Perles of Creo

1.

"You came here from Medra, right?"

"Yes."

"I see. How long have you been here in the colonies?"

"Ten years. Since I was a boy." Implying of course that I'm a man now.

"You moved here when you were 7? Medcreo had only just become a colony then, right? Unlucky for you kid. Place must have been infested with Medlings."

Silence.

"Checkmate."

Silence.

"Im-impossible! I-I had a flawless strategy! There's no way..."

"A piece of advice, Admiral." I couldn't remember the name. Government officials all look the same. "Even when playing Medrian chess, with it's twisted rules, one should stick to the logic of traditional chess. You'll get much farther."

"Such insolence! I let you play me because I heard rumors you were good and I was looking for a challenge, then you repay me for letting you win by-" How dull. The man obviously didn't have the intelligence that the rumor mill gave him credit for. Contradicting himself and being a bad loser, how predictable. Just like his playing style, he was stuck up and too proud for his own good.

The scene: An opulent waiting room complete with elaborate wall designs and fake gold armchairs, a poker table, a mahjong game, a chess board and billiard table. A dozen or so high-ranking government officials were standing, entertaining themselves. Three of the officials clutched little index cards, desperately glancing at the door, as if they were going to run scared if it opened. These people were most probably about to apply for high positions, waiting for their shot at power, waiting for the President or the Council, whichever they were applying for, to come and get them. Four others were standing around, sweating profusely, staring expectantly at the door, like pimply teenagers stare at the phone, waiting for the call that might, just might come. These, like me, had already applied and were waiting for an answer. I, unlike them was exercising my mind, by making a fool out of this poor old Admiral whateverhisnamewas. The rest were either sulking in a corner, because they hadn't been accepted, or, like the Admiral, laughing jovially, having already been hired for a higher position.

If the reader of this monologue is wondering what position I previously occupied, it was as a translator to several Admirals, Generals and Commanders. I speak sixteen different languages, you see and it's a skill quite useful for a government which wishes not to learn the language of the country it reigns over. Idiots.

The new position, which I hoped soon to occupy was the one of personal translator to the President. Ask me why, dear reader and I will give no answer, other than that I was completely and utterly bored. No one in this god-forsaken government could give me a decent game of chess or mahjong or checkers. I was just looking for a challenge.

"You son of a bitch. I hope you don't get that job."

Witty. Really, it sounded like he had put a lot of effort into the insult. I smirked at him and stood, not bothering with a retort. There was a free armchair by the window. I moved over and sat, cupping my chin in my hand, watching the city below.

The Medcrean capital, Lyssia. A democratic western country. Looking at the skyline, proud, new skyscrapers stood tall, shining like hope. Here, the days of absolute monarchy were over. Democracy ruled, brought by the advanced Medrians over ten years ago, renaming the country Creo to Medcreo, to show its pride at becoming a republic.

What a joke.

Even from the 10th story, I could still see the slums spreading out kilometres from the city. These were inhabited by the natives, people, who unlike me or any of the military officials in the room, had grown up and been born in Creo. They were the non-greens, or Medlings, the people without the characteristic green eyes of Medra. Ask any one of them on their opinion of democracy... but then no one did, did they?