Weather Control

Prologue

San pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. The completion of his plan relied now on the answers of one man. He ran a hand through his hair and drew a breath through his nose. Gesturing to the guard to unlock the prison, he readied himself. He was saving the world, he reminded himself.

San had already heard from reports that his prisoner had struggled, but that did nothing to prevent the shock when one of the two guards opened the door to the cell. The prisoner, no more than seventeen, had bruises around his neck, where he purportedly tried to strangle himself with the chains, and the cuffs had cut into his skin to the point San could see the white coloring of the bone. His face was a ghastly white color despite his skin being darker than most.

San turned to one of the guards. "Send for the doctor." The guard nodded and left.

San knelt down and shook his prisoner's shoulder. The prisoner was wide awake instantly. He screamed something unintelligible and tried to bang his head against the wall. San was quicker. San grabbed him and held tight to the prisoner. The prisoner snapped his teeth at San, but the guard was already there, holding the prisoner upright and immobile.

The prisoner spat blood out of his mouth. Had he been hit in the face?

San started speaking. "You know who I am, and you know why you are here. Honesty is your only option now." He tried to sound confident and capable of his position as president, but there was a tremble to his voice. Had he really ordered the capture of a child? 

San waited for some response but upon receiving none, continued.

"We do not intend to harm you, and we do not want to harm you. You have every right to hate us, but we do not hate you, we only hate your country and you king. As long as you answer our questions about the heir and king, you will be treated as our honored guest. Understood?"

The prisoner answered in his native tongue, "Leris." 

Liar.

"Do you understand our language?" San asked, suddenly concerned his plan was going to fail. It could take months to find a translator and years to find a willing one.

The prisoner nodded once, never taking his eyes off of the floor.

"Tell me then, where is the heir to the throne of your people?"

The prisoner's shoulders dropped in a beaten way. He looked at San and just shook his head solemnly, as if to imply that he couldn't say. 

"All you have to do is tell me about the heir," San said pleadingly. He did not want to see the boy harmed further or worse.

The prisoner squared his shoulders with some new found strength. He spoke with a heavy accent that San could hardly make out. "I am a prince, and I bow to no man."

The guard snapped, slapping the boy in the face. The prisoner shrunk back against the blow. 

San sighed and shook his head. "Chain him to the wall. I am not discussing this tonight. Find some food and once the doctor is here, have him report back to me."

San turned and walk briskly out of the room. Before the prisoner could see his face. San knew he could not let the boy free. He had his enemy in his hands. He was not losing his opportunity.

But how was he going to explain to his counsel he had tortured a child?

San steeled himself. He had captured an enemy.

And he was saving the world.

Somewhere far away, a king sat alone in a bed too big, sobbing with a crushed letter in his hand and wondered how things had gone so horribly wrong.