12-21-2013, 07:16 AM
Entry#1
He was standing on a small hill looking down on the mansion about a mile down the valley below him. Cardamine grass covered the landscape as far as the eye could see, and in the gentle summer breeze the tall straws gently swayed in unison, creating waves and ripples. He took off his breath mask and filled his lungs with the fresh Malta air. It was the first time in 3 years he had been planetside, but in his dreams he had been standing right there every night, on that hill, looking down on his home. The sound of the wind in the grass was pierced by the laughter of children, it sounded like his grand nephews. He couldn't linger here for long, someone might see him and recognize him.
As he turned to make his way back to his Rapier hidden behind the hill, his foot bumped against a broken sickle lying in the tall grass. It was an old and crude instrument, but it still found its use at the plantation. At times in the 800 years of history of the 'Bella Rosa' estate, the slaves had been too many and the oldest and weakest were sent out into the fields to do manual labor. Those that didn't die from exhaustion, blood loss and infectious cuts from the razor-sharp grass were given the gift of freedom for their last few years of life. Maybe it was a sign, maybe he could vindicate himself too. Seek cleansing like he had done in his youth.
The Rapier was blasting its way out of Planet Malta's atmosphere when he suddenly had a thought. He reached out for the keypad for the ship's on-board neural net terminal and started typing. He was searching the Nación Maltesa's citizen registry for his own name. It had two hits.
There his name was, in red right at the bottom of the first entry, next to a cross marking his death. So nobody knew he was still alive. Maybe this was his chance - the Taus had been constantly buzzing with news of a new famiglia climbing to power, and a civil war in the making. If the Contari Lance controlled Malta, maybe his past would not be of any importance anymore. He could die a free man on Malta rather than live on the borders of the Empire, hiding as an outcast among Outcasts.
His destination was Mactan Base, Magellan. The Hackers there provided a suitable environment for Outcasts, and it was going to serve as his home away from home for the time being. As soon as he was out of Maltese space he sent a transmission to the Lance.
~
As he turned to make his way back to his Rapier hidden behind the hill, his foot bumped against a broken sickle lying in the tall grass. It was an old and crude instrument, but it still found its use at the plantation. At times in the 800 years of history of the 'Bella Rosa' estate, the slaves had been too many and the oldest and weakest were sent out into the fields to do manual labor. Those that didn't die from exhaustion, blood loss and infectious cuts from the razor-sharp grass were given the gift of freedom for their last few years of life. Maybe it was a sign, maybe he could vindicate himself too. Seek cleansing like he had done in his youth.
~
The Rapier was blasting its way out of Planet Malta's atmosphere when he suddenly had a thought. He reached out for the keypad for the ship's on-board neural net terminal and started typing. He was searching the Nación Maltesa's citizen registry for his own name. It had two hits.
There his name was, in red right at the bottom of the first entry, next to a cross marking his death. So nobody knew he was still alive. Maybe this was his chance - the Taus had been constantly buzzing with news of a new famiglia climbing to power, and a civil war in the making. If the Contari Lance controlled Malta, maybe his past would not be of any importance anymore. He could die a free man on Malta rather than live on the borders of the Empire, hiding as an outcast among Outcasts.
~
His destination was Mactan Base, Magellan. The Hackers there provided a suitable environment for Outcasts, and it was going to serve as his home away from home for the time being. As soon as he was out of Maltese space he sent a transmission to the Lance.