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Mystic Love Butterfly
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Deanna has to run to catch up with Clay and the Qal.
"Your parents ever tell you how these wastes came about?" he asks. He doesn't turn to look at her, and it takes her a moment to realize he's addressing her.
"No," she says. "Kind of. A war?"
"A long time ago there was a nation called Elde," says Clay. "Still is, course. Your mother and father are both Eldefolk. But back then, it was bigger. Them and there was another one called Furlaia.
"Now Elde and Furlaia were huge kingdoms, both of them, one about as grand and advanced as the other. Obviously you needed a war to decide which was better."
"It was more complicated than that," says the Qal.
"Not by much," says Clay. "Both of them made something. Or one made it and the other stole it. It was a weapon that could end the war like that, and they were both pointing it at each other. And if either of them pulled the trigger, it would do astonishing damage to the other. They were holding each other hostage."
"But they did pull the trigger, didn't they?" says Deanna.
"They did," says Clay. "In Furlaia. Some wires got crossed, or some scouting party came too close to something, or some letter got delivered to the wrong man. One hour later, 36% of the people in Elde were dead." He snaps his fingers. "Like that."
"Why did this come up?" asks Deanna. She looks back at the skiff, growing smaller behind her.
"Furlaia apologized, of course." Clay ignores her. "Profusely. It was a mistake, they said. They offered to help rebuild. They offered all sorts of things. They said they would all pray to the Spirits each and every day for forgiveness for what had happened. Accident. But the Elde, even though their cities were smashed and their people were toasted, they still had that finger on that trigger.
"What would you have done, Loper?" Clay looks back at her. "If you had the last word?"
"Why are you asking me?"
"What," says Clay, "would you have done?"
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