Subdivisions

Begin Part II

A beaten dirt and gravel pathway to the tune of ten feet in width lie lazily between rows of piles of wooden and riveted tin sheets, and bordered between by two lanes of cobbled stones on either end. The colors had a rather uniform look in the low light of the deep night, lit by unexplained machinations that appeared as hovering white lights overhead some twelve feet, from the irregular mixture of the soil and stone chips of the road, to the sullen sight of the partially rotten wood strewn among the tin sheets. The street resembled the service road of a recycling center, with piles of forgotten and unwanted materials awaiting their turn at either the incinerator or recycling process. From somewhere in the distance, the offensive odor assumed to be the smell of the incinerator had traveled to this very street, and had made itself at home here.

This though, was no recycling center. This was the Quartz district of the Crystal Empire capital city, and the place of residence for some fifteen-thousand human beings for the past six months. What gave it away was the additional sight of shanty doors built into the piles of tin and wood, revealing them to be homes instead of what any sane person would call them, trash. As well were the sounds, sounds of unproductive yet pleasing activity, the sounds of men and women about the road in the gravel or on the cobbled stones. Among these men and women, particularly the men and particular the ones on the cobbled stones, was Ezekiel. In his arms, he held like a newborn a mess of wrapped and scrunched paper, and weaved hurriedly between, around and behind others of nameless destination. The left side of the paper wad hung lower than the right, but he knew no imminent threat. It was on account of his collar, which on the left side fell lower than the right. The memory of why this was was somewhat vague to him, but he remembered having broken that bone at some point in time, and never having been able to find someone to fix it. It healed as it was, and there was little more to it. It caused him no pain, and showed no signs of worsening, so what was he to bother with it? After all, it wasn't his fault, he was sure. Though his memory was failing him for the most part, he was sure it was the actions of his captors that brought the injury about.

None the less, he would not allow the bluntly offensive memory ruin the smile that spread across his face, which was only present due to its concealment in the dark. He would dare not show this smile during the day, in the fear that someone would see it, and know that he had something that they probably did not. This would, without exception, result in a confrontation, and him having to kill them. Of course he had not yet come to this situation, but he was sure that that would be the case if he were to smile in public during the day, namely while carrying about a pile of wrapped paper.

Between the areas illuminated by the mysterious floating lights, Ezekiel felt his way over the disorganized and randomized placement of cobbled stones, carefully counting his steps in estimation of where his own pile of tin and wood was sure to be. There was no specific order to the placement of the dwellings, but having known the route for so long, there was little fear in his heart of forgetting it. It was with assurance that he approached a cheet of tin separated from the others save the lifeline of two primitive hinges, which squealed a stuttered wheeze as he pulled it open with the heel of his foot, and slid himself through the doorway. He prided himself on not having to duck when entering, as the other members of the shanty did. It was merely one more reason for them to envy being of Ilearsian birth.

Regarding the other members of the dwelling, there were three, that he knew of, who shared the tin shack with him. All at the moment were residing in their usual seclusion from one another in aggressively conceived positions of sleep, meant only to look as though awake to defend at a moment's notice whatever items they personally held dear to them that night. Among examples of that night, Ezekiel noticed the unusually scrawny Rhodian man he recognized by the name of Salo sitting against the far wall of the shanty furthest from the fire. Scrawny was a relative term, as he was still significantly larger than Ezekiel in stature, but it mattered little, as next to any other Rhodian, Salo would be but a runt. Between his crossed arms, Salo clutched what Ezekiel guessed to be a thatch weave sack. A head hung overhead of the scene, clearly in sound if uncomfortable sleep despite the intended look of light, thoughtful rest. Ezekiel again found himself uncannily drawn to realize that Salo, and other people for that matter, were much easier to understand when not speaking.

Perhaps it was the silence that gave him room to think and comprehend their actions, he reasoned. This theory was given evidence by the fact that the shanty was approaching silence, the only sound to penetrate the air being the crackling of the always present fire at the center of the room. The flames danced in unfamiliar and unpredictable patterns, yet as a whole, remained rather consistent in the overall breadth and width of the fire. Ezekiel now found himself in a sitting position, unaware of how he had come to be there but uncaring, as he was mesmerized by the fire. The occasional lick of a striving tongue of flame would tear away from the rest, and seek its freedom in the open sky above to join the smoke it gave off. It was with silent sudden suspense that Ezekiel cheered for these occasional brave souls that dared to insult the others with its ability and destiny to climb higher into the night. With each, he wished in silence that one of the tongues of flame would accomplish its goal, and rise eternally into the night sky, and that along with it would be drug the whole of the other flames, soaring all the way into the night, and reaching all the way perhaps back to Ilearsi, and speaking to the people of the men and women that lived trapped on a planet where they were kept as exotic creatures from another world, to be shown off by the citizens of its people to those who had not yet seen them before, and bragged over as though in possession of them! And it would tell them where to find this planet, and at the speed of human might the armies of Ilearsi would tear through space and time to free their captive brethren, and destroy the menace that fooled itself into believing it owned the planet. The feeling at the sight of a thousand Vindicator battlecruisers and the behemoth transports they would escort darkening the skies sent a shudder of unmatched ecstasy through every of Ezekiel's cells.

But it was not to be. Every lick of flame rose with all its might, but found it could go no further, finding that it needed the life blood of its fuel to keep it alive. With the death of the flames who tried to escape, so too did die Ezekiel's dreams of freedom, and the elation of his immaculate vision. The latter realization drew Ezekiel to realize that the flame needed more fuel, and with a strained lean to his right, he retrieved an old-cut of a log, and rolled it gently into the fire, following it with three more from the pile. It was an unspoken rule within the shanty that the fire was to never die out, mutually understood between the four men within its cramped confinement, who rarely if ever spoke. At least it was In Ezekiel's mind. He was not at the shanty during the day, and never did know what happened to the fire while he was away. Was it let to die? to burn out until the darkness descended again? He dared not ask the question. The fire had given too much to him to think that it died every day with the rising of the sun. Also never to be questioned was where the wood for the fire came from. Ezekiel had seen no forests in his wanderings about the oasis in the frozen land, and doubted even more that anything green resided beyond the unexplained barrier of climate that great walls seemed to create. Yet, every night when he returned, the pile of logs was full, and the flame very much alive, and still striving to save them all from imprisonment.

Another strange feeling overcame Ezekiel as he lay on the ground the wrapped up pile of paper. The paper contained the fruits of the day's expedition into the familiar unknown of the city's streets, along with the fruits of his five most recent ventures into that unknown for the past five days. Little comprised the collection, a few coins of which he guessed to be money, every bit of it stolen, a small ball of a strange sort and blue hue, also stolen, a kitchen knife with a custom sharpened blade courtesy of himself, also stolen, and as of today, a small white photograph almost lost among the pieces of the wrapping. It was not stolen, only paid for with much of the stolen coins Ezekiel had managed to aquire. He assumed that he had paid handsomely for the photograph, as reflected by the astonished expression of glad amusement the pony who owned the camera gave him at the sight of the handful of money. The trade was almost instantaneous, and Ezekiel would have felt cheated, if not for the content of the photo, which he now studied in enamored detail. Traditional photography existed among the Federation, but was very often overshadowed by the ease and significantly more efficient and effective results of computerized hologram phasing. This photo was not holographically transposed, but appeared on the piece of laminated paper in a process the pony whimsically described as 'magic' to Ezekiel when he asked how it operated. He had smiled, though he suspected the pony of the deceit of sarcasm. But he did not care, for he knew he had to have the photo once he caught a glimpse of what its obvious subject was, and would have paid any price or any braved any deceit to have it.

Ezekiel's finger brushed gently over the spot on the photo that captured the blonde head of an Equis woman he knew only as Dagny.