What I hope will be Chapter One.
Jan. 14th, 2019 07:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gridlore“Come on, Lukas, they’ve almost boxed us in!” I paused under the low ceiling of a canal bridge to let my older brother catch up. I tried to control his panting, dredging up what my old martial arts instructor had taught me because I knew that the circling drones of the Garda would zero in on the warmth of my escaping breath.
Searching for the silhouette of the drones against the hard stars distracted me, and I started when Lukas crashed into me, knocking me off-balance on the frozen canal surface for a moment. Looking down, I saw that the left side of Lukas’ parka was thick with blood. Lukas was bent over, trying to get air. Despite the frigid night, he tore away his mask and drew in a great gulp of air, followed by his vomiting blood onto the frozen surface of the canal.
Putting aside thoughts of the signal that steaming pool of organic material was sending to their pursuers, I leaned over, still supporting Lukas' weight and hissed “What happened back there?” while trying to watch in every direction.
Lukas sounded weak. “The Garda . . . they weren’t arresting anyone, it was a death squad, I . . .” More blood came up. “. . . I combat-lossed the drives, but they saw me running and, well, this happened.”
I smiled at the mention of combat-lossing. Lukas had been allowed to serve in the Confederacy’s Naval Infantry, and never failed to pepper his speech with military jargon when I was near. I felt my smile slipped from my face as Lukas slumped weakly to his knees.
“You have to do the unthinkable, Alois. Leave me.” Lukas gasped out. “This is the Canal of the Seven Drownings, such a happy name! Follow it to the consulate. They may arrest you, but they won’t turn you over to these . . . these . . . provincials.” The last word was spat out with utter disdain and a fine mist of blood. “Please, go now. The Rohr family name can’t die here.” Lukas was laboring, barely able to speak.
Wordlessly, I reached under the blood-soaked parka and undid the belt that held our money and valuables. Lukas smiled. “You were always the practical one. Go, now!”
I fitted my skates to my boots and began skating down the canal, gaining speed with every meter, trusting in the fates that the Garda wasn't even now closing in on me from above. As I rounded the first curve, there was a flash of orange and muffled thump from the canal bridge. They’ll have to rename this, I thought. It should be called the Canal of Seven Drownings and One Cremation. I skated on through the dark.
--
The Consul-General’s office was blessedly warm. I had been seated in a fairly comfortable chair unsmiling guards, offered a mug of the watery local tea by a thoroughly perplexed junior attache, and left to wait. It seemed like hours before a door opened and the tall figure of the Consul entered the room. He paused to look me over once, then strode to his desk and seated himself.
“Good evening Ser Rohr, or should that be good morning? The hour is a bit later than I am accustomed to seeing. I am Alexandre Naessens, Consul-General. You have created a great deal of turmoil and tumbled me out of a warm bed, and I must admit that I find your story a bit hard to accept at face value.”
“Ser Naessens, I’m sorry that I’ve caused trouble for you and your staff, but my brother and I were attacked by a gang. He was killed, and I fled for my life. My God, my brother was murdered in front of my eyes and you are doing what, blaming me? Blaming us?” I let the pent up emotions of the night break loose. “Dear God, Lukas died and I ran! What does that make me?” I buried my face in my hands and wept.
Naessens was unmoved by my outburst. “Spare me the act, my good Ser." His voice dripped with venous sarcasm. "You and your brother just happened to be in the same area as a massive police action against the Hēi miànjù plotters. What if I told you that we’ve seen drone video of you fleeing the scene? That the Garda are demanding your head? It would give me no small measure of satisfaction to hand you over to the local police or the mob that is sure to be here by sunrise. One less Rohr to plague civilization.”
I looked up in shock. “You hate my family that much, ser Consul? Do you really believe that we should be blamed for the crimes of my uncle?”
Naessens sat silently for a few moments, staring past me, deep in thought. When he spoke it was in a carefully measured tone that barely hid his anger.
“Your uncle? His crimes should be passed onto the next seven generations of Rohrs. You know, I cheered him when he seized power and declared himself First Consul of a revived Terran Empire. He promised strength and stability. He gave us unending wars and eventual humiliation. All Emperor Franz Rohr did was destroy everything he touched. And there are traitors who still demand a return to the glory days of empire. Or do you deny the existence of Rohrist societies and cabals? So yes, I would be happy to see you in a grave.
“But that’s not going to happen. I have been ordered to hold you here in protective custody until arrangements can be made for you to be removed from both Dòngchuāng and the Confederated Free Worlds. You are not a prisoner, but if you step out of our gates we will no longer offer you protection. My aide will get you settled. This interview is finished. Good day.” A heavy hand fell on my shoulder, and I started to see one of the unfriendly guards from earlier standing just behind me. Declining to speak with me, he just muttered "come along, then" and began heading towards a side door.
Consul-General Naessens had already turned to a desktop display and was reading whatever was on the screen. It was like I had ceased to exist. My own anger at this treatment by what should have been my own nation smoldering, I rose, casually left the empty tea mug on the Consul’s highly-polished desk and followed the guard out of the room.
--
The next three months were a constant march of monotony. I had access to the Consulate library, which I read daily, and as time wore on, increasing access to the guards’ training facility, where I worked my body into prime condition; but there was nothing for me to work towards, no real goal.
Until the day I was told that in six hours a shuttle would be arriving to remove me from the planet. A flurry of packing and filling out forms on both computer and paper, including the formal notice of expulsion from the Confederacy, explained to me by a sour-looking Confederate official. I asked if I could get my copy framed, which only he found funny.
At the appointed hour, a four-man shuttle land on the consulate pad. With brusque efficiency, I and my sad luggage were boarded. After a few checks, the shuttle lept skyward. I was the only person on board, as the craft was being piloted remotely.
Soon enough the shuttle reached orbit and began maneuvering towards what appeared to be a small freighter, more than likely one of the free traders that made a marginal living off the main trade routes. The shuttle docked with a satisfying thud, and after a few moments, the airlock opened.
I stepped out, blinking in the bright lights of the cargo hold. A crewman was waiting for him. I was shocked to see that the crew member was a bio-construct. Normally, making bio jobs that looked that human was forbidden in every civilized system. Which meant it's from somewhere that doesn't rate as civilized I thought. Using only hand gestures, the crew member indicated I was to follow him. After passing through a maze of passageways and bulkheads, we came to a door. Again, a silent indication that I was to enter. Steeling myself, I pressed the open stud and stepped inside.
Waiting was the worst possible outcome I could imagine. Briefly, I considered returning to Dòngchuāng and turning state’s evidence. Instead, I faced the coming storm head-on.
I bowed politely. “Hello, Mother. How wonderful to see you again, even in these unfortunate circumstances.”
Searching for the silhouette of the drones against the hard stars distracted me, and I started when Lukas crashed into me, knocking me off-balance on the frozen canal surface for a moment. Looking down, I saw that the left side of Lukas’ parka was thick with blood. Lukas was bent over, trying to get air. Despite the frigid night, he tore away his mask and drew in a great gulp of air, followed by his vomiting blood onto the frozen surface of the canal.
Putting aside thoughts of the signal that steaming pool of organic material was sending to their pursuers, I leaned over, still supporting Lukas' weight and hissed “What happened back there?” while trying to watch in every direction.
Lukas sounded weak. “The Garda . . . they weren’t arresting anyone, it was a death squad, I . . .” More blood came up. “. . . I combat-lossed the drives, but they saw me running and, well, this happened.”
I smiled at the mention of combat-lossing. Lukas had been allowed to serve in the Confederacy’s Naval Infantry, and never failed to pepper his speech with military jargon when I was near. I felt my smile slipped from my face as Lukas slumped weakly to his knees.
“You have to do the unthinkable, Alois. Leave me.” Lukas gasped out. “This is the Canal of the Seven Drownings, such a happy name! Follow it to the consulate. They may arrest you, but they won’t turn you over to these . . . these . . . provincials.” The last word was spat out with utter disdain and a fine mist of blood. “Please, go now. The Rohr family name can’t die here.” Lukas was laboring, barely able to speak.
Wordlessly, I reached under the blood-soaked parka and undid the belt that held our money and valuables. Lukas smiled. “You were always the practical one. Go, now!”
I fitted my skates to my boots and began skating down the canal, gaining speed with every meter, trusting in the fates that the Garda wasn't even now closing in on me from above. As I rounded the first curve, there was a flash of orange and muffled thump from the canal bridge. They’ll have to rename this, I thought. It should be called the Canal of Seven Drownings and One Cremation. I skated on through the dark.
--
The Consul-General’s office was blessedly warm. I had been seated in a fairly comfortable chair unsmiling guards, offered a mug of the watery local tea by a thoroughly perplexed junior attache, and left to wait. It seemed like hours before a door opened and the tall figure of the Consul entered the room. He paused to look me over once, then strode to his desk and seated himself.
“Good evening Ser Rohr, or should that be good morning? The hour is a bit later than I am accustomed to seeing. I am Alexandre Naessens, Consul-General. You have created a great deal of turmoil and tumbled me out of a warm bed, and I must admit that I find your story a bit hard to accept at face value.”
“Ser Naessens, I’m sorry that I’ve caused trouble for you and your staff, but my brother and I were attacked by a gang. He was killed, and I fled for my life. My God, my brother was murdered in front of my eyes and you are doing what, blaming me? Blaming us?” I let the pent up emotions of the night break loose. “Dear God, Lukas died and I ran! What does that make me?” I buried my face in my hands and wept.
Naessens was unmoved by my outburst. “Spare me the act, my good Ser." His voice dripped with venous sarcasm. "You and your brother just happened to be in the same area as a massive police action against the Hēi miànjù plotters. What if I told you that we’ve seen drone video of you fleeing the scene? That the Garda are demanding your head? It would give me no small measure of satisfaction to hand you over to the local police or the mob that is sure to be here by sunrise. One less Rohr to plague civilization.”
I looked up in shock. “You hate my family that much, ser Consul? Do you really believe that we should be blamed for the crimes of my uncle?”
Naessens sat silently for a few moments, staring past me, deep in thought. When he spoke it was in a carefully measured tone that barely hid his anger.
“Your uncle? His crimes should be passed onto the next seven generations of Rohrs. You know, I cheered him when he seized power and declared himself First Consul of a revived Terran Empire. He promised strength and stability. He gave us unending wars and eventual humiliation. All Emperor Franz Rohr did was destroy everything he touched. And there are traitors who still demand a return to the glory days of empire. Or do you deny the existence of Rohrist societies and cabals? So yes, I would be happy to see you in a grave.
“But that’s not going to happen. I have been ordered to hold you here in protective custody until arrangements can be made for you to be removed from both Dòngchuāng and the Confederated Free Worlds. You are not a prisoner, but if you step out of our gates we will no longer offer you protection. My aide will get you settled. This interview is finished. Good day.” A heavy hand fell on my shoulder, and I started to see one of the unfriendly guards from earlier standing just behind me. Declining to speak with me, he just muttered "come along, then" and began heading towards a side door.
Consul-General Naessens had already turned to a desktop display and was reading whatever was on the screen. It was like I had ceased to exist. My own anger at this treatment by what should have been my own nation smoldering, I rose, casually left the empty tea mug on the Consul’s highly-polished desk and followed the guard out of the room.
--
The next three months were a constant march of monotony. I had access to the Consulate library, which I read daily, and as time wore on, increasing access to the guards’ training facility, where I worked my body into prime condition; but there was nothing for me to work towards, no real goal.
Until the day I was told that in six hours a shuttle would be arriving to remove me from the planet. A flurry of packing and filling out forms on both computer and paper, including the formal notice of expulsion from the Confederacy, explained to me by a sour-looking Confederate official. I asked if I could get my copy framed, which only he found funny.
At the appointed hour, a four-man shuttle land on the consulate pad. With brusque efficiency, I and my sad luggage were boarded. After a few checks, the shuttle lept skyward. I was the only person on board, as the craft was being piloted remotely.
Soon enough the shuttle reached orbit and began maneuvering towards what appeared to be a small freighter, more than likely one of the free traders that made a marginal living off the main trade routes. The shuttle docked with a satisfying thud, and after a few moments, the airlock opened.
I stepped out, blinking in the bright lights of the cargo hold. A crewman was waiting for him. I was shocked to see that the crew member was a bio-construct. Normally, making bio jobs that looked that human was forbidden in every civilized system. Which meant it's from somewhere that doesn't rate as civilized I thought. Using only hand gestures, the crew member indicated I was to follow him. After passing through a maze of passageways and bulkheads, we came to a door. Again, a silent indication that I was to enter. Steeling myself, I pressed the open stud and stepped inside.
Waiting was the worst possible outcome I could imagine. Briefly, I considered returning to Dòngchuāng and turning state’s evidence. Instead, I faced the coming storm head-on.
I bowed politely. “Hello, Mother. How wonderful to see you again, even in these unfortunate circumstances.”
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Date: 15 Jan 2019 10:34 (UTC)One minor typo:
I had been seated in a fairly comfortable chair unsmiling guards,
Shouldn't there be a "by" between "chair" and "unsmiling"?