Another lime-soaked chunk of crab flew off Konun's fork, accompanied by a healthy splash of mead. He was enjoying his meal with a newfound hunger, for Konun was to part with his island home for a long time once he was finished. This eager disposition was not mirrored by his guest, one massive man known to Konun as Ambassador Hāmuera. Pacing himself, the Ambassador made his way across the plate by increments. Dining atop the tallest balcony in Konun's villa manor, the two men were treated to an endless vista of the Markiran amber sunset.
"You're too kind, Mr Konun." Hāmuera said, sipping lightly of his drink. "That a successful businessman such as yourself would even entreat my request is unexpected."
"Oh, don't thank me just yet. You've hardly touched your meal!" Konun said, barely having swallowed his last bite.
Hāmuera offered a polite smile. "It's very good. But I am unaccustomed to Skaldanic cuisine, you must forgive me if I take my time."
"It's considered bad form to refuse food in Skaldafen," Konun said. "Still, I understand. Our liquor might be stronger than you're used to."
"Indeed, I was under the impression that mead is supposed to be sweet." Hāmuera said.
Konun burst into a fit of laughter. "The sweet wines are what we give children to cure aches, dear Ambassador. The strong drinks are what we serve to people with winters behind them."
Hāmuera ponderously opened another crab leg. "I see."
A moment of silence ensued. Konun managed to wipe his beard in between hungered cuts at his plate. He gazed back to the horizon, the sun looming ever farther beyond the ocean. Such a powerful sight had been what Konun fell asleep to since the day he was born, he knew that he would miss it dearly. He suspected Hāmuera would feel the same about these islands, if he was given the chance.
"I would like to address the subject of this meeting while the night is young, Mr Konun." Hāmuera said, resting his fork along the rest of his utensils.
"Of course, of course." Konun said. "The matter of these islands we both call home."
"Indeed, Skaldafen controls a number of islands with large Maori settlements. These men and women lack access to essential services provided in a language they understand, are denied education in their native languages and are culturally deprived of their heritage." Hāmuera said. "I believe, with your help, the Confederation will see that their plight is reasonable."
Konun looked up from the table, his friendly disposition seeping away. "I'm afraid that's part of the problem, dear Ambassador. You are being too reasonable for Kæp Jriak's liking."
Hāmuera raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, I don't understand."
"You weren't the only one to contact me, Ambassador. SNIC learned we were having this meeting, and 'requested' that I relay their demands." Konun sad.
The Ambassador released a tired sigh, his disappointment written irrevocably across his face. "Fine. What do your people want?"
"They're offering you a stake in CTD and F&S ltd equal to your position's current annual income, several properties worth 13 million in total and active SNI protection. In return, you turn around the peaceful transition rhetoric, and pressure Onekawa-Nukunoa to abandon their overlapping claims."
"And if I decline their offer?" Hāmuera said.
"Then I can't give you this." Konun said, revealing a needle filled with a clear liquid tinted chemical blue. "By now, you've probably noticed that your heartrate isn't doing very good."
Hāmuera's brow furrowed, his gaze meeting the floor. "Poison?"
"In the mead. This is the antidote." Konun said, looking out to the palm-tree blanket coating the surrounding hillsides. "It's an untraceable agent that triggers cardiac arrest. There's a kill team waiting inside, they'll shoot us both dead if I administer the antidote without you agreeing to the terms. I'm sorry."
"I should have known better." Hāmuera said, quite clearly experiencing the sudden onset of vascular discomfort as he limply clutched at his breast.
"You're not the only one they've fucked over. I've got a gilded cage waiting for me back on the mainland, assuming they're not just preparing a firing squad. Knowing too much and all that." Konun said.
"But why so brazenly? My family knows I'm at this meeting. My department knows. They'll know I was poisoned. Why bother with some chemical that hides the deed if they'll know what happened anyway?"
"Plausible deniability would be my guess. There'll be room for doubt as to whether or not you were actually assassinated, and the international community is likely to stay out of things."
"But why?" A sense of sorrow marked Hāmuera's words, emerging from within his increasingly contorted expression. "We could have resolved this dispute bloodlessly."
"Probably. But the Council is spooling for a fight. The Nationalist Socialist Party is gaining waves in the Grand Ministry, and the Sate Capital Party is doing everything they can to stop them. The Ministry has been in chaos, and I'm told it's just been dissolved. The Council is hoping to distract this internal spat with an outside threat. Killing you will provoke the O-N into being that threat."
"I see. I trust my countrymen--" Hāmuera fell hard onto the table, knocking the silverware off in a rattling waterfall of utensils. He struggled to pick himself back up, spatters of dipping sauces now marring his dress shirt. "To act... responsibly. I cannot accept the Confederation's... Offer..."
"You're a good man, Hāmuera. I envy you that."
"My daughter is turning... 21 in '54. I would... Have liked to see... That."
"Breathe slowly. It'll hurt less."
Konun finished his meal in silence. Hāmuera continued to cling onto life with remarkable tenacity, the man's constitution being the last thread still tying him to consciousness. With one last gulp of mead, Konun set down his tumbler with a frustrated slam. The spooks back in Jriak were always one step ahead of people like him. Always one step ahead of easy solutions.
Wandering a glance back to the Makira one last time, Konun held the clear ocean air in his lungs. There was a chance he would never see his home again, the Medr islands were all he had ever known. The sun had passed, and the moon now haunted the sky. Such was life for the influential people of this dangerous frontier, being tossed around at the whims of people whose influence eclipsed your own.
Standing up, tidying his appearance, Konun stepped to the door. He looked to his guest, the once massive and lively ambassador now hunched over the table without an inch of life left in him. Konun could feel nothing but that burning weight of regret. "I only hope this was worth it."