Systems In Chaos: Dissention

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

“Is there any word on my daughter yet? Has she been found?” a quiet, weary voice asked. The whisper would have barely been heard ten feet away.

“No, my Queen, she hasn’t. There has been no word, no slip of information, not even a murmur or rumour of her whereabouts,” a man replied. He bowed his head low in regret. He couldn’t look his queen in her old, worried, eyes as he delivered yet another piece of disappointing news.

“Well, Rogan, we must keep looking. We cannot,” the Queen stopped mid sentence as she shut her eyes tightly and clenched her jaw “...I cannot, lose her. She is my daughter, even if she does not know it, and I will not give up on her.”

Rogan kept his head down. He didn’t have anything comforting to say that he hadn’t already said dozens of times before, so he simply said nothing.

High-General Rogan had one of his hands in his uniform jacket pocket. His left hand had been torn up a little during combat, it had resto-glue on it and was wrapped in a bandage, but it eased the pain when it was resting in his jacket. Resto-glue, the short version of the name given to a product really called Restoration Gel. It was used to increase the activity of white blood cells in the applied area to speed up the healing process. It worked well. A seven inch gash in someone's leg could be healed and returned to normal within only three days with high quality Gel. The term resto-glue was given to the product by soldiers, because out in the wild where supplies were limited wounded fighters wouldn't always get the opportunity to redress a wound. If left for more than ten hours the gel would become thick and harden somewhat and, when it was time to finally remove it so the wound could be redressed, it would stick to the skin and pull every hair on one's body out as it left their flesh, just like some strong glues.

Rogan's uniform was red and trimmed in blue. The collar of his shirt, that was folded neatly over his jacket's neck collar, had three golden stripes at the front of each side of the collar. These indicated his former rank of a class six operative of the Space Special Forces of the UA, he was only two ranks below the highest, but that was a long time ago. Rogan also carried his storm blaster, which sat in a holster strapped to his right leg. The gun was compacted at the moment, but when he took it out of its holster the gun would expand and increase its size three fold, turning into a full sized combat assault rifle. He also carried a storm-pistol sitting in a holster on his lower back.

The High-General had several scars on his face, showing a hint of the action he had seen while in the SSF. One scar looked like an X on his upper left cheek, and the other started at the corner of his right eye and marred his face down to his chin. But he still didn't look all that scary.

The Queen leaned back in her throne. The red, soft, velvet cushion along the back of her chair provided comfortable padding for her to rest upon. Something he tired aged bones were grateful for. At the age of ninety six it was one of the many perks she graciously took advantage of as the royal monarch. Though she knew she'd probably live for another thirty years, she wasn't so sure her body would agree.

The average human lifespan was, currently, one hundred and twenty five. Most people would age until their mid twenties and then stop. Their body wouldn't wear or age naturally again for another thirty years. Then at around the age of fifty five, they would start to grow older. By the time one reached eighty they looked like a sixty year old would have back in the 21st Century. Then once someone reached the century mark, they would age normally until they died.

Though modern medical science gave humans longer natural lives, they couldn't help the affect mental distresses would have on people's bodies such as stress. Which was why some would look older, sometimes much older, than they should.