Forget-Me-Not - First appeared in Issue 3: Volume 1
April – 2018
ISBN: 978-1-7753249-0-4

It’s all set then. The young woman logged off her digipad and tucked it away in her pocket. Her mind was made up. Rising, she turned and paced across her room to the door; her hand hovered over the knob. This is it. Her argument with her parents came back to her, unbidden.

*

“Please. I’m not a child anymore, and this is something I believe in with all my heart. The two years I’ve spent volunteering with the Par Society have been extraordinary, and it’s opened my eyes. I’ll finish my semester, but after that, I’m going to work with them on a full-time—“

“Have you lost your mind, Isolde?” her father had asked, incredulous. “No, I’ve given this a lot of thought and—“

“No, you haven’t. You only have a year left before you finish your degree,” her mother had interjected. “Enough of this nonsense; it’s time to focus on important things like your future. Leave the Diasporan plight to Korlune Military Research and Development, and the Ministry of the Interior; it’s their job to handle the refugees’ issues.”

“But, Mom, Dad, they don’t. Clan Destine has proof that the Council is working against—“

Her father had shaken his head. “Things aren’t that simple, and the Par Society is pushing a dangerously naive fantasy if it’s preaching that it’s a black and white situation. They forget that the Council worked miracles to make room for the Diasporan after the last war. The Ranking families all voted against allowing the refugees to cross our border, but the Council went against them and granted residency.” He’d held his finger up to prevent her outburst. “I’ve seen the so-called evidence, and you know as well as I that digi-feed can be altered. They’re taking advantage of your gentle nature, sweetheart. KMR and D may find the odd, bright spark among the Diasporan to train, but overall they’re just dangerous thugs.”

“That’s an ugly stereotype, and you know it! Yes, the Council granted them residency, but it wasn’t as citizens. The Diasporan were granted their freedom a hundred years ago, and yet we still treat them like slaves. All their cities are decades behind in healthcare and lack even the most essential upgrades to their equipment. Riva and Lorsa Cluster still use the old two-tiered laws, and only Merrow Cluster accepts Diasporan candidates to their universities. They labor on our behalf and contribute to our well being yet receive less than a quarter of the benefits. If the roles were reversed, wouldn’t you be angry too? I certainly would be. We’ve all been blinded by the propaganda; the Council and the suppression guard are the real thugs in all this. We Korlo are responsible for far more violence against the Diasporan than vice-versa. We’re all people; surely you can see that if we work together, there’s more to be gained?”

Their horrified expressions told her there was no way to bridge the gap that had grown between them. That had been the turning point; it had lit the fire that burned away what remained of their daughter.

“I’m going to attend the rally, with or without your permission.”

“You will do no such thing!” Her father had given her ‘the look’, but it no longer had any power. “As of this moment you are to cut all ties with the Par Society. You are to stop associating with any of the By-Blows or Exotics you call friends. If you don’t...”

The threat hung in the air between them.

She’d watched as the tears welled up in her mother’s eyes and said nothing, felt nothing. She’d stood and retreated to her room.

*

She looked back at her room. The opulence she’d always taken for granted suddenly seemed garish. Goodbye. She left, quietly pulling the door closed behind her. She knew they wouldn’t check to see if she was there; they would assume that their daughter would bend to their will. She always had before. She paused and listened to the snatches of conversation coming from the front room.

“There is an excellent deprogramming clinic in Lorsa, I’ll book her in.”

She could picture her father pulling his digipad out of his pocket and looking through the Cluster directory.

“Are you sure that’s necessary? We’ve spoken; let’s just give her some time to reflect.”

She pictured her mother’s nervous hands clenched together on her lap.

“No. I’ve heard dark rumors about the Par Society, and this outburst confirms them. I’d prefer she see professionals who have experience helping those who’ve been indoctrinated by a cult. Don’t worry, she’ll thank us for this when she gets home.”

She’d heard enough. She grabbed her coat, ducked past their chauffeur, and left her home forever.

*

She passed, ghost-like, through the waves of commuters, out of step with their frenetic energy. A maglev train pulled up just as she reached the platform and the tide of people surged, sweeping her into the compartment with them. Few spoke, preferring the company of their digipads. A couple quarreled near the back of the car over finances, drawing angry glances from those closest to them. No one said anything.

Another stop and more people crowded into the car. She moved to give them room and bumped a young man in a dark blue suit.

He turned, then brightened as their eyes met. “Excuse me, Miss. I didn’t mean to get in your way.”

It was an opening, but she didn’t take it. “Sorry, it was my fault,” she replied as she moved past him. Once, she would have enjoyed the opportunity to flirt, but that life seemed so removed from who she was now. She wove her way toward the door and found a spot to sit.

Thallen sprawled to either side of the train as it glided toward her destination. In the distance the city core loomed; beautifully wrought spires of metal and cobalt glass almost touched the apex of the dome. The structures surrounding them were restricted in height to allow for air traffic. The view used to inspire her to study to be an architect. Now it meant nothing. We believe that we’re entitled to live like this, at the expense of others.

The scene around her merged with images from a Clan Destine digi-feed she’d watched. The magnificence of the city surrounding her was replaced by the burning remains of Diaspora Six. The pedestrians became soldiers that crawled through the wreckage, equipped with military-grade envirosuits, and armed with suppression guard weaponry. There was screaming off camera, then shots… then silence. She shook her head, clearing away the memory before they started showing the carnage. She’d gotten sick the first time she’d watched the footage, and her stomach heaved reflexively.

“Are you all right, Miss?”

“Yes. Thank you.” She swallowed and glanced up at the old man who’d voiced his concern; the clothes he wore had been lovingly mended many times. Low Rank. “My stop is next. Please, take my seat.” The people around her were careful not to show their displeasure as she stood and gave way.

“Have a good day, Sir,” she added as she moved to the door. The train slowed then stopped, and she exited with the bulk of the passengers.

The crowds had yet to gather in the plaza in front of the university, but a few groups had turned up early to claim choice positions. The simple white and gold banners of the Par Society were prominently displayed by the podium. There will be hundreds here tonight. Thousands more will be watching on both sides of the border; the symposium will guarantee live feed. She watched as a small drone circled above, confirming her prediction.

She showed her student card to the security guard as she entered the building, then faded into the crowd of convention goers. She climbed the stairs to the second level and wandered in the direction of her locker.

Outside, the plaza continued filling up.

Her thumbprint opened the locker, and she took a moment to inventory its contents. Books, band fliers, sketches, and the trappings of another life. She grabbed her water bottle and took a sip before slipping it into her pocket.

Voices echoed down the corridor, and the low rumble of footsteps signaled more people had entered the main atrium. They must be taking a break between presentations. She locked her memories away and moved to join the crowd.

Men and women moved in both directions along the upper causeway. Smaller groups crowded to the sides, so they could discuss what they’d just seen. She passed a group of engineering students and caught a fragment of their conversation.

“They should have arranged a translator for the Ankor team; I couldn’t understand half of what the one-legged guy was saying—“

“Gods, you mean he was speaking Korlo?” She moved away as they laughed.

Several instructors stood by the railing; their attention was focused on the growing mass of people outside.

“There’s more than I was expecting.” The head of the drafting department squinted, trying to do a head count.

“Half my class is planning on attending; Narcisco’s a charismatic speaker—“

She cut past them as the crowd surged behind her and made her way downstairs into the atrium. Ten security guards were on duty and walked among the convention attendees. She could sense the tension in the air.

An angry woman stood between her and the reception desk. “This shouldn’t have been allowed; the symposium is an important, diplomatic function. It’s bad enough that KMR and D sent two Diasporan to field one of their projects but having this rabble outside is going to convince Ankoresh that Korlune is—“

“Excuse me,” Isolde interrupted the tirade by addressing the receptionist directly. “The crowd looks restless— Do you think there will be trouble?”

“I was in the process of filing a—“ The woman turned, recognized Rank and flushed, embarrassed. “My apologies. It’s been a taxing day.”

A hush fell over the crowd near the desk, as those who’d overheard the exchange waited to see what would happen next.

Isolde held the woman hostage with her silence for a few seconds before she accepted the apology and dismissed her with a nod. She waited until the woman was out of earshot and people had gone back to their own business before she spoke. “I loathe snobs,” she said to the receptionist. “So, do you think there will be trouble?”

“No, Miss Tai. You’re quite safe in here,” he answered. “And thank you.” He checked one of the screens on his console. “They’re starting to hand out the candles; I’d heard they’d applied to have the dome lights turned down for this event.”

A security guard approached the desk. “We just did a head check; there are over a thousand people out there right now. Captain Narcisco’s speech must be coming up quick.”

A stylish young man wearing an expensive suit and a Makondi-Core tag joined the conversation. “I’ve heard rumors that Clan Destine is arming and they plan to act soon. If they were going to try to press their advantage, this event would be the perfect opportunity to gather hostages.”

The security guard warily eyed the crowd outside. “Hostages?”

She scowled at the inflammatory remark. “Excuse me? What makes you think that?”

“Think about it. Everyone knows that James Narcisco is a criminal; is it such a leap of logic to suspect that he’s capable of doing something like that? This is the largest event the Par Society has held on Clan Destine’s behalf; it’s the perfect opportunity to make a statement.” He nodded at the guard and the attendant. “I don’t envy you, gentlemen, your jobs today.”

Shouts from the main entrance drew everyone’s attention.

The security guard tapped his earpiece twice and gestured toward the door. Four guards moved in that direction. “Excuse me.” He politely removed himself from the conversation and went to join his men.

“See? It’s already started, and Narcisco hasn’t spoken a word.” A look of concern flickered across the young man’s face as he watched the guards physically escort ten of the protestors back outside. “Draping yourself in the Par Society banner isn’t a way to discreetly infiltrate a building,” he joked. He turned back to her and realized she wasn’t amused.

“My guess is they just wanted to use the bathrooms,” she said, as she checked her digipad. Captain Narcisco doesn’t speak for another twenty minutes.

The ambient lighting outside dimmed until it resembled twilight. Inside, the crowds had begun to move in the direction of the lecture halls.

The young man took a step toward the stairs, stopped, and turned back to her. “Look, I’m sorry if I offended you; that wasn’t my intent. I have two, first row tickets to the last KMR and D presentation. Can I make amends for my comments by offering you one of them, Miss?”

She assessed him for a moment, then relented. “Isolde Tai. Apology accepted.” Her smile was a ghost of her usual one, but it had warmth. “But, I have a prior engagement.” She pointed out into the square.

“I’m Yul Makon. Would you consider a Jalat, later?”

“Perhaps.”

“A perhaps is much better than a no.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a metal case. Inside were paper business cards. “Here. Please, call me. I’ll be in Thallen for the rest of the week.” Yul wrote something on the back and gave it to her.

She tucked it in her pocket without reading it.

A melodic chime alerted the stragglers that the presentations were about to begin.

He held up the second pass. “Last chance to change your mind…” A hopeful expression lit his face.

She found his grin hard to resist, and responded this time with a genuine smile of her own. “I have a better idea; why don’t you come with me? I know you’ll find it more enlightening.”

The tickets disappeared back into his pocket. “Sold.” He offered her his arm and escorted her out of the building.

*

Eighteen minutes later, they’d found a place along the Eastern fringe of the crowd. People pressed in around them on all sides, forcing them closer together.

Yul wrapped his arm around her, protectively. “I confess, what I know about the Par Society and Clan Destine only comes from corporate digi-feeds.”

“You’ve never heard one of Narcisco’s broadcasts?”

“No. In fact, if my father knew I was out here, he’d have a fit. Good thing he’s at a lunch meeting.”

Isolde grinned. “Prepare to have your preconceptions shattered.” She stood on her tip-toes, trying to spot people she knew. She waved at a couple who were stationed under a banner, and they waved back.

A lone woman claimed the podium and addressed the crowd. “Quiet… Quiet, please… On behalf of the Par Society, I welcome you to the first of what we hope will be many such rallies, across Korlune.”

The applause and cheers were deafening.

The woman held her hands up, gesturing for the crowd’s attention.

A hush descended over the square, and a minute later, the speakers crackled as the signal was tied in and James Narcisco began to speak.

*

Half an hour later, Captain Narcisco concluded his address. “Remember, no country can survive when it loses the respect of its people. The future of Korlune is in your hands.” His words reverberated around the square as the broadcast ended.

The square filled with applause.

The announcer returned and introduced the next speaker.

The crowd around them held their candles aloft and began to chant. “Well?” Isolde gazed up at Yul. “Did I lie?”

He regarded her thoughtfully before he spoke. “He brought up some interesting points. I’ll have to research some of his ‘facts’, but…” he smiled down at her. “He was worth listening to, and I’m glad I attended. I’m afraid I don’t know the words to whatever it is everyone’s singing; would you like to go for that Jalat now?”

“Sure, but I should say hello to the organizers before we go.” She took his hand and led him toward the group she’d waved to earlier. “I... Oh!” she paused.

Yul looked to see what had upset her.

A company of suppression guard approached the gathering from the east and began taking up positions flanking the square.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure they’re only here to…” He stopped when he noted they were all in riot gear. “Something’s wrong. Isolde, we should go.”

The chanting tapered off then stopped, and the tension in the crowd grew tenfold. The press of people made movement difficult. Somewhere to their right, a woman was jostled and fell to the ground. She screamed when someone stepped on her hand. Elsewhere in the crowd, they could hear people shouting for the guards to leave. Cameras hovered overhead broadcasting everything live.

“We have permission to be here; this is a peace rally.” The announcer approached the suppression guard, waving her digipad in the air. “Your presence is not warranted nor is it welcome.”

Isolde felt someone’s hand in her pocket. “Hey!”

Yul reached for the culprit, but he was too late.

They watched as her water bottle arced up, over those gathered, and down, breaking against the helmet of one of the guards.

The liquid sprayed in all directions instantly; one of the guards let out a yell of surprise as he was drenched.

Gunfire, screams, and they were pushed from side to side as people fled to escape the bullets.

Something stung her in the chest. She looked down to see a red bloom forming on her jacket. There were three more impacts, but she didn’t feel them. “Yul?”

“Shit.” He held her close and tried to ford his way through the panicked crowd, to safety. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of—“ Suddenly, his head snapped back, and he collapsed, pulling her to the ground with him.

Isolde cried out as people ran past them, over them, stepping without looking. She lost consciousness when someone’s foot crashed into the side of her head. When she came to, no one near her was standing. “Yul?” Her hoarse whisper was unrecognizable to her ears.

There was no response. Yul still had his arms around her, but he was dead.

Fading, Isolde reached into her pocket and clutched the card he’d given her earlier.

*

Four hours later, Edric Makon stood in the morgue, staring down at his son’s body. This can’t be real. There were no words to describe the depth of his pain in that moment. How am I going to break this to Carol? “What were you doing out there?” His lips moved, but there was no sound to the question.

The coroner approached him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Sir. The Harlos have been notified of the tragedy and are on their way. Is there anything else that my staff or I can…”

“No. Thank you… Carol’s… my wife’s not able to travel, and I… I haven’t…” Edric couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. Focus on something else; something you can do. “One of the Med-Techs mentioned Yul was found with a young woman? Who was she?” It took every ounce of control Edric possessed to look away from his son.

“Isolde Tai.”

Edric recognized the family name, and nodded absently to himself. “How did you conclude they were together?”

“When your son was recovered, his wounds and position indicated he died trying to protect her, and Miss Tai had this clutched in her hand.” The coroner reached into his desk and presented Edric with a small, transparent bag that contained bloodstained business card. “Again, my staff and I offer our profound sympathies for your loss.”

Edric took the card and stared at it. The Makondi-Core emblem and Yul’s name were still legible. He flipped it over and instantly recognized his son’s handwriting. Forget-me-not… Edric felt sick. His head began to spin as the reality of the situation finally hit home. “Leave me… please.”

The coroner bowed deferentially to Edric and withdrew, quietly.

Edric collapsed on a nearby stool, shaking. He was oblivious to the tears. No, son. Your mother and I won’t forget you. He took a moment to compose himself, then pulled his digipad out of his pocket. Nor will I let Clan Destine and the Par Society forget, ever. Edric punched in a number from memory and initiated a call. He wasn’t surprised when it went straight to voicemail. “Hello Malcolm. Call me at your earliest convenience.”

***