The Story of Samo: Chapter Three, Part One
For as long as Kiara had known Samo Diarcha, she could tell there was something…off, about him. Most people just called him strange, crazy, demented or—to their later regret—stupid. He was no idiot, that was for certain. That was another thing she could tell from the first time they met. When you see a ten-year-old boy lying on the floor with a set of gyroscopes on one side, architectural drawing equipment on the other and a five-feet wide by seven-feet long schematic of a walking tank in front of him, you can probably guess he doesn’t spend his days playing tiddly winks.
That was how it was when they first met. At the time, she was just a curious little nine-year-old who didn’t know any better about why someone would rather do that than play some kind of game. She had not realized at the time that it was a game for him. In the weeks that followed, she realized that with a fuller understanding, seeing him build and launch a mud-slinging catapult at the bullies that picked on him, then following up with stink bombs launched from specially designed crossbows. The bullies didn’t pick on him again.
Her brother, Kia, had wanted to make friends with him in order to avoid being on the receiving end of his special brand of wrath. Kiara was simply intrigued by the things that he did and the way that he talked. He was never like anyone else, and she liked that. Everyone else was boring. What started as a basic interest of a nine-year-old girl grew into a crush held by a teenager. As the three friends came into adulthood, that crush was still there, but she did not know if she could call it love.
She never told Kia or Samo, because she didn’t want them to make fun of her for it, but she read romances, like the one that the Chancellor had found on the table in the library. The people in those stories loved each other and held through everything that happened to hold onto that love, even if it killed them. Of course, she knew that it wasn’t always that way, that the people in the stories loved each other because the authors wanted them to. She didn’t think she could go as far as that for Samo, but she wasn’t so sure.
As it was, she stood outside the police guardhouse where Samo and his four attackers were being held. If she had been given a chance, she would have pummeled them to the point of pulp. Of course, having the build of a waif would have made that rather difficult had she tried. It was probably a good thing Tarat had been there. Probably. She stood there, staring at the door and waiting for it to open, trying to will Samo into coming out freely. Nothing happened.
People passed, muttering about her. She knew what they were saying, even if she couldn’t hear them. Some people had found out, or figured out, how she felt about Samo and spread it around. Those who did not like him turned their dislike toward her. To say it didn’t bother her, the rumors that they spread and the horrible things that they called her, would be as big a lie as to say that a person could eat a rock. At first, she tried to defend herself, to refute the rumors about the extent of their activities, but nothing worked. She eventually gave up and started ignoring them. Sometimes, when given a chance, she would embarrass someone by pointing out some fallacy in the disparity of the rumors. It didn’t always work. Oh well, she thought.
She decided that she had waited long enough. She was going to get some answers. She didn’t even know why Samo had been arrested, or why Tarat had been specifically sent to the Academy to find him. As she started walking toward the guardhouse door, Kia came running up. After nearly colliding with her, he skidded to stop himself, then really did collide with her. He grabbed her by the forearm and yanked her after him, nearly sending her to the ground.
She squawked, “Ah! What are you doing?”
“Come on,” he said. “I think I know what’s going on.”
“Where are we going?” She tried to pull her arm free of his grip, but to now avail. She said, “Quit pulling!”
He kept pulling her down the street and said, “I can’t tell you. Just come on!”
Ignoring the pedestrians’ stares, she backhand-slapped him on the back of the head and pulled her arm free. She said, “I’m coming, just quit pulling on me.”
“All right, then,” he said. “Come on!”
Tales of the Inventor's War 