closed,
lids squeezed tight holding back tears, the rest of the face
clouded with a somber expression: Harper remembered looking over at
that same profile in the space of Infinite Space. It was the Union
worker who had knelt beside him to pray. Still in his red Transport
uniform, he now had a roughly torn piece of black curtain tucked
under his lowered chin. It was tied at the back of his neck, but
with his head bowed, it was clamped between his chin and his chest
as if he were holding it secure.
In his last walk through the halls of the
Skyland ship, Harper had seen the hanging tatters left behind by
those who did not have a symbol when they came aboard and grabbed
desperately for bits of comfort in their fear. The majority like
Harper, like the blue-clad Skylanders, had just watched the news in
silence. But here and there, the Infinite Space folk had wandered,
the scraps of their sacred color tied about their arms, or necks or
hands.
Harper looked at the red-coated man and
wondered why the soldiers would bring a Transport Union worker back
to Skyland.
The man sniffed.
Then he opened his eyes. One hand curled
into a fist and rubbed roughly at one eye. Harper thought he should
say something. He hesitated a moment. Then,
"Hi."
The man looked over and didn't reply.
"Are you okay?" Of course not. Bad
question. "I mean.... are-are you..." What? "...okay?"
he finished lamely.
"No." The dead tone matched the lifeless
eyes.
Of course not. "So why are they
making you go back?"
"They're not." The man sat up straight,
raised his chin and squinted, a hard look in his still-damp
eyes.
"What d'you–"
"I'm enlisting."
"Enlisting?"
"They put out the call right after the
attacks. Aren't too many troops out here. They need all the help
they can get."
"So..."
"I already have training. So, technically,
I'm re-enlisting."
"Why?"
"I took a pledge. To protect–"
"No, I mean, why the new recruits? There are
bases out here with soldiers–"
The recruit shook his head. "Not nearly
enough."
"Not nearly enough for what?" How many
does it take to arrest a handful of Sky Reverends?
"For war."
War? Harper's lips moved around the
word but no sound came out. He shook his head dumbly.
"Union's been at peace for a long time. They
need to gather the manpower and fast–"
"But f-for a few Sky Reverends?"
"But it's not!" The man sat up straight – as
straight as the chair-bag would allow. His neck craned forward.
"It's the whole institution."
"What institution?"
"The terror culture, the zealotry, the
backwards-thinking, primitive–"
"Hey!"
"That's what we need to rout out."
"But–"
"It wasn't just Skylanders!"
"What?"
"It wasn't just Skylanders they killed.
Union engineers. Union pilots. Unions stewards. I had friends on
that ship. I could have been on that ship."
Yes you could have. Harper pursed his
lips together to keep from gaping. People were starting to look
around and he kept his voice low. "I'm sorry."
"It was a declaration of war. And war is
what they'll get."
Harper stared. Again his mind ground through
the word that he couldn't quite make sense of. War.
Investigation, maybe. But war? A cold shiver raked through his stomach and he flinched from the
revelation: It's the whole institution... that's what we need to
rout out. But it wasn't an institution. It was a planet. His planet.
I will help them find the dirt stores.
Nothing more!
Harper stared at the Union worker, who was
quiet now, slouching back in the chair-bag again. The fingers of
one hand drummed against his cheek. His lips trembled and his eyes
squinted in anger. He sniffed. His other arm was crossed tight
across his stomach, the hand clenched in a fist.
Harper looked away. "I'm sorry," he said
again.
The man didn't answer.
Harper's eyes drilled into the deep, empty
void outside the window.
"But it's a crime, not a war," he added
softly.
He looked back as the man's narrowed eyes
whipped back towards him.
"Look," he sucked in a breath like a
lids squeezed tight holding back tears, the rest of the face
clouded with a somber expression: Harper remembered looking over at
that same profile in the space of Infinite Space. It was the Union
worker who had knelt beside him to pray. Still in his red Transport
uniform, he now had a roughly torn piece of black curtain tucked
under his lowered chin. It was tied at the back of his neck, but
with his head bowed, it was clamped between his chin and his chest
as if he were holding it secure.
In his last walk through the halls of the
Skyland ship, Harper had seen the hanging tatters left behind by
those who did not have a symbol when they came aboard and grabbed
desperately for bits of comfort in their fear. The majority like
Harper, like the blue-clad Skylanders, had just watched the news in
silence. But here and there, the Infinite Space folk had wandered,
the scraps of their sacred color tied about their arms, or necks or
hands.
Harper looked at the red-coated man and
wondered why the soldiers would bring a Transport Union worker back
to Skyland.
The man sniffed.
Then he opened his eyes. One hand curled
into a fist and rubbed roughly at one eye. Harper thought he should
say something. He hesitated a moment. Then,
"Hi."
The man looked over and didn't reply.
"Are you okay?" Of course not. Bad
question. "I mean.... are-are you..." What? "...okay?"
he finished lamely.
"No." The dead tone matched the lifeless
eyes.
Of course not. "So why are they
making you go back?"
"They're not." The man sat up straight,
raised his chin and squinted, a hard look in his still-damp
eyes.
"What d'you–"
"I'm enlisting."
"Enlisting?"
"They put out the call right after the
attacks. Aren't too many troops out here. They need all the help
they can get."
"So..."
"I already have training. So, technically,
I'm re-enlisting."
"Why?"
"I took a pledge. To protect–"
"No, I mean, why the new recruits? There are
bases out here with soldiers–"
The recruit shook his head. "Not nearly
enough."
"Not nearly enough for what?" How many
does it take to arrest a handful of Sky Reverends?
"For war."
War? Harper's lips moved around the
word but no sound came out. He shook his head dumbly.
"Union's been at peace for a long time. They
need to gather the manpower and fast–"
"But f-for a few Sky Reverends?"
"But it's not!" The man sat up straight – as
straight as the chair-bag would allow. His neck craned forward.
"It's the whole institution."
"What institution?"
"The terror culture, the zealotry, the
backwards-thinking, primitive–"
"Hey!"
"That's what we need to rout out."
"But–"
"It wasn't just Skylanders!"
"What?"
"It wasn't just Skylanders they killed.
Union engineers. Union pilots. Unions stewards. I had friends on
that ship. I could have been on that ship."
Yes you could have. Harper pursed his
lips together to keep from gaping. People were starting to look
around and he kept his voice low. "I'm sorry."
"It was a declaration of war. And war is
what they'll get."
Harper stared. Again his mind ground through
the word that he couldn't quite make sense of. War.
Investigation, maybe. But war? A cold shiver raked through his stomach and he flinched from the
revelation: It's the whole institution... that's what we need to
rout out. But it wasn't an institution. It was a planet. His planet.
I will help them find the dirt stores.
Nothing more!
Harper stared at the Union worker, who was
quiet now, slouching back in the chair-bag again. The fingers of
one hand drummed against his cheek. His lips trembled and his eyes
squinted in anger. He sniffed. His other arm was crossed tight
across his stomach, the hand clenched in a fist.
Harper looked away. "I'm sorry," he said
again.
The man didn't answer.
Harper's eyes drilled into the deep, empty
void outside the window.
"But it's a crime, not a war," he added
softly.
He looked back as the man's narrowed eyes
whipped back towards him.
"Look," he sucked in a breath like a
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