by Lindsay Peet
CHAPTER TWO
Finally away from Zeno, Wanliet and I had a grand time. In our uniforms we were recognized by a few and pointed out, and even though Chugtallians had no desire to join the P. U., mention of the Empire still plucked some mystic chords of memory for some, and we had to pay for nothing. This was good, because that was exactly the budget Zeno had allowed us.
Food carts, drink wagons, tchotchke kiosks fringed the plaza, and Chugtallians stood around eating, drinking and laughing and arguing in little clumps. Strummers and drummers and dancers performed, and the whole feeling was of a carnival. Wary of Zeno’s long arms we made ourselves ‘small’ and stayed in shadows, but still got to see much of the town, at least the parts they’d finished and not yet torn down again. It seemed most of Chugtallis was under construction, or demolition, as they kept experimenting with better ways to make money and serve their fellow citijects’ needs and wants. But what was there was a riot of styles and colors, fully as disordered and adventurous as Wanliet’s thoughts. Combine the tumult with the frequent rains and clay-based soil and you had to be very careful where you stepped, and a few times we were warned away from a harmless-enough looking path. I was still having a little trouble walking, even with multiple socks, so we rested some and watched life whirl and blur along in Chugtallis. Children ran about, chasing and hiding from each other and grownups, giggling and crying, and clinging on the skirts of older women much as I had Rabbarah’s skirts long before and far away when I’d been a child on Kipple.
Suddenly a wave of emotion washed over me, and I began to weep. Once I stopped listening to my head, and heard my heart, I knew why – Kipple. This was how I remembered my childhood, the dirt and joy, the love and the mess. In a few generations Chugtallis had reached rough equivalence with one of the poorest parts of the poorest planets, which was actually impressive. And wonderful – the people of Durary, my hometown, had been resigned to having no future, but Chugtallis was all about the future, while still living fully in the present.
As dusk approached the brief rain came, a warm bath which felt pleasant at first, but once it soaked through made our uniforms very uncomfortable, so once it stopped we hurried back to our quarters, sneaking past Zeno who was wandering around the entrance, and changed into dry gear. Then back down, past Zeno once more and into the now rinsed and dried plaza, which was like a draught of life for Wanliet.
As before we didn’t have to pay, this time for some glasses of punch, very tasty stuff it was, too. In fact, we both had seconds. Soon all eyes focused on the stage, where Mayor Rekaburb now stood. “Citizens (!) of Chugtallis and Caliuga, friends, brothers and sisters, welcome tonight to the Gurjoo’s lecture! I hope you’ve sampled the sacramental punch – it’s free, it’s delicious, but don’t overdo it – if you haven’t yet, the bowls are there, there, and there,” he pointed around the back of the plaza, including at the bowl we’d just drunk two cups from. I looked sidewise at Wanliet and mouthed, ‘Sacramental?’ He shrugged elaborately, his eyes with an odd glistening, as the mayor continued.
“Now, I know you didn’t come here to listen to another politician blather on, but I want to introduce an honored guest.
“Recently Caliuga City, and I, had the honor of meeting the Emperor’s first envoy to our home, Inspector General Wanliet, and his adjutant, Jaf Daskal. Let’s hear it for them!” The applause was very enthusiastic, at least in some parts. “What wonderful times these are, when we’re to be reconnected with the Empire, and also to bear witness to the message of the Gurjoo!
“Please, Inspector General, please come up and say a few words?”
Wanliet’s eyes waxed stranger, as did his smile, but he’d been in a different world since we’d arrived in Chugtallis, even moreso since we’d shared ‘sacramental punch’. Come to think on it, I was feeling a mite peculiar also. With a kind of calm glee he made his way to the stage, bowed to the applause, and took the microphone, then strode and gestured back and forth across the stage as he delivered his message, the drums and bowl-shaped string instruments surging and crashing and singing with his words..
“Friends and neighbors, there’s unlimited supply!
Of the love that I feel here, and this is why!
Gurjoo comes to clean us, don’t want no sighs!
You’ve always known it, ain’t no surprise!
Boys and girls, people all ‘round the planet, mixtures of lost and sussed,
Gurjoo comes to clean us, let nothin’ come in between us!
Beam in on me people, and we’ll float like feathers,
You know we’ve all been tethered together!
But there’s more!
Men let your hearts open up, and women loosen your purses,
For if you ain’t been hearin’ the Gurjoo’s word
Then you’re sufferin’ from the worst of all curses!
Yeah, you’re sufferin’ from the worstest of curses!
The crowd loved it, judging from the roars of approval. Electrified he froze for a long time as the roar increased and he seemed abruptly to realize where he was, what he’d said and done, who his audience was, and then he skittishly bowed and leapt off. I didn’t see him again that night, but it didn’t matter, everything felt right with the universe.
Music started, and chanting, which I couldn’t quite make out. I found myself swaying along, though, along with every other person in the throng, moving like undersea plants in waves. In a relaxed sort of way the music built up, more people chanted, I still couldn’t quite make out the words so I hummed and hawed, and after awhile a spotlight lit the stage.
Out came the Gurjoo, in a hooded orange-yellow robe, to the sound of bass and drums. In benediction he raised his arms as the crowd roared, “Gurjoo! Gurjoo!”
“Bless you, my people!” he answered back, raising his arms and letting the hood drop.
It was Lordano.
And then it started raining again, warm, and soft, and melting.