Disclaimer - Nope do not own only the following story, plucked from the
atmosphere of my mind.
This is just a little taste, main course to follow.
Rest of the team will tag along later.
I just wanted to spend some time off world in Kelowna
============
Jonas shut the door to his quarters holding tight to the handle for a moment wishing for a lock to shut out the world, his world.
He watched the looming shadow of the City Guard, who was assigned to 'protect' him, creep under the doorframe as this dark figure settled into his nightly place of observation.
He swallowed tasting the curdled aftertaste of death that clung to his skin and clothing like stiff fingers of remembrance. Vacant, upturned, faces haunted his mind, silent in their last breath, frozen against the mud and hoar of the insubstantial refugee camp, which was one of many, hastily erected to take care of the influx of both Tiranians and Andari fleeing the lethal Naquadria that had blighted their homes.
Snow had began to danced to the tune of the biting wind, covering the tableau in a sheen of icy tears wept for the murder of innocents and there, in the heart of the carnage, brazen in its appeal to the leaden sky, an early poppy raised its red head, stealing the colour from the monotone landscape.
He buried his head in his hands, finding he was shaking uncontrollably. He'd seen the viciousness of death before when the Lycaons had attacked the Nox but this was different. This callous savagery wasn't the act of creatures bred for the hunt, for the kill, these people were slain by the hands of ordinary Kelownans enraged by rumour and fabrication.
The whispered lies had no doubt started as propaganda by those who believed in 'Kelowna for the Kelownans' and did not wish to share power with the defeated, inferior, races of the Tiranians and Abdari. This rumour spread on the lips of housewives, through the innocence of children to the ears of city workers, embellishing with each new narrative until its shadow had engulf many men's hearts to act as a merciless mob.
It was only a small camp, housing about one hundred workers from the once lush rural belt of the 'Andari Garden.' These weary families had travelled mainly on foot, carrying all that they owned, dressed in the rustic, quilted manner of the Andari people that's seen them through the harsh winters of their southern land. They were use to conflict, they had grown up, like all on this planet, battling for their right to live in peace, fighting for their small piece of fertile land, trying to own a future.
The First Minister had promised them hope, with open arms, a chance at a joint future, for Kelowna needed able hands, to rebuild its cities, to rebuild its population that was severely diminish when Anubis sent his first wave to test the planet's defences. This was to have been a joint effort, a coming together of nations, each constructing a future, working side-by-side until the three states became one and Langaria was born from the ashes.
It was a dream, Jonas knew it, they all did but some dreams are worth struggling for, even if they seem out of reach, even if they now lie abandoned amongst the broken corpses of nameless families who hoped and lost.
In reality, The Joint Ruling Council could sit around the table pretending they had a common enemy, in the Goa'uld, but the truth was that enemy was their past and the inbred hate that would not die.
===========
See ya
:o)
This is just a little taste, main course to follow.
Rest of the team will tag along later.
I just wanted to spend some time off world in Kelowna
============
Jonas shut the door to his quarters holding tight to the handle for a moment wishing for a lock to shut out the world, his world.
He watched the looming shadow of the City Guard, who was assigned to 'protect' him, creep under the doorframe as this dark figure settled into his nightly place of observation.
He swallowed tasting the curdled aftertaste of death that clung to his skin and clothing like stiff fingers of remembrance. Vacant, upturned, faces haunted his mind, silent in their last breath, frozen against the mud and hoar of the insubstantial refugee camp, which was one of many, hastily erected to take care of the influx of both Tiranians and Andari fleeing the lethal Naquadria that had blighted their homes.
Snow had began to danced to the tune of the biting wind, covering the tableau in a sheen of icy tears wept for the murder of innocents and there, in the heart of the carnage, brazen in its appeal to the leaden sky, an early poppy raised its red head, stealing the colour from the monotone landscape.
He buried his head in his hands, finding he was shaking uncontrollably. He'd seen the viciousness of death before when the Lycaons had attacked the Nox but this was different. This callous savagery wasn't the act of creatures bred for the hunt, for the kill, these people were slain by the hands of ordinary Kelownans enraged by rumour and fabrication.
The whispered lies had no doubt started as propaganda by those who believed in 'Kelowna for the Kelownans' and did not wish to share power with the defeated, inferior, races of the Tiranians and Abdari. This rumour spread on the lips of housewives, through the innocence of children to the ears of city workers, embellishing with each new narrative until its shadow had engulf many men's hearts to act as a merciless mob.
It was only a small camp, housing about one hundred workers from the once lush rural belt of the 'Andari Garden.' These weary families had travelled mainly on foot, carrying all that they owned, dressed in the rustic, quilted manner of the Andari people that's seen them through the harsh winters of their southern land. They were use to conflict, they had grown up, like all on this planet, battling for their right to live in peace, fighting for their small piece of fertile land, trying to own a future.
The First Minister had promised them hope, with open arms, a chance at a joint future, for Kelowna needed able hands, to rebuild its cities, to rebuild its population that was severely diminish when Anubis sent his first wave to test the planet's defences. This was to have been a joint effort, a coming together of nations, each constructing a future, working side-by-side until the three states became one and Langaria was born from the ashes.
It was a dream, Jonas knew it, they all did but some dreams are worth struggling for, even if they seem out of reach, even if they now lie abandoned amongst the broken corpses of nameless families who hoped and lost.
In reality, The Joint Ruling Council could sit around the table pretending they had a common enemy, in the Goa'uld, but the truth was that enemy was their past and the inbred hate that would not die.
===========
See ya
:o)