Kael's Universe Chapter II
Chapter II
A Serious Crisis
He pressed his finger upon the panel and the door swished open. One escort led him a long way down and then the officer returned to the elevator. Waiting for a while, he grew impatient and decided to ease his anxiety by whistling a little tune. He glanced from one end of the silver walled hallway to another. Finding a seat, he walked over to it. But he did not have a chance to take a rest. Another armed guide came up behind him and tapped on his shoulder. He jumped but instantly knew who it was.
Well aren’t we punctual today, he said to himself.
Again, the aide motioned to follow. The man grew tired of all these mute soldiers. “So, where is it exactly that I’m going?” No answer. He waited a few seconds before speaking again. “Well I guess I must be pretty special to be involved in something so secret, huh?” When the face half-turned with a blank expression he shut his mouth.
A procession of troops passed them rather tightly. It was here that they stopped. The walls around them were still shimmering silver, and the hallways that extended on each side seemed to never end. The soldier made sure the company was not within earshot. “Here we are, sir.” The man was shocked at first but then spoke back in confusion.
“Where? Where are we?”
The soldier stood erect with legs far apart and arms crossed, a salute position. He then articulated something that made no sense whatsoever. “The harvest time has come.”
Almost as soon as he finished a door opened out of nowhere on the blank wall and the man was beckoned to come in. The guard saluted and was dismissed.
He was seated in a rather comfy chair and was given some of the best toffaberry wine he had ever tasted. Other people, many other people in fact, were also in the room and they all looked just as confused as he was. He took a sip of his wine.
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please. Thank you. I proudly present to you the speaker for this meeting, the President and Emperor of Yavemene, Jeen Baghlet.” At first no one knew what to say, the single most powerful man on the planet would be in the very same room as they. Something to tell your neighbors, the man thought.
But he was wrong. An aura, a ghost if you will, of the President appeared on cue in the middle of the large, wood table. Surely enough, they all saw his direct profile in front of them. The man grew nervous at the sight of the hologram, and sipped his wine.
“Greetings this morning.” He paused and looked down at a paper.
After shifting in his seat and belching ever so quietly with only a few heads turned, he wondered to himself, "Greetings this morning?" Where on Yavemene is this guy any way? He squelched his sudden disrespect with disgust at himself.
The president continued, “Triumph for man. I know this sudden meeting is…very confusing to you, and for some, a bit disturbing. But after I am done I’m sure I will have cleared all of your puzzled thoughts away.” He smiled for a moment and resumed.
“We all know of the troubles that we have been having with the colony, Kelemene. I hope that you are aware of the new development of the smuggler organization that has been taking over Yavemene trading ships. Attempts to pinpoint these pirates have been fruitless due to the makeup of their ships. The ship design resembles that of Yavemene and Kelemene, but my closest advisors tell me, and I agree…” He stopped momentarily, as if worried to speak. “My advisors and I, well… We hope that they are not… Himdunian.” Murmurs went around the table. The man in the comfortable seat sipped his wine.
“Now I know what you’re thinking. Such an assumption would be taken harshly, I know. But my advisors and I have seriously considered this relatively new prospect and nothing comes up to defend their case.” The President paused briefly. He spoke for perhaps another five or six minutes, but the man with wine cupped his glass in his hands. His attention wandered to another person in the room, a woman, in fact. The President interrupted his train of thought, “Now that I have given you an over view of the intelligence, this is where all of you come in. I have chosen you for your esteemed academic and scholarly achievements to go over the whole of it. So I now turn to you to get acquainted personally.”
After thinking for a while, it suddenly occurred to him what all the secrecy was probably about. His attention was again riveted to the President.
“Now is the time that I would like to address those of you around the table I have not personally met previously. Mr. Dage, we‘ll start with you. You were born in Denda, yes?”
A movement to the right drew the man with the wine so that they momentarily interlocked gazes. Mr. Dage stood and spoke after a quick, unsteady bow. “Yes, I was born in the northern quarter of Denda in JB 22*.” He stayed standing. The man was gruff, and he looked as if he needed sleep.
“Ah, 41 years old and born in the northern quarter. A prosperous community. Your childhood was obviously filled with support for education. What is your education, or rather, what is your occupation, Mr. Dage?”
“I’m a theorist.”
“Thank you Mr. Dage.” Dage took this opportunity to sit down. “Miss Tayson, also born in Denda, were you not?” The man in the chair sat rocking a little bit. His mind reeled on how obvious it was that the President was playing with them.
“Yes, sir.” Tayson was a small woman, maybe five-five. She seemed sufficiently timid. She put back her hair that had fallen in front of her face hastily, probably wanting to look firm. She looked uncomfortable, instead.
“The southern quarter, right?”
What a jerk, he thought to himself. He could feel the disrespect being aroused in him again. This guy needs a punch in the nose, no matter who he is.
With a redness coming to her eyes and face; “Yes, I was.”
To have your roots set in the south quarter of Denda would be a terrible thing to be revealed so insensitively. The crime and filth that crawls the streets there is so appalling that it is said ‘nothing good comes out of Denda’s rear.’
“And your occupation is the study of economic development.”
Why don’t you let her speak?
“Yes.” She too sat down and pinched the bridge of her nose.
What a heartless idiot.
“And finally our leading professor on the Himdunian planet in general.”
Blast. No more wine.
“Mr. Sharile.”
“Hmm, yes?” He set his wineglass on the table and stood.
Sharile picked up the glass and stared into it. I wish I could get a hold of more of that toffaberry wine. He looked at Tayson. “I just wanted to let you know that I think what the president did in there was appalling. I mean about the south quarter and all. And I’m sorry it happened.”
She shifted in her seat for a second to get comfortable. She glanced down at the napkin that lie in front of her, “You know, whenever someone says something about that, like the president did, it makes me feel…”
“Annoyed?”
“Well, ever since I was a little girl I felt that there was always some kind of, oh I don’t know, some kind of cage around me. You know. But something’s always holding me in. Everybody thinks that I’m some dirty hooligan that somehow made my way out. Everyone’s trying to say I can’t do the things I know I can do. And whenever I hear ‘the south quarter’, I think to myself, what do you know about it?” She looked up at him. She seemed startled, or maybe worried. “Not that I’m saying that about you. You were being kind about it all. But sometimes it just gets on my nerves.”
“Yeah.” He didn’t know what to say. Even though he liked this person, intelligent, good humored, and forgiving, he couldn’t quite get over that stereotype. He just didn’t know anything about it, like she said herself. And he didn’t want to be a flat out jerk to her. He didn’t want to be a jerk at all to her. He chuckled quietly. “I don’t even know your first name.”
She smiled. “You promise you won’t tell anybody?”
He leaned in close and whispered, “Not a letter revealed.”
She played into the act and leaned in too. “Alright, it’s Leale.”
A man clearing his throat interrupted them. “Oh,” she said, “sorry about that. You want our orders?”
“No ma’am. This is a bar and buffet. I came over to inform this gentlemen here of… Something.”
Sharile was staring at his fork when finally he glanced up at the alleged waiter. “Wait, we don’t get served over here?”
“As I said sir, this is a buffet. I came over to inform you that a gentleman wishes to speak with you.”
“Yeah? Who?”
“Will you follow me, sir?” He said more as a charge rather than a request. And he turned around. Sharile looked over at Tayson and shrugged.
“I’ll be right back.”
He got up and strolled behind the waiter. They walked around a bend of the bar and through the door into the private dining. He saw Dage sitting at a booth tucked away in a minute corner. Smoke hovered near the ceiling and people were talking quietly. The attendant raised his hand at the man and said, “Mr. Dage would like to speak with you.”
Sharile strolled over to the booth and asked to sit down. “Yeah, sure.” Dage said. He sucked down the last of whatever he had in his glass and coughed. Probably heavy liquor. “The name’s Vegim.” They shook hands.
“Conis.”
“Very good.” He looked at his drink.
“What’s that?”
“Shiriym. You want a drink?”
“No, thank you.”
“I’ll have one anyway. You don’t mind?”
“No.”
Dage snapped his finger and waved a man over. “They have service over here. Huh, and at a high price!” The drink waiter moseyed on over and took his order. “Two.”
I said I didn’t want anything.
“Well, I can say one thing. I don’t like that I was forced into this whole deal. Don’t get me wrong though. Forty million nesks would fit my budget just fine. Fill her up like my glass, I say.”
Sharile didn’t laugh. “I just would have liked to have made the decision. Maybe make them beg to pay me so much.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Ah, the drinks!” The waiter set the glasses on the table. Dage picked up his glass. Sharile reluctantly did likewise.
Dage raised his glass high and proposed a toast. “To the next most devastating war in history.”
Sharile was shocked and discretely whispered, “I don’t think it’s wise to speak so freely about such things. Besides, you don’t know that.”
“I don’t know? Must be the theorist in me.” Vegim inhaled his liquor. “It makes sense though. Everything fits. They chose you because you’re the best authority on Himdunian culture, our supposed enemy.” He halted briefly. “They chose that Tayson good-for-nothing because-”
Sharile defended the woman with magnanimity. “Hey, now let’s be reasonable, and civil.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Dage collected his thoughts. “Anyway, they chose her because they need her to judge the possibilities in the future of our economic state due to war debts, the effect of the heavy smuggling, you know, and so on.”
“I agree.”
“Good.”
“I mean I agree with the possibility that these things might be so.” Loftily, Sharile continued.
“Oh, come on. You be reasonable for a minute. The pieces fit into place. Why the secrecy? Why no immediate negotiation? And what of the final piece?”
Sharile hid his smirk; he knew what the last part was. “Yes?”
“Me. I take the questions and see what I make of them. For instance, who will win.” Dage lounged back and shrugged.
Actually, that’s the only thing that doesn’t make sense. It wasn’t that he didn’t like this guy, but it could get there fast.
Dage looked to his wrist and groaned aloud. “Ah, looks like it’s way past my bedtime, Sharile.”
Dage started to get up but stumbled over his own feet. “Whoa, I’m a little dizzy, I guess. I’d theorize I’ve had to much, what do you think Sharile?”
I’d theorize you’d need a ride.
“Let me take you home.”
A Serious Crisis
He pressed his finger upon the panel and the door swished open. One escort led him a long way down and then the officer returned to the elevator. Waiting for a while, he grew impatient and decided to ease his anxiety by whistling a little tune. He glanced from one end of the silver walled hallway to another. Finding a seat, he walked over to it. But he did not have a chance to take a rest. Another armed guide came up behind him and tapped on his shoulder. He jumped but instantly knew who it was.
Well aren’t we punctual today, he said to himself.
Again, the aide motioned to follow. The man grew tired of all these mute soldiers. “So, where is it exactly that I’m going?” No answer. He waited a few seconds before speaking again. “Well I guess I must be pretty special to be involved in something so secret, huh?” When the face half-turned with a blank expression he shut his mouth.
A procession of troops passed them rather tightly. It was here that they stopped. The walls around them were still shimmering silver, and the hallways that extended on each side seemed to never end. The soldier made sure the company was not within earshot. “Here we are, sir.” The man was shocked at first but then spoke back in confusion.
“Where? Where are we?”
The soldier stood erect with legs far apart and arms crossed, a salute position. He then articulated something that made no sense whatsoever. “The harvest time has come.”
Almost as soon as he finished a door opened out of nowhere on the blank wall and the man was beckoned to come in. The guard saluted and was dismissed.
---
He was seated in a rather comfy chair and was given some of the best toffaberry wine he had ever tasted. Other people, many other people in fact, were also in the room and they all looked just as confused as he was. He took a sip of his wine.
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please. Thank you. I proudly present to you the speaker for this meeting, the President and Emperor of Yavemene, Jeen Baghlet.” At first no one knew what to say, the single most powerful man on the planet would be in the very same room as they. Something to tell your neighbors, the man thought.
But he was wrong. An aura, a ghost if you will, of the President appeared on cue in the middle of the large, wood table. Surely enough, they all saw his direct profile in front of them. The man grew nervous at the sight of the hologram, and sipped his wine.
“Greetings this morning.” He paused and looked down at a paper.
After shifting in his seat and belching ever so quietly with only a few heads turned, he wondered to himself, "Greetings this morning?" Where on Yavemene is this guy any way? He squelched his sudden disrespect with disgust at himself.
The president continued, “Triumph for man. I know this sudden meeting is…very confusing to you, and for some, a bit disturbing. But after I am done I’m sure I will have cleared all of your puzzled thoughts away.” He smiled for a moment and resumed.
“We all know of the troubles that we have been having with the colony, Kelemene. I hope that you are aware of the new development of the smuggler organization that has been taking over Yavemene trading ships. Attempts to pinpoint these pirates have been fruitless due to the makeup of their ships. The ship design resembles that of Yavemene and Kelemene, but my closest advisors tell me, and I agree…” He stopped momentarily, as if worried to speak. “My advisors and I, well… We hope that they are not… Himdunian.” Murmurs went around the table. The man in the comfortable seat sipped his wine.
“Now I know what you’re thinking. Such an assumption would be taken harshly, I know. But my advisors and I have seriously considered this relatively new prospect and nothing comes up to defend their case.” The President paused briefly. He spoke for perhaps another five or six minutes, but the man with wine cupped his glass in his hands. His attention wandered to another person in the room, a woman, in fact. The President interrupted his train of thought, “Now that I have given you an over view of the intelligence, this is where all of you come in. I have chosen you for your esteemed academic and scholarly achievements to go over the whole of it. So I now turn to you to get acquainted personally.”
After thinking for a while, it suddenly occurred to him what all the secrecy was probably about. His attention was again riveted to the President.
---
“Now is the time that I would like to address those of you around the table I have not personally met previously. Mr. Dage, we‘ll start with you. You were born in Denda, yes?”
A movement to the right drew the man with the wine so that they momentarily interlocked gazes. Mr. Dage stood and spoke after a quick, unsteady bow. “Yes, I was born in the northern quarter of Denda in JB 22*.” He stayed standing. The man was gruff, and he looked as if he needed sleep.
“Ah, 41 years old and born in the northern quarter. A prosperous community. Your childhood was obviously filled with support for education. What is your education, or rather, what is your occupation, Mr. Dage?”
“I’m a theorist.”
“Thank you Mr. Dage.” Dage took this opportunity to sit down. “Miss Tayson, also born in Denda, were you not?” The man in the chair sat rocking a little bit. His mind reeled on how obvious it was that the President was playing with them.
“Yes, sir.” Tayson was a small woman, maybe five-five. She seemed sufficiently timid. She put back her hair that had fallen in front of her face hastily, probably wanting to look firm. She looked uncomfortable, instead.
“The southern quarter, right?”
What a jerk, he thought to himself. He could feel the disrespect being aroused in him again. This guy needs a punch in the nose, no matter who he is.
With a redness coming to her eyes and face; “Yes, I was.”
To have your roots set in the south quarter of Denda would be a terrible thing to be revealed so insensitively. The crime and filth that crawls the streets there is so appalling that it is said ‘nothing good comes out of Denda’s rear.’
“And your occupation is the study of economic development.”
Why don’t you let her speak?
“Yes.” She too sat down and pinched the bridge of her nose.
What a heartless idiot.
“And finally our leading professor on the Himdunian planet in general.”
Blast. No more wine.
“Mr. Sharile.”
“Hmm, yes?” He set his wineglass on the table and stood.
---
Sharile picked up the glass and stared into it. I wish I could get a hold of more of that toffaberry wine. He looked at Tayson. “I just wanted to let you know that I think what the president did in there was appalling. I mean about the south quarter and all. And I’m sorry it happened.”
She shifted in her seat for a second to get comfortable. She glanced down at the napkin that lie in front of her, “You know, whenever someone says something about that, like the president did, it makes me feel…”
“Annoyed?”
“Well, ever since I was a little girl I felt that there was always some kind of, oh I don’t know, some kind of cage around me. You know. But something’s always holding me in. Everybody thinks that I’m some dirty hooligan that somehow made my way out. Everyone’s trying to say I can’t do the things I know I can do. And whenever I hear ‘the south quarter’, I think to myself, what do you know about it?” She looked up at him. She seemed startled, or maybe worried. “Not that I’m saying that about you. You were being kind about it all. But sometimes it just gets on my nerves.”
“Yeah.” He didn’t know what to say. Even though he liked this person, intelligent, good humored, and forgiving, he couldn’t quite get over that stereotype. He just didn’t know anything about it, like she said herself. And he didn’t want to be a flat out jerk to her. He didn’t want to be a jerk at all to her. He chuckled quietly. “I don’t even know your first name.”
She smiled. “You promise you won’t tell anybody?”
He leaned in close and whispered, “Not a letter revealed.”
She played into the act and leaned in too. “Alright, it’s Leale.”
A man clearing his throat interrupted them. “Oh,” she said, “sorry about that. You want our orders?”
“No ma’am. This is a bar and buffet. I came over to inform this gentlemen here of… Something.”
Sharile was staring at his fork when finally he glanced up at the alleged waiter. “Wait, we don’t get served over here?”
“As I said sir, this is a buffet. I came over to inform you that a gentleman wishes to speak with you.”
“Yeah? Who?”
“Will you follow me, sir?” He said more as a charge rather than a request. And he turned around. Sharile looked over at Tayson and shrugged.
“I’ll be right back.”
He got up and strolled behind the waiter. They walked around a bend of the bar and through the door into the private dining. He saw Dage sitting at a booth tucked away in a minute corner. Smoke hovered near the ceiling and people were talking quietly. The attendant raised his hand at the man and said, “Mr. Dage would like to speak with you.”
Sharile strolled over to the booth and asked to sit down. “Yeah, sure.” Dage said. He sucked down the last of whatever he had in his glass and coughed. Probably heavy liquor. “The name’s Vegim.” They shook hands.
“Conis.”
“Very good.” He looked at his drink.
“What’s that?”
“Shiriym. You want a drink?”
“No, thank you.”
“I’ll have one anyway. You don’t mind?”
“No.”
Dage snapped his finger and waved a man over. “They have service over here. Huh, and at a high price!” The drink waiter moseyed on over and took his order. “Two.”
I said I didn’t want anything.
---
“Well, I can say one thing. I don’t like that I was forced into this whole deal. Don’t get me wrong though. Forty million nesks would fit my budget just fine. Fill her up like my glass, I say.”
Sharile didn’t laugh. “I just would have liked to have made the decision. Maybe make them beg to pay me so much.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Ah, the drinks!” The waiter set the glasses on the table. Dage picked up his glass. Sharile reluctantly did likewise.
Dage raised his glass high and proposed a toast. “To the next most devastating war in history.”
Sharile was shocked and discretely whispered, “I don’t think it’s wise to speak so freely about such things. Besides, you don’t know that.”
“I don’t know? Must be the theorist in me.” Vegim inhaled his liquor. “It makes sense though. Everything fits. They chose you because you’re the best authority on Himdunian culture, our supposed enemy.” He halted briefly. “They chose that Tayson good-for-nothing because-”
Sharile defended the woman with magnanimity. “Hey, now let’s be reasonable, and civil.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Dage collected his thoughts. “Anyway, they chose her because they need her to judge the possibilities in the future of our economic state due to war debts, the effect of the heavy smuggling, you know, and so on.”
“I agree.”
“Good.”
“I mean I agree with the possibility that these things might be so.” Loftily, Sharile continued.
“Oh, come on. You be reasonable for a minute. The pieces fit into place. Why the secrecy? Why no immediate negotiation? And what of the final piece?”
Sharile hid his smirk; he knew what the last part was. “Yes?”
“Me. I take the questions and see what I make of them. For instance, who will win.” Dage lounged back and shrugged.
Actually, that’s the only thing that doesn’t make sense. It wasn’t that he didn’t like this guy, but it could get there fast.
Dage looked to his wrist and groaned aloud. “Ah, looks like it’s way past my bedtime, Sharile.”
Dage started to get up but stumbled over his own feet. “Whoa, I’m a little dizzy, I guess. I’d theorize I’ve had to much, what do you think Sharile?”
I’d theorize you’d need a ride.
“Let me take you home.”
Labels: Kael's Universe
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