Well, I'll give it a whirl. I'm putting together a short story collection, this will be one.
On The Steps Of The Palace
The magazine had made the appointment for the interview months before, but with his frail health and many years, it was only now that the Ministry of Information and History approved anyone seeing him in person. The notice of the appointment descended on my desk like a thunderclap, causing me to scramble to make it on time.
"Citizen Andors is available today at The Garden of Soldiers from the noon hour", a Ministry official told me, his disapproval apparent. "Be advised there have been threats against his life from all quarters, and all visits are strictly monitored."
"That will be fine", I stammered. I confess to a slow roil of apprehension in my belly. Even after all this time, Andors still had the name, the reputation, the contacts…
But I had to go. I had questions, and my reputation. And a story to get.
The Garden was the epitome of peace that day. I'd heard many stories, but they didn't do justice to the tranquillity, the sheer serenity we willingly gave to old warriors. He sat by himself, under a janto tree, smiling as he looked up at the light bouncing through the leaves.
"Citizen Andors?" It had to be him, but the old man smiling up through the leaves seemed so at odds with his reputation.
"Ah, you must be Journalist Benor!" He slowly rose, and extended a hand to shake, his grip firm and dry and not quite as strong as I'd expected. "Come, sit with me here! I'm sure there are many questions, and I'd rather answer them here than anywhere else!"
So we sat under the tree, and got the formalities, about family and work and the outside world, out of the way. And I finally got to ask the question I had waited a long time to ask.
"You turned away from the way you used to conduct war towards what we now call The Great Revolution. Why?"
"A man turned my life around. He… just appeared, back at the end of the Teslyn Uprising. A traveller, no, three travellers. One saved me from enemies who wanted to take my life, the second saved me from my injuries. But the third didn't just save my physical life. He saved me from the worst of myself. And his first words to me" – and here he smiled – "were the… friendliest I'd heard in a long time…"
********
He lay in the ruins of his palace, his city, his land. Everything lost. All the loyalists were dead or gone. All the power, gone. All the weapons depleted or gone. Just one gun, in his hand. And there were still a few stalking him, he could hear faint sounds far below.
And then an unknown sound, a roar coming from outside, like a something descending, an unknown helicopter or gunship, but like none he’d ever heard, landing on the roof above. Troopers closing in? He gripped his gun tighter and prepared to take others with him.
Silence descended again, and worrying noises from far below, the click of radios, the crunch of boots on loose stone.
Then an odd sensation, like a buzzing behind his ears. He could hear them speaking in no tongue he had heard before… but he understood it.
"You have to understand that this was all pointless. The K'Treyans had one of the most advanced worlds of their time, but they threw it away for the needs of power and control. These are the consequences of war." A calm and resonant voice.
"But war is the greatest example of society, the highest order of merit and sacrifice." A female voice. Odd. The Teslyn didn't have female troopers. "Men and women should prove themselves, with blade and skill."
“Oh, please!” said another voice, male and older. “You’ve never had to patch up the results.”
"War is rarely great, “ the first voice said. “I'd much rather prove myself with mind and art and so many other qualities. It … " He stopped, because he now saw the man, and the weapon pointed at him.
"This gun is far from empty. I have no fear of using it." Without fear, the stranger walked forward, slowly reaching into the pocket of a voluminous coat and slowly pulling out… a bottle.
"I'm sure that's true. But wouldn't you rather have a drink? It’s a nice drop."
The man extended a tentative hand, took the bottle, and swallowed carefully.
"It tastes… sweet…" he croaked, then collapsed against the wall.
An hour passed.
"Good thing you brought me,” grumbled the older man, “or this idiot would not have seen tomorrow."
"Nice to have triage on this trip," the younger man – a leader? – said.
"You have my thanks… Doctor." He gave a wry smile. “And you, sir.”
"All part of our general assistance,” the leader grinned. The woman leaned against the wall, cleaning a knife and displaying a lack of caring. "My companions were for leaving you, but I didn’t think it was a good idea. You haven't introduced yourself, by the way. I am Marshall DeLean, she is Officer Ta’laan, and the medical fellow is Doctor Breen. We’ve travelled a long way to see your world. It’s… unusual"
The man's face took on a look both hunted and defiant. He squared his jaw and said, "I'm Leader Andors."
"Aaaahhhhh." DeLean's bass rumble spoke volumes.
“Really?” said Breen. “We really saved this guy?”
Andors gave a grim smile. "I thought you would have heard of me."
"Yes, and not much that's favourable." DeLean extended a hand and helped Andors to his feet. "Have you looked out there lately?"
They walked to a window, looked out at the city, the ruins, the bodies…
"Do you see what you've created?" DeLean asked, his tone neutral. "A place of ruins."
"It was to be a better world!"
“Huh, how many times have we heard that, just on this trip?” the doctor grumbled.
"But there was war without and revolution within.” DeLean continued. "All you could see was glory and power and feeding the hunger for them."
"It was going to be better!" Andors' anger burned up through his pain and fatigue. "I had the answers!"
"Ahhhhhh, some people. Always thinking they have all the answers. But you don't understand the question. Or you're possibly thinking of a different one."
“No. I know how to shape this world.”
“With guns and cold rule?”
Andors looked around. "Where's Ta’laan? I didn't hear her leave."
“Uh oh,” said Breen, suddenly tense.
"A very stealthy young lady, when she wants to be,” DeLean said, glancing quickly about. “I think it would be a good idea if we…"
The words faded on his lips as three heavily armed men entered the room. The man in the lead swaggered behind his rifle.
"Don't even think of it, former Leader. The floor's the best place for the gun." Andors dropped it, let it clatter. "There is a bounty for you. Of course, it said 'dead or alive', perhaps it might be easier…" and he raised his weapon.
Andors didn't quite grasp what happened next. There was a blur, and two of the troopers dropped suddenly. And the lead man had Ta’laan and her knife right at his throat.
"NO!" DeLean's bark carried the authority of command. Ta’laan hesitated and looked at him. "No killing. Not even the likes of these." She nodded slightly, unhappily, took his weapons and set him loose, gun trained on him.
Breen looked at the men writhing on the floor. “Oh great. I hate patching up heads.” He quickly had a package out, unrolling bandage.
Belying his injuries, Andors scooped up his pistol in one graceful move and pointed it at the lead trooper's head.
"I do believe 'dead or alive' cuts both ways." But before he could fire, DeLean's hand closed on his arm; his strength irresistible, and forced it down.
"No killing also applies to you," DeLean growled, and turned to the trooper. “As soon as my doctor here has fixed your men, I do think you should take my advice and run away. As fast and as far as possible. Do not look back. You may not like what you see." Andors noted the voice, under the jokey tone, was used to command and obedience. Whoever he was, this Marshall was impressive.
The trooper helped his injured fellows to their feet, as Ta’laan waited, poised for one wrong move. And they really didn't look back, jangling and rattling down the stairs. Soon Andors and DeLean saw them running the courtyard below as if pursued by devils.
"What would they have seen if they’d looked back, sir?"
"Oh, a ruined palace. And it used to be such a fine building! I know I wouldn't like to see it." And he grinned again.
They sat on the steps outside the palace, watching the hazy, smoky sunset, and Ta’laan practicing knife throwing. Breen declined to join the discussion. “Politics?” he snorted. “No thanks. This world bores me rigid already,” and retreated a short distance away, spread out a bedroll, and was soon snoring.
"Look at your warrior woman, Marshall. If I had a battalion of her, I could take this land tomorrow."
DeLean gave a wry laugh. "I daresay you could. But then you'd have to keep her and her sisters under control. Not a task I would relish."
"Ah, but it would be a world worth creating."
"And worth dying for?"
"No point in dying. To rule, to shape the future, that is why I'm here. By the sword if I must."
"One of the great books, on the planet we originated from a very long time ago, said, 'They shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning hooks: nation shall not lift a sword against nation, nor shall they learn war any more.'"
Andors snorted. "What kind of philosophy is that? It only means your enemies who have not made ploughshares will simply take you and all the fine produce you have created."
For once DeLean's look was cold. "You sit here in a land ruined by your hand, and tell me that? Your enemies seem to have taken all you had, and left you with the produce of your sword."
"Words, Marshall. I will rebuild. And next time I'll get it right."
"Next time, next time… always a next time."
Andors' ire flared. "Pah! What would you know of war?!"
DeLean leaned close, his eyes now steel and winter frost.
"I have seen a thousand worlds, falling to foes that had no mercy. I watched ten thousand living sunships die in the Karandona Cluster, and I couldn't stop them. I saw soldiers marching into what they knew was certain destruction, and could not turn them aside. I have seen war fought over the same tiny piece of ground century after century, the weeds nourished by so much blood they grow tall and thick."
"But you have never fought! No warrior, you. Your hands are soft"
DeLean hesitated for a moment… was that a flicker of doubt? "I have tried many times to stop the enemies of my people, but they never stop. Now I fear this will lead to a great war that will end when only one stands or all of us are dead."
"While you travel ever on in your spaceship?"
"Not just space, but time as well. So much war, and so few answers. I seek them all, all I can find, trying to find a way to peace. On the day that it truly becomes war, I will be there, with my people." He unbent from his tense pose. "See? I acknowledge my responsibilities." He gestured at Ta’laan. "She is one of them. Her people were what they became because of us, a gentle people turned to warriors without equal. Now I try and put it right."
“You go through… time and space?”
“Yes. “
“So… you could take me back? I could correct my mistakes?”
“No. This has happened. Or needs to happen. Or will happen. It’s… confusing at times. What happens next is crucial to the future of your world.”
Andors eased the pistol out of its holster and pointed it at DeLean.
“You seem to misunderstand. You can take me back.”
“Sorry, no, I really can’t.”
“You should believe him,” a soft female voice said by his ear. Andor’s eyes swivelled. Ta’laan was not on her sleeping bag anymore. He held the pistol up, she took it from him, and lay down again. Andors looked apologetically at DeLean.
“I had to try.”
“You’d be amazed how often it happens.”
Andors tilted his head. “You… want to help this world?”
“Yes.”
“But that help… has no future with me in it?”
“Not in the way you think. I want to save them and you.”
"You can't save everyone."
The grin returned. "Oh, there's always time!"
The stars wheeled overhead as Ta’laan and Breen slept and the men talked on, in thoughtful, tough debate.
"No matter what humanity creates," DeLean said, "the best governments, the best churches, the best armies, they always stumble on two things: greed and fear."
"If that was true, we'd never get anywhere."
DeLean looked pointedly around them. "If it wasn't true, humanity would be spread right across the galaxy and not feared by the population of many worlds."
"Some people only react to fear."
"No! You have to reach people, each individual, through their heart and their mind, not their greed, not their fear! Andors, greatness is in you, and you can't see it.
"Let me give you just a few more words, from another holy text. The Book of the Vagrant of Nebool says, 'There are many ways to war, but only one to peace, and that is, you must first lay down your weapons.' Not 'them' or 'all'. You. And first."
And now the sun was high of the horizon as they prepared to take their leave. They had argued most of the night, and the former Leader was beginning to see the world through the eyes of others, what it must be like to be an ordinary man…
"There is a town three days' walk from here. I'll go there, see if anyone remains or remembers. Well, not remember too much, I hope."
DeLean shook his hand. "You should think on all we have talked about."
"Yes. Perhaps. But you haven't quite convinced me."
DeLean looked around, at all the devastation, for a moment.
"If we died here, today, right now, and they dug our bones up in a thousand years, no one could tell if we were friend or foe. No one would care. But they would care about the civilisation left behind. You have the chance to shape that."
Andors threw his hands up in despair. "But… I have nowhere to start from! I've lost everything!"
That wise grin. "So the only way is up. And you aren't carrying the past anymore. It's all new. Remember this. What people want is a leader who acknowledges them, not as toys or pawns, but living, breathing people, part of his world, and he part of theirs."
There was a long silence as Andors thought about this.
"You're right."
"Good man! You'll get it right, I'm certain."
The last Andors saw of DeLean was a cheerful wave as he< Breen and Ta’laan re-entered the palace. A few minutes later, a spark of light rose into the sky, accelerating to impossible speeds before vanishing, then that deeper silence.
He squared his shoulders and began walking to the future.
********
The afternoon light was gentle in The Garden. I put down the pen and flexed my hand, paused the recorder.
"So the man, DeLean, left you there?"
"Yes, but he'd given me the tools to remake the world. And to get it right."
"And that was the beginning of the Great Revolution of Peace?"
"Yes. It would never have happened, if I had not sat on the steps of the palace and listened to the words of a wise, wise man. From there, I was able to use two of my few real talents, speaking and persuasion, and convinced some that we needed, beyond any doubt, to do this. They wanted to make me Leader again, but I said enough was enough, choose a… better leader. I was the past. The ideas were the future, and the saving, of our people."
"Yes. Yes, they were."
I was about to ask another question, when I heard something, that clashed with the tranquillity. A commotion at the gate. Slogans being chanted, and the sound was ugly…
"Who is that?" I asked. Andors raised his head, and squared his jaw, the same way I'd seen him do in so many pictures.
"People with long memories and little forgiveness. They have come for compensation for the old days."
"But that's all past, thanks to you! We have been at peace for years!"
Andors smiled. "For some people, the past is never over. It's alright. This price I'm ready to pay. Ha, I was wrong in something I said to DeLean. Sometimes there is a point to dying. Then perhaps they can let the past go." His smile was tired but gentle. "And perhaps rest."
I was frozen to the spot as he walked to the gate. “What… what will you say to them?!”
“What they want to hear. Perhaps. Anyway, something that will help them to finally let go.” He walked on, towards the sound of retribution. It grew louder. Then the gunshots and screams, shattering among the peaceful trees.
I moved toward the noise, then began running.
THE END
