27-02-2004, 08:12
As soon as Georg's plane touched down at Kralmarc International Airport, he could sense a change in the air. He had left Husarn only 5 years ago to study abroad and had always kept a mental image of the country close to his heart, but this was not it.
Where was the sense of barely-controlled order that had so enchanted all who experienced it? Where were the small-hold farms usually visible from the air on descent to Kralmarc? Why did everything seem so strange, but yet still slightly familiar?
The plane taxied to a halt with these thoughts still filling Georg's head. Maybe it was just that he'd been away for so long. He'd left as a young man seeking to make his way in the world and now he had life experiences to compare the country of his youth to, was this perhaps a death of his innocence? Somehow, he thought there was more to it than that.
Georg's thoughts were interrupted by the voice of the air hostess announcing in both Huzn (the local language) and English that the plane had arrived. "Welcome to Kralmarc International, gateway to beautiful Husarn. Please remain in your seats with your seatbelts securely fastened until the plane has come to a complete stop and the sign has been turned off. Please ensure that you have taken everything with you on leaving the plane. On behalf of Husarn Air, I would like to wish you a pleasant stay in Husarn or wherever you may be heading."
It was at Immigration that Georg was to learn the truth. Instead of the friendly, warm greeting of "Zerruv" - the greeting of the Husarn of his youth - Georg was greeted by a stern-faced man with an unfamiliar uniform. The man motioned him forwards and began to flip through his passport.
"You are Husarni, yes?"
"Yes."
"And why have you been overseas for so long?"
"I am...was...a student. I was studying over there."
"A student of which discipline?"
"Political theory."
"Mr...Rasmussen, is it? You will need to report to the Directorate of Security within 72 hours for validation."
"Report to the what? For what?"
"The Directorate of Security, to enable them to make sure you have not associated with Enemies of the People while you have been abroad."
"The people? The Husarni?"
"Yes. You have been abroad for many years and we do not wish for any counter-revolutionary sentiment to be imported to the Republic."
"Republic? What happened to the King?"
"The bourgeois King was removed from power in a glorious revolution of the People."
"And replaced by what?"
"Elections were held 4 years ago. The Husarn Workers' Party holds power now in the Azembl' Peurpleur."
"But, I don't understand..."
"Mr Rasmussen, for a political theory graduate you are not displaying an active mind. I do not propose to explain the history of our glorious revolution. You are free to enter the country, but if you do not report to the Directorate, you will be arrested. Kindly move forwards and collect your luggage. Welcome to Husarn."
Where was the sense of barely-controlled order that had so enchanted all who experienced it? Where were the small-hold farms usually visible from the air on descent to Kralmarc? Why did everything seem so strange, but yet still slightly familiar?
The plane taxied to a halt with these thoughts still filling Georg's head. Maybe it was just that he'd been away for so long. He'd left as a young man seeking to make his way in the world and now he had life experiences to compare the country of his youth to, was this perhaps a death of his innocence? Somehow, he thought there was more to it than that.
Georg's thoughts were interrupted by the voice of the air hostess announcing in both Huzn (the local language) and English that the plane had arrived. "Welcome to Kralmarc International, gateway to beautiful Husarn. Please remain in your seats with your seatbelts securely fastened until the plane has come to a complete stop and the sign has been turned off. Please ensure that you have taken everything with you on leaving the plane. On behalf of Husarn Air, I would like to wish you a pleasant stay in Husarn or wherever you may be heading."
It was at Immigration that Georg was to learn the truth. Instead of the friendly, warm greeting of "Zerruv" - the greeting of the Husarn of his youth - Georg was greeted by a stern-faced man with an unfamiliar uniform. The man motioned him forwards and began to flip through his passport.
"You are Husarni, yes?"
"Yes."
"And why have you been overseas for so long?"
"I am...was...a student. I was studying over there."
"A student of which discipline?"
"Political theory."
"Mr...Rasmussen, is it? You will need to report to the Directorate of Security within 72 hours for validation."
"Report to the what? For what?"
"The Directorate of Security, to enable them to make sure you have not associated with Enemies of the People while you have been abroad."
"The people? The Husarni?"
"Yes. You have been abroad for many years and we do not wish for any counter-revolutionary sentiment to be imported to the Republic."
"Republic? What happened to the King?"
"The bourgeois King was removed from power in a glorious revolution of the People."
"And replaced by what?"
"Elections were held 4 years ago. The Husarn Workers' Party holds power now in the Azembl' Peurpleur."
"But, I don't understand..."
"Mr Rasmussen, for a political theory graduate you are not displaying an active mind. I do not propose to explain the history of our glorious revolution. You are free to enter the country, but if you do not report to the Directorate, you will be arrested. Kindly move forwards and collect your luggage. Welcome to Husarn."