36: Anger

So we went to a training camp on the fourth moon of Rimbaud.  It was formerly a prison camp during the war with CenGov, but before that, it was a rebel base for Tasean insurgents.  Do you Skarsians have any idea how insulting it is to use our own base against us?

But first, we had to stop at Eirelantra for “registration.”  That meant we were given full Skarsian citizenship after a medical examination and potential treatment.  They said they wanted to make sure we were in perfect health before we go to the colony.  We all knew that they were really looking for heretics.  Eirelantra is the only neutral space for cybridization in the Domha’vei.  Everywhere else, it’s punishable by death.  So the least sign of a chip or implant and you can’t go to Rimbaud.

I didn’t give a fuck.  I’m a Fenntian.  I don’t have any tech defiling my body.

All sorts of people were gathered at the registration site, not just Taseans.  There were Volparnians, lots of them.  They’re little more than savages.  There were Skarsians, who held themselves away from all the others in their arrogance.  There were Siderians, perhaps the most loathsome.  They’re lazy, effete, gunning for a title of aristocracy on a new world.  They didn’t look like they could survive for five minutes as farmers.  It was pretty funny seeing the expressions on their faces when we first came off the ships.  I guess those homesteads weren’t the palaces they were expecting.

The ones most like us were from Dalgherdia, except that they’re all criminal lowlifes.  There wasn’t a single person from Dolparessa or Eirelantra.  Could the message be clearer?  This colony is a dump for those the aristos find inconvenient.

I did my paperwork; I was given my physical.  They handed me my citizenship papers.  Then I was on my own for three days until the ship left for the Rimbaud training camp.

A group of us Taseans decided that we wanted to explore the station.  One of the registration personnel agreed to show us around.  He called for a hovercar, but warned us that there wasn’t much excitement happening.  The Dol-lans – the Matriarch’s retinue and assorted hangers-on – were all with her on Dolparessa, he said.  The aristo quarter was pretty much deserted.

The registration center was in what they call the plebe levels, but we went ten flights up and emerged onto what is amusingly called “ground level.”  And it’s completely bizarre – not like a normal space station at all, but like a city.  There are streets and lawns and foliage.  The guide said we were going to the Central Atrium because it’s something to see.  It’s really a nice bit of parkland, except when you look up.

There was an enormous dome through which we could see the stars.  As we drew closer to the center, we could see entirely around the rim of the station: massive spires jutting upward, spires which look like they have been made out of gold leaf and solid light.  Our guide pointed to the largest, most elaborate spire.  He told us that the top 26 flights are the home of the Matriarch and the Archon when they’re in residence.

My whole body went cold.  There were literally tears in my eyes.  I don’t think there’s any way you Skarsian pigs can understand this, but I’m going to tell you anyway.

I grew up in Hobranno.  Since my father was dead, we didn’t have much; by the time the Terrans got through with it, it was pretty much a slum.  We always had food though, thanks to Mom.  That was better than some people got.

When I saw those spires, for the first time in my life, I understood what wealth is.  I understood that I will never have it.  And it’s the business of people like you to be the dupes of people like that even though you’ll never have it either.  Except for her, the Matriarch.  She doesn’t give a fuck about people like me as long as her interests are protected.

I won’t be happy until I see those spires burn.

Onward –>

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