Chapter 12 - Gain, High.
The arena is almost empty, the bright red paint on the cheap wooden seating wearing away to reveal the dark wood underneath. Usually packed full, deafening and smelly; filled with tourists, beggars, workmen, officers, and of course Nehuma's elite, this doesn't seem like the same arena during the waking hours.
There is a small friendly game underway, and the novice bookkeepers are out in few, collecting bets for just a couple of Kai per match. They move quickly around the few spectators in the arena, their little dirty jackets weaving in and out of the empty seats. You've got to start somewhere.
I take a seat. It's surprisingly comfortable thanks to the thousands of backsides that have previously visited.
The game bell rings, and the match starts. The rotating long boats with their targets, apparently resembling ancient Hosai warriors, with their black eyes, thin long faces and shaggy short hair. On their torso is a black splodge of paint, defining their black, evil hearts.
I wonder how many people actually appreciate the history behind this game, the battle between "good and evil" that underpins the battles fought all around Nehuma hundreds of years ago. I sit there somehow doubting it.
The game is now in full swing, with the bank of contenders sitting in two rows, facing out into the arena focusing intently on the rapidly moving long boats. I muse that they look like a panel of jurors, about to deliver a deadly verdict.
The boats rotate around the arena at such a speed that they become a blur. I can't even focus on one of the evil-doers now, let alone get a shot-off. The trained contenders however have developed their cortical reflexes to slow when processing the boats. I phase out to Juan telling me how they train for these events...
"Traffic. It's quite simple really, they sit there for hours on the TakWay, staring out at the traffic, trying to follow vehicles as they buzz by at hundreds of miles an hour. Eventually their brains recalibrate to process the images. Takes time though, months of training... and that's just so they can see the damn things!"
...Juan, filled with useless knowledge. I find myself wondering how people like Juan even have enough space left for the simple factoids in like, like names, places and colours.
BAM... someone has hit one of the targets and the bell rings once to announce it. It's a small little man with eyes following the targets so quickly, he looks inhuman. He cracks a half smile, realising that he is the first to score, a serious leg up in such a fast moving game.
I suddenly become aware of the people next to me, I'm not sure how long they hav been sitting there and I realise that I am wasting time. The restbite from my long journey home has turned into something more. I stand to leave.
"Alright mate? Don't suppose you could take a picture of 'at for me could ya? Left my camera at home, and it's my team from last night, won a bunch a money."
English. Uhh. I warily look across to the group. They stand out with their long jeans, teeshirts and big bulky backpacks. The apparent leader of the group is staring at me intently, waiting for an answer. Waiting to confirm the absence of a language barrier.
I calculate, it only takes a second. Risk, low. Gain, low. I look down at my right hand, apparently holding my phone. I realise that I didn't even know the phone was visible, let alone out and in my hand. I make a mental note to check that. This is not a forgiving city.
Despite this, I am feeling good. The pain is more manageable today and I am enjoying every second of it. I look up and see the team boards hanging high above the stadium. They are so different, some scrawled hurriedly by fresh newly created teams entering for the first time while others, representing the longer, more established monied teams, are clearly designed by studios.
I answer in clipped English, asking for the team name. He tells me the name of one of the less known teams, the scrawled green loops of their logo looking like they were drawn in I Class rather than a team signet.
I start thinking that this might be an up-and-coming team, and the gambling spirit which is present in all humankind of rekindled for as second. I squash this thought. Money is earnt. Not won. I phase to my father standing over me at the arcade, taking away my various winnings telling me exactly that.
I zoom in and take a picture of the team name, asking him for his email as I do it. He seems surprised that I can do these two simple tasks at once. I quickly send the message and confirm with him.
He thanks me as he scribbles something down on a piece of paper, and then hands it to me. It is a 200-Kai note. It is big money. I thank him, and he tells me that he has written his name and company on the note, that I should look up his office in town, that I have impressed him. Big deal. Tourist and a foreign business man; what a horrible combination.
I thank the group and head for the exit. Check that, Gain, high.
Chapter 15 - Sandlewood and Snowflakes
It's seven o'clock when I finally enter my God parents home. The heavy door seems even heavier today as I push it shut against the busy, bustling and highly smelly city. It was extra smoggy today and I inhale the clean processed air deeply, as though I had been underwater for the longest time.
The house as always, reminds me of a great library, with it's wooden panels, deep set artwork and intricate plaster work. I move to the back of the house, where I can hear muffled voices.
As I approach I think they might be outside, which I immediately discount. The south side, or dome side as some call it, is in perpetual snow storm, barely habitable for even the smallest creatures.
True enough however, they are outside. The big sandlewood shutters are open slightly and I peer out. The snow is blinding and I can barely focus as I push through. There is no snow storm today, just big flakes of snow falling to the white landscape, dancing, joining as they fall, like a snow featured drama. I take a deep breath and inhale the crisp cold air, my body unused to the natural unprocessed unpolluted air.
My God mother is standing looking out into the landscape, with her daughter Yim standing wrapped up in her big fur coat. She sees me and extends an arm out, pulling me out of my trance. I walk over and snuggle against the warm fir. Yim looks at me and smiles, bowing ever so slightly before turning back to the outside world. I follow her gaze, it is beautiful. An ocean of white. A sea of calm in a hectic compromised world.
For a second I forget it all. I forget work, the pain and all of life's other troubles. I know only white. Only calm. Only order. It is order through chaos. ordo ab chao.
The cold reminds me that I am badly dressed. I hug my God mother tightly and she releases me, knowing that I am moving on. As she does, she tells me that my Aunt is here.
Surprised I move with purpose now, back through the heavy shutter and into the lounge areas. I haven't seen my Aunt in over 5 years due to her arctic Government sponsored travels.
I move into the central lounge and see her sitting there. Elegantly dressed in white, sitting in my Great-Godfathers favourite armchair, right next to the roaring fire. She looks up from the big, anciently bound book she is studying and smiles. A wide knowing smile, almost as exactly as I remember it, with the exception of light wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. We are all aging, I remind myself, even timeless people like her.
I stand there waiting, the lounge is musky and the smell of burning wood fills my lungs now. The plush carpet wrapping around my feet. The oak panels seem to generate a certain enveloping warmth, not overpowering at all, but just enough to offer complete comfort.
She finally beckons me over as is required. As always she talks simply and cryptically at the same time. An interesting feat of communication in our challenging language.
"My son, it has been to long"
"My mother, so it has"
The convention of mother, son, when talking with direct relatives always lifts my spirits. It takes me away from that dreadful night as if it hadn't even happened.
"I have been traveling far, and as always I have little to tell. The world is not as it seems my son, and big change is coming. You must be prepared."
The government censor is too far reaching, I know that, but it never fails to frustrate me as I long to hear of her other-worldly travels outside the confines of our dirty city. Her cryptic messages phase me little now, although as she says this I feel a slight chill. This one has a certain preparatory nature which makes me uneasy.
We talk for hours on my life, and as always I value her council above all others. I find myself thinking how strange it is that we only confide our complete council to so few in life, and those few are usually the most distant from us.
She listens with tearful eyes as I explain my pain, I have already tried to minimise it, however my Godmother has already betrayed me, and my Aunt wants to know all. She helps me refocus, reminds me of the transience of pain and tells me that she wishes above all else that she could take it away from me.
It is now 2am and the once blazing fire now finally crackles out of life, giving up the fight against the absece of fuel. I tell her that I have work in just a few hours and she finally releases my hand. I kiss her forehead and pad to the door. As I reach the door she calls my name. I turn.
"It is coming. Be sharp. Be ready."
I nod, the same chill creeping over me. I wish to anything that I knew what it was that I should be ready for, but I know the penalty for breaking the censor, and she has already said too much.
The concept is super simple, as is the implementation actually, but let's start with a scenario. Using a simple secure proxy works just fine for general port 80 Internet use, but say I wanted to connect to something that didn't offer me a secure connection, an old mail client perhaps? That retro FTP server I've had running since the early 90s? That IRC bot that was never designed for secure use? That badly designed game or voice server?
