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Contents
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Introduction
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The Body - Hannah Cressey
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Static - Prav Somarathne
10 Means of Communication- Michael Egan 12 No censorship please, we’re British
Alec Sillifant
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Untitled - Joseph Hanss
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Inquisition - Ian Cai Mercer
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Censored - Micah Davidson
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Introduction This collection of creative writing on the theme of censorship marks the first year of Liverpool PEN, a student run group aiming to promote and support the work of English PEN in Liverpool. At the core of English PENs values is the belief that everyone is entitled to the ‘freedom to read and the freedom to write’. That is, a world in which writers and journalists do not face censorship, but can publish and share their work across all borders and a world in which literature is available to everyone without barriers or boundaries. The poems and prose you’ll find in this collection are wide-ranging and ambitious, with each writer putting a unique spin on the theme of censorship. I hope that you enjoy reading them, and you find them though-provoking. If you are interested in finding out more about the work of Liverpool Student PEN or English PEN please visit englishpen. org and liverpoolpensociety.blogspot.com Jessica Clark
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The Body I upped the contrast and
the brightness on the picture so my abs stood out and I looked that little bit more toned. Looking through my holiday photos I thought about what had happened that holiday and how bizarre it now seemed on English soil. I pictured the luxury of the beach that actually resembled the images in the holiday brochure. Heading for this beach, I paraded around in my bikini as a pasty white English bird with no shame but unfortunately this drew more than looks from the locals. On the first day they stared at us four from afar but we just thought they were mostly men, getting an eyeful of our bodies. I had gone to the gym for 6 months straight to procure some confidence to get into a bikini in front of my friends and complete strangers. Not going to lie, I was quite proud of my two stone weight loss and felt fucking fabulous.
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So anyway, we strolled along the promenade in our bikinis. The locals were staring, openly staring, with no shame but we just attempted to walk past in typical English fashion - without confrontation. We were heading for this secluded beach we’d heard about that was supposed to be quite difficult to get to but well worth the trek once you were there. We passed stalls along the sea front and we noticed murmurs between the locals and remarks that didn’t sound too complimentary. A woman hunched over a stall that sold handbags and sunglasses glared at us as we passed. Muttering under her breath she slung some broken English at us. We picked up the pace after this, determined to put this crazy bitch behind us and get to the idyllic beach. Heading towards the opening to the rocks that descended down into the beach we
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noticed that in fact, a lot of the stalls-women and female locals were follow-ing us. They were all dressed head to toe in thick dresses with no skin showing. It was thirty-two degrees Celsius outside – they must have been absolutely sweating. They bounded after us and obviously, we panicked. These women were throwing their arms above their heads and shouting derogatory comments in broken English. I caught “skin” and “shame” quite a lot but they also cried out “whore”. Why hadn’t the travel agent warned us about this? It seems idiotic to send four unwittingly British tourists off on a beach holiday and not inform them that the locals were psychos who attacked anyone that was wearing anything less than a full body suit. It quickly descended into chaos. They were throwing pebbles and rocks from the beach at us now and we broke into a run. Stopping at the edge of the sand, the women clearly could not come any further as they screeched and shouted at us with flailing arms and crazed
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expressions. As we slowed down my friend, Polly, was hit on the head with one of the stones and it began to bleed profusely.
“Fuck! You crazy bastards what do you think you’re doing?” she shouted, giving them the finger whilst blood oozed down her small face. We all sat down in the sand attempting to calm her down and see if her injury was serious which it luckily was not. “What the hell was all that about?!” Polly demanded yet none of us could give her an answer, nonplussed as to why these women were attacking us. Eventually the bleeding stopped and the locals dissipated. Polly asserted that she was fine so we headed to the secluded beach that we had risked our bloody lives for. It was indisputably worth it. Hidden under a mountain of rocks that curved around in semi-circle, we stepped onto the most peaceful and moving place I’ve ever seen. It was relatively small and could have accommodated around
fifty people comfortably. As there were only four of us we took delight in choosing the best sun-bathing areas. I laid my towel down just short of the sea and it crept closer and closer towards me. Like a shy puppy wanting to be hugged by its new owner, the ocean slid just into my reach and then quickly back out again, unsure of human temperament. I thought back to those women and how furious they became just because we were dressed in a certain way. It’s unbelievable how such intolerance is able to inhabit such a beautiful island. The sky seemed to apologise for this. The sun blazed down with a high temperature with a single cloud half shading the sun to cool us down. I got home to England about four days later. That day at the beach was like a surreal nightmare, laughable in the face of English culture at the pure absurdity of it. I did not tell my husband what had happened with those women. It seemed like a sacred vow between us four women that should be remain unspoken. In any case he wouldn’t understand and
would accuse me of exaggerating. After all we did not go to the local authorities so I know that according to his reasoning, it could not have been that bad. A week later I opened my handbag and excitedly realised my camera was in there with all of our pictures on it from the holiday. I stuck the SD card into my laptop and smiled looking through them. I had been back at work all week and this was a nice nostalgic escape from the horrors of attempting to teach John Steinbeck to 13 year olds. I found a great photograph of myself, I don’t mean to sound vain but I did look pretty smoking. I had my sunglasses on, hair in beach waves and a big grin on my face. My body didn’t look too bad either and with a bit of editing this could be a potential profile picture. I upped the contrast and the brightness on the picture so my abs stood out and I looked that little bit more toned. Perfect. My husband came up behind me and bent down to see what I was doing.
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I was currently in the process of uploading all of the holiday pictures to Facebook and tagging my friends. I smiled at my loving husband and asked semi-mockingly, “what do you think to my new profile picture then?” He looked at me in blatant disgust and breathed, “you’re not really going to upload that are you?”
by Hannah Cressey @hannahcressey
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static
by Prav Somarathne
A flick of the switch and a turn of the dial, Seated bodies and expectant smiles Static on the dead air Quizzical faces and the spinning dial, Voices that come and go Talk hurriedly in hushed half-words That say nothing at all Silver bells and ringing laughter sing a broken song Of bright lights on vacant faces that gaze past your eyes The misshapen chaos, the blood in the sand, Scratched out, scribbled, written over, line by line Lives lived and times bygone, pages that speak a truth, Send ripples through the wind and light through the clouds Of an autumn afternoon It’ll bathe the world in yellow and gold, only if we could cast aside The strings and blindfolds of a sneering master above
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Who’ll want you a fool Who’ll make you a fool Close-set and suffocating, the ragged breaths of gagged words Are lost to the shadows that nameless eyes draw in around them And kindless hands do burn We’ll choke in the black smoke of a fire, faraway That rises from street corners And dead-end alleyways See through the tears, feel through searing lungs And think through a clogged up, stumbling mind spun It’s too hot to walk, we’ll sit down here, We’ll wait and wait until it’s gone; it’s cleared.
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means of communication
But we fear. But we are dossiers or the decisions made by others.
by Michael Egan
Or allow terrorists the safe spaces to talk to each other?
In the crypt with his eyes shut, tight, and darkness. But listening. Spies spy, monitors monitor. All seeing eye and I cannot see until I have forced all eyes open and mouths shut. Minimizing the required wires. Don’t commit to anything that you’d feel uncomfortable having your grandmother read.
Banning communication channels.
She was swimming the Channel in her night dress, in phosphorescent waters, a selfie. Allowing you to ninja your way through Gmail or every doubt and suspicion or restriction. Select the cities you want to build and build them. Even the most primitive animals react to odours given off by their own. If the unseen becomes seen what can exist beneath? Beneath the line, in a liberal democracy.
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Say goodbye, I’ll see you on the other side. In the wake of atrocities there is no privacy and I am naked again, flailing at random.
Abdicate you swine.
In Eton eating hope.
Every missed payment, every failed section, every transaction, every inaction, every submission, every ascension. I’ll be reading you. Nothing, no technology. Just strings cut and unblemished hands holding scissors.
Wyrd bið ful aræd.
But I am safe in the supermarket. But I am safe to enact privilege like the privilege of satire. I see. That racy photo of you in the kitchen. That effort to kill or plan of destruction. That note of disdain. But I am safe on the train not hiding in a toilet from bullets. But we fear, we always do. Or become blind. Dossiers of self-destruction or the mirage of choice.
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* * * *
No censorship please, we’re British
Tina tugged at the edges of her white lace Basque, checking everything was stowed away just enough to cause the desired effect. She doubted her groom, Derek, waiting in the bedroom of the Honeymoon Suite, would be making such detailed preparations on her behalf. Her wedding had gone perfectly to plan and now it was all going to culminate in a night of passion she would remember, and cherish, for the rest of her life. With one last tousle of her hair she turned and, not knowing why, rapped gently on the bathroom door. “Are you ready, darling?” “Hell, yeah,” came the reply. Sheepishly Tina opened the door and exposed herself to her mate. She had been right, the only preparations Derek had bothered with was a glass of champagne in each hand and an erection. “Well?” Derek leered. “Wow…that is hot,” he said. Tina sashayed across the room until she was face to face with Derek. “Hello, husband,” she said, pressing her belly against his obvious excitement. “I think it’s time we got the real celebrations started.” Slowly she got to her knees and, gazing into Derek’s, eyes leant forward to – The door to the Honeymoon Suite opened to reveal a man in a suit, he held a golden badge in one hand and a clipboard in the other. The badge was raised for inspection, a beacon of his authority to be present. “Hold it right there. Inspector Steam, Interpol.” Derek’s mouth dropped open in shock, Tina’s dropped open even wider than it had been. The newlyweds looked at each other with shock in their eyes, both wondered what the other had done to attract the attention of such a powerful law enforcing agency.
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Inspector Steam, pocketed his badge, closed the door and strode across the room, hand held out in greeting. “Hi, you must be…” he consulted the clipboard, “…Tina and Derek Goodson.” Derek automatically took the hand offered and shook it. “Yes…but Interpol? What does Interpol want with us?” Tina got to her feet and did her best to hide her modesty. “Derek, what have you done?” “I haven’t done anything.” Steam laughed. “No, no, you’ve got it all wrong. This happens all the time. I’m not with that Interpol, I’m with the Interpol. The Intercourse Police.” “The who?” said Derek. He reached for the bath robe on the bed, to hide his obvious love for Tina. “Oh, don’t worry about that, sir,” said Steam, a wide grin on his face, “I’ve seen plenty of them in my job. And you might like to know, you’re in the top ten percentile.” “Thank you?” said Derek. “You could say, they’re the hardest part of my job.” Steam chuckled…alone. “Can you please tell me what you think you’re doing here?” said Tina, her mental composure returning despite her state of undress. Steam shook his head. “Don’t tell me, another couple who wasn’t given the leaflet.” “Leaflet? What leaflet?” said Derek. “The ‘Authorised Acts of the Wedding Night’ leaflet,” said Steam. Tina frowned. “I don’t understand?” “Last week,” began Steam, obviously happy to enlighten, “the government brought in the ‘Authorised Acts of the Wedding Night Act’ to ensure that any activity between two consenting, and married, adults stays within a licenced and legal format. So I-” “That’s ridiculous,” said Tina.
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“Ridiculous, maybe. The law, undoubtedly,” said the Inspector. “I am here to ensure you comply with the letter, and spirit, of the law. Do you understand?” Derek and Tina both gave muted nods. “Good,” said Steam. He raise his clipboard and slapped his free hand on it. “First you will need a ‘Coitus Licence’.” “What the hell is a ‘Coitus Licence’?” said Derek, his love rapidly subsiding beneath the bath robe. Steam raised an eyebrow. “Fairly obvious I would have thought, the clue’s in the title.” “I think we all understand that,” said Tina, “what I think Derek is saying is, why would we need it?” “It’s the law,” said Steam. “So, we need a licence to have sex?” said Derek. “Bingo,” said Steam, smiling. “But we’ve had sex before,” said Tina, her voice defiant. “That may be,” said Steam, “but now you’re married you need a licence.” He could tell by the look of incredulity on the faces of the happy couple that he would have to expand. “It’s like riding a bike-” “I beg your pardon?!” said Tina. “No, no, Mrs Goodson, a bicycle…I wasn’t inferring that you… anyway,” said Steam, a little flustered, “you can ride round on your bicycle all you want with few regulations whilst an amateur but as soon as you join a cycling club, and want to try it out professionally, you need a licence.” “We need a licence for sex because we’re married?” said Derek. “Yes,” said the Inspector, beaming with pride that he’d got his point across. Tina looked at her husband. “What should we do?” “I don’t think we have a choice,” said Derek, shrugging his shoulders. Tina bit her bottom lip and sucked air in audibly. “Okay, you’d best issue us with a Coitus Licence, then.”
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“Grand,” said Steam, ripping off the front page from his clipboard. “That will be ten pounds please.” “What?!” said Derek. “Oh, just pay the Jobsworth,” said Tina, as she rubbed her hand through her hair. “Get him out of our honeymoon as quickly as possible.” Derek strode over to his morning suit, which was rented and so hung neatly on a hanger in the wardrobe, and retrieved his wallet. “There you go, ten pounds.” “Thank you, Mr Goodson, there’s your Basic Coitus Licence.” “Basic?” said Derek. He studied the licence. “Why basic, we can legally have sex now can’t we?” “Indeed you can, Mr Goodson…in the missionary position.” “Just the missionary position?” said Tina. “Yes. It is only the Basic Coitus Licence, Mrs Goodson,” said Steam. “Which suggest there are other…err…more advanced, licences to be had?” said Derek. “That is correct.” “That allow more than just the missionary position?” said Tina. “That is also correct.” There was a momentary pause as Tina and Derek waited for Steam to expand on his statement. “Well?” said Tina. “Oh, you’re interested in a more…diverse package,” said Steam, as realisation hit. “Yes,” said Derek, “why wouldn’t we?” “Well it just seemed like…you know…you don’t look the type…” said Steam, before waving his hand dismissively. “Of course, of course, who am I to judge? Righty-oh then. We have the ‘Bow-Wow Licence’ then the ‘Licky-Licky Licence’ and finally the ‘Fifty Shades of Licence’. That last one really is no holes barred, if you get my drift.” “I think we do, thank you, Inspector,” said Tina. “I assume these licences go up in price?”
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“No, some of them go down,” said Steam, adding a second of laughter. “No, that’s just a little departmental joke, they do go up in price the higher up the range you go.” “How much is the ‘Fifty Shade of Licence?” said Tina. “Whoa, you’re a lucky boy, Mr Goodson,” said Steam, with a wink for Derek. “It’s two hundred pounds, Mrs Goodson.” “Two hundred quid!” said Derek. Tina placed a hand on her lace enhanced hip and stared deep into the eyes of her newly acquired husband. “Oh and I suppose you have got something better to spend that kind of money on?!” Derek swallowed. “No darling, of course not, cheap at half the price.” He dug into his wallet and counted off nine twenties and a ten. “Thank you very much,” said Steam and he handed Derek a guilt edged certificate made of wafer-thin leather. “It’s a great investment, I’m sure you’ll get years of pleasure from it. Though I should warn you it is non-transferrable should your relationship breakdown.” “Nice to know,” said Tina. Her forced smile said otherwise. “And there is a replacement fee should you lose it or get stains on it or something.” Tina and Derek stared at the inspector in silence. “Anyway,” said Steam, “I’ll get out of your hair now. I’m sure you’ve got others things you’d like to be getting on with. Pressing matters, as it were.” “Goodbye, Inspector Steam,” said Tina. She indicated the Honeymoon Suite’s door with her open hand. “I’ll see myself out,” said Steam, as he backed away from the couple all smiles. “Congratulations and may you have a long and happy life together.” Steam closed the door behind him. “Well, that was strange,” said Derek. “Strange; how come you didn’t know about that?” “Me? You looked just as clueless as me.”
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“Yes…maybe it had something to do with me organising the cars and flowers and bridesmaids and the catering and my dress and your suit and making sure your mother was happy and booking the church and the honeymoon. Maybe it slipped my mind to find out about a licence, I had never heard of until ten minutes ago, while I was worrying if you might hurt yourself as you sat on your fucking arse doing nothing!” Derek thought his ears might be bleeding. He was certain his mouth was hanging open and that his eyes would shame any rabbit caught in headlights. “Sorry?” “Sorry!?” screamed Tina. “You’re sorry?!” Derek tried a lopsided grin and shrug, going for the ‘stupid bloke’ plea. Tina closed her eyes and breathed in and out deeply through her nose for a few moments. She gathered her thoughts. ‘This is my wedding night, I have dreamed of this for years. I am not going to have ruined by a stupid man…two stupid men.’ She rolled head to relieve the tension knotting her neck and opened her eyes. “I’m sorry too,” she said, “I’m still a little bit tense from the excitement of the day and I think that licence thing pushed me over the edge.” Derek stepped forward and put his arms around her. “It’s okay my love, I understand.” Tina fought hard to ignore the bait of pure patronisation. “I tell you what,” said Derek, breaking free of the clinch, “the name’s Goodson, Derek Goodson and I’ve got a licence to thrill.” He waved the leather document. “Why Mr Goodson, is that a pistol under your bathrobe or are you just pleased to see me?” “Careful Mrs Goodson, it’s loaded. It could blow your head off.” “Oh, I don’t know,” said Tina, returning to her knees, “I think you may find I can blow your head off.” She clamped one hand around Derek’s stiff member and leant inThe Honeymoon Suite’s door burst open again.
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. “Stop right there! You could have someone’s eye out with that thing. It needs a hi-vis jacket on it at least, probably a guard rail too. I’ll have to do a full assessment. And you, young lady, should be wearing safety goggles.” “What the fuck, this time?” said Derek, as he reached for the bathrobe again. The intruder, who wore a yellow hard hat to top off his ensemble of paint splattered boiler suit and steel toecap rigger boots, flipped open a wallet to reveal an identity card. “Mr Bridges; Health and Safety Executive. Have you got a licence to operate that lifting equipment?” Tina screamed and ran back into the sanity of bathroom.
by Alec Sillifant
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Am I free? Tied down by top knots Bricked into a house scene with no windows or doors I beg once again the answer; Whether I´m free at all Of course I´m free they exclaim, As long as I wear the right clothes, Have the right hair And take all the right drugs. Yet the martyrs we praise have nothing to do with me, Though my mind, my body, It wears the tattoos of their names. Follow the rules and you´ll do okay; Be yourself and throw it all away Every action subject to scrutiny, Every move; calculated; determined. It couldn´t be easier to play this game, Couldn´t be harder to escape. A prison of our own making, All a slave to the surveillance of our neighbours. Is censorship that far away?
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Utopia dictated by economy, Love; half-price and wilting, They tell me I have to be free, A fear of difference commandeering a sinking ship. I have no facebook; therefore I am no man. I do not tweet; and so I do not speak. Trapped by an idea of perfection. One manufactured by fame; one that will never be me.
By Joseph Hanss
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Inquisition Hayden Kragmore trembled. Trapped in a pitch-black cell, naked and freezing, he awaited the arrival of the Inquisitors. He shivered, afraid as he thought of what they would do. Why though? He had done nothing wrong. He was a Loyalist, stuck on this insignificant outpost in a nameless, small outer Galaxy. Why would they even bother coming to this forsaken place? He thought of his duties. Everything he had done had been according to the Protocols. Nothing came through this lonely, wretched star sector without security clearance. That was the way of things in the Humaanian Hegemony. He mentally corrected himself. It was the Hegemonic Union. Only their enemies called the Empire by the old name. That thought alone could destroy him. He had been banished to one of the thousand hells reserved for unbelievers and traitors. His judgement was coming and it would be merciless. Sometime later, He thought he heard a distant sound. Time meant nothing, an hour, a year,
by Ian Cai Mercer
it did not matter; he had lost all feeling. There was just the numbness and pain for company. Then the sound came again, like a clicking. It heightened and solidified into the terrifying sound of boots marching closer and closer. He trembled again. The sound had stopped somewhere beyond where his feet were. Was that the door? Or had he been thrown into a black pit at the dawn of time and some ravenous beast was about to devour him? He did not know anything anymore. He felt nothing. Not the damp, lying in his own sweat and faeces, the cold, harsh stone floor, nothing. A blinding light, as powerful as a million suns tunnelled into his brain. His eyes burned from the brightness of the corridors light. The door was open, but there was no thought, nor even capability of escape. A shadow eclipsed the light and he felt the dreaded presence of a terrifying torturer, one of the Torquemadan Inquisitors. They were the Hegemonic Unions elite. Enforcers of the Codex Hegemonica, the hallowed foundation and guide to life. They were
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Judge, Jury and Executioner. The Inquisitors were trained to use the terrible Telepathica machines, the mind readers. He blinked. Even thinking about the darkest secrets of the Union was forbidden. He steeled himself. His punishment would be swift and final. Yet it never came. Instead, the lights in his cell slowly rose, the dark-hooded Inquisitor stepped aside and a cleaning droid rolled in. It vacuumed the filth from around him, then sprayed and hosed him with cool, clear water, breathing life and vitality into him again. He started to become aware of himself and his surroundings. His body ached. The droid rolled out and two burly security guards, his own subordinates, entered and carried him out. They roughly hauled him up the corridor and into the medical unit. He was laid down on a table and medics examined him, then hooked him into an ancient Eloaah regeneration device and injected stimulants into his system. With growing strength and clarity, he managed to stretch and rub his tired, aching muscles and eventually sat up, though
the entire universe seemed to momentarily spin out of control. ‘Get dressed and eat, then we will begin.’ He looked up to see the black-robed figure of the Inquisitor turn away and leave. So, it was a reprieve then, a postponement of his sentence. He had made one mistake. He had not made visual contact. Even though he thought he knew who the captain of the ship was. That was a basic requirement of the protocols. Even then, the security code was right. Surely someone else had to have been responsible for the ship being captured in the first place? This was not his fault. That was his defence. The rebels should never have been able to steal such an advanced Destroyer as the Supremacy. He groaned, feeling better, but hungry. He forced himself off the examination table. His legs felt so weak. There were pins and needles shooting through them as he tentatively began moving around, holding onto the table for balance. Feeling came back and he managed to steady himself. With a sigh he began to dress. After he was back in uniform, he went to the bases Mess hall for sustenance. Still watched over by the two guards, he ate a simple meal, though he was still ravenous
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even after he had finished it. He sighed deeply, knowing he could not postpone it any longer. He got up, left the Mess hall and walked up to his former office. Stood to attention outside was his replacement as Base Commander. She was pretty, if young looking. That could have been the result of prolonged exposure to the regeneration capsules. He had heard some disquieting rumours about them. ‘It is dangerous to listen to rumours Commander Kragmore.’ A sallow, penetrating voice said from within the office. Hayden gulped. Of course he was still being monitored. He guiltily passed the unveiled female officer, itself an extremely rare occurrence in the Blitzkrieger Corp- the official name of the Union’s military. He stood rigidly to attention in front of the hooded figure that was sat behind his old desk. Ironic that he himself had passed out minor punishments from that chair. Now he was the one being condemned. ‘Not quite condemned.’ The Inquisitor said. Hayden stood more stiffly. His thoughts were his worst enemy. They needed to be censored, like the news-holo channels were. The cowled figure barked a short laugh. He
reached up, pulling his hood down. Hayden gasped as he recognised the aged, scarred visage of the most feared of the Torquemadans, High Inquisitor Harlan himself. A shiver ripped down his spine. For Harlan to be here would mean they had only one terrible charge to bring- treason. He swallowed, his throat dryer than ever. If that was to be his fate, then so be it. He would not squeal nor beg, he was made of sterner stuff. He stared into the High Inquisitors eyes, not flinching from his steel gaze. One eye was covered by the Telepathica lens, which was part of the mesh over half of his completely shaven head. It also partly obscured the burning torch, the emblem of the Inquisition imprinted onto the forehead of every single member of the hallowed order. Hayden lowered his gaze, embarrassed that he had let his awe betray him. Maybe because he felt that there was nothing left to lose that he felt so emboldened. Another sharp bark of a laugh from the High Inquisitor made him look back up. Harlan disengaged the device and carefully took it off his head and laid it gently onto the table. ‘The Inquisition is finished. Con-
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gratulations Commander. A week of monitoring has revealed that you are a loyal officer who simply made a lapse of judgement.’ Hayden was dumbstruck. ‘A week?’ He croaked. It had felt like forever, trapped in that dark, dank cell. ‘You are right though.’ Harlan said, interrupting his thoughts. ‘I’m sorry my lord?’ He asked, confusedly. ‘That it was someone else’s fault that the Supremacy was stolen. You see, Captain Tay had managed to secure the codes via a stolen Telepathica machine, killing the Inquisitor, then posing as him to free the rebels and slaves to take over the ship. Only after they had passed several checkpoints was the alarm sounded.’ Hayden finally understood. ‘This base is the last outpost before the void. So they escaped to the Confederation then?’ He asked, already knowing the answer and afraid of letting his thoughts out of control. If High Inquisitor Harlan had noticed anything, then he was blatantly ignoring the anxiety Hayden was feeling. Instead he nodded solemnly.
‘I am afraid so. The Kraxhage seemed to feel some affinity for the Drongan slaves. They have seceded from the Intergalactic Confederation and have declared war on the Union, damn dirty ape-creatures.’ He spat. Hayden paled. ‘Then we are on the front here? He asked. Harlan shook his head. ‘Not quite. The base is being fortified and an orbiting Stardock is under construction. The Supreme General and the High Command have had detailed plans of conflict with IntCon for centuries. A reserve Legion of Ubermenschoid battledroids have been deployed along the edge of the void and an invasion force has already penetrated Kraxian territory in the Hyades cluster. There are six other Advanced Destroyers almost finished. The Dominion and the Napoleon are being upgraded. The Invincible has been sent with the first wave and the Eloaah, Titan and Galacticus are nearly complete. ’ He stopped and flashed an unnerving grin at Hayden. ‘That, however is the least of our concern, for the moment anyway.’ Hayden gulped again. ‘What do you mean sir, am I to be demoted?’ Harlan shook his head. ‘No. You are being transferred. I have decided that you have a rare quality. You shall accompany me
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back to Torquemadas, where you gan to really relax and meditate. will be trained in the arts of Inqui- Slowly and carefully he reached sition.’ back into his mind and opened the He rose out of the chair and held hidden door so carefully conout a hand. Hayden shook it, cealed there. letting out a grin and showing his He glimpsed his true self. He surprise and eagerness. was Hayven Morishane of House ‘Thank you. It is an honour to Shaaneth. One of the great Watchserve the Union in this way.’ ers from the Hidden system. He ‘I am sure. Now, we must let Com- remembered his old life, his homemander Snowberry into her new world and his training. He had office.’ been a boy when he volunteered Hayden nodded. for special training. The Infiltra‘Good, now come, we have much tion directive had been created to do.’ Hayden followed his new millennia ago to plant sleeper opmaster out of the office, passing eratives into hostile environments the new Commander. to gather information and, if need They walked to the docking bay be, to sabotage and destroy from and boarded a shuttle. As it flew within. them from the cratered Moons sur-He had endured such a long strugface and up into the hanger of the gle, spent a long time waiting. massive Inquisition Battlecruiser Now it was all happening. The first Torturous, he sat and meditated on phase was complete. The plan to everything that had happened this liberate as many slaves as possipast week. ble and steal the most advanced Union destroyer had worked. Now After he had been escorted to the oppression of the Union was his new quarters on the ship, he known, action would be, had to be relaxed. He reached into a hidden taken by the Intergalactic Confedcompartment in his baggage and eration of Galaxies. took out a small sensor device. Tay had been his last contact, Then he checked the quarters for though he was told that there surveillance of every kind. He was would be someone else in the surprised to find it clear. So he Inquisitor ranks and his name had was not the only one in the Hebeen put forward for recruitment. gemony to let things slip. Now he had achieved that goal. He left the jammer on, just in case He had entered the most feared and reclined on his bunk. He be- and powerful organisation in the
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tyrannical regime that exalted Mankind above all other Races and Intelligent Beings. It oppressed all non-Humans and kept strict control over its own populace. The Union could not censor, oppress and control its citizens forever. Sooner or later, enough would rise against the oppression. There was so much work to bring down the totalitarianism of the Hegemony. He let this thought hover for a moment before sending all this information back into its box and closing the door once again. Inquisitor Kragmore got up and left his quarters. It was time to get started.
iancaimercer.wordpress.com
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Censored
by Micah Davidson
Don’t talk about your religion, its prejudice. Don’t talk about you being an ethnic minority, that’s reverse racism. Don’t talk about history, it’s over. Don’t talk about where you’re coming from, it’s sympathy seeking. Don’t talk about where you’re going, it’s idealistic. Don’t talk about the destitute, they’re undeserving. Don’t talk about the affluent, they worked hard. Don’t talk about the struggle, it’s all in your head. Whole lives are made into a censored topic like H.I.V that if you talk too much about their “condition” it might get caught. so class and culture related issues are treated as not really existent but just a self-inflicted mental condition to get cured. At the bottom people have complained and campaigned and obtained promises of change, but it’s strange because its seems that although it’s been a long time coming, change still isn’t near. At the bottom people plan to make a difference, and with assistance and persistence they eventually go the distance but their aims didn’t turn out to be a consistent because thought they started at the bottom, now they’re here. When you reach a place where you voice is heard you forget about the word ‘change’ by which you were originally spurred now with the big boys you’ve conferred, and you’ve overheard their blurred concept that bad conditions can be transferred and so from those at the bottom you now stay clear. Against the struggle you were once taught and then mentored Then you made it to the top, and were consequently censored.
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