“John H. Watson, British national, citizen and Army doctor until two years ago. Unrepentant abolutionist terrorist ever since.” With an offhanded gesture, he signaled John be lifted up to standing. “I'm Mycroft Holmes, intelligence consultant to His Highness, King of England and Regent of the Civilized Wrelm. Good to finally catch up to you.”
John said nothing. He'd never heard of an intelligence consultant. It sounded suspiciously off the books.
“Not much to look at, now, are you.” The voice was easy, almost kind sounding despite the words. Smug. He could sense a psychological agenda behind it. Impressing on me his importance, John thought.
“I wasn't aware that you needed to be impressed,” said John. “I'll try better in the future.”
“Oh, but I am impressed,” said Holmes. “Did I give you the impression I wasn't? Forgive me. I would hardly be here if you were a run of the mill terrorist. I have better things to be doing.”
“Well then,” said John defiantly.
“You've been very busy on this trip. Since you've come to visit this lovely colony, you have coordinated the destruction of two slave records centers, an intake facility and a collar distribution warehouse. Because of you, there are now over twenty thousand slaves with no proof of ownership, and another five hundred crowding the jails, waiting for their collars, when they should already have been sold and set to work. Thanks to you, the Oregon has taken a rather severe hit to it's economy. Taxes are down. Naughty, naughty.”
He stepped closer and reached up a hand to touch the front of John's throat. “I can see why the property might like to strike back, but what would make a freeman like yourself take up this cause?”
“Slaves have as much right as us to their lives. They aren't property. We are all human. We are all equal.”
“You are far too smart to be this niave, Watson,” said Holmes, patting John's cheek gently. “The British Empire runs on three things: Loyalty, Inginuity, and Labor. Without slaves, and the revenue they generate, our economy would fall apart. Our standard of living would crumble. The world would be plunged into a new dark age of chaos.”
“Codswaddle,” said John. “This is morally wrong. Who decides which humans are worthy of full rights and which aren't?”
The man leaned forward, his brows raised with condescending patience. “I decide that. John.” The switch to first names sent a shiver down John's back.
John said nothing. He'd never heard of an intelligence consultant. It sounded suspiciously off the books.
“Not much to look at, now, are you.” The voice was easy, almost kind sounding despite the words. Smug. He could sense a psychological agenda behind it. Impressing on me his importance, John thought.
“I wasn't aware that you needed to be impressed,” said John. “I'll try better in the future.”
“Oh, but I am impressed,” said Holmes. “Did I give you the impression I wasn't? Forgive me. I would hardly be here if you were a run of the mill terrorist. I have better things to be doing.”
“Well then,” said John defiantly.
“You've been very busy on this trip. Since you've come to visit this lovely colony, you have coordinated the destruction of two slave records centers, an intake facility and a collar distribution warehouse. Because of you, there are now over twenty thousand slaves with no proof of ownership, and another five hundred crowding the jails, waiting for their collars, when they should already have been sold and set to work. Thanks to you, the Oregon has taken a rather severe hit to it's economy. Taxes are down. Naughty, naughty.”
He stepped closer and reached up a hand to touch the front of John's throat. “I can see why the property might like to strike back, but what would make a freeman like yourself take up this cause?”
“Slaves have as much right as us to their lives. They aren't property. We are all human. We are all equal.”
“You are far too smart to be this niave, Watson,” said Holmes, patting John's cheek gently. “The British Empire runs on three things: Loyalty, Inginuity, and Labor. Without slaves, and the revenue they generate, our economy would fall apart. Our standard of living would crumble. The world would be plunged into a new dark age of chaos.”
“Codswaddle,” said John. “This is morally wrong. Who decides which humans are worthy of full rights and which aren't?”
The man leaned forward, his brows raised with condescending patience. “I decide that. John.” The switch to first names sent a shiver down John's back.
Reply
Leave a comment