Disclaimer - Don't own anyfink, please don't sue - only this story belongs
to me.
But if you only have love for your own race
Then you only leave space to discriminate
And to discriminate only generates hate
And when you hate then you're bound to get irate
Where is the love - Black Eyed Peas
================
The guard opened the door, without knocking and looked at Jonas, "just checking everything's alright ambassador," the words stuck to the roof of his mouth, echoing off the dry plaster walls as he spat them out.
Jonas's smiled through his anguish, not letting his mask slip and nodded knowing the guard would continue this check, throughout the night, without any warning.
The Sergeant hovered in the doorway, the dim light of the corridor making him more shadow than man, crossing his arms in disrespect, trying to dominate the gap. His fierce eyes darted around the chaotic, undersized, room, giving Jonas a look of contempt before nodding. He dug out a crushed packet of cigarettes, from his breast pocket, taking one directly from the pack with his mouth. He lit it with a snap of a match, the flame revealing the harsh cut of his face and filled his addicted lungs as if it were his last breath; he exhaled through his teeth, propelling a dense residue towards Jonas before exiting the room and slamming the door.
Jonas heard the familiar crackle of a radio as the guard reported back to his command, selecting a few choice words, such as 'traitor' and 'close surveillance', to say loud enough to be heard.
He had been shadowed like this since his return, his every movement closely watched and chronicled by a rota of nameless, uniformed, faces, all trying to wear him down, to goad him into some action, some misplaced word, that would cost him his 'liberty'.
He was tired, his nights were constantly interrupted and his days spent fighting historical hostility to try and bring opposing standpoints to some kind of commonality. It was a demanding vocation as each Council member was torn by the past and afraid to disclose any information that might help build a Central Government.
They were blinkered by petty disputes, unable to see the bigger picture; unable to understand the threat they now faced from the Goa'uld. The Kelownans believed their technology and Naquadria gave them the upper hand while the Tiranians and Andari reasoned that their alliance gave them a stronger say in government, even if they still squabbled as to what day of the week it was (the Andari having five days to a week, the Tiranians eight).
He had argued, in private with Dreylock, to let him prove to the Council that the System Lord who had once ruled this planet had taken its inhabitants from earth, thousands of years ago and that they all shared the same genealogy. With Doctor Jackson's help they could authenticate the ancient texts that proved this and that they had, once, all worked together to defeat the Goa'uld, freeing the planet from its tyranny.
The First Minister had thought long and hard on Jonas's plea but these were fragile times and this was very dangerous ground. Dreylock could ill afford to be controversial, she was not yet secure in her Ministerial position and there was a growing rumour, taking root amongst the people, that the Kelownans had been given the Stargate because of their superiority over all other races.
In these dark times, the nation wanted to believe in their own supremacy and even though Dreylock had the support of the council members, it was the support of the people that she needed to go forward.
Jonas had, had to acknowledge this, realising for the first time that there was also an inner power struggle unfolding in the Kelownan ranks, a struggle he had helped fuel by returning.
The guard outside the door was a compromise reached between Dreylock and Commander Ravel, the ruthless head of Kelownan security, who had wanted to drag Jonas to the Palatine, the City Guard HQ, for questioning when he had first arrived home. This public show of support for a traitor, by the First Minister, and her refusal to listen to Ravel's advice had seriously undermined their tentative relationship and the rift between them had grown.
The problem this caused for Dreylock was that the Commander held sway with the ordinary population and was turning them against the new administration. Ravel was a passionate and charismatic orator who secretly preached of government betrayal, on the broken streets of the city and advocated the supremacy philosophy, increasing his popularity and filling the people's hearts with prejudices and hatred.
So there was a viper in the Ministerial nest and the esteem the Commander was held in, by the ordinary Kelownans, made an arrest difficult without solid proof of his plotting. Dreylock needed his strength, for the time being, but Jonas also knew that the planet's future would be lost if Ravel ever took control. His nihilistic values were built with the bricks of his own ambition and if he continued to build on these foundations the voice of the ordinary people would be lost in a bloody dictatorship.
There was now a serious split in the Kelownan camp between the Supremacist and those in favour of unification and Jonas wondered if he was the only one who could see that each opposing side was pulling the planet apart faster than any Goa'uld attack.
++++
The lights flickered as the City's power was switched to key instillations. Jonas walked over to the bed and pulled the rough wool blanket from its frame to wrap around him; soon the heating for this area would be cut to save resources.
He took the glove off, from his left hand and the imprinted eye flickered with light. He stretched his fingers and let his mind soar away from the sorrow and angst ingrained on his soul like sand. He felt the complexity of a million and one political arguments twisting through the building each fuelled by a determination. Jonas felt their colours and confusion float through his being like restless sprits impatient at their own mortality.
He closed his eyes and sighed at the sheer volume of feeling that was striding the corridors to meet his focused mind. There was simply too much traffic for him to search for justice for the unclaimed bodies being hastily buried, in the frozen soil, in unmarked graves.
He withdrew the light back to his palm and quickly put the glove back on, he could ill afford to get caught and charged under the four hundred year old Paranormal Act.
Jonas smiled despondently and shook his head, for all of Kelowna's technological advancements they still had laws that took them back to the candle lit ages of their earliest parliament. Laws that made it illegal to practice soothsaying, witchcraft, fortune telling, astrology, séances, even magic tricks and illusions were prohibited and could be punishable by death. Kelowna was a suspicious land with a deep distrust in anything out of the ordinary or usual. He wondered if it stemmed from the Goa'uld occupation or if the laws were put in place to capture Andari or Tirania spies as both these countries had entrenched beliefs in the fortunes told by the stars.
Jonas's memory stirred, retreating back to the grey flannel days of school. He heard the leaves drag along the broken concert of the playground as the wind chased them from the branches, piling them along the sides of the prefab, utility buildings. He sat against the thickness of a knotted tree trunk trying to unravel a question set earlier in the day while watching his breath cloud in the air. Other boys zoomed passed, arms stretched like aeroplanes as they fought their mock wars, a few stopped and asked him to join their side but he declined and they left it at that; they all knew he had just lost his sister.
He was so absorbed in his calculation, trying to keep his mind busy and away from reflective thoughts, that he hadn't noticed the other boy lean against the tree, watching him. Jonas looked up for a moment and was meet by a pair of scrutinizing, sky, blue eyes, "you don't belong here, Jonas Quinn," came the unfeeling voice, "you're not one of us."
Jonas stood in bewilderment only to be met by a small fist connecting with his nose, "you are the orchestrator of our doom, you will end the Kelownan dream."
Jonas held his nose in disbelief, as blood seeped through his closed fingers. His blurry eyes looked into his attacker's cold, unfriendly, face, hidden in the fine hair and colouring of a cherub. A teacher came over, tweed like and spinsterish, and cut through the circle of small boys who had gathered in awe.
She grabbed Jonas's assailant, stretching his worn sweater, and spun him to face her, "Morgan Arnold what's going on here?" She asked in a raised voice.
Morgan just held her gaze and she saw something in those eyes that made her step back and lift a hand to the pearls around her throat. She began to shake as her reflection vanished into the boy's hypnotic orbs and was replaced with a vision of her own death. The wind dropped swathing the playground in silence, casting a spell on the energetic children who became effigies in the frost of the morning light.
A Master strode across to the scene, breaking the enchantment with his movement and gathered the two boys by their collars, shaking them before marching them across the iced playground.
Jonas was brought before a severe looking nurse whose face was pinched and hard, possessing no compassion in her shark like eyes. She threw a wad of cotton at him without examining the injury and made him scrub his hands, several times, in a large enamel sink filled with cold water and splashes of coloured paint. He was then left to his own devices in a disused study, which was being used as a storage space because of its disrepair and lack of heating.
He sat, by himself, amongst the papers of long forgotten school children with nothing to record the passing minutes except the clink of an old pipe settling against the cold. Boredom caused him to pace the room, pulling his sleeves over his hands to stop the cold nibbling at his fingertips. He walked over to the set of oblong windows and peered out, on tiptoe, wondering if he'd been forgotten, wondering what he had done to be ostracised.
From his vantage point he could see the long arms of the, industrious, metal cranes working the estuary, while around them a heavy flock of ever hungry gulls glinted like drawn swords against the drab sky as a new weather front moved in to wake up the morning.
A black car drew into the playground, sleek and shining against the day and the rundown school. Jonas watched two official looking men get out and walk to the master's office. Soon another car pulled up and its two sinister occupants got out, leaning against the vehicle, smoking roll-ups as they waited direction.
After what seemed like an eternity four figures advanced towards the second car from the study, the two men from the first car, the long limbed master and Morgan. The adults stood talking, for a while, their words smoking in the air but Morgan was taking no part in the discussion, he seemed oblivious to the banter, instead he looked across the yard seeing nothing else but Jonas's face through the mist of breath that was trapped on the glass.
Jonas stepped back and swallowed, his skin crawling with fear. When he looked back out the second car was gone and so was Morgan.
The door opened and the master entered flanked by the two men, "Quinn, these men are from the Government, they want to ask you a few questions."
He nodded to the men and then exited the room, shutting the door behind him.
Jonas watched him go and sat back down on the stool he had occupied earlier, the older of the two men did the same, pulling out a small seat and dusting it down before depositing his body weight on it; it creaked with the strain.
The younger one took a seat in the corner giving Jonas a reassuring twitch of smile that Jonas couldn't help but return.
The first guy delved into the leather case he'd been carrying and took out a tape recorder, pressing two of the buttons down to activate the machine's recording facility. He coughed, throatily and then looked at the small boy, "how well did you know Morgan Arnold?"
'Did', Jonas was wary, he looked into the man's small eyes trying to gage what lay behind the jowly face. He shrugged mischievously causing the man's face to quiver as he rolled his eyes and pointed to the recording device with a silver pen.
"Not well, sir," Jonas replied watching the reel of tape spin and hiss.
"But you did know him?"
"Yes, he was in the same class as me but we weren't friends or anything," Jonas shuffled on his stool and sat on his hands.
"Were you enemies, then?"
"No, sir, he was just a kid in my class," Jonas reiterated.
"Then why did he hit you?"
Jonas shrugged again.
"The teacher, a Miss, Miss."
"Helvellyn," replied the other man.
"Yes, she said that Arnold spoke to you before the attack, what did he say?"
Jonas looked towards the ceiling, he remembered every word Morgan had spat as their sentiment had burnt through him but he just chewed the inside of his cheek, as small boys do, when they don't know an answer. "I can't remember," he lied stealing a glance at the younger man to see if he'd noticed.
The man sighed, "I want you to think again, to see if you can remember."
Jonas did as instructed looking around the room in mock inspiration, then shook his head, "no, sorry, sir, is it important?"
The man asking the questions looked across at his colleague who shook his head. He turned back to Jonas, "did you feel anything when the boy hit you?"
Jonas's small forehead creased in puzzlement, "pain?" He answered back.
The other man let out a snort as he tried to contain a laugh and spoke for the first time, "no, Jonas, he means did feel any odd sensation, did you see any pictures flash before your eyes, did you hear voices inside your head or experience anything weird or usual?"
"Yes, thank you Doctor," the other man said annoyed, then turned back to Jonas, "well?"
Jonas pretended to think long and hard on this last question. He remembered the look of portent in Morgan's eyes, the way it dragged at his soul, pulling at something inside of him. He looked at both men and shook his head.
"Okay," the man said, turning off the recorder.
"Is, is Morgan alright, sir?" Jonas asked, the question stopping both men.
The first man narrowed his eyes at the boy, "I thought you said he wasn't a friend of yours?"
"He's not, sir, I just wondered if he was ill or something."
The man gave a dismissive grunt, "he was ailing from the day he was conceived, his father's Tiranian, see, mixed blood, makes the mind unstable, you bear that in mind boy," he said tapping his temple with his index finger.
Jonas nodded obediently and then the man smiled at him for the first time, only it wasn't a smile of friendship, "you've just lost your sister," he stated massaging his abundant chin between his thumb and forefinger.
Jonas looked down at the fluff bunnies that were nesting on the floor and said nothing.
"Your parents," he continued, "they haven't been trying to contact her through illegal means?"
"I, I don't understand, sir," he replied looking puzzled.
The man read the boy's face and smiled again, "good, good, you keep it like that."
He pushed his short fingers into the pocket of his jacket and after rummaging pulled out a cigarette. "You're not going to light that in here?" The other man asked.
He looked around at the papers, the dust and Jonas, "s'pose not," he replied, "you coming Doctor?"
"In a minute Dixon," he replied, "I'll meet you by the car."
"Whatever, bring the tape recorder when you've finished up."
The young man nodded and sat down in front of Jonas, while Dixon left the room, "why did you lie about not remembering what Morgan said to you?"
Jonas looked up into the dark, brown, responsive eyes and thought about lying again; instead he looked at the tape.
"It's okay I won't turn it on," the Doctor replied.
"It didn't make sense." Jonas stated crossing his arms.
"Why don't you tell me anyway?"
Jonas chewed his lip, "he said that I didn't belong here, that, that I would end the Kelwonan dream."
"Ah, then it's a good job you lied, Dixon would have wanted to investigate this further," the man said smiling, "so why are you telling me?"
"Because you're not like him."
"How so?"
"His mind is closed, everything to him is black and white. You're, you're a scholar, your mind is open to a bigger picture."
The young Doctor looked at Jonas and was enthralled by this bright child before him, "you're a very perceptive young man, Jonas Quinn and bright too, I've viewed your grades, before coming in here, but let me give you a word of warning, the government you are living under does not have an open mind. It is a distrustful administration, full of small-minded men, eager for power and they will be watching you, for a short time, because of this incident. Play your cards close to your chest, Jonas, sometimes it doesn't pay to be too bright."
Jonas nodded and then asked, "what will happen to Morgan, sir?"
The Doctor sighed and looked into the boy's eager face, knowing only the truth would do, "he will be taken into hospital, researched and have the frontal connections severed in his brain."
Jonas looked dismayed, "but that's, that's," he searched for a word in his child's vocabulary, "unfair, he did nothing wrong."
The man leaned across and took Jonas by the shoulder, "yes he did, he showed he was 'different'," he said sternly, "remember that."
"Can't, can't you help him?" Jonas half pleaded.
The man smiled sorrowfully and shook his head, "I'm only a junior scientist, Jonas, I have no authority, this isn't even my department, I'm just filling some guy's shoes who was shot by a sniper yesterday, my hands are tied. I know it's hard for you to understand, I know it's barbaric but things are changing," he put his hand under Jonas's chin and pulled his head up to meet him.
"It's not right, though," Jonas replied in all innocence.
The young man looked into the boy's forlorn eyes and removed the gold ring from his finger, "here take this and hold it for a while in the heat of your hand."
Jonas did as he was told and squashed the onyx and gold band in his small fist, "now open your hand and take a look at the image on the front."
Jonas unclenched the ball of his hand and watched the emblem change, from that of a compass to a tree, "wow."
"That's the Coll, an ancient Kelownan symbol for the hazelnut tree, the tree of knowledge. It represents hidden wisdom, learning, truth and honesty. There are a few of us out there who believe in these values and believe we can change this administration for the better. We're not great statesmen or revolutionaries, we're academics who believe that slowly we can change this planet for the good of all those who live on it."
He ruffled Jonas hair, "see, now we both know a secret about each other, so that means we are linked forever."
"Friends?" Jonas asked, giving back the ring.
"Yes, Jonas," the Doctor smiled and handed him a small card with his contact details on. "If you ever need me then call this number but remember not to say too much over the phone. Now go back to your lessons and remember what I told you."
Jonas nodded and looked down at the card, "thank you, sir, I mean Doctor Kieran."
====
Until next time.
But if you only have love for your own race
Then you only leave space to discriminate
And to discriminate only generates hate
And when you hate then you're bound to get irate
Where is the love - Black Eyed Peas
================
The guard opened the door, without knocking and looked at Jonas, "just checking everything's alright ambassador," the words stuck to the roof of his mouth, echoing off the dry plaster walls as he spat them out.
Jonas's smiled through his anguish, not letting his mask slip and nodded knowing the guard would continue this check, throughout the night, without any warning.
The Sergeant hovered in the doorway, the dim light of the corridor making him more shadow than man, crossing his arms in disrespect, trying to dominate the gap. His fierce eyes darted around the chaotic, undersized, room, giving Jonas a look of contempt before nodding. He dug out a crushed packet of cigarettes, from his breast pocket, taking one directly from the pack with his mouth. He lit it with a snap of a match, the flame revealing the harsh cut of his face and filled his addicted lungs as if it were his last breath; he exhaled through his teeth, propelling a dense residue towards Jonas before exiting the room and slamming the door.
Jonas heard the familiar crackle of a radio as the guard reported back to his command, selecting a few choice words, such as 'traitor' and 'close surveillance', to say loud enough to be heard.
He had been shadowed like this since his return, his every movement closely watched and chronicled by a rota of nameless, uniformed, faces, all trying to wear him down, to goad him into some action, some misplaced word, that would cost him his 'liberty'.
He was tired, his nights were constantly interrupted and his days spent fighting historical hostility to try and bring opposing standpoints to some kind of commonality. It was a demanding vocation as each Council member was torn by the past and afraid to disclose any information that might help build a Central Government.
They were blinkered by petty disputes, unable to see the bigger picture; unable to understand the threat they now faced from the Goa'uld. The Kelownans believed their technology and Naquadria gave them the upper hand while the Tiranians and Andari reasoned that their alliance gave them a stronger say in government, even if they still squabbled as to what day of the week it was (the Andari having five days to a week, the Tiranians eight).
He had argued, in private with Dreylock, to let him prove to the Council that the System Lord who had once ruled this planet had taken its inhabitants from earth, thousands of years ago and that they all shared the same genealogy. With Doctor Jackson's help they could authenticate the ancient texts that proved this and that they had, once, all worked together to defeat the Goa'uld, freeing the planet from its tyranny.
The First Minister had thought long and hard on Jonas's plea but these were fragile times and this was very dangerous ground. Dreylock could ill afford to be controversial, she was not yet secure in her Ministerial position and there was a growing rumour, taking root amongst the people, that the Kelownans had been given the Stargate because of their superiority over all other races.
In these dark times, the nation wanted to believe in their own supremacy and even though Dreylock had the support of the council members, it was the support of the people that she needed to go forward.
Jonas had, had to acknowledge this, realising for the first time that there was also an inner power struggle unfolding in the Kelownan ranks, a struggle he had helped fuel by returning.
The guard outside the door was a compromise reached between Dreylock and Commander Ravel, the ruthless head of Kelownan security, who had wanted to drag Jonas to the Palatine, the City Guard HQ, for questioning when he had first arrived home. This public show of support for a traitor, by the First Minister, and her refusal to listen to Ravel's advice had seriously undermined their tentative relationship and the rift between them had grown.
The problem this caused for Dreylock was that the Commander held sway with the ordinary population and was turning them against the new administration. Ravel was a passionate and charismatic orator who secretly preached of government betrayal, on the broken streets of the city and advocated the supremacy philosophy, increasing his popularity and filling the people's hearts with prejudices and hatred.
So there was a viper in the Ministerial nest and the esteem the Commander was held in, by the ordinary Kelownans, made an arrest difficult without solid proof of his plotting. Dreylock needed his strength, for the time being, but Jonas also knew that the planet's future would be lost if Ravel ever took control. His nihilistic values were built with the bricks of his own ambition and if he continued to build on these foundations the voice of the ordinary people would be lost in a bloody dictatorship.
There was now a serious split in the Kelownan camp between the Supremacist and those in favour of unification and Jonas wondered if he was the only one who could see that each opposing side was pulling the planet apart faster than any Goa'uld attack.
++++
The lights flickered as the City's power was switched to key instillations. Jonas walked over to the bed and pulled the rough wool blanket from its frame to wrap around him; soon the heating for this area would be cut to save resources.
He took the glove off, from his left hand and the imprinted eye flickered with light. He stretched his fingers and let his mind soar away from the sorrow and angst ingrained on his soul like sand. He felt the complexity of a million and one political arguments twisting through the building each fuelled by a determination. Jonas felt their colours and confusion float through his being like restless sprits impatient at their own mortality.
He closed his eyes and sighed at the sheer volume of feeling that was striding the corridors to meet his focused mind. There was simply too much traffic for him to search for justice for the unclaimed bodies being hastily buried, in the frozen soil, in unmarked graves.
He withdrew the light back to his palm and quickly put the glove back on, he could ill afford to get caught and charged under the four hundred year old Paranormal Act.
Jonas smiled despondently and shook his head, for all of Kelowna's technological advancements they still had laws that took them back to the candle lit ages of their earliest parliament. Laws that made it illegal to practice soothsaying, witchcraft, fortune telling, astrology, séances, even magic tricks and illusions were prohibited and could be punishable by death. Kelowna was a suspicious land with a deep distrust in anything out of the ordinary or usual. He wondered if it stemmed from the Goa'uld occupation or if the laws were put in place to capture Andari or Tirania spies as both these countries had entrenched beliefs in the fortunes told by the stars.
Jonas's memory stirred, retreating back to the grey flannel days of school. He heard the leaves drag along the broken concert of the playground as the wind chased them from the branches, piling them along the sides of the prefab, utility buildings. He sat against the thickness of a knotted tree trunk trying to unravel a question set earlier in the day while watching his breath cloud in the air. Other boys zoomed passed, arms stretched like aeroplanes as they fought their mock wars, a few stopped and asked him to join their side but he declined and they left it at that; they all knew he had just lost his sister.
He was so absorbed in his calculation, trying to keep his mind busy and away from reflective thoughts, that he hadn't noticed the other boy lean against the tree, watching him. Jonas looked up for a moment and was meet by a pair of scrutinizing, sky, blue eyes, "you don't belong here, Jonas Quinn," came the unfeeling voice, "you're not one of us."
Jonas stood in bewilderment only to be met by a small fist connecting with his nose, "you are the orchestrator of our doom, you will end the Kelownan dream."
Jonas held his nose in disbelief, as blood seeped through his closed fingers. His blurry eyes looked into his attacker's cold, unfriendly, face, hidden in the fine hair and colouring of a cherub. A teacher came over, tweed like and spinsterish, and cut through the circle of small boys who had gathered in awe.
She grabbed Jonas's assailant, stretching his worn sweater, and spun him to face her, "Morgan Arnold what's going on here?" She asked in a raised voice.
Morgan just held her gaze and she saw something in those eyes that made her step back and lift a hand to the pearls around her throat. She began to shake as her reflection vanished into the boy's hypnotic orbs and was replaced with a vision of her own death. The wind dropped swathing the playground in silence, casting a spell on the energetic children who became effigies in the frost of the morning light.
A Master strode across to the scene, breaking the enchantment with his movement and gathered the two boys by their collars, shaking them before marching them across the iced playground.
Jonas was brought before a severe looking nurse whose face was pinched and hard, possessing no compassion in her shark like eyes. She threw a wad of cotton at him without examining the injury and made him scrub his hands, several times, in a large enamel sink filled with cold water and splashes of coloured paint. He was then left to his own devices in a disused study, which was being used as a storage space because of its disrepair and lack of heating.
He sat, by himself, amongst the papers of long forgotten school children with nothing to record the passing minutes except the clink of an old pipe settling against the cold. Boredom caused him to pace the room, pulling his sleeves over his hands to stop the cold nibbling at his fingertips. He walked over to the set of oblong windows and peered out, on tiptoe, wondering if he'd been forgotten, wondering what he had done to be ostracised.
From his vantage point he could see the long arms of the, industrious, metal cranes working the estuary, while around them a heavy flock of ever hungry gulls glinted like drawn swords against the drab sky as a new weather front moved in to wake up the morning.
A black car drew into the playground, sleek and shining against the day and the rundown school. Jonas watched two official looking men get out and walk to the master's office. Soon another car pulled up and its two sinister occupants got out, leaning against the vehicle, smoking roll-ups as they waited direction.
After what seemed like an eternity four figures advanced towards the second car from the study, the two men from the first car, the long limbed master and Morgan. The adults stood talking, for a while, their words smoking in the air but Morgan was taking no part in the discussion, he seemed oblivious to the banter, instead he looked across the yard seeing nothing else but Jonas's face through the mist of breath that was trapped on the glass.
Jonas stepped back and swallowed, his skin crawling with fear. When he looked back out the second car was gone and so was Morgan.
The door opened and the master entered flanked by the two men, "Quinn, these men are from the Government, they want to ask you a few questions."
He nodded to the men and then exited the room, shutting the door behind him.
Jonas watched him go and sat back down on the stool he had occupied earlier, the older of the two men did the same, pulling out a small seat and dusting it down before depositing his body weight on it; it creaked with the strain.
The younger one took a seat in the corner giving Jonas a reassuring twitch of smile that Jonas couldn't help but return.
The first guy delved into the leather case he'd been carrying and took out a tape recorder, pressing two of the buttons down to activate the machine's recording facility. He coughed, throatily and then looked at the small boy, "how well did you know Morgan Arnold?"
'Did', Jonas was wary, he looked into the man's small eyes trying to gage what lay behind the jowly face. He shrugged mischievously causing the man's face to quiver as he rolled his eyes and pointed to the recording device with a silver pen.
"Not well, sir," Jonas replied watching the reel of tape spin and hiss.
"But you did know him?"
"Yes, he was in the same class as me but we weren't friends or anything," Jonas shuffled on his stool and sat on his hands.
"Were you enemies, then?"
"No, sir, he was just a kid in my class," Jonas reiterated.
"Then why did he hit you?"
Jonas shrugged again.
"The teacher, a Miss, Miss."
"Helvellyn," replied the other man.
"Yes, she said that Arnold spoke to you before the attack, what did he say?"
Jonas looked towards the ceiling, he remembered every word Morgan had spat as their sentiment had burnt through him but he just chewed the inside of his cheek, as small boys do, when they don't know an answer. "I can't remember," he lied stealing a glance at the younger man to see if he'd noticed.
The man sighed, "I want you to think again, to see if you can remember."
Jonas did as instructed looking around the room in mock inspiration, then shook his head, "no, sorry, sir, is it important?"
The man asking the questions looked across at his colleague who shook his head. He turned back to Jonas, "did you feel anything when the boy hit you?"
Jonas's small forehead creased in puzzlement, "pain?" He answered back.
The other man let out a snort as he tried to contain a laugh and spoke for the first time, "no, Jonas, he means did feel any odd sensation, did you see any pictures flash before your eyes, did you hear voices inside your head or experience anything weird or usual?"
"Yes, thank you Doctor," the other man said annoyed, then turned back to Jonas, "well?"
Jonas pretended to think long and hard on this last question. He remembered the look of portent in Morgan's eyes, the way it dragged at his soul, pulling at something inside of him. He looked at both men and shook his head.
"Okay," the man said, turning off the recorder.
"Is, is Morgan alright, sir?" Jonas asked, the question stopping both men.
The first man narrowed his eyes at the boy, "I thought you said he wasn't a friend of yours?"
"He's not, sir, I just wondered if he was ill or something."
The man gave a dismissive grunt, "he was ailing from the day he was conceived, his father's Tiranian, see, mixed blood, makes the mind unstable, you bear that in mind boy," he said tapping his temple with his index finger.
Jonas nodded obediently and then the man smiled at him for the first time, only it wasn't a smile of friendship, "you've just lost your sister," he stated massaging his abundant chin between his thumb and forefinger.
Jonas looked down at the fluff bunnies that were nesting on the floor and said nothing.
"Your parents," he continued, "they haven't been trying to contact her through illegal means?"
"I, I don't understand, sir," he replied looking puzzled.
The man read the boy's face and smiled again, "good, good, you keep it like that."
He pushed his short fingers into the pocket of his jacket and after rummaging pulled out a cigarette. "You're not going to light that in here?" The other man asked.
He looked around at the papers, the dust and Jonas, "s'pose not," he replied, "you coming Doctor?"
"In a minute Dixon," he replied, "I'll meet you by the car."
"Whatever, bring the tape recorder when you've finished up."
The young man nodded and sat down in front of Jonas, while Dixon left the room, "why did you lie about not remembering what Morgan said to you?"
Jonas looked up into the dark, brown, responsive eyes and thought about lying again; instead he looked at the tape.
"It's okay I won't turn it on," the Doctor replied.
"It didn't make sense." Jonas stated crossing his arms.
"Why don't you tell me anyway?"
Jonas chewed his lip, "he said that I didn't belong here, that, that I would end the Kelwonan dream."
"Ah, then it's a good job you lied, Dixon would have wanted to investigate this further," the man said smiling, "so why are you telling me?"
"Because you're not like him."
"How so?"
"His mind is closed, everything to him is black and white. You're, you're a scholar, your mind is open to a bigger picture."
The young Doctor looked at Jonas and was enthralled by this bright child before him, "you're a very perceptive young man, Jonas Quinn and bright too, I've viewed your grades, before coming in here, but let me give you a word of warning, the government you are living under does not have an open mind. It is a distrustful administration, full of small-minded men, eager for power and they will be watching you, for a short time, because of this incident. Play your cards close to your chest, Jonas, sometimes it doesn't pay to be too bright."
Jonas nodded and then asked, "what will happen to Morgan, sir?"
The Doctor sighed and looked into the boy's eager face, knowing only the truth would do, "he will be taken into hospital, researched and have the frontal connections severed in his brain."
Jonas looked dismayed, "but that's, that's," he searched for a word in his child's vocabulary, "unfair, he did nothing wrong."
The man leaned across and took Jonas by the shoulder, "yes he did, he showed he was 'different'," he said sternly, "remember that."
"Can't, can't you help him?" Jonas half pleaded.
The man smiled sorrowfully and shook his head, "I'm only a junior scientist, Jonas, I have no authority, this isn't even my department, I'm just filling some guy's shoes who was shot by a sniper yesterday, my hands are tied. I know it's hard for you to understand, I know it's barbaric but things are changing," he put his hand under Jonas's chin and pulled his head up to meet him.
"It's not right, though," Jonas replied in all innocence.
The young man looked into the boy's forlorn eyes and removed the gold ring from his finger, "here take this and hold it for a while in the heat of your hand."
Jonas did as he was told and squashed the onyx and gold band in his small fist, "now open your hand and take a look at the image on the front."
Jonas unclenched the ball of his hand and watched the emblem change, from that of a compass to a tree, "wow."
"That's the Coll, an ancient Kelownan symbol for the hazelnut tree, the tree of knowledge. It represents hidden wisdom, learning, truth and honesty. There are a few of us out there who believe in these values and believe we can change this administration for the better. We're not great statesmen or revolutionaries, we're academics who believe that slowly we can change this planet for the good of all those who live on it."
He ruffled Jonas hair, "see, now we both know a secret about each other, so that means we are linked forever."
"Friends?" Jonas asked, giving back the ring.
"Yes, Jonas," the Doctor smiled and handed him a small card with his contact details on. "If you ever need me then call this number but remember not to say too much over the phone. Now go back to your lessons and remember what I told you."
Jonas nodded and looked down at the card, "thank you, sir, I mean Doctor Kieran."
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Until next time.