Chancellor Jorann sipped his tea and watched from his office window as thousands of citizens on bicycles streamed through the city streets. Men and women, of all ages and abilities, would soon begin the day shift at the production factories, the workshops, the recycling plants and the warehouses.
At sixty one years of age, now in his fifteenth year as Chett's ruler, he allowed himself a content and reflective smile. In all the years that had passed, enduring heart breaking personal loss and making tremendous sacrifices, the pride in leading this great urban community had never dimmed and he knew that it never would. He saw Chett as the leader of Gallen, its central city, a shinning beacon of hope. One day the boundaries would expand and new cities would emerge and the desert tribes would cease the bloodshed and unite. There was much to be optimistic for but he felt apprehension instead. He wasn't fearful of change, he felt he encouraged it, but he had sensed for a period of time now that something was awry in his beloved city. It was only a feeling, intangible, but it troubled him.
He finished his processed tea and set the cup down on a table wedged beneath the window. Tea was a much sought after commodity and only available to government officials and residents of Hamble Towers. He was fully aware it was traded on the black market. Operations had been shut down and criminals exiled into the wastelands but he knew it was impossible to completely stamp out. However, the black market was a low priority at this moment. Returning to his desk, he once more began to study the file that was of much greater importance. It had kept him awake through the night. It hadn't only been the file. And, if he was truthful, the smile he had enjoyed a moment earlier, watching his citizens head into the Worker Zone, was more to do with her than any of them. She had stayed with him last night once again. She had stayed with him for two weeks now. So many years his junior. Too many years, he mused. The Chancellor knew she had touched his life in a way that only his life partner had before the sickness had taken her.
Gingerly, he opened the file, a sheaf of untidy papers inside.
His office door was wide open, the corridor beyond lined with smaller offices where a core of ministers and administrators and clerks worked. There was a knock and he looked up to see his First Minister and General of the Red Guard, Gozan, standing respectfully in the doorway, waiting to be acknowledged and invited inside.
"It's good to see you," said Jorann, rising and warmly greeting the man
Gozan closed the door.
"It has been a week since we spoke," said Jorann, tapping the file. "What can you tell me?"
Gozan was silent for a moment, his narrow face betraying little. A long scar ran down his left cheek and over his jaw. His grey streaked black hair was worn to the shoulders, neatly clipped. His clothes were immaculately pressed, though of less quality than his senior companion. Thoughts gathered, he sat, and leaned forward in his chair, crossing one leg as he did so.
"The SOT has no connection with our missing men," he began, his voice low, almost hushed. "I have questioned the troublemakers and core members we recently arrested. Their network of traitors and liars is exposed now and we have rounded up the final numbers of their organisation. I believe no respectable citizen was ever truly interested in their rhetoric. They are figures of hate, Jorann. I also believe they were never a threat to our society, more an annoyance. The men and women we arrested are guilty of minor offences – vandalism, defamation, theft of citizen parcels - and all will be executed, naturally, but they had no involvement in this matter."
"Then this is all a little disconcerting," said Jorann. "Would you care for a drink? I have tea."
"Er, no, thank you," said Gozan, seeking a more enlightened response to his opening statement.
"It's delightful, Gozan."
"Later, perhaps."
Beyond the office windows, the dull sky erupted with rain. Giant plops spattered against the glass.
"Did you question the SOT prisoners yourself?"
"I was present," answered Gozan, easing back in his chair.
"I see. A little too old to be getting your hands bloody?"
A smile from Gozan.
"I think we both are," he said.
"It wasn't always that was for us," said Jorann. "Vassaron, Sandon."
"Indeed," said Gozan, hoping to steer his Chancellor back onto the more pressing situation of disappearing soldiers and not to relive, once again, a discussion on Chett and Gallen's history. He was about to say something else, a more direct question, when he saw that Jorann wished to explore the past - so he smiled politely and nodded and issued bland responses to his old and dear friend as Jorann recounted the days the two men had wore military uniforms, not ministerial ones, leading soldiers into many skirmishes against the bandit settlements at Vassaron and Sandon. Outsiders who had threatened to destroy the city and return Gallen to the anarchy that had riven its lands during the early centuries. There was little known of this period, merely fragments, no records, only stories passed through generations. Even less was known of the Before, when the Ancients ruled Gallen in vast numbers. It was all speculation. All they knew, all that mattered was Gallen. Who the Ancients were, whatever they might have achieved, whatever they might have accomplished, was ashes now.
Oh, you silly fool, thought Gozan, you silly old fool. Oh, this woman has made you wistful and lovesick. It was the worst kept secret within the offices and corridors and bedchambers of the House of Leadership.
"So we are safe from the SOT?" asked Jorann, finally.
"For the time being, yes. I am sure they will manifest once more. I have no doubt of it."
"That's a pity."
"More importantly, our missing soldiers are not being kidnapped and held by them," said Gozan. "Of that, I can assure you."
"Then what is the answer here? We are losing officers as well. Is this mass desertion?"
"No," said Gozan. "I don't believe so."
"Since we last spoke," said Jorann. "I have uncovered something quite interesting about the men. I believe the count is over fifty now. At first, we both thought there was nothing to link them but I have been digging through the duty rosters and ..."
"The duty rosters?" said Gozan.
"Yes, and all of these men, before going missing, or deserting, have recently returned from a Supply Expedition."
"What conclusion do you draw from that?"
"Well," said Jorann. "These men have experience of the wastelands. Perhaps something beyond these walls is luring them back out there. Something is making them turn their backs on us."
The two men fell silent to digest the information. Jorann rose from his chair and strode across to the window. The bicycles were gone and the street was slick with rain. A patrol went through. Four men of the Red Guard. Soldiers brandishing batons and round shields. He watched them head towards the Trader Zone where the market stalls would be open for business. Beyond the haggling and bartering he saw row upon row of identical apartment buildings spread for miles. His citizens had simple, basic lives; the daily work, the payment of a Citizen Parcel, food and supplies, the dream of a night or even a life at Hamble Towers, a necessary place of luxury, providing them incentive, hope. The SOT wanted to destroy his ordered society, dismantle and unravel what they had spent years fighting and working towards. He was the 27th ruler of Chett. He was the Chancellor. He was responsible for them all. He wasn't blind. He knew the grinding routine and strict laws strangled independence but the walls and towers, the gates, the patrols, and the laws was what had kept them alive for hundreds of years. And he feared change was coming.
"Which officer is in charge of selecting men for the Supply Expeditions?" asked Jorann. "The rosters did not tell me."
Gozan sighed, his mouth turned down.
"Major Nuria."
"Oh," said Jorann.
"Yes."
"You have mentored her from an early age."
"Yes."
"She will have to be taken in for questioning."
"I know," said Gozan. "I am disappointed. If she has betrayed us, I am very disappointed."
"There are rumours and whispers," said Jorann. "That these men are in the wasteland hunting Pure Ones."
Gozan joined his Chancellor at the window as the rain began to loosen its grip on the day.
"I will need to question the Major first before I believe gossip."
Jorann clamped a hand on his First Minister's shoulder.
"I agree," he said. "Find the truth, Gozan."