eyes piercing into me from behind. My life's work was the very thing that I knew Zero was after. I was going to have to keep close, discover his secrets before he discovered mine.
"Dunia duara. The earth is round." I recited the Swahili proverb to myself as I walked away. "What will be, will be again. Dunia duara."
5
THE PRESIDENT
Back in the present brig, I, Solomon Boone, was facing away from the cell entrance when I began to hear an electric rattle from the barrier wall behind me. Zapping off, the barrier receded into the edge of the doorframe. Turning around to investigate, I found two United Corps guards pointing their assault rifles straight for my head.
I wondered if it was the "verdict" of my hearing. Without ceremony, they were simply going to kill me off right here in my personal prison. Can't say I'd blame them. I wouldn't take anything personal about it if they did.
Just as I closed my eyes to embrace fate's end, I heard the tapping steps of one who walks with authority. The confident feet strode between the guards and halted right in front of my position. When I opened my eyes, there was a woman standing before me.
It wasn't just any woman. It was a lady, to be exact. In this wasteland world, a lady is just about as rare as a gentlemen. I had only known one and she was standing right in front of me, with arms carefully crossed and a gentle nod that could calm a wild sea.
The lady was President Ember Nightwood. Clad in a pair of coveralls, she was a strong willed, no-nonsense individual who just so happened to be the leader of the United Corps and the whole of the Free World. A Chinese immigrant who was raised with the best of Canadians, she never let the color of her skin or her accent get in the way of telling people what was what. If a knockout punch to the face could come across graceful and elegant, it would best describe how President Nightwood handled her responsibilities.
Concerning my alleged war crimes, Nightwood orchestrated my hearing in a manner that can only be described as forgiveness, even though justice still took precedence. Here, inside of the "Beast of Burden," my judgement has been the subject of much deliberation in a conference room down the hall.
Life or death, the President was at least going to find a use for me in the few hours I had left in her custody. Nightwood was the one who put me up to making this account. She had told me that she'd never believe a single word when it came to history. She firmly believed it was all just fables within legends, but Nightwood encouraged that those stories are who we are, where we are going, and that those are the kinds of stories that people need.
Her tongue spoke out softly like a smooth, sharp blade, "I am told that you wished to speak to me personally. You may speak while you still can."
I urged, "Ma'am, you asked me to tell my story, but it isn't the complete story. I want to get this done right and I need your help to do it."
Nightwood smiled, "Whose story do you think you need, if not your own?"
"Yours," I said bluntly.
Quick and light, she responded, "What exactly do you think my account can add to your record? I have only really known you for a few hours." She then somehow managed to laugh without causing me any personal offense.
I recalled, "Two nights ago, I saw a United Corps shuttle docked in the airfield of the Lair. That was the night that the Overlord, may he journey in light, returned to the Thralldom. You were there, Ma'am. Weren't you? What were you doing and what happened?"
The amused look on her face suddenly vanished. I was pushing personal boundaries, it was clear to tell, but felt it was a worthy gamble for the sake of history. Nightwood broke eye contact as she considered out the port window above my head. Her crossed arms then swung down and she twirled away to leave without as much as a begrudged response. I safely assumed I had just lost the only friend who was advocating for me. More disappointingly, I
"Dunia duara. The earth is round." I recited the Swahili proverb to myself as I walked away. "What will be, will be again. Dunia duara."
5
THE PRESIDENT
Back in the present brig, I, Solomon Boone, was facing away from the cell entrance when I began to hear an electric rattle from the barrier wall behind me. Zapping off, the barrier receded into the edge of the doorframe. Turning around to investigate, I found two United Corps guards pointing their assault rifles straight for my head.
I wondered if it was the "verdict" of my hearing. Without ceremony, they were simply going to kill me off right here in my personal prison. Can't say I'd blame them. I wouldn't take anything personal about it if they did.
Just as I closed my eyes to embrace fate's end, I heard the tapping steps of one who walks with authority. The confident feet strode between the guards and halted right in front of my position. When I opened my eyes, there was a woman standing before me.
It wasn't just any woman. It was a lady, to be exact. In this wasteland world, a lady is just about as rare as a gentlemen. I had only known one and she was standing right in front of me, with arms carefully crossed and a gentle nod that could calm a wild sea.
The lady was President Ember Nightwood. Clad in a pair of coveralls, she was a strong willed, no-nonsense individual who just so happened to be the leader of the United Corps and the whole of the Free World. A Chinese immigrant who was raised with the best of Canadians, she never let the color of her skin or her accent get in the way of telling people what was what. If a knockout punch to the face could come across graceful and elegant, it would best describe how President Nightwood handled her responsibilities.
Concerning my alleged war crimes, Nightwood orchestrated my hearing in a manner that can only be described as forgiveness, even though justice still took precedence. Here, inside of the "Beast of Burden," my judgement has been the subject of much deliberation in a conference room down the hall.
Life or death, the President was at least going to find a use for me in the few hours I had left in her custody. Nightwood was the one who put me up to making this account. She had told me that she'd never believe a single word when it came to history. She firmly believed it was all just fables within legends, but Nightwood encouraged that those stories are who we are, where we are going, and that those are the kinds of stories that people need.
Her tongue spoke out softly like a smooth, sharp blade, "I am told that you wished to speak to me personally. You may speak while you still can."
I urged, "Ma'am, you asked me to tell my story, but it isn't the complete story. I want to get this done right and I need your help to do it."
Nightwood smiled, "Whose story do you think you need, if not your own?"
"Yours," I said bluntly.
Quick and light, she responded, "What exactly do you think my account can add to your record? I have only really known you for a few hours." She then somehow managed to laugh without causing me any personal offense.
I recalled, "Two nights ago, I saw a United Corps shuttle docked in the airfield of the Lair. That was the night that the Overlord, may he journey in light, returned to the Thralldom. You were there, Ma'am. Weren't you? What were you doing and what happened?"
The amused look on her face suddenly vanished. I was pushing personal boundaries, it was clear to tell, but felt it was a worthy gamble for the sake of history. Nightwood broke eye contact as she considered out the port window above my head. Her crossed arms then swung down and she twirled away to leave without as much as a begrudged response. I safely assumed I had just lost the only friend who was advocating for me. More disappointingly, I
Similar Books
