Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Dim Sum ❯ Fourth Course ( Chapter 4 )

#016: Politics– Election Season

The Dunmen of Freiholt have a most peculiar method of choosing their leaders. Ordinarily, the chieftain rules for life and the other officers of state serve at his pleasure. However, the people name the candidates from whom he must choose his ministers, and the choice of a new chieftain is entirely in their hands.

The way they go about doing so is this: Upon the death of a reigning chief, all state business except that of the direst urgency is suspended until the migrations of the Land Leviathan herds, which occur regularly at intervals of four or five months. Those who wish to become chief must go into the herd and bring back a live calf. More precisely, the candidate who returns with the largest calf and preserves the people from the mother’s wrath is elected. It is not unknown for the ambitious to secure their hopes by ensuring that only one man returns.

For the lesser offices, candidates undergo ordeals in keeping with the stature of the office sought. Thus, a man who would be prime minister must slay one of the fiercest pseudo-feline predators in the region, the Grepanther. One who aspires merely to be Master of the Mint must move a certain massive stone between a number of stations with no aid save his own ingenuity. And so down the list of dignitaries.
#017: A Ball– On the Bounce

The Tubes are a great thing, or so the old folks say, the ones who remember when cars crammed the streets with only a single passenger each. To me, they’re just my commute, a place to read a paper on the way to work and to decide on dinner on the way home. Everyone uses them, unless going somewhere outside the city or particularly close.

Today I strap myself into my pod as usual. The passenger cradle is designed to always remain upright no matter what the pod does. I don’t quite know how it works, but it’s certainly comfortable. A gentle push sends me out of my berth onto the conveyer queue. A harder kick sends me flying out of the building into the network. Soft touches send me around corners and down branches. All the while I flip through reports from underlings.

Somewhere over Broad Street, the klaxon startled me from my work. This usually meant nothing more than the fact that someone else’s pod was within a few dozen yards, not too threatening. This time, I dropped my papers and gripped my harness with white knuckles. The Tube’s floor had a gaping hole in it, a little wider than a pod. It happened now and again; the Tubes were aging.

Free fall was bad, seeing the ground rush up at me and waiting for it to hit. The impact was hard, but my cradle held me tight. Then I was in the air again, bounding down the street towards another hit. A trash can went over, then I narrowly missed a kid on a bike. Through all this I held on to my straps. The bouncing was always the worst part of falling out of a Tube.
#018: Qualified– Answer

‘Are you sure this will work?’ asked one conspirator.

‘Don’t worry,’ his comrade reassured him. He was better dressed than the others, and they deferred to him. ‘We have never found any trace of shielding or active defenses in the hall.’

‘What about the guards?’ asked the third man.

‘I asked Lord Scorpio about them. He said, “Their purpose is mostly ceremonial. We are a savage race, and we still consider martial pomp necessary for a monarch, even a monarch who is no more than the Empire’s receptionist. It is considered a privileged and easy duty, standing around the Palace and city displaying the colours of their regiment and world. They are a reminder that the Empire stands as one” We should have no difficulty avenging our defeat.’

The next morning, the Krisan ambassador and his suite arrived for the Queen’s audience in the throne room. The grand chamber was packed with dignitaries from across the galaxy and armoured mage-knights lined the walls with swords on their hips and halberds in hand. The bright heraldry on their pauldrons declared their origins and regiments. Scorpio sat behind the dais in his black robes, recording everything that transpired in his great leather-bound book. Eventually, the Krisan were called to present their messages.

Ambassador Elrim bowed low and drew a pistol from his robes. Green fire flashed from its muzzle, only to gutter out in midair against a vaguely golden barrier. In an instant, Elrim found himself and his attendants surrounded by heavy steel blades in the hands of armoured knights. Lord Scorpio himself had cast off his robes and joined the ring in his old-fashioned armour.

‘Ambassador Elrim, you will depart Earth within twenty-four hours and Imperial space within three days. As a diplomat, your person will be unmolested, but you shall not return to Imperial territory on pain of death.’

‘I thought these soldiers were ceremonial, that they weren’t meant to fight,’ one of the Krisan lackeys gasped out. Scorpio replied with his strange, knowing smile that spoke of hidden things and dark secrets.

#019: A Picture– Nightstand

The frame is battered and corroded, but the glass is as clear as the day it was bought. The portrait has faded a little, destroying some of the details of faces and dresses. The edges are blurred, grey where they were once black, fuzzy where once sharp. The dresser it sits on has been scarred by years of use, scratched by little sharp edges dragged by sleepy hands.

The owner’s eyes are going. She can no longer quite make out the faces behind the glass, but it doesn’t matter. She knows every grain of silver on the paper, every line as sharp as the day it was developed. And she knows that she will see those faces again soon enough.
#020: Banana– Monkey Business

‘I’ve got Customs on the line, Captain. They want to talk to you about our cargo.’

‘Thanks, Mike. Greldin Customs, this is Captain Gerard of the Sleeping Lady. What can I do for you?’

The speaker crackled and a synthesized voice– a computer translator– barked the question, ‘You are aware that Greldin law prohibits the importation of live organisms, seeds, eggs, or any other item that may give birth to a live organism?’

‘I am.’

‘Your cargo manifest lists several thousand tons of Earth fruits.’

‘There’s a big market for those on Simius, our next stop. The manifest lists their destination.’

‘You’re also carrying several tons of…bananas marked for Grel Prime.’

‘Domesticated bananas are seedless, sir. They can’t reproduce.’

‘I’m sorry, but we’ll have to quarantine them until we can confirm that. It shouldn’t take more than a few days.’