Fracture (Chronicles of Discord, #1)

Fracture - Chapter 5

“And you couldn’t have mentioned that a little earlier?” muttered Ben. “What kind of a lift is this anyway?”

“You don’t have them in your culture?” asked Astra.

“Yes, but as the name suggests they go up and down, not side to side.”

“We call these bubbles, Mr. Burton, it was you who called them lifts,” replied Astra. “It was obviously not the correct translation.”

Ben watched her face for any sign of the insolence that he somehow felt was behind her words, but her expression was as bland as always, and he was left uncertain. Senator Burton looked from one to the other and decided that it was time to interrupt.

“Could you tell us what we can expect at the Greeting Hall, Astra? Are there any customs we should be aware of so that we don’t unintentionally offend the Councillors?”

Astra gave the question a few moments consideration before shaking her head.

“No. The events that have been prepared for your entertainment are of a social nature that will display the Tula culture to you, it will be very informal.”

A few minutes later Ben recalled these words with a heavy dose of sarcasm. The Greeting Hall was in a stone part of the building, its glittering black walls stretched up to a vaulted ceiling from which hung huge black and white chandeliers. There was a large circular table set with black cutlery against a white glass surface that held pride of place in the centre of the room. There was little doubt that this place was intended to overawe everyone who entered it. Even Ben, who was used to opulent surroundings, found the room made him feel uncomfortable.

There was nothing soft in its construction or decoration, in fact, it was entirely the opposite as though its design and the use of cold stone and hard glass was there to rid any who entered of the idea that the Tula might be soft or flexible.

Now that he came to think about it, wasn’t everything about the Tula a little like that? Their clothes were nothing more than a uniform that suppressed individuality; men wore long jackets that fell halfway between waist and knee, their hair oiled and smoothed straight back from their foreheads. The women wore a skirt suit with their hair cut in short asymmetrical styles never longer than shoulder length, with black eye shadow and beige lipstick.

As a nation they lived and worked behind transparent glass, always watched by others, surely that of itself was a form of behavioural suppression? They were all Va Dic something or other, further perpetuating the idea that they were all the same and they called one another by their first names regardless of age and station creating a feeling that all were equal.

Except, of course, for the Councillors, thought Ben wryly.

And then there was Astra.

Ben looked to where she was seated, just the other side of Councillor Ladron, her eyes respectfully downcast. That habit was beginning to get on Ben’s nerves. He couldn’t guess what she was thinking when she didn’t look at him, and it was very difficult to persuade information out of someone who habitually refused to meet his eyes. He studded the blue on her jacket, realizing that it seemed even more unusual now than it had before. In fact, now it smacked of outright rebellion. His glance moved up to her hair and he suspected that, when unpinned from those sculpted confines it would be very long indeed.

A waitress appeared at his elbow, ready to place a loaded tray in front of him. He smiled at her. As she straightened he saw Councillor Ladron’s eyes upon him, and added a sly wink at the girl for good measure. The tray before him was filled with shaped white ceramic containers that fitted together rather like a jigsaw puzzle. Each one contained a different dish; there was chicken, fish, and several other kinds of meat along with soup. Another smaller tray filled with deserts was placed to the left of the first and another to his right that contained liquid refreshment.