| Generated by Google Gemini Pro text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3.1 |
Resi told the truth, knowing that it wouldn’t matter, because the evidence
was overwhelming. The victim was unclothed in her bed. He was found in the
room, having no good reason to be there. His fingerprints were found on the
gun. The police on the island are absolutely not trained to investigate this
sort of thing because high-level crimes don’t happen here, but they know how
to dust an object. They’ve seen the same shows and movies that Resi has, and
probably more, since this is their chosen profession. They keep order,
though. They help facilitate large crowds, so everyone is safe. They don’t
solve crimes. They don’t catch criminals. They have no idea what they’re
doing, and they know it. A few of them asked him a few questions, but again,
none of it was based on any training or experience. It was just what you
would expect to ask, like did he do it, what was his motive exactly, and
where did he get the firearm?
He’s sitting in his cell now, which maybe has never been used before. Or
it’s been used a lot more than he thinks and that’s why it’s so
dirty? No, this is dust, not dirt. He’s a rarity here, which is perfect.
Just perfect. It’s what he deserves, letting himself become the First Tongue
of Aether. He should have meditated more before the Kidjum. There are those
who will teach kids to take control over their dreams, so they don’t have to
rely on their subconsciousness. It’s not against the rules, but definitely
frowned upon, and those people often do poorly in their jobs unless they
choose the House they grew up in. He never would have gone that route. He
did everything right, except he broke into Speaker Lincoln’s bungalow. That
probably was a bridge too far. He will spend the rest of his life
paying for it. The officers aren’t buying his story. He just sounds
desperate.
He hears a ruckus outside, so he drags his cot over to the high window, and
stands on it to peek between the bars. Hundreds of members of House Kutelin
are here, swarming the building. “Free Resi! Free Resi!”
“He’s there!” one of them says, pointing to the window. A selection of the
convoy breaks off, and crowds around. “We’re here to break you out!”
“You can’t do that,” Resi contends, looking around for someone from his
Fold, or anyone he recognizes better. He has not had enough time to get to
know everyone, and wouldn’t have the brain capacity for it anyway. “It will
make only things worse.”
“We know you didn’t do this,” someone else says.
“Yeah, you’re too smart to solve your problems that way.”
It’s hard not to see them as children. Even though this is the age where
Tambora thinks you’re mature enough to make your own decisions, it’s really
just about labor redistribution. It’s about keeping things moving. Make no
mistake, he’s no better than them. He’s just not as naïve. Breaking him out
is just going to make him look more guilty. “Please. Just go. Listen to
Caprice. She will figure this out for you. I’m cooked.”
They’ve come all the way into the station now, surrounding Resi on all
sides. Finally, someone he knows. “We have the keys,” Kasati says, jiggling
them in front of the bars. “We just need to figure out which one to use. The
guards aren’t cooperating.”
“You better not have hurt them,” he warns her.
“Are you kidding me?” She looks back at the horde behind her, as she’s
trying keys one by one. “We don’t have to hurt anybody. We’re a wave. It’s
comin’ whether you brace or not. They’ve just pressed their backs against
the wall, not even arguing.”
“You can’t fight a wave!” someone echoes from the group.
“You can’t fight a wave! You can’t fight a wave!” they all start to shout.
“No chanting!” Resi cries. He hates chanting more than most things.
“You can’t fight the wave either,” Kasati replies. She turns a sixth key.
“First try.”
They realize that he’s not going to go with them willingly, so several of
them flood into the cell, and begin to gently nudge them in the direction
they want him to go. It does feel like a wave, pulling him away from
justice. He may be innocent, but this is not how it’s done. Even without
much crime, they still have procedure. They take him through the station,
and outside. Some start chanting the new motto again, others are yelling or
cheering unintelligibly. Resi is hopeless to stop it. Have they just sparked
war?
They all start to squint and shield their eyes when a gust of wind washes
over them from the sky. A flying vehicle is descending upon them. They back
up to form a hole. Several kids almost fight each other over who is going to
protect Resi from whatever this is. “You can’t fight the wind either!” an
Enaiyo boy screams. “Come on, say it with me! You can’t fight the wind! You
can’t fight the wind! You can’t—”
He stops when a figure hops out of the opening of the aircraft when it’s
still two or three dozen meters in the air. They drop to the ground, landing
safely on their feet. She pulls her hood off to let her locks breathe. She
holds a finger up, and swirls it around above her head, presumably
triggering the craft to fly away, and lower the decibels in the area. “Which
one of you is Resi Brooks?”
“I’m Resi Brooks!” someone claims, followed by several others.
“Stop, stop it!” she orders. “He’s not in trouble, I just need to know who
to talk to. In case it wasn’t clear, I’m from the mainland. I’m Bungulan.”
This whole planet is called Bungula, and the Yana Islanders acknowledge
that, but they typically prefer to identify with their nation, and relegate
Bungulan to all outsiders.
“I actually am Resi,” he insists, freeing himself from his self-assigned
protectors. He approaches the stranger. “If you’re here to process me
through your court system, I’ll go willingly. But I must ask that you speak
with the Assembly first.”
“That will not be necessary,” the stranger explains. She steps up onto a
flower bed retaining wall so all can hear. “Resi Brooks is innocent of the
crime he was accused of! I was sent here to personally oversee his release,
in case there was resistance! We demanded photographs of the crime scene,
and of Mr. Brooks! That’s all we needed! Any bumbling 20th century detective
could tell instantly that he did not shoot the victim! It was, in fact, a
self-inflicted wound! I won’t go into specifics about blood spatter and
blowback, but the reality is quite obvious to us, and we were worried that
something like this would happen as a result of the miscommunication!
Please peaceably return to your homes! I need to speak with Mr. Brooks
myself, so I can understand the full extent of the situation! Thank you!”
The Head Peace Officer pushes his way through the crowd as it’s trying to
break apart, and approaches the Bungulan, lifting his pants up by the belt,
again, like he’s seen in movies. “I don’t appreciate you coming down here. I
only called for an opinion.”
The Bungulan gestures towards the crowd. “You obviously needed more than
that. You didn’t do anything wrong. You followed the evidence. I hope I can
count on your cooperation, however, now that we know the truth.”
He fancies himself a sheriff, pretending to chew on something when there’s
nothing in his mouth. “I don’t care what you do with the exile. Just get off
my island.”
