08-17-2019, 08:51 PM
The Palace of Flowers
“They must be executed.”
The strident voice was matched by an equally strident rap on the table. Cuicanan, the Secretary of Justice, was in a rare mood. The topic of discussion was the seventeen Xiomeran activists arrested when XUN was shut down, and Cuicanan was in no mood for a soft touch.
“They are traitors and terrorists. We have always executed such people. Our laws are clear. If we back away from that now, we show weakness and invite more treason and more terrorism,” he finished, sitting down.
A sigh of annoyance broke the silence after he had seated himself, and a single elegant hand shot into the air. Topilpopoca, from his seat in the center of the Chamber of Whispers, made a gesture of assent, the sunlight from above glinting off his ring as his own weathered hand gestured languidly for the other person to rise.
Huitzilhuani, the Secretary for International Affairs, stood up at the Emperor’s gesture. “Invite more treason and more terrorism? We don’t seem to be doing a very good job stopping either now, even with the law as harsh as you state,” she said in a voice tinged with amusement.
Further down the table, Security Secretary Tepilcayotl, whose job it was to prevent both, eyed Huitzilhuani with a look of a snake that would really love to eat a mouse it saw in front of it, but was unable to reach. “What would the esteemed Secretary suggest we do, then?” he said with a bored tone to his voice as if he already knew the answer.
“The death penalty should be off the table. We should punish them, surely, but we cannot execute them,” Huitzilhuani replied.
“You cannot be serious,” Cuicanan replied, shaking his head. “What kind of softhearted approach is that? What in the world should we do with them, then?”
“Prison, of course,” Huitzilhuani said in a tone of voice that clearly said I would think the Secretary of Justice would know what we do with criminals without having to actually use the words. “They have broken the law, after all,” she continued as Cuicanan’s face reddened. “But the sentences should not be overly harsh. And we definitely must not execute them.”
“I fail to understand what we gain from this sudden outbreak of mercy, other than weakening ourselves as Cuicanan said and opening ourselves to more radicals who can think they can do the same without suffering repercussions,” Tepilcayotl said grimly as Cuicanan nodded.
“We should not be thinking about what we could gain, but what we could lose. We are trying to convince other nations that our government is not horrible and tyrannical as the opposition claims. Executing a bunch of activists is not exactly an ideal way to do that, now is it?” Huitzilhuani replied, the sarcasm in her voice ratcheting up a notch.
“Who cares about other nations? We are strong and independent, and do not need their approval or their permission,” Cuicanan snapped.
“Oh, come on. Surely you took math in school? I did. Other nations have more than us - more people, more money, more soldiers. We are not a pushover to be sure, but if we attract enough notice in a negative way from enough nations, they will eventually stomp us flat. This trade debacle has already placed more eyes upon us than is wise. Executing dissidents will not help matters,” Huitzilhuani replied. “I do wish that my colleagues would leave matters related to diplomacy to those of us whose job is to practice it.”
“This is not a matter of diplomacy, it is a matter of justice, which is my job,” Cuicanan retorted, “and the law states - “
A soft tsk emerged from the center of the room. “I am the law, Cuicanan. I always seem to need to remind you of that,” the Emperor said flatly. “We will not execute these people. Huitzilhuani is right. We would be foolish to play into the hands of those who have anti-Xiomeran agendas with a series of messy public executions. Instead, we will be merciful. And we will let our enemies take that mercy and choke on it.”
With that act of typically Xiomeran conditional mercy, the lives of seventeen dissidents were thus spared by politics.
Montelin, Tlālacuetztla
Montelin, the neighborhood of the Xiomeran capital reserved for the highest of Imperial elites, is widely believed by many to be the most beautiful urban area in all of Xiomera. Tree-lined and quiet streets, hilltop estates, and exclusive developments ringed by the canals and gardens surrounding the grounds of the Palace of Flowers normally provide serenity and unmatched comfort for those Xiomerans lucky enough to have made it to the top of the social ladder.
But for one resident of this neighborhood, serenity was increasingly only a dream.
Cētlalhui, the former Secretary of Justice of the Xiomeran Empire, sat in the grand dining room of his palatial home. For now, anyway. The screen of his laptop, and the growing stack of papers on the table, made that conditional status perfectly clear.
Since being forced to resign his position in disgrace following the debacle of the XUN warrants, Cētlalhui found himself facing an increasingly grim future. Jobs were hard to come by for someone who had failed so spectacularly in such a high-profile role in Xiomeran society. Being fired by the Emperor was basically the largest stamp of disapproval one could get in Xiomera. No one would hire him. He was untouchable.
Having been one of Xiomera’s highest leaders, Cētlalhui had managed to put aside a considerable amount of assets. Enough to live on for the rest of his life without ever working again....if he was willing to give up the life of a Xiomeran elite and consent to being just a normal person with a normal house and a normal car and normal things for the rest of his life.
A normal wife and kids, too - his own wife, Palma, had left him after his failure, taking their son Natēhetli with her. No Xiomeran elite wife would ever allow her son to be raised by a nobody, or suffer the fate of being a nobody herself, after all.
Palma was, according to the tabloids, now dating a Xiomeran general. Cētlalhui had read about that today; the newspapers were among the growing stack of other papers on the table - rejection letters for jobs, demands for payment, and the like.
Cētlalhui sighed and picked up another object from the table. A silver revolver with pearl handles. Only high-ranking Xiomeran officials, people in security or defense roles, and certain very wealthy people were allowed to own their own firearms. Normally, after his firing, the gun should have been confiscated from him under Xiomeran law. He was a nobody now, after all.
Cētlalhui still remembered the disdain with which Tepilcayotl, as he was being walked out of the Palace of Flowers for the last time, had allowed him to keep the revolver. “You may as well do the honorable thing with it. Spare your family the embarrassment,” the old bastard had said.
Ritual suicide for failure, especially big failures, was a normal practice in Xiomera. It was clear what was expected of Cētlalhui by letting him keep the gun. One last chance to do something right, loser. One last chance to meet the expectations of society.
The sunlight from the windows of his mansion glinted off the revolver as Cētlalhui held it in his hand. His eyes rose to the laptop. On it, a video was playing of the Emperor announcing his plan to be “merciful” with the dissident activists. Activists from the same group that Cētlalhui had tried to fight, and had lost everything as a result of his failure.
The gun rested in his hand, cold and heavy, as the video played.
“They must be executed.”
The strident voice was matched by an equally strident rap on the table. Cuicanan, the Secretary of Justice, was in a rare mood. The topic of discussion was the seventeen Xiomeran activists arrested when XUN was shut down, and Cuicanan was in no mood for a soft touch.
“They are traitors and terrorists. We have always executed such people. Our laws are clear. If we back away from that now, we show weakness and invite more treason and more terrorism,” he finished, sitting down.
A sigh of annoyance broke the silence after he had seated himself, and a single elegant hand shot into the air. Topilpopoca, from his seat in the center of the Chamber of Whispers, made a gesture of assent, the sunlight from above glinting off his ring as his own weathered hand gestured languidly for the other person to rise.
Huitzilhuani, the Secretary for International Affairs, stood up at the Emperor’s gesture. “Invite more treason and more terrorism? We don’t seem to be doing a very good job stopping either now, even with the law as harsh as you state,” she said in a voice tinged with amusement.
Further down the table, Security Secretary Tepilcayotl, whose job it was to prevent both, eyed Huitzilhuani with a look of a snake that would really love to eat a mouse it saw in front of it, but was unable to reach. “What would the esteemed Secretary suggest we do, then?” he said with a bored tone to his voice as if he already knew the answer.
“The death penalty should be off the table. We should punish them, surely, but we cannot execute them,” Huitzilhuani replied.
“You cannot be serious,” Cuicanan replied, shaking his head. “What kind of softhearted approach is that? What in the world should we do with them, then?”
“Prison, of course,” Huitzilhuani said in a tone of voice that clearly said I would think the Secretary of Justice would know what we do with criminals without having to actually use the words. “They have broken the law, after all,” she continued as Cuicanan’s face reddened. “But the sentences should not be overly harsh. And we definitely must not execute them.”
“I fail to understand what we gain from this sudden outbreak of mercy, other than weakening ourselves as Cuicanan said and opening ourselves to more radicals who can think they can do the same without suffering repercussions,” Tepilcayotl said grimly as Cuicanan nodded.
“We should not be thinking about what we could gain, but what we could lose. We are trying to convince other nations that our government is not horrible and tyrannical as the opposition claims. Executing a bunch of activists is not exactly an ideal way to do that, now is it?” Huitzilhuani replied, the sarcasm in her voice ratcheting up a notch.
“Who cares about other nations? We are strong and independent, and do not need their approval or their permission,” Cuicanan snapped.
“Oh, come on. Surely you took math in school? I did. Other nations have more than us - more people, more money, more soldiers. We are not a pushover to be sure, but if we attract enough notice in a negative way from enough nations, they will eventually stomp us flat. This trade debacle has already placed more eyes upon us than is wise. Executing dissidents will not help matters,” Huitzilhuani replied. “I do wish that my colleagues would leave matters related to diplomacy to those of us whose job is to practice it.”
“This is not a matter of diplomacy, it is a matter of justice, which is my job,” Cuicanan retorted, “and the law states - “
A soft tsk emerged from the center of the room. “I am the law, Cuicanan. I always seem to need to remind you of that,” the Emperor said flatly. “We will not execute these people. Huitzilhuani is right. We would be foolish to play into the hands of those who have anti-Xiomeran agendas with a series of messy public executions. Instead, we will be merciful. And we will let our enemies take that mercy and choke on it.”
With that act of typically Xiomeran conditional mercy, the lives of seventeen dissidents were thus spared by politics.
Montelin, Tlālacuetztla
Montelin, the neighborhood of the Xiomeran capital reserved for the highest of Imperial elites, is widely believed by many to be the most beautiful urban area in all of Xiomera. Tree-lined and quiet streets, hilltop estates, and exclusive developments ringed by the canals and gardens surrounding the grounds of the Palace of Flowers normally provide serenity and unmatched comfort for those Xiomerans lucky enough to have made it to the top of the social ladder.
But for one resident of this neighborhood, serenity was increasingly only a dream.
Cētlalhui, the former Secretary of Justice of the Xiomeran Empire, sat in the grand dining room of his palatial home. For now, anyway. The screen of his laptop, and the growing stack of papers on the table, made that conditional status perfectly clear.
Since being forced to resign his position in disgrace following the debacle of the XUN warrants, Cētlalhui found himself facing an increasingly grim future. Jobs were hard to come by for someone who had failed so spectacularly in such a high-profile role in Xiomeran society. Being fired by the Emperor was basically the largest stamp of disapproval one could get in Xiomera. No one would hire him. He was untouchable.
Having been one of Xiomera’s highest leaders, Cētlalhui had managed to put aside a considerable amount of assets. Enough to live on for the rest of his life without ever working again....if he was willing to give up the life of a Xiomeran elite and consent to being just a normal person with a normal house and a normal car and normal things for the rest of his life.
A normal wife and kids, too - his own wife, Palma, had left him after his failure, taking their son Natēhetli with her. No Xiomeran elite wife would ever allow her son to be raised by a nobody, or suffer the fate of being a nobody herself, after all.
Palma was, according to the tabloids, now dating a Xiomeran general. Cētlalhui had read about that today; the newspapers were among the growing stack of other papers on the table - rejection letters for jobs, demands for payment, and the like.
Cētlalhui sighed and picked up another object from the table. A silver revolver with pearl handles. Only high-ranking Xiomeran officials, people in security or defense roles, and certain very wealthy people were allowed to own their own firearms. Normally, after his firing, the gun should have been confiscated from him under Xiomeran law. He was a nobody now, after all.
Cētlalhui still remembered the disdain with which Tepilcayotl, as he was being walked out of the Palace of Flowers for the last time, had allowed him to keep the revolver. “You may as well do the honorable thing with it. Spare your family the embarrassment,” the old bastard had said.
Ritual suicide for failure, especially big failures, was a normal practice in Xiomera. It was clear what was expected of Cētlalhui by letting him keep the gun. One last chance to do something right, loser. One last chance to meet the expectations of society.
The sunlight from the windows of his mansion glinted off the revolver as Cētlalhui held it in his hand. His eyes rose to the laptop. On it, a video was playing of the Emperor announcing his plan to be “merciful” with the dissident activists. Activists from the same group that Cētlalhui had tried to fight, and had lost everything as a result of his failure.
The gun rested in his hand, cold and heavy, as the video played.
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