Young Writers Society

Command Center of the Integration of the Nine Continental Powers

“Understand that these Space Dependencies have caused far more harm than good, Head Minister. It has caused uproar among these colonies to rebel against the world. Personally, I do not understand their actions, but it must be stopped. With the addition of these riots, the numerous amounts of pirates have increased three fold in the past month. In a month.” That was the familiar voice of the District Commander whining about the advancement to space. Another rant; just like each week. Considering all these statements were true, Head Minister Alon sat there with a weary eye toward his advisor.

This was getting out of hand, he knew, and something had to be done. The riots against the puny funds he had issued to the space colonies had angered them greatly, and yet he had done it so they could not muster their people and consider piracy. He did not know how they did it, but they did, and now they were a threat to this world. What would the regular amount of funds do? Possibly extinguish their blasphemy against the Nine Continental Powers, though he doubted it. And it was a risking thing to do, for they could take the money and increase the danger against Hie’Dahl. Hie’Dahl; the world that life began four billion years ago—at least that’s what his tutors had told him.

“I will issue more finances toward the Space Dependencies, Advisor Shamal. Do not worry—we have enough defenses if they decide to take advantage of us.”

The District Commander’s eyes widened considerably as the minister made his decision. “B-but my lord, will you not consider forgetting them? Too much money has been wasted on their behalf! It is their choice to return to their proper home. If you do increase investments to them, the chances of them rebelling even harder would be basically unquestionable. Imagine how much money would go towards repairing the World Dominion! That would be the place they would attack, would it not?”

Fortunately for Head Minister, he had more important matters to attend to—and his decision was made. With a nod, he took his leave from the dark leather chair, his soft boots barely making a noise. The iron mantle he bore signifying his title as Head Minister of the Nine Continental Powers had basically grown apart of him. You would think so after forty-seven years of leadership to this world.

Two guards at the door with swords at their hip stood looking straight ahead. He couldn’t help but grin as he recalled how many traditions humans had gotten from nearly six thousand years ago when swords and bows were commonplace. Technology had grown, of course. Now, those swords were unbreakable with steel forged by scientists. He didn’t know what was in them, but he did know that it was good protection.

As he walked through the halls, he absently reminded himself of the different ranks upon the guards’ scabbards. Black scabbard would show a cadet, while with a crest upon black would show he was a full soldier. Doors seemed to drift by, men with copper scabbards; an Armsman, specializing in a particular form or two.

Boring, he caught himself off guard by thinking that. He was on his way to a meeting where second-hand advisors would whine more so than Shamal. Too much on my mind. . . . I need sleep. Putting that off his mind, he concentrated on the debate taking place in moments. He barely paid heed to the white washed walls of some sturdy timber that he never was curious enough to further investigate. He finally came to great doors that were nearly fifteen strides tall. Six soldiers. They guarded that door, both in and out. And they were responsible for opening the grand portal made out of oak. Oak, he thought. So old to be using such wood. Traditions. . . .