Sometimes, the choices we make are not the ones that are necessarily the best for us, but the best for everyone around us.  Those are the hardest choices, but at the same time they are the choices that often shape the world.

— Ryland LeSarte

 7 Decem, 5249 PD

 

“Rachel.”

She looked up from the dirt and plants of her garden toward the sound of Sergei’s voice.  She hadn’t heard him come up the walk and mentally scolded herself for it.  We’re practically at war and you’re not paying attention to anything but the garden and your thoughts.  Dangerous, Rachel. Adam and Grant would yell at you more than a little for this.

“Speaker.  Something the matter?”

He stopped at the edge of her garden and surveyed the plants.  The summer’s bounty was already gone, leaving the autumnal fare still growing.  She was starting to gather the more delicate of those back in already as the days and nights turned colder.  He was silent for a long moment before he said, “I’m retiring.”

A shiver shot down her spine.  “In the middle of a war?”

“Before the pre-war becomes the true war,” Sergei said with a faint, wry smile.  “I’m an old man, Rachel.  War is the game for younger men and women.  I don’t know how much time I’ve got left, but I’d rather spend it with my grandchildren than D’Arcy Morgause.”

She gave a humorless snort and rocked to her feet, careful not to crush any of the plants in her garden.  “That’s not a surprise.  The man’s useless.”

Sergei made a noncommitmental noise and waited as she picked her way out of the tangled mass of vine and foliage.  “For what we need him to do, perhaps, if not for anything else.”  His gaze met hers, eyes seeming ancient beyond measure for the briefest moment.  “You’re wondering why I’m here.”

“It’s probably written all over my face.”  Rachel wiped her hands on the seat of her pants and shook her head.  “But at the same time, I’m terrified I already know.”

“I want you to take my place.”

“That’s exactly what I was afraid of.”  Rachel sighed and crossed the gravel path alongside the garden to sit on the kitchen stairs.  Sergei drifted after her, crossing his arms as he regarded her with a long, measuring look.

“Why would that make you afraid?”

“Why wouldn’t it?”  Rachel stared at the trees, at the garden—at everything and nothing all at once.  “I’ve never done something like that before.”

He gave a derisive snort and shook his head.  “You’ve only been the driving force behind the Council for the past three seasons.”

“Not at all,” she said simply.  “I just spoke my mind and acted in the ways I thought were best.”

“Modest,” Sergei said with a faint smile.  He began to pace.  “I’d hoped that I wouldn’t have to convince you.”

“Unfortunately, that’s what you’re going to have to do,” Rachel said quietly, watching him.  He seemed thinner than he had been a year ago, his hair now gone completely to gray and white where there had once been dark strands amidst the snow and stone.  The lines around his eyes were deeper, the shadows darker.  She caught her lower lip between her teeth for a moment.  “You’ve been thinking on this for a while.”

“I cannot do the job as ably as I once did,” he said.  “D’Arcy runs roughshod over us all because I cannot leash him.  The younger Consuls—you included—are the strongest voices now.  It’s time for you to lead, Rachel.”  The ghost of a smile touched his lips.  “It was perhaps time long ago, but you weren’t ready.”

“I’m too hot-headed,” she murmured.  “Too impetuous.”

“Then,” he said.  “Not now.  The last few years have changed you.  I can see it.  You’re far different than you were a decade ago, when I first started to think about walking away.”

Her gaze snapped up, eyes widening.  He gave her a gentle smile and shrugged.

“This moment has been a very, very long time in coming.”

“I’m not my parents,” she said, guts roiling, stomach bursting with a thousand fluttering butterflies moving at the speed of light.  “You can’t—”

“I don’t,” Sergei said.  “I only ever knew your parents by reputation, Rachel, I never met them personally.”

“But your father—”

“Your grandfather was a good friend to him and the Foundation,” Sergei agreed.  “My decision is not based on who your family was, but on who you are.  I’ve known you for quite a long time now, remember?”

“Of course,” she muttered, leaning back against the steps.  “You were the first one to welcome me when Adam brought me here.”

“And never once have I regretted it.”  He smiled.  “You are my choice to succeed me, Rachel Farragut, whether you like it or not.”

And I don’t like it, but how can I say no?  That’s the problem.  If I’m elected, I can’t turn it down—not in the face of everything that’s about to happen.  Dammit, I almost—almost—hate it when Adam’s right about this kind of thing.  She knuckled her eyes and exhaled noisily.  “I don’t know that I can get elected to the job, Sergei.  You can suggest, but you can’t name.”

“You’ll be elected,” he said with a confidence she didn’t feel—a confidence that frightened her.  “Kara Grace will vote for you without question, as will the Marshals—your husband’s position within their number nonwithstanding.  If I name you, Amelda will give you her vote as well, and given Mugabe’s apparent alliance with Marshal Windsor of late, I imagine his vote will be for you as well.  Then there are of course myself and your niece.  You will have an easy majority within the Council—you need no one else, though I daresay you’ll win more votes than that.”  He smiled faintly.  “Besides, who else would vie for the position?”

“D’Arcy might,” she murmured.  Of course, he’d try and lose, which would make him an even bigger political enemy than he already is—then again, he was never a friend to any of us to begin with, was he?

“He’s not half the man his father and grandfather were,” Sergei said.  “I hope by all the stars in the heavens that he knows it, too.  If he doesn’t and he stands against you, he deserves the rude awakening he’ll get.”

“He’ll only hate me more than he already does if he loses to me, Sergei.”

“Then we arrange things so he cannot run.  I imagine you and your allies are clever enough to arrange something along those lines.”

She laughed bitterly.  “Without it seeming contrived?  I doubt it.”

“Have more confidence in the abilities of those around you,” Sergei said.  Then he smiled.  “Think on it.  I’ll be announcing my retirement from the Council within the next two weeks, before the next crisis hits, I dearly hope.  You’ll also have to consider who should be named to my seat, if you are to be elected Speaker.”

Another shiver inched down her spine.  “Hell.  I don’t even know who I’d name.”  If I take the job.  If I win the job.

“Think on it,” Sergei repeated with a faint smile, then tipped the cap he wasn’t wearing.  “I’ll leave you to your greens.”

Rachel opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, the words evaporating before they reached her lips.  She nodded.  “Have a pleasant afternoon, Sergei.”

“You as well, Rachel.”

She watched as he headed own the gravel pathway down toward the main road.  It already seemed like some kind of great weight had been lifted from his shoulders even as it settled on hers.  Her lips thinned.

Can you afford to turn him down, Rachel?

Can the Foundation?  Can the Guard?  The Colony?

Can any of us afford for you to say no?

She squeezed her eyes shut.  In her heart of hearts—deep where she kept the little voice that told her things she didn’t want to hear—she knew the answer was no.

Like it or not, she would be Speaker and lead the Council—lead the Foundation—and hopefully manage not to doom their world.