(01:00AM, Sunday)
*Haaah*
It only took a single swig for Beryl to down the pint of beer. She could feel the pleasant warmth of the alcohol slough off the wintry cold (which tended to stick to the skin out here at the North Pole). The bar she was in was a small establishment which only had a single long-table made of a black grainy plastic. It was a quiet place. Beryl and Ryo were the only customers, which was particularly surprising given that this was a Saturday night - that is, the night before the only mandated rest-day in the week.
But 'Bandy's Bar' had never attracted many customers, on account of it being located about a block away from the Ark Complex, a massive rocket-building factory owned and operated by the SpaceFare conglomerate. Despite the grey padding all around the entrance of the bar and on most of the available wall-space, the incessant drone and clank of the Ark Complex machinery penetrated through to the confined space. This ambient noise had that slight unpleasant quality about it which was enough to prevent most first-time customers from returning (but not loud enough to drive a person crazy). Ryo was one of the few people who frequented this place; she enjoyed the company of Bandy, the small, introverted old man who was sole proprietor of this humble establishment. She also usually met some of her old colleagues from BetterLife here (those, that is, that had gotten jobs at the Ark Complex).
Today she had brought her dejected friend along, who was already helping herself to the antidepressant appetiser before her. The secret to enjoying the ambience here was to let the alcohol drown out the surroundings.
"Oi... this beer kinda sucks."
Ryo chuckled politely and sipped her own drink, puffy cheeks reddening slightly.
"Beryl, you sure are full of complaints after being passed up in favour of Peng."
Beryl could only let out long, tired sigh. "... I... I'm *really* in a bad way y'know? I was really banking on that position. I just don't know what to tell John..."
Ryo reached out to give Beryl a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. No doubt it must be difficult living with that kept husband of hers. Beryl had on many occasions lamented her choice of man, and had wondered aloud to Ryo why a person recognised among her peers for her intellect should have to settle for such an uneducated mate. Ryo had never met Johnathan Wong, but knew from earlier conversations that Beryl's husband worked as an Associate Engineer for Prozac. In fact much of Beryl's early research funding came her then-boyfriend Johnathan, who had just completed an engineering apprenticeship at Prozac and was offered a decently-paying permanent position. As far as she knew, Johnathan was still a contributor to Beryl's research project, which had not yet completed the test runs necessary to obtain funding from venture capitalists.
Johnathan remained a mystery. Ryo had no idea what kind of man would willingly subject themselves to relationships like this. Then again, although Ryo had only known Beryl for a year, she did not know many capable men who would put up with Beryl's domineering personality. This was a position only a weak or emasculated man could fill.
"..."
"Bandy! Whisky on the rocks." Beryl had finished her second pint of beer. Perhaps she needed something stronger, thought Ryo.
"Thanks... hey, aren't you getting any for yourself?"
"This is enough for me - I don't really drink much." Indeed, Ryo had a job to do. "Beryl... I wouldn't take this lying down y'know. That position was obviously yours (by right). Of course, Mr Piccadilly is well within his rights to make the best decision that he can - but you know that reason always wins him over."
"..." Beryl was uncharacteristically silent. ("Whisky." Bandy tersely stated as he came over to the duo's table to deliver the amber liquid before leaving the two to their privacy)
"What can I really do? Once he decides, he *rarely* if ever changes his mind. And you know he never makes a decision without considering *all* costs and benefits."
"Such defeatist sentiments!"
"Ryo... you don't understand. It seems I've really bitten off more than I can chew this time."
Oh? Ryo would probe further, but her instinct told her that controlling her impulse may result in a better outcome. Beryl ran her hands back through her shock of red hair, betraying signs of discomfort. She seemed reluctant to delve further.
"I may not understand... but I will support you if you challenge this decision." Ryo affected a sigh, "You really don't see how much the others look up to you. You're a role model! Show them it can be done!"
"...ugh..." Beryl ran her hand through her hair again. (Left hand, Ryo noted. Perhaps she did that when she was stressed?) "Fine. Well, I'll have to get the Application for Representation done by tomorrow though. I think Peng messaged me earlier for a talk about this issue - maybe I can bring it up with him tomorrow..."
Laughing good-naturedly, Ryo reached into her handbag and took out a piece of paper. "Well, I expected that you would need this. Let's do it together! I couldn't leave my inebriated friend to shoulder this burden alone."
With a sparkle in her eye, Ryo set about guiding her now slightly-tipsy companion through the necessary paperwork.
*********************************************************************************
(Sunday morning, at the Stellar Academy Dorms (located at the Arbitration Chambers))
The days were long for lack of things to do. There were no crops to check on, no livestock to tend to - only that strange thin contraption that Yuxi had named the 'computer' sitting on Yarhaci's lap. It shared, as far as he knew, many similarities with the 'smartphone' Yuxi had also provided him on the day of his awakening. This was a new device bestowed upon him to aid in his acquisition of English and Mandarin - as suggested by the 'Principal Piccadilly' who had observed his session with Yuxi today.
He was no stranger to reading and writing, given his pedigree as son of the famous advisor Nianhan, but he was starting to feel a strange sense of smallness. Firstly, he was not a scholar, but a warrior. His formative experience was war on the battlefield and he had trained his whole life in its art (which comprised to differing degrees martial prowess, administrative capacity and leadership skill). Secondly, he was stuck in a strange world where inanimate objects could move and shift at the will of its human controller. The cold was outside, and the warmth was inside, separated by a sturdy wall of human construction; doors automatically shut and opened; lights dimmed and brightened in response to whether he was on his bed or standing in the small room; self-moving contraptions delivered his meals (the food of which he seldom enjoyed). These were probably machines of human invention. Regarding the construction of great war machines, Yarhaci knew the general principle that there must always be a controlling mechanism which could be easily and efficiently manipulated. The desired effect, whether this be the impact of a catapult round on a particular surface or the opening of large city gates, decided to some extent the form and material of the particular machine. For example, a gear system had to be connected to the Pingzhou city gates, with the size of the various gears and the material used for the gear teeth having to be matched to the weight of the city gates themselves and the important task of speedily manipulating the position of those gates. The connection between the gears and gates would always be clearly defined, for example by connecting the final gear to a rack which transformed the direction of the applied (input) force to a direct output force*. Another possibility would have been to bolt the final gear to the city gates directly, so that any force applied to the final gear would directly change the position of the gate.
But this city - the "Iceberg City", as Yuxi called it - had evolved these concepts to such a high level of abstraction that it boggled the mind. He was 'controlling' the dimming and brightening of the lights by his position in the room. He 'controlled' in some sense the automated food-deliverers when he lifted the tray off of its platform; the effect was that the food-deliverers would affect a monotone voice and respond in English, "Please enjoy your meal", before exiting his room. Where was the energy stored? Where were the commands being issued? These were simple questions when it came to firing a steppe bow, but difficult when applied to Iceberg City's innovations.
"Heh, Budang would really like it here." The Agujam's rowing sergeant had been Yarhaci's comrade on several occasions, before his (Budang's) desertion. Budang was known for his ingenuity in devising smart systems for the creation and tending of underground fires for the purposes of cooking and warmth; these fires had to be underground such that the enemy would not see them, and the smoke had to as far as possible be minimised for fear that a particularly keen-nosed person or animal might be alerted to their presence. The man possessed a keen and curious mind, Yarhaci thought, and would very much be of aid here. In fact, Budang was the last person Yarhaci remembered before his awakening. They were weathering a great storm together. Yarhaci did not know how he got to the ice shaft he awakened in; if he had capsized, how did he fall so deep under the shifting ice below the city? And he would have died within seconds.
There were too many mysteries surrounding his capture by the Iceberg people. He had no answers.
This sense of smallness only grew as the days went by. There was simply too little he understood here. English words and corresponding pictures scrolled up the screen as he dragged his finger vertically across the screen, lit up by a strange source of light somewhere inside. He deduced that a light source must have come from somewhere behind that screen because he could see words even in the long darkness of the eternal nights (for days never did come, no matter how long he waited for it), even when the light was shut off. But then he thought he might be wrong - the screen was impossibly thin, much thinner than could house even the light bulb hanging in the ceiling-recess (and which he had closely observed in his free time).
--------------------------------------------------------------
Tactical Display - Yarhaci's room (standard one-room accommodation)|
β¬ --> floor
πͺ --> automated door
πΏ --> shower
π½ --> WC
π --> bookshelf
π --> wardrobe
ποΈ --> bed
Ξ --> desk
π· --> observation camera
π β¬ πͺ | β¬π½|
π β¬ β¬β€β¬π·|
π β¬ β¬ | πΏπΏ|
π β¬ β¬ β¬ Ξ |
ποΈβ¬ π· β¬ Ξ |
--------------------------------------------------------------
There was also the issue of being imprisoned. He was not allowed to exit his room unless permitted by the future-people. The automatic doors only opened for his visitors at certain times, and his only experience outside his accommodation was when they accompanied him to a nearby section (probably about 200 chi away, Yarhaci estimated) in which they facilitated his doing certain exercises (like running and jumping). He was not treated badly, but he knew he was being observed. For what, he did not know.
And there was the issue of having met the 'Principal' last night. This meant, as a quick foray through the computer-device showed, that Piccadilly was (as he had earlier sensed) of high rank - in fact, probably the highest rank in this organisation. That he had gotten the attention of the controller of such an advanced community must mean that he was more than a prisoner, Yarhaci thought. He had to have piqued some form of curiosity or interest in these future-people, that they would continue to treat him this well (prisoner that he was). Perhaps they were observing or testing him for some unknown purpose.
In any case this was not a war-making organisation nor a tribe, so Yarhaci suspected this was a guild of some kind which had as its members specialists of various technical subjects. This was likely, given some of the insane contraptions he had borne witness to in the past week and the overall demeanour of the future-people he had seen. Yuxi, for example, was a woman, and women do not generally participate in war-making - and in any case she seemed to have painted her face in the way that royalty sometimes do; Peng, though perhaps possessed of a powerful demeanour perhaps befitting a leader, did not possess the gait or physique of a warrior.
These musings were cut short by the ringing of the 'doorbell' - someone was coming. This was not a scheduled meeting, thought Yarhaci. The timekeeper on his desk read '0812' - he was not expecting company until the timekeeper showed '1000'.
With a hiss, the metal portal slid open to reveal the visitor. It was Peng, who greeted him with a respectful nod.
"Hello, how are you?"
This was the characteristic prompt Yuxi had taught Yarhaci.
"I'm fine, thank you... and you?" Yarhaci returned the rehearsed greeting in the alien language, although he was sure he mispronounced something.
Chuckling under his breath, Peng showed Yarhaci the piece of paper he had brought. "You can... read?"
Read, did he mean reading aloud?
"Yes. Low... low."
"Read low? Basic reading?"
"Yes. Yes." Yarhaci could only manage that much.
"This." Peng stated, pointing at the line of words Yarhaci had come to recognise as English script. "Try reading. Read."
"He... llo. My name is... Mongke, and I come from... Inner Mongolia..." Although his pronunciation was far from perfect, he could sense that Peng seemed quite pleased:
*Hello. My name is Mongke, and I come from Inner Mongolia. I lived and died one thousand years ago. Now I am here. I am alive. The project is a success.*
"Very good! Well, you've an audience to perform in front of in two days... yes *two*," Peng emphasised, as he held up two fingers. "You have to practice... uh... repeat. Do again."
"Hello. My name is-"
"No, no. Not now. I mean, you can do it now, but you have to do it on your own time as well."
"But... my name not Mongke..."
"... what?" Peng raised his eyebrow.
"I am... Yarhaci... name."
"Well, that's no problem, just change this here... spelt 'Yahasee'?" Peng took out a pen and struck out the placeholder name. "Interesting... well, 'Yahasee', why don't you try that again?"
Again? Well, not much he could do except listen. Unlike his Khitan captors, Peng seemed a more refined man - unlikely to utilise torture. There was no need to sour their as-yet pleasant relationship.