The Light of Our Yesterdays

by Ken Hansen

  When a vibration from his chest stirred him, he grabbed the binoculars and stared down the tracks. “Are you ready?”

  “I don’t know. I…I don’t think I can do it,” she said. “You push it.”

  “No. It is your task. Now push it when I tell you.”

  Decima closed her eyes. The train began rumbling across the bridge.

  “Now.”

  She held her breath, closed the contact, and a small section of the bridge exploded, creating a ten-foot gap in the tracks—a gap through which the train quickly catapulted into the void below.

  Chapter 19

  Tomadus strolled down a winding street in central New Åarhus, the capital of New Jutland, with a tall, genteel man dressed in elaborate merchant’s robes. The man’s strong chin, square face and gentle eyes matched his smooth and graceful manner.

  “So, are you interested?” Tomadus asked Quintillus.

  “I am more than impressed with the demonstration of your device, Civis Tomadus. “It may bring many opportunities.”

  “So you see it, then?”

  Quintillus nodded once. “But you must realize that it is of no use to us here in the hinterlands of Tetepe,” Quintillus said. “Even in New Åarhus, most of my customers cannot afford anything but the most primitive technology. Visi-scan screens in the home are rare here. So I fear it will be many years before they can even dream of products employing your light computers. I am happy for the company of a fellow Romanus, but I am afraid you waste your breath. I wonder why you have even bothered to come this far.”

  Tomadus paused. If the purported reasons for his expedition to this backwater were that dubious to this transplanted Romanus merchant, would they be so to the authorities? He forced a smile back at Quintillus. “Gratias, amicus meus. But do not sell yourself or your market short. There are many businesses in New Jutland preparing to expand, to exploit this area’s many resources. Think how they could grow with the use of some of my computational devices. We have only begun.”

  “Perhaps, but New Jutland is still surrounded by Tonquizalixco Tetepe. You must understand the situation. Who would risk a significant investment in technology here?”

  “Let us not argue this point. I come here only to convince you to dream about the future. Dreams inspire our waking desires and those desires lead to big opportunities—for you and your customers. Sell these dreams to your customers, and, with a little help from my company, those opportunities could make you rich one day.”

  “I suppose it doesn’t hurt to dream as long as I can keep one eye on my purse.”

  Tomadus laughed. “You can lock your purse and its contents away from me for now, Civis Quintillus. But you must dream.”

  “Dream?”

  “Yes, and when you can see the future, be kind to yourself and contact my office. If we have not yet signed with an associate in this region, I am sure we could come to a satisfactory distribution arrangement with a Romanus merchant of your caliber. Until then, dream.” Tomadus nodded with a slight bow and moved his right hand to his heart.

  Quintillus repeated the gesture but then shuffled closer to Tomadus. “Tell me,” Quintillus whispered, “Have others signed on?”

  There was the opening. “Of course. My trip through this continent has succeeded. Our distribution network has already grown exponentially.”

  “Who shall I call if I am interested?” After receiving Tomadus’s card, Quintillus nodded. “Gratias. Is there anything else I can do for you during your stay? Anything at all?”

  Ah, the real opportunity he sought in this backwater wilderness. Sure Tetepe could eventually be a stable market, but returns would not pay his expenses here for many years. “Well, I understand you may have an amicus or two among the Demoseps?”

  Civis Quintillus stopped walking and searched his fellow merchant’s eyes. “Why would you think so?”

  “You are rich and well-connected. I am building a network, and part of that network includes developing information that might be useful to me or to others. I am aware that you know many people throughout this area.”

  “I see. Why would you be interested in contacting them?”

  Tomadus smiled. “You know the boy on the cover of Tempus? I heard you helped him years ago.”

  Quintillus’s eyes narrowed. “What do you know about that?”

  “He and his sister were orphaned. They needed help.”

  “It was a humanitarian gesture.”

  Tomadus smiled. “A beautiful thing. Maybe I can…continue your work. Can I meet him?”

  Quintillus cocked his head for a minute. “I may have a contact or two I could reach with some trouble. Do you have a stated purpose for such a thing?”

  Tomadus gave Quintillus an easy nod but held back the wink. “Purpose? Ah, yes, research, of course. I need to understand our markets better. Quite understandably, Tetepe seems to lack any real stability, particularly recently. I would like to see if I might better understand the course it will take in the coming years in light of—”

  “The rebellion?”

  “If that is your term.”

  Quintillus straightened. “It is the monarchy’s.”

  “I am aware of that. That is the name we hear in Roma as well. What would you call it?”

  Quintillus squinted into the sunlight at Tomadus. “I’m afraid I would have no other word at the moment.”

  “I see. You are rightly careful, amicus meus. What do the Demoseps call it?”

  “Some call it a revolution, others a holy war. But most think it neither. They consider it nothing but a war to repel invaders, albeit from an invasion fifty years old. They are quite adamant that they have the right to defend themselves, even now, and by any means available.”

  “Do you agree?” Tomadus asked.

  Quintillus grinned. “How could a Romanus merchant agree with shaitaanists who employ destruction and terror to secure their goals? And besides, they will soon vote on the peace accord. It may all be over soon.”

  Tomadus studied the merchant’s eyes. Was that a little fear he detected or just concern? Should he read between the lines? “No matter. I simply wish to have some conversations for my own edification…and perhaps for some humanitarian purposes. Is that possible?”

  “You would need to travel to Shenandoah by train. You will learn nothing from them other than their public rhetoric, which is never broadcast in New Jutland. But do not expect more on your own, they do not open up to strangers without a proper introduction.”

  “I could use a little assistance in that regard,” Tomadus said.

  “Perhaps I could find a suitable escort to facilitate the meeting.”

  Tomadus beamed back at Quintillus and nodded. “Excellent.”

  “It may take a few days. The escort I have in mind has not yet returned to the city. In the meantime, I insist that you stay with me. If we are to be partners in this…this venture, it is best we get to know one another better.”

  “Delightful. I think we shall be very good friends, indeed. Gratias, amicus meus.”

  Chapter 20

  “You have all heard our kind emissary speak so eloquently of this wonderful proposal for peace. It is a peace, he says, offered generously by the mighty and benevolent King Skjöldr and brokered by the Romani, of course with the approval of the Three Empires. Our emissary is an honorable, elected representative of our district and a stately man of much eloquence, and I am sure we all thank him for his considered views.”

  A smattering of applause issued from the crowd of nearly a thousand in the Shenandoah town square. Tomadus noticed the grim faces of a few among the clapping throng, then returned his attention to the speaker at the center of the square, a handsome young man resembling the boy on the cover of Tempus; however, the years had matured his stature and washed away that lonely look of desperate longing from his eyes.

  Tomadus looked to his right and saw his recent “escort,” Decima, with her eyes focused on Yohanan. Her lovely name somehow befitted this
daughter of Quintillus. Nobody would have guessed by a cursory look at her that she was a Romanus citizen. Her bright blond hair certainly lacked the traditional Romanus characteristics, but its dark roots and her dark eyes betrayed her heritage and told the astute observer she was simply employing the latest Romanus fashion.

  “Our emissary confirms that this treaty will allow us all to live free and productive lives in our ‘proper’ environs,” Yohanan continued. “Yes, the Sunnis, the Shiites and the Mahdians will return to the coastal cities, where they can live at peace with the Juteslams, provided, of course, that they restrict their worship only to their own homes and mosques. The Nahuatl must go southwest, to southern Tonquizalixco Tetepe, where they will receive economic assistance from the Aztec Empire, which has so graciously agreed to help in this matter. The Iroquois and Algonquin are to retreat to a part of their former lands in the northern Tetepe, but they will be provided assistance from the Juteslam Native Population Program. And the Jews, well, we are to be singled out and given this vast domain on the lee side of these mountains. It is such a rich land, full of pines and cliffs and little arable acreage, measuring less than one-tenth the size of the remaining New Jutland. I am sure we would have no problem flourishing here despite our population already doubling that of the Juteslams. The accord will permit us to pray as we wish and be left in peace. We are all so lucky to be granted our own little piece of Tetepian paradise.” Yohanan’s cynical tone caused a stir in the crowd.

  Yohanan raised his hands and pushed gently out to the crowd and downward. The crowd fell silent. “I ask you this? Why? Why these divisions? Why would good King Skjöldr and his puppet masters want us to live apart now after nearly two hundred years of peaceful coexistence? Before the Jutes invaded this land, we were one people. For over two centuries we did not suffer the destructive wars of race and religion that befell our European overlords. Our peoples learned to accept their cultural differences and founded a new way grounded in cooperation, joint responsibility and the protection of all, including the weak. We call this democracy because we elect our own leaders, but we know it is much more than that. It is our right. It is our duty. It is our freedom.”

  The crowd began to cheer, but after a few seconds Yohanan raised his hands again to quiet them. “Now, Skjöldr and the Three Empires want to take this away from us. The emperors and their local lackeys all want the same thing. They want to divide us, to weaken us. But this is nothing new. They seek to move us toward waging war with our brothers instead of waging war with our overlords.”

  “Bastards!” a man in the crowd screamed. Another followed with, “Damn right!”

  Yohanan raised the pitch of his voice, whipping up the crowd even more. “But why? Do they not seek peace? Do they not seek stability for Tetepe? Is that not what they have been preaching for fifty long years? Surely empires of such lasting power and tyrants borne of their dominion would not speak for one purpose and wish another?

  “I do not need to tell you what they truly intend. We all know it deep in our hearts. We have suffered through their so-called good intentions for over fifty years. Many of our founding fathers came to this land centuries ago to flee the so-called benevolent intentions of their European and Asian masters. They want to bind us again to their lordship, steal our freedom, require us to submit to their imperial rule. Of course, they want all of this only for our own good, for our own protection.

  “Well, again I ask you from whom are they protecting us? From the Aztec Empire? The Aztecs have long abandoned any attempts to influence Tetepe directly. From Nepantla or Chigantlo to our west? They are farmers, content to plow their fields, tend their crops and supply the world with food. Have you seen any indication that they wish to cross the Tonalixcotetepe? I have not. From whom do we need protection, then?

  “Who then remains the real threat? The Juteslams, led by good King Skjöldr! For fifty years, the Juteslams have raided and destroyed our homes, driven us from our own cities, maimed and killed our brothers and sisters, our children and parents, our colleagues and friends. Now they offer peace? Protection? How can our enemies possibly become our protectors? I for one neither need nor want this kind of protection.” Yohanan paused and held up his hands to the crowd and gestured all around. “Do you?”

  “No,” the crowd yelled together in harmony.

  “This proposal is not about peace or protection but about slavery. It is a capitulation to that black-eyed demon Skjöldr and his imperial masters. It is no armistice; it is surrender to monarchy. If we are divided, we have already failed. Yet this peace accord promises little more than our division and leaves us to fight like dogs for the scraps left over from Skjöldr’s table of plenty. Are you Skjöldr’s dogs?”

  “No!”

  “Then let us not agree to submit our necks to his collars, to his leashes! I care not for a peace that puts us in chains at Skjöldr’s feet. I care not for a piece of pitiful land that pits me against my brother for Skjöldr’s entertainment. And I care not for a slice of life that requires me to prostrate myself before this pathetic despot and beg for his benevolence. Peace without freedom is slavery. And I for one refuse to give this despot my neck to be locked with his chains! And so for me, give me liberty or give me death!”

  The crowd roared and began chanting repeatedly, “Liberty or death! Liberty or death! Liberty or death!”

  Tomadus watched Yohanan step off the center stage of the square and shake hands among the crowd. When Tomadus met up with Decima, he said, “Quite a display.”

  “Yohanan has a way with the people.”

  “Can we meet him now?”

  “Follow me.”

  They made their way through the crowd to a small tavern off the square, where Yohanan was surrounded by a small group just in front of the door.

  Yohanan moved forward to meet them. “And here you are again, my little apprentice. Did you enjoy my little talk?”

  “As always, Sir Agitator.”

  Yohanan glanced at Tomadus. “A new friend?”

  “I’m sorry. This is a friend of my father’s, Tomadus of Roma. He seems very fond of you and your movement. My father asked me to introduce you two. Tomadus, this is Yohanan, whom I fear we must now call First Citizen.”

  “First only to the gallows, I’m afraid. It is always nice to meet a friend of Quintillus. Welcome, Tomadus.”

  Rather then exchanging bows, the two shook hands, and Tomadus’s world unraveled. The white light had seared through his brain again; however, this time the vision unwound with much more than a quick vignette. Another world swirled rapidly through his consciousness and threatened to split him in two. He could not breathe. He felt he was no longer in this space, this time, this reality. He nearly fainted but caught himself on his knee and released Yohanan’s hand.

  “Are you well, sir?” Yohanan asked. He shot a glance at Decima.

  Ten or twenty seconds later, Tomadus reopened his eyes and stood up. His heart was trying to pound out a new opening in his chest. He tried to forget the memories and control the feelings of despair pulsing through him. He took a few deep breaths while the two ushered him into the tavern to a waiting wooden bench beside an open oak table. Why do you torment me just as I am trying to do something good? Isn’t this attempt the answer? After a few more deep breaths, he was able to say, “I, I am sorry about this, my friends. I will be fine. Please, just give me a few more moments.”

  “What you need is a drink.” Yohanan signaled a waiter and three glasses of beer arrived.

  Tomadus took a long draught. Now smiling again, though a little glassy-eyed, he addressed them both: “Forgive my weakness. I must seek a physic-tech when I return to Roma.”

  “I’m sure it is nothing serious,” Decima offered.

  “You are probably right.” He turned to Yohanan. “Sir, that was a magnificent and rousing speech. I have heard reports of your eloquence. Still, I had not imagined anything quite like that.”

  “I simply speak from the heart. The words
just seem to come as I need them.”

  “Then you are truly gifted, for the First Consul’s best speechwriters could not have equaled it.”

  “Well, I am sure they could, if they were allowed to convey the truth.”

  “That certainly may be the case on occasion, but it is a consequence of public administration, is it not?” said Tomadus. “I noticed you glossed over the civil war among your own peoples on this soil a few hundred years ago almost like it had not happened.”

  “Ancient history. The important point was that all of our cultures ultimately came together to form one democratic republic that has endured for two centuries and must continue despite the onslaught of the Juteslams and their foreign masters.” Yohanan took a long draught from his beer and sighed. “Tell me, Tomadus, what brings a Romanus merchant to our little town in the wilderness?”

  “Just this.” Tomadus reached in his backpack and pulled out the Tempus Magazine he had recently purchased. “You recognize the picture, of course?”

  “It is the picture that keeps me alive. Without this, Skjöldr would have put me to death years ago on suspicion of shaitaanism. But they have no proof, only a vague suspicion. And without proof, they cannot afford to make a new martyr of the famous son of a martyr. And so I can speak with impunity to my neighbors, but only where my voice cannot be heard by the outside world. They will not allow me that far.”

  “You are banned from the visi-scan?”

  Yohanan frowned and nodded.

  “Have you seen the article before?” Tomadus asked.

  “No, only the first picture from ten years ago. The second is new, though unsurprising. The slant of the article…well, it was not what I would have hoped.”

  “Yes, the rest of the world began to back you after the massacre ten years ago. But that has changed. Tempus is just reflecting world opinion, which now views your cause as hopeless and your tactics as barbarian. Hence, your fight for freedom is now merely a barbaric rebellion gone bad.”