Dust
27 Aug 2019Tan Bin Phan Nguyen
Gods, I've been so busy I completely forgot about this thing. It's been a fair spot since I've managed to make time to introspect and spin out some words for the logbook. Frankly, it's been long since I even thought to try to make the time for it. That's a shame and it's time for a remedy. I've been spending a bit more time in bars lately, not necessarily by choice. One of the unfortunate consequences of starting this organization is that at any point a sudden and unavoidable volley of problems is likely to hail down on you like flak fire.
For fucks sake as I wrote that line my comms blew up and I had to step away for a solid hour. Back now. Happy to grab a moment in this flurry and noise.
Quickly, before something else arises.
I remember my youth on Wā Kāinga. Drop in system and pass five high metal worlds that glitter in the yellow sun and come at last to my world and my home. This place was wonderful, and the work my mother had put into protecting it helped lay the groundwork for much of the success I've had to date.
I remember the hot nights on Wā Kāinga, down in Gold Port when the tourist barges would disgorge the crowds of fat and indulgent customers, hellbent on consuming as much prepackaged and single-use culture they could get their hands on. While they focused on that, my friends and I would liberate them of their less guarded possessions. The rest of the gang knew I didn't need to steal, everyone knew my father earned a fine wage in his off world laboratory, but we all understood that this was a civic duty. Great misguided youth.
I remember how Wā Kāinga changed, early in my twenty sixth year. The metanat corps swept in with a host of investors and prospectors. They told us the local population had become so hostile to tourists that the clientele were drying up. Nobody wanted to come to this side of Wā Kāinga anymore. At first I felt the surge and exultation of victory. Now they won't bother us anymore.
The shiny BNI rep with soft hands smiled as he announced that the tourism industry on Wā Kāinga would undergo an immediate overhaul and replacement with a full scale prospecting and mining operation. I'll never forget the shock and betrayal and how it ripped through the crowd like a P-wave. Heads turned to neighbors and repeated the words, confirming, incredulous. Then when reality set in as the metanat goons were walking back to their lift, the bafflement soured into anger. The reaction catalyzed in a heartbeat. A bottle soared over the heads of the crowd and shattered over the slick black hair pasted to the back of the Rep's skull with a crunch and spray of NemBevCorp tropical fruit punch. It wasn't until the guards turned that I realized I was the one who threw it.
Before they could turn guns on me, the rest of the people had the clock and were adding their missiles to the message. They turned and fled with renewed ferver, boarding their bird with its engines hot. Before the vertlift could get above a klick there were 15,000 Wā Kāingans screaming defiance at the rapidly dissipating speck.
After they left sight, the elders in the crowd assembled and promptly began the legal and legislative work to establish bulwarks against the foreign corporate extortion of our natural wealth and liberty. Watching those paragons of our people struggle to establish our independence filled me with a patriotic fervor. I was a lad, but headstrong and sure of myself. And sure I'd empty my veins onto Wā Kāinga soil before I willingly left.
The story of how wrong I was is a different one. This story is about how I came back to Wā Kāinga at the head of a squadron, and put another weapon in the hands of the people fighting for liberty and self determination. The BNI dogs watch over my home for now, but it will not be much longer. Not long until we hold Stephenson, not long until the gateway to Wā Kāinga is seized from above.
Shoot, there's the buzzer again. Til next time, hope it's not long.