Paper and ink...impermanent...how fitting! The Man knew, now. They had sentenced him to Erasure, a punishment thought to have vanished from use millennia ago—
The man waited, seated by his defender on a cold, hard bench at a long table. His defender was exceptional. It had learned how to download the classified legal updates that the Councils had cobbled together to assure his guilt. The Council would pretend the updates were always there, so he’d needed to know the charges. Only the elites had access to private defenders, covertly commissioned by the Councils themselves. His was a public one, but he’d managed to tweak its highly encrypted core, ensuring its unwavering loyalty.
His defender had relayed the many charges, chief among them the unholy trinity not invoked in over a millennium: Subversion, Sedition, and Insurrection. And another: Slavery. All courts painted him a threat to the Continuance.
His grumbling stomach swallowed his smile. The suns' light outside the domed court grew soft. He yawned and stretched his long legs under the table. He’d been waiting for months, each prison cell and court a new waiting room.
News of his trial had spread like wildfire, but the day’s events wouldn’t transmit to the general public. Despite his mixed reputation as a maverick and a rebel, the Council of Eight was against it, were they to sentence him to Erasure.
The table suddenly felt too cold. A new kind of exile. Erasure meant no memory or record of him would remain. The Providence’s surveillance apparatus was a distributed network vast enough for the task. Enforcers would stand ready to eliminate any who would dare say his name.
As an orphan he was used to solitude, but now, Erasure threatened to sever his last thread to humanity. Perhaps he shouldn’t have led such a cloistered life. He’d once belonged to a sort of family.
The court’s side door whooshed open and the Council of Eight strode in. Their faces were hard, making eye contact with him, backs straight as rods. One of them, the Fourth, was bristling. How did you vote? He wondered.
The eight Councilors raised and lowered their gavels as they took their seats. Seven of them looked to the First Councilor on their far-right as he slowly removed a folded parchment from his robes, as if it would burn his fingertips.
Paper and ink...impermanent...how fitting! He knew, now. They’d sentenced him to Erasure, a punishment thought to have vanished from use millennia ago—
Though how could anyone know, if the sentence did its job?
The First sneered as if he’d heard his thoughts. Inhaling sharply and raising the sheet, he read:
“Subsequent to this pronouncement, [Name Redacted], hereafter known as Accused, shall be removed immediately from this courtroom to fulfill our sentencing. The Accused, for their crimes against The Lux Continuance, and above all, against all who have suffered and perished at their hands is sentenced to... Erasure.
Enforcers, remove the Accused from the eyes and the memory of the Continuance,” bellowed the First. Metal clinked at the back of the courtroom—Enforcers approaching.
He had the fortune of making a final request, but the Councilors, save one, didn’t know that. “Most esteemed Council, The Erasee is ready to make their final request,” his faithful defender blurted out. The Enforcers froze mid-step.
“No last wishes for the Erased!” the First snapped.
The man raised a finger. “Correct! However, the Most Honorable High Council is required to hear it. Defender?”
"Quite right. Esteemed Councilors, Item Two, Second Corollary, section Thirty-three states—"
“Quiet! That is not necessary. Fourth?” The First Councilor turned to face the Madam Fourth, who nodded. Her gaze landed for a moment on him. He stiffened.
The First sucked his teeth. “What is the request?”
“Honorable Councilors, I request to be exiled in a B-20.3 Enforcer-Class ship for—”
“Absolutely not,” the First spat. Other voices on the dais scoffed.
“The Council must also hear in full the reasons for the request before voting.” The Fourth said.
“An engineer in an experimental ship would be the highest stupidity.” said the First.
The reed-thin woman at the far end of the dais spoke, “The science is clear: matter cannot escape the Dump. The only consideration would be the cost of the ship—negligible, considering…” She titled her head. “Providence has given their assent.”
So she’s the Eighth? They’d never met.
“Fine. State your reasons.”
“Honorable Council, that Enforcer-class ship has a chamber that’s conducive to tinkering. I am an engineer. I request a humble workspace to help me stave off the isolation.”
The Madam Fourth stood. “Let us vote.”
“All for?” asked the First. Five gavels rose together. The First's ostensibly rested on the table. Five gavels dropped. The Madam Fourth's dropped last, by a hair. He gave her the tiniest nod.
“Let it be done. Enforcers, see that the Erased's ship be of the said class and model. On this matter I must specify, however. They shall not be allowed into the requested chamber until deposited. Let the ship's agent eject them at the slightest hint of subterfuge.
I repeat: Enforcers, remove the Erased from the eyes and memory of the Continuance.”
The man was ready.
All the arrangements, except for the exile ship, must have made before his trial. His sentence had always been a foregone conclusion. There'd be no appealing his sentencing. Not that he wanted to. After only an hour, two Enforcers arrived and escorted him to the launchpad on the roof of a towering structure nearby.
His last words to humans now spoken—his last sight of a friend.
The Enforcers herded him onto the craft. Once aboard, it lurched upwards, forcing him to a startled crouch. He wasn’t surprised they didn't wait until he was seated—standard treatment for an insurrectionist. The dormitory was small and dimly-lit. Gravity eased, allowing him to stand and walk stiffly to the only seat near the only window in this new little waiting room. He almost couldn’t believe this would be his last. Through the window, blue sky faded to black, revealing his reflection.
It was a dark and weathered face, each line a trace of what he'd endured. He had often forgone sleep lately. Time was running out, as the dark hollows under his eyes attested...
He awoke, the window cold against his head. He was grateful for the nap, and for the stillness of his days sequestered on-planet, where his plan deepened its roots behind closed eyes, where theory hardened into math with no guarantee of working.
His ship had to be getting close. He gripped his seat.
He looked out into what might have passed for space, were it not so utterly black. He’d known there’d be no stars, but knowing was different from facing—the Void.
His shoulder slammed into the wall. He gasped in pain, crumbling to the floor. The wall slid open, and he collapsed belly down. The soft hum of the ship's Drive ceased. Disoriented, he looked up and saw the engine room…at last!
He gingerly regained his feet and noted the chamber was bare save for the gleaming engine joining the floor with the ceiling. After inching to the side wall for support, he hobbled toward a control panel waist-high across the room. He pressed a button, and a large, panoramic display opened above. His final home didn’t yet look like a lab, but a lab it would become.
He looked out into what might have passed for space, were it not so utterly black. He’d known there’d be no stars, but knowing was different from facing—the Dump. The place where he’d chosen to die. This was intimate emptiness. Beckoning, oppressive. The weight of its unreality pressed around him as he faced his silent canvas.
Thank you for reading!
You just read the Prologue. The 1st chapter is here:
A Stoppy Boundary
I’d put off writing this next section because I was daunted by the task. I usually prefer to “pants” my worldbuilding, then document the lore post-hoc, but starting from scratch was very intimidating, so I decided to just write 500 words about something, anything that happens during the story. Something I’m not married to. No pressure.
You can also buy me a coffee!
Amazing. Very well-written. The idea of Erasure is a good one - disturbing to say the least. The whole tone reminds me a bit of Iain M. Banks - have you read him? It's sci-fi but there's always something very intelligently disturbing in his books.
“His grumbling stomach swallowed his smile.” That was a fire line. Such a good read.