All That Glitters Is Not Gold

Posted on Jan 01, 2017 @ 4:45pm by Ambassador Xana Bonviva
Edited on on Jan 01, 2017 @ 4:47pm

Mission: Aftermath

“All That Glitters Is Not Gold…”



=/\=

Location: ACAMAR III

Scene: Deathfall

SD: 2.170101.1120

On the Southern side of the wetlands, the village of Deathfall was gorgeous. The name was misleading; most homes had copper rooftops, copper walls and calm and quiet collection of ponds, Deathfall had an amusing atmosphere. The main attraction was the library, which was built 30 years ago and designed by the tribal leaders.

Deathfall economy long ago was built on animal breeding, fletching and woodcrafting. However, Deathfall lacks people skilled in crafting as now most of its inhabitants were dedicated to Bramatine. The trading and shipping of it specifically.

Pali Shepherd walked through the town square deep in thought of Bramatine. Pulling up his dark green jacket as the winds picked up he was met along side by Aishe Norfield who was in a landcruiser. “Have you seen the latest report?” she asked.

Pali grunted as he looked at Aishe. “You worry too much,” he told her.

“There are rumors of a cave-in at The Hungry Pits,” she told him. “We can’t afford another one.”

Pali stopped his walking and looked over at Aishe. She was the same age as he was; both of them mid-life, but she had no concept of staying in her own path. “I don’t go into the huts. You don’t go the mines,” he told her bluntly.

Aishe glared at him. “The huts can only go so fast. Another cave-in, and there’s no way we can keep up.” Then she turned her landcruiser 180 degrees and sped away.

Cursing under his breath, Pali turned around and looked for a land cruiser so he could go visit The Hungry Pits, if only to prove Aishe Norfield wrong. It was the huts that needed to keep up, not his mines.

Nothing could interfere with the Bramatine production.

=/\=

Scene: The Hungry Pits - External

The sky was clear, with a few clouds; no animals circled above nor crafts here. The orange-red rocks of the eastern continent were wide and empty in the morning as the sun rose.

Beyond the immediate red-orange rocks, it gave way to small grayish black rocks and pebbles, the kind that often got stuck in one’s soles and in boots. However, if one moved the rocks in the slightest, even walking, it often danced up into their own clouds of smoke, the kind that danced on the wind and traveled for miles until it found a home. The dust from the rocks, from orange to black and every shade in between, traveled for miles and would land on everything. It stuck to carts, clothes, ore, skin, and even seeped into people’s lungs, making it difficult to breathe without the right treatment.

That wasn’t the only hazard as the ground quickly gave way to the ground that sloped down. Carts moved around in in paths that had been worn out from continual driving. The paths spun down for miles And in the far corners of the canyon were two entries to the mines where the carts came in and out.

The Hungry Pits were 3500 kilometers across, 1500 kilometers wide and more than 600 meters deep, and the engineers estimated by next year that number would reach 700 meters deep. The underground works were more impressive, a dizzy array of 3000 kilometers of underground workings, yielding last year 8.8 million ounces of Bramatine.

Tall men, dressed in black and gold, stood at various points along the twisty roads that lead from the top of The Hungry Pits to the entry of the mines watching the carts come in and out with the precious Bramatine ore, monitoring its production.

Everyone lived for Bramatine.

=/\=

Scene: The Hungry Pits - Interior Mines

Large men stood at the entrance with the phaser rifles, watching the carts go in out, the eldest of the miners supervising the younger, newer miners. They watched as the dull rocks were chiseled away to give way to precious stones that were gold with just the slightest trace of blue.

Deep in the mine, workers regardless of gender picked away at the walls, to grab at the precious rocks, dumping them into carts as they went along. It was clear that there was little thought given to clothing for the miners; only enough to cover their thin bodies and whatever was exposed was covered with dirt and soot. Pack into narrow, twisty corridors, the only sounds were whispers of the miners interspersed with the scratching of the light axes against the wall. The air became lighter and thinner the further into the mine that they went; if it wasn’t the thin air then it was the rumblings that the sent the stalagmites that went crashing from the ceiling.

Some corridors dumped off into the deep cavernous mines that were supported caves that went deep into the earth that were only framed by wooden platforms and rickety staircases that went from platform to platform or to the entrance to a corridor.

Cam Moul, a miner who now had a year and half experience, was hoisted on a series of ropes and was watching one of the new miners trying out her own series of ropes. “You got it,” he grinned.

Shimza Carey frowned as she tested out the ropes again. She wasn’t a nervous person by nature but it was one thing to be confident going into the dark mines with nothing but a light and an axe and another thing to be put on ropes. “Are you sure?”

Cam gave her a look. “I just said that--”

Suddenly there was a large crash behind them, and just as Cam turned his head he saw another miner across the way go sliding down his own ropes. Given the speed, that miner took down another miner and together they went through the scaffolding.

A large boom then went off at the bottom of the cave and all the scaffolding shook.

“It’s a cave in!” someone called out.

Cam looked up, and felt a well of dread and other emotions he didn’t have the capacity to name, crowd up in his narrow throat. “Shimza! Release your ropes,” he yelled to the younger miner higher up as he began to lower himself.

“I forgot how!” she yelled back, panic filling her voice as she twisted helplessly in the air, bouncing against the rockwall.

As miners all around them began to hastily to go flying down the ropes and run out, Cam tried to do the impossible. He climbed back up the ropes; against the tide of the miners to save the younger miner who was tangled in her own ropes. Working quickly, sticking his own small fingers in the knots, he untangled the knots and helped Shimza loosen her cords so they both go go down. Once they reached the platform, he grabbed her hand and they went running on the shaking platform to nearest ladder. “We’ll need to jump,” he yelled.

Pushing Shimza in front of him, Cam watched the young miner fly across the platform to the ladder, her blonde hair flying in the air. Cam didn’t hesitate as he did the same.

They clung to the lowest rungs of the ladder but that was enough. Even with the splinters of the ladder piercing their already harden skins, Shimza and Cam climbed up to safety. Once on the rocky floor they pulled themselves up and joined the others in the corridor.

While the chief for the area took count and sent off others to their jobs, Shimza looked around. “What’s he doing?”

Cam frowned as he sat against the wall. “Is this your first cave-in?” When Shimza nodded he sighed. He had been paired with Shimza a month or so ago. She seemed nice but it was clear she was going to ask a lot of questions. “He’s going to take count of who’s dead, who’s left, and how much Bramatine we’ve got. Then that will determine our new quotas for the day.”

Shimza gave him a look, her small mouth forming an “O”. “We still have to work?” When Cam nodded she pointed out, “But we nearly died!”

“But *we* didn’t,” Cam pointed out. When Shimza pouted, Cam looked at her. “How old are you? Five?”

Shimza glared at him; like any child she hated being reminded how young she was. “Yes.”

Cam nodded. “I’m six and half.” Rolling up his dirty left pants he showed a nasty jagged scar just above his knee, “When I was your age I had my first cave in and I got that.” He let her look before explaining, “I still had to meet quota.”

Shimza looked at Cam as he rolled down his pants leg. “What is Bramatine?”

Cam shrugged. “I dunno. Just know every day between now and 12 -- maybe 16 if we’re lucky -- we’re going to be here getting it.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re the only ones who can reach it.”

=/\=

Location: VULCAN

Scene: Bonviva home

Xana woke up with a start, sweat coming off of her brow. Curling up on her side, she murmured, “It wasn’t real, it wasn’t real,” she repeated the mantra over and over again. Briefly her eyes flickered up to the ceiling where the chrono was reflected. 0326. **Fantastic, I’m nothing if not consistent,** she thought.

The dreams were getting worse. She probably should get help for them. It would get worse before it got better. She intellectually understood this. The heart leaping out of her chest, the racing adrenaline, however, was not helping with the rationalizing.

She knew that she was under a lot of stress -- returned from a war zone, which wasn’t even her first war; her marriage was over; she was trying to be strong for her children; she was doing all she could at work and there were days she wondered why she was doing that...something was going to give. Might as well be what was left of her sanity.

Exhaustion forced her violet eyes to close...the swirling images of blood-tinged fighting on Bolarus forced her to snap her eyes open. Sighing she realized this wasn’t helping so she sat up in bed, and tapped the light next to her bed to a low setting. She didn’t want to make too much noise; Gods knew Ben could sleep through a bombing if need be but Gavi was a light sleeper and their room was right next to hers.

Sitting up, she wondered why she was only taking up half of the bed. At this point she was separated, just waiting for Jake to sign the PADD for their marriage to be officially ended. But they hadn’t been together for a long time. So why was she saving half a bed for him?

Right she could do this. She could sleep in the middle of the bed, get more room so she wasn’t feeling squashed by an ephemeral husband. Scooting over to the middle of the bed, she flipped over the pillows to the cool side and snapped up the sheets and blankets so they were not so tangled. Settling in she tried to see what this was like as she turned off the light.

It took all of two minutes before Xana had the thought, **Yeah this isn’t going to work.**

Sighing, sat back up, moved back over to the left side of the bed, silently cursing that she was forever relegated to one side of the bed, turned on the light, grabbed a PADD, and decided to catch up on some work and reading.

One message stood out:

From: Nykye Xiranat - BOLIAN OFFICE of PROTECTION

TO: Xana Bonviva - Hussein Karimi’s Office, Assembly

SUBJECT: Fund to Save Bolarus

Hi!

I know it’s been awhile and Traxx said I shouldn’t bother you. But when you left you said I could contact you anytime. And you said we’d have access to the “Save Bolarus Fund”. Well we kinda did but like only for a little while. But now it’s gone. And I know we didn’t spend it all. Anyways I thought I’d ask you.

Thanks and say “Hi!” to your Lobster and family!!!

By the Nine,

Nykye (aka Ooga-Chaka)


Xana frowned slightly as she re-read the message from her former Research Director from when she was BOLARUS IX at the Bolian Office of Protection. Clearly this needed to be researched.

=/\=

Scene: Hussein Karimi’s office -> Corridor

Hussein Karimi at least understood this time he was peripheral to his own campaign staff meeting. Still he stood back and watched; it was his name and face that was being promoted.

For a campaign office it was quiet. He wondered if it was the post-election let down but there was very little energy in the room. There was staff milling about reading various PADDs under the flags of EARTH. All along the walls there were large holos with different stats constantly changing.

“Team, we got lucky with the last campaign. It was sad but thankfully for us, Brooklyn Malys was sadder,” Xana Bonviva announced as she walked in with a large steaming mug in her hand with Vulcan tea. She was dressed in her go-to campaign outfit: a smart pantsuit (dark red pant suit), blouse (today's was white), and comfortable but stylish shoes (black wedges). “Now what I see here is not even a campaign for a kindergarten hall monitor. Now I think Karimi has promise, and why does that matter? Because I’m Xana Bonviva and you all are an amazing campaign staff who took him from last place to Assembly Member Hussein Karimi and now you’re going to make him Council Member. All I need you to do is say “Yes.”.” She paused for a moment to look out at the staff’s faces. “Say yes,” she coached softly.

Leitas leaned over to Marie-Claire Martine, both of whom were propping up a wall. “Is she for real?”

Marie-Claire Martine gave a small smile. “You’ve never been to a Xana Bonviva speech. Yes this is real.” Nudging another person, who nudged another, suddenly the crowd got the idea and all said, “Yes.”

Xana stared down the team. “Again.”

“YES!”

“Good,” she smiled as she sipped the mug. “This is the big time. I need stats: finance, polling, communications. Let’s go, people.”

Sipping her mug again Xana watched the staff scurry off to get what she wanted. She could tell at this distance that Hussein Karimi was less than thrilled by her pep speech but she had learned that so long as she delivered he was willing to give her to give her some rope. It was just as well, she wasn’t sure she was thrilled by the candidate but she didn’t disclose that to the staff. She agreed with the premise that Earth have a seat on the Council, but she wasn’t ready in her heart of hearts to say it should be Hussein Karimi.

But until then she would work to get him elected. And as Xana sipped her tea she walked over to Karimi. “That was an interesting speech,” he said with a raised eyebrow.

“Results matter,” she pointed out. Passing over a briefing PADD she began walking and talking. “I’ll have the updated schedule to you shortly. For now we’re keeping the first appointment with Delegate Quom,” she said referring to the delegate from Denobula.

Hussein nodded as he read over the PADD, nothing particular stuck out in his mind. “Anything else?”

“Did you want to talk about staffing?”

Hussein shook his head. “Not unless there’s something you can’t handle.”

Xana shook her head, making a note of several people she decided she was going to bring on permanently. “One more thing,” she said as they left the inner offices. “When you and I talked back when I was on Bolarus you mentioned that the rebuilding efforts would have access to a fund.”

Hussein gave a dismissive hand gesture as he was still reading the PADD she gave him, “Yes, Xana that was taken care of.”

Xana gave him a look. “Of course, I’m sure it was. There seems to be some snafu. I’ve received word that people don’t have access--”

“Don’t you have people for this kind of thing now?” Hussein asked.

The Bolian/Human took another sip of her tea and sighed. Shifting it around in her hands she made another note that she would have to investigate the Bolarus fund on her own. It wasn’t like Karimi said “No”....

=/\=

NRPG: This is the beginning of a few different threads for the political storyline. One is exploring Bramatine (what is it, why is it important, who is it important to).

Another thread is of course the continuing of the election for Hussein Karimi, now to the Council (it’s one thing to get him on the Assembly, but should he be on the Council? Should Earth be a permanent member again?).

Finally, BOLARUS IX was supposed to get resources to be rebuilt but those seemed to have dried up; but why and how?

And of course: how does this all fit together?

I will write again for Iphie sometime soon as I know she still needs to be crazy for some folks.

Jerome/Susan/Shawn: Thank you for all your fantastic, wonderful, stupendous help!

Please feel free as always to send questions, comments/suggestions, and cookies ;)

=/\=

Sarah Albertini-Bond

~writing for~

Xana Bonviva

All that glitters is not gold;

Often have you heard that told:

Many a man his life hath sold

But my outside to behold:

Gilded tombs do worms enfold.

Had you been as wise as bold,

Young in limbs, in judgment old,

Your answer had not been inscroll'd:

Fare you well; your suit is cold.

Cold, indeed; and labour lost:

Then, farewell, heat, and welcome, frost!




--From Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice