Chapter Two.

Rentap had left the next day as he said that he would, early, equally Trem took his later train.

At the entrance to the elevated platform where he was to catch his train, Trem showed his travel pass to a member of the patrol, the uniformed police force. Looking at what the pass specified, the patrolman gave a nod and handed the document back in a more respectful manner than he normally would have. Trem mused that perhaps the patrolman had been a graduate of the Volunteer Corps, as he entered the departure platform. The train was waiting and there was little noise. No music was played and there were no buskers or entertainers to amuse any waiting travellers, such things were disapproved of here.

Boarding the waiting flyer took just a fraction. Finding his compartment, a fraction longer. Entering, he found another man already sitting there. Disconcerted, he acted with the directness typical on this planet.

“I think that you are in the wrong compartment.” The man did not move so Trem tried again, “I think that you should move before you are ejected.”

The man shifted to look at Trem. He smiled and with a wave of his hand, indicated that Trem should come into the compartment. “Please sit,” came in a quiet voice. “You will find that the authorities on the train have no problem with me sitting here.”

Curious in spite of himself, Trem slowly entered and sat. Somewhat resentful, he was hoping for an undisturbed trip to Lepus Mal. He ran his eyes over his unwanted companion.

Obviously an outworlder, the man was of medium height and build with strangely unremarkable features. While not dressed in the conservative Ti Lepus style of heavy coats and broad hats, his dark coat and pants were not an affront to the discerning Ti Lepus eye.

A change in the feel of the flyer brought Trem’s eyes to the window. They were leaving with a barely perceptible motion. He settled back into his seat. The stranger had closed his eyes and was seemly mediating, lounging in his seat.

“You enjoyed your time in the Student Volunteer Service Corps, Trem de Markus?” the man suddenly asked after some time had passed.

Trems head slowly raised from the papers his father, who preferred to use printed documents that Trem could make notes on, had sent him to read over. In shock he stared at the man sitting across the compartment from him.

“How do you know my name or where I have been?” he whispered, the shock so profound he could not say any more.

A languid hand was raised. “I see your name on the carrying case and the station where you joined the flyer has a camp where the Volunteer Corps has its initial training. You are somewhat older than the first cadets, and have the bearing of someone who has gone through extensive training. That would make you an instructor.” The man smiled. “It was not difficult to put these parts together.”

Impressed in spite of himself, Trem wondered about the man and what he did. “Are you a policeman of some kind?” The answer shocked him.

“No. I am just someone who wishes goodwill to your planet.”

Goodwill to the planet? Trem stared at the man who still had not opened his eyes. “What do you mean by that?” He whispered.

“Just what I said.” The man sat up, giving a keen glance at Trem. “You are familiar with your planets history of violence?”

Again Trem was surprised, such directness was unusual when dealing with an outsider. They usually would try to be polite, and thus be regarded with amusement or contempt.

“Of course I am, but that is old history,” Trem answered with the same directness. “I don’t see what you are getting at, if anything.”

An unreadable look crossed the man’s face as he looked away. “Not so old,” he whispered. Looking back at Trem, he posed a question, “Have you considered the underclass? What they think and feel?”

Trem was getting used to these questions. With a shrug, he answered that he had not.

“You should.”

“And why is that?” Trem was really annoyed now and it showed in his tone.

“Because the labour class and the servant class are beginning to feel the same way that the underclass are. It is even spreading into the service class and higher.”

“Higher?” Trem was confused. “I don’t know what you mean.” His annoyance and confusion was evident. “And about what are they thinking and feeling is so important anyway?”

There was a sound at the door, which slid smoothly open. The man turned to a contemplation of the countryside as the train’s attendant entered. He uttered “Pass and identification,” in a bored tone. A member of the patrol stood in the passageway as the check took place. Trem gathered the documents and handed them over. He glanced at his unwanted companion who remained quietly sitting, gazing at the rapidly passing townships, interspaced with pockets of open countryside. These were too placid to be natural or wild.

The check completed and the papers returned, the attendant looked at the man who turned and waved his hand at him. The attendant muttered, “Oh yes, I checked everything of yours.” He left, the door sliding shut after him.

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Trem studied his unwelcome companion in surprise. This was not usual. “How do you rate that?”

“Rate what?” the man replied with a frown.

“Getting away with an identification check!”

“Oh that.” The man nodded. “He had already checked all my documents. Quite thoroughly too.”

Looking unconvinced, Trem finished stuffing his papers away. He looked up, about to enquire more when the man forestalled him.

“Anger.”

“What?”

“Anger is what they feel. Anger and a sense of depravation.” The man did not smile, rather he looked grim. “On top of the anger, they are angry about being deprived of the possibility of any hope of advancement.” He glanced at Trem. “They want to be like you but they also hate you.” He looked away, out the window.

“Why should they feel that way?” Trem protested. “With hard work, they could improve their status and advance?” The man laughed softly at such naiveté.

“Oh, that is easy for you to say. With your advantages, your status you have nothing to worry about and your future is secure.” He laughed again. Trem looked around, but they were in a private compartment so no one else heard.

“I do admire your choice of work, however. Personnel recruiting and administration in a large firm such as your families. Yes, you will learn much there.” The words were spoken softly, almost to himself.

Trem’s anger, which had risen at the man’s words, abated somewhat.

“That is one reason I asked for that job, I want to know more. My friend Rentap was surprised as well, but understood when I told him why.” Trem paused, wondering why he was talking like this, especially to a complete stranger. He suddenly realised that he didn’t even know the man’s name. He also wondered how the man knew what he was going to be doing.

“Remember, when you deal with the underclass, you are dealing with the lowest level of your society. They are constantly reminded of their lack of status and their inability to improve it. Few, if any, get a chance to step up to the labour class.” With a smile, the man finished, “Even some of high class feel that this is wrong.” The smile vanished and a serious, even grim, look appeared. “And some are moving to take advantage of that anger.”

The look of surprise that passed over Trem’s face surpassed any emotion that he had shown previously. Trem had learned his history well, he knew what had been done in the past by those who sought power in anger.

“Why would anyone what to stir up trouble?” he whispered, then frowned. “How do you know all this?”

“I have many sources of information” was the man’s quiet reply. He looked out the window. “This train is efficient, we have almost arrived.” The man sounded pleased for some reason.

He stood and moved to the door was done in a smooth, almost gliding, motion. The man turned and gave one last look. “Trem de Markus, I see that you are a good man. A true son of Ti Lepus. We will talk again.” He turned and stepped through the door, which shut with a hiss.

A fraction later Trem stood and opened the door. The corridor was empty and the train was slowing, as it glided into the arrival platform. With a shake of his head, Trem gathered his luggage and left the flyer. As he walked to where he could collect a transportation vehicle, he kept an unobtrusive watch for his unexpected guest, but saw nothing.

Programing the transporter he selected, to take him to his private apartment, Trem gave it the command to go. Sitting back in the chair, he ran the conversation he had had through his mind. There was no thought of discussing it with anyone else, not even his family. He would be ridiculed for taking it seriously. That would cost him, and his family, status. Something to be avoided at all costs. No, this conversation he would keep to himself.

Arriving at his apartment, he handed his bag to his servant, a man of the service class, a long term retainer and under contract to the family. He did not live on the premises and, when finished his work for the day, returned his quarters in the main family complex, located in another building. For the first time, Trem found himself studying the servant. He opened his mouth and shut it, shaking his head as he did so. The manservant noticed.

“Is there something, Master Trem?”

Trem paused, thinking. “No,” he said slowly. “Just finish and you may leave.” He stood. “I am just tired. It’s been a long day and I will just relax.”

Surprised, the manservant gave a respectful bow. “I will see you at the sixteenth period then, Master Trem. The family is looking forward to seeing you again.”

“And me, them.” Trem took his drink that he had poured for himself into his study. To the manservant’s continued surprise, he shut the door.

*********

The Dark Lord walked into the study He often used when He was in His palace on Tihab. Several of the Ladies of the Circle who were present, some reading, glanced up.

“Where have you been all this time?” Dana asked, giving her blond hair a flip. Luca looked up, showing curiosity. Another Lady, with shoulder length brown hair, blue eyes and a slim build, also looked up from her book, eyebrows arched in interrogation.

An affected look of surprise crossed the Dark Lords face. “Why so curious?” He said with a slight smile.

“Come on, give.” Prodded red haired Sydney, wearing her trademark short red dress.

Dropping into His favorite seat beside the empty fireplace, the Dark Lord picked up the book He had been reading.

Slender, dark haired Andrea stepped closer to the chair. “Come on, you can’t leave us in the dark like that!” Others followed.

There was a sigh as the book went down onto the side table. “Very well.” There was an air of expectancy amongst the Ladies as the Dark Lord steepled his fingers.

“Well,” He repeated, “Like the red, red robin, I was bob, bob, bobbing along.”

It was with a laugh that He snatched the thrown book out of the air.

*********

The Head Steward was almost at the study when she heard the roar of outrage. The Ladies who were standing outside looked startled and quickly entered the study. The Head Steward promptly did a U-turn. “My news will keep,” she said to her equally puzzled assistant.