OOC: This is my very first post in A1-0, so I’m very open to any criticism and input. This topic will follow the story of Morgan IX, the Grand Herald of the Allied Nations of Alvira from his humble beginning.
85 BBT – Bloudia, Nagkoningin System, Core Sector II, Allied Nations Territory
“Call-name?” asked the elderly female administrator behind the glass pane.
“Uhh, Dalton?” answered the young men, reaching forward to be heard amongst the crowd’s noise.
The arrival terminal in Bloudia was massive, but the volume of people travelling through it eclipses the massiveness of the place. All of this block’s 24 service counters had more than 50 people standing in line, and many more sat around the area on rusted benches while platforms above and below the block were crowded to the brim. Dozen other service counter blocks were similarly crowded. Dalton caught voices of hundreds of different languages and dialects. This was the primary arrival place for migrants, after all.
“Any surname?” she asked again without removing her attention from the holographic interface in front of her.
“Morgan,” answered Dalton. A baby suddenly cried behind him and the family trying to hush it just made more noises. The administrator’s lips moved and Dalton could not listen to a single word. “Pardon me?” The administrator sighed. She then reached over to a button and opened the glass pane separating her from the crowd. “Place of birth?” she asked with a raised voice. “Arnost.” The administrator seemed surprised and annoyed. “Arnost? What are you doing here? Are you trying to waste my time?”
“No, I left Alviran territory years ago, I lost my access to Basic,” answered Dalton. The administrator shook her head. “Did you lose your ability to read? I dealt with residents here. Citizens use those machines over there. If you–” “I’m not a citizen.” The administrator blinked several times in confusion.
“It’s complicated,” Dalton continued. “I’ve just returned, and I need access to Basic, or else I’m going to starve.” a Transit ship passed near the service counter and the voice deafened everything around them. The administrator covered her ear, and her face seemed very sour. After the ship landed on one of the docking platforms in the terminal, she reached a mobile interface pane. “Where did you return from?” asked the Administrator. “I’d rather not say,” answered Dalton. “Then I can’t help you. Step aside please!”
“Wait!” Dalton reached to the small interface pane strapped to his right hand, unplugged his Credit Key and showed it to the administrator. “You just said you’re going to starve!” the administrator sounded annoyed, but she raised the pane again. “How much?” asked Dalton. “18,” answered the Administrator. “Ugh, 12!” Dalton tried to bargain. The administrator seemed insulted. “16 is the limit around here.” Dalton sighed, and set the amount of credit to transfer before giving his key to the administrator; he only have 20 Credits left in his account after this transfer. She gave the key back after scanning it with her key, and then spent several moments inputting data into the pane.
Dalton looked around his surroundings while waiting, seeing the thousands of migrants wishing to apply as residents and gaining Basic welfare access. Above him, he can see several Valtorans soaring high in blue coats, servicing newly arriving ships. Their ability to fly surely made them perfect for that job, Dalton thought. “Hey, boy, here!” The administrator reached her hand outside, with a small key, similar to the Credit Key that Dalton already had. “Use it wisely, the quota will be reset precisely on the next standard month.” Dalton nodded. “Thanks.” The administrator shook her head with an amazed look. “Next, please!”
As Dalton left the service counter block, he plugged the Basic access key to his interface pane. There he can see where he can rent out a place to sleep, where he can get his daily nutrient intake, as well as cheap condiment stores, nearest medical and augment centres, and in small font size on the corner of the interface, where to report if you lose the key. But most of the page was taken by a list of employment available near him. He didn’t need that list though, because he already had a plan, though it was a rough one.
When Dalton finally arrived in a transit station outside the terminal, he sat down in an empty waiting bench as he observed the sprawling Bloudia Ecumenopolis below him. The landscape was glittering with light, with a bluish colour emanating off the metallic buildings, reflecting the evening shine of the blue star Nagkoningin – The Night Queen – and revealing the stars above. He sighed, as his eyes moistened. “Mother, I’m home.”
82 BBT - Bloudia, Nagkoningin System, Core Sector II, Allied Nations Territory
“This is a good catch!” Rawson Flint exclaimed as he, Kor’van, and Dalton walked slowly amongst the crowds on a deck-road on the side of Bloudia’s massive skyscrapers. Rawson was pulling a hovering platform, on top of which a bonded young male Valtoran was wiggling uncomfortably inside an energy field, trying to free himself. People around the three gave disturbed gazes towards the tied-up Valtoran, and quickly went past the two. The three kept into the middle of the deck, though, avoiding passing hovercrafts and flying drones off the deck’s ledge.
Dalton, Rawson, and Kor’van had been serving as an informant for three years at this point, working for the Bloudia 672nd Terrestrial Ward. The three met each other when they attempted the test to enter the Bloudia Terrestrial Training Centre. Unfortunately for them, the quota had always been filled for every year the three tried the test despite them getting high scores. Dalton thought it was just bad luck, but Kor’van’s Valtoran friends told the three that you need to ‘have some Credits lying around’ to enter the Centre. However, Dalton’s luck on getting on the good side of one of the Terrestrial Officers lent him and his friends a chance to be unofficial informants and bounty hunters for them.
“I never caught a drunk Valtoran before. I thought their religion forbids taking on abusive substances, not least drinking Alviran alcohol.” Continued Rawson. “It’s supposed to be like that. But I heard from Father Joshua that many in the Valtoran Divinity ranks did not observe their own rule very strictly as well,” Kor’van explained while hovering slowly beside Dalton.
“A bunch of hypocrites, wouldn’t you say?” commented Rawson. “Well, the United Church is not better in this regard. I mean how do you think they got so many politicians to vote their way every time something is being debated?” added Kor’van. “When money is involved, divine interest conveniently changes,” commented Dalton. Kor’van nodded in agreement.
“Welp, can’t help that now. Say, what’s the bounty for a drunken assaulter disturbing the peace, Kor’van?” asked Rawson. Kor’van raised his right arm to glance at his interface pane. “Seven Thousand Credits, if they haven’t changed it again.”
“That could last us easily for months,” said Dalton. Rawson took out his cigar pen and started smoking. “I bet they never thought we could catch a Valtoran,” said Rawson after a long puff. “Well, you can do that easily, as long as we are drunk,” commented Kor’van. “And, for your information, this particular person is rather weak for his age. I think he came from the higher class, so less work-stress on his wings.”
“His clothing really does show that, don’t you think? How much does a brown hunter-bee silk cost nowadays?” asked Dalton. “Ninety Credits per inch square for most colours. At least that’s what those tailors told me when I tried to get my hats fixed,” answered Kor’van. “And this drunken gentleman here just slathered his expensive dress in wine,” said Rawson. Kor’van sighed and shook his head. “You’re right. Many of us would kill for the privileges that these rich people just wasted away.”
The hovering-board shook as the bonded Valtoran made more aggressive moves to escape. Rawson turned and exclaimed, “You can’t, stupid, it’s an energy field. You’d have to disable it from the outside.”
The three finally reached the 672nd Terrestrial Ward Office where they can see First Deputy Olson standing outside the office with two other Terrestrial officers, and an elderly Valtoran dressed in the familiar brown hunter-bee silk fabric. “You all seem to have some rough time today,” said Olson while pointing to the three’s teared clothing and scratches. When they get close enough, they can see the horrified expression of the elderly Valtoran looking at his captive counterpart. “Is this yours, Sir?” asked Dalton. The elder Valtoran nodded with a tint of insult. “Yes, and you shall address me as a Lord. Deputy, unhand my Master immediately or I shall get this Ward into a lot of trouble!”
“What?! Sir, this person assaulted three people in a drunken stupor and almost hit a child with a chair,” Rawson protested. “Hush now, Rawson. Edgard, Irmina, do as his highness asked,” The two Terrestrial officers forced Dalton, Rawson, and Kor’van aside and disabled the energy field. The two helped the young Valtoran into his feet, where he promptly collapsed into the ground. The elder Valtoran quickly rushed to his master’s aid and helped him to his feet. Now getting the chance to observe his former captive, Dalton saw that the Valtoran was of a high stock, with high cheek-bone and although frail, was significantly taller than everyone else. He would’ve been very handsome by Valtoran standard if not for his current haggard appearance, and for the wet stain in his groin. The elder Valtoran walked his master away into a hovercraft that was parked near the office, and before long, the ship flew away behind the tall towers of Bloudia.
“Sir?!” Kor’van was going to continue Rawson’s protest, but Olson raised his hands and told them to be quiet. “Prince Ghan’za of the Irven Clan has granted this ward a grant of 120 thousand Credit for our silence in this matter, and I won’t have it discussed any further.”
“Are… are you admitting to a bribe?” Dalton asked, horrified. “Yes, and you’d be glad that I did so, because only the four of us in this office know anything about this,” answered Deputy Olson. “Why?” Rawson demanded an explanation.
“You three have helped this Ward for the past three years. Thanks to your works, we have risen in ranks within the Annual Terrestrial Audit, and thus will receive a budget boost next standard year. We didn’t need the money, but you three? I heard they are opening new applications into the Training Centre next month, and I bet forty thousand Credits are enough to get each of you in,” explained the Deputy with a hushed voice. Rawson’s eyes enlarged in disbelief while processing the information. He then promptly smiled with joy. “This is it guys! We’re getting into the Training Centre!” exclaimed Rawson.
“No! This isn’t right!” Kor’van protested. “You can keep the money, Deputy, we won’t take part in this dirty affair.”
“Hey, are you drunk too? This is the only way we’re getting in the Centre, Kor’van. There’s no other way!” said Rawson. Kor’van shook his head. “No. If I’m getting in, it would be because of my own scores.”
“Welp, I guess now I need to syphon the remaining 80 thousand Credits into the Ward’s budget,” Olson told Kor’van and Dalton. “No! I’ll take the 40 thousand too,” Dalton said suddenly after his long silence. “Really? I thought we were better than this!” Kor’van glanced at Dalton with a disappointed face.
Dalton sighed as he gave his Credit Key to Olson for the transfer. “Change can only be started from the inside, they said. This is our only way in to this rotten system, Kor’van, the only way to fix things up.”
Kor’van shook his head in disappointment. “You can give all the denials you have, Dalton. But I’ll keep my hand clean from these shady stuff as long as I can.”