Story: The Glove, X [Obsoleted]

An abbreviated story segment this time as we begin to work through the morass that is 'The Glove', and work out the motivations of all concerned. Yes, that's right: Motivation! Ha! The vow is that we'll get to the end of this story or try to do so for all the remaining lifetime of the Quirky Muffin! Actually, it's a very interesting voyage of discovery in learning the importance of putting some reason into why people do things. In 'Wordspace' there is an external motivating factor, and each of the character's literal definitions is itself motivation, but here... Well, we'll find out as we go, and that's all part of the fun. In fact, that discovery is why I began all this in the first place. The circle is complete once again.

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The Glove, X
(Part I , IX , XI )

Edin the techno city reared up into the sky all around him, shiny and new and emblazoned with all the clan markers in lights. Over there the Mackay building, and there Anderson Park, and behind them all the Kirk of St Andrews, a historic anomaly in a metropolis otherwise pushing into the future constantly and relentlessly.

Once again Steffan stepped off the train and looked all around pensively. The city was just as rushed and worrisome as it always was, nothing like the bucolic peace to be found commonly back in Burgh. Returning to his lodgings, and waving at his young landlady as he went up the stairs, he entered and lay in his bunk. Shock had set in even as exhaustion loitered on the edge of his awareness. Sleep didn't come.

It was only late evening and not yet night. Steffan looked out the window. Somewhere out there there were answers; details that would let him know what to do next, should he do anything at all. Yes, that was the question: "Why should I do anything?" What gave him the right to go snooping and prying, seeking to change things that had been for a long age? On the other hand, why were people killing each other in the middle of the country?

When he had first arrived here in Edin, on this moon Ganymede orbiting the planet Troos, Steffan had found no mentions of rebellion or dissidence amongst the people he had talked to. Now he set out to find some, and if not successful then make them instead. He set out for the nearest cantina, one right in the shadow of the Kirk itself, and readied himself for gossip mongering of the first order.

To be continued...