InterregnumA Story by Chivanova This story is the initial part of a piece intended to be in three different parts. This is more or less the first part, the second and third are planned out, I have a pretty good idea of whats going to happen. I've been working on it on and off for about
INTERREGNUM PART ONE
SUBJECT: INVESTIGATION INTO THE APPARENT DISAPPEARANCE OF 'CORTHIN'S EYE' DATE: 022.1.1092 REF. NO: 006722819 At 03:11:23 [Corinthian Std. Time] on 21.1.1092 [Std. Corinthian] a sequence was initiated upon the general research vessel 'Corthin's Eye'. Precisely 4.12882 seconds later the ship apparently disappeared, leaving nothing behind. All subsequent efforts to contact the ship has resulted in complete failure, and all 2100 personnel aboard the ship are listed as missing. The only source of evidence pertaining to this incident comes from a live data feed that was being streamed to Sunil University on the nearby planet of Corthin. The transmission is short and reveals the apparent cause of the incident – that of ‘Material M8011,’ and its subsequent positron bombardment. This material is known colloquially as ‘The Black Rock’, and has been a considerable source of public interest and political concern, even before this incident. The data is published below, for your own examination. As you will read the trigger of the incident can be deduced from the material. However more information regarding the nature of the reaction, the fate of the ship, its crew and a multitude of other concerns is notably absent. This hinders any informed speculation, and the lack of any more related evidence in this disaster could hinder any satisfactory conclusion ever being reached. - SOURCE VEHICLE: 177CR3G52 TRANSMISSION SUBJECT: M8011 EVENT: 11298 DATE: 021.1.1092 STD. CORTHIN TIME: 03:11:23 STD. CORTHIN
>>NEDDRON PROTOCOL ONLINE >>AVAILABLE NODE RECEPTORS IN S41T4
IN336775
>>SEARCHING >>DESIGNATED NODE RECEPTOR FOUND 8UKNJLLH >>CONNECTING TO NODE >>CONNECTION ESTABLISHED 8UKNJLLH [CORTHIN'S EYE] NDRP: 3391 PRN: 11 >>QUERYING LATENCY >>INITIATING INSTRUMENTS POWER RESERVES: 97% >>DEFERRING BOOT RECYCLE
>>TRANSFERRING TO OBSERVATIONAL MODE >>INSTRUMENTS FULLY INITIATED >>SYSTEM IS NOW IN FULL OBSERVATIONAL MODE. DATA WILL BE STREAMED UNTIL MANUALLY HALTED
SUBJECT M8011 EVENT 11298
PHASAR ARRAY INITIATED FINAL DEBUG ROUTINE INITIATE SEQUENCE? >Y SEQUENCE INITIATED
AUXILIARY POWER SUPPLY ONLINE POSITRON ACCELERATORS ONLINE
PHASE ONE
DATA BANKS INITATED WARNING: MASS RELATED ANOMOLY MASS SENSOR FAILURE
Everything In Its Right Place
Jakara gazed out of the window and out on to the frozen shores of the lake. The castle’s heating systems had sprung a leak, and the cold invaded, wreaking more damage. The engineer drones would be another day at least. Her Grandmother’s sobs, muted by the floorboards fell on numb ears. It had been a harsh winter. The sobs quickened as Jakara picked herself up off the mat and padded softly to the adjacent room; her bedroom. Jakara was a tall thin woman, blessed and cursed with a full head of black hair (a rarity these days) and golden skin. Often the head of hair would remain in its natural state – slightly wavy and always tangled. But not today – it every strand regimented with heat and wax, pulled straight, taut and to attention. A dull thump resonated through the wooden floor, and from below. Her chest tightened, she could not leave these rooms, a numbness holding her prisoner to her Grandmother’s grief. Taking a breath, and composing herself, resolving to paint her makeup and reset her hair. Keeping a steady hand and concentrating an effort to drive all erroneous thoughts out of mind. The black sky above. Fade to lilac, violet. A crimson sun falls behind angular, distant mountains. In the foreground, the lake shining in the day’s last light. White sands led up to an ageless forest encircling the lake on all sides, except that of the castle, and its grounds. The castle, a brooding black mass grew from a rocky outcropping a hundred metres from the shore. Over the years it spread backwards to firmer, more sure land. Jakara lived in a small apartment with a fine view of the lake, midway up one of the smaller towers that made up some of the oldest parts of the castle. The sun was setting now, and she had yet to fully prepare herself for the Regent’s ball, which was in less than two hours, now. The Regent represented power and authority within and outside of the castle. Somewhere in time a ceremonial tradition had accidentally crashed into real power, a large mining interest. Now, for over a thousand years the company was passed down from male heir to male heir, each one, ‘the Regent’, who has complete authority over every aspect of the company, and the Castle – its physical and spiritual home. A microcosm of absolutism in a leaderless age. She had watched him die two days ago. He had been riding his Erl. From her high window the ungainly silhouetted movement of Erl and rider moving in unison against the snow. Crashing down the sand bank and onto the lake itself. The rider seemed to be urging his fellow hunters onto the ice, when it gave way and he fell through. The Erl, its famous stupidity present to the very end, jammed itself in the ice, trapping the young Regent and drowning him to death. I looked upon the lake, searching for the dark spot where he had fallen through the ice, but in the ailing light I could not find it. His plans, and through them my hopes were not undone by countless court intrigues and rivals, but by a small, mentally inept animal. Rising up, and closing the curtains, she retrieved a lamp from across the landing. Wondering how best to proceed her plans, she sat at her writing desk and began to write a final letter.
***
Grandmother still referred to the Regent’s possessions - and in this case, his carbonized remains in a possessive way rather than using a strategically sanitized word. The. No history or meaning. The definite article. ‘And, how are you, Miss Oki?’ Karsk Fordrick, a head of one of the major divisions in TetraMines. Head, eyes down. Dinner was served, she took her seat, towards the left end of the table. Dinner was seen as a time to socialize, and therefore you sat according to your social status. “Consider yourself lucky to be on the table at all, Miss Oki!”, I had been told. But she had always sat as far towards the left as possible, which left her as far away from the Regent as possible. Or tonight where the Regent was supposed to be. To the empty seat’s right she spied Johain, in discussion with the Chief Speaker, on the empty seat’s left. Johain. Regent’s Brother, Jakara’s cousin, Probable Future Regent. The inspiration to us all. He is a man fond of doing things, preferably, with as little cerebral intervention as possible. Yet he was also popular amongst company types, family and staff. A rare attribute, ample enough to outweigh any apparent lack of intelligence. Wary of each other, dialogue was rarely conducted, and always through formal ink or via a respectful messenger. Not like him and the speaker, or him and the Regent. The meal rapidly devoured, she retired to her quarters, taking advantage of the lack of ceremony in the wake of the dear Regent’s death. ‘You are so…!’ Ash started, ‘So far away from everyone!’ Tugging harder emphasize.
Ex Cathedra
Albiir Mossad, 976th Arbiter of the Order of the Black Rock was slumped in his seat. He stared glumly at the scenery reeling past the train’s window. This particular train dedicated to the job of carrying the ever brooding Arbiter wherever he needed to be. For the supreme leader of a secretive organisation feared and despised throughout known civilisation, he cut a figure of worn simplicity. Unruly framed an unshaven face, a faded green military jacket and frayed trouses completed the image. His mother’s family had spent their lives, and her childhood had been spent under Azure skies and sun. His skin was paler than it should be, and constantly gave the false impression of ailing health. He had spent the majority of his years underneath the sun, in the subterranean temples of the Order, on the ruling planet of Corthin. Fifteen minutes from his destination, Mossad was transformed. As the Arbiter of the Order, he had to appear in public, usually as little as he could help. However, when he did, he was transformed. Gone was the trampish appearance. He dressed in a traditional black cassock, with a large headscarf, that served to look like a hood. The paleness of his skin came into its own, his unhealthy pallor contrasted with the dress clothing to make him look almost demonic. Which, he was sure, was exactly the effect the first priests of the Order had in mind when they designed the clothing thousands of years ago. The train glided into the station, the systems cooling the huge electro magnets that suspended the train above the track hissed as it descended half a meter to the level of the platform, where a delegation stood, waiting to meet Mossad’s party. Flanked by his priests, he raised the headscarf up and over his head, and stepped of the train, ‘Greetings, Arbiter Mossad. Welcome to Alm Janry,’ Stiffly read out by the leader of the delegation. ‘We represent both the Houses, and we would like to extend an offer of hospitality, and mutual respect. ‘Arbiter Mossad receives your offer with both hands. The Arbiter, however considers time a most precious asset, and hopes to address the Houses as soon as possible.’ The senior priest in his delegation returned. Mossad himself was set back from the delegations, flanked by priests and security. He had never spoken in the public eye, always hooded and gagged until privacy returned. In this case, he could not speak until he addressed both Houses of the Republic. ‘The Houses are aware of you arrival, and would like to hear what Arbiter Mossad had to say. Please, follow us. We have arranged appropriate transportation.’
The two delegations walked down the deserted platform and into the empty station, which had been temporarily shut down to accommodate the arrival of the Arbiter’s train. Outside, a large armored vehicle had been prepeared to take Mossad and his delegation the mile or so to the massive building which held the Senate. The main road has been cordoned off, and crowds were gathering where they could. Mossad had never spoken in public, with his face constantly in shadow, and the absolute power he wielded combined to form a sinister figure in the eye of the public. This security, he was sure, was not just for show, or even there to satisfy the Order. He was quite confident there was a sizable amount of people throughout the Republic quite ready to kill him.
The Senate, where both Houses sat was gargantuan, accommodating almost two thousand members. To look at a floor plan of the Senate, it would look like a horizontal figure of 8. Two huge circular banks of seats faced each other, each accommodating the two Houses which made up the Republic’s governing body. The speaker resided in the middle of these two, and opposite the speaker, facing neither of the Houses but addressing the Speaker was a podium for guests to speak at, which was where Mossad stood. He pulled back the headscarf, revealing his head on the large screens either side of him. He began:
‘Four thousand years ago, the first Black Rock was discovered. Twenty years passed, and the “Corthin’s Eye” disaster happened. Since then, only one more Rock has ever been discovered. Through centuries of careful scientific study and experimentation, its secrets were unlocked. Now, the rock in all it’s different parts is the fundamental part of the Republic’s economy, allowing us to transport ourselves, our goods, our navies and armies instantaneously through space. And it is my job to protect the Black Rocks, as my family and the Order have for thousands of years. ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m sure you all know the mechanics of how the jump gate system works, but for those unsure, let me explain. The Black Rock was ‘split’ into 9 pairs. Furthermore, when the rocks were split they revealed a correspondence to another piece, through microscopic ridges and grooves on the surface of the rock itself. When two corresponding pieces of the rock are simultaneously bombarded with positrons, their mass increases uncontrollable and exponentially. As their size stays precisely the same, their density increases and as it does, it begins to bend the fabric of space, ‘space-time’. Within seconds these two rocks will bend the fabric so much they will momentarily meet, and anything within a certain radius will be transported through the ‘tunnel’ and into another part of space, instantaneously. However, as we bombarded both pieces simultaneously, the rocks do not move themselves, simply transporting all that is around them, as you see in the jump gates. When a rock is bombarded on it’s own, then it will jump to it’s partner, taking all with it. Which is almost certainly what happened to Corthin’s Eye. As it’s partner rock could be anywhere in space and time, we have no way of knowing where it is. It is lost forever. ‘Thirty years ago, the trading hub of Taltaieem and mining station of Jzaij were attacked simultaneously. Both by overwhelmingly large fleets, no, armadas. The substantial firepower of both of these attacks were focused on the two corresponding jumpgates. Within hours, and before any military help could have arrived, the hostile forces had overwhelmed the jump gate’s defences, and proceeded to destroy it. Quickly retrieving the both the fragments, they disappeared as quickly as they had appeared. So, until thirty years ago the Republic had a working system of nine jump-gates, powered by the fragments of the Black Rock. We have already experienced the economic significance losing a ninth of the backbone of our trading system. We must also consider the significance of their possession of these fragments. Whilst the technology to utilise the fragments should be well without their grasp, their ability to launch the attack, and their successful efforts to hide the fragments, despite our intense and prolonged efforts to find them, we should not rule anything out. ‘I am afraid to say that I found the governments explanation and official report of events unsatisfactory. After significant investigations conducted by the Order’s security service, I am of the belief that there is a single organisation responsible for Taltaieem. I believe your report was misled when it pointed towards an alliance of rebellious forces. Furthermore, I believe your report’s conclusion that the forces came from outside of the Central Republic was ill informed. I believe this entity to come from within the Republic, and I believe it is getting ready to strike again. I urge the Republic to consider this proposal, for the safety and well-being of all in the Central Republic. It would be most improvident for the Houses to do nothing in the light of this increasing threat to the Republic’s economy and well being. ‘Ladies and Gentlemen of the Houses. I propose, as is written in the bill I am putting forward today, that the Order’s powers be reinstated to their state before the Taltaieem attack. In clarification: the power to review any bill or piece of law associalted in any respect with the fragments of the Rock. Access to all intelligence regarding to and in relation to jump gates, and the fragments which make up the Black Rock. The legal rights to N-Class Anti-Matter weapons, a ten percent budget increase and the right to launch a major attack without the need to pass law through Senate.’ Mossad sat down. The speaker stood, ‘We have heard your proposal, and your speech. Now, before voting we have questions. Any member can participate.’ A young man, well dressed and with short, styled hair stood up. He flashed a white smile in Mossad’s direction, ‘Excellent speech, Arbiter Mossad.’ He smiled again, ‘I do, however, have a question for you. You proposal mentions a reinstatement of your ability to review all peices of law associated with the Rock. What I ask, Is when you ask for such firepower, why do you need control of the law? Your mandate is to protect the Rocks from attack.’ Mossad drew his head to the microphone, ‘If you read the original mandate, my job is a protector of the rocks. Whilst that does include physical protection, we also seek to stop anyone from manipulating or controlling the rocks through means other than force.’ ‘Yes. I know what you believe the mandate to say. However, in these modern times, what I am concerned about is the power you wield. There are close to two thousand people in this room, and only one of them is not answerable to democracy -’ ‘That is not true, or I wouldn’t be here -’ Faint laughter from the back. ‘Arbiter Mossad, please respect people’s right to speak without interruption’ The speaker chided. ‘And as your power over the Order is absolute, you can order your ships, your weapons to do whatever you choose. You, Arbiter Mossad, are the only man in known civilisation who could launch an invasion, or destroy a planet on a whim. Giving you legal power over the rocks, would essentially give you a hold on the Republic’s economy, too.’ He paused, preparing his audience for the crescendo of his argument, ‘This man, Houses, is the most powerful man in the Republic. Yet he is unelected. And he will control the Order till the day he dies. There are other, less important reasons why I will vote against this bill, but this is my main grievance. Thank You.’ He sat down. A chatter rippled across the chamber.
‘Arbiter Mossad,’ An older woman, her height and her complexion marked her out as a Krevskyan, ‘in your speech you discredited the idea that the Taltaieem incident was a loose collaboration of rouge forces. Who, or what do you think was actually behind these attacks?’ ‘I do not know, if I did, I would of course announce it here.’ ‘Do you think it may have been the Ictorians?’ Now, a more excited chatter arose. ‘Madam, there has been not one instance or report of contact with the Ictorians for millennia. Considering this, and informed doubt over the continued existence of the Ictorians, It would be most impetuous to even consider them as potential culprits.’ ‘Do you think the Ictorians exist?’ Mossad prickled, ‘I fail to see how this speculation is relevant to the discussion at hand.’ The speaker spoke, ‘I agree. The time for questions is over.’ Mossad left the platform and retired to the gallery where he would watch the vote. The speaker stood, and moved from his seat to the platform where Mossad had delivered his speech. ‘I now call for all members of Dsant and Tsirig, the two Houses of the Central Republic to vote.’
Damsel in Distress
It had been a year since she had been out of the castle, but now she was, and it was thrilling. Now she dared hope. For over a year she had carefully sculpted a way through the walls, over the land, past gravity via the atmosphere and into freedom. A year since she had met a small boastful man on an a rare official visit to one of the nearby cities. Most people lacked the time or patience to listen to this man go on and on about his brother, Abel, the best pilot, it seems to have ever lived. But Jakara happily listened, seemingly intently to his almost certainly embellished tales of his brother’s rapid ascension through the ranks of piloting school. Whilst she had long since grown out of the romantic ideal of a spacefaring man, who, with his ship, wit and guile can become master of the galaxy, she was infatuated with the unromantic idea of him transporting her from A (this planet) to B (anywhere else). Of course, to Guregh, she was unobtainable beauty, but his brother? ‘A spacefaring man is exactly what I am looking for,’ She swooned. A white lie. His com. address came soon enough, and she was on. There were several problems to overcome on her return to the castle. The main one was it’s archaic communication systems. Most inter-castle communication is carried out via messenger or handwritten letter. This was tradition, and to communicate any other way would have been awful etiquette and almost impossible, anyway. Sparingly dotted around, however were old optical links an operating transceiver upon the roof. Calling in favors, she managed to gain a access to the port roughly once a week. Drafting a letter on her desk, she would choose a quiet time, and scurry down to the port, where she could swiftly tap in her message and send it out. It was this way that she sowed the seeds of escape, carefully cultivating an escape, with a seemingly smitten Abel. Her brother obviously had good things to say about her.
The ever present rain was so fine it was almost mist. Jakara sat, looking out at the golden globules passing her by. Because of the covert nature of the trip, he had chosen to dock in the freight and goods spaceport, not the larger and much more policed passenger port. The deserted, bare monorail clunked on, through the giant complex. Huge, ghostly shapes of cranes, hangers loomed through the fine rain. She felt her breath drawn away by the massive functionality of these almost toy like massifs. She was leaving a place where nothing was pure utility. Everything had protocol, history, an unspoken meaning. The ground rose, filling the windows as the train was engulfed in a tunnel. When it emerged, it was to cavernous warehouse, distant ultra-bright lights hung from the rusty steel clad roof, hundreds of feet above the monorail platform. A sign read, ‘Bays 144 – 160’ This was her. She collected her bag and left the monorail. It creaked on behind her. She slowly walked down the platform, made entirely of the same rusty metal that seemed to clad the whole place in sheer faces and angular lines. The warehouse was deserted, everything done by automatic security – lie machines, explosive detectors, weapon scanners. Jakara made her way through the turnstiles, answering prerecorded questions with an automated blandness which would have embarrassed a computer. Once through she found a small corridor, leading on for a hundred of so metres before she found the appropriate doorway. Her stomach tightened. The door was open, only slightly. Broken glass eminated out into the hallway. A shard lay at her feet, which she bent down to pick up. As she did, she felt the back of her neck tingle. An unconscious alarm. As she was still bent down her assailant brought his knee up, crashing into her face. She heard it crumple. A flash of white and her sight returned partially in her left eye. She attacked the blurry shadow she assumed to be her assailant with all her force. She grasped at his hair, wrenching it downwards, using her body’s weight to help his head down. The man pulled her down with him, his hand frantically searching for her. She landed on her free hand, exploding in contorted spasmic pain. She brought it up and out from underneath her. In it, the shard of glass now dug into her flesh. Head spinning, burning bile rapidly rushing up, she brought the shard to the thrashing head, and punched the shard into his neck. Like the broken plumbing, he hissed and gurgled, eventually dying. Inside the dock she found Abel in several bloody pieces. Her eyes rolled, shivering, she fell to the floor and vomited. After lying for a while, she used the toilet to clean her hand, mummifying it in toilet roll, the house lacking in any first aid. Still shivering, she changed out of her bloodstained clothes. The red rapidly approached from underneath the toilet roll. She found Abel’s com and jotted down an address; his brother’s address, he lived in the city. She didn’t know how close, or how to get there, but she had to.
***
Jakara knocked on the brown door, the cratered chipboard giving slightly under her rapping knuckles. Roan, Abel’s brother lived in a dilapidated apartment complex on the outskirts of the city. She had found his address from Abel’s wallet, still warm in his back pocket. An older, more worn face than the one she remembered from her brief encounter years ago.. Then he had been a proud man, proud of his brother, his appearance. He had cared. Now, darkness inhabited his face, the deepening lines, the shadows under the eyes and covering his cheeks. He recognized her immediately, and seemed surprised, and wary. ‘Come in, Jakara. Sit down. Why are you here?’ He talked over his shoulder as he led her into the living area. She came, in but remained standing. She felt sick again. Repulsed. Her dialogue with Abel, although he had never known it, as no one had, was often the highlight of her day. She would often spend hours drafting letters, reworking them, making the sentences perfectly say what she had to say, not anything more or less. Maybe she would find comfort in the brutal severance of her relationship with Abel, this deceiver, yet whilst he could easily be blamed, he was not the culprit. She was sure she would now begin to forget him, knowing she was not to blame for his death. Yet she wished she had been, for she would have had something to cling on to. A purpose. He finished dressing her hand. ‘Did he like me?’ She said, quietly, ‘He seemed affectionate in his messages...Was that part of Leso’s frameworks?’ ‘I don’t think so. He liked you, I think. I told him how beautiful you were, but... He always said you were distant somehow.’ He paused putting his first aid equipment away, ‘But I think you are distant.’ ‘This isn’t my fault, Guregh. I’m sorry about your brother, I really am. But I have had nothing to do with all this. You should never have gotten involved with me.’ ‘I know that. I don’t know what some people want with you. But I think its time to leave,’ He motioned, ‘Come on.’ They walked together into the kitchen, where Guregh left her, and began to rummage around in an stuffed drawer. He eventually found what he sought - a small plastic disk, the size made it immediately recognizable as currency. It was an old technology, and mainly used by the black markets of the Republic. Whilst the disks themselves were not worth anything, any amount of credit could be loaded anonymously onto it, and whoever owned the disk was in ownership of the credit. An easy way for wealth to pass hands without the authorities noticing. This is what he handed to Jakara, along with a business card, ‘Elri Talkeem, CEO Galaxy Shipping’ and an address. ‘Why are you giving me a credit disk and a business card, Guregh?’ ‘It’s a way out for you. Take it, and go to the address. Elri is a friend of mine, and he does regular runs out of Corthin. He can get you off this planet. With a bit of luck he’ll manage it under the nose of Leso, as well.’ ‘Guregh, thanks. Thank you.’ It was the most genuine offer of appreciation she had made in a long while. ‘What are you going to do?’ ‘I have enough money saved to get out of here fast enough. A few things to sort out, and I’m getting out of this place as quickly as I can. This planet may be full of opportunity for the hardy, but...’ She thought she understood. ‘Goodbye, Guregh. Thanks.’ She turned and left, closing the door gently behind her.
She only had an unconnected, fragmented map of the city in her mind, the only routes she knew spread out from familiar locations. Her hand throbbed painfully, her ill fitting trousers chafed against the insides of her thighs (trousers were never worn by women in her previous home). Her excursions into the general public were very rare, and Jakara held an air of awkwardness about her. Frequently she would attempt to pass through the wrong door, colliding with fellow pedestrians. It was exhausting and demoralising. Back home she could deflect attention with a turn of the head, or putting her eyes in a certain place. A memory came to her, borne of countless hours staring out of her bedroom window. Observing a young apprentice mechanic trying to swim in the lake, motivated by the glorious summer afternoon. Whilst others gingerly worked their way into deeper water, he leapt straight in, only to panic. He spent his time vertical in the water, clumsily grasping for something absent. His increasingly manic efforts to grapple himself out of the water didn’t work. A sinker.
Yet she found the quiet street, and two blocks down she came across Galaxy Shipping. Predictably, it was a shabby affair, there was only a small dirty plaque to distinguish it from its neighbors. Inside, she found an unmanned reception desk, with several faux ancient analogue clocks mounted on the wall, indicating the times of different planets across the Republic. Where time standards were different to that of Republic, the manufacturer had inelegantly integrated these into the original clock design, rendering some almost unreadable. One appeared to have five hands, two of them turning alternate ways, two stationary whilst one swung back and forth between two points.
‘Can I help you there, Miss?’ The receptionist had slid through the door, whilst she was engrossed in the clocks. ‘Hello. I’m a friend of Guregh’s, he told me to come here-’ ‘A friend of Guregh’s is a friend to us indeed!’ His arm shooting out with enthusiasm, ‘Gonda.’ ‘Jakara, nice to meet you.’ She waved her bandaged hand, undeterred, his left hand . ‘Come through. We can help you.’ He opened the hatch separating the two parts of the room, turning and waving, ‘Come through!’ ‘How do you know I need help?’ Navigating the corridor, she had to raise her voice to overpower the incessant banging thudding down from the sagging ceiling above her head. ‘Guregh sends us people who need help.’
So she wasn’t the first. She wondered how many dangerous situations Guregh had muddled himself and others into. She felt completely out of control, and felt a longing, for a writing desk where she could assimilate her splintered thoughts and experiences.
Gonda finished his navigation through the warren like corridor, she could still hear the distant cacophonous banging. He invited her into an unlit, messy room. A genuinely ancient fan spun lazily, hardly disturbing a pungent cloud of smoke emanating from a gargoyle like woman sat at the desk below. ‘Frel, this is Jakara, a friend of Guregh’s.’ The enthused man motioned towards Frel, but Jakara was unsure of what to do. The small woman did not seem to acknowledge her. Quite suddenly the woman looked up and straight into her eyes, startlingly revealing a face that looked as if it hewn by an axe, ‘Ah, well, any friend of Guregh’s is a friend of ours. Yes?’ Sarcasm pulled the corner of her mouth up. She glanced at Gonda, ‘Thank you Gonda.’ He smiled, a little more forced than Jakara had seen before, then made his exit. ‘Where are you going?’ ‘I just need a way of this planet as soon as possible. Please.’ ‘Well, have I heard that one before! The next ship leaves in three hours to Krsivsky. You’ll get a bed and food. Nothing more. If there’s trouble, we won’t help you. Your... Guregh’s payment is non-refundable.’ Jakara felt an urge to scream. To claw at this woman and make her understand what she had seen, what she had done. She, however, restrained herself, ‘Just get me on the ship, and I’ll be happy.’ She fumbled in her pocket and tossed the credit disk onto the table in front of Frel. In turn, Frel took it and placed it in some sort of arcane disk reading machine. ‘Done.’ A slip of paper flew out of a printer. ‘Are you hunted?’ ‘What?’ The woman knew volume wasn’t a problem, but raised her voice anyway, ‘Are you wanted? Are people chasing you? You’ve come from Guregh, yes? I assume so then?’ ‘Yes, I am. I don’t want to be seen.’ ‘You won’t be. Follow me.’
She was strapped tightly back in her seat. In her youth she had been told in classes that most ships never enter the atmosphere, relying on skylifts and giant docking stations above the planet’s atmosphere to transport passengers and goods between the surface. However the skylifts that served Laosi were built and owned by TetraMine. They service the company and, if they felt like it, the local government. This left the rest of the population to ride the atmosphere and hope the aging ships still capable of atmospheric exit and entry remained in one piece. That was certainly Jakara’s hope.
She struggled to reach escape velocity, a endless labour against infinite and undying forces. Gradually she arced, buffeted but she refused to submit. Fade to black.
***
© 2009 ChivanovaFeatured Review
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