The Song of a Little Ghost, page 5
part #6 of The Silent Assassin Series
“And we’re supposed to surrender to them?”
“Heck no, you idiot,” Jonathan frowned. “But you have to appreciate that they are complex problems with no simple solutions. You can’t remove these issues by bombing a building or assassinating this and that person. It’s a culture. It’s in every individual, taught implicitly since childhood. The only way violence can come even remotely close to solving these problems is by killing everyone guilty of showing even the tiniest inch of these cultural traits; you don’t really want to do that, do you?”
The boy clenched his fists.
“Now go and get Boss’s cure,” Jonathan pointed away. “I don’t want your absence and Boss’s condition to provoke The Red Berets into doing something stupid.”
“Red Berets?” Chizuru turned to Jonathan. “Why suddenly?”
“Don’t you remember three years ago in Gleicherde?” he asked. “Boss’s ex-boyfriend threatened to…show up. He’s a Red Beret, so we need to take his words seriously.”
“It’s been quiet since then,” Audi replied. “Do you think they know that you and the blondie are here?”
“Positive, a hundred per cent,” Jonathan frowned. “They would’ve known since the beginning, for they have eyes everywhere. My biggest worry is that they have yet to attack, despite the intelligence they’ve got.”
“Why?”
“That means they’re waiting for a window of opportunity—whatever that is,” he replied. “That’s why I want you to rush, bandana boy. Maybe Boss’s weakness is it.”
“I doubt it, they can’t predict her going rampage because of the directors,” Audi replied. “But I understand your concern.”
“Good. Now go!”
“Fine,” the boy stepped back and bowed towards Chizuru. “I’ll be on my way, ojou.”
“Take care, okay?” Chizuru waved. “Please call once in a while.”
He nodded.
“I mean once a day at least.”
The boy frowned.
“Just…go! And call often!”
The boy dashed away through the corridor.
Audi disappeared in the far corner of the corridor, and Chizuru took a deep breath. “I should be the one calling him, there’s no way he’s going to call.”
Jonathan laughed. “That idiot hates being tied down,” he said. “He’s like a rabid, wild lone wolf—always running off from the pack, but at the same time, unwilling to part from it.”
“So accurate,” Chizuru chuckled.
The cyborg walked towards a window and looked through the distance. “A wolf like that will put himself in too much danger,” he said. “Someone like him needs a leash. Someone who can whip him down in submission, to prevent him from doing anything brash.”
“Good call, but none of us are able to do it,” Chizuru replied. “I tried my best. Jane tried too. You can’t do anything. Who can?”
“Not sure,” Jonathan shrugged his shoulders.
“Definitely someone with the ability to read him like an open book.”
Chapter 1 / Part 5
A building in classical architecture style shone bright, reflecting the multitude of spotlight showering its exterior evenly from all angles and altitude. Cars lined up on its entrance, bringing out men and women in glimmering dresses, suits, and wrist accessories. Soldiers in grey exoskeleton suit stood still in two lines, separated by red carpet draping towards the entrance. Planet Jupiter imposed itself on the night sky, watching the ground with its swirling Great Red Spot like the Roman King of Gods she borrowed her name from.
The name of the building was embossed hard on a wall facing a hall: Ganymede Centre of Excellence. People of diverse ages mingled amongst each other, conversing on topics from business, galactic economics, to salacious political scandals. Each spoke as they posed to show their accessories: expensive watches, high purity gold bracelets, diamond rings. Their posture held high, their chin slanted subtly upwards as if trying to assert dominance over their conversation partners.
A soldier in grey exoskeleton marched. Unlike other soldiers, his helmet was retracted—exposing his pale skin and black hair. A name painted on his shoulder pad: Elvin Ruslan.
“Her Imperial Majesty, Princess Victoria Scythe Tanuya!”
Seconds after he shouted, every person in the hall turned their sight towards him and kneeled in near simultaneity. They kept their face down as a woman in purple dress walked towards the podium. Her steps were light yet strong, and the strands of her jet-black angled bob-hair waved subtly as they brushed against the air. She stopped in the middle of the stage and clasped her hands in her front.
“Rise!” Elvin Ruslan shouted once more, followed by the simultaneous stand of the audiences. He turned to the princess, gave a small bow, and stepped back.
Victoria took a breath. “I grew up shrouded in beautiful tales,” the audience kept silent as she paused. “Tall tales of heroic proportion. Of a prince who destroyed an evil witch. Of a princess who reclaimed her stolen throne. Of ugly beasts who courted beautiful dames. Of a beggar who turned emperor.”
She scanned the hall from left to right.
“They were tales of hope. How a fallen individual can rise to triumph with the sheer power of their will. How wronged people can seize justice through acts of righteousness. How love trumps hate. How good stand victorious over evil,” her face soured.
“How hope deluded our children for millennia.”
Many in the audience turned to one another.
“As The Crowned Confederacy plunge deeper into the Galactic Economic Crisis, older generations have misguidedly diminished the importance of professions that do not contribute directly to numbers in corporate balance sheet and end-of-year economics data. Those of education. Those of arts. Those which prioritise deliberation over action,” her voice stiffened. “Older generations showered the young with stories of success. Stories of wealth. Stories of hard work. All without understanding the complexity, the philosophy which are involved in the collective development of society as whole,” she paused. “Stories, ladies and gentlemen, is the foundation at which a civilisation could both thrive and corrode.”
Silence.
Princess Victoria raised one hand and pointed her finger up. “The Ganymede Centre of Excellence is the first few steps of my grand effort to reform Crowned Confederacy’s education system,” she raised her voice. “It aims not to train future leaders, innovators, or any vague jargons people overuse to describe an absurd individual. This centre aims to nurture human beings. Humans who accept the complexity of life: those who seek to understand the universe instead of simplifying it. Those who embrace growth through tragedies and failures, instead of averting their sight in blind optimism.”
She took a breath.
“I understand that you are amongst the richest and most fortunate of my people, but I say this once and for all,” Victoria rose to full height. “The weakest and the poorest of humanity will be freed from their poverty barrier. Age of exclusive privilege will end. Only then the Galactic Economic Crisis can end,” she paused. “Only then can peace prevail in our history—”
She bowed and walked off the stage fast.
Victoria leaned on a wall free from the luminance of the hall. A slab of marble pillar casted a vivid shadow upon her as she took heavy breath with one hand on her chest. Damn it. Damn it! The Princess closed her eyes. I got too emotional in the end. That’s not what I was supposed to say—
A small clap grew closer.
She faced up and turned to the source: a young man in his mid-twenties. He wore a pristine white royal uniform and grey cape draping from neck to ankle. The man walked towards her with a chuckle, while Victoria frowned and took a step back.
“That was an inspiring opening speech, if not also hostile,” the man said. “Are you trying to court their support, or declare a political war?”
“Leave me alone, Christopher,” Victoria’s voice trembled. “I don’t expect a bottom-licker like you to understand the struggle of keeping a straight face in front of a greedy bunch of their calibre.”
“Bottom-licker? That’s rude,” Christopher chuckled. “I am the Crown Prince of The Crowned Confederacy of Mankind. Diplomacy is supposed to be my lifeblood,” he took a step forward. “Even if it means pretending to like them.”
“Have you no idea what these people have done to the general public?” the princess frowned. “They pushed the Senators and Representatives to pass a bill weakening labour regulations and corporate laws! Legal employment age reduced. Minimum wage abolished. Employee welfare non-mandatory. Working hours unbound,” she clenched her fists. “How many have suffered over this past three years?”
Prince Christopher cleared his throat and put both hands on his back. “It was a measure to combat the Galactic Economic Crisis,” he said. “We need businesses and industries to pump their productivity up. Our previous laws hampered potential of companies to grow with stringent regulations. What I’ve done is simply cutting the chains—“
“Hold on,” Victoria interrupted. “What you’ve done?”
He chuckled. “It was me behind the deregulation.”
“How could you!” she whispered loud. “Have you no idea what happened to workers across the galaxy? Most of them have to work sunrise to sunset without the rights to protest! They are forced to labour under horrific work condition and terrible wages without choice! Is this your idea of deregulation? Is this your idea of freedom?”
Christopher turned to the centre of the hall. “You can’t deny that the measure improved our economy,” he said. “Ever since the deregulation was implemented, companies have picked up their growth rate and stock market stability is improving. We need that to eliminate the crisis, don’t you think?”
“At what cost?” Victoria gritted her teeth. “Depression cases have skyrocketed since three years ago, and the rate of suicide is at an unprecedented rate!” she marched forward, looking up at Christopher who was ten centimetres taller. “We’ve lost a lot of lives in Gleicherden Crisis from war, and what we don’t need is civilians in every other world killing themselves even in times of peace.”
“We have plenty of unemployed plebs in the labour force to fill the jobs,” the prince shrugged his shoulders. “As soon as the economy improve, the depression rate and suicide rate will diminish automatically.”
The princess skipped a breath as she stared at Christopher with wide eyes. “Is that what you think of humans?”
Christopher raised his eyebrows.
“Are they just numbers and statistics to mitigate and manage to you? A renewable resource you can breed at will?” she continued. “People are not mass-produced tools, Christopher. You can’t treat them like going to a shop to browse for a tool with desired specifications, rent them at cheap price, use them until they’re broken, and replace them.”
Silence.
“No wonder you’re still single at your age,” she sneered. “I bet that’s how you think relationship are. Mix-and-match in the marketplace of women, and keep on switch and trying until you find the most bearable one.”
Christopher laughed.
“…what?” her voice shuddered.
“Come on Princess, isn’t that what everyone is doing regardless of gender?” he replied with a smirk. “Plenty of fish in the sea, they say, and we have to discover which one we can savour most.”
Victoria frowned.
“Just because you’re fixated with Horlix since a brat doesn’t mean you can impose your sad romance philosophy on other people,” Christopher whispered as he shrugged his shoulders. “Everyone has their own palate, so—“
“Stop treating people like a damned sampler!”
The prince flinched.
“You care only for instant gratifications without consequences and responsibility. You care only for reaching optimum results for your own. You care nothing for mutual growth and a future walked together,” she pointed at her. “Someone of you have no right to speak ill of Brother!”
“Come on, Princess,” Christopher chuckled. “Don’t you realise how things have not worked out between the two of you?”
“What—“
“Don’t justify a model of ideal relationship when the one you’ve been basing it upon is a failed one. Hell, it doesn’t even exist.”
Victoria gritted her teeth.
“He rejected you didn’t he? Before he was exiled for killing Maxim? All those years harbouring feelings for your own cousin. Wasted. All fruits you sowed ended barren,” Christopher crossed his arms. “How tragic.”
“You—!”
Two women emerged from a distant pillar and sprinted towards the royalties. They wore black Victorian-era maid uniforms with white frilly aprons and lace headpieces. “Your Imperial Highness. Your Most Serene Imperial Highness,” both said in unison as they kneeled.
Christopher narrowed his eyes. “Ayu and Dina, I presume.”
The maid with shorter hair stood up. “Please excuse us. Princess Victoria has a tight schedule today, and we wish to attend to her concerning this matter.”
He nodded. “Carry on, maids,” he smirked while turning away. “Take care of the Princess and teach her to move on from old flame. She’ll need to marry eventually.”
Christopher walked away.
The maid with shorter hair sighed. “Close.”
“What is, Ayu?” Victoria asked.
Ayu turned to Victoria and glared at her. “Your conversation with Crown Prince Christopher caught the attention of many in this hall.”
Victoria turned to the hall centre. People threw their sight from her onto one another, and a breeze of conversation mumbles broke the silence.
The maid with longer hair cleared her throat. “Please avoid the impression that The Royal Family is in turmoil. Prince Horlix’s disappearance and Prince Maxim’s death has created enough PR disaster for the dynasty, and His Imperial Majesty’s takeover of the Grand Admiral’s military command in Gleicherde also hinted a discordance between the heads of the family.”
“But Dina, Christopher said—“
“He’s not entirely wrong, you know,” Dina replied. “You’ve been spending the years after his disappearance in a constant state of grief. Of anger. Of despair. How long are you going to stay like this?” she paused. “We don’t even know whether the Prince is still alive.”
Victoria bit her lips.
“And you have to remember, Princess.”
“You killed Prince Horlix’s girlfriend.”
The Princess flinched.
“The only reason I helped you is because she is a threat to The Crowned Confederacy, but you want her dead because of your jealousy,” Dina continued. “Had she been just an ordinary person, I would’ve stopped you with all my might.”
“I—“
“Listen, Your Imperial Highness,” Ayu put both hands on her shoulders. “Steady your stance. Realise you’re a princess. The world needs fixing, and it needs you at your prime.”
Dina nodded. “Let’s start small with your inspection in Bandar Prime,” she said. “Simonovksy Tech is having a general annual meeting in a few days, and you need to make sure that your investment has been implemented faithfully as per vision and mission they promised you.”
“Bandar Prime,” Victoria spoke softly. “Not exactly the safest world in the galaxy right now.”
“Blame the economic deregulation,” Dina replied. “Cyclical unemployment is at a staggeringly high level due to massive layoffs. The freedom for companies to fire employees at will without consequences created chronic career uncertainties in the planet, and many people are turning into criminal activity to survive.”
“It doesn’t help that Bandar Prime is a densely populated world,” Victoria frowned. “But I don’t want the Knights to follow me.”
Dina and Ayu flinched. “Why?” the former asked.
“The Knights’ duty is to protect the Royal Family, but their upmost loyalty lie with His Imperial Majesty. Ever since Maxim’s murder, the Knights have been decreed to keep a tight leash on every member of the family. I don’t want that,” she said. “I need complete freedom to go wherever I wish without them interfering.”
Ayu crossed her arms and frowned. “Letting a Royal Family member without a Knight’s watch is against protocol. That can’t be achieved.”
“Then get me a Knight who can promise not to interfere.”
“But who—?” Ayu paused. “Ah.”
Dina and Victoria watched her.
“I know just the man,” he said. “He’s Prince Horlix’s former Knight escort.”
“…Elvin?”
Ayu nodded. “Leave it to me to convince him,” she said. “Help Princess Victoria prepare for departure, Dina.”
“I have a few strings need pulling.”
PLANETARY CAPITAL:
Muara Benteng
POPULATION:
20 Billion
MAJOR TRADE EXPORTS:
Minerals, Industrial Goods
MAJOR TRADE IMPORTS:
Agriculture, Consumer Goods, Energy
MAJOR INDUTRIAL BASE:
Agriculture, Mining, Manufacturing
UNEMPLOYMENT RATE:
3%
MINIMUM WAGE:
N/A
POVERTY RATE:
30%
LEGAL WORKING AGE:
12 – 70
LIFE EXPECTANCY:
50
CHAPTER TWO
“Society cares about the individual only in so far as he is profitable. Their anxiety as they enter in upon social life matches the anguish of the old as they are excluded from it.”
