Derian speaks up, “So what more is going on?”
“Increased anti-monarchy activity all across the continent,” Ford scowls, “The monarchs in Ouestlun and Midkingsen won't even acknowledge the Sword right now. Their heirs are somewhat more willing, but also currently restricted in what they can authorize. That will change in time, but here in Norsecount, something needs to be done.” “The MSS?” Derian queries. “The director claims he has neither the manpower nor the resources necessary,” The monarch looks grim, “The situation is such I can justify increasing his resources, but how to do that in such a way as to ensure the funds go where they ought. Too often MSS 'special projects' cause as many issues as they resolve.” Ford snorts, “Norsecount's been at relative peace too long.” “What about adding a new branch specifically to tackle the issue?” Derian suggests, “If it could be headed up by someone with experience dealing with these people, such as a grad of Experiment Redemption...” “Be best,” Ford nods to himself, “Natalia might have some thoughts on who would be available to take the position.” “Oh, undoubtedly,” Monarch Reginald grimaces, “Still, it's the best suggestion made yet. Probably best if said branch employs Experiment Redemption grads from the top position on down. Save on some training.” Again, Ford nods, “An' that will help with information gathering an' a few other things, but the Norsecount Militia Reserve needs additional training... before you start seriously losin' people.” The monarch nods, “While I know the commander isn't a fan of yours, it might be best if you're in on that discussion. I have no idea what more they could be taught which would actual serve to help. Is there anything else?” “Her Majesty's Guard needs reviving.” Ford looks serious, what of his face can be seen around his dark glasses. Monarch Reginald nods to himself, “Protection specific to the monarch's consort and her children. I have a feeling that won't go over well in certain quarters.” Nerita adds, “If you think I'm gonna trust the general run of those from Arawn with that kind of training...” Ford snorts laughter, “I'll have a word with Natalia regarding who might be available to serve as captain or captains. But how about carefully screened Experiment Redemption grads?” “Would be better.”
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“So you see, ladies and gentlemen, until the ownership of this knife is confirmed...” The overseer of Cold Pass Castle pauses mid-sentence as a knock is heard on the chamber door. “Come in.” He calls.
The solid, wooden door opens just wide enough to admit a bland, rail thin aide, who bows deeply, clearly nervous. “Honored Chancellor, your majesties, Mr. President, sir, if you will excuse my intrusion...” “Get on with it.” The overseer interrupts impatiently. “Sir, there’s a woman here demanding to speak on behalf of the guard.” Surprise crosses the faces of the six world leaders seated at the round conference table. “Who is she?” The aide swallows; “She says her name is Mrs. William Hawklan, sir.” The red haired chancellor of the Pleasure Society glances across the table at the young monarch of Midkingsen. Both women nod briefly, then Chancellor Amanda Burren speaks. “I motion we hear what Mrs. Hawklan has to say.” “I second the motion.” Her majesty, Kallia, of Midkingsen quickly adds. “Any objections, your majesties, Mr. President?” The overseer addresses the other four seated at the table. Each shakes his head in turn. “Show Mrs. Hawklan in.” He commands the aide. A couple minutes later, an elderly woman enters, assisted by a cane. The castle overseer steps away from the table, allowing her to take his place. She rests one hand on the edge of the table as she inclines her head to those watching her. “My greetings and thanks to your majesties, Honored Chancellor, Mr. President,” Her words are pronounced in an unmistakable west continent accent, “I request you hear me out before rendering your judgement in this case.” “A few questions first.” West Continent President Evans requests, “Were you acquainted with the guard or the prisoner?” “The prisoner, sir.” “For how long?” His majesty, Robero, of Ouestlun asks. “Eighty-six years.” The strong clear voice does not hesitate. “Then you are aware that the prisoner was an old woman?” His majesty, Darius, of Norsecount queries. “Old in that she was passed her century birthday,” The woman pauses a moment, “The guard was young then?” “Between twenty-five and thirty.” The overseer offers. Mrs. Hawklan nods to herself. “Whose weapon was that?” She indicates a knife covered in dried blood on the table. “That has not yet been determined,” President Evans states, “There is insufficient evidence...” “What Mr. President means is...” Monarch Kallia cuts in. “What that means is clear enough,” The elderly woman looks around the table at the six world leaders seated there, “That is why I came. I believe that what I have to tell you will clear up a great many aspects of this case.” “Then you believe,” Begins his majesty, Ferdinand, of Estorika, “That the prisoner, whom you claim to have known, may be the guilty party?” “I do,” Mrs. Hawklan raises her hand to quell murmurs, “I do believe so in the light of what she has previously proven herself capable of.” “What exactly do you know of the prisoner then?” Monarch Robero inquires. “Her life story: From the circumstances surrounding her birth to the reasons for her imprisonment in Cold Pass Castle.” “Perhaps you might simply give us the conclusion to that story.” President Evans requests. “If you wish,” The woman inclines her head to the west continent president, “Whatever your verdict, justice has already been served.” “Perhaps,” Chancellor Burren observes, “We should allow the lady to tell her story from the beginning.” “Indeed,” Monarch Ferdinand agrees, “Such a conclusion requires the most complete explanation possible.” “A seat for the lady then,” Monarch Darius commands, “One hundred years makes for a long tale.” “More than that.” Mrs. Hawklan corrects gently as the overseer positions a chair for her, “My history begins with four people whose paths crossed time and time again.”
The colony on Enfer is something of an example of human refusal to die even when faced with a seemingly impossible situation. The world was supposed to be terraformed before the colonists arrived, but terraforming failed, leaving the surface barren. The conditioning attempted on the colonists also failed and technology was quickly redeveloped, based on the resources sent with the colonists, to the point of attracting the attention of the inhabitants of a nearby world. Except only those with wealth or connections were able to move planets. Everyone else was left behind, supposedly to die.
But water sources were found underground and used to build cavern cities below the planet's surface. Each city is effectively its own state because travel between is difficult and dangerous. One other thing of note: The colonists sent to Enfer all came from French speaking regions on Earth.
Never trust a mad scientist. Thinking about it now, if someone had told me that fifteen years ago, I probably would have agreed with them. But nobody told me and, of course, I didn’t stop to think about it.
The offer looked really good back then: A child, trained in all the fighting styles and other skills I would find helpful in my work and raised to be obedient, in exchange for an errand or two. I completed the errands early on even though I knew it would be a wait when the promised child had yet to be born. I was even given progress reports over the years as the child grew. Until I ‘took delivery’, as the aforementioned scientist put it, it never occurred to me he might have overlooked a few basic points of child rearing. I was expecting a person, a teenager I could work with, perhaps train further; someone who could eventually be my partner and later, my successor. I got a living, breathing automaton. I can’t fault her training. She’s at least as good as I am, if not better, at all the skills I specified and she fights like a demon. She also promises to become a very attractive woman in a few years. She has long, blonde hair with just a little curl to it; big, light blue eyes; flawless fair skin; and the lean, lightly muscled figure of a trained fighter. It’s too bad there’s no personality to go with all that. At least she’s intelligent and has some common sense, so maybe, just maybe, there’s hope for her yet. I was informed, when she was presented to me, she was designated F086. It’s a mouthful when I’m in a hurry, but she doesn’t answer to anything else. I’ve tried any number of nicknames and once I even sat down and attempted to explain a few concepts to her, and she still won’t answer to anything except that cursed designation. I get ignored when I call her ma fille, which I keep doing just because I can’t stand to not have any name or nickname for her at all. But for what I'm doing tonight, I don't want or even need her along. I leave her seated in a meditation pose. She'll remain that way unless, by some really unfortunate accident, someone finds their way into our home. I pity anyone so foolish. La Grotte is quiet, with very few people out in the streets. I don't mind. Quiet streets mean less likelihood of attack before I reach my destination. Whether I find trouble on reaching it... well, that's an entirely different question. La Grotte is the largest of the cavern cities remaining on this barren lump of rock we call l'Enfer. The surface has been unlivable since terraforming failed, but the underground rivers allow us to survive, if barely. La Grotte surrounds the widest, deepest of the rivers, l'Eau. L'Eau enters clean from the geological north, but exits far from clean to the southeast. Fortunately water regulations have remained strictly enforced despite the unstable nature of a governance by strongest. Le Laboratoire du Genome is on just about the farthest edge of la Grotte from my home, which means a long walk for me tonight. And since it is headed up by a mad scientist, the security measures run on the far side of paranoid. To the point where the employees have figured out how to subvert them instead of going through protocol every single time they enter or exit the building and grounds. This works nicely for me because they've sabotaged the integrity of the system and, for someone of my skill, getting in is très simple. He also runs things flat out at all times. There's no quiet in the halls or anywhere else. Fortunately there's a staff change room not far from the door I enter by. The single male employee inside goes to sleep without a sound and I'm soon walking the halls dressed as Pierre, docteur. Even better, his identification card is high enough clearance to get me into everything except the private laboratory and quarters of the head scientist. * * * The day F086 left le Laboratoire was the happiest day of my life to date. Of course anything which makes mon père, le salaud Docteur Sebastien, that upset is a good thing in my books. F086 is the one girl he least wants to let go, but she's also the one he promised to some city mercenary in exchange for a series of errands. I've lived in le Laboratoire du Genome as long as there's been a le Laboratoire. Which is to say not quite as long as I've been alive, although I don't remember our home before this. Before the death of ma mère and the beginning of this insane experiment of Sebastien's. But, having lived here as long as I can remember, I know everyone else who lives and works here. Same as I know every crack and cranny of both sides of the complex. So to pass by the records room and see someone dressed as Docteur Pierre, who is clearly not Docteur Pierre, tells me we have an intruder. Moreover, this intruder is so engrossed in whatever he is reading he doesn't seem to notice me creeping up on him
“What do you think?” The realtor parks at the curb in front of a neat white house with deep green trim. The front yard is equally neat, with bright flowerbeds and a low, white fence.
Keith and Beth glance at each other, then at their two children. Their daughter, Bethany, is gazing around wide eyed. Their son, Kevin, is absorbed in his handheld video game and doesn't appear to notice anything. “It's very nice,” Beth can't quite suppress her enthusiasm, “But what's the inside like?” “Just as nice,” The realtor assures her, “Come look.” All five get out of the vehicle and pass through the front gate. The realtor unlocks the door and ushers the family inside. The main floor consists of a living room, den, dining room, and kitchen. All the rooms are empty, clean, and brightly painted. One set of stairs leads up to a second floor with two good size bedrooms, a large bathroom, and a master suite including a bathroom and gigantic closet. A second set of stairs leads down to a finished basement divided into a rec room, workshop, laundry room, and storage. The back door off the kitchen leads onto a neat, sturdy sundeck. Beyond it, there are several nice shade trees and a garden plot. The lawn itself is short, thick, and free of weeds. The fence is higher than in the front, but not so high Keith can't see the next door neighbour working in his garden. The neighbour, a late middle aged man, seems to realize he is being watched, because he looks up. “Hello, sir.” “Hello.” Keith goes over to the fence. “Thinking of buying?” The neighbour eases himself to his feet. “Thinking of it.” Keith tries to sound non-committal. “You won't find a safer neighbourhood anywhere,” The neighbour smiles proudly, “Best place in the world to raise kids.” Keith nods. “Not many places come up vacant in these parts,” The neighbour continues, “No one wants to leave. This's as close to paradise as you'll get in this lifetime.” “Keith!” Beth's voice comes from inside the house. “Go on,” The neighbour smiles knowingly, “We'll be seeing more of each other.” Keith nods politely and goes inside to find Beth leaning against a kitchen counter. “Oh, honey, this's even better than I imagined,” She doesn't even try to contain her excitement, “I never thought a place like this could exist. It's perfect.” “And safe,” The realtor adds from the doorway, “I could quote you the statistics, but you wouldn't believe them.” “Nothing bad ever happens?” Skepticism dampens Beth's enthusiasm. “I wouldn't quite go that far,” The realtor shakes his head, “Still, even vandalism is rare here. Break ins almost unheard of.” “What about assault or homicide?” Keith demands. “I've never heard of either here. And you'll find the neighbours haven't either.” Beth glows visibly at the news. “Dad!” Bethany comes racing into the room, “There're kids outside! Playing outside!” Keith and Beth glance at each other. The realtor smiles knowingly.
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AuthorAlexandra A. 'Lexa' Cheshire is the author of numerous novels and short stories published through Howling Wolf Books. Lexa is a wife, mother, cat owner, and music lover. Archives
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