The situation in Renpet 7116 En Sa'n Pera can be viewed in two separate ways: as a typical post-Wars year that would be meant to serve as a template for those which followed; or as a summation- a corollary, if you will- of the Wars themselves, although in retrospect neither of these analogies can be seen to be truly representative. Certain patterns of behaviors-- in the old established groups such as the Shemsu Hor and certain surviving 'great' families; the old, now modified groups such as the KMS Navy, the Nomarchy and even the Government of 'He of Five Names' that came through the Wars as totally different entities than the ones that entered; and the entirely new entities such as the Sau'ii en Ma'at-- when viewed from the perspective that we take here- one where we can look at the events that occurred as individual actions and their repercussion actions in and of themselves- stand out as sharply deviant and non-representative of the goals and standards of these groups. Contrarily, when examined from the viewpoint taken by my esteemed colleague-- where all events are regarded as merely manifestations of a single larger trend or 'mega-event', as he calls it-- one can see that while the circumstantial events in that year themselves could be seen as a chaotic spattering of metaphorical paint on a canvas, that paint must of been initially spattered through a stencil, one which extended out past the area affected by the paint, and even off of the canvas itself.
Robert Bland, Department of History
Hammerhill College, New Cappadocia
The light from the star Seta shone through the shields of the Meh, picked up subtle tints from them, and then moved through the thick silicate window that the man looked out of to cast their glow against the whitewashed wall behind him in a cascading spray- an effervescence of hue that contrasted the bland color of the wall in his shadow. There was a dull ache in his lower jaw where recently a tooth had been removed, another gone from the shortening list of still usable dentition in his mouth. He rubbed the jaw with a scarred left hand as he looked down on the planet below him, slowly rotating, the terminator to day passing below him as the Meh orbited in the opposite direction of the rotation of the planet. Someone walking in the crowd of people that populated the Meh behind him stared at the man in front of the window and his gesture, used as a greeting in some parts further south. Thinking that he recognized that man, he almost sent the greeting in response, but he was drawn up almost as soon as he slowed by a smell: partially of unwashed body odor and clothes, partially something else, something rancid. Flashing a somewhat shocked look at the man before the window, he rushed off back into the mob of people with a desire only to forget that almost-encounter.
Sefekhnebs Mose did not notice any of this- his attention was directed toward a telescoping probe that was extending from the side of the hangar platform that was directly below the populated level of this Meh. As it reached the magnetic shield whose glistening effects protected the Meh from the fine particulate damage of the nearby primary Seta, an attachment distended from the top and the bottoms of the probe and opened up a hole in the partially transparent shields. Revealed was a newish-looking Ba'at Shemau corvette, a larger medium freighter and an escort carrier. They'd been hidden by a trick of the shields, their low levels of reflected light simply being absorbed by the radiation shields of the platform. Barely visible beyond them was the forward-half of a Neba, its' many cannon doubtlessly aimed at the escort carrier: local law enforcement.
The Ba'at Shemau will house the one that I seek- the others are decoy, Mose thought. As the Ba'at Shemau passed through the shields and came about to engage a docking arm that was now slowly unfolding from the docking platform, the emblem of the family that owned that small fleet came into view: The djed-column of strength and endurance supporting a planet with an orbiting satellite moon, green on red and black backgrounds. Mose at the window nodded, rubbed his scarred jawline again and turned to find the stairs down to the customs decks that would be opposite the landing platform.
He was wearing a long, goat leather robe that brushed the floor over a once-white, traditional linen kilt, belted across his bare abdomen and stained from quite a bit of repeated wear. A black-lacquered collar was plated on his shoulders, it's gloss having been rubbed off some time ago by the robe and by a simple wire necklace. His short, dirty blonde, unbrushed hair was a strong contrast to the clean, straight black wigs that the greater populace of the Meh was wearing, and his cheekbones betrayed a bit of unshorn whiskers- though not enough to attract the attention of those who would enforce that law. The only up-kept-looking part of the man was his sandals- not new, but well-taken care of, repaired in places, fully strapped up his shins and tied below the knees in the traditional style of the old North, a style that most would no longer recognize.
The crowded, chaotically moving population assembled itself into a regular pattern as it entered the funneling effect of the stairs--the broad, polished metal steps descending down and up into the farthest reaches of the stacked platforms that hung suspended in space. As Mose entered the stairs on the left side and began his descent he deliberately banged against a young man that had been leaning on his forearm nonchalantly, attempting to impress a younger girl who was flushing at the attention, her eyes pseudo-demurely looking down at her sandals. A little shove of Mose's shoulder and the young man planted his face flat against the whitewashed wall of the stairway, the girl flashing a suddenly concerned look toward him as the man in the long leather robe continued on.
Good teeth, narrow waist, clean face, Mose thought. Pouting lips. Five thousand.
Mose was down the polished metal stairs before the young man he shoved could re-acquire his wits, a frown on his face from the almost reflexive assessment of the girl. Getting to be too easy, he thought as he rounded the final corner platform and descended into the hangar. The density of people here was truly incredible- some in the livery of any number of Nomarchies, minor families or shipping companies, while others were wearing neutral clothing of widely varying description. A patrol of Sau'ii en Ma'at was striding across the center of the platform on a regular route- the irony that they have a regular pattern already, the man thought derisively- toward a guard shack aside the central customs area of the nearly-ceilingless hangar. And in the distance- ships.
Huge, towering behemoths, smaller, mid-capital freighters, transports and frigates, lighter personal shuttles, intrasystem platform haulers too small to even have gravity- such a variety of ships in a seemingly infinite variety of color, wear and pattern, extending farther than the unaided eye could see in the thick air. Mose ignored them all except the Ba'at Shemau that was now being pulled toward the platform by an extended docking arm, it's attending escort carrier and the freighter only now being reached by auxiliary gangways and tie-downs as they floated in the absence of gravity and atmosphere just outside the confines of the platform. A one-man sled with maneuvering jets was being piloted by a suited inspector toward the freighter, checking the opened cargo bays against a manifest projected above the control platform. It's ghostly blue glow casting it's light against the silicate face plate of the inspector's mask, the projected image changed from page to page as each cargo and crate was checked off of a list. The ship was waved forward, deck hands using automated equipment to pull it into a berth for unloading.
Mose now waited at the edge of the dock, leaning against a worn steel railing designed to prevent the ignorant from walking off into space. Less than a minute of exposure was generally fatal-- even within the radiation shields of the Meh-- and one could be less than four cubits from the gravity and atmosphere of the platform and die in full view of everyone present if they lacked a method of return. The death was inevitably gory, a combination of explosion and flash-freezing.
The man watched the escort carrier suddenly shudder, soundlessly unfolding like a complicated geometric model as it's hangar bays split open along their long axes, the entire bays tilting forward as they rotated on great pinions. The decks immediately after the bays shed their battered and pitted armor on long hydraulics, sticking off like parasols in a complicated pattern as they revealed the habitation areas of the carrier. Even the huge plates that guarded the complicated apparatus that was the twin IES-Engines rotated upwards and then split again, thick steel hanging in zero gravity on tiny hydraulic rams like pieces of cloth suspended on threads, trailing attachment locks and conduit .
A small team of inspectors swarmed around the escort carrier, probing for contraband and to ensure that the ships' offensive capabilities were entirely tied down. In this pose, the ship was entirely vulnerable- any small accidental impact would cause the unarmored inner hull to rupture. The resultant explosive decompression would rip the carrier asunder and even shower the people on the harbor platform with debris. A word was sent by signal lights to the captain of the escort carrier, unseen high in the superstructure that was the bridge of the ship, and the complicated armor-shedding process began to slowly reverse- the inspectors having not found anything unseemly. Her fighters were tied down and the only other ship was listed as a racer, a civilian ship that passed it's own inspections at a previous stop and whose seals were still intact.
As a docking arm began to slide out toward the now-enfolding escort carrier, Mose waited nearby as the first passengers of the docked Ba'at Shemau to begin their egress. The ship was small as sub-capitals went, only nineteen cubits in length, with a passenger capacity of only thirty or so, no weapons. Mose stood silently as he paid close attention to the disembarking ones, noting their apparent age and physical condition more from habit than any real economic need. He moved away from the pillar against which he stood as he noted the following characteristics from a passenger: Male. Thirty years of age. Lighter hair, no wig,, bright eyes, attentive. Clean garmenture without obvious notes of alignment. Nebukhafre Ammunma'atkare.
Nebukhafre smiled unabashedly as he laid eyes on the dirty man in the leather-- so uncharacteristic of what people think of this family, the leathered man thought-- and grinned wider as he reached forward with his left hand. "Sefekhnebs Mose! A surprise, surely!" Nebukhafre grasped Mose's extended hand and they met in a quick embrace. Stepping back, Nebukhafre: "Man, when's the last time that I saw you! I would of never expected you to show up for this," he exclaimed, waving his arm toward the escort carrier as if it was something remarkable, spectacular: not a common warship-for-hire.
Mose squinted his eyes and almost grinned as he disengaged his hand from that of Nebukhafre. "I knew that you had gone to Shu-Ani to study engineering after your father's general educational investments had ended, but I had no idea that your studies had advanced to a practical level yet." There was something about Mose's mannerisms that disquieted those unused to them: the way that his head tilted when he spoke, facing down and away while his eyes looked forward, the way that his voice wavered a bit in the middle of his sentences, but apparently Nebukhafre was used to this and was nonplused: at that complement, Nebukhafre's clean face flushed, white teeth out, something akin to embarrassment.
"You'd be surprised! I've mastered basic and advanced IES mechanics, time analysis, basic faster-than-light mechanics and the modern theory of sub-light-speed propulsion. I learned so much at Shu-Ani that they expected me to stay on as an engineering teacher!" Nebukhafre laughed at that, a carefree, pleasant laugh. Mose returned the smile with what teeth he had. "I'm done with my studies for now, and I'm here for the race."
"Well, you know me… I've been with your family for a long while now. Now, I know that you've, ah, declined in so many words my services here before, but I'll be around a bit before the trials if you need any help…" Sefekhnebs Mose half-stammered out, staring at a point halfway between Nebukhafre's ear and shoulder, almost bashful, it seemed, to be speaking. A passer-by, another dispersing passenger from the Ba'at Shemau, wrinkled her nose in revulsion at the smell emanating from Mose, but Nebukhafre didn't seem to either mind or notice.
Now a look of reproach came across Nebukhafre's face: "Times change, Sefekhnebs. This is not the Wars anymore! My family is not going to get anywhere using those methods, not anymore." Mose had to admire his posture, if not his views. Nebukhafre: "We've made some mistakes, the Ammunma'atkare family, but I'm not here to continue them. I'm doing something different."
The smile crept across Nebukhafre's face again, a warm and genuine thing. "Forget all of this, man! Let's get something to drink. It's been a long trip and there's still much to do, but I always have time for an old friend of the family."
"I'm not trying to offend, Nebukhafre. My services," Mose stammered out, "have been of great value to your grandmother, your father…"
Nebukhafre sighed audibly, cutting off Mose: "Sefekhnebs, I am not my family yet, and if I ever become my family-"
"Not ever, Ammunma'atkare, when…" Mose corrected him, drawling out 'Yahumn Mahakhreh' with the inflections of the old Northern dialect: One that most would not recognize, that language was now long lost.
Nebukhafre squinted, looking down a little at the only slightly-shorter man beside him. He couldn't help but to grin. "You and your resources have always been a help to my family, Mose, but as I said, times change. I was raised on stories of the former glory of my family, and that is what I want to regain for us. Your methods worked then, and I'll personally be indebted to you if and when I become the leader of House Ammunma'atkare: by Ammit, we wouldn't be so close if it wasn't for you.
"But I'm going to be different. I'm educated now, moreso than any other son or daughter of my family in generations past, and I'm going to be placed to revitalize our former industrialized power. I'll make us so valuable to 'He of Five Names' that he'll have no choice but to lift the sanctions and re-grant us the rights and privileges according our House."
Mose stopped short, Nebukhafre stopping a few paces on, slowly turning to face him.
"You're forgetting two things," Mose growled out, the dark smudges under his eyes making them stand out like all the wrong stars in the lost Northern sky. "One, your families' resources are near-exhaustion after two hundred years of sanctions by that 'He of Five Names' you so strongly seek to impress. Not to mention limited by the disdain of the other Houses."
Nebukhafre frowned, the first real angry look he'd shown Mose. How much like his grandmother! There was a warlike time, reflected Sefekhnebs, but he continued: "Two: You may not have heard, but the young heir of House Hemet is part of this race…"
"Don't speak to me of Hemet," Nebukhafre sneered. There's the anger I was looking for! Got to remind this boy where it is he's from, thought Mose, trying to press but Nebukhafre beat him:
"The war between our Houses has stalled for a century. Now is the time to put it behind us- I've never seen a Hemet, and certainly they've never met an Ammunma'atkare. There'll be no antagonism, just a fair race."
Nebukhafre turned and began walking toward the heq'akit, Mose quickly following. "Is that what all of this has been about you, then? Training to build and now the opportunity to prove it? You think a little ship like that--" Mose jerked his black-nailed thumb back at the escort carrier and its cargo, tied down at the dock just like an ineffectual floating rock-- "is going to prove a thing to your detractors?"
Nebukhafre had calmed himself, smiled over at Mose. "The fastest new production-capable ship model in this trial will win the Governmental contract for message delivery, phasing in by a hundred units a decade until the old fleet is supplanted. That's a large contract, riches galore to the winner- and a great expense to the Government. My idea consists simply of modifications, cheap and practical, to existing systems. The Government of 'He of Five Names' won't be required to rebuild a fleet- for a fraction of the cost, my tuning could revitalize the message carriers, shave half of the time off a typical route."
Mose had to appreciate the economic sensibility of the plan, an appreciation grudgingly extracted from that man of action. "And your advanced degrees from Shu-Ani, the leading manufacturers of ships and engines, the holders of many advanced engine design patents, will allow this?"
Nebukhafre smiled again. "Shu-Ani is so monopolized that they don't realize how much better their own systems can be made to function. I didn't just listen and learn: I spent all of my time as close to those things as I could be. I breathe IES-Beams, Mose," who snickered at the mental picture of phosphorescent blue light streaming from Nebukhafre's nose. "My ideas will prove much to our opponents and prove that the Ammunma'atkare family can again be a member of the Neb."
They stopped at a vendor, the short man behind the counter dispensing two large cups of watered-down wine, a common daily fare. Mose pulled a large drink back slovenly, Nebukhafre sipping his more politely as he dropped a few coins. "I'll be around…" Mose said. Another pull of the wine, a drip from his chin swiped by the goat-leather robe's sleeve. "If you need me, if you reconsider." Nebukhafre breathed in exasperation into his cup, a long exhalation. "I'm here on business," Mose continued, "but I'll be here until your race starts. I'll be on the planet after that."
KFL by Allen P Gresham is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
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