Tried to pack a lot in, today and it isn’t finished by a long chalk.
Most of it seems to be what I should have been writing in the first place but so much more needs ‘more writing’ and I will never get anywhere if I keep taking characters backwards to explain their lives but back I will come until I’m happy with it.
I started; actually writing a simple fantasy; now I’m writing a kind of Space Science go primitive and that has been written by many.
How a planet is pupped or populated is beyond my mind so we go back to some science fiction start, ‘to start it’.
Been done before and will be done it again.
I did get a bit of the start writing done, so here it is.
James Droga, Martan Matira and David Jamesson met in a small chamber, hardly big enough to take their beards. Each one pushed a button before entering and a capsule erupted longways before reverting to vertical. They strapped themselves in; the outer levels closed and the capsules now resumed a horizontal position before retreating into a chamber where each Dwarf now was slotted into a position where he was fully protected and then projected into the Dwarvian Political House as an image. As the Ruling Parties they did not allow themselves to be subject to attacks in the house and their blood would not flow. Within the capsules they were protected against everything as Ruling Parties, unless of course they were removed and forced to physically be in the Chamber and probably dead within seconds of doing so. With the support of the De Bowed’s and Du Storme’s they had no challengers but you don’t take risks on Dwarvia.
The Dwarfs did not often ‘moot’; it was a melding of minds that knew honesty and that to a Dwarf was weakness. If a Dwarf had to be honest then he was weak. A Dwarf walked tall, decided and the weak would wail … at the moment, this Policy appeared to have a few problems – the riots, slaughter and prisoners being a major problem.
James Droga, Martan Matira and David Jamesson tried to ‘moot’ and usual failed. It was as if they held a meeting in different languages. Their mental barriers were in full flood mode and closing up even as they were supposed to open.
They switched to the Chamber meeting and to jeers as their images arrived.
Their images moved to the central floor and the four sided stone. Their images stood at three places of the stone and now, twenty others crowded around the other side and also them.
James Droga took his time as he stared around him, eventually, he spoke, “What do you rabble want?”
“Your images can stay here; your bodies are already being removed.”
“You cannot touch us. We rule,” said Martan Matira.
“You rule no longer. You have killed and virtually destroyed Dwarvia, Martan Matira. Your images will stay here and your bodies will stay in the capsules until you and your families are sent into space. As you like prisoners so much, sixty thousand of them will accompany you in three ships to the outermost ends of space – you not will return, no matter what you believe!”
“Who are you to say this. You have no authority. We are the Ruling Families!”
“I am Geld Du Storme and this is Neville De Bowed and by the rights of the Ruling Council – sick of your killing – you will be held in custody until transported – it will take some forty years but you will not be aware of that as you will be put into Stasis until you disposed off.”
The space map on the roof of the Dwarvian Political House pictured a lot of things – usually the latest conquests although they’re were more battles in the Political House than were ever fought outside; the Admiral’s Political parties fought as much for their Political conquests as they did for their egos in the house and blood was usually piped out of the Chamber with the troughs running by the feet of most members to remind them to vote according to their conscience.
It wasn’t a question of the seventh knife, they were struggling to get up to three before someone else stabbed them in the back.
Often Dwarvia seemed to be nothing more than a transit camp for prisoners and a picture show across the roof with split-second updates and the commentators were now becoming more famous than the battles and what most Admirals hated, they were more famous than the Admirals.
The Droga’s, Matira’s and Jamesson’s had essentially ruled; all were blue eyed dwarfs grown to about 5 foot 4 – the maximum height for the Space Corp.
In the Space Corp they spent most of their lives staring at the ceiling and complaining when a conquest was missed, usually because they weren’t involved. They were assisted by the De Bowed’s and Du Storme’s resources but between the Admirals there was little tolerance of anyone else – even their own kin and the De Bowed’s and Du Storme’s were never trusted with foresight, and once again they were wrong … the De Bowed’s and the Du Storme’s had forsight.
What was unusual for the Dwarfs was that they did sometimes worked together until they realised they couldn’t trust anyone, included themselves.
It was usually a case of Dwarf eat Dwarf and they didn’t worry about whether there was any relish to go with the Dwarf they beat into pulp first.
Had the Admirals thought, they had been talking about the four hundred thousand prisoners scattered across Dwarvia and the ruling party’s were not having a ball as two hundred thousand prisoners rioted.
A further problem was the smaller Dwarvian Political Groups mustering enough votes after the latest bout of killing of prisoners and the latest bout of killing Politicians; laying the blame directly at the major houses who decided that blasting them in the standard Dwarvian way was the only answer.
The Ruling Lords had now killed over four hundred thousand Dwarfs and levelled major areas of the cities. Now the Political Houses were demanding a solution but the War-loving Admirals held the De Bowed and Du Storme’s to blame for the carnage and they made them even more enemies!
Mi Kee met his wife, when at a dinner, she sat beside him after he intruded on a marriage ceremony, thinking he could sit at an end table to pay for the seat and donate to the marriage and be left alone to think. His time to think was short as Maa Laal sat down and looked at her father who shook his head and pointed to a vacant seat, and Maa Laal shook her head and then argued and fought as female relatives gathered around her until the Priest stepped in and stopped them as it brought dishonour to the ceremony.
Finally Maa Laal gripped Mi Tee’s arm and forced him to walk to her father where both knelt and a knife was placed in her father’s hand and he place the knife across Mi Tee’s throat, pushing it in until blood ran.
Mi Kee looked at his possible father-in-law and took the knife from him, cutting himself from his chest to his abdomen, letting the blood run. Then he gave the knife to his potential father-in-law, who handed it to his wife.
She took the knife and sawed the stump of hair from her daughter.
Then she put the knife on the throat of her daughter and looked into her eyes.
“You take this man, against all we believe in. Cut your throat after you cut his and you will live together in peace. You will never live in this family again.”
Maa Laal would never be called beautiful in a thousand years, but it would take a few more years for Mi Kee to earn his button and the button more than beauty mattered. Her mother had never found anyone for her and she knew her father had decided on Mi Kee but he was allowing her mother to try and destroy him – the blood still running down him and to then in an act of the worst spite at a marriage ceremony to bar from the family if he accepted Mi Kee … her father had encouraged his wife to attack her and now she would be outcast to a Class One Magistrate with nothing and no family; she stood upright, bowed to her mother and then to her father in a deliberate breaking of all bounds – taking Mi Kee’s hand she turned to him, “I don’t know what games are being played but I will lay with you!”
“Let me speak to your father; I bowed before him; he must allow us to be together. He had the knife to stop everything?”
“It is not the knife, but my mother. She hated that you gave my father the knife; she lost power as you gave him the power … she will never forgive that?”
It hadn’t easy facing her father, who was marrying his other daughter off, and facing his face that moved dramatically and often organically as he ate and looked at Mi Kee and at no point apart from spitted meat did he address Mi Kee.
Mi Kee was, as usual, late in leaving his office and headed as usual for his eating hole to find a wedding in full spat. The table in the centre was usually awash with food and gutters ran out from the table but they were cleaned and often.
The slang for the moot was the hubbub or Dwarf-up as they piled into each other. The Dwarfs, between attacks did also stop for meetings at times although usually to plan an attack on someone else.
Yes, you can draft the minutes; the problem was the seconds and having someone left at the end of the meeting.
another planet, often, you suppose, out of boredom and four Admirals stood up representing Political Groups but not for long as the blades went in.
The slaughter in Dwarvia’s Commune had so become bad, automatic washing was stopped for a moment in respect of yet another body, before they carried it out, as everyone breathed out – shame about the diets.
The roof of the circle; some times it showed ideas, other times it show stars – often Politicians who thought they were stars.
It would take to long to destroy the Venal Politicians
Chapter II – Arrival
Destraight – an excellent name for a planetary prison – an old unstable planet ideally suited for prisoners the Dwarven race had taken and was quietly moving–on without the worry of them returning at some point so these specially selected prisoners would not be returning – they had become too much of a problem to hold in captivity.
During the years, three Dwarf Armada Class ships – Andromeda with Admiral James Droga; Surreptitious with Admiral Martan Matira, and the Ancient with Admiral David Jamesson – and yes, there was sufficient head clearance for non-Dwarven races – approached; and along with twenty thousand sleeping prisoners/politicians per ship there were Guards, Hounds and hunting Cats to control them and hunt those who tried to escape – no-one was going anywhere they were not instructed to go.