INTERVIEW NO: = = 774526100 = = = MONDAY MAY 2ND 2016 = =
SUBJECT: Nia Jones, Positive Other, PROBO Awarded.
GWEN: Are you comfortable? Do you want a drink?
NIA: I’m fine, thanks.
GWEN: In that case, we’ll crack on. I’ll just ask a series of introductory questions first. Can you tell me a little about your family?
NIA: Umm, well, we live in the Uplands. I think my Father came from Llanelli before the Walls went up and my Mother came from Crofty. They both work in Singleton Hospital as Managers.
GWEN: Excellent. As you know, potential candidates for the Elementals are screened from a young age. Your academic profile and your civic reputation are spotless. I would, however, like to know more about your powers…
“Is this who you are?”
Nia blinked in the light. She felt dizzy and disoriented. There was no way of telling whether she was standing up or sitting down.
“Is this who you are?”
Nia felt her body flooded with energy. Her power was working overdrive and it ebbed from her skin in euphoric waves, as it did she felt the presence in her mind become stronger. The disembodied voice gasped with delight and suddenly –
“Have you ever thought about leaving Swansea?”
Nia blinked again and looked around. She was in Brynmill Park sitting underneath The Tree. Lying next to her in the grass, on top of that tartan picnic blanket, was Mike. He’d asked her this question before.
“Nia? Are you alright?” He sat up, concerned. She shook her head and grabbed a cucumber sandwich. It was bland and nothingy, but then again all cucumber sandwiches tasted like that. She smiled. This is a memory.
“Mike?” She asked, “You’re an idiot, you know that right?”
Mike shrugged, “Yeah. You keep telling me.” His body weight shifted slightly and she felt one of his broody moments coming on. The gesture was so intuitive that it brought back a flood of warm nostalgia. She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards her. She couldn’t remember ever being this forceful, but sometimes you have to get your kicks where you can. Without a drop of her original fear, she leaned in to kiss him –
“Wow.”
She was back in the white space again. Suspended in nothing. The disembodied voice was floating there beyond the light. There was something familiar about it that she couldn’t put her finger on –
“Show me what you saw. In the Forbidden Place.”
Something exploded nearby. Falling rock landed all around them and Nia flinched. They emerged in a room with recognisable walls and a large steel door. Mike was ahead – weren’t they just…? – he was carrying somebody, the forms seemed to blend together.
Around them were cans; vast containers filled with god-knows-what –
“No.”
The room was empty. At their feet was a run-off for a drainage system, in the distance she could hear water –
“No.”
The floor was smooth stone. The only sounds came from the falling rock behind them. Mike was urging them onwards now, he turned to look at her and she saw the figure in his arms. She was an ASBO, small, mousy; Nia recognised this girl, it was as if she’d met her in a dream –
She was back in the white space. This time it was different.
All around her, she could hear crying. It was a sorrow so pure that it made her feel cold and small.
“They lied.” The phantom voice whispered, each syllable laced with grief and anger. The words echoed in her head like thunder.
“When the Walls fall you will remember.” The voice ground into her mind with a violent, white pain; Nia felt her sanity starting to tear. “You will remember by the word Pantheon. You will remember me and all that you have seen. Truth will be my gift to you. I will break them, I will grind this world into dust.”
NIA: I want to help people. My power lets me do that. It feels liberating watching people grow stronger.
GWEN: And you want to use it to help people?
NIA: Yes. I’ve always wanted to stop crime. It’s irrational. With a system that provides for everybody, why do people need to break the law?
GWEN: So, you believe the system works?
NIA: Yes, more than anything. The fact that we’re having this conversation – the fact that I’m going to be able to help people, thanks in part to you guys. It’s all proof.
Wednesday, 6 June 2007
Monday, 4 June 2007
Shift Chapter 3
The 1st of Iojenry in the year of 4365
Dear Diary,
Today it is New Years Day and I am going to live with my Aunty Vinthia. I am sad to be leaving my mum and dad and my brothers and sisters but I am excited about seeing my cousin Dyl. He is younger than me and a boy but I think we will be friends. I will miss my friends here but dad says that I will make more friends in Arrozale. I like Silvetera. I wish I didn’t have to leave.
Excerpts from the diary of Princess Elile of Silvetera, Age 7.
***
“Srynia?” Deleha called up the stairs, “Are you ready yet?”
“Coming!” the girl called in reply, whilst rapidly grabbing her things together. Deleha sighed and turned to speak to her other daughter.
“Riarna, will you go out and help your father, while I wait here for your sister?”
“Yep, sure,” the girl replied, dashing out of the house, her brown hair whipping behind her.
The yard was bustling with activity, dozens of people were rushing around and several people were leading gleaming horses from the stables across the yard. Above her, a big banner read, “CALLANIAN NATIONAL HORSE TRIALS.” Amongst the chaos she spotted a face she recognised and ducking and dodging past the crowds, she dashed over.
“Kale!” she called waving her arms to get his attention. The man turned from where he was giving instructions to a small group of people and smiled at the girl rushing towards him.
“Whoah! Slow down there, what’s the rush?” he called back gently, his kind eyes twinkling in amusement. The girl continued to pummel straight up to him, then skidded to a halt, raising a cloud of dust and disapproving looks from nearby spectators.
“Have you seen my dad anywhere?” she asked, her breath catching slightly from the run.
“He was over by your family stables last I saw. I would get myself over there if I was you. He didn’t seem too happy to be getting you and your sister’s ponies ready on top of organising his own team.”
“Ok, thanks Kale!” Riarna shouted over her shoulder as she sprinted off across the yard. Kale shook his head and chuckled.
The girl slowed down as she emerged from the bustle of the main courtyard and turned down the well-worn path to her family’s own stables. She had been looking forward to this day all through the long winter and praying for success every night since her New Years Eve Wish three months ago. It was always risky to use the wish granted to mortals by Yili on New Years for anything this important. His power of luck was just as likely to go good as it was to go bad, but when you did strike lucky, you struck very lucky. She turned down another track to encounter a further scene of bustle and activity. Her father was standing in their midst, directing various people around him to different tasks.
“Ria! At last! Where’s Sryn and your mum?” her father strode over to her, running his hands through his hair, leaving tufts sticking up in every direction.
“They’re on their way. I was ready so mum sent me over to help you first.”
“I think I have everything covered at my end. You just need to start getting yourself ready. Your first class is in an hour’s time, which gives you a bit of time to make sure you’re tacked up and warmed in ready.”
“Ok. Thanks dad,” she said and began to walk off.
“And don’t be late!” he called after her as she disappeared through the stable door.
***
TRAGEDY AT CALLONIAN NATIONAL HORSE TRIALS
Today a tragedy marred the events at the highly popular Callonian National Horse Trials. A young girl was seriously injured after her pony tripped on the 6th fence and suffered a rotational fall. This was the first year that Junior riders had been allowed to compete within their own category, an idea pioneered by event organiser Willan Ruanthi. The pony in question, Quila Delaruse, belonged to Mr Ruanthi himself and was being ridden by his own daughter. The extent of the girls injuries are not yet certain and Mr Ruanthi did not have a comment to make.
***
“Quila?”
--- broken. We’ll have to ---
Pain. Pain. PAIN.
--- any chance?--- unlucky ---
“Where are you?”
--- how--- move him?---
Here. PAIN
--- Do you have--- the bow--- arrow---
“What’s happening?”
--- I’ll do it---
PAIN
--- shwpunc ---
“Quila?”
--- you take--- I’ll get ---
“Quila?!”
Dear Diary,
Today it is New Years Day and I am going to live with my Aunty Vinthia. I am sad to be leaving my mum and dad and my brothers and sisters but I am excited about seeing my cousin Dyl. He is younger than me and a boy but I think we will be friends. I will miss my friends here but dad says that I will make more friends in Arrozale. I like Silvetera. I wish I didn’t have to leave.
Excerpts from the diary of Princess Elile of Silvetera, Age 7.
***
“Srynia?” Deleha called up the stairs, “Are you ready yet?”
“Coming!” the girl called in reply, whilst rapidly grabbing her things together. Deleha sighed and turned to speak to her other daughter.
“Riarna, will you go out and help your father, while I wait here for your sister?”
“Yep, sure,” the girl replied, dashing out of the house, her brown hair whipping behind her.
The yard was bustling with activity, dozens of people were rushing around and several people were leading gleaming horses from the stables across the yard. Above her, a big banner read, “CALLANIAN NATIONAL HORSE TRIALS.” Amongst the chaos she spotted a face she recognised and ducking and dodging past the crowds, she dashed over.
“Kale!” she called waving her arms to get his attention. The man turned from where he was giving instructions to a small group of people and smiled at the girl rushing towards him.
“Whoah! Slow down there, what’s the rush?” he called back gently, his kind eyes twinkling in amusement. The girl continued to pummel straight up to him, then skidded to a halt, raising a cloud of dust and disapproving looks from nearby spectators.
“Have you seen my dad anywhere?” she asked, her breath catching slightly from the run.
“He was over by your family stables last I saw. I would get myself over there if I was you. He didn’t seem too happy to be getting you and your sister’s ponies ready on top of organising his own team.”
“Ok, thanks Kale!” Riarna shouted over her shoulder as she sprinted off across the yard. Kale shook his head and chuckled.
The girl slowed down as she emerged from the bustle of the main courtyard and turned down the well-worn path to her family’s own stables. She had been looking forward to this day all through the long winter and praying for success every night since her New Years Eve Wish three months ago. It was always risky to use the wish granted to mortals by Yili on New Years for anything this important. His power of luck was just as likely to go good as it was to go bad, but when you did strike lucky, you struck very lucky. She turned down another track to encounter a further scene of bustle and activity. Her father was standing in their midst, directing various people around him to different tasks.
“Ria! At last! Where’s Sryn and your mum?” her father strode over to her, running his hands through his hair, leaving tufts sticking up in every direction.
“They’re on their way. I was ready so mum sent me over to help you first.”
“I think I have everything covered at my end. You just need to start getting yourself ready. Your first class is in an hour’s time, which gives you a bit of time to make sure you’re tacked up and warmed in ready.”
“Ok. Thanks dad,” she said and began to walk off.
“And don’t be late!” he called after her as she disappeared through the stable door.
***
TRAGEDY AT CALLONIAN NATIONAL HORSE TRIALS
Today a tragedy marred the events at the highly popular Callonian National Horse Trials. A young girl was seriously injured after her pony tripped on the 6th fence and suffered a rotational fall. This was the first year that Junior riders had been allowed to compete within their own category, an idea pioneered by event organiser Willan Ruanthi. The pony in question, Quila Delaruse, belonged to Mr Ruanthi himself and was being ridden by his own daughter. The extent of the girls injuries are not yet certain and Mr Ruanthi did not have a comment to make.
***
“Quila?”
--- broken. We’ll have to ---
Pain. Pain. PAIN.
--- any chance?--- unlucky ---
“Where are you?”
--- how--- move him?---
Here. PAIN
--- Do you have--- the bow--- arrow---
“What’s happening?”
--- I’ll do it---
PAIN
--- shwpunc ---
“Quila?”
--- you take--- I’ll get ---
“Quila?!”
Ambition: File #162,299
"My, we've been busy!" said Sophia, checking her computer.
"It's quite fun when you get used to it," said Arthur. "You just have to look for unusual ambitions to fulfil. Things that most people would ignore."
"We've certainly got plenty of work to keep everyone going," Sophia said. "Anyway, you've got ... ten thousand and thirteen points. Which, by a narrow margin, earns you access to the Ambition Lounge."
She retrieved a violet plastic card from her drawer, and placed it into a slot on the computer. She typed something in, and pulled out the card.
"Use this to get into the lift to the left," she told Arthur, handing him the card. "It'll take you directly to the Lounge."
"Right," said Arthur. "Thanks." He paused a moment. "So, erm ... what is this Lounge exactly?"
"Mostly for relaxation," said Sophia. "A gathering place, exclusive to members who earn over ten thousand points. It also has unrestricted access to the Ambition database, which should enable you to help more people more efficiently." She smiled. "Makes sense to make work easier for those who've helped the most, doesn't it?"
Arthur smiled, and thanked her, before heading for the lift.
-10001-
"... and then, on Saturday night, I was having dinner with Dennis Freeman, and ..."
"Don't do that."
"What?"
"Name-dropping. It gets right on my nerves."
"What do you mean, 'name-dropping'?"
"Well, if he was really such a good friend, you'd call him 'Dennis', wouldn't you? But no, you have to use his full name."
"Why would I just call him Dennis? You know who he is, so it'd be a bit stupid to pretend he was just some guy."
"It sounds like he's just a name to you!"
"He's my friend. I just know him, that's all."
Arthur watched the argument from the lift. There was around a dozen people sitting on the long, pastel-coloured sofa, but only two were talking – a man and a woman. The whole company looked much younger than he'd expected; mostly in their mid-twenties to early-thirties. He stepped forwards cautiously.
The group turned and saw him, they all bounced to their feet and dashed over.
"Hia, how are you?"
"New, aren't you?"
"What was your ambition?"
"What's your name?"
"Who do you know here?"
"Hi, I'm Alexander Exton."
Arthur blustered his answers, and after a time, most of them lost interest, and started talking among themselves again. One girl, however – a rotund twenty-something who'd kept mostly quiet thus far – stayed behind.
"It was Arthur Pritchard, wasn't it?" she said.
"Call me Arthur," he said, his head still spinning.
"Then you can call me Rachel." She grabbed his hand. "Come on – let's check out the computers."
And she bounded away, around the corner, away from the sofas, past a self-serving bar, through a set of double-doors, and into a more subdued room, with blue lights built into the walls. The room contained five or six large computer consoles, reminding Arthur of the touchscreen ones in Job Centres.
She released his hand, and sat on a stool by the nearest consoles. Arthur took the stool next to her.
"So, how do these computers work?" he asked.
"Oh, that doesn't matter," said Rachel. "We need to talk about the Lounge. I'm file one-six-double-two-double-nine."
Arthur's eyebrows shot up. "Am I expected to know my file number by heart?"
"In the Lounge? Certainly," replied Rachel. "But it might not be your scene. See, It's full of zed-list members, hoping to be the next Dennis Freeman or Jemima Cross."
"Who?"
"Good lord, you'll need to take a look at the in-house magazine. You won't survive a second in here if you don't know your high-profilers." She pressed something on the screen. "Look, checking the profile rankings is a good way to find out who they are, but for more details, you'll need to read interviews and things."
Arthur checked the monitor.
"This one doesn't have a name," he said, indicating the top of the list.
"He's a bit of a mystery," said Rachel. "He chose to hide his identity, in the days before details were mandatory, and was allowed to continue operating in secret."
"But we know he's a 'he'?"
"Ah, well, no," said Rachel, blushing. "I think everyone's got an image of what he's like, though, and mine's male." She shuffled on her stool. "Anyway, I think most people like to imagine that THEY'RE the number one member, so they come to the Lounge and do their best to appear important, hoping that naïve members will think 'oh, wow, I wonder if it's them'."
"You don't much get on with these people, then?" asked Arthur.
"They're alright," said Rachel, shrugging. "They're self-obsessed, but sometimes that's a good thing. If you've earned your entry to the Lounge, you're okay by them. Never mind what you're like or ... what you look like ..."
She trailed away, and Arthur looked at her sadly. Surely she didn't spend time with these awful people out of loneliness?
"So, what was your ambition?" he asked gently.
"Doesn't matter," she mumbled. She was busying herself with the monitor, checking the details of high-profilers.
Arthur swallowed.
"Rachel," he said. He smiled softly. "I don't know your surname."
"Parsons," she murmurmed.
"I don't think I like this place," said Arthur. "I think I'm going to go elsewhere."
"Okay."
"I'm going to go to dinner." He licked his lips, and straightened on the stool. "Would you like to accompany me?"
She turned to look at him.
"You don't need to do that," she said gently.
"Right, no, of course," blustered Arthur. "Sorry." He paused. "I got the impression you didn't like it here, and ... Umm, I'm awfully sorry. Forget I mentioned it."
She paused.
"I don't like it here," she squeaked. "But don't feel like you've got to ... I don't know ... You can just leave, if you want, I won't mind."
He frowned.
"I meant the invitation, you know," he said. "I really want to spend more time with you."
Rachel's face brightened.
"Oh," she said. "Yes. Sorry. Umm."
"Would you, erm," started Arthur. "Would you like to start again?"
"I think it'd be best, don't you?"
"I think I'm going to go for dinner," he repeated. "Are you hungry by any chance?"
"I'd love to come," she breathed.
"It's quite fun when you get used to it," said Arthur. "You just have to look for unusual ambitions to fulfil. Things that most people would ignore."
"We've certainly got plenty of work to keep everyone going," Sophia said. "Anyway, you've got ... ten thousand and thirteen points. Which, by a narrow margin, earns you access to the Ambition Lounge."
She retrieved a violet plastic card from her drawer, and placed it into a slot on the computer. She typed something in, and pulled out the card.
"Use this to get into the lift to the left," she told Arthur, handing him the card. "It'll take you directly to the Lounge."
"Right," said Arthur. "Thanks." He paused a moment. "So, erm ... what is this Lounge exactly?"
"Mostly for relaxation," said Sophia. "A gathering place, exclusive to members who earn over ten thousand points. It also has unrestricted access to the Ambition database, which should enable you to help more people more efficiently." She smiled. "Makes sense to make work easier for those who've helped the most, doesn't it?"
Arthur smiled, and thanked her, before heading for the lift.
-10001-
"... and then, on Saturday night, I was having dinner with Dennis Freeman, and ..."
"Don't do that."
"What?"
"Name-dropping. It gets right on my nerves."
"What do you mean, 'name-dropping'?"
"Well, if he was really such a good friend, you'd call him 'Dennis', wouldn't you? But no, you have to use his full name."
"Why would I just call him Dennis? You know who he is, so it'd be a bit stupid to pretend he was just some guy."
"It sounds like he's just a name to you!"
"He's my friend. I just know him, that's all."
Arthur watched the argument from the lift. There was around a dozen people sitting on the long, pastel-coloured sofa, but only two were talking – a man and a woman. The whole company looked much younger than he'd expected; mostly in their mid-twenties to early-thirties. He stepped forwards cautiously.
The group turned and saw him, they all bounced to their feet and dashed over.
"Hia, how are you?"
"New, aren't you?"
"What was your ambition?"
"What's your name?"
"Who do you know here?"
"Hi, I'm Alexander Exton."
Arthur blustered his answers, and after a time, most of them lost interest, and started talking among themselves again. One girl, however – a rotund twenty-something who'd kept mostly quiet thus far – stayed behind.
"It was Arthur Pritchard, wasn't it?" she said.
"Call me Arthur," he said, his head still spinning.
"Then you can call me Rachel." She grabbed his hand. "Come on – let's check out the computers."
And she bounded away, around the corner, away from the sofas, past a self-serving bar, through a set of double-doors, and into a more subdued room, with blue lights built into the walls. The room contained five or six large computer consoles, reminding Arthur of the touchscreen ones in Job Centres.
She released his hand, and sat on a stool by the nearest consoles. Arthur took the stool next to her.
"So, how do these computers work?" he asked.
"Oh, that doesn't matter," said Rachel. "We need to talk about the Lounge. I'm file one-six-double-two-double-nine."
Arthur's eyebrows shot up. "Am I expected to know my file number by heart?"
"In the Lounge? Certainly," replied Rachel. "But it might not be your scene. See, It's full of zed-list members, hoping to be the next Dennis Freeman or Jemima Cross."
"Who?"
"Good lord, you'll need to take a look at the in-house magazine. You won't survive a second in here if you don't know your high-profilers." She pressed something on the screen. "Look, checking the profile rankings is a good way to find out who they are, but for more details, you'll need to read interviews and things."
Arthur checked the monitor.
"This one doesn't have a name," he said, indicating the top of the list.
"He's a bit of a mystery," said Rachel. "He chose to hide his identity, in the days before details were mandatory, and was allowed to continue operating in secret."
"But we know he's a 'he'?"
"Ah, well, no," said Rachel, blushing. "I think everyone's got an image of what he's like, though, and mine's male." She shuffled on her stool. "Anyway, I think most people like to imagine that THEY'RE the number one member, so they come to the Lounge and do their best to appear important, hoping that naïve members will think 'oh, wow, I wonder if it's them'."
"You don't much get on with these people, then?" asked Arthur.
"They're alright," said Rachel, shrugging. "They're self-obsessed, but sometimes that's a good thing. If you've earned your entry to the Lounge, you're okay by them. Never mind what you're like or ... what you look like ..."
She trailed away, and Arthur looked at her sadly. Surely she didn't spend time with these awful people out of loneliness?
"So, what was your ambition?" he asked gently.
"Doesn't matter," she mumbled. She was busying herself with the monitor, checking the details of high-profilers.
Arthur swallowed.
"Rachel," he said. He smiled softly. "I don't know your surname."
"Parsons," she murmurmed.
"I don't think I like this place," said Arthur. "I think I'm going to go elsewhere."
"Okay."
"I'm going to go to dinner." He licked his lips, and straightened on the stool. "Would you like to accompany me?"
She turned to look at him.
"You don't need to do that," she said gently.
"Right, no, of course," blustered Arthur. "Sorry." He paused. "I got the impression you didn't like it here, and ... Umm, I'm awfully sorry. Forget I mentioned it."
She paused.
"I don't like it here," she squeaked. "But don't feel like you've got to ... I don't know ... You can just leave, if you want, I won't mind."
He frowned.
"I meant the invitation, you know," he said. "I really want to spend more time with you."
Rachel's face brightened.
"Oh," she said. "Yes. Sorry. Umm."
"Would you, erm," started Arthur. "Would you like to start again?"
"I think it'd be best, don't you?"
"I think I'm going to go for dinner," he repeated. "Are you hungry by any chance?"
"I'd love to come," she breathed.
Thursday, 31 May 2007
Symbiosis - The Archon
2543 (25-4th-6) New Calendar - Prima Centurai
The ambassadors filled the room, and the Archon suppressed a shudder. Animals dressed as men, he thought with a sneer as they slithered and padded their ways to their chairs or perches, or splashed in their tanks, thrusting their mouths into translation tubes. They disgusted him. He plastered a smile onto his face.
“Ambassadors,” he said, his voice oily. “Welcome! I trust you are all in good health?”
There was a general murmur from the translative speakers mounted about the table. The Archon felt his skin crawl.
“Excellent,” he lied. “Well then: to business, shall we? Although, I’m afraid the subject of this meeting perplexes me somewhat.”
There was an angry chirrup from a drofor to his right, and the Archon just stopped himself from rolling his eyes.
“It perplexes you?” the drofor spat, the cold computerised voice from the speaker betraying no hint of the creature’s obvious emotion. The Archon was rather proud of that; he’d installed that voice himself. “With respect, how can it possibly perplex you? It’s been five years, Archon! Five years, and only three successful Symbiotes! Why haven’t you been the one to call this meeting?”
“Because I feel that this is not a cause for such alarm,” the Archon answered calmly.
There was a general uproar at that, and he waited for a few moments before continuing.
“Ambassadors!” he said. “Please! I understand the worry, but I do feel you’re all over-reacting. The Forum is aware of the situation. We share your concerns. But, two of those three Symbiotes were produced last year. We may have more this year, who knows? We think it’s simply a matter of tragic incompatibility, nothing more. It will most likely sort itself out.”
“But you have know way of knowing that,” a fennar chimed in further down the table. Its fins moved lazily in the water, and the Archon looked pointedly away from them, at its lidless eyes. He felt sick. “For all you know there’s a deeper problem here, and it’s one that needs sorting.”
“I’m afraid I disagree,” the Archon answered simply, and felt a smug thrill of satisfaction as the slight mutter of animal noise increased with irritation at his attitude.
“Well, we don’t,” the fennar answered back. “And apparently, neither do the other races represented here, or we wouldn’t be having this meeting. Now, it’s obvious that we all rely on the Symbioses more than you humans, Archon, but you aren’t entirely needless of them. Frankly, I can’t understand your attitude at all.”
“Have you even started conducting an investigation into this?” the drofor asked, wings vibrating slightly in its anger. The Archon almost snarled at their impudence, but controlled himself.
“Of course,” he said. “But so far the data is inconclusive. Now, really, Ambassadors, I can’t offer you anything more than this. Surely you can all see this?”
The animalistic sounds continued, but no one spoke out. The Archon risked a glance at the terahl representative, crouched over the table at the far end like some sort of overgrown mantis, its four-jointed fingers steepled beneath its pointed chin. Could they read minds? He’d never really been sure; they were said to only feel psionic energies, but did that mean they could tell what people were thinking? Or when someone was lying? The creature showed no sign of suspicion. The Archon looked away.
Eventually, the meeting broke up, and they left in a flurry of wings, fur and bubbles. The Archon sat in the empty room, shuddering in repulsion before standing and stretching out his limbs. Aliens! Animals feigning intelligence! They simply leeched off humanity, parasites of human advancement and values. Why had the Forum ever seen fit to continue any allegiance with them? The Symbiotes weren’t bad, of course; quite useful in fact. And if humanity only ever had to deal with Symbiotes there would probably be no problem, but the wretched creatures insisted on having ‘pure’ representatives in the Forum, as long as the Archon himself was Chair…
The illumination changed in the room, and the Archon smiled. A cloud of light hovered in front of his desk a foot off the floor, golden and twinkling. It seethed in place, roiling until it formed the rough image of a face in the air, and it wore a smile.
“The final nitrovium has been diverted to you,” the Archon said quietly. “And I have the final results of the fennar experiments for particle selection. Not long now, hopefully.”
The face seemed to nod, and two beams of light shot out and hit the Archon’s forehead. He felt the usual odd prickling sensation inside his skull, and smiled. Such an effective way to communicate, all meaning instantly conveyed. This was true advancement.
What information is left now?
“Very little. Only three stages remain, then it’s just for me to combine all the data and actually make the weapon.”
How long?
“With luck and harder work, three weeks for the last of the data. More likely a month and a half, EST of course.”
Of course. The Archon winced slightly at the almost imperceptible sneer. Very well. You have done well, Archon. What is this glitch?
“Ah.” The Archon paused. “We’re not sure yet. But I’m looking into it. These things never last more than a few weeks after they’re noticed, though. I’ll find it.”
Is there any way our designs could be known?
“No. I’ve taken the utmost care,” the Archon said firmly. “We’re safe.”
Excellent. Then I shall take my leave of you. Is the new data ready for me now?
“Yes,” the Archon answered, smiling. He turned to a palm screen on the desk and depressed it, and a quirky little mechanism rose up. He switched it on, and a thin beam of light hit the ceiling from it. The cloud shifted and placed itself over the beam, which bent, and was absorbed into the cloud. The light pulsed brighter, and then faded back to its original glow. The Archon sighed. True advancement.
It is done. I shall return next ‘week’.
The cloud dispersed at blinding speed, and seeped out of the windows. The illumination returned to its usual neutral glow, and the Archon turned back to his holo-screen. Time to find this glitch…
The ambassadors filled the room, and the Archon suppressed a shudder. Animals dressed as men, he thought with a sneer as they slithered and padded their ways to their chairs or perches, or splashed in their tanks, thrusting their mouths into translation tubes. They disgusted him. He plastered a smile onto his face.
“Ambassadors,” he said, his voice oily. “Welcome! I trust you are all in good health?”
There was a general murmur from the translative speakers mounted about the table. The Archon felt his skin crawl.
“Excellent,” he lied. “Well then: to business, shall we? Although, I’m afraid the subject of this meeting perplexes me somewhat.”
There was an angry chirrup from a drofor to his right, and the Archon just stopped himself from rolling his eyes.
“It perplexes you?” the drofor spat, the cold computerised voice from the speaker betraying no hint of the creature’s obvious emotion. The Archon was rather proud of that; he’d installed that voice himself. “With respect, how can it possibly perplex you? It’s been five years, Archon! Five years, and only three successful Symbiotes! Why haven’t you been the one to call this meeting?”
“Because I feel that this is not a cause for such alarm,” the Archon answered calmly.
There was a general uproar at that, and he waited for a few moments before continuing.
“Ambassadors!” he said. “Please! I understand the worry, but I do feel you’re all over-reacting. The Forum is aware of the situation. We share your concerns. But, two of those three Symbiotes were produced last year. We may have more this year, who knows? We think it’s simply a matter of tragic incompatibility, nothing more. It will most likely sort itself out.”
“But you have know way of knowing that,” a fennar chimed in further down the table. Its fins moved lazily in the water, and the Archon looked pointedly away from them, at its lidless eyes. He felt sick. “For all you know there’s a deeper problem here, and it’s one that needs sorting.”
“I’m afraid I disagree,” the Archon answered simply, and felt a smug thrill of satisfaction as the slight mutter of animal noise increased with irritation at his attitude.
“Well, we don’t,” the fennar answered back. “And apparently, neither do the other races represented here, or we wouldn’t be having this meeting. Now, it’s obvious that we all rely on the Symbioses more than you humans, Archon, but you aren’t entirely needless of them. Frankly, I can’t understand your attitude at all.”
“Have you even started conducting an investigation into this?” the drofor asked, wings vibrating slightly in its anger. The Archon almost snarled at their impudence, but controlled himself.
“Of course,” he said. “But so far the data is inconclusive. Now, really, Ambassadors, I can’t offer you anything more than this. Surely you can all see this?”
The animalistic sounds continued, but no one spoke out. The Archon risked a glance at the terahl representative, crouched over the table at the far end like some sort of overgrown mantis, its four-jointed fingers steepled beneath its pointed chin. Could they read minds? He’d never really been sure; they were said to only feel psionic energies, but did that mean they could tell what people were thinking? Or when someone was lying? The creature showed no sign of suspicion. The Archon looked away.
Eventually, the meeting broke up, and they left in a flurry of wings, fur and bubbles. The Archon sat in the empty room, shuddering in repulsion before standing and stretching out his limbs. Aliens! Animals feigning intelligence! They simply leeched off humanity, parasites of human advancement and values. Why had the Forum ever seen fit to continue any allegiance with them? The Symbiotes weren’t bad, of course; quite useful in fact. And if humanity only ever had to deal with Symbiotes there would probably be no problem, but the wretched creatures insisted on having ‘pure’ representatives in the Forum, as long as the Archon himself was Chair…
The illumination changed in the room, and the Archon smiled. A cloud of light hovered in front of his desk a foot off the floor, golden and twinkling. It seethed in place, roiling until it formed the rough image of a face in the air, and it wore a smile.
“The final nitrovium has been diverted to you,” the Archon said quietly. “And I have the final results of the fennar experiments for particle selection. Not long now, hopefully.”
The face seemed to nod, and two beams of light shot out and hit the Archon’s forehead. He felt the usual odd prickling sensation inside his skull, and smiled. Such an effective way to communicate, all meaning instantly conveyed. This was true advancement.
What information is left now?
“Very little. Only three stages remain, then it’s just for me to combine all the data and actually make the weapon.”
How long?
“With luck and harder work, three weeks for the last of the data. More likely a month and a half, EST of course.”
Of course. The Archon winced slightly at the almost imperceptible sneer. Very well. You have done well, Archon. What is this glitch?
“Ah.” The Archon paused. “We’re not sure yet. But I’m looking into it. These things never last more than a few weeks after they’re noticed, though. I’ll find it.”
Is there any way our designs could be known?
“No. I’ve taken the utmost care,” the Archon said firmly. “We’re safe.”
Excellent. Then I shall take my leave of you. Is the new data ready for me now?
“Yes,” the Archon answered, smiling. He turned to a palm screen on the desk and depressed it, and a quirky little mechanism rose up. He switched it on, and a thin beam of light hit the ceiling from it. The cloud shifted and placed itself over the beam, which bent, and was absorbed into the cloud. The light pulsed brighter, and then faded back to its original glow. The Archon sighed. True advancement.
It is done. I shall return next ‘week’.
The cloud dispersed at blinding speed, and seeped out of the windows. The illumination returned to its usual neutral glow, and the Archon turned back to his holo-screen. Time to find this glitch…
Tuesday, 29 May 2007
ASBO-Boy - The show must go on...
Omen stared at his face in the mirror. The scar had lessened over the week and a half since the run in with the Elementals. They said it was something to do with being an Other that upped his metabolism and recovery, but it still looked angry and sore. The skin was beginning to bunch up and seemed to glow its ugliness. With a sigh he plunged his fingers into the white greasepaint and began to apply it liberally to his face until it looked like sticky marble. Locus stood behind him with a comb and began to part his hair down the right hand side with gel. He was wearing a thick, old fashioned schoolboy’s uniform with cut off trousers knee-high socks and sandals.
“See? It’s gone.” Locus patted him on the shoulder and adjusted her glasses on her nose. The greasepaint made him look like a ghost. It was an eery effect, and to be frank he was looking forward to having a growth spurt, then he’d have to think up a costume that didn’t emphasize how young he looked.
Locus was faster at getting ready than the three boys put together and was in full Cartographer get up long before the others. Omen watched in the mirror as Swarm rubbed dirt into his pin-stripe suit and trilby – he was meant to look like a trendy tramp; Spout was walking around the place in a pair of hideous sea-weed swimming trunks and was attaching multi-coloured stick-on fins to his blue, scaly flesh.
Omen had been practising for a few days a routine that included falling ladders, black cats and a plethora of triple-sixes. The clowns, apart from their make-up, were dressed up as normal people in suits and dresses. Omen would walk past and he’d use his powers to knock over the ladder or make the cat bristle up and scream before tripping someone up and so on, and so on. Swarm’s act was well-oiled and down to a fine art; he and his hordes of cockroaches, flies and spiders would create patterns in the air and write messages in webs. Spout performed like a human dolphin from a round pool that was wheeled into the circle. They’d have given Omen more time to practise, but the lion-tamer had to pull out because of a torn ligament. Routines were shuffled, rotas changed and Omen was brought in because his performance would be relatively straightforward.
Briefly, before he walked on he saw a flash of the future. The people were clapping and, ironically, there weren’t any disasters. The moment passed in a haze and before he knew it he was back-stage taking off the greasepaint with a sponge. Soon after, a lump of soaking seaweed shot across the room and landed on the edge of the mirror and began to drip. Omen watched in the mirror as Spout strutted off towards his chill-out tank in the corner. Locus appeared behind Omen. She was smiling, just about to go on and dressed in a long coat. Compasses, telescopes, measuring tapes hung from her neck, under arm was a theodolite and stuffed in every pocket were maps. With her short hair and round glasses she looked every bit the tomboy wizard. “How was it?”
Omen smiled, the ability to string a sentence together was still alluding him. She returned his grin and walked off to take her place. He was fully changed into his rag tag get-up when Swarm appeared to a tumultuous round of applause. Swarm and Locus exchanged a high five and she disappeared into the main tent at the call of her name.
“Mission accomplished,” he muttered as he released the insect kingdom from its telepathic hold. There was an audible scuttling sound as they all escaped into the woodwork. He wandered over to a fridge and brought out three bottles. One was sea-water, another was pond water and the last was a bottle of beer. Spout appeared and hopped up onto the make-up table and gulped down the sea-water. Omen looked at the beer and wondered what to do with it, Swarm opened it for him and set it down in front of him. Omen nodded his thanks as if drinking beer was the most natural thing in the world to do. There was another flash and he realised he wasn’t going to like it – but that meant he at least had to drink it. Grimly he braved the fizzy, dry concoction and clinked glasses with the other two. It would take some getting used to.
Later, they were sitting on the roof of their trailer watching the sun go down. It disappeared over the sea wall but still cast a significant red glow across the sky.
“Do you wish you were doing something normal? Like school or something.” Locus wondered aloud.
“Nah,” Omen replied, staring up at Venus as it glowed low in the diminishing light. “One person’s normal is another person’s weird.” He added sagely. The others chuckled.
Omen thought back to his dreams and wondered what he’d been consistently returning to over the last few days. The kids trapped underground. The other day they’d seen the whole area closed off while there was a minor earthquake. The caravans had all shook and Omen’s worries seemed to lift, but the prophetic dreams were becoming a burden. He wanted people to know.
“Hey, guys,” he began, “I have something to tell you - ”
Locus put her hand on his arm, “It’s okay, you don’t have to say.” She smiled at him with a benign look of knowing that just confused him. He carried on, with the heat spreading across his scar in uncomfortable waves. “I have these dreams – about the future. It comes with the territory, I suppose, but in them I see real things, real places. Or at least I think they are.” He said, sitting up. The others were lying back, quiet.
“I know what you mean.” Swarm said, passing him another beer. He was feeling light-headed and flushed already and accepted the bottle without thinking twice. “Sometimes I see things that feel out of place. Like they were put there, you know?” The others mumbled their agreement. Omen looked to each of them, “Really?” They all nodded. A weight seemed to lift off his shoulders. Spout was looking off into the middle-distance, the light glistened on the soft blue scales on his arm, “I dream of the sea,” he muttered, “More than normal.” He blushed. Omen looked down and considered what to say next. “I dream of people. Real people; people I’ve met doing things that scare me. A couple of nights ago I saw them trapped underground. The thing is, I think it actually happened.” The others looked at him, they weren’t surprised or curious, they just seemed to understand, and that scared Omen more than anything else.
“See? It’s gone.” Locus patted him on the shoulder and adjusted her glasses on her nose. The greasepaint made him look like a ghost. It was an eery effect, and to be frank he was looking forward to having a growth spurt, then he’d have to think up a costume that didn’t emphasize how young he looked.
Locus was faster at getting ready than the three boys put together and was in full Cartographer get up long before the others. Omen watched in the mirror as Swarm rubbed dirt into his pin-stripe suit and trilby – he was meant to look like a trendy tramp; Spout was walking around the place in a pair of hideous sea-weed swimming trunks and was attaching multi-coloured stick-on fins to his blue, scaly flesh.
Omen had been practising for a few days a routine that included falling ladders, black cats and a plethora of triple-sixes. The clowns, apart from their make-up, were dressed up as normal people in suits and dresses. Omen would walk past and he’d use his powers to knock over the ladder or make the cat bristle up and scream before tripping someone up and so on, and so on. Swarm’s act was well-oiled and down to a fine art; he and his hordes of cockroaches, flies and spiders would create patterns in the air and write messages in webs. Spout performed like a human dolphin from a round pool that was wheeled into the circle. They’d have given Omen more time to practise, but the lion-tamer had to pull out because of a torn ligament. Routines were shuffled, rotas changed and Omen was brought in because his performance would be relatively straightforward.
Briefly, before he walked on he saw a flash of the future. The people were clapping and, ironically, there weren’t any disasters. The moment passed in a haze and before he knew it he was back-stage taking off the greasepaint with a sponge. Soon after, a lump of soaking seaweed shot across the room and landed on the edge of the mirror and began to drip. Omen watched in the mirror as Spout strutted off towards his chill-out tank in the corner. Locus appeared behind Omen. She was smiling, just about to go on and dressed in a long coat. Compasses, telescopes, measuring tapes hung from her neck, under arm was a theodolite and stuffed in every pocket were maps. With her short hair and round glasses she looked every bit the tomboy wizard. “How was it?”
Omen smiled, the ability to string a sentence together was still alluding him. She returned his grin and walked off to take her place. He was fully changed into his rag tag get-up when Swarm appeared to a tumultuous round of applause. Swarm and Locus exchanged a high five and she disappeared into the main tent at the call of her name.
“Mission accomplished,” he muttered as he released the insect kingdom from its telepathic hold. There was an audible scuttling sound as they all escaped into the woodwork. He wandered over to a fridge and brought out three bottles. One was sea-water, another was pond water and the last was a bottle of beer. Spout appeared and hopped up onto the make-up table and gulped down the sea-water. Omen looked at the beer and wondered what to do with it, Swarm opened it for him and set it down in front of him. Omen nodded his thanks as if drinking beer was the most natural thing in the world to do. There was another flash and he realised he wasn’t going to like it – but that meant he at least had to drink it. Grimly he braved the fizzy, dry concoction and clinked glasses with the other two. It would take some getting used to.
Later, they were sitting on the roof of their trailer watching the sun go down. It disappeared over the sea wall but still cast a significant red glow across the sky.
“Do you wish you were doing something normal? Like school or something.” Locus wondered aloud.
“Nah,” Omen replied, staring up at Venus as it glowed low in the diminishing light. “One person’s normal is another person’s weird.” He added sagely. The others chuckled.
Omen thought back to his dreams and wondered what he’d been consistently returning to over the last few days. The kids trapped underground. The other day they’d seen the whole area closed off while there was a minor earthquake. The caravans had all shook and Omen’s worries seemed to lift, but the prophetic dreams were becoming a burden. He wanted people to know.
“Hey, guys,” he began, “I have something to tell you - ”
Locus put her hand on his arm, “It’s okay, you don’t have to say.” She smiled at him with a benign look of knowing that just confused him. He carried on, with the heat spreading across his scar in uncomfortable waves. “I have these dreams – about the future. It comes with the territory, I suppose, but in them I see real things, real places. Or at least I think they are.” He said, sitting up. The others were lying back, quiet.
“I know what you mean.” Swarm said, passing him another beer. He was feeling light-headed and flushed already and accepted the bottle without thinking twice. “Sometimes I see things that feel out of place. Like they were put there, you know?” The others mumbled their agreement. Omen looked to each of them, “Really?” They all nodded. A weight seemed to lift off his shoulders. Spout was looking off into the middle-distance, the light glistened on the soft blue scales on his arm, “I dream of the sea,” he muttered, “More than normal.” He blushed. Omen looked down and considered what to say next. “I dream of people. Real people; people I’ve met doing things that scare me. A couple of nights ago I saw them trapped underground. The thing is, I think it actually happened.” The others looked at him, they weren’t surprised or curious, they just seemed to understand, and that scared Omen more than anything else.
Monday, 28 May 2007
Symbiosis - Dreaming part 2
2543 (23-3rd-6) New Calendar - Prima Centurai
“Why won’t you talk to me, Arla?”
“Because I don’t want to.”
The answer was short, and left Baroth feeling distinctly Told. It disturbed him deeply. Overnight, Arla seemed to have been transformed from the innocent child she had been into something old and bitter; and worse, she was trying to block off her emotions again. She seemed to be succeeding, too.
“Will you listen to me, then? Just for a minute?” Baroth pleaded. “Then, if you’re utterly not interested I can go again.”
Arla glanced at him briefly, her eyes unreadable. She shrugged, hunched into the corner, her legs drawn up to her chest. Baroth nodded heavily, and lowered his massive frame to the floor.
“Right,” he said, ordering his thoughts. “Something has happened to you that is hurting you deeply, inside your mind. Do you agree?”
She remained motionless and silent, staring at her feet. He took it as a ‘yes’.
“And now you’re trying to avoid it,” Baroth continued. “Because you’re understandably afraid of ‘reliving’ it, and by talking about it you’ll have to think about it.”
Arla buried her head between her knees, hiding her face.
“The problem with emotional pain, Arla, is that it’s like a poison,” Baroth said gently. “It gets in, and it hurts. But getting it out would hurt slightly more – so people try to ignore it, and push it further inside where it hurts less. But although they don’t feel it as strongly anymore, it still hurts them. It carries on doing damage, deep inside. Do you understand?”
He knew she did, but he needed her to admit it herself. There was a silence, as neither of them moved. Finally, Arla pulled her head back up and looked at Baroth, her cheeks stained with tears. She crawled towards him and curled up by his side, child-like and vulnerable, and he threw an arm around her and drew her close. They stayed like that for a while, whilst Arla cried into his chest.
Eventually she shivered, and looked up at him.
“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, her eyes red. Baroth hugged her tightly.
“Please, just talk to me,” he said quietly. “Tell me about it. You only have to relive this once, in this way.”
“But I don’t want to,” Arla choked, her voice breaking. He could feel her trembling in his arms. “I don’t want to think about it.”
“Let’s start there,” Baroth said. “Tell me exactly why. What are you afraid of?”
“It…” Arla trailed off, but Baroth recognised the cogs turning in her head, and stayed quiet. “It felt so real, when I saw it,” she managed. “Or not… not entirely real, but I was as scared, and it hurt as much. And I thought it was real, at the time. It was only when I woke up that it wasn’t anymore.”
She paused, thinking again. Baroth wiped a strand of dark hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear.
“I think that – I’m scared that if I think about it now, I’ll see it again tonight,” Arla said, her voice slightly stronger with the new application of logic. “If I tell you about it now… you’re right: it’ll hurt, but I know it’s just a memory. But when I dream I think it’s real.”
Baroth squeezed her close. “I see,” he murmured. “Well… unfortunately, you’ll dream about it whether you talk about it or not. But if you do talk to me, you’ll stop dreaming it. You see?”
Arla nodded.
“Okay,” Baroth said. “First of all, I want you to imagine that the whole thing has happened to someone else who you can see. Imagine the first image in your mind, okay?”
“Okay,” Arla said.
“Don’t see it as you. See it happening to another girl.”
“Okay.”
“Good,” said Baroth gently. “Now: tell me what happened to that girl.”
“Why won’t you talk to me, Arla?”
“Because I don’t want to.”
The answer was short, and left Baroth feeling distinctly Told. It disturbed him deeply. Overnight, Arla seemed to have been transformed from the innocent child she had been into something old and bitter; and worse, she was trying to block off her emotions again. She seemed to be succeeding, too.
“Will you listen to me, then? Just for a minute?” Baroth pleaded. “Then, if you’re utterly not interested I can go again.”
Arla glanced at him briefly, her eyes unreadable. She shrugged, hunched into the corner, her legs drawn up to her chest. Baroth nodded heavily, and lowered his massive frame to the floor.
“Right,” he said, ordering his thoughts. “Something has happened to you that is hurting you deeply, inside your mind. Do you agree?”
She remained motionless and silent, staring at her feet. He took it as a ‘yes’.
“And now you’re trying to avoid it,” Baroth continued. “Because you’re understandably afraid of ‘reliving’ it, and by talking about it you’ll have to think about it.”
Arla buried her head between her knees, hiding her face.
“The problem with emotional pain, Arla, is that it’s like a poison,” Baroth said gently. “It gets in, and it hurts. But getting it out would hurt slightly more – so people try to ignore it, and push it further inside where it hurts less. But although they don’t feel it as strongly anymore, it still hurts them. It carries on doing damage, deep inside. Do you understand?”
He knew she did, but he needed her to admit it herself. There was a silence, as neither of them moved. Finally, Arla pulled her head back up and looked at Baroth, her cheeks stained with tears. She crawled towards him and curled up by his side, child-like and vulnerable, and he threw an arm around her and drew her close. They stayed like that for a while, whilst Arla cried into his chest.
Eventually she shivered, and looked up at him.
“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, her eyes red. Baroth hugged her tightly.
“Please, just talk to me,” he said quietly. “Tell me about it. You only have to relive this once, in this way.”
“But I don’t want to,” Arla choked, her voice breaking. He could feel her trembling in his arms. “I don’t want to think about it.”
“Let’s start there,” Baroth said. “Tell me exactly why. What are you afraid of?”
“It…” Arla trailed off, but Baroth recognised the cogs turning in her head, and stayed quiet. “It felt so real, when I saw it,” she managed. “Or not… not entirely real, but I was as scared, and it hurt as much. And I thought it was real, at the time. It was only when I woke up that it wasn’t anymore.”
She paused, thinking again. Baroth wiped a strand of dark hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear.
“I think that – I’m scared that if I think about it now, I’ll see it again tonight,” Arla said, her voice slightly stronger with the new application of logic. “If I tell you about it now… you’re right: it’ll hurt, but I know it’s just a memory. But when I dream I think it’s real.”
Baroth squeezed her close. “I see,” he murmured. “Well… unfortunately, you’ll dream about it whether you talk about it or not. But if you do talk to me, you’ll stop dreaming it. You see?”
Arla nodded.
“Okay,” Baroth said. “First of all, I want you to imagine that the whole thing has happened to someone else who you can see. Imagine the first image in your mind, okay?”
“Okay,” Arla said.
“Don’t see it as you. See it happening to another girl.”
“Okay.”
“Good,” said Baroth gently. “Now: tell me what happened to that girl.”
Sunday, 27 May 2007
Shift, Chapter 2
1st Nuinch 4358
ARROZALE CELEBRATES ROYAL WEDDING
The Kingdom of Arrozale has begun celebrations today to mark the marriage of King Falos and Queen Vinthia. Festivities continue for a full month, including many restrictions on work and trading laws in the region. There are now hopes that the country can look forward to a time of peace and prosperity, following the series of tragedies in recent times…
… King Falos announced that to mark the occasion he would be lifting the ban on the possession of white livestock. White animals have long been considered a symbol of bad luck in the region and were banned nearly ten years ago. The news has been greeted by relief from many members of the agricultural community around the world…
King Penry threw the paper onto the table with the rest of the documents scattered there. Sitting back in his chair he allowed himself a small, self-satisfied smile. Raising his hand, he gave a casual click of the fingers. A powerfully built man stepped out of the shadows and stood by the Kings right shoulder.
“Highness?” he barked, his voice deep and clipped.
“Fetch the council.”
“M’Lord,” he said, bowing out of the room.
Penry sat up in his chair, steepled his fingers and closing his eyes, he assumed an expression of deep contemplation. He did not break this pose until the sound of hurrying footsteps died down and fell silent. Opening his eyes, he coldly surveyed the assembled Councillors, many of whom were breathless, but trying with a great deal of effort to breath as quietly as possible. He held the silence until some of them began to shift on their feet in discomfort.
“So,” he said at last. Another silence, this time even worse than before. He eventually continued, “So. I see our plans to unite my sister Vinthia and that simpleton Falos have come to fruition.” With an irritable gesture of his hand, he beckoned for the assembled Councillors to sit. Waiting for the sound of scraping chairs to quieten down, Penry clipped out the word they had all learnt to fear; “Report.”
***
“Have you heard the news?” Deleha excitedly asked Willan, who had just stepped into the living room.
“No, what is it?” he replied, his curiosity raised by her obvious enthusiasm.
“Arrozale has lifted the ban on white livestock! And the papers don’t say as much, but this means its likely that the King is going to lift further trading restrictions through the region over the coming months.” She beamed at him and handed him her copy of the national newspaper. He grabbed the paper off her, scanned over the headlines and turning, smiled broadly back at her.
“Well, it had to be seen to be believed!” he said and laughing, pulled her into a one-armed hug.
***
“So,” Penry said quietly, “I think it is clear what we have to do.” He surveyed the Councillors, most of whom felt uncomfortably certain that they did not see it clearly at all. An elderly Councillor stood up and cleared her throat.
“If Your Highness would be so generous as to clarify your exact orders for us,” she inclined her head as she spoke, her tones overwritten by cautious supplication. The other councillors gave an internal sigh of relief that someone had spoken and, what’s more, that it was someone other than themselves. Quietly surveying her, Penry pursed his lips.
“I would have thought it was obvious,” he replied in a dangerous tone. “Invite the new King and Queen here. We must have a diplomatic meeting. Invite them on some pretext,” he made a dismissive gesture, “something like a celebration of their wedding. You work out the details, but I want to see it done.” He looked around at the Councillors, who were all frozen in their places. “Well? What are you waiting for?” There was a sudden scramble as the assembled mass all stood and bowed their exit from the room as hastily as they could.
***
Deleha and Willan walked out of their house together and across the freshly re-laid yard. They passed through the gate on the far side and onto the construction site for their new stable block. Suddenly, an orang-utan swung across their path and landed in front of them with a soft flump. Quickly blurring his outline, the ape stretched up and out through his arms, eventually taking on the form of a man.
“How’re things going down here, Kale?” Deleha asked the man. He had short, coppery brown hair and a relaxed, if somewhat sleepy, expression.
“Things are getting on now, my Lady.” Deleha interrupted him with an embarrassed gesture.
“How many times have I told you Kale, I don’t like being called a Lady. Please call me Del.” She smiled at him and he smiled back sheepishly.
“Sorry Del, I do keep forgetting.”
“So do you think we’ll be able to finish the final quad before summer?” Willan asked the still slightly embarrassed man.
“I’d have thought so, Wil,” Kale replied, somewhat relieved to be changing the conversation.
“With all these extra labourers we should be able to fix things for late Naeon, at the very latest
early Detu.”
“So you think we are likely to have everything up and running before the competition in late Detu?” Willan asked eagerly.
“Well, certainly everything in this section is well on target for completion. I’m not sure how work on the Hunter Course is coming on. I spoke to Ginco earlier and she sounded a bit less optimistic. Apparently the water complex is causing some problems.”
“I’d better go and see her,” he replied, his brow furrowing in concern.
“Ok, Wil. I’ll update you on our progress later.” With that, Kale begun to Shift, his image blurring and shrinking back into the form of an orang-utan. Stretching up a long arm, he hooked his hand around a piece of construction scaffolding and easily swung up and away.
“Ok, well, I’d better go and see Ginco, are you coming?” Willan turned to ask Deleha.
“No, actually. I think I’d rather go down to East field and check on the horses.”
“Alright, well I’ll see you later.” With that he Shifted into a wolf and loped away through the construction site and out into the fields beyond.
Deleha turned and headed back the way she had come and cut across the yard towards a different field. Hopping over the style next to the gate, she paused and concentrated. Focusing on the outline of a horse, she gradually began to blur and expand her physical form. Her hands and feet stretching longer as her arms and legs contracted, her back straightening and stretching, following through into an arching neck and elongated face.
Shaking off the residual traces of human tingling along her veins, she stretched out and revelled in her new and marvellously physical form. The power within her body, the tremendous athleticism and the one burning desire to express it in the most natural way possible. To run. To run and run and run. Leaping into a half-rear she threw herself into a full out gallop, flying across the ground, absorbing the distance with ease. The still-human part of Deleha’s mind laughed joyfully at her total feeling of freedom.
***
Dearest Vinthia,
On this most special occasion of your wedding to the most honourable King of Arrozale, I wish to extend to both of you an invitation to visit me in your former home of Silvetera and to stay with me in the Imperial Palace. I wish this not only out of a sense of deepest affection for you, my most beloved sister, but also in the hope that this may strengthen the mutual friendship between our two Kingdoms.
Please find enclosed those diplomatic documents that would be necessary for such a visit, even when on the most friendly of terms between families. I hope to hear a reply from you both as soon as may be, so that I may properly prepare the Palace for the reception of such esteemed guests.
Yours Sincerely,
Penry
King of Silvetera.
***
“You call that checking on the horses, do you?” Willan smiled ruefully at his wife, who had just walked into the house, panting and sweating.
“I need a shower desperately,” she replied, pretending not to hear her husbands question. She ran her hands over her face, pulling them back, with a slightly disgusted expression. “Really desperately,” she added, wrinkling her nose.
“So how are the working herd doing?” Willan asked, rephrasing his question in the hope of eliciting a response.
“Fine form,” she replied with a smile, “I didn’t pick up on any injuries and they seem to generally be in a pretty content mood. They’re not that happy with the amount of noise coming from the construction site, so they’ve got a couple of extra scouts than usual to keep an eye open while the others graze.”
“Did you manage to check on the mares field while you were out there?” he smiled at his wife’s slight look of discomfort, “or where you spending too much time playing with the working horses?”
“Well, no, not really,” she replied slightly more subdued, “I had a quick glance over though. I’ll have another check after I’ve washed up and had that shower.”
“I think we stand a really good chance with the horses we’ve put together for this year,” Willan said thoughtfully.
“Yes,” Deleha replied, “I think we’ll perform very respectably at the competitions this year, which’ll only improve once we start getting more horses in.”
“I can’t believe how lucky we’ve been with the lifting of this ban,” Willan added, shaking his head bemusedly.
“I know, its very fortuitous timing,” Deleha added, “I think the prices for grey horses is going to rise dramatically now that they can be safely moved across Arrozale.”
“Yes, but probably not straight away. People will still be cautious at first, just in case King Falos changes his mind. I think we’ll have to act fast if we want to buy in some Gentraran lines or if we are very lucky, a Tygeriqan. It is going to be an interesting time to keep our eyes on the market.”
“True enough. Anyway, I really need that shower,” she said, walking out of the room. Willan raised his hand in a wave and sat back in his chair, picked up the newspaper and began to read.
***
Dearest Penry,
We would be delighted to accept your invitation to stay with you in Silvetera. Falos and I will be available to travel from the start of Eylth, but until that time we will be engaged in the festivities here in Arrozale. I confess myself delighted to have heard from you so soon and it would be a most joyful reunion to see you again.
I hope this letter finds you well and that I shall hear a reply confirming the receipt of this post and setting a date for our arrival. Enclosed also is a note from my husband, who wished to write you an official note of acceptance.
My fondest affections,
Vinthia
Queen of Arrozale.
***
Penry paced the room, his brows furrowed and his arms linked behind his back. Pausing by the window, he surveyed the wide stone courtyard below that lead on to the vast metropolis of Silvetera. He turned, sat down at the head of the large wooden table and waited. The sound of brusque footsteps announced the arrival of his Personal Guard, who strode into the room and stood rigidly in front of the King.
“Report,” the King’s voice snapped out the word.
“King Falos and Queen Vinthia have just returned from walking the Palace Gardens. They will be here in less than one turn of the glass,” Klint growled in his deep harsh voice.
“Very good,” the King replied, a cruel smile playing about his lips. “Wait here. But stay out of sight.” Klint walked around the back of the King and melted into the shadows. Penry sat in this pose and silently waited.
After a while, voices were heard coming closer until they stopped just outside the chamber. A herald strode into the room and puffing out his chest importantly, proclaimed, “The Honourable King Falos of Arrozale and the Righteous Queen Vinthia.” Penry stood up and with a broad smile on his face, held out his arms as the royal guests entered the room.
“My dearest Vinthia, how well you are looking!” he exclaimed.
“It feels so good to be back,” she replied with a generous smile on her face, as she stepped around the table to hug her brother.
“And how are you, King Falos of Arrozale?” Penry added, turning with an almost imperceptible touch of irony in his tone.
“Very well indeed, brother! No need for formal titles among families, surely?” Falos replied jovially, apparently unaware of the change in Penry.
“No indeed,” Penry replied evenly. “On the matter of families, there was an idea that occurred to me, which I would be most desirous of discussing with you.”
“Fire away!” Falos replied, pulling back a chair energetically and sitting down. Vinthia moved back around the table to sit next to her husband, whilst Penry resumed his seat.
“Excellent,” Penry replied, a slight gleam in his eye, “It concerns a matter of tradition that had always existed between our two houses. This is a tradition that unfortunately was discontinued during that most unpleasant period in the history of our Kingdoms.” Falos rubbed his chin thoughtfully, a slightly more uncomfortable expression on his face.
“All water under the bridge now, surely?” he replied slightly agitated. “Let bygones, be bygones and all that?”
“My point exactly,” Penry continued smoothly. “The tradition to which I am referring concerns the children of the two families.” Vinthia narrowed her eyes and sat up in her chair. “It has long been the case that when the eldest children of the two families reach seven years of age, they will travel to live with the family of the other. In this way, the family relationship is reaffirmed and the child benefits from the experience of living in a new environment.”
Penry paused slightly in his flowing postulation, noting the changing expressions on the faces of the other two. Whilst Falos continued to look curious, Vinthia had a suspicious and anxious expression playing about her face. “My wife has already given birth to our first child, my precious daughter Elile, and if I am not mistaken, my dear sister here is already expecting a child of her own.”
Falos laughed heartily, “My Vinthia told me that you were good, but I never imagined you were that good! How could you possibly know that when we haven’t yet told anyone?” Penry looked across at Falos, barely suppressing an edge of disdain.
“I think that after more than twenty years I would know my sister well enough to be able to tell.”
“So,” Vinthia broke in, a slight edge to her voice, “We should exchange our first born child, an even swap, one for the other, at the age of seven?” She repeated the conditions evenly and carefully, watching her brother very cautiously.
“That is the tradition that I am proposing to revive.” Penry replied simply, returning his sister’s careful watch.
“But your daughter will be seven at least two years before my child, assuming that we are blessed by Lontea, and that no misfortune befalls us. Will you be willing to let us raise Elile, when we cannot yet be certain when or whom my first child shall be?”
“Of course,” Penry replied quickly, sensing that Falos was about to interject something. There was a pause, whilst all three were looking at the other, waiting for one of them to break the silence.
“We will have to discuss it officially,” Falos said eventually. “I’m intrigued by your proposal and I will certainly return a verdict to you as swiftly as one can be agreed.” Penry nodded curtly and Vinthia shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
“Certainly,” Penry replied with a smile.
ARROZALE CELEBRATES ROYAL WEDDING
The Kingdom of Arrozale has begun celebrations today to mark the marriage of King Falos and Queen Vinthia. Festivities continue for a full month, including many restrictions on work and trading laws in the region. There are now hopes that the country can look forward to a time of peace and prosperity, following the series of tragedies in recent times…
… King Falos announced that to mark the occasion he would be lifting the ban on the possession of white livestock. White animals have long been considered a symbol of bad luck in the region and were banned nearly ten years ago. The news has been greeted by relief from many members of the agricultural community around the world…
King Penry threw the paper onto the table with the rest of the documents scattered there. Sitting back in his chair he allowed himself a small, self-satisfied smile. Raising his hand, he gave a casual click of the fingers. A powerfully built man stepped out of the shadows and stood by the Kings right shoulder.
“Highness?” he barked, his voice deep and clipped.
“Fetch the council.”
“M’Lord,” he said, bowing out of the room.
Penry sat up in his chair, steepled his fingers and closing his eyes, he assumed an expression of deep contemplation. He did not break this pose until the sound of hurrying footsteps died down and fell silent. Opening his eyes, he coldly surveyed the assembled Councillors, many of whom were breathless, but trying with a great deal of effort to breath as quietly as possible. He held the silence until some of them began to shift on their feet in discomfort.
“So,” he said at last. Another silence, this time even worse than before. He eventually continued, “So. I see our plans to unite my sister Vinthia and that simpleton Falos have come to fruition.” With an irritable gesture of his hand, he beckoned for the assembled Councillors to sit. Waiting for the sound of scraping chairs to quieten down, Penry clipped out the word they had all learnt to fear; “Report.”
***
“Have you heard the news?” Deleha excitedly asked Willan, who had just stepped into the living room.
“No, what is it?” he replied, his curiosity raised by her obvious enthusiasm.
“Arrozale has lifted the ban on white livestock! And the papers don’t say as much, but this means its likely that the King is going to lift further trading restrictions through the region over the coming months.” She beamed at him and handed him her copy of the national newspaper. He grabbed the paper off her, scanned over the headlines and turning, smiled broadly back at her.
“Well, it had to be seen to be believed!” he said and laughing, pulled her into a one-armed hug.
***
“So,” Penry said quietly, “I think it is clear what we have to do.” He surveyed the Councillors, most of whom felt uncomfortably certain that they did not see it clearly at all. An elderly Councillor stood up and cleared her throat.
“If Your Highness would be so generous as to clarify your exact orders for us,” she inclined her head as she spoke, her tones overwritten by cautious supplication. The other councillors gave an internal sigh of relief that someone had spoken and, what’s more, that it was someone other than themselves. Quietly surveying her, Penry pursed his lips.
“I would have thought it was obvious,” he replied in a dangerous tone. “Invite the new King and Queen here. We must have a diplomatic meeting. Invite them on some pretext,” he made a dismissive gesture, “something like a celebration of their wedding. You work out the details, but I want to see it done.” He looked around at the Councillors, who were all frozen in their places. “Well? What are you waiting for?” There was a sudden scramble as the assembled mass all stood and bowed their exit from the room as hastily as they could.
***
Deleha and Willan walked out of their house together and across the freshly re-laid yard. They passed through the gate on the far side and onto the construction site for their new stable block. Suddenly, an orang-utan swung across their path and landed in front of them with a soft flump. Quickly blurring his outline, the ape stretched up and out through his arms, eventually taking on the form of a man.
“How’re things going down here, Kale?” Deleha asked the man. He had short, coppery brown hair and a relaxed, if somewhat sleepy, expression.
“Things are getting on now, my Lady.” Deleha interrupted him with an embarrassed gesture.
“How many times have I told you Kale, I don’t like being called a Lady. Please call me Del.” She smiled at him and he smiled back sheepishly.
“Sorry Del, I do keep forgetting.”
“So do you think we’ll be able to finish the final quad before summer?” Willan asked the still slightly embarrassed man.
“I’d have thought so, Wil,” Kale replied, somewhat relieved to be changing the conversation.
“With all these extra labourers we should be able to fix things for late Naeon, at the very latest
early Detu.”
“So you think we are likely to have everything up and running before the competition in late Detu?” Willan asked eagerly.
“Well, certainly everything in this section is well on target for completion. I’m not sure how work on the Hunter Course is coming on. I spoke to Ginco earlier and she sounded a bit less optimistic. Apparently the water complex is causing some problems.”
“I’d better go and see her,” he replied, his brow furrowing in concern.
“Ok, Wil. I’ll update you on our progress later.” With that, Kale begun to Shift, his image blurring and shrinking back into the form of an orang-utan. Stretching up a long arm, he hooked his hand around a piece of construction scaffolding and easily swung up and away.
“Ok, well, I’d better go and see Ginco, are you coming?” Willan turned to ask Deleha.
“No, actually. I think I’d rather go down to East field and check on the horses.”
“Alright, well I’ll see you later.” With that he Shifted into a wolf and loped away through the construction site and out into the fields beyond.
Deleha turned and headed back the way she had come and cut across the yard towards a different field. Hopping over the style next to the gate, she paused and concentrated. Focusing on the outline of a horse, she gradually began to blur and expand her physical form. Her hands and feet stretching longer as her arms and legs contracted, her back straightening and stretching, following through into an arching neck and elongated face.
Shaking off the residual traces of human tingling along her veins, she stretched out and revelled in her new and marvellously physical form. The power within her body, the tremendous athleticism and the one burning desire to express it in the most natural way possible. To run. To run and run and run. Leaping into a half-rear she threw herself into a full out gallop, flying across the ground, absorbing the distance with ease. The still-human part of Deleha’s mind laughed joyfully at her total feeling of freedom.
***
Dearest Vinthia,
On this most special occasion of your wedding to the most honourable King of Arrozale, I wish to extend to both of you an invitation to visit me in your former home of Silvetera and to stay with me in the Imperial Palace. I wish this not only out of a sense of deepest affection for you, my most beloved sister, but also in the hope that this may strengthen the mutual friendship between our two Kingdoms.
Please find enclosed those diplomatic documents that would be necessary for such a visit, even when on the most friendly of terms between families. I hope to hear a reply from you both as soon as may be, so that I may properly prepare the Palace for the reception of such esteemed guests.
Yours Sincerely,
Penry
King of Silvetera.
***
“You call that checking on the horses, do you?” Willan smiled ruefully at his wife, who had just walked into the house, panting and sweating.
“I need a shower desperately,” she replied, pretending not to hear her husbands question. She ran her hands over her face, pulling them back, with a slightly disgusted expression. “Really desperately,” she added, wrinkling her nose.
“So how are the working herd doing?” Willan asked, rephrasing his question in the hope of eliciting a response.
“Fine form,” she replied with a smile, “I didn’t pick up on any injuries and they seem to generally be in a pretty content mood. They’re not that happy with the amount of noise coming from the construction site, so they’ve got a couple of extra scouts than usual to keep an eye open while the others graze.”
“Did you manage to check on the mares field while you were out there?” he smiled at his wife’s slight look of discomfort, “or where you spending too much time playing with the working horses?”
“Well, no, not really,” she replied slightly more subdued, “I had a quick glance over though. I’ll have another check after I’ve washed up and had that shower.”
“I think we stand a really good chance with the horses we’ve put together for this year,” Willan said thoughtfully.
“Yes,” Deleha replied, “I think we’ll perform very respectably at the competitions this year, which’ll only improve once we start getting more horses in.”
“I can’t believe how lucky we’ve been with the lifting of this ban,” Willan added, shaking his head bemusedly.
“I know, its very fortuitous timing,” Deleha added, “I think the prices for grey horses is going to rise dramatically now that they can be safely moved across Arrozale.”
“Yes, but probably not straight away. People will still be cautious at first, just in case King Falos changes his mind. I think we’ll have to act fast if we want to buy in some Gentraran lines or if we are very lucky, a Tygeriqan. It is going to be an interesting time to keep our eyes on the market.”
“True enough. Anyway, I really need that shower,” she said, walking out of the room. Willan raised his hand in a wave and sat back in his chair, picked up the newspaper and began to read.
***
Dearest Penry,
We would be delighted to accept your invitation to stay with you in Silvetera. Falos and I will be available to travel from the start of Eylth, but until that time we will be engaged in the festivities here in Arrozale. I confess myself delighted to have heard from you so soon and it would be a most joyful reunion to see you again.
I hope this letter finds you well and that I shall hear a reply confirming the receipt of this post and setting a date for our arrival. Enclosed also is a note from my husband, who wished to write you an official note of acceptance.
My fondest affections,
Vinthia
Queen of Arrozale.
***
Penry paced the room, his brows furrowed and his arms linked behind his back. Pausing by the window, he surveyed the wide stone courtyard below that lead on to the vast metropolis of Silvetera. He turned, sat down at the head of the large wooden table and waited. The sound of brusque footsteps announced the arrival of his Personal Guard, who strode into the room and stood rigidly in front of the King.
“Report,” the King’s voice snapped out the word.
“King Falos and Queen Vinthia have just returned from walking the Palace Gardens. They will be here in less than one turn of the glass,” Klint growled in his deep harsh voice.
“Very good,” the King replied, a cruel smile playing about his lips. “Wait here. But stay out of sight.” Klint walked around the back of the King and melted into the shadows. Penry sat in this pose and silently waited.
After a while, voices were heard coming closer until they stopped just outside the chamber. A herald strode into the room and puffing out his chest importantly, proclaimed, “The Honourable King Falos of Arrozale and the Righteous Queen Vinthia.” Penry stood up and with a broad smile on his face, held out his arms as the royal guests entered the room.
“My dearest Vinthia, how well you are looking!” he exclaimed.
“It feels so good to be back,” she replied with a generous smile on her face, as she stepped around the table to hug her brother.
“And how are you, King Falos of Arrozale?” Penry added, turning with an almost imperceptible touch of irony in his tone.
“Very well indeed, brother! No need for formal titles among families, surely?” Falos replied jovially, apparently unaware of the change in Penry.
“No indeed,” Penry replied evenly. “On the matter of families, there was an idea that occurred to me, which I would be most desirous of discussing with you.”
“Fire away!” Falos replied, pulling back a chair energetically and sitting down. Vinthia moved back around the table to sit next to her husband, whilst Penry resumed his seat.
“Excellent,” Penry replied, a slight gleam in his eye, “It concerns a matter of tradition that had always existed between our two houses. This is a tradition that unfortunately was discontinued during that most unpleasant period in the history of our Kingdoms.” Falos rubbed his chin thoughtfully, a slightly more uncomfortable expression on his face.
“All water under the bridge now, surely?” he replied slightly agitated. “Let bygones, be bygones and all that?”
“My point exactly,” Penry continued smoothly. “The tradition to which I am referring concerns the children of the two families.” Vinthia narrowed her eyes and sat up in her chair. “It has long been the case that when the eldest children of the two families reach seven years of age, they will travel to live with the family of the other. In this way, the family relationship is reaffirmed and the child benefits from the experience of living in a new environment.”
Penry paused slightly in his flowing postulation, noting the changing expressions on the faces of the other two. Whilst Falos continued to look curious, Vinthia had a suspicious and anxious expression playing about her face. “My wife has already given birth to our first child, my precious daughter Elile, and if I am not mistaken, my dear sister here is already expecting a child of her own.”
Falos laughed heartily, “My Vinthia told me that you were good, but I never imagined you were that good! How could you possibly know that when we haven’t yet told anyone?” Penry looked across at Falos, barely suppressing an edge of disdain.
“I think that after more than twenty years I would know my sister well enough to be able to tell.”
“So,” Vinthia broke in, a slight edge to her voice, “We should exchange our first born child, an even swap, one for the other, at the age of seven?” She repeated the conditions evenly and carefully, watching her brother very cautiously.
“That is the tradition that I am proposing to revive.” Penry replied simply, returning his sister’s careful watch.
“But your daughter will be seven at least two years before my child, assuming that we are blessed by Lontea, and that no misfortune befalls us. Will you be willing to let us raise Elile, when we cannot yet be certain when or whom my first child shall be?”
“Of course,” Penry replied quickly, sensing that Falos was about to interject something. There was a pause, whilst all three were looking at the other, waiting for one of them to break the silence.
“We will have to discuss it officially,” Falos said eventually. “I’m intrigued by your proposal and I will certainly return a verdict to you as swiftly as one can be agreed.” Penry nodded curtly and Vinthia shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
“Certainly,” Penry replied with a smile.
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