Subject: 
            Future of the Draka
       Date: 
            Sun, 13 May 2001 03:22:20 GMT
       From: 
            craig_n@my-deja.com (Craig Neumeier)
Organization: 
            http://extra.newsguy.com
 Newsgroups: 
            soc.history.what-if


Not realism, mind you (as if that belonged in the same sentence as the
word "Draka") but poetic justice.

From rec.arts.sf.written's thread on "Fun ways to abuse the Draka." 
Almost all of it is crossovers with other fictional universes, but then
there was this gem....

justinf@ugcs.caltech.edu (Justin Fang) wrote in
<9debtj$33t@gap.cco.caltech.edu>: 
>I think that to hit a Draka where it really hurts you'd want
>something a bit different:
>
>The buzzing of the alarm yanks him from the dream.  And it was a
>good dream, too; one in which the Domination had not fizzled out,
>but crushed their enemies in a Final War.  How glorious it had been!
> The world had been theirs, to reshape as they would!  And, and...
>no, it's fading away now. Maybe if he went back to sleep it would
>return.  But no, if he's late for work again his boss will fire him,
>and as much as he hates his minimum-wage job, the thought of having
>to go begging for food money from his children is worse.  Everytime
>he talks to them (which is not often), he can almost hear their
>thoughts: "Go away and stop embarassing us, old man." Fifteen years
>in prison thanks to that dammyankee tribunal, and his children turn
>into strangers who despise him and everything he stood for.

And what with the time spent at the damn job and doing all the damn 
serf-work (who knew how *long* it could take to do laundry, even with 
the cheap, drab, machine-washable crap that's all that he can afford?), 
he can't pretend any more that he's keeping up his Pankration, or even 
the basic maintenance exercise he was able to do in prison.  If he were 
magically transported back to the old Domination, he'd be hauled before 
a court martial for letting himself become unfit for service.  He can't 
stand to look at himself in a mirror now.

>After washing and dressing, he leaves his tiny apartment and heads
>for the bus stop.  When it arrives, the bus is crowded with young
>people, descendants of serfs and owners alike, dressed in clothes he
>can't stand, and talking about things he doesn't understand, to
>people who aren't even on the bus.

He'd never thought he'd miss the dirty looks and insults of the ex-
serfs.  But the younger kids don't even *hate* him anymore; to them 
"Draka" are generic villains, tall uniformed supermen.  Not pudgy old 
men with bad teeth and secondhand clothes.  It's as if he didn't exist.

>  He stares blankly out the
>window, watching billboards for American movies and Japanese
>consumer electronics go by.  Finally he arrives at work, exchanges 
>sullen greetings with his co-workers, and starts the morning
>routine.  The first customer of the day walks up to the counter, and
>he pastes a fake smile on his face.

>"Would you like fries with that?"

Mike
-- 
Michael S. Schiffer, LHN, FCS