by jonisilk » 14 Nov 2014, 12:23
A thunderous clap echoed around the valley. At the edge of a mountain, a large crack rips along the ice running the length of the mountain… getting bigger, faster - parts of the ice start breaking away as water starts to push through from behind, suddenly it starts falling away in larger chunks, big, loud and heavy, falling from the side of the mountain and crashing into the bay below, dropping away in huge sheets to reveal the roaring water beneath the ice. This is no mountain, this is the majestic Frasta Falls, shedding its winter-skin as spring approaches.
The view from the lounge in the Frasta Falls Hotel, was absolutely breathtaking. A part of the Ucia holiday complex, the hotel was positioned directly next to the falls, but only the reception was visible at ground level. The other forty floors of the hotel hung over the edge of the canyon and descended down, with fully-transparent, curved exterior walls and the penthouse suite, situated on the bottom floor, featured a transparent floor with views of the canyon beneath. It was most definitely not a building for the faint of heart.
Several dozen guests watched the epic sight unfold from the comfort of the hotel lounge. Two men sitting next to an exterior wall, stood up from their seats for a better view and as the initial crack had ripped through the ice, it seemed to rush towards the hotel lounge itself, causing a few voices to be raised in alarm with fears that the hotel itself might fall away with the ice.
There was no need for alarm as the hotel was securely anchored to the cliff-face, but no one needed to tell the two men in the window that - they stood unflinching, as the ice seemingly beneath their feet began to fall away.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”, asked the taller of the two.
“I see why you wanted to meet here”, replied the shorter man.
As the moment passed, they retook their seats, restoring them to parity in size. Based on their appearance, you wouldn’t have said these were two of the most powerful men outside of the governing body.
The shorter one might have been recognised. Not that he sought the public eye, but his name, if not his face, was known publicly. At Just 28, Ryan Ellison Jr, had become part of the Triumvirate (the governing body had decided that checks and balances could be better kept on military power by splitting it three ways) and had spent the last couple of years consolidating his position within the PCF, earning himself a reputation for resolution without conflict that had garnered him many admirers among the people and his troops.
It helped that he had the man opposite, working behind the scenes for him. Ander Reelman used to be his name. Now, he didn’t officially have one. No name, no life, no job, no file, he just didn’t exist… officially.
Unofficially, he worked in the shadows for the governing body, reporting exclusively to the President herself - that amused him, especially given how badly they’d gotten off on the wrong foot, but the old girl had softened toward him over the last decade and had certainly made full use of his range of skills, even those she had once admonished him for.
Normally, he’d go to her with this information, but this was not something she would take well. It was beyond sensitive and extremely personal. There was little doubt in his mind that this was not something she could be objective about. Ellison was his only other person he trusted with this information, the only other person who knew who he was and what he did, even if he had little idea about exactly how he did it.
With an obvious familiarity, the two settled back into the conversation where they had left off - discussing their days at the academy and the influence upon them of the late, June Unurka.
“I think about the talks we used to have, when we were at the academy”, Reelman said with affection. “No one man did more to change my perspective than he did, no matter how ridiculous he looked in those robes”, he allowed himself to smile at the memory.
“I don’t think I’d have ever gotten through it if he hadn’t turned up”, Ellison allowed himself to reminisce, “sometimes I think getting caught breaking into that lab was the best thing that ever happened to us”, he said.
“I remember you didn’t feel that way at the time!”, came the instant reply.
They both laugh with warmth, before Reelman continued.
”I remember he told me about his own father and the mindset… the way the people used to think, back before the corporation. For centuries people thought the Mobians and Venusians would just wipe each other out, so this mentality of isolation took over - distancing themselves from the conflict and seeing how it played out - ”
“People still think like that”, Ellison interjected.
“That’s true, but it’s not my point. What I meant was, this mentality affected the way we viewed ourselves, in relation to off-worlders - a lot of people had the mentality that eventually Venus and Mobius would destroy each other and Martians would end up carrying the torch for humanity”
Ellsion remembered his cultural histories class - “Yeah, so we had the ‘Better Tomorrow’ declaration - we started consciously constructing the kind of society that would end violence, promote peace, all that stuff - I haven’t thought about that in years”, he added as an afterthought.
“Yeah, so for centuries, we sat and waited, with the understanding that our society would be the one to eventually win-out and then thrive - generations came and went where this apocalyptic battle never ever happened, but what this did was create a divisive barrier that took the founding fathers decades to break down before they could unify the regions and emerge as a genuine power. June told me about his own father and the way he used to think - the way they all did - until only the last couple of generations and he told me he was glad that this way of thinking was now - for the most part - in decline”, he paused to make sure his friend was still following the train of thought and could see he was on-board, “but even after unification, there was still this whole Us v Them mentality, especially about off-worlders, just bubbling under the surface”.
“And again, there still is”, Ellison said in reply, “there are many increasingly vocal groups out there, claiming the superiority of Martian morality”.
“Yeah”, he confirmed, fixing his gaze on his friend, “but what if the people with that mentality started acting upon it?”
Ellison realised that his friend was getting at something.
“Would you care to elaborate?”, he asked.
“Not here”, he said, knocking back the last of his drink.
The two men turned the conversation away to small talk for a few minutes, before Ellison finished his drink and the two of them left the lounge to discuss things in a more private setting.
-----------------
An hour later, in a private hotel room, Ellison sat forward with his elbows resting on his knees and his fingers massaging his temples, looking down at a number of documents spread out on the table before him. Reelman paces around in the kitchen, fixing them a drink each.
“Who else knows about this?” Ellison asked, as he looked up from the documents in front of him, taking the glass being offered.
“You, me, my sources and everyone implicated in those files, which involves a number of your men”, replied Reelman.
There were several names that jumped out of the files he had read through, including one of the Triumvirate, several high-ranking PCF officers he knew personally and at least two - if not three or more - members of the governing body were also implicated.
“Who are your sources?” he asked.
“I’m not going to give-up my sources, not even to you.” There was a cold, matter-of-fact tone in the statement.
Ellison was a little taken aback for a second, but given the information he was looking at, he understood his friends caution, “How do you know you can trust them?”, came the next question.
“The same way I know I can trust you.” Reelman countered, the same matter-of-fact tone in his delivery.
Ellison looked back down at the files again. The more he read, the less pleasant the reading became.
“How did this happen? Why was this allowed to…” he never finished the sentence, he just kept on reading, appalled by the words that leapt from the pages.
The enemies of my enemies are not necessarily my friend, but they may still be useful.
Member of the Classicists.