A Brave World
The rain hammered onto the duracrete roadway like a million hammers beating a forging into shape. Hunched over figures hurried between the doorways of the towering buildings, darting in and out of doorways with government issue plasticoats held tight against their bodies. No one lingered outside for long, the alkaline bite from the falling water, and the roving patrols of Public Security troopers saw to that.
Takar looked at the jagged skyline, a dark smear below clouds the colour of dull iron, punctured at regular intervals by soaring hab blocks. The occasional spark of sheet lightning, discharging in the smoke plumes, illuminated the buildings below. Further in the distance crouched the super massive hulk of the electro-plasma condensing plant, dominating his view. A peverse temple of domed tanks and tangled pipes that loomed over the city, poised to devour it like one of the monsters from the old myths that Nana told the children when she was sure no one listened.
Takar had enjoyed those tales once, full of great heroes who valiantly defeated terrible foes, and adventured across green lands of plenty and promise, under a bright clear sun. But now Takar new the truth. There was no sun in Gaalrik city.
He adjusted his mask, and slipped down from his perch on the half-finished facade of a new hab complex, deftly landing upon one of the workways that surrounded the building like cage. The rain washed most of the ash and soot out of the air, but it was tinged with enough pyproducts from the plant that getting it into your lungs was still a quick ticket to the medical district. And everyone knew what happend to those who got lung rot. Everyone knew, but no one said.
The walkway rattled softly under each step as he padded across it's rough courrugated surface, over to the series of ladders that would lead him down to the street. Reaching the ground Takar paused to observe and listen, making sure that one had seen his descent. The synthcloth bundled package nestled in his bag, weighed heavily. Comforting, but also dangerous, like a hot coal held in the hand for too long. He carefully pushed it though the hole in the worksite fence, and into the grime littered alley beyond, avoiding the jagged ends of the corroded link panel, before squeezing himself though as well. He suppressed a grunt of pain as one scored a thin graze on the scales of his neck, even though it failed to cut the tough outer coating of his plasticoat.
Pain was fleeting. Only deeds matter.
The mantra that he had recited countless thousands times as a child rose to his mind, as he scooped up the bag and hurried out of the alley, becoming just another dark shape on streets of the city. The school instructors had been strict, uncompromising. Their lessons reinforced with harsh punishment, to pre-empt failure, and harsher still to correct it. Takar had learned well at their hands.
Often they had shown the children pictures of the glittering Capital, filled with beautiful buildings and pristine parks. They spoke of how this wonderment was achieved, words of duty, family and order. Takar knew the truth.
He ducked though a side street, and was about to cross the the next road, when he froze and ducked back behind a waste container. The pulsating red of a Public Security vehicle's lights illuminated the next intersection, the judicators patrolling on foot along side it bathed in a crimson glow that made them look like apparitions from another world. He hid as they passed, willing his heart to to stop racing, barely even letting himself breathe until they had disappeared from view.
Getting caught would mean failure. He could not fail, not now.
They left, and Takar continued his journey.
The district plaza was lit by a gigantic holoscreen mounted to the side of the local adminstration bloc. Here there were more people, citizens lining up at the dispensaries for their daily rations, or sitting out of the rain beneath sheltered awnings. The holoscreen itself showed images of a far off world. Aliens fighting aliens in an alien city. The voice told the citizens of the alien degeneracy, of how they had forsaken duty, destroyed family and forgotton tradition. How it had lead them to ruin. It exhorted citizens to obey the state, to do their duty. To preserve the way of life for all.
Takar did not linger, he did not watch the screen as others did, he did not listen to the Voice.
He had walked for hours in the gloom of the city, he couldn't take the bus, the scanners might see inside the package, and then it would be over. And so he walked. When the scheduled blackout came, he navigated by the dim glow of the phsopherecent strips on the orad and buildings. He had dodged out of the way of the heavy transporters, as their passing heaved great waves of grey water out of the gutters and onto the sidewalk. He saw the gang signs etched into the walls, and slipped past the theives and muggers looking to steal from the unwary.
Finally he came to the other side of the city, a district where the buildings were older and more worn. It was populated by the poor and jobless, those who survived only on the government basic income, who provided no value to society. Trash was piled up against the side of buildings, and feral animals darted amid the shadows.
Takar came to the agreed upon place, a shaded alley opposite a neon festooned bar. People waited there for him. Three toughs leant up against a wall, the slanted roof above them keeping off the rain. A fourth man paced , his eyes darting suspiously from place to place. When they saw him all four tensed, hands moving to bulges within thick coats. The fourth man, he liked people to call him Obron, recognized Takar and waved a hand for peace.
"You got something for me runt?" He said. Looking greedily at Takar's bag.
Takar nodded and swung it off his shoulder, unwrapping the synthcloth within to reveal his prize. Obron's eyes glittered.
"Where did you get it?" He asked his suspicion still present.
"The hab project in the twelth district, no one saw me." Answered Takar. He picked up the item and stroked the trigger with his finger.
The mechanical purr of the thermal impact driver filled the alley, and steam rose from where rain touched the tool bit. It was an expensive machine, from a dedicated fabricator, worth a lot on the street. For a somone from a poor district it could mean food for months, medicine for sick sisters, or enough Kanar to forget the pain of living.
But for the right person, and given to the right people it was an opportunity, a way up.
Obron smiled, and patted Takar on the shoulder. Suddenly all friendly.
"You did good kid." He took the tool from Takar's grasp and wrapped it back in the synth cloth. Passing it off to one of the toughs. "Now let's go see the boss, I'm thinking she has all kind's of special jobs for someone of your talents."
Takar nodded, and let them men lead him on though the decrepit back alleys of the district. The toughs took up position ahead and behind always looking for signs of trouble. As they passed men and women shied away and hurried in doors, unwilling to risk the ire of the local gang. All the while Obron chattered about how Takar had made the right decision, and a bright new future lay ahead of him. Takar nodded at the appropriate points, but stayed silent. He knew the truth.
Quickly they came to the back room of a dingy street restaurant. More toughs waited there, and an old woman. She sat at a table, well fed, wearing good clothes, with expensive jewlry on her fingers. She smiled at Takar.
"I have heard good things about you young man." Her voice was smooth and maternal. "Let us see if they are true."
She looked to Obron, who looked to his tough. The thermal impact hammer was produced. She smiled and extended a ring encrusted hand towards him.
"Welcome to the family Takar." Takar didn't move.
The toughs frowned, a twitch of anger flicked onto the woman's face. The rules were clear, disrespect had to be punished. One of them men moved to strike Takar, to remind him of his place. The disruptor bolt caught him square in the chest. The other gangers had little chance to register anything but dumb suprise, as the next volley took them as well.
Takar stood alone among the cooling bodies.
Heavy boots crunched though the broken shop, and a firm hand landed on his shoulder.
"Citizen Takar Hedan?" The voice was rough and gravelly.
He nodded mutely, eyes fixed on the wisps of steam that curled up from Obron's corpse.
"You have done well. These scum will undermine the state no longer."
Takar looked up and saw the judicator's face, half obscured by the mirrored helmet. The man's mouth was scarred, and turned down in a hard set grimace. As if the whole world perpetually dissapointed him. Around them other trooper, clad in their rigid jet black armour, secured the rest of the building.
"I am Judicator Jured. Your duty has done your family proud. Cardassia is grateful for your service."
Takar smiled, and nodded. He knew the truth.
He knew that all their words were just as much myths as Nana's tales. The truth was power.
Only those that possesed power could matter. Could be remembered. Everyone else was like the rain, here then gone, recycled back into the great machine of the world.
Takar would not be forgotton, he would not let his family be forgotton.
He would take everything.
Looking for people who were about the right age in 2007, although Straak can be cast as just about any adult age. Ajam's been on the series since the beginning, though, so her actress was almost certainly born before 1975. And Sousa is, obviously, a woman of mature years. Does anyone know any Latina actresses born in the '50s or '60s they'd like to nominate?
