The morning tide roared in the distance, the gray fog shrouding Port Aster, the capital of the island of Draxing. The city was unusually silent, the seagulls calling in the barren urban streets. Professor Booth started out of the window of the university library, his thoughts echoing in the empty rectangular room, his brown dress shoes clicking against the white and black checkered waxed floor.
His eyes landed on the Lurnish flag waving from a pole, a yellow banner with a blue cross on top of a white and red cross, meeting at a blue disc with a yellow sun in its center. As it flapped, it made a soft clink against the metal pole. He blinked, seeing it shake, the flag beginning a slow descent down the pole. Glancing at the base, he saw a detail of 6 Lurnish soldiers, their iconic khaki uniforms and black berets. They were unarmed, standing in formation, two on each side facing each other as a fifth and sixth lowered the flag. 40 years of that flag waving… and here it comes down… he thought to himself. Aside from them stood an equal number of soldiers in green-gray uniforms with field caps, and shining black boots at their feet. Arushians, Booth concluded, a small frown playing on his lips.
The soldier at the flagpole grabbed the banner, unclipping it. The four soldiers each grabbed one end of it, and the sixth began to fold it. They made a neat square that showed the yellow sun on top. They handed it off to a seventh Lurnish soldier, this one, however, wore a tan more dress shirt with green trousers, with a small glint from his shoulders, and a green peaked cap. He took the flag, and the soldier that handed it to him saluted, returning the salute, the officer turned towards an Arushian soldier, who was dressed like the rest but had epaulets, his skin as white as paper. The Lurnish officer saluted him, and the Arushian returned the gesture, but his salute showed his full palm, not a flat hand like the Lurnish. The Arushians replaced the Lurnish formation with their own; one clipped their own banner to the pole. The Lurnish soldiers watched standing in a loose formation, their shoulders dropped, their posture imperfect compared to the pristine bearing of their former adversaries.
Booth's eyes fixated Arushian flag beginning its sail upwards, a black banner with two red vertical stripes at either end, a white line separating the red from the large black center. A silver lion with a golden crown at its center. The flag scaled the pole, making a clink as it settled at the top, catching the breeze, letting it unfold fully. The wooden door of the library flung open, letting light stream in from the hallway. As heavy footfalls thudded. Booth quickly tuned seeing several men in uniforms identical to the Arushian soldiers, but they were black and silver white diamonds at each of their collars and the front of their caps. They were definitely Arushian, from their snow-white skin to their dark hair. Two of them wore black helmets, and all four had slung bolt-action wooden rifles-shorter and lacked the protruding magazine of Lurnish rifles.
There were four of them. Booth went down the alley between the shelves to meet them, and he paused. Seeing one of the men with a canvas sack, he began rifling through the bookshelves, reading the titles and knocking books into the sack.
"Hey, those are limited editions!" he protested, lurching to the soldier and grabbing his canvas bag. The man's purple eyes met Booth's blues with a glare. With a swift move, he backhand slapped Booth. His glasses flew off, the side of his face burning, the faint taste of blood in his mouth. Another soldier came forth using his rifle to block the professor, shoving him back into a bookcase.
Booth let out a groan, hearing a snap and clatter as a shelf behind him gave way, dropping the books onto the floor. The soldier stood over him, pointing his rifle at Booth, his eyes glancing down the metal barrel and its hooded front sight, the soldier shouted in Arushian, the syllables sharper than Booth's native tongue. The professor's hands shot up instinctively, his skin pale as he let out a shuddered breath
Another set of footfalls echoed from down the hall, a deep voice speaking in Arushian, Booth's eyes trained on a figure wearing a similar black uniform, but on his collar were three silver squares. He held a hand to the soldier, who lowered his weapon, offering his pale hand to Booth, the professor taking it, being gently pulled back to his feet. The officer walked with an inherent grace, posturing tall and proud, every movement pristine like porcelain. But his skin, like the others, was fair, inhumanely so, his eyes purple like some elves, but he was clearly Human.
"I apologize for the lack of grace of my troopers…" he said softly in Lurnish with a deep accent-rolling the rs as he spoke. He handed Booth his glasses back, Booth glanced down, noticing the faint scratch on the lens, and placed them back on his face. The other black uniformed troops filled bags and boxes with books, but it wasn't random; Booth could see them observing the spines before throwing them in.
Professor Booth shook his head, having to readjust his circular glasses, "You can't take these books…" he protested softly, his breath returning to normal. "These are essential literary works…" The officer held a hand up, stopping him.
"I'll stop you there, Professor Aaron Booth, 37 years of age with a wife who works as a nurse…" he said abruptly. Booth's breath caught instantly, his heart thudded in his chest. "You have two children… they attend a private school within a gated community in the southern part of the city…" he said, his voice clear and precise, a completely straight face. "These books have been deemed vectors of disinformation and criminal ideals… as such, they are to be removed from educational access…" he said with a cold directness.
Booth couldn't respond. This is happening… and I can't stop it, he thought to himself, his knees buckling slightly as he watched the men tear apart the stacks. After minutes that seemed like days, they left the library. The Professor's breath shuddered as he looked at the ground softly, his eyes glancing at the mess of books scattered across the floor, ripped pages blowing through the library. His hand reached for a leather-bound novel, its cover irreparably bent from where a boot had landed on it. His eyes went damp the faint smell of burning embers filled the room from outside.