Arduino Tiberio
Flagrante
(page 2)
Colonist’s File No.: 09156577
Place of Birth: Rome, Italy
Position: Surgeon General, Head of Infirmary
Administrative Level: B1
Adopted Name: Niccolo Fabrizio
… And I hadn’t even been informed about all that had happened at the Palace on the night of Thursday, 20th of August. It came as no surprise since, in spite of my being the Governor’s personal physician, Desert rarely keeps me in the picture about his health, preferring instead to divulge all to Priest Montenegro, her confessor – her confessor, my foot! In fact, the whole Colony is buzzing about her carrying on with a man of the cloth, and perhaps Bera has displayed an admirable tolerance, but I, as a devout Christian and decent human being, am appalled and object.
I hope I’m not infringing on any of the Consortium’s rights by calling the Governor’s wife “Desert” instead of Lady Regina since everybody, including Bera, calls her that because she is hot and barren like the desert, so I don’t feel the need to stick to formalities in this letter. I bet the others will, however, two-faced hypocrites that they are. My only consolation is that you, in your infinite wisdom, will be able to tell apart the sheep from those just wearing fleece and the honest from the deceitful. I submit, with confidence, to your judgement.
Confidentially, I’d suggest that you be very wary of any material that originates from Priest Montenegro, as he’s a mountebank. He was the one who’d suggested that we should write our letters in separate rooms and he’d insisted that we mustn’t read anyone else’s letter so that he could, with immunity, libel us in his own. All his high-minded talk about professional confidentiality was just deceitful posturing. His appearance and behaviour throughout all these years speak for themselves. He ladles French perfume on himself, paints his eyes, tends to his goatee like a dandy and scandalises the ladies. I’m not only talking about the Governor’s wife, who chose him as a lover just because everyone else wants him, but about the women of the Colony who are after him just because the Governor’s wife chose him. A vicious circle, Your Excellencies. He spreads through the Colony like an infection, leaving aside his associations with the shadier elements of the southern quarter. No self-respecting resident of Hesperides should ever lurk down there. The Consortium had purposefully set up the class system so if they’d wanted anyone from Hesperides to consort with salt miners, or even worse, cyclists, there wouldn’t have been any separation by quarters and any hierarchy of privileges – right? And to cap it all, who’s ever heard of a Christian Priest with a Moslem servant! He walks in the streets hand-in-hand with his enormous Negro and at night he forces him to sleep under his bed since he wakes up screaming from nightmares and needs Ali’s comforting hug, otherwise the whole of Hesperides would be kept awake. Troubled sleep betrays a guilty conscience, that’s what I believe.
I return to the tragic events that followed that foggy Thursday, the 20th of August, which are the reason behind this letter. As I’ve mentioned, I’ve no view of the harbour from my villa’s veranda and so I couldn’t have seen the Correspondence Ship enter the bay. How could I have, in any case, with such heavy fog? The Captain of the Guards had already imposed a curfew due to the stiff easterly, so I’d found myself confined to my villa, with no possibility of communication, a fact that, as it turned out, some others took advantage of.
By Friday morning the weather had cleared. I woke up with a massive headache and decided not to go to work. I sent my servant to the Infirmary with instructions to the doctors to call in extra staff for the Respiratory Clinic, to have plenty of serum at hand and to be ready for the influx. An easterly fills the Infirmary, both with patients with breathing
Flagrante
(page 2)
Colonist’s File No.: 09156577
Place of Birth: Rome, Italy
Position: Surgeon General, Head of Infirmary
Administrative Level: B1
Adopted Name: Niccolo Fabrizio
… And I hadn’t even been informed about all that had happened at the Palace on the night of Thursday, 20th of August. It came as no surprise since, in spite of my being the Governor’s personal physician, Desert rarely keeps me in the picture about his health, preferring instead to divulge all to Priest Montenegro, her confessor – her confessor, my foot! In fact, the whole Colony is buzzing about her carrying on with a man of the cloth, and perhaps Bera has displayed an admirable tolerance, but I, as a devout Christian and decent human being, am appalled and object.
I hope I’m not infringing on any of the Consortium’s rights by calling the Governor’s wife “Desert” instead of Lady Regina since everybody, including Bera, calls her that because she is hot and barren like the desert, so I don’t feel the need to stick to formalities in this letter. I bet the others will, however, two-faced hypocrites that they are. My only consolation is that you, in your infinite wisdom, will be able to tell apart the sheep from those just wearing fleece and the honest from the deceitful. I submit, with confidence, to your judgement.
Confidentially, I’d suggest that you be very wary of any material that originates from Priest Montenegro, as he’s a mountebank. He was the one who’d suggested that we should write our letters in separate rooms and he’d insisted that we mustn’t read anyone else’s letter so that he could, with immunity, libel us in his own. All his high-minded talk about professional confidentiality was just deceitful posturing. His appearance and behaviour throughout all these years speak for themselves. He ladles French perfume on himself, paints his eyes, tends to his goatee like a dandy and scandalises the ladies. I’m not only talking about the Governor’s wife, who chose him as a lover just because everyone else wants him, but about the women of the Colony who are after him just because the Governor’s wife chose him. A vicious circle, Your Excellencies. He spreads through the Colony like an infection, leaving aside his associations with the shadier elements of the southern quarter. No self-respecting resident of Hesperides should ever lurk down there. The Consortium had purposefully set up the class system so if they’d wanted anyone from Hesperides to consort with salt miners, or even worse, cyclists, there wouldn’t have been any separation by quarters and any hierarchy of privileges – right? And to cap it all, who’s ever heard of a Christian Priest with a Moslem servant! He walks in the streets hand-in-hand with his enormous Negro and at night he forces him to sleep under his bed since he wakes up screaming from nightmares and needs Ali’s comforting hug, otherwise the whole of Hesperides would be kept awake. Troubled sleep betrays a guilty conscience, that’s what I believe.
I return to the tragic events that followed that foggy Thursday, the 20th of August, which are the reason behind this letter. As I’ve mentioned, I’ve no view of the harbour from my villa’s veranda and so I couldn’t have seen the Correspondence Ship enter the bay. How could I have, in any case, with such heavy fog? The Captain of the Guards had already imposed a curfew due to the stiff easterly, so I’d found myself confined to my villa, with no possibility of communication, a fact that, as it turned out, some others took advantage of.
By Friday morning the weather had cleared. I woke up with a massive headache and decided not to go to work. I sent my servant to the Infirmary with instructions to the doctors to call in extra staff for the Respiratory Clinic, to have plenty of serum at hand and to be ready for the influx. An easterly fills the Infirmary, both with patients with breathing
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