blood washed from the map: new from ashtray navigationsApril 13, 2015 at 11:03 am | Posted in new music, no audience underground | Leave a comment
Tags: ashtray navigations, mel o'dubhslaine, memoirs of an aesthete, new music, no audience underground, noise, paul walsh, phil todd, psychedelia, zanntone
Ashtray Navigations – Fluctuants (CD-r, Memoirs of an Aesthete, MOA 2014-1, edition of 75 or download)
Ashtray Navigations – Live on Planet Carpet (CD-r, Zanntone)
[Editor’s note: see my review of Aero Infinite for part one of this story. Sort of.]
This punch has been spiked,
thought the General. She looked over at the band – hard rocking some deep psych – and allowed herself a moment of wry amusement. She decided it must have been them, remembering similar pranks she’d played herself during a reckless youth. It didn’t matter – she had military grade nanotech scrubbing her blood clean at all times but she’d dialled back her biosecurity a notch – it was a party after all – and some of the more interesting side effects were making themselves felt. It was the second time today that she had been reminded of her childhood…
The invitation to negotiate had been a surprise. Everyone had welcomed the truce that calmed their warring nations but all could see it was fragile. Only the most optimistic strategists had thought it might be formalised. Yet here they were: safe passage had been guaranteed, an opulent setting secured. The week had gone well – teams on both sides were expertly prepared, aware of all the snagging points and ready with innovative compromises. Blood had been washed from the map.
Throughout proceedings the General, her presence important but largely symbolic, had been observing the actual play of power amongst the attendees. In particular she watched one man, modestly dressed in black, flit in and out of the shadows. This man was always present when a decision was made, always at the ear of his superiors. He knew what should be said, when and by whom and quietly ensured that it was. Not wanting to show her hand by asking his name the General referred to him privately as ‘the Clerk’.
How do I get him to work for me?
On this, the final day of the talks, the General rose early, as was her habit, and on a whim walked down to the banqueting hall which was already being decorated in preparation for the evening’s festivities. Her eye was caught by a large, deftly arranged wreath of flowers, stalks woven into a ring. It was maybe ten feet across and was lying flat on the floor awaiting servants with ladders to fix it to the wall. Her usual expression of unreadable authority – an accurate representation of her mirrorshaded soul – trembled for an instant. The corners of her mouth twitched.
She shouted and the servants scattered faster than if warning shots had been fired over their heads.
There were only two types of bloom in this arrangement, though huge quantities of each. The first was the national flower of the host nation, common enough but only the most perfect specimens had been used. The other flower was native to the General’s homeland and almost nowhere else. It was difficult to cultivate and had become a signifier of power and beauty in that country. Indeed, the plant featured in the General’s family’s coat of arms and the sigil of her army. It’s scent was profound, delicious. Once sure the room was empty she fell to her knees and buried her face in the petals. She hadn’t smelt that smell in months, she hadn’t smelt that smell in such pure abundance since playing in her Grandmother’s palace gardens when she was a girl. When she sat up after what seemed like hours – but must have only been a few minutes – her face was wet with happy tears. Her self-monitoring bio-alert system scrabbled to process the unprecedented strangeness of this reaction.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a black figure silently exit the room through a door hidden behind a tapestry.
Back at the party, the General’s mild buzz was gently agitated by a polite cough at her shoulder. It was the Clerk.
I trust you are enjoying the music?
He whispered, somehow perfectly audible over the cacophony.
They’ve been transported from 21st Century Earth just for this occasion. My all time favourite band.
The General was amused at his informality, she gave a slight nod.
I understand you appreciated our floral tribute too,
he said, and this time the General glanced in his direction.
Well, well, a flaw! He is rather too pleased with himself for pulling off that stunt. A useful weakness,
she thought, instructing her software to make a note of that point in the evening’s AV feed.
Perhaps we could have a word in private? I have the only key to a fully cloaked ante-chamber behind the stage,
he said and held out his hand. The General slid back her chair, rose to her feet and smoothed the lap of her dress. She looked over again at Phil and Mel, both lost in the storm they were conducting. Leaning into the Clerk she offered her opinion:
By the beautiful blue arse of the Interstellar Buddha, this band are fucking great.
Zanntone [Editor’s note: at the time of publication this site is, as we used to say, ‘under construction’ and details of the release remain elusive. The resourceful will find a way to contact Paul Walsh – for it is he – and I’ll update the link here when it is done.]
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