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Authors: William C. Dietz
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hours, Ivory fell asleep.
Ivory awoke with a start, managed to remember where he was, and wished his mouth tasted better. Strange though it seemed, the racialist had grown a little bit soft during his stay on Hell Hill. A fact which became all too apparent when he struggled to extricate himself from the curtain and realized how sore his muscles were. The burns were better, however, a miracle considering the possibility of infection and the fact that he had no antibiotics.
And it was later that morning, while tromping through a previously looted Ramada Inn, that Ivory discovered an unbroken mirror. That’s when he saw the heavy growth of beard, the grimy skin, and the crusted-over burns. None were infected, not so far as he could tell, which was something to give thanks for. The great Yahweh had work for him to do, that was for sure, because nothing else could explain such extremely good fortune.
There wasn’t any hot water, not with the power being out, but there was plenty of cold. The racialist used gallons of the stuff, not to mention three bars of individually wrapped soap and four previously white towels before he felt clean. The goatee came off, as did a month’s worth of hair, leaving a gaunt, tight-skinned face.
Then, rather than don the filthy clothes that lay puddled on the floor, Ivory wrapped himself in an undersized terry-cloth robe and stalked the halls until he found a room strewn with male clothing. The racialist appropriated some clean boxers, tried on a pair of nicely pressed jeans, and was pleased to discover they were only one size too large. A brown belt with a cheap Western buckle took care of the size discrepancy, a blue T-shirt went up top, and a nondescript sweatshirt added warmth.
Then, having recovered his boots, not to mention his canvas booty bag, Ivory made the best discovery of all: an undisturbed storage room complete with a fully loaded maid’s cart, which not only yielded six rolls of toilet paper, and some more clean towels, but a plastic bucket filled with foil-wrapped chocolate hearts!
The racialist filled his pockets with the tasty tidbits, crammed three into his mouth, and experienced something better than sex. Had anyone chosen to follow Ivory that morning, the trail of gold foil would have provided them with the means. Of course, no one did. On that particular day, in that particular place, Ivory was blessed.
ABOARD THE SAURON DREADNOUGHT HOK NOR AH , (PRIDE OF THE PEOPLE)
P’ere Has was eating a bowl of gruel when the Kan came to take him away. Not because other more flavorsome fare wasn’t available, but because he felt the discipline involved would strengthen his soul and help keep temptation at bay.
Never mind the fact that Dro Tog, his immediate superior, placed himself under no such strictures. Has believed it was the responsibility of each person to define the precise nature of their relationship with the Great One and to conduct themselves in accordance with that belief. Success or failure was their affair.
So, having given his particular God a somewhat stern and unyielding demeanor, Has felt it necessary to find ways through which to demonstrate the extent of his devotion. That’s why the priest had just scooped the last spoonful of tasteless porridge into his mouth, and was just about to scour the inside of his unadorned bowl with a crust of pan bread, when the hatch flew open.
The Kan, all members of the special security unit assigned to eliminate members of the Ra ‘Na resistance movement, wasted no time on niceties. A pair of warriors grabbed the diminutive cleric, jerked him out into the corridor, and searched his body for weapons.
In the meantime, with no rules, regulations, or laws to stop them, other members of the security team ransacked the small, sparsely furnished compartment. They found a combination computer-vid player, a collection of what purported to be religious cubes, and a carefully maintained robe used for religious services. The
Ivory awoke with a start, managed to remember where he was, and wished his mouth tasted better. Strange though it seemed, the racialist had grown a little bit soft during his stay on Hell Hill. A fact which became all too apparent when he struggled to extricate himself from the curtain and realized how sore his muscles were. The burns were better, however, a miracle considering the possibility of infection and the fact that he had no antibiotics.
And it was later that morning, while tromping through a previously looted Ramada Inn, that Ivory discovered an unbroken mirror. That’s when he saw the heavy growth of beard, the grimy skin, and the crusted-over burns. None were infected, not so far as he could tell, which was something to give thanks for. The great Yahweh had work for him to do, that was for sure, because nothing else could explain such extremely good fortune.
There wasn’t any hot water, not with the power being out, but there was plenty of cold. The racialist used gallons of the stuff, not to mention three bars of individually wrapped soap and four previously white towels before he felt clean. The goatee came off, as did a month’s worth of hair, leaving a gaunt, tight-skinned face.
Then, rather than don the filthy clothes that lay puddled on the floor, Ivory wrapped himself in an undersized terry-cloth robe and stalked the halls until he found a room strewn with male clothing. The racialist appropriated some clean boxers, tried on a pair of nicely pressed jeans, and was pleased to discover they were only one size too large. A brown belt with a cheap Western buckle took care of the size discrepancy, a blue T-shirt went up top, and a nondescript sweatshirt added warmth.
Then, having recovered his boots, not to mention his canvas booty bag, Ivory made the best discovery of all: an undisturbed storage room complete with a fully loaded maid’s cart, which not only yielded six rolls of toilet paper, and some more clean towels, but a plastic bucket filled with foil-wrapped chocolate hearts!
The racialist filled his pockets with the tasty tidbits, crammed three into his mouth, and experienced something better than sex. Had anyone chosen to follow Ivory that morning, the trail of gold foil would have provided them with the means. Of course, no one did. On that particular day, in that particular place, Ivory was blessed.
ABOARD THE SAURON DREADNOUGHT HOK NOR AH , (PRIDE OF THE PEOPLE)
P’ere Has was eating a bowl of gruel when the Kan came to take him away. Not because other more flavorsome fare wasn’t available, but because he felt the discipline involved would strengthen his soul and help keep temptation at bay.
Never mind the fact that Dro Tog, his immediate superior, placed himself under no such strictures. Has believed it was the responsibility of each person to define the precise nature of their relationship with the Great One and to conduct themselves in accordance with that belief. Success or failure was their affair.
So, having given his particular God a somewhat stern and unyielding demeanor, Has felt it necessary to find ways through which to demonstrate the extent of his devotion. That’s why the priest had just scooped the last spoonful of tasteless porridge into his mouth, and was just about to scour the inside of his unadorned bowl with a crust of pan bread, when the hatch flew open.
The Kan, all members of the special security unit assigned to eliminate members of the Ra ‘Na resistance movement, wasted no time on niceties. A pair of warriors grabbed the diminutive cleric, jerked him out into the corridor, and searched his body for weapons.
In the meantime, with no rules, regulations, or laws to stop them, other members of the security team ransacked the small, sparsely furnished compartment. They found a combination computer-vid player, a collection of what purported to be religious cubes, and a carefully maintained robe used for religious services. The
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