By David C. Daoust
Raymond found himself milling about the inside of the dark Starport- milling about with the people of Grady.
The massive blue ion cloud managed to interrupt Raymond’s heist, mid-getaway, just as they were passing by the front entrance of the Starport. It was almost laughable, there wasn’t a single man on his crew, that was not red faced and sharing a snicker as they found themselves stranded in the very middle of the chaos, surrounded by the very people they’d meant to rob.
The Droids were actually ushering the people into the Starport, some of the local law of Grady assisted once the Sheriff showed up to direct them, and even some Red Soldiers seemed to be on hand, though their interests seemed to be elsewhere. Ray directed his crew to follow along with the masses… so they did not call too much attention to themselves.
The Crew was pretty much at a loss, though as long as no one knew what was in their truck, they were just more disaster victims.
While they had the look of Royal Alliance, which could be strikingly different to those Consortium immigrants that made up Grady, it was a diverse enough moon to conceal them. Or, more likely Ray thought, maybe it was just the darkness that suddenly fell, as they entered the inner landing grounds, which really saved them from being mobbed on sight.
The darkness was chilling and unlike anything Ray had ever experienced on the moon. Drifting smoke and debris, that passed over head, were unnaturally dark; blotting out the strikingly bright stars in the sky. And Neo Vir’ees was like a blackened void.
The people were fairly panicked to begin with; they’d been stripped of all their homes and their entire livelihood. For the most part, the people of Grady were not the monsters that had driven the First Wave in their hate. Just normal people, working for a paycheck, hoping for a good life, a good job, a good home for their family…
Raymond was forced to witness the people, which had just been stripped of all these things, all in one horrible morning, all before noon. Those cheers that he and his crew had called to the skies at the sight of the Red Faction’s ship flying off into orbit, suddenly fell hollow around them.
But under the darkness, the fear was palpable, stricken of even the light of the sun, the people of Grady were pale in the starlight.
Silent, as their minds reeled with what was transpiring.
All silent but the sudden wallowing of a man upon an upper balcony within the structure that surrounded the landing grounds, the man professed his guilt, he bellowed out for forgiveness. He had killed Grady’s community leader. Many of the people cried out in horror at the news. The murderer cried out for authority, for the law, for them to put him in chains.
The darkness must have struck as he did the deed itself, for the man was convinced he’d destroyed the heavens, his faith. That he’d forsaken not only himself, but all those on the moon with his deed. He was convinced it was his lack of faith. He was convinced, now more than ever, that Emanuel was not a fraud. That he was the fraud, the destroyer of Twin Crown.
The man was taken, hands bound, as others went and found the body.
The panic spread throughout all. And Ray knew… this was on their hands.
“Keep calm people!” The sheriff called throughout, as the silent panic bled over to panicked whispering and shouting as things threatened to spin out of control. “We will make it through this.”
It was clear by his weak tone of voice that the Sheriff was not informed; he was only maintaining the peace- doing his job.
“What will we do?”A voice questioned from the darkness.
“Where will we live…?” another could be heard.
“We will build again,” someone reassured meekly.
“Half of us are in debt already,” scoffed another, “who could even afford a ride off the moon?”
“Justice will come,” said one optimistically, “the Judges will investigate…”
“The judges won’t do anything… the Corporations own them. And they won’t help either.They hate the Red Faction.” Injected a pessimist, “Consortium never cared about us, and Red’s values have never been our values… we’re done here.”
“How will we feed ourselves?”
“How will we afford our meds?”
“What will keep us from choking to death…”
“You are not alone on this moon,” Raymond suddenly found himself speaking out, he could not take the panicked voices, his nerves were fried and his stomach was hollow, he felt JJ’s hand on his shoulder as if to caution, “The First Wave has Crawlers all over this moon, we have a reserve of meds, we’ll show you how to hunt…”
“First Wave?” A man called out from the darkness. “Those criminals are the ones that sent these drones.”
“You should all see the inside of the stockades for this!” spoke a woman ferociously.
“They’re not all like this…” a girl spoke out in the distance, “I don’t know what happened… but the First Wave will help.”
Raymond wasn’t about to spill all he knew. Still bothered by the situation, he held his tongue. He suspected he knew who the girl was; she was about Charles age. They’d traded with them in the past, before the girl’s mother decided to park within the Grady’s walls. Truth was, First Wave were leaking people to Grady for years, even before the infection forced their crew to partake in their ways… all to get meds.
“They trashed our town…”
“We don’t know that, you don’t know that…”
“If we can ALL work together we can get through this.” The girl was adamant through the collective voices.
“I believe that’s my cue,” said the surprisingly loud, yet, raspy voice from above.
“-If we can ALL work together, we can get through this-” he repeated the girls words slow, like they were sweet to the ear, “that’s the sound of the people… of ALL the people…”
The crowd of disaster victims all searched for the speaker’s position.
The silhouette of a man appeared standing on top of a parked starship. Framed by the starlight behind him, he could not really be seen for the darkness.
His voice, though, could be heard by all.
“Of course the Consortium won’t help you,” he began, in a low rasp- it carried, “Even if they still collected your taxes…”
“the Red’s may welcome you, but you won’t know freedom…”
“I know this. We know this. Who are we? You are intended to ask…” he paused.
“No?” he didn’t mind the silence. “Know this, you are not alone.”
“You are not the only moon to be fleeced by the ‘Big Governments’,” the man’s voice became stronger, filled with disdain, “this monstrous Confederacy, made up of both these ‘Bigwigs’ and ‘Viceroys’, Reds and their like, a monstrosity that rules all the Onion.”
“But minus them all, what have we?” he asked thumbs thrust in his own direction, “We… let us take into account who you are, before we introduce ourselves…”
The people fell silent, surprisingly so. The voice was strong now, almost metallic, the rasp vanished and he spoke clearly.
“What have we amongst Grady- refugees from the Trade Consortium?” the form said holding up his left fist, “Inevitable, to me, that their ilk would divide from such an oppressive state.”
“Unhappy with the fascist ‘Big Wigs’,” he rattled information out quickly, “Smart enough to pry themselves free of the Crag, though not yet to make a true alternative.”
“How could you see that this man, this leader,” he held up his right fist, “more interested in finally achieving his dream of being, not just a contributing member of society, yet the very thing you meant to flee? The very thing he proclaimed to lead you away from.”
“Emanuel H. Grady, a self made Big Wig…” he gazed off to the side, hands gripping at his lapel, “at last fulfilling the dreams of his youth, born of the false promises seeded in his mind to benefit those in control.”
“Though, I say to the people of Grady… you knew! Nay, I accuse that you knew. You allowed his corruption…” both hands at his side, “because who else amongst you had the vision, the nerve, to pave the way to this civilization?”
The silence stretched on in the darkness as the people soaked it in.
“Those of the First Wave,” he began again, as he raised his right fist, “pioneers of the Royal Alliance? More apt, refugees from the crime ridden and corrupt stations…” showing his left, “The authoritarian remnant of a past long proved obsolete to so many, yet where so many want nothing more than to cling, especially those that have usurped the power there.”
“I say it did not matter who took those reigns, whether they filled their own pockets or yours, still you would not be satisfied. Not even in the most crystal clear transactions…” the man trailed off, “thus the divide.”
“Much the same as Emanuel of Grady, the Viceroys swooped in to fill that void… to take that authority.”
“But nay, First Wave chose not to deal with other people’s choices, other people’s rules, other people’s laws… “ he spoke out blamelessly, lighthearted in their decision, “Who wants what someone else chose for them? And yet as soon as you found yourself in need of help, who did you have to turn to?”
Again he fell silent for the crowd to soak it in.
“What is the difference between Consortium ‘Big Wigs’ and the Alliance ‘Viceroys’??” he posed rhetorically, and then answered, “State run businesses of the Alliance, or the business run State of the Consortium. ‘Purely cosmetic at this point, all that was truly different was the means in which they gained power.”
“Do you not see that there is no escape from this, this divide…?” he asked, the people were held by his words, Raymond amongst them.
“The safety of community built Grady, only to have it usurped by Emanuel’s greed for power.” He stated with his left hand.
“The promise of freedom pushed the First Wave through the desert, only to find itself crippled at the first sign of trouble.” He stated with his other hand.
“Though, I say, this divide is in reality a sword,” he spoke pointedly, “This sword, I say, has a two edged blade- ‘Cuts equally into all those who take of its benefits. Though without these benefits there can be no peace.”
“All too often, in civilization, we find ourselves with the abundance, spoiled by its spoils… and more and more we find its cost more and more unsightly… though we all, and so many more, benefit, yet all we can see is the loss…the sharp edge that cuts us, with no focus upon the other edge…”
“The problem, of course, that we can only focus on what it takes away… or might- and the threat alone is enough to fortify? At price of what? The peace? One side oppresses the other with the perception of loss, at the perception of loss. The devil come to take his due? Or you? Your own actions…? To remove the sword is to remove its benefits to not only you, but all those bound…” he finally took a breath.
“What is it, we are talking about?” he posed “…To serve the people, to serve ALL the people.”
“We are talking about democracy,” He stated.
“Not the centralized democracy of the Alliance… little more than ancient Soviets, leading to blatant Cronyism; the empowered, patting themselves on the back, all the while crushing those of differing opinion; those of differing interest to their personal livelihood and opinion, muffled under the iron grip of a single party.” He shook his head.
“Nor even the blatant plutocracy of this ‘Board’ that drives the Consortium; Birthed under a Charter that protects property, trade, free markets… and rightfully so. The corruption did not sprout from the Charter, only the inevitable accumulation of wealth by the few. Run by CEO’s elected not by the people, but by shareholders- people rich enough to have a stake.” Again he shook his head.
“None of that,” he cast it away with a wave of his hand.
“We are talking of real democracy…” he said this with a fist, slow and steady, “where all people, created equally, have a fair vote, equal voice to speak their mind. To fight off the tyranny of the few or the empowered, not with neither fist nor firearm, but with simple honest truth of his/her own opinion, given weight…”
“For the swords name is ‘Pluralism’” the man named it, and Raymond found the word foreign, “the unwavering acceptance of differing, often opposing, opinions and ideologies, existing, equally, in the same body…”
Ray accepted the definition with a shrug.
“How can any other system claim to be democracy without it?” the man asked.
“We… We people of the United Moons,” he said finally returning to who he was, thumbs thrust in his own direction, “Stand to throw off the taxation of the Confederates, the blind eyes of their Judges, and the binding chains of their law, their rule, over what can only be called -OUR MOONS-!”
The people all stirred at this, and the whispering flowed through the crowd like a wave.
“Real Democracy is war at peace, and peace at war,” The man said lowly, the rasp returning, “When pluralism dies, so too, does democracy.”
“Join the Fifty-first Republic,” the man bellowed out solidly, “for your needs are our needs!”
“Can you believe this?” JJ whispered.
“Throwing off the ‘blind eye of the Judges’…” Ray whispered back, “sounds like this is our guy.”
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