~ Ian ~

So this was Essegena.

A week had become three, and for the first time the feel of that foreign breeze as Ian stepped out of the metal shell of the Eia had begun to feel like the touch of home. This was his life, free of Elise. Free of the past.

One small downside to starting afresh on an untouched planet like this, he had decided, was just how quickly the smell of freshly-sawn wood outstayed its welcome. It was honestly quite impressive, the speed with which a small town had sprung up in the valley around the Eia. Each day that passed was filled with the sounds of construction as this little village’s footprint grew steadily wider. And every single building had that same smell. To begin with it had felt exciting, being part of history. Now he’d had enough.

His position meant he couldn’t really avoid it. Chris had personally chosen him as the Corrack, second only to the Governor. It excluded him from manual labour. In exchange, he had to attend the meetings of the Council. Their meeting place had been built as a matter of high priority, and Chris was keen to make use of it as soon as possible. So Ian found himself trapped in a stinking building, where the air was stuffy and the company stuffier.

“I’d like to take this opportunity to put on record my congratulations to you, Master Ballard. You have indeed led us to a brand new world.” General Mark Bradshaw was a smug man, the kind Ian had always tried to avoid. Piggy eyes and a smarmy grin were etched on his face. The faint traces of a beard dusted the General’s chin. His hairline was well on the way to oblivion. In another life, he’d probably have become a drunkard, abusing his liver and his wife in equal measure. In this life, he’d enjoyed an esteemed career with the Unity’s military. Appearances must be deceiving, Ian thought to himself. Unpleasant as he seemed, Bradshaw had been awarded the highest rank available to him. He must have had some prowess.

Chris smiled graciously to the General. “Your words are very kind. I don’t wish to start taking credit—”

“That would be wise,” Bradshaw cut across. “I was told this was terra nova. The chance to make history, I think you said. To be the first people here. If the rumours are to be believed, that isn’t the case.”

“What rumours are those?” said silk-tongued George Prendergast, tucked away in a corner of the room. He’d worn a knee-length doublet of golden silk with a lace fringe, and painted the outline of his eyes in the same shade of gold. Men called him the Hookbill. He claimed the name was a nod to his origins on a spit of land that looked very much like the hookbill’s curved beak. Until he’d spoken, Ian hadn’t realised he was paying attention.

Prendergast was the Council’s Speaker, and high in the line of succession. If Chris were to die suddenly, his role would be filled first by the Corrack and then by the Speaker. Ian wasn’t sure what would happen if all three of them died prematurely, but he was content to remain in ignorance. That particular contingency would only be relevant if he were dead. Death wasn’t in his plans.

General Bradshaw looked to the Hookbill. “The rumours that we weren’t the first ones here. That the Advanced Party found a person or persons already living on this world we travelled so far to get to.” He paused for a second, drew breath, looked all around the room. Then, with a smirk, faced Chris again. “Now, I don’t usually take too much stock in rumours. Drunk men will make up all kinds of bawdy stories and by morning they’re treated as fact. The Governor here will undoubtedly disavow me of this misinformation, and the matter will be settled. Unless the rumours are true.”

Ian shot Chris a sideways look. What did General Bradshaw know? Or was he asking honestly about rumours he’d heard? Back before the Eia’s crew had been decided, Bradshaw had been one of those gunning for the command—a role which Chris eventually beat him to.

“If your rumours were true, it would be a reflection on the Unity’s planners, rather than anybody here in this room.” Chris spoke evenly, but his face was flushed red. “I was given the same sales pitch as you. If Peulion lied to me, that isn’t my fault.”

“Be that as it may,” said Bradshaw, “you are still beholden to the truth. Master Ballard, I don’t believe you to be a dishonest man. Am I a good judge of character?”

Chris met Bradshaw’s gaze. “As far as I have seen.”

Bradshaw broke into his first smile of the meeting. “In that case, I’ll ask you straight up. Are we, to the extent of your knowledge, the first people to come to this world? Let Master Dombric commit it to the record.” Dombric, the horse-faced chronicler, held his pen at the ready.

Every eye in the room was on Chris. Ian wondered how many already knew about Jem. Chris had told him in confidence, but out of six thousand that had come here on the Eia, two hundred worked in the hospital. It only took one loose tongue for the news to get out. Chris swallowed, still focused on Bradshaw, then turned to face the others. “We aren’t the first, no. I don’t believe so. The Advanced Party found a man—”

He was drowned out by a sudden uproar. Half of the council seemed to have found their voices at once. “Where did he come from?” said Dombric. Chris opened his mouth a few times to answer, but if he said anything it was drowned out by the hubbub.

Bradshaw raised his hand, and at once the noise seemed to die down. “Is it not fair that we let Master Ballard answer the questions? We are, after all, a step up from the rabble.”

“If I had more to tell, I would,” Chris said. “He’s barely been lucid since the Eia landed. My wife is currently overseeing his treatment in the hospital.”

Dougray Stockton, the portly master biologist, looked like he’d burst a blood vessel in his head. “In the hospital? You allowed this man to be brought aboard the Eia, without knowing where he comes from? There are procedures. What if he’s carrying a disease? We could be wiped out before we know what hit us.”

“The man was in a dire state when Caroline got to him. He was in need of urgent medical care, and the hospital is the only place that can provide that. Caro made the call to forego the normal quarantine procedures in light of the urgency of the situation.”

“And that makes it all okay?” Stockton spluttered. “Mistress Ballard’s allowed to roll the dice with six thousand lives because a mystery man was hurt?”

“He’s as much a person as you or I,” Chris replied. “He’s entitled to the same medical care as us.”

Ancient Edward Ruddingshaw, sat across from Ian, spoke. “Unity statutes. Number two-twenty, if I remember my law correctly. ‘A precautionary quarantine can be waived in cases where a senior medical officer deems it necessary.’”

“Can be waived,” Stockton said. “That doesn’t mean it has to be. It would have been better to wait. Perhaps even to let him die, if no better option was available.”

“I’m told he’s being treated in a closed-off ward,” said Chris. “In any case, no laws have been violated here. You’d have to raise the matter with Caroline in person. By the letter of the law she’s done no wrong.”

“But Mistress Ballard isn’t here,” Stockton pointed out. “Is she afraid to face up to her decisions?”

“I’m sure she’s very busy at the moment,” said Oliver Wrack, neatly dressed with hair cut short and a nose larger than most. “Besides, your anger’s misguided. Anybody could pick up a disease. Unless you think we should start quarantining everybody going on or off the ship, we can only keep on as we are and hope for the best.”

Stockton’s mouth twitched a few times, but he said no more.

“Will Mistress Ballard be joining us today?” asked Ruddingshaw. He was easily the oldest man here, and easily the most famous. For years in his prime he’d studied the laws of the Unity, and practiced them to great success. He’d even taken a role in writing those laws, for a short while. Ian had met the man once, years ago. Ruddingshaw and his wife had attended a banquet in honour of some important alumnus of the school Ian was attending. Even then he’d seemed ancient.

Chris shook his head. “She wishes she could be here,” he said. “But there were unavoidable circumstances.”

“A shame,” Ruddingshaw said. “I’m rather fond of her.”

“I’m afraid she’s taken, Master Ruddingshaw,” said Chris, holding up his hand to show the old man his wedding ring. There were a few chuckles.

Bradshaw, predictably, wasn’t among them. “It must be nice having a wife in such an important position,” he said, scowling. “No doubt you can count on her to support you on any vote we take. How fortunate for you.”

“I can’t ask for more in Caroline,” said Chris. “She loves me.”

Bradshaw was nodding along with Chris. “Of course, it’s all just a happy accident that the best doctor the Unity can spare happens to be married to the Governor. If I were of a suspicious mindset, I might suspect that you’ve filled the council with your friends.” Bradshaw’s grey eyes were peering into Ian’s. A couple of the others around the table followed his gaze, looking at Ian themselves. So he looked at Chris, and tried his hardest not to take any notice of the rest of them.

“I had no say in the matter,” said Chris, through gritted teeth. “Everything was decided by the Unity.”

“Yes, the Unity.” Bradshaw, for some reason, was smiling. “Irmden, no doubt. You’ve been good friends with Commissioner Irmden for quite some time, if I’m not mistaken. All your adult life.”

Chris didn’t deny it. “She’s sat for Pattinsdale for nearly thirty years. What, do you think I’d not make contact with the foremost politician in my area? We all grew up somewhere, Master Bradshaw. I happened to grow up not far from a Commissioner.”

“Oh, I don’t blame you, Master Ballard. A young man could do no better than to seek out useful acquaintances. It’s how you build a career, after all.” Bradshaw rubbed at his balding crown. “I’m merely saying that twenty years is a long time to prepare a plan. Commissioner Irmden would have known who all of your friends were, put them all in high places.”

Ian stood, before Chris was outplayed by Bradshaw. “Armand Heramey,” he said. “Armand wanted to be Speaker. If the Governor had somehow conspired to fill the Council with his friends, Armand would be here.”

“Or perhaps not,” Bradshaw smirked. “Any good politick would make sure he had plausible deniability. And look, you’re here to jump to the defence of your friend the Governor. Rather proves my point, doesn’t it?”

“Not at all, I—”

“You what? You didn’t jump to the Governor’s defence?”

“Well, yes, I did—”

Bradshaw held his hands aloft. “And so my point is proven.”

Shaking his head with disdain, Ian retook his seat.

“Ian’s spot on,” said Chris. “I wanted Armand here. The Unity said no, and that was that. I don’t have nearly the power you seem to think I do.”

“Or at least that’s the image you want to project,” Bradshaw sneered.

“I don’t project an image,” Chris spat. “I govern. As best I can.”

“No doubt this is all of great importance,” said Doug Stockton. “Governor, would you prefer it if we stepped outside while you and Master Bradshaw say what you need to say. It does rather feel as though we’re intruding on a private conversation.”

Bradshaw looked chastened. “I was merely stating my piece,” he said. “It wasn’t my intention to waste anybody’s time.”

“Perhaps we should return to the order of business,” said the Hookbill. “There’s a lot for us to discuss.”

“Quite so,” Ruddingshaw agreed. “And only so long in which to discuss it. I fear I’m of an age where I cannot focus for too long on one thing.”

Ian couldn’t help but notice Doug Stockton rolling his eyes at this, but the scientist said nothing. Indeed, nobody said anything for a little while. Then, the Hookbill spoke. “I believe an evening of reverie might be in order. This colony cannot hope to survive for long without good morale. The people are working the day long, and the heat can get oppressive at times.”

“They should be working all day long,” said Ben Holden, the master builder. “That’s their job.”

“Indeed,” the Hookbill agreed, “but if they do the same thing day in and day out, without seeing any reward, they may come to the conclusion that there is no point to their labour.”

“The point is to build themselves a home. And the reward is seeing it come to life, piece by piece.” Holden was shifting in his seat, his cheeks turning red. “And don’t forget, they’re getting paid as well. They shouldn’t need any more reward.”

Ruddingshaw raised his hand, and the room quietened to listen. “I find myself agreeing with Master Prendergast,” he said. “People are always happy for an excuse to unwind, and happy people work better.”

“Yes,” Ian put in. “Make a celebration of it. Give them a reason to mingle, and let them make their own fun out of it. You could perhaps give a speech beforehand—make yourself known to your people. Many of them won’t have a face to put to their new Governor Ballard.”

“The plaza we discussed is not far from being done,” said Holden. “Half of the buildings are up already, even if they are only façades. Give me a week and it’ll be the perfect venue.”

Oliver Wrack nodded along. “The stores are overflowing with food. The way things are going, the valley will be self-sufficient before we make a dent in our supply. We can afford to divert some amount for these festivities.”

Around the room the idea went, each member offering their own support. Soon it was Chris against the rest, and Chris looked uncertain. Stony-faced, he chewed on the thought. “A speech, you say?”

“Just a short one.”

He shook his head. “How many people would likely be there? Hundreds, at the least. Possibly thousands.

“Definitely thousands,” piped up Fyffe Peulion.

“I couldn’t possibly give a good showing,” said Chris.

General Bradshaw had a grim look on his face. He ran a finger along the light dusting of stubble above his lip. “A good Governor must be able to face his people,” he said. “A failure to speak would reflect poorly on yourself, I must say. People like to gossip. Do you have the political capital to withstand their prattle?”

“I can certainly outperform you.” Chris’ tone was even, but heavy. He was looking across the central table at Bradshaw with eyes narrowed to slits. He held the stare even after he’d finished speaking, and Bradshaw reciprocated in kind, the two men playing out whatever grudge they had in silence over the table.

“Gentlemen...” Stockton stood tentatively from his seat.

And then Bradshaw smiled, and gave a singular loud clap. “Fantastic! I look forward to it.”

The meeting ended as evening fell. Ian waited for Chris outside the council chambers, in the company of his good friend David Clifford. David was serving as the commanding officer of the Governor’s personal security detail. “Well, not officially,” he explained. “I’m just doing the odd shift—you know, when Chris wants to talk about something.” The actual commanding officer was a swarthy bloke with a patchy beard by the name of Marris. As one of the three Captains, General Bradshaw’s direct underlings, David had the authority to insert himself into Marris’ squad at any time, for any reason. No questions asked.

Ian had a personal security team too. His commander was a Sergeant Pratley, a man whose most defining physical attribute was his extraordinarily hairy hands. Pratley wasn’t about. Ian liked the freedom to go where he chose. There was always to be somebody stationed outside his quarters, Sergeant Pratley had refused to compromise on any less than that, but everything else had been dispensed with. If he was honest, he couldn’t see the need for security here. The best the Unity could provide shouldn’t hold any violent criminals.

David wouldn’t have looked out of place with the criminals. He had thin lips that fell into a natural sneer, and eyes that seemed to be permanently angry.

Everybody else had been gone for at least five minutes when Chris finally emerged. “They don’t like me,” he said, spotting Ian straight away.

“I don’t think you should worry,” Ian replied, following David as he led Chris away. “Power respects power. They just want to know what you’re made of.”

“And you don’t think I gave a bad showing?”

Ian was silent. David jabbed him in the side. “Caroline?” he whispered, and Ian nodded. Admirable as Chris had been in keeping his love for his wife hidden, Bradshaw had painted her as a liability. Time and time again, he’d poked that pressure point. She couldn’t be impartial, if she was married to the Governor. Her judgement was flawed, as evidenced when she broke quarantine for a man who shouldn’t exist. She had a track record of logical failings whenever she held any authority—time and again she allowed needless empathy to get in the way of the rational thing to do, and not without consequences. Chris had been forced into defending her, and that had eaten into his argument that he wasn’t surrounded by friends.

In the end, the tension had been relieved by the Hookbill’s suggestion to adjourn the meeting in the hopes of calming the ever-fractious mood.

“I think the council’s too big,” Chris said.

“It’s too small,” Ian replied. “Twelve people, representing six thousand. It’s not democracy.”

Chris shook his head. “I think five would be better. Like it used to be, you know.”

David couldn’t contain his laughter. He spluttered so loudly and so suddenly that a woman walking by stopped to look at him. “In the time of kings?”

“Why not? It worked fine for thousands of years.”

“And then it stopped working fine,” Ian said.

David laughed. “Fitz is right. A rarity, I know, but he does have a point. You’re the Governor, not the King.”

“You know you aren’t supposed to be drinking buddies with the whole government?” said Ian. “General Bradshaw’s talking about nepotism because you have a couple of friends on the council. Can you imagine the storm he’d raise if you cut out everybody who isn’t a friend?”

Chris said nothing in reply to that. “Caroline should be at the end of her shift by now,” he said. “She’ll be waiting to see me, I expect. She can help me write this speech.”

“You’re going to do the speech then?”

“Naturally. I won’t let Bradshaw get one over on me.” Chris rubbed his nose. “Come, David. A word if you please.”

With that, Chris and David upped the pace, pulling ahead of Ian. They disappeared from view, in the general direction of the Eia. Ian had had a mind to go there himself, but suddenly he felt like enjoying the fresh air.

Instead, he found himself lingering in the plaza. The setting sun had bathed it in a golden glow, and the young lovers silhouetted in each other’s embrace on the grass looked like something out of a romantic postcard. Ian smiled to himself. He’d been young and in love once. For what good it had done him.

He shook himself out of the miasma of his mind. He wouldn’t be bitter, he’d promised himself that much as he left home. He wouldn’t dwell on what had been.

The plaza was a large hexagon of land, a short walk from the Eia, which had been set aside from the beginning as a common area. In one corner, a small stream ended in a pool. The stream was a fork off the gentle river which flowed through the valley from the mammoth waterfall at the furthest end, the one they were calling the Clearwater. The etymology was obvious. The water that ran through that river was unusually clear, something out of an imagined paradise.

Other corners were marked by a few small trees. Groves of flowers grew here and there: celandines and lilies, cape jasmine and heart-thorn. The rest was open space, and the perimeter was lined with buildings. This was to be the economic hub of the town, according to the plans Master Holden had created. Several shopfronts had been built, though most were still just empty shells. One was already open for business. The Tavern was pretty much the next door neighbour of the council chambers, two stories of wattle and daub, the windows framed with ebony wood. Its sloping roof was thatched, and smoke billowed from a chimney at the top. It was no mystery why Holden had prioritised getting this place built. He wanted somewhere to ale up, and he knew his workers needed it too.

Edward Ruddingshaw was wandering in the direction of the Tavern, across the grassy heart of the plaza. He walked arm-in-arm with a jowly woman, her head covered in thick auburn hair upon which rested a hat shaped like a bell. Two others went with them, a bearded man and a dark-eyed woman who looked like they could be siblings. This woman had an identical hat, while the man was in oil-stained overalls. An engineer.

“What’s the Governor doing, hiding something like that?” Ian’s ears pricked up as he heard the man in the overalls speak. He tried to act invisible as Ruddingshaw’s troupe passed.

“I wouldn’t call him malicious,” said Ruddingshaw. “The man means well, I’m sure, but I wonder if perhaps he’s not as ready for this job as he thought he was.”

The auburn-haired woman nodded. “A governorship is famously difficult.”

“And what of his wife?” The man in the overalls was speaking again.

“Dear Caroline. I’m rather fond of her, I must admit,” said Ruddingshaw.

“Doctor Ballard knows what she’s doing,” the dark-eyed woman piped up.

“Hush, Vi,” said her brother. “Nobody said you could talk.”

“Perhaps we should all hush,” said the auburn-haired woman, casting a long, knowing look directly at Ian, who hurriedly found something in the opposite direction to demand his full attention. “Open place like this, anybody could be listening.”

Ruddingshaw and his friends disappeared into the Tavern before they said another word. Ian feigned an interest in a nearby tree for a while before changing another glance at the inn, and as he did so he caught a glimpse of the auburn woman watching him. She had a scowl on her face.

Ian turned his attention to the rest of the plaza. Even late in the day, it was surrounded by the soundtrack of men hard at work on a hundred building sites, harmonised by faint birdsong. There weren’t more than half a dozen people in the plaza itself, himself included. Two women stood talking in the shade of the trees, tumblers of green absinthe in their hands, their clothes made from a material that shimmered in the light. A few men were sat on the grassy floor, playing a card game that seemed to arouse all manner of excitement in them. And a young woman sat alone next to the pool, pale and freckled, with way too much hair. She smiled at Ian when she saw him, but blushed and turned away when he smiled back.

He found himself a space in the middle of the plaza, as far from others as he could get. Sitting, he let himself be consumed by his memories. Elise came to his mind. He’d thought little of her lately. Once, there had been a spark between them. Even love, maybe. For a full decade, he’d pass every day looking forward to the evening, when he could come home and see her face again.

After nine years of marriage, Elise began to grow desperate. He couldn’t blame her. She’d wanted children, she’d never made a secret of that, and Ian had tried to oblige. But it had never happened. They’d spent a year trying unorthodox strategies. Once, having picked up the idea in a book she read, Elise dragged him to a play-park a mile or so from their home. The theory was that they could induce a pregnancy by visiting places a child might enjoy. He’d known it for bunk the moment she mentioned it, but humoured her nonetheless. And when the play-park hadn’t worked, he’d humoured her a dozen times more.

In the end, it hadn’t been their children, or rather their lack thereof, that led their marriage to ruin. One day, while they ate a meal together, it struck Ian just how much he hated his wife. It was visceral, a violent aversion to everything she did. Her little foibles were suddenly so annoying. He’d spent less and less time at home after that. It was too painful to be in her company. He’d taken Chris’ invitation without a second thought.

Elise didn’t know. She’d come with him if she did. She was probably waiting for him right now. He could almost see her, sat in the garden at the back of their little cottage, looking up at the stars. Perhaps she was crying. Or perhaps she understood. They’d been on borrowed time from the start.

He was distracted by the sound of footsteps on grass. Looking up, he saw the blushing woman was no longer by the pool. She’d moved closer to him. Now she was made a show of looking in the opposite direction, twirling strands of dirty blonde between her fingers. He stood up with a sigh and walked towards her.

“Do you want something?” he asked. Without a word, the woman sprang to her feet and skittered off away from the plaza. Now, what could she have wanted?

Alexandrina

So it turns out when I uploaded the chapters, I messed up scheduling; I promised Sunday and Wednesday releases, and the previous chapter was meant to be Sunday's release. I didn't realise until after the fact that it had gone live with the first two chapters - so that's my bad. Scheduling is fixed though, so the rest of the story will be sticking to the promised schedule.

I've also gone ahead and added tags (some of which apply to future chapters of the story), and there's a lot of information in the Glossary section if you're having trouble keeping track of who's who.