The Great Takeover of the Place.

55. Dawn.

The crone, Grandma Dawn, sat on a convenient log, leaning a little on her hazel staff and watched the performance at the fence with interest, her slight concern balanced by amusement. She had spoken with the young International Security Captain when the squad had arrived in their armoured personnel carrier, the wide wheels crushing vegetation to either side of the almost level access track. Speaking quietly but firmly, Dawn had insisted that a non-violent solution to the problem was both desirable and entirely possible.

The young Captain Tanni Rantoff had agreed but pointed out that the fugitive was a violent, murderous, bastard who had committed terrible crimes and if he gave the slightest indication of causing trouble then she, as the official representative of the International Security Council, sanctioned in this instance to use deadly force, would not hesitate to blow the fuckers head off. Dawn could see her point.

When a weak, poorly enunciated voice called down from the wilderness that he was going to give himself up, Captain Tanni Rantoff arranged her squad into a semicircle centred on the rusting gate giving access to the wilderness. Various weapons were aimed towards the ragged figure who now staggered down, out of the bushes and into the daylight.

He's in a bit of a state, thought Dawn, taking in the torn clothes flapping on a thin frame, the sunken, scratched cheeks and dark, hooded eyes. He was trembling; probably got a fever, she thought. She almost felt sorry for him but didn't.

Fortunately, the retrieval proceeded without incident. The INCO came through the gate, following Captain Tanni Rantoff's very precise instructions, placed his hands upon his head and sank to his knees. While he was closely marked, one of the Captain's team came in from behind and handcuffed him. Then, followed by the barrels of various weapons, he was led off to the armoured vehicle and loaded in from the rear door.

Captain Tanni Rantoff appeared relieved as she clambered up the side ladder and lowered herself into the observation hatch. She looked back towards the crone and gave a sharp salute. Then there was the throaty rasp of an engine firing and the vehicle lumbered off down the access track leaving the distinct smell of burnt chips.

Dawn sighed again and wished there was a back to her log. She settled her seat bones as best she could. Not enough flesh on my old arse, she thought and chuckled.

After a while, when she considered that Captain Tanni Rantoff and her International Security retrieval squad with their captive were well on their way, she called up, into the wilderness.

“I think its safe to come out, now!”

There was a pause and then another figure emerged from the shrubbery and came down to the gate, moving rather awkwardly, as if embarrassed, or just a bit clumsy. This INCO was in better shape than the first but she could see he'd got a stoop from holding in tension, the neck very stiff when he turned, looking for her and a bit of a paunch to the belly. It was all very familiar to the crone.

“Finally,” she said and sighed, “We've been waiting a long time for you. A very long time.”

The INCO was looking at her, rather strangely, as if some deep recognition was attempting to surface.

“Take your time,” she said, “There's no hurry now, Troom.”

Her use of that old nickname jolted through him and at last he realised where he had seen those piercing grey-green eyes before.

"Dawn!" He croaked and she nodded, and through her now ancient, unfamiliar face, lined as it was with so many wrinkles, came that same beautiful, open smile of approval that had melted his heart, oh, so many years before.

Trueman managed to get within a few paces of her before he sank to his knees, as though all the energy of the INCO body had finally run out.

“Is it,” he began then struggled to continue, “Is it all over then, at last?”

“For now, Troom,” Dawn spoke kindly, smiling all the while, “You can let it go now.”

Trueman's sense of sudden relief was only a prelude. He couldn't help it; the emotional surge that arose so powerfully within him was unstoppable and at long last he started to cry. It began quietly at first but developed through shaking and heavy sobbing into genuine wails of sadness, loss, outright despair and grief.

He cried for all the lost time, all his many errors and mistakes, the missed opportunities, the folly and failures. The people who could have been friends that he'd treated with disdain, the arrogant pride that had separated him from them and the world. His poor daughter, ignored and abandoned by him long before he had actually left her. His failure to recognise the real challenges of the world and its many peoples' and his own contribution to the disaster. His utter lack of concern for his real self, as a person, as a human, buried in his futile pursuit for academic and intellectual grandeur.

Every time the emotion cut off he looked up into Dawn's loving gaze and it all began again, the tears fair flowing down his cheeks and dripping from his chin. He howled. Each time he cried, the suppressed tension, long held clenched in the muscles of his abdomen, shoulders and neck, eased and he could feel the warmth of blood returning to the starved tissues, which only made him wheep some more. Only gradually did his crying lessen, sinking to a quiet contemplation before bursting out again as yet another thought arose, then sinking once more.

When he finally stopped, as though there was no more pain to feel, they were at last able to just talk.

"That's a good start, Troom,” Dawn said, smiling. “Well done.”

Her approval was a balm. He found he could breath in easily, deeply. He stretched his arms and rolled his shoulders.

“I don't really know what's happening,” he admitted, quite honestly.

“It's a good place to start from,” Dawn laughed. “And you're not alone in that!”

She went on, more seriously.

“The future is uncertain,” she said, “Always has been really, just more obviously so now. If we are honest, we don't know how things will work out, whether we and all this,” she waved a thin arm to take in the bright, burning sun, the pale blue almost white sky, sprawl of tumbling trees and hillside, crag and ridge, “Will survive or not. To accept and live with that uncertainty is a difficult but necessary challenge.”

Trueman nodded, considering the many experiences he had been through and the people he had met.

“Good to have friends along the way,” he said.

Dawn agreed.

“Important to remember,” she said, “that the only real enemies are states of mind. Its us that need to change, not the world. There's plenty of work that can be done, plenty of useful work."

"I think I'm ready," Trueman said, “But I don't know where to go.”

Dawn chuckled.

“As it happens, the Last Resort would like to pick your brains regarding your rather unusual experiences hooking up to the net.”

She gave him a searching look before continuing.

“And Nonna says she's arranged accommodation for you there, next to her own. We think it would suit you.”

She stopped and seemed to be struggling with something. After a moment Trueman realised she was trying not to laugh.

“If you're interested,” Dawn managed to continue, “It's a nice place, a one goat niche.”

Trueman jerked upright.

“But I hate-” Trueman burst out, then stopped and stared at the ground for a long moment before sighing, deeply.

“Well,” he said finally, though it was an effort,” Perhaps I might get to like goats.”

“You never know, Troom” Dawn laughed. “And it'll be good for you to confront another of your shadows.”

Then, hearing a noise, she looked up. It was the clop of hooves.

“Ah,” she said and rubbed her aching back. “Speaking of which, here's our transport at last. And some more of the family.”

Trueman stood up and turned to look. Along the almost level access track, he saw his granddaughter leading Toby the pony towards them, the caravan in tow. There was someone else walking beside Rhia, an older woman who was looking quizzically at him. She looked somehow familiar.

“Hello?” the woman called then smiled broadly, “Dad?”

“Catti!” Whispered Trueman and realised he was about to start crying again. It felt like exactly the right thing to do.

Dawn began to chuckle, quietly.

Here ends The Great Takeover Of The Place

one thread from the Konsk Kosmology.

There we go, the ending of this thread in the meta-pata-fiction the Konsk Kosmology. Many thanks for reading, especially to those of you who have been here from the start and for your comments and suggestions. As I have said before, this draft is still highly flexible and I am very open to feedback. I’m particularly interested in hearing of any ideas, techniques, attitudes or behaviours that you can imagine in your own imagined futures, that I can include in this work.

I will be taking a little time off Konsk and continuing with The Real Coed Y Brenin and E.S.P. Adapt for now but will be returning to it in the not too distant future. Till then, take care all. Hwyl! Chris.