WORLDBRINGER
“The germ of creation lies in violence.”
― Rudolfo Anaya
A mistake, Doren assured himself, strong legs pumping, propelling him through the narrow corridor with more speed than sense. That is the only reasonable explanation. A simple clerical mistake.
Still, the missive had been quite clear, and however erroneous its delivery might have been, Doren was not inclined to make the sender wait while he attempted to verify that it had indeed been meant for him.
Make Nanto Sulis and the Mara Rigan wait, on my account? Six forbid it!
“Coming through!” he called out, more for the sake of the valuable cargo than to preserve the good humor or safety of the men and women hauling it. Nearly breathless with exertion, he nimbly dodged the line of porters and workmen moving freight through one of the thousands of Customs checkpoints scattered throughout the tangled bowels of Port Eustace.
Not a single one met his eyes, cursed him for his clumsiness, or regarded him coldly for the interruption of their work. Even an Academic as pitiful as Doren, with abysmal Examination scores and few professional prospects, remained far above them in social station, and so they made way without hesitation or acrimony, as expected.
Still, the cargo tunnels of Port Eustace were hardly the sort of place one would expect to find a recent graduate of St. Eustace’s Institute. In fact, had anyone bothered to ask those who worked in the cramped, twisting maze of the Port’s underbelly when they had last witnessed someone of such elevated status dashing through, sweaty and flushed, they would likely be left gaping, stupefied, and without any such recollection to offer.
But the maze of subterranean tunnels created many convenient shortcuts through the larger Port, and Doren had made note of them years ago, should any event arise whereupon their use would be advantageous. He was a punctual sort of person though, and in his decade of schooling at St. Eustace’s had not once required them.
Until today.
He drew up the memorized map in his mind’s eye, and traced the route he needed to take to reach the Mara Rigan as quickly as possible. He had always possessed an excellent memory, and graphical images were simplest for him to retain for long periods of time. Yet despite his impressive ability for long-term recall, he had always tested quite poorly compared to his fellow students.
“An unfortunate affliction of nerves,” his academic records reported. “And though not a reflection of the pupil’s intelligence or aptitude, it is certainly a prohibitive condition for the highest offices of employment, for which he is otherwise undoubtedly qualified.”
The analysis, delivered in his fifth year of schooling, had crushed his dreams of one day accepting an officer’s commission for a post aboard one of The Regency’s Camalos-class warships. That would have set him up nicely; and the elevation would have extended great privileges as well, catapulting him into a social sphere far above his current state. For the very high-ranking officers, or those that were particularly favored, The Regency might also grant access to Anind technology, which was much coveted for obvious reasons.
