The rats are always first to leave a sinking ship.
Alone in the Amba-Hunain Hall, Teague waited for the other members of the ruling class. Randolph would be the first, then the members of the Amba-Hunain assembly would enter. For two more years, Teague and Randolph would co-rule. Then the power would pass to Martika and Lucinda. Though Martika and Lucinda would never get to rule, their future reign was still being arranged according to tradition. For ten years, the Ambas and the Hunains had rather peacefully co-ruled. Before the Great Reckoning, the rival parties had nearly destroyed everyone and everything. Though there remained tensions, most warfare and bloodshed had ceased. But even ten years ago it was too late for the planet. The excesses of both parties had destroyed the planet beyond repair. The leaders were about to meet for the final vote on the Lottery of Hope. At last, Randolph entered. The two men bowed to one another and took their seats at the head of the hall. They activated the command on their computer screens, and the two side doors drifted open. From the left, the Ambas entered. On the right, came the Hunains. With the ceremonial entrance over, the meeting began. For most of the last month, they had met to discuss the Lottery of Hope. Initially, it was the idea of Monte, a young Amba, but since then it had supporters and enemies from both sides. The ship was already ready, and most of the discussion was over. At the end of the meeting, they would make the final vote. It was Randolph’s turn to speak first. “While I believe in keeping our seed alive, I disagree with the current choice of who should be allowed to have a shot in the lottery. Do we really want the common people to continue our race?” Throughout, this had been the point of greatest argument. Keira, a young Hunain, spoke, “Why do you continue to object to this point Randolph?” “It’s wrong. If we’re not going to select the best, we should at least give everyone an equal chance of getting picked. Why shouldn’t we be allowed to enter our names in the lottery? I don’t want to die. Do you?” Several members of the assembly nodded their agreement. “We’re the rulers. We’re partially responsible for this disaster. Our people who remain need us to show the way—to set a good example of the proper way to die.” Keira searched for support. “What of those that get to go? Don’t you think they’ll need some rulers to continue in stability?” “They will carry with them the law and our stories. That will be their guide.” The reply came from Teague. “Nobility is our final service to our people.” “What good’s nobility when everyone’s going to die? There’ll be no one to remember our noble end!” In anger, Randolph had turned directly towards Teague. The two men stared at one another. Other voices added their strength to Randolph’s complaint. “They will remember, those who carry on.” “I call a vote.” The vote was soon seconded. Each member of the assembly focused on the computer screen in front of them. The screen asked, “Should the names of government officials be excluded from the Lottery of Hope?” The vote was close. But in the end the computer reported that government officials would not be allowed to participate in the lottery. Randolph and the others in opposition looked defeated. “Is there any more discussion before our final vote?” Teague asked. There was none, so only one vote remained. Again the computer screen flashed another question to the assembly. “Do you vote for or against the Lottery of Hope?” For once, the computer reported an unanimous decision. The lottery would take place the next day. Randolph and several others left without a word to anyone. Eager shouts heralded in the lottery day. The noisy clatter of the masses engulfed the palace and woke Teague. Surrounded by the opulence of a dying world, Teague stayed in bed a moment longer listening. Unsatisfied with his thoughts, but unable to stop the dawn, Teague left behind his fitful night’s sleep and went to find Randolph. In two hours, Teague and Randolph would each read twenty-two names that the computer had pre-selected. Together, they would give forty-four people freedom from a certain grave. Teague found his way to the Hunain wing and the bedroom of his counterpart. Lightly, he knocked on the massive door to announce his arrival. Receiving no answer, he entered. Randolph was not in his room. Teague assumed that Randolph must have spent the night pacing, as was his fashion when nervous. Surely, he would see the other man at the first meal, he thought. Without Randolph, first meal hour arrived. Teague sent several servants to search out the other leader. One by one the servants completed their mission without finding Randolph. The last servant, however, obviously had news to report. The young girl ran breathlessly into the main hall and collapsed before the assembled Ambas. “Gone—all gone,” she managed between gasps. The assembled group became as breathless as she. Though they all seemed to understand, Teague needed to hear the girl’s words. “Who? Gone where?” “The Hunain rulers, sir. They left, all of them. Left in the ship. Left for the other planet.” “Impossible! The ship could only hold forty-four people, possibly fifty. There were at least twenty Hunains and half of them had families.” The words of disbelief came from Monte. “They emptied the ship. Left behind everything they wouldn’t need, even the law and the stories, sir.” Her words hushed the crowd. Teague dismissed her and paced the room. There would be no jubilant departure of citizens, after all. Monte spoke again, “Can’t we build another ship?” “No, we used the last of the available resources on that ship. They could have at least taken the stories.” Teague could say not more, so he sent them away. It was true; there was nothing more they could do. They could disassemble buildings and other constructs to get material for another ship. But the project would take too long. Their top analysts had predicted the death of the planet in one month, two at the most. It had taken them three years to construct their first spacecraft. As it turned out, the girl’s initial report wasn’t true; not all the Hunains had escaped. All the children, many of the spouses, and all the Hunains who opposed the action were left behind. In a seldom used storage room of the palace, a servant found them. Despite all the desperation Teague had seen on his citizen’s faces, the faces of the betrayed Hunains were the worst. The younger children cried out for mothers and fathers they would never see again while the older children stood staring stunned by the evil truth their parents had exposed them to. The older Hunains simply looked tired. Teague tried to comfort them, but he didn’t have enough time. The citizens waited. Alone Teauge drove to the capital’s square. Around him, the faces shown with hope and happiness. Never in his reign had he seen such faces. Indeed, he could not remember a time when the citizens had looked genuinely thrilled. Before the news of the planet’s coming demise, hatred and warfare had shaded those faces. Even the peace between the Hunains and Ambas hadn’t produced such looks. He shuddered at the thought of his noble people dying with the look of the betrayed Hunains on their faces. At the square, hurrahs and whoops greeted him. He tried to smile a little. He took his place behind the Amba computer monitor; the monitor was supposed to pick forty-four names. Instead he began to type his message to the people. His words projected onto the looming monitor behind him and to other squares in other towns across the planet. In simple language, he explained. He heard the disbelief, the anger, the tears, the growing despair. Through he tried hard not to, he heard it all. Immediately panicked pleas from other towns sprinted across his monitor. It was no joke he assured them. A band of agitated citizens attempted to rush the leader. They shouted, “Someone must pay!” as they raced towards Teague. The guards fought them off without much trouble for they soon lost heart when they realized fully their situation. When Teague left, the noise was no less in volume than when he had arrived. But the character of the noise was desolate and forlorn. Teague returned to the palace to find that five of the abandoned Hunains had killed themselves. Everything was coming apart. Teague tried to maintain morale at the palace; he couldn’t do it. By the end of the week, the remaining, betrayed Hunains had committed mass suicide and the servants and many of the Ambas had deserted the palace. Teague thanked those remaining for their show of nobility and released them. Most were happy to return to die amongst family and friends. "Sir, what will you do?” Monte had yet to be persuaded to leave. “Monte? Still here?” “Yes, sir.” “Go home Monte. You’ve done your part.” “But sir. . .what-” “I’ll be fine. Now go!” Teague remained in the royal house. Now and then, he would walk the streets, but such walks only depressed him, even though, for once, he saw peace with his people. The peace was admirable, but the price for it was too much. The eyes that looked back at him were vacant, empty, hopeless. The people huddled against one another waiting for the end. Some had already ended their lives. Their corpses lay decomposing in the streets adding to the atmosphere of desperation. He longed for the days when he saw fire in those eyes. Even if hate had lit those fires. Already several cities had slipped out of existence. The end was near. * * * * * As their home planet died, the Hunain deserters awoke from their space sleep. Hung amongst the stars, their destination was before them. The planet where forty-four lucky ones were supposed to have a new beginning beckoned to them. Primitive and unpopulated, the earth welcomed them. |
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