Silver Wordsmith: An author's journey
“So, poet,” the Mraboran said, sliding her tablet across the table towards him. “What do you make of this?”
And speaking of being severed. Had Mikarik been tuned in to the general mood of his species like most other Thorians were, he would have sensed something grand brewing and would have at least tuned into the news out of the sheer overwhelming curiosity. But in his quiet bubble, the headline displayed on the tablet caught him entirely unawares. “Thorian occupation of Krevali enters third week.”
Despite himself, Mikarik was smirking. “Well isn’t that something.”
The Mraboran’s eyes had seemed to darken, she was scrutinizing him carefully. “Isn’t it?” She asked coolly. “Leave it to the Thorians to arrange for the end of an era to come crashing down.”
Mikarik plucked at the tablet and a dozen articles were projected in front of his face. He scrolled quickly through them, catching headlines and bylines from Thorian, Mraboran, Hatvan news sources and beyond. The Thorians haven’t invaded a non-space faring world since the early days of the Empire and he experienced that rare feeling where he itched to tap into the general mood.
“Looks like they’ve already purged the government,” he commented as pages whipped by him. “At least it looks like the Anthar Kai won’t be getting their hands on it.”
“So what do you think?” She finally asked as he pursed his lips staring up at the information in front of him.
“I’m … surprised.” He allowed himself a moment of honesty. “It’s so .. brazen.”
“Yes, you would think –”
“That after the Last Gasp we didn’t have it in us?” He pierced her from behind his sunglasses, then looked up at the articles again. “No, this is clearly a very loud message to not number the last days of the Empire. Unfortunately for the Krevali, they were the ones made into that message.”
“I suppose I should at least be happy that I’m all the way out here and not in the thick of it.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Mikarik plucked an article and magnified it before spinning it her way, the headline announced that ORC is amassing its forces in in nearby Iastret space and is considering sending it to patrol Krevali’s neighbouring inhabited worlds. The fur on the Mraboran’s cheeks collapsed a bit. “See, I told you, humans are twitchy.” He clicked off all the articles and slid the tablet back to her. “So my condolences.”
“And this is what I don’t understand. What would the Thorians even expect out of this? You have it right there in front of you, even Anthar Kai and the ORC are thumping on their door,” she said.
“There’s a whole door of difference between thumping on a door and breaking through. This is a pretty obvious invitation for some thumping.”
“But surely there was some far Vaparozh colony that would have been enough. To do this to the Krevali …” She trailed off as if leaving him room to either agree or disagree. He knew what this was, although the feeling was foreign to him, this invitation for empathy for sentient beings who were not Thorian. It seemed to come easily to all the other species, this manufactured idea of a level of equality. It was a weakness that had allowed the Empire to grow and consume more than a third of the Known Reaches.
“Listen,” Mikarik said, “I don’t presume to speak for the infinite wisdom of the handpicked lunatics of the Imperial Senate, and it’s not like I’m exactly on speaking terms with my own people, but my advice would be to never underestimate the danger of a cornered animal.”
The Mraboran let out a short surprised growl.
“What?” Mikarik asked.
“Nothing. I don’t think I’ve met a Thorian who spoke out against anything the Empire did.”
“Maybe you haven’t met enough Thorians.”
“Oh, I think I’ve met enough.”
“Yeah, me too.”
This time it was her turn to avoid his gaze and she stared into what he presumed was an empty mug as he tapped his pen on the table.
“Did you enjoy your tea?” He finally asked.
“Yes, actually,” she rose from the table. “I’d recommend you go find some planet-side.”
“I’ll be sure to do that.” He gave a small nod and watched her head for the door. As she put her hand on it, she turned her head in his direction with a smile that only revealed her canines.
“Maybe I’ll see you around, poet.”
“Maybe.” He wasn’t sure if she’d heard him before the door closed behind her as he was left alone for the last time.
The dining hall was now filled with nothing but the hum of the ship, which left an uncomfortable amount of room for Mikarik’s thoughts. The articles must have beamed out about a week ago, which means it had been at least three weeks since the invasion; three weeks since he should have sensed the first ripple of excitement in the Thorian empathic consciousness, which would have swelled to near euphoria as the news spread around the Empire. Joy at the prospect of the return of the glory days, joy at the expansion of the Empire, which meant more living space, more Thorians, and therefore more voices to raise the mood of the species. Instead the inside of his head felt like the dead of space. Supposedly it was how all other sentients felt like, completely disconnected from other members of their race, trying to yoke their distinct individuality together for common goals. The enemies of the Empire, which, for all practical aspects, was everyone who was not the Empire, used this to stoke fear of the Thorians, arguing that experiencing collective empathy created an arrogance that by extension deemed all others inferior. And though he conceded that there was truth to this suspicion, he felt, in whatever atrophied organ that didn’t allow him to tap into it, that it was the most noble trait possessed by any species yet encountered.
He poked around in the silence, like he always did whenever he faced his deficiency so starkly, but any mood he found was entirely his own, and largely influenced by the Mraboran.
During the whole conversation, her tail stayed perfectly still, which everyone knew was a sign that a Mraboran is lying. That is, everyone, but the other “everyone” who knew that a Mraboran’s tail twitches every time they lie. Same goes for whether their ears are completely flat against their head or poke out ever so slightly, and whether they’re mostly showing their left or right canines. There’s often a lot riding on whether a Mraboran is telling the truth or not, and despite the high stakes, no one has been able to crack it. Mikarik had his own theories, though none particularly sound. What was obvious to him was that she was sent to speak to him by one of his handlers, but which one? It hardly mattered now and would likely be about three months when it wouldn’t matter at all.
In the meantime, he had about a week left to torment his notebook until he arrived on Earth, after which another couple of hops and skips were supposed to lead him to the to the human colony where his trail was going to go cold. He wondered what to do with his completed notebooks. Perhaps, he could drop them off at a courier and ship them to his mother. Should only take about a half year to get there.
If all went according to plan, and by all accounts it should have because he was due, within a month he would boarding the research vessel Forseti in his new role, a Thorian traitor to the Empire.
Michael is a husband, father of two, lawyer, writer, and is currently working on his first novel, at a snail's pace. A very leisurely snail. All opinions are author's own.