, but the end was in sight, as it were." The class was comatose, eyes drawn to the windows overlooking the cityscape of La Pigeonnière, one of Amiens' notorious megacities. The decoration in the room was sparse, a signe of La Pigeonnière's hasty construction to accommodate yet another influx of either workforce or refugees, the latter ending up as the former anyway in most cases.
"The Reds, at this point, had control of most of Sol's inner planets, and were moving towards the outer planets at a rapid pace, removing obstacles as they came. It was after the decisive battle of Mars, a hard-won Coalition victory, that a plan was put in motion by the Alliance. That plan was simple in theory, complex in practice, particularly with the technology of that era : it was time, they realised, to simply up and leave, far away! Let the Reds enjoy the ruins of their folly, while us people of good company would travel together to pastures new. Us? Forgive me, children, for I meant : them." A few eyebrows raised, some day dreams cut short.
"That is right : this plan devised by the Alliance did not involve us. Our ancestors, unbeknownst to them, had been chosen to keep the Reds busy as the others laboured in abject secrecy to their own, egotistical salvation. We were to be sacrificed, so that others lived in comfort and peaceful oblivion."

"But why, monsieur? Why us? Did we do something bad?" said a little voice in the front.
"Why, indeed. It's a question Gallic researchers have been pondering for some time. So far, they reason that old France was much the same as Gallia is today : a powerful, innovative, truly just nation, a beacon of progress and sophistication for others to follow. Then, as now, these qualities attracted the envy and pettiness of lesser peoples : it is likely our friends in the Alliance were more than happy to imagine their paradise without us to hold them to higher standards. Old France had been uninvited, discarded, sacrificed likely without a second thought. And, naturally, without her knowledge."

"Monsieur", said another little voice, "if our ancestors didn't know, then... How could they succeed? How are we... Here?"
"Another excellent question, well done!" said the teacher, wiping his glasses as he pretended to contemplate the answer.
"It is another gap in our knowledge of History, young one. Our forebears came to know of the Plan, and realised they had been purposefully omitted from it. It may have been a chance discovery by government agents. But I like to imagine some, in the Alliance, could not go against their conscience and felt it their duty to leak the information to our ancestors, knowing a universe without fundamental French principles would be unrelenting barbarism and little else. The word, in any way, was out, and not a second too soon. Only thanks to their timely reaction and tireless efforts, our forebears managed to construct the sleeper ship Gallia, staff it with our best and brightest, and, in an impossibly short amount of time, cast it away from the solar system... And voilà."
He paused to look at the class with gravity.
"You, all of you, all of us, are the result of these efforts. Had there been a single error, a stroke of bad luck, a fault in the hardware..."
He paused and raised his hands to embrace the room, letting the harsh truth do what it always did to young, malleable minds. The silence was no longer one of ennui and sleepiness, but of awe and contemplation. The battle won, the old teacher pressed his advantage.
"Remember this, my children. Remember where you come from, and how you got here. Never forget those who allowed it to happen... And those who did all they could to stop it from happening. Those who betrayed us. Those who, even now, and for the past eight centuries, have profited off the spoils of Sirius, thinking they wouldn't need to share with us. We once knew them as our brethren of the Alliance. You will now know them as... The Sirians." The word, foreign and unpleasant, hung in the air. It was the first time the kids had heard it. It wouldn't be the last. The old teacher readied himself for the final act. He had objected, as did others. But the directive came from up there. The King commands it.

"There are plans in place now, that will bring about change. Justice for all, and equality. You are lucky, my children. The march of History has decreed that you would be the actors of this change, the avengers of the Great Betrayal. Think of the honour. Yours is the generation that will change everything."

As he walked home after class, the young Daniel Tiqfarin Darras, walked home to his parents Maurice and Solange. He didn't come out to play with his friends after the family dinner. None of the kids did. Not because of one of Amiens' arctic storms, curfews or other incident. They stayed at home, and were told stories by their parents about the great enemy, these Sirians whom everyone apparently hated. They did not know their parents had been instructed to do so by the mayor's office of La Pigeonnière, and provided with the appropriate, pre-approved material. Nor that the mayor was, himself, following orders.
Daniel, not yet fully aware of the reasoning behind the odd patronym his parents had given him, blew his 14th candle that same evening.

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