Marimi-Beatles, also known as Blurbs, are one of the most abundant edible subterranean crustaceans of Sorissu Continent. Shaped as a thick, ovular spiked disk, its hardy outer shell keeps its innards, fat and flesh warm. Moreover, the shell can be opened into three curved sections, enabling it to burrow into the rigid Sorissian ice. Dormant, they look just like mounds of smooth stone. These washbasin-sized critters typically gather in swarms of twenty to thirty, their combined biting power strong enough to punch a hole through even the Giant Land Urchin’s thick hide. The worst part about them is that they are attracted to electricity. Like moths to a fire, Blurbs would dive straight into Electrogenic-Routers powering human facilities, get scorched, and leave behind puddles of sticky, melted flesh that damages the machinery.
One of the Blurb’s jointed legs twitched as Willard pulled off its head. It made a satisfying ‘pop’ similar to that of a cork being pulled off an old bottle. Willard tossed the fist sized thing into the trash can, wiped off the yellow mucus from his hands, threw the towel back around his neck and pulled out the Shuck-knife from his knife belt. He felt like a mechanical genius handling delicate instruments, though it was true he hadn’t unrolled the belt in two months. The belt used to be an extension of himself. He knew where each knife, mini torch, and spice canister was. So it was a pleasant surprise for him when his hand found its intended target on the first try without him looking. There was also a second belt he had received from Krummlae on his twentieth birthday, and it contained a single leather sheath for a Sorissian foraging knife.
He carefully wedged the flat end of the Shuck-knife into the horizontal slit between the two larger shell plates, wiggled it in more, and gave it a quick jerk. The left plate was pried up, revealing a tiny sliver of the soft, uneven white flesh underneath. Willard stuck his hand under it, found the wing joint, and gave it a tug. As if alive again, the Blurb’s shell lifted, and its semi translucent wings shot straight up in a stretching motion. Before the raw nerve reflex had passed, Willard whipped out his carving knife and gave the wing stumps a thorough slash, listening to the rubber-ripping sound as the tendons were cut loose. Instantly, the tensed-up body of the Blurb relaxed, finally becoming a lump of limp flesh on the cutting board. He grinned. There was at least one thing he was good at.
He heard the doorbell ring downstairs, and a bustling in the common room. Earlier this morning, on his way to Tak’Makahn, his neighbors had come out. They had smiled at him, nodded at him, and waved at him with the same warmth they had with each other. Everything felt normal again, the only thing out of place being their puffy, red eyes. He was relieved to see they didn’t hold any grudges. They shouldn’t have anyways, but he was still glad. It reminded him again that Ferah, unlike the large cities of north-eastern Sorissu, held everyone as family.
It was July 24th, exactly one week before the Makobi Festival. Willard didn’t know why he did it, but he had invited everyone in the shared complex to have the annual group dinner together. Maybe it was because he hadn’t attended the festival in such a long time, and wanted to make the most of this occasion. It was probably that. He had felt a rush of joy each time the doorbell rang.
Willard whistled as he pulled out the viscus from a tiny gap between the opened flesh, tossing it into the fire. Instead of extinguishing it, the entrails were set ablaze and made cackling sounds as their gasses got sucked out, sending a surprisingly savory aroma into the room.
With three clean cleaves, he separated the two main flesh chunks from the rest of the blurb’s skeletons. He flipped them over for inspection and cursed when he saw a part of the meat was a charred, black color.
They should’ve pulled back on the voltage.
Willard carved out the blackened meat and threw it into the fire. Had that part not been here, he would have had a perfect cut. But he guessed it was inevitable. The best ones were all preserved and shipped to Vaharach for the tourists and industry stock-holders, though Willard didn’t think they’d be too enthusiastic to try it out. The Blurb itself looks like something out of the depth of Heaven Continent, after all. Willard made several incisions on the two meat chunks and rubbed three fistfuls of salt into it. He slapped it onto the drying rack next to the fire, wiped his hands with his towel, and took a step back to admire his work.
Meat, bone, and shell, perfectly separated. It was a fine work of art. He would have also done some work on the four sets of jointed legs, but that would take too long. He had more guests than he anticipated, after all.
Willard walked behind the fabric curtain and took a seat in his own small room. He could hear the common room bustling below, and though faint, an argument between Adrian and some other kid, with several laughing voices. He looked at the side door opposite to him. That led to the stairs, which led directly to the lively assemble. Willard, however, kept his hands by his side. He didn’t want to spoil the mood.
His TimeScale beeped nineteen. There was a chilling sensation on his right palm. He looked over and saw a puddle. The misshapen mug he placed above his bed to collect water had overflowed. Willard stared at it for a couple seconds, then picked it up, went to the community kitchen again, and emptied it in the sink. He went back and sat down, still holding the mug in both hands. It was in an ugly brown color, with an uneven wave texture etched across its surface. The mug itself was so rough he got chills when his nails scraped it.
It was hard to believe this little thing had once belonged to father. Willard chuckled. It was hard to believe that he and mother had once belonged to the man. Willard lay back, holding the cup high above his face.
He is the governor of Anvur.
That was what Mia had told him on their way back home yesterday. Willard had asked who they were talking about before he entered the room, and Mia had responded in a flat voice. Willard had been taken aback at first, then asked for confirmation, though he still can’t remember anything about him. Now he knew, and after browsing Bagiraek’s news outlets, he eventually found the man who was supposedly father. Fiery-red hair, high cheekbones, a prominent jawline, wisps of gray on his head and brows, a perfectly trimmed goatee.
Did he leave because he wanted to become the governor? Or was Willard’s family just an illegitimate affair of his after he had already achieved this goal? Some channels had shown two others beside him, a towering lady and a boy who did not appear much older than Adrian. Could they be his ‘real’ family?
Willard’s jaws hurt. He realized he had been grinding his teeth way too hard. Every time he thought of that, a fury would eat at the edges of his mind. He knew hatred was useless. Whatever he did, it wouldn’t reach him. Yet he still hated him nonetheless. He felt pressure on the deep gash of his left cheek, as if a thin metal sheet was pressing down on his head. The flame in his stomach grew.
To be completely honest with himself, Willard didn’t care at all about father’s disappearance. In fact, he had no recollections of the man at all, only blurry, segmented memories. Yet for some reason, mother had wept. It was the only time Willard saw her warm light fade. At that moment she had looked frail, like a person her age. She could have fallen apart with one push. Willard had carried her to Krummlae and stood by her bedside until the light in her eyes had returned. Deep in the night, he had looked into the darkness. It was a foolish idea, but he had wished father had been beside her. He had not. He hadn’t been there when Adrian was born. He hadn’t been there when some Meeko brats lit their building on fire. He hadn’t been there after mother’s spine was shattered from shielding Willard against the collapsing roof that had scarred his left brow. Willard made the scar a sick reminder of his absence. A reminder of his fury.
Yet she loved him. Willard was often angry at her for being so accepting of his negligence. She’d come up with excuses, saying that he was busy, that he really did care for them. Lies. If he really had cared, why hadn’t he come back after completing his dream? Why have they heard nothing of this? And now, that man was living the life one could only dream of. While he was off in Bagiraek, enjoying the finest meals with the powerful, his family was on the edge of starvation.
And why can’t I remember anything about him?
With the faint luminance from the light reflected off the mug, Willard saw the scars on his hand. The protruding flesh and calluses looked like tiny mountain ranges across his palm.
He did this.
A strong blaring from his TimeScale put Willard back on his feet. Not looking back, he went into the kitchen again.
By the time Willard heaved the giant platter onto the table, the feast had reached its peak. The men were shoulder to shoulder, dancing in circles, spilling booze all over the floor. A toddler was standing on a stool, slapping a tin bowl against a spoon. Women were hunched over the table and would shriek with laughter every now and then. Willard marveled at their ability to not knock anything over. The common room was so small one could cross it in six steps, after all. Adrian was standing behind mother, glaring at a kid who was shoveling fried rice in their own bowl. Mother, as per usual, had her eyes closed with that warm smile on her face. She looked like a parent watching all her children.
“Here comes the man himself!!” One of the men saw Willard and shouted. Willard felt the atmosphere grow quiet for a split second, then explode into a sea of noise again. He came over and wrapped an arm around Willard’s shoulder. He smelled like booze. Booze and cigarettes.
“Will....heh..he....you lucky bastard....” For a moment Willard felt himself freeze up.
He brought up the cave-in.
“Where’dya learn howta cook like ‘at?!” He burst into laughter. Without waiting for Willard to respond, he snatched a large fork from one of the empty plates and started dishing the Blurb chops out. Willard saw one of the women take a bite out of it. His jaw tensed. Blurbs were double edged blades, after all. If he messed up even one bit, a supposedly inviting dish might end up inedible. To his relief, he saw her puff her cheeks out, her eyes shining with a comical brightness. The others around her saw this and dug in themselves. For several seconds the room went quite, the only noises being the munching and chewing. Even the toddler was gobbling the meat down in big mouthfuls. Then, someone gave a gasp of breath, as if just remembering to breathe.
“Oh, Will! This...this…!” One of the men exclaimed mid-chew, then went back to eating. Willard smiled. It was the best praise he could’ve asked for. It was also the first praise he’d gotten since forever.
He picked a Blurb-Chop off the plate into his own bowl and walked over to Adrian, who seemed to avoid his gaze.
“Here.” Willard held the bowl out to him. “Try it.”
“I don’t want to.” Adrian crossed his arms and turned his head. However, his nose moved on its own. Not able to resist it anymore, he snatched the bowl out of Willard’s hand and walked away, muttering to himself and sending an occasional fist into the air.
“He was on time-out, just so you know,” mother mused. “Why’s he angry?”
“He and Chris there had an unresolved dispute at the Educord.” Mother tilted her chin at the kid who was still shoveling rice into his bowl. “He told me he had worked it out between them, so I invited his family over. Seems like that wasn’t quite the truth.”
“But...Adrian....Is he angry at me?” Willard stared at him, who was on the other side of the room now, carefully nibbling the Blurb Chop as if he didn’t want Willard to see.
Mother did not respond. Willard stared at her for a while, gave her shoulder a light pat, and walked away into the corridor, the bustling growing fainter with each step. He stopped at the door, one hand on it, and hunched over when he finally couldn’t take the short burst of pain in his chest. It was as if someone had peeled a scab and was scratching nonstop at the unhealed wound beneath. Willard gasped for breath, sliding down onto the ground as he did.
The men had started dancing again, and their shadows flickered on the walls as they brushed against the candles on the table. Someone had started playing a harmonica, and the crisp clear tune carried all the way to Willard. It was a joyful melody, yet there was a tinge of cold sorrow that flowed with the notes. It was like a farewell song.
The pain subsided, yet the fatigue remained. His head against the door, he could hear the hail smash against the other side of the plastic. Two streets down was the crematorium. The dead would be reduced to ash, and the leftover heat from the incineration would be distributed via insulator pipes to the home of the deceased. A single corpse could warm a building for an entire week, though most preferred natural burials. Willard, though, would take the fiery way out. His heat would be the last thing he could do for his family. Willard wondered how long it would be until his own body got turned into ash, and chuckled at the morbid thought.
“You okay?” Willard looked up and saw Adrian standing over him. He still wore that angry look, yet the hostility was gone. Willard struggled to his feet, shrugging as if to ward away his weariness.
“Yeah, yeah. It’s nothing.” Willard dusted his pants and flashed Adrian a big smile.
“You’re teeth are yellow,” Adrian said, shoving his hands into his pockets. Willard felt a sting. His time of caring for looks were long gone, but it still hurt when someone he loved said things like that. Especially Adrian.
“Alright, then.” Willard forced a confident smile, trying to look indifferent to Adrian’s words, “What do you want?”
Adrian lifted himself onto a small table next to the wall. Willard had seen him do that several times before. Yet this time the table had buckled under his weight. He realized again that Adrian had grown taller. Then he realized that his realization was only impactful because he had forgotten how tall Adrian was the last time he’d seen him.
“I dunno. Ma told me to come.”
“Is that so...”
The two stared in silence at the ground. There had been a time where they were so open to each other just a silent eye-contact would send both of them laughing. It had been the same with Mia. Yet like her, Adrian had his lips pursed, staring at the ground and picking at a loose nail on the table. Finally, he spoke.
“When are you leaving?” Willard gulped a breath of air, his clothes getting uncomfortably hot.
“What did you say?”
“I said, when are you leaving?” Still with that indifferent expression.
He’s not even looking at you.
“... I don’t know.” Willard whispered, “not until I find a new job, I guess.”
“Oh, so not for a while, then.” Adrian picked something from his nose, rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, then flicked it across the corridor, It landed straight into the empty leak-holder bucket by the wall.
“So how...ah...how was school?” Willard made an effort to smile but gave up as his cheeks started twitching involuntarily.
“I got suspended.” Still with that indifferent expression and unbothered voice.
Suspended?
The words sent a jab to his chest. He struggled to get a breath in, not because of his lungs but because of his anger. He stared at Adrian, his top eyelid half shut, that indifference still sitting on his face.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Cool off. It might not even be his fault.
It took all of Willard’s willpower to stop from squeezing his hands into fists. Everything he did, everything he sacrificed, everything he lost, and for what? All for Adrian’s future. Yet he gets himself suspended? And he has the audacity to act like it’s nothing?
“What happened?” Willard forced the patience into his voice.
“Got into a fight.” Adrian rubbed the tip of his nose with the back of his pinkie, “his fault, his loss.”
“Adrian. You can’t do that,” Willard said, putting his left hand on the bottom of his forehead so it also covered his eyes, “you can’t keep getting into trouble like this.”
“So now you’re calling me Adrian.”
“How...how long ago were you suspended?” Willard ignored his remark, his hand now ruffling the remaining patches of hair on his head.
“...a week ago. They told me to only come back after Makobi’s over.”
A week ago? Makobi? Then that means...that means he’ll be out of school for three weeks?! Are they trying to fail him?!
“Have you apologized?” Willard asked, despite knowing full well the response he was going to get.
Adrian cast Willard a look of both disgust and disappointment, which changed to anger as their eyes met. Willard felt something well up inside his throat.
“They deserved it,” Adrian muttered.
“Adrian. We are civilized people. You can’t jus—”
“Civilized?” Adrian hopped down the table and walked towards Willard until he could feel his breath on his cheeks, “tell me, brother, how is all of this civilized?”
He pointed at the common room at the end of the corridor. The women had joined the men in the dancing, turning the room into a cacophony of clapping and whistling.
“Uncle Benjamin lost all three of his sons to some stupid war in Mors. Aunt Lize went crazy after the fucking Meekos executed her mother. Remember her? That old lady who’d give us freshly baked bread every Makobi Night?”
Something wrenched Willard’s gut. Of course he hadn’t forgotten. How could he? She used to patch his wounds up every time he came out of the local mines. Turned out she was a Mors Stowaway from the Trans-Continental Wars several decades ago.
“Adrian, that was...years ago…”
“Or perhaps you have forgotten how they LIT OUR HOUSE ON FIRE?”
“You know, there was some talk on the news where a bunch of guys discovered an invulnerable artifact, one that couldn’t be dated. You know who was credited for this discovery? The Meeko who pulled back all his funds two months before.”
“…”
“So what if I broke his nose? What if I gave him two purple eyes? He threw my Mishcat from the balcony. The camera’s got it all down. His parents couldn’t do shit about it. Heck, I’d say I did our people a great servi—”
Willard slapped him.
It wasn’t a hard slap at all, but it pained Willard’s hand, the pressure squeezing his skin. Adrian had a look of utter disbelief. Willard realized he had about two seconds to do something before his brother exploded.
Willard put both hands on Adrian’s shoulder and stared at him with his coldest, sternest stare.
“First, what do you mean, ‘our people’? There is no ‘us’. You have me, and we have ma. That’s all we’ve got. Your ‘people’’s not going to be there for you when you get abused. Sure, they’d sympathize. But that’s all they do. You don’t take sides. You’ve lost the moment you do.”
“Now, even if we do take a side, what do you think we could do? Fight them*?* Fight the ‘*Meekos’?*Pick up our brooms and weldguns and make a stand for it? Like those ’restorationist’-wannabes you see on TV?”
Adrian fell silent, his lips drawing into a thin line.
“Let me tell you something,” Willard pulled him close, “they’re just half-assed terrorists making everything worse. The more havoc they wreak, the worse the ‘Meekos’ get. That’s exactly what they want us to do. That’s the reason ma moved here. You know what would’ve happened if she didn’t? You want to know what would’ve happened if we stayed in Bagiraek?”
“I didn’t grow up in Bagiraek,” Adrian muttered.
When Willard spoke again, it was in a much softer, patient tone.
“We share the same world, Adrian. We play by their rules, not because we deserve to, but because that’s what the current situation asks for.”
Hands still on Adrian’s shoulders, Willard knelt down on one leg and gently shook him, forcing him to look back.
“And you’ll be the one who changes the current situation.” Willard let go of his shoulders and held his left hand in his palms. There were yellow bruises on the knuckles, and it hurt Willard to look at them.
“You will be the one to bring us out of this place. Not with your fists, but with your words. Remember, Adrian, strength isn’t shown by how many punches you can throw. It’s shown by how many punches you can take.”
A look of confusion replaced Adrian’s anger.
“And we apologize. Not because we have to, but because we should. We are an arrogant…people, Adrian. Like Sorissians. But once you’ve apologized, you’ve proved yourself a better person. Both to the other, and to your past.”
Adrian sniffed and rubbed his nose again. His eyes were red, the anger fading from his face.
“So come with me to school tomorrow,” Willard whispered, “and we’ll apologize.”
Adrian cast his eyes down, admitting his defeat. Willard stood up again, rubbing his knee.
How many punches you could take, huh.
Willard wondered how many more punches he could take before finally collapsing. Not a lot, by the looks of where his condition was going.
He stared at Adrian, who stared back with large, almond colored eyes. Willard noticed his brother had grown devilishly black hair. It was much darker than his and was glistening slightly under the corridor lamps. Willard realized, with some sadness, that Adrian looked more like Mia than himself. The only scar was a small one on his forehead made by a faulty gas canister. Unlike the deep gash on Willard’s brow, this one could be covered up easily if he pulled his hair down. He didn’t though, wearing it proudly like a medal. Willard studied him.
As long as HE makes it, all of this won’t be for naught.
Adrian turned his gaze from Willard’s face and shuffled uncomfortably in place.
How long will it be? Three years? Four? After he goes to Bagiraek, I’ll sell our apartment. Move to Jeris, where it’s warm. Any conflict for Sorissu would be over by then. We’ll rent a nice place with thick curtains. Spend the rest of my time with ma. She’ll love it there.
Just then, the entry light fixed by the door lit up a deep red, and its sirens blared thrice, startling them both. The noise in the common room died down. TimeScale told Willard it was half-past midnight, so there shouldn’t be any more guests. In any case, guests wouldn’t bother with the formal entry request signal. Willard remembered the time the Meekos had pulled a prank and nearly collapsed the entire building. It had started the same way, with three blaring alarms.
Willard pushed Adrian behind him with one arm.
“Adrian, go back to ma.”
“But, Will, I—”
“Now.”
Adrian hesitated, then ran back and disappeared behind the side wall. Willard could see several pairs of nervous eyes fixed on him. Then another three blares of the siren pulled his attention back onto the door. Willard’s hand instinctively reached for the knife belt he used to keep on him at all times, then remembered he had left it upstairs. So instead he picked up the empty glass vase on the small table and held it behind his back.
He walked over to the door, taking in huge breaths. He looked back at the common room, and saw one of the men shake their head, their eyes staring straight through him. It was useless. Whoever was outside must have already heard the noise. There was no point pretending they weren’t here.
Willard bit his lips and twisted the doorknob. As he did so, the door was flung open by a strong wind, sending him crashing into the left wall. At the same time, something large and white stormed in. The wind outside made a suction sound as it swung the door back shut, making a huge ‘bang’. Willard steadied himself and focused on the white thing that looked like a snowman. Then he realized it wasn’t a snowman, but an actual person as chunks of snow slid off its side, revealing the black and yellow-striped uniform underneath.
“The breeze sure picked up hard t’day, huh?” A cheery voice sounded from underneath the several layers of snow. The person walked back towards the door again, and brushed themselves off, sending chunks of snow into the Collection Bin. The person looked much thinner now, like one of the tiny paper dolls of the Makobi Festival after their layers have been all peeled off.
Willard heard sighs of relief come from the common room after the person spoke. One of the men motioned to come over with a blue bottle in hand, but stopped as the person waved their hand.
“It’ll only take a minute,” he said. “Now, where’s Mr. Price?”
As if answering his own question, he spun around, facing Willard, put both hands by his waist, thrust out his hips, and gave a hoot. He sounded like Old Samwell. The man peeled off his black, featureless mask and carefully slid it between his right arm and his body, revealing a round face, puffy cheeks so large they made his eyes slits, and deep wrinkles that ran all the way around his forehead.
“Well, there you are!” he said, grinning so broad it made Willard wince when he saw the cracks on his lips. Then he saw the glass vase in Willard’s hand. “What’cha doing with that old thing?” He took it from Willard, blew on it, and set it back on the side table. Willard wasn’t sure if he should be surprised or confused.
“Is everything alright, Mr. Nafimm?” Willard heard mother’s voice sound from the other end of the room. It was pitched the perfect way, with just the right amount of inquiry to overwhelm the worry.
“Yes, ma’am, everything’s fine. I’ll just borrow your boy for a few minutes, that all good with you?”
“But why on this…of course.”
Upon hearing that, he slid one arm around Willard’s shoulder and herded him into the stairway by the door. The two nearly bumped into Mia as she came out.
“Woah! Sorry!” She raised an arm to greet them.
“Run along now,” Nafimm waved, then raised a brow when he saw her.
“Oh, me?” Mia shrugged, “I’m just visiting.”
Nafimm stared at her for several more seconds, turned, then pushed Willard into the stairway. Once in, he shut the door connecting the stairway to the corridor, making sure he heard the clink as the door automatically bolted itself. Then he climbed onto the first flight and sat down. He saw Willard’s quizzical look and gave a weak smile. His giant grin from earlier was completely gone, and as a sullen look was drawn across his face, his puffed-out cheeks deflated like two balloons.
“Sit, son.”
Willard looked around and saw no stools or anything of the kind. He didn’t feel safe enough to sit next to the man, so instead he brushed a part of the floor with his feet and sat down on the ground.
“I don’t think you remember,” the man said, pulling off his gloves, “but we’ve met once before, when my brother invited me to join y’all on Makobi night. I am the deputy officer of Ferah.”
So Samwell is his brother.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t stress it. Right now you should be worryin’ ‘bout yourself,” he said in a grave voice.
“What do you mean?” Willard gulped, the pain slowly building up in his throat. It was a nervous response whenever he got anxious.
“Two Shades came by lookin’ for you.” The man reached into his backpocket and brought out a pack of cigarettes. They were bright yellow, different from Willard’s and the rest of the men’s, a special privilege of the peacekeepers. Willard had heard there was Lucere mixed in with the nicotine, and it had short-terms effects on par with the Booster shots the military uses.
“Looking for me?”
“Yes. It’s about that mining incident you were in,” he said, making it sound like it was no big deal, which confused Willard. Samwell had told Willard nearly nothing about his brother, except that he served during the Trans-Continental War.
“But...I told the corporate secretaries all there is to it. I felt a tremor, the cables snapped, and I got trapped. I barely managed to scrape by with the extra food I was carrying.”
“Extra food?” The man looked as if he wanted to say something else but asked this question anyway.
“I was sent to get the rations for the entire team.”
“That so? Lucky you,” he murmured, taking a long drag from his cigarette.
“I don’t understand, what business do the Shades have with me?”
“Don’t know. I don’t have high enough clearance to ask them that.” The man scowled, tossed the burnt cylinder to the floor and smothered it with his shoe. Then he brought a little box out from his waistcoat pocket, picked up the squished thing, and chucked it in there.
“They wanted to see you today. But since it’s Makobi’s Eve, I told them to come tomorrow.” He spread his palms, “you know how things are these days. It was the only thing I could do.”
Willard shuddered. Corporate-Owned-International-Special-Operations-Liaison-Agents, or Shades, were known for their brutality. He heard they’d do anything to achieve their goals, be it blackmail, incarceration, torture, or even outright manslaughter. If they have done their research they would’ve already found his family. Stalling wasn’t an option.
Willard’s teeth clenched. He couldn’t afford taking that risk.
”Tomorrow. At Sunnyside Diner. You know that place?”
Willard nodded, though he was quite taken aback. He had expected to be sent to one of the interrogation rooms in the police station, the one where the walls grew so white one wouldn’t even know what they were standing on. Instead, the Shades chose a shabby, run-down diner at the end of Jamel Street.
“Then that’s all I have for you.” The man stood up and walked to the door. He stopped as his hands touched the doorknob, and turned to look at Willard. There was sympathy in his eyes, and he was gazing at Willard like he was some homeless beggar half frozen to death on the streets. Willard was used to that look. He gets it all the time when he walks the streets of Vaharach, the bustling tourist district.
“Don’t you worry, son. As long as you tell the truth, nothing bad’s gonna happen.”
So much for a peacekeeper.
The man seemed to have read his thoughts and gave a bitter smile. Willard recognized it, the resentful smile of a powerless man.
If there was a ranking of smiles, you’d be the grandmaster of bitter ones.
“Mr. Nafimm. May I ask a question?”
The man, who had stood up and looked away, turned back.
“Of course.”
“What will happen to us, after Makobi? You know, the end of the treaty and all that.”
“The Gerang Coalition would look for an excuse to start a war.”
“What?” Willard shook his head to see if he had heard right.
“It’s my guess. That’s what all this blasted business is about. After humanity’s glory days with the Jugang, it has become purely the megacorps’ fight over power. Be it immediately after the treaty’s end or another couple of years in the future, a war would be inevitable. With the limited resources Sibith has for us, the tangibility of a second Transcontinental war is but a matter of time. That is…if we don’t destroy ourselves before that.”
“Destroy ourselves?”
“Haven’t you seen the news? Terrorists, death-tolls, restorationists, violence, bombings, zealot, anarchists. Those are the three keywords on every Bagiraekan channel for the past three months. And I presume similar things are happening in Mors.”
“I don’t understand. Shouldn’t the Coalition be particularly adept at subjugating these things? Especially now with their contract with the Chryseis-Corps?” Willard felt his heart beginning to race. At first he had wanted to disregard Nafimm’s words as but another theory, yet the self-assuring manner the officer carried disturbed him.
“It’s not about a lack of ability. It’s a lack of desire. We need an enemy. Someone to blame for our misfortunes. Before, when we were with the Jugang, we had a common enemy. And so they became the outlet in which we poured all our hate. Once we had defeated that enemy, that outlet became the Jugang, our former allies. And when we have vanquished the only other species with our level intelligence, our enemy became ourselves. This one-hundred years of peace us Sorissians experienced is only a brief respite in the external context known as the human existence.”
He’s not a PeaceKeeper-officer.
“As for what will happen after Makobi…I do not know. Our fates lie in the hands of our superior. Do not try to appease them, for their expectations are false in this uncaring world. The only advice I can give you is this: hold on to what you have, be it your family, your friends, whatever. Love is the only real distraction from hate, after all.” He finished, puffing out a long breath whilst staring at the ceiling, visibly drained from this excursion. Then, like some default program had taken over, the man donned his mask again, letting the smooth surface envelop his face.
“I have spoken too much. I wish you good fortunes in the days to come.” He nodded at Willard, opened the door, and walked out, stopping to wave at someone in the common room, swung open the front door and disappeared into the blizzard outside.
Willard realized he hadn’t asked him the time of the meeting. It was no use trying to reach him, now that he’s in the open. One couldn’t even see their own hands in weather like this. Calling via TochNet also wouldn’t work since Ferah’s server rooms didn’t have the software installed.
So instead, Willard decided he was just going to sit in that diner for the entirety of the day. Better play it safe than sorry. Then he remembered his agreement with Adrian. He made a mental note to tell him about it.
“Hey, Will!” someone in the common rooms shouted, “come over! We saved you the last slice!”
“Really?!” Willard tried to sound excited. He couldn’t taste half the flavor anymore, but he was still obligated to humor his guests. So he slapped his face, stretched his mouth into a huge grin, and rushed back into the common room.