A Questionable Legacy

Latvia’s eyes cleared. She was back in the black room, her hands placed firmly upon the cold glass of her mother’s crystal orb. She withdrew her hands, and sighed. She was cold and clammy—and exhausted. But at least she knew what she had to do: she had to rescue Lithuania as soon as possible, and to do that, she had to read her mother’s book, then take it to Estonia.

Latvia glanced at her mother’s Fortune Box. There it was, resting atop the wooden crate it had been taken from, its top removed, the book inside. Just an hour ago, she wouldn’t have thought much about her mother’s book—but now, after having her mother command her to read it… the book inspired in her a mixture of excitement and dread. She began to think of everything she knew… and everything she didn’t. She thought of all the questions she had for her mother… and wondered whether any of those questions would be answered in this book.

Latvia’s mission, as well as that of her sisters, had always been clear: promote the acceptance of Foggistan in Coralende. But Foggistan had arrived twenty-five years before Latvia was even born, and Latvia had always thought her family’s legacy was outdated and vague, at best. Coralendians had already formed their own opinions of Foggistan, and while some people still on the fence might be nudged either way, swaying the opinion of the general population seemed unlikely—especially when Foggistan behaved as suspiciously as it did. Hell, even Latvia was, by blood, an elite Foggistani with access to information that, though not classified, was certainly privileged, and even she didn’t know what Foggistan was up to. Why they were interested in Coralende—why they settled on Attica—whether their incursion into LusciousLocks was honest, or simply a PR ploy—Foggistan certainly gave answers when all these questions were asked, but were those answers genuine?

It troubled Latvia sometimes, to think how she attempted to live up to her family’s legacy, yet couldn’t quite tell why that legacy even mattered. She knew a certain part of it was just hard-wired—inculcated in her mind as a child, and consequently turned into a priority as an adult. But that mission had been given to her by her parents, and to her parents in turn by her grandparents... It was a scary thing, giving up a legacy that went back hundreds of years. Giving it up wasn’t an option. A large part of Latvia’s mind just had faith in the fact that a mission so enduring simply couldn’t be pointless—much less ill-intentioned. She never met her grandparents, but her parents she knew, and trusted, and loved. Any word she ever uttered to her friends in favor of Foggistan, she did it for them—not for Foggistan. And every pinch of pro-Foggistani sentiment she slipped into her politically themed newspaper column came solely from a sense of loyalty to her mom and dad—not from patriotism.

And aware of all this, Latvia had wondered numerous times why she lacked that Foggistani patriotism. Why, if she had grown up inside a Foggistani settlement, been basically brain-washed as a child by Foggistani parents, and had a younger sister who had become a Foggistani First Officer… why she felt no warmth towards Foggistan, whatsoever. It might be because her Foggistani settlement had been just a small district within the powerful nation of Econometric Elation, and she had attended an Econometric Elation school… as for Lithuania’s decision to join the Helo-Fleet, that might merely have been the result of her own take on the ingrained family legacy—Latvia had never fully understood why Lithuania joined the armed forces, after all...

Then she thought of her gift of foresight. A gift she had had since she was a child, and which her mother had nourished and encouraged. Her father had always told her it was a gift from Foggistan… but when Latvia asked him to elaborate, he would wink and change the subject. As for Latvia’s mother—she avoided the subject entirely. “Appreciate what you’ve got,” she used to say, “and don’t worry about how it works. You’ll know everything once you’re old enough.” But old enough came too late. Just a few months after Latvia’s sixteenth birthday, her mother and father were taken away, never to be seen again…

Or at least Latvia believed they had been taken away. The circumstances under which Latvia’s parents left had been so sudden… so unexpected. Her mother told her not to worry—that they’d be OK. That they were going on an intergalactic mission, and would probably never meet again, but that she loved her. Latvia distinctly remembered her mother telling her to never forget that: that she loved her. The departure had been tragic, and had affected Lithuania worst of all. But the reason Latvia suspected the departure had been forced—the reason she believed her parents hadn’t just left, but were abducted—was because of the men who had led them to the hovermobile… those men with their black hoods and their dark gloved hands… men with stale eyes and expressionless faces. They had taken her parents… they had robbed her of them…

And then Latvia forced her mind to drop the subject, for what had probably been the millionth time in her life. It was pointless to wonder what had happened with her parents, when every last avenue of hope had been exhausted, and every possible question asked. It had all occurred a long time ago—and Latvia sometimes thought that maybe she’d benefit from taking a page from her sisters’ books and adopting a colder, more resentful attitude towards her parents. A resentment rooted in the belief that her parents hadn’t just left—they had abandoned her. “But they didn’t abandon me,” Latvia thought. “They were taken.”

Latvia rose from the table and took the book from her mother’s fortune box. Yes, she had questions. A bunch of them. Maybe this book had something to tell her.