OOC: A six part short story about Tavastia which I intend to finish. Why? Because I know what's going to happen
PART ONE
He stepped past a sleeping bum, an Outcast, and peered forward, his eyes just visible above the lenses of simple sunglasses. Walking down the street he went past a dozen droning workers, all wearing grey or brown overalls. Factory workers, he thought fleetingly, without really paying attention. He passed another group of silent workers on their way home after another day at the simple, repetitive job. Finally stopping, he glanced around and frowned. His thoughts were evident: He wasn’t finding what he wanted. Maybe it’s the sunglasses, he considered, making him stand out of the crowd. He removed them and slipped them into a pocket of his long coat. The setting evening sun warmed his now bare face, its rays of light reaching him past the downtown skyscrapers in the horizon. It was thanks to the summertime that the sun was there at this hour at all.
Dull people, rattling cars and buses continued to flow around him. He was in the industrial suburbs of Hamina, a great coast city of Tavastian Federation, one of the major ports. From a haystack of two million people, he was looking for one particular person. Her name was Saara, a fifteen year old girl. Surname was unknown, but that’s the way it was with the Outcasts, the poorest bastards of the society, his colleague at the Security Police, Suojeluspoliisi or SUPO, had remarked to him during mission briefing.
The girl was quickly making a name for herself in the poorer regions of Hamina, and even outside. SUPO executives wanted her gone and were willing to task an entire team of SUPO agents to weed her out of the ghetto, but him, as the unit commander, had dismissed her story as ludicrous at best. Why would waste good resources on a little girl? He would find her himself and take care of her.
The local Outcasts and types of the lower castes called her a saint. How twisted was that, he sighed and produced a smoke from within his coat. He lighted it. Inhale, exhale. A pair of strolling workers at the other side of the street looked at him, clearly wondering who he was, but his stern glance in reply made them turn their heads away and move along. A saint.. a nexus of virtue and divinity. Pure godhood flows through her, they rambled. She can heal people, he had heard. She’s a living symbol of hope, of a better future for the plebs. For him and his superiors, she’s a threat and an agitator. Simple as that, he concluded. Inhale, exhale. He welcomed the easing feeling.
Of course, the man didn’t think for a second that she actually healed anything. He was not superstitious. He was of the Practitioner caste. His caste wasn’t even that spiritual, never mind his family. But some people, especially the lower castes, were. Hoaxes and bad rumours like these needed to be silenced before they became uncontrollable and turned into nightmares. He hadn’t heard of a such case happening in Tavastia before, making him even more reserved to appoint a team of agents to search her, but he recognized the threat, and made the call to do it himself. Anyways, he wondered, how hard can it be to find a fifteen year-old, especially when she’s making public appearances among the mob? He’d locate her, call in the cavalry and zoom back SUPO Hamina HQ. His first leads had been unfruitful, but he knew certain contacts that would deliver him the answers he needed to finish this lousy task. But first he needed to find his contacts, poor SOB’s lingering somewhere in this block of the industrial area 121..
PART ONE
He stepped past a sleeping bum, an Outcast, and peered forward, his eyes just visible above the lenses of simple sunglasses. Walking down the street he went past a dozen droning workers, all wearing grey or brown overalls. Factory workers, he thought fleetingly, without really paying attention. He passed another group of silent workers on their way home after another day at the simple, repetitive job. Finally stopping, he glanced around and frowned. His thoughts were evident: He wasn’t finding what he wanted. Maybe it’s the sunglasses, he considered, making him stand out of the crowd. He removed them and slipped them into a pocket of his long coat. The setting evening sun warmed his now bare face, its rays of light reaching him past the downtown skyscrapers in the horizon. It was thanks to the summertime that the sun was there at this hour at all.
Dull people, rattling cars and buses continued to flow around him. He was in the industrial suburbs of Hamina, a great coast city of Tavastian Federation, one of the major ports. From a haystack of two million people, he was looking for one particular person. Her name was Saara, a fifteen year old girl. Surname was unknown, but that’s the way it was with the Outcasts, the poorest bastards of the society, his colleague at the Security Police, Suojeluspoliisi or SUPO, had remarked to him during mission briefing.
The girl was quickly making a name for herself in the poorer regions of Hamina, and even outside. SUPO executives wanted her gone and were willing to task an entire team of SUPO agents to weed her out of the ghetto, but him, as the unit commander, had dismissed her story as ludicrous at best. Why would waste good resources on a little girl? He would find her himself and take care of her.
The local Outcasts and types of the lower castes called her a saint. How twisted was that, he sighed and produced a smoke from within his coat. He lighted it. Inhale, exhale. A pair of strolling workers at the other side of the street looked at him, clearly wondering who he was, but his stern glance in reply made them turn their heads away and move along. A saint.. a nexus of virtue and divinity. Pure godhood flows through her, they rambled. She can heal people, he had heard. She’s a living symbol of hope, of a better future for the plebs. For him and his superiors, she’s a threat and an agitator. Simple as that, he concluded. Inhale, exhale. He welcomed the easing feeling.
Of course, the man didn’t think for a second that she actually healed anything. He was not superstitious. He was of the Practitioner caste. His caste wasn’t even that spiritual, never mind his family. But some people, especially the lower castes, were. Hoaxes and bad rumours like these needed to be silenced before they became uncontrollable and turned into nightmares. He hadn’t heard of a such case happening in Tavastia before, making him even more reserved to appoint a team of agents to search her, but he recognized the threat, and made the call to do it himself. Anyways, he wondered, how hard can it be to find a fifteen year-old, especially when she’s making public appearances among the mob? He’d locate her, call in the cavalry and zoom back SUPO Hamina HQ. His first leads had been unfruitful, but he knew certain contacts that would deliver him the answers he needed to finish this lousy task. But first he needed to find his contacts, poor SOB’s lingering somewhere in this block of the industrial area 121..