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Jul. 31st, 2006 07:20 pmThere is dancing in the streets on Londinium, on Unification Day. Literally. The Lion Dance and the Dragon Dance (Guangdong, Fut San, Hok San, and Ninghai variants) are performed in the center of every major district, and the ones in the government complex all lead toward the Parliament building and the great clock tower there, for a dance in the square with steps added to symbolize Unification. Later there is always a military parade (and newsfeeds always zoom in on Senator Fred Atwood of Londinium, the former general, who can always be counted on to have a tear in his eye at the appropriate moment), and later there are fireworks, after the Oxbridgian Scholars' Chamber Orchestra gives their annual concert. Around the city, theatrical performances of recently-commissioned works in the tradition of noh and kabuki and Qínqiāng pull together old themes to illustrate the gravity and magnificence of the task the 'verse has accomplished by unifying for the greater good of every man, woman, and child.
Sensors keep an eye on all the celebrants, as well as those not celebrating.
There are, of course, vigils at the monuments for the war dead -- vigils, and ceremonies. They make beautiful closing stories for the night's news broadcasts.
***
Often legislators take leave from session to visit their home planets on U-Day; this year, however, the Council of Seven passed a resolution asking them not to do so, as there are many things on the docket, and the time lost in transit is precious.
They are asked, therefore, to make an appearance somewhere during the day. To get on camera.
Representative Finch G. Wiley, of Three Hills, chooses to stand in the back of a children's chorus and sing along. Later he rolls up his sleeves and takes a turn making bao, just like his mother used to.
Senator Pauline Johanssen, of Chittenden, attends a vigil, stonefaced.
Senator Dorothy Fenimore, of Bernadette, takes a turn as the third man in a dragon, and doesn't trip over her own feet.
Senator Marcus Shapiro, of Beylix, participates in a conference call broadcast live at the University of Osiris Law School, and when asked to comment on the very interesting case of the Tam children, he tells the waiting faces that he's a politician first, a historian second, and not a legal expert at all.
***
As with most citizens of the Core, for Gabriel the fight for Unification had once simply meant a bitter five-year war -- one that for the most part took place elsewhere and was reported back through the filter of media spin.
His acquaintance with Malcolm Reynolds has changed that.
This year, Senator Gabriel Tam accepts the invitation to give the keynote address at the annual Victoria War Memorial ceremony on Londinium. With the soft rippling of the memorial fountain as a counterpoint behind him, he speaks quietly of what was lost as well as of what was won; of lives spent as bloody coin to pay the price for the triumph of victory; and of how important it is to ensure that never again will there be a need for such struggle.
***
Late at night, of course, there are the parties, with the sweeping staircases, and the swirling dresses, and the younger men dancing and the older men standing with glasses of scotch, the older women wishing their husbands would ask them to dance and the younger women taking their turns on the floor.
Companions stand out, men and women, jewels set in silver and gold. Companions stand out, but the head of House Aspasia, away from Sihnon for this holiday for the first time, is grander than all, and standing with no client tonight. She stands, straight-backed, smile serene and knowing.
What does she know? the dancing couples wonder; she's not telling.
At midnight, when the Parliamentary clock strikes, the guests all throw their wine glasses at a tree, and listen to them shatter. It's difficult to distinguish the ensuing laughter from the broken glass.
Sensors keep an eye on all the celebrants, as well as those not celebrating.
There are, of course, vigils at the monuments for the war dead -- vigils, and ceremonies. They make beautiful closing stories for the night's news broadcasts.
Often legislators take leave from session to visit their home planets on U-Day; this year, however, the Council of Seven passed a resolution asking them not to do so, as there are many things on the docket, and the time lost in transit is precious.
They are asked, therefore, to make an appearance somewhere during the day. To get on camera.
Representative Finch G. Wiley, of Three Hills, chooses to stand in the back of a children's chorus and sing along. Later he rolls up his sleeves and takes a turn making bao, just like his mother used to.
Senator Pauline Johanssen, of Chittenden, attends a vigil, stonefaced.
Senator Dorothy Fenimore, of Bernadette, takes a turn as the third man in a dragon, and doesn't trip over her own feet.
Senator Marcus Shapiro, of Beylix, participates in a conference call broadcast live at the University of Osiris Law School, and when asked to comment on the very interesting case of the Tam children, he tells the waiting faces that he's a politician first, a historian second, and not a legal expert at all.
As with most citizens of the Core, for Gabriel the fight for Unification had once simply meant a bitter five-year war -- one that for the most part took place elsewhere and was reported back through the filter of media spin.
His acquaintance with Malcolm Reynolds has changed that.
This year, Senator Gabriel Tam accepts the invitation to give the keynote address at the annual Victoria War Memorial ceremony on Londinium. With the soft rippling of the memorial fountain as a counterpoint behind him, he speaks quietly of what was lost as well as of what was won; of lives spent as bloody coin to pay the price for the triumph of victory; and of how important it is to ensure that never again will there be a need for such struggle.
Late at night, of course, there are the parties, with the sweeping staircases, and the swirling dresses, and the younger men dancing and the older men standing with glasses of scotch, the older women wishing their husbands would ask them to dance and the younger women taking their turns on the floor.
Companions stand out, men and women, jewels set in silver and gold. Companions stand out, but the head of House Aspasia, away from Sihnon for this holiday for the first time, is grander than all, and standing with no client tonight. She stands, straight-backed, smile serene and knowing.
What does she know? the dancing couples wonder; she's not telling.
At midnight, when the Parliamentary clock strikes, the guests all throw their wine glasses at a tree, and listen to them shatter. It's difficult to distinguish the ensuing laughter from the broken glass.
