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China - Manticore District - Shoreleave?

Posted July 8, 2022, 10:04 p.m. by Ensign Elemirre Serinde (Engineering Officer) (Gene Gibbs)

Posted by Ensign Elemirre Serinde (Engineering Officer) in China - Manticore District - Shoreleave?
El moved from boat to boat as she traversed the Nandu River. The narrow band of ‘civilization’ that was left from the nuclear blast in the war had been coined as the Strip. Moldering docks stepped up to decrepit warehouses, tall apartments towered over squat shanty towns that surrounded them like twigs in a nest. And sprawled across the Nandu River were boats locked together that formed a ramshackle bridge. Some were newer. Others were aged, rusted hulks. Others were wooden, ageless. All were inhabited by families that made their living above the oily, smelly waters. This was a city within a city and like a city it collected the detritus of what flowed from upstream and was caught against and between the hulls. It stank of oil and dead fish, sewage and salt. And it went on for as far as the eye could see, jutting out like a tumor into the Qiongzhou Straight as it was once called. Now it was just called Manticore after the pirate gang that rose up to fill the power vacuum after the nukes and the wars. It was where El grew up.

She told others she grew up on an island off the South China Sea leading an idyllic life there until she went to school at the British Academy and from there into Starfleet. That was a lie. But a necessary one. Her footsteps rang hollow on the narrow foot bridge between an ancient schooner and a rusted fishing trawler. Rotting nets hung along the side and dangled into the waters like dark, gangronous fingers. From an open port hole she could see the flickering blue light of a vid screen and hear dim conversation. It paused as she passed then resumed. Dusk had come and gone and with it lights came on here and there across the flotilla. El had once imagined them to be fireflies as they bobbed and moved with the current. It was a humid night and shapeless anonymous figures moved about. Music came from another ship that sported many lights. It was an old tanker and it’s surface bristled with buildings made of wood, tin and bits of other boats. It was called the Carolina. It was also her destination.

The wooden chair wobbled. The table that housed her drink was scarred with grafitti and many stains. The music was canned and blared from unseen speakers. Over the round, central bar a small video screen entertained a group huddled under it to watch a match of mixed martial arts. A figure detached herself from the bar and came to El’s table, setting down two bowls, one of rice and the other of spiced eels before sitting opposite her. In the light all El could see was a thin delicate face. El smiled in relief. “Meiling,” she said. “How long has it been?”

“Four years, Elemirre. Too long,” she said, chiding her. “Four years. You said you would return in four months.”
“I couldn’t get away. We were watched at the Academy even between terms. Then I was assigned from there.” She plucked an eel with chopsticks. The spice burned at her mouth. She liked it. “I couldn’t risk ..”
Meiling leaned in, swirling her chopsticks in the bowl of eels and said without looking at El. “I thought .. They had found you.” She glanced around her, eyes darting to the patrons there.
“I think I’m safe,” El replied dipping some sauce into her rice. “Did you learn anything?”

El

The morning breeze carried with it a promise of rain. Off the sea it felt fresh with only a hint of decay mixed with bacon and tea from early risers making breakfast. The swells caused the boats to jostle and creak like old bones. El sat on the uneven roof of what was once the bridge of a delabitated freighter. Looking East she waited for the first glimmerings of the sun. The passing minutes turned the black shadows into shades of grey making the various ships and the Eastward buildings look like large, squat beetles. Settled in a lotus position, El practiced a series of breathing exercises to center herself after a night of aimlessly wandering the flotilla trying to come to terms with Meiling’s news. And .. To see it.

El sighed. Thick clouds in the distance spitting occasional lightning masked any hope of a sunrise. El could now make out individual shapes around her including the one she sought. Set amidst a gaggle of smaller schooners, a houseboat, even an old, small naval patrol boat floated the Irresistable. It was a squat, battered tugboat that had seen better days. Her eyes traced the thin lines of uneven railing and the hollow dark eyes of her forward windows. Whatever aft winches and cabling had been removed long ago. From the remaining, rusted framework a tarp had been installed as a kind of gazebo. Tattered remains fluttered listlessly in the wind. Smoothly she stood and stretched; the first traces of rain could be heard on the metal roofs of the flotilla. Her hand came up and roughly brushed away a tear. With a last glance at the Irresistable she turned her back to it and left. That had been her home.

A small jolt brought El out of that memory. She opened her eyes half expecting to see the rain and smell the crisp ozone in the air. Instead she smelled familiar metal and canned, if damp air as the small shuttle jostled that same storm. Lightning lit up the tiny window she sat beside. Her reflection looked tired. The brittle booklet and packet of papers lay open on her lap. She had been reading them while awaiting takeoff. What Meiling said .. Changed everything and the conversation still rang clear.

“What’s this?” El had asked Meiling. The stained, battered manila envelope was not what she expected. In truth, she wasn’t sure what she had expected. “I had asked about the whereabouts of my mother. After the Wa .. After they took her.” She looked around quickly. The fight was over and the cluster of men energetically critiqued it. The two women were forgotten.

“It is hard, Elemirre. Once they knew, everything changed here. So many have turned. So many are informants.”

El dipped her head and looked at the envelope. Her small fingers peeled back the string that held it closed and slowly brought forth the contents. “I don’t understand. It’s a game.” And an old one at that. The cover was torn and the pages wrinkled. Loose papers were crammed inside its dented, coil ring. It looked like it could fall apart in her hands.

They passed over the storm and into space. The transition was like night to day; so it was with her. El put her face to the window to watch them seemingly hover over the clear, radiant atmosphere of Earth. Superimposed over it she saw Meiling’s face as her friend leaned over the small table, the glint of her bionic eye implant reflecting red in the patio lights. She had whispered. “Elemirre, the Morrow Project is real.”

El


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