The cigars Ozian, the suit Myrorian, the car Novmiri, and the whiskey Prydainian. Brax Newfeuld lived life at the peak of luxury. The Letonese colony of Nova Letonna was all his, his private kingdom. The crown had basically given him the key to a whole sovereign nation, so long as it remained profitable.
He sat in the back seat of a long black Novmiri limousine, twirling a gold plated pen in his fingers, occasionally dragging off a Al' Khemish cigarette. His two aides sat completely still and emotionless, staring out the windows at the dry country side passing by.
The Limo pulled through the gate of a large gated compound. The sign on the gate said “MOC-MI:43”[Ministry of Colonization-Ministry Instillation 43]. Brax put on some thin leather leather gloves, fastened his deep purple cloak around his neck, and grabbed his gold gilded walking cane. When his car came to a halt, a soldier in dress uniform opened the door and saluted. Brax stepped out and saluted all in one fluid movement.
As soon as he was in a large bland cement building, an aide was ready and waiting to take his cane and cloak. While the aide was undoing the buckle for the cloak, Brax looked up on the wall to see himself staring down. He had ordered portraits of himself to adorn main MOC offices.
He strode through the halls with aides and body guards in tow. He walked like a man who had it all, and wanted everyone to know it. His step stern, his appearance pristine, his gaze chilling and demanding.
He came to a locked door with guards on either side. Upon his approach, they unlocked it, and held it open for him. He stepped into a long hallway with jail cells on either side.
“Room 11 Sir.” an aide behind him said.
He walked down the hall way. Passing some cells that were empty, some that had their occupants slumped over and broken, and some that just looked up in fear. Stopping at room 11, Brax looked in to see two people leaning forward with their heads in their hands. Waiving a hand, a guard turned on a blinding light above them. They jumped, startled and coming out of a light sleep.
“My apologies friends, I didn't mean to wake you, but we have a few things that need to be discussed with much urgency.” The Governor said, behind a twisted grin.
“So, will there be a lawyer waiting for us when we get there?” Veena asked between loud crashes of the truck tires falling in pot holes.
“Mmhmm” An Officer said uncaring, picking some dirt out from under a finger nail.
“We're innocent until proven guilty right? So why the need for the handcuffs and the truck and the soldiers?”
“Listen lady, we got another two hours to go, I don't want to hear your god damn questions the whole trip OK? As long as the Governor gets what he wants you'll probably be fine.”
“Probably be fine?”
“Again, lady, the questions. Zip it or you're getting the night stick.”
Veena gave the Officer a mean look and leaned back in the bench. There was no padding on the seats and her back was killing her. The fact that Nova Letonnas infrastructure was still under developed didn't help. She leaned over to look at Icksen who had remained silent the past few hours.
“Hey, how you holding up?” she whispered in his ear.
He looked at her, smiled, and nodded.
“You?”
The Officer created an unbearably loud bang as he smashed a night stick against the metal wall of the truck.
“One more time and it will be your head.”
Icksen shot him an angry look, but ultimately went back to slumping over in the bench. The next few hours were spent in silence in the back of the armored truck. Near sundown, it arrived at a fairly well staffed instillation in southern Ulfrum's Fist. A town named after the soon to be Emperor, as a way of the Governor to suck up to the crown.
When the truck finally stopped, the doors immediately flew open, and two soldiers grabbed them. They were hurried into a back door, and into a long hall way with cells, finally stopping at one with 11 painted above it. The soldiers shoved them in, slammed the barred door, and walked off.
“What are they going to do to us? We haven't even been read our rights. They didn't even tell us what we did.” Veena said, slightly panicked.
“It was that damn rat we picked up on the road. I bet they caught him and he's taking us down with him. That piece of shit.” Icksen said, gritting his teeth.
“Maybe it's something else. We are behind on the taxes. Or maybe they want to build a high way near by?”
“They wouldn't call the Governor in to ask us if they could build a high way, or to ask us to pay the damn taxes. This has to do with Jansen, I know it.”
“Ahh good, so you do know who we're after then.” Said a rather short man, stepping out of a blind spot on the right side of the hall way. He was wearing gray slacks, and a white collared shirt, but no uniform or insignia or rank. Only a sly “gotcha” look on his face.
“We just gave him a ride to town, nothing more.” Icksen quickly said.
“Now now now, there's nothing you can hide in these walls. You must have never been in custody before. You always keep your mouth shut when you think nobody's around, because chances are there will be, little tip for the future. I'm Mr. Newtrim by the way, head of intelligence for this instillation.”
“Mr.? Doesn't the MOC use military ranks?”
“They do, but they can be so artificial and inhuman. They make people think I'm above them. I want you folks to think I'm your friend, someone who wants to help you go back home to that little farm of yours.”
“You're nothing but some toad like the rest of these orange stiffs around here!”* Icksen yelled.
“Harsh words will get you out of here no faster Mr. Zelkren.”
“What exactly, do you people want? Nobody has read us our rights or charged us with a crime yet.” Veena said.
“When it's of utmost importance to the Empire, your rights can be waived, at least in Nova Letonna. And as for your crime, that's to be determined. You mentioned you picked up a man named Jansen. Tell me about that.”
“All we did was give a hitch hiker a ride to town. He said his name was Jansen. He appeared nervous, so we weren't sure his intentions. We dropped him off behind Beltrin's Goods and Foods in down town Fort Welfrum. We never saw him again.”
“And that's all that happened? He didn't mention anything else?”
“No. He was quiet. We didn't care for him much, so we didn't make much conversation.”
Mr. Newtrim studied the two carefully, looking at them, showing no emotion in the process. He grabbed a clipboard off the wall, jotted something down, and hung it back up.
“Alright, that's all I needed to hear.”
“So...we're free to go?”
“Oh ha ha no. You also must have never told a lie to an officer before. Your eyes were shifting to the right and your feet shuffled, dead give aways. We still have a few hours before the Governor arrives. I'm scheduling you for some additional processing.”
“WHAT!? You can't do this! I want a Lawyer! We didn't do anything wrong!”
Veena kept screaming as Mr. Newtrim walked into the darkness down the hall way, turning off the light to her cell as he went.
* "Orange Stiffs" is slang for Ministry of Colonization officials, who often wear orange badges, arm bands, and sashes.
