Thursday, 8 November 2007

(7) Recollection

Tarkath found his mind wandering to thoughts of his homeworld. Every time he rounded a corner in this place he still half-expected to see the unknown and unimaginable horrors that he had seen in the propaganda back on his planet, but as he walked the many halls and turned the many corners, all he found was clean-cut, organised, smiling faces. Each person continuing their day as if they were without a care in the world.

He imagined that his own base of operations, likewise his entire world, would still be locked in frantic disarray, as when the attack which had brought him to this comparatively calm oasis had been launched.

Wild orders being constantly shouted between decks, rushed tech-hands desperately loading ships with any supplies they could manage to find in the chaotic and understaffed cargo yards. The captured prisoners yelling in agony from the cells in the city's main square.

Tarkath suddenly shuddered at the memories of his people's brutality. Before he had left for the attack, he had attended one of the public punishment events. Watching and cheering with the other members of his flight squadron while the prisoners were beaten, shocked, burned, and eventually hung up on spikes, all to breathe their final breath before the jeering crowd.

These times troubled Tarkath now. His realisation that there were these people with rehabilitation facilities and repatriation centres to help those that needed help. He considered himself a fortunate subject of this greater society's achievements, and as he walked with the delightful cadet and listened to her silken voice, he smiled. He had found a new home.

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