Destiny begins at home.
A Child's Book of Intergalactic Axioms
03.20.2369
"Captain Peterson, I am glad to meet you. I am Paul Mabija, Director of Colonial Forces." The man held out his hand to William. William pushed the vidcam away and stepped over the wire to his headset to accept the greeting.
"I apologize that we were not fully prepared for your arrival yesterday," Mabija said after they had shaken hands. "I trust everything has now been properly addressed."
Mabija was tall, with dark, curly hair and light, mottled skin. He had dark eyes and a long, almost hawk-like nose that hinted at some Arabic blood. The narrow line of his close-cropped beard was precisely, almost surgically trimmed. His manner of speech was clean and graceful and had the polish that comes only to a man who is completely comfortable in authority.
"Yes, thank you, Colonel," replied William noticing the lion insignia on Mabija's collar.
"I prefer to be addressed as Director," said Mabija. "May I introduce Major John Tubakwi, Ambassador-Envoy to the natives of New Praetoria."
"Major," said William. Tubakwi was a short man with jet black hair and skin to match. His broad shoulders and barrel chest gave him a solid, sturdy appearance. His handshake was more than firm.
"Are you set up?" Mabija asked as he surveyed the central yard from the hastily constructed wooden stage on which they stood. A large crowd had assembled in the slush and mud below them and nearly filled the entire area. Gary Ngudle was adjusting the last of the vidcams on a platform on the other side of the yard.
William spoke into his headset. "How long, Gary?"
"Jesus Christ, Bill, I'm working as fast as I can. What's the plowing rush?"
William turned to Mabija. "Almost."
"Good. The sentencing will begin shortly. We are waiting for the Governor-Envoy."
"We'll be ready."
Mabija nodded slowly, and he and Tubakwi made their way to the center of the stage where several chairs were arranged behind a podium. Below the stage, facing the podium was an equally hastily constructed prisoner's docket. Over all, the tricolor flag of the Great United Republics flapped half-alive in the occasional gust of wind, displaying its three panels: black, brown and red, with the large, gold, multipointed Presidential sun emblazoned in the brown central panel. The rope clanked a hollow metallic ring against the flagpole.
The rain had stopped, but the air was cold and raw, and everything was soaking wet. William was glad his duties required him to be up on the stage and not down in the muddy courtyard with the colonists. They are a motley and surly-looking lot, he thought. But I suppose you have to be tough to be a colonist in this place. There are only a few hundred here, but this must be the whole town. The bulk of the population? How many more lived in the wilderness beyond?
The settlement of Emizzitown occupied a small two-hilled peninsula north of the river the colonists had named the New Mugabe. The docks were situated on the southern side of the settlement, where the river emptied into the narrow harbor. The military installation and its central yard sat atop the larger hill, its meter-high stone walls delineating its boundary.
The colonists seem strangely quiet, thought William, although he was not sure what kind of reaction to expect at a colonial sentencing. They are good at waiting. Patience? Or suppressed anger?
William looked beyond the courtyard and the settlement to the opposite shore of the river where the towers of the Builders stood. Since he had first seen them only a couple of hours ago, William had found himself drawn back to them again and again.
Across the river, more than a dozen huge ruins, skeletons of metal and concrete, rose high above the forest against the grey and dreary sky. More than 200 meters tall, the towers, built before the Collapse, stood with gaping holes weathered through them, their tops mostly broken away at jagged angles. Shrouded in time and mystery as well as mist, the towers stood like abandoned temples of some forgotten religion, giant obelisks now rusting and decaying, yet still defying the pressures of time. William had never seen anything like them before.
He knew the Presidential spires of Mugabeville, of course, and he had visited the pyramids of Egypt, but these towers were different. They were eerie. Somehow forbidding and haunting. Mysterious. Like the Builders themselves.
William wondered about the Builders. Little was known of them, really, considering how advanced their civilization had been. Their ruins abounded, even in Africa, marking the sites of thousands and thousands of towns and villages, and hundreds of once thriving cities. Yet what had happened to the people who had lived in these places remained one of the greatest mysteries of all time.
They had disappeared suddenly sometime early in the 21st century, that much was known. But there were as many theories about their demise as there were historians. Though the ruins they left behind were plentiful, true records were scarce. It was known that there had been outbreaks of disease, civil unrest, and regional wars, but no one had been able to piece the information into a plausible history, at least none that William was aware of. What had happened? How could a civilization as widespread and dominant as theirs suddenly go extinct? How could the people who had built these towers just disappear?
"They are something, aren't they?" asked a voice. William turned to see a balding man standing beside him. "Yes, they are something," the man said again. "Oh, excuse me, I am Dr. Kgoathe, Director of Archaeology. You are...?"
"William Peterson, ah, Captain Peterson, I guess."
"Ah yes, the new Ambassador of Information and Communication." Kgoathe showed a genial smile of bright white teeth against ebony skin. William guessed him to be in his mid-fifties and perhaps 20 kilos overweight. Small, wire-framed spectacles made his eyes seem squeezed together.
"Peterson, Peterson," said Kgoathe. "You must be Australian."
"I'm from Capetown Republic. My father was Australian. My mother was Zulu."
"Ahh, good. I am part Zulu myself. May I introduce Father Jemaal."
William shook hands with the slender, almost frail-looking man beside Kgoathe. The man wore a long black robe and a white collar.
"Father Jemaal is a Catholic priest, but he is also our best medical doctor," explained Kgoathe. "He is from the Egyptian republic, but don't hold that against him."
Kgoathe motioned to the south. "I see you are captivated by the towers."
"I arrived late yesterday. After dark. I haven't seen them before."
"Impressive, aren't they? The Builders made things to last. Those towers are over 300 years old. I know: I have dated them myself. I am in charge of all of the archaeological digs in New Praetoria. A big job, if I do say so myself."
"I need a check-out," Ngudle said over the headphones.
William waved acknowledgement. "Excuse me," he said to Kgoathe and Jemaal. "We need to make an adjustment."
Ngudle focused the vidcam towards William. A bright red spot appeared on William's chest. "The laser guidance system is active," said Ngudle. "Move around and see if it tracks."
William stepped to his left, and Ngudle's vidcam swivelled by itself on its tripod. The red dot followed, zeroing in on his chest. "Look's good from here," said Ngudle. "I have you dead center." Ngudle touched the vidcam, and the red dot disappeared.
"Ahh," said Kgoathe. "You have laser sights on your vidcams."
"They all have them now," explained William. "That way the two of us, Gary and I, can keep all four vidcams working. William indicated the three vidcams positioned on platforms, as well as the one right next to him. "All we have to do is sight it on a object, and the comp tracks it wherever it goes."
"Ingenious," said Kgoathe. "Doesn't the red dot show up on the tape?"
"No, we turn that off. The red laser is just for initial visual sighting. The tracking lasers are in the infrared range."
"Isn't modern technology something?" Kgoathe pointed to the other end of the stage. "Ahh, Mogatusi is here."
A tall, imposing man mounted the stairs to the stage. His chocolate skin gleamed and mist beaded jewel-like in his short, tightly curled hair. His flattened nose was regal, almost presidential, and his ivory-white teeth filled his smile. Despite the weather, he wore no coat. The crowd, realizing who he was, began scattered applause, and Mogatusi waved to the crowd, his broad smile seeming to go out to each and every colonist.
"The Governor-Envoy cuts an impressive figure, don't you think?" Kgoathe asked.
"Yes," said William.
"Wait until you hear him speak," said Kgoathe.
A tall, thin woman in uniform joined the Governor-Envoy. She was darker-skinned than Mogatusi, and her hair was clipped just as short. She was the tallest person on the stage, taller even than Mabija.
"That is Martha Azikiwe, the Ambassador of Human Assistance," said Kgoathe. "She is from the Nigerian Republic and of the Ibo tribe."
The Governor-Envoy shook Mabija's hand, and the two spoke privately for a moment. Unlike the others on the stage, William included, Mogatusi was not in the uniform of the Colonial forces, but rather wore the gold and brown regalia of a member of the Presidential Cabinet. The insignia of the Presidential eagle he wore on his lapel was made of pure gold with a diamond eye, William knew. Only about one hundred men in the Republic were entitled to wear that version of the eagle.
Various other officials mounted the stage. Mogatusi motioned everyone to their seats. A soldier hurried off to the nearest building.
William focused the vidcam on the empty docket and locked it in place. "Four is fixed on the docket," he said quietly into the headset. "Follow one and three on Mogatusi. Scan the crowd manually on two."
"The guy with all the trim is the `Big Dog?' " asked Ngudle.
"Yes," said William. He noticed that Kgoathe and Jemaal had also taken seats near the end of the stage.
Mogatusi stood front and center at the podium and spread his arms. "Citizens of the Colony of New Praetoria." His voice boomed out, rich and deep and strong. All eyes focused on him. "We are gathered here today to deliver justice!"
The crowd answered him with polite applause, and Mogatusi nodded in response. "We are gathered to pass formal sentence on a man who has broken the laws of the republic and violated the social compact! Today weyou and I togetherwill reassert the laws and values of our great nation. You and I will bring"
A stir went up from the back of the crowd. A tall man was making his way toward the front, the colonists stepping away at his approach, parting like the Red Sea before Moses. Several angry curses rang out, but the man gave no response. He continued to the front.
Whoever he is, he is no colonist, thought William. The man had pale skin, though not as pale as many Australians, and long, sandy-brown hair. He was dressed in nothing but woolen pants and an open, animal-hide vest that left his arms and chest exposed to the cold. The vest was decorated with intricate designs and fringing unlike anything William had ever seen before. The man walked staring straight ahead, giving not the slightest notice to the existence of the crowd. His hair was tied into two long braids that draped down in front of his shoulders. A single black feather hung from the end of each braid. He halted directly in front of Mogatusi.
Tubakwi jumped up from his seat and hurried down to the man. "There is no more discussion now. The trial is over. There is nothing to be done here."
Several more curses came from the crowd.
The stranger slowly crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Tubakwi. His eyes moved past and up to Mogatusi. "I have not come to talk. I have come to witness," he said in a voice just loud enough for everyone on the stage to hear.
"You must leave," said Tubakwi.
"I will not," the stranger declared.
Mabija rose as if to handle things, but Mogatusi waved him back down. Mogatusi looked at the man and said, "There is nothing you can do, River Wind."
"I can witness," came the reply.
"If you are here to represent your people, then good." Mogatusi raised his voice for all to hear. "Let your people see how fair and strong African justice truly is."
A few cheers came from the crowd, but only a few.
The stranger said, "I do not represent my people. I represent only me."
Mogatusi stared. He waved toward the nearby building. "Prisoner to the docket," he announced.
Captain Balewa and two guards brought the prisoner out. He was dressed in a fashion similar to the stranger, and except for the fact that his hair and skin were a shade darker, he could have been the stranger's brother. He was bound in hand-irons chained together.
As the prisoner was brought to the docket, he noticed the stranger, and halted. He glared at the stranger, then spit at his feet. The guards pulled him into the docket. The stranger did not move.
Mogatusi donned his judge's medal, a large gold medallion in the shape of the Presidential sun symbol. He spoke to the crowd. "This prisoner, having been judged guilty of the crimes of murder and treason, is to receive the sentence of the Colonial Court!"
A resounding cheer went up from the colonists.
Mogatusi continued, "Ladies and gentlemen, colonists of the President's colony of New Praetoria, and citizens of the Great United Republics of Pan-Africa and Australia, we have come here today to mete out justice!"
The crowd cheered and applauded once again.
"Not in anger and outrage, but in the tempered requirements of our laws and institutions, this man having been found culpable by reasoned trial and in accordance with our African heritage. This prisoner has been found guilty of his crimes. He has been judged guilty of treason. He has been judged guilty of murder. But most of all, this prisoner has been judged guilty of violating the social contract of all civilized peoples of the world!
"Citizens, our laws are much more than laws. They are the embodiment of our social contract, the network of obligations that bind us all in a sacred trust of cooperation and civilized behavior. Our great President, Adam Mugabe V, has called this the `Contract of the Commonwealth.' Each of us is bound to the other in this contract, and each of us must live up to our social obligations.
"All of us know the history of nations. It has been a history of war and terror and destruction. Even in our own great republics, it has been but one hundred years since civil wars and rebellions nearly destroyed our great continent. It was not until the great General Adam Mugabe I brought us together under one rule that peace was achieved.
"Now we are citizens of the most advanced nation in the history of the earth! Pax Africana rules half the world and provides a stability and safety for its people that has never before been equalled! This peace and safety must never be compromised! Not by any man!
"But with this peace comes responsibility. To maintain this peace we must all work together as one. To maintain our government and social network, we must all link hands in obligation. To maintain a place for each and every one of us, each and every one of us must maintain his place!"
More applause. Mogatusi voiced dropped lower and became even more serious.
"History will judge us, and we must show that we are worthy of the highest judgement. That we have proved our highest commitment to peace and progress. But let us not forget the price that comes with this commitment. We will live in peace with others, but only so long as they live in peace with us!"
Mogatusi raised his arms and basked in the final burst of applause. He looked to the prisoner.
"You have violated the Contract of the Commonwealth, and you have been judged. Now you must suffer the consequences. Among your own people, you may be banished or put to death for the crimes you have committed."
Mogatusi swept his arms out to include the crowd. "But we Africans have created a civilized society, and for such crimes you will granted the mercy of serving a sentence of life in an African rehabilitation center without possibility of release!"
The applause that followed was thunderous.
"I will pronounce formal sentence." Mogatusi lowered his voice and raised his head. "The general court of His President's colony of New Praetoria having found the prisoner, Autumn Thunderstorm, guilty of the crimes of murder and treason, hereby sentences him to a life of"
The prisoner leaped free from the docket, down into the mud and crowd. Lashing out with his hand-irons, he struck down one guard and seized a long-bladed knife from the belt of another. Before anyone could react, he turned on the crowd, brandishing the knife in defiance.
"Jesus Christ," William heard Ngudle say into his headset.
"Captain Balewa!" Mabija yelled. In a moment a half dozen soldiers were on the stage and around the docket. Bright red dots from the laser sights on their rifles flashed on the body of the prisoner.
"So this is what your treaty has done, eh?!" the prisoner snarled at the stranger. He thrust the knife close to the stranger's face. The stranger made no move, neither in attack nor retreat. The prisoner spat at the stranger's feet again, then spun around to face the stage.
"I will not live in your Ef-ri-can prison! You will not make me an animal!" He spun back towards the crowd, his knife still threatening. Then he rose up as straight as he could stand.
"I am Autumn Thunderstorm!" he cried. "I am Coyote Hunter!"
Without warning, he plunged the knife into his chest. Blood spurted as the man fell into the mud. In a fraction of a second, the soldiers were upon him. William lost sight of what was happening.
The crowd surged forward, soldiers struggling to keep them back. Tubakwi jumped down from the stage and crouched beside the prisoner. He looked back toward Mogatusi. William could not hear him speak, but Tubakwi's words were clear on his lips: He's dead. Soldiers tried to move the crowd away.
William heard Ngudle whisper, "Jesus Christ, Bill, what kind of place is this?"
But William did not respond. His attention was on the stranger.
The man was standing there, looking straight ahead, not the hint of an expression on his face. Through the entire episode, he had not moved a muscle.
