Sins of Omission
“It’d been over a week since his conversation with Xeno, and with every passing day, he felt more tormented by thoughts of escape. Before Xeno summoned him, Max had grudgingly accepted his fate, trying to keep his head down and planning for what he would do once his indenture was up, but now that there was a glimmer of hope, if being buried alive could be construed as hope, he felt restless and torn. Xeno’s plan was absolutely mad, and any rational person would dismiss it out of hand as he had, but what if it worked? What if there actually was a chance of getting off this godforsaken island?
Xeno struck a nerve, as he knew he would, when he spoke of Max dying before his sentence was up. The graveyard was full of people who’d never seen freedom again. Many had died of overwork and poor nutrition, but a much greater number had been carried off by yellow fever, or Yellow Jack as the slaves called it. Perhaps Max’s twenty-first-century immune system could fight off an attack of ye...llow fever, but he could just as easily contract malaria or some other kind of island disease. And even if by some miracle he remained healthy, he still had more than six and a half years of servitude before he could regain his freedom, and then what? How would he get back to England? Even if he managed to hire himself out as part of a crew on a ship bound for England, he’d be coming back more than seven years after his disappearance from the twenty-first century. Would the passage still exist? Would it take him back to the time he left, or would he show up in Cranleigh nearly eight years later? Would he be able to reclaim his place? He wasn’t quite sure, but he thought it took seven years to pronounce someone dead if there was no body. Even if he managed to get back home, he might be seen as an impostor, a fraud. And his mother… Lady Everly might not even be alive by the time he got back, so he would be returning to a house inhabited by someone else. Max had never made a Will, but the estate would go to his next of kin, which was a distant cousin from Newcastle who’d emigrated to Canada a few years back. These thoughts drove Max crazy, making him uncomfortably aware of the urgency of getting back home. Max shook his head as if trying to dislodge his turbulent thoughts, but they kept coming back, refusing to leave Max in peace. Could Xeno be trusted? What if he just left Max to die? Who would know? Who would even care? Of course, many of the slaves had heard Xeno’s promise, but who was to say that they would condemn him for breaking it, or not encourage him to leave Max to his fate? Max was just a white man, a symbol of oppression, even if he himself was in a position of near-slavery. In their eyes, he was a man who had something to go back to, a life of luxury to reclaim where their lives had been stolen from them. They would never see their homeland again, or reunite with the people they’d been torn from. This was where they would live and where they would die, unless Jessop Greene decided to sell them on or give one of them as a gift, possibly one of their children. And what in the world could Xeno be smuggling to France? Did the slaves steal sugarcane and use it to pay for whatever it was they got from the French captain? Max hadn’t seen any items of luxury in the slave barracks -– nothing at all save a few clay pots and moth-eaten blankets. A few of the women wore colorful dresses and turbans, but everyone else wore the same linen pajamas like those issued to Max.MoreLess
Xeno struck a nerve, as he knew he would, when he spoke of Max dying before his sentence was up. The graveyard was full of people who’d never seen freedom again. Many had died of overwork and poor nutrition, but a much greater number had been carried off by yellow fever, or Yellow Jack as the slaves called it. Perhaps Max’s twenty-first-century immune system could fight off an attack of ye...llow fever, but he could just as easily contract malaria or some other kind of island disease. And even if by some miracle he remained healthy, he still had more than six and a half years of servitude before he could regain his freedom, and then what? How would he get back to England? Even if he managed to hire himself out as part of a crew on a ship bound for England, he’d be coming back more than seven years after his disappearance from the twenty-first century. Would the passage still exist? Would it take him back to the time he left, or would he show up in Cranleigh nearly eight years later? Would he be able to reclaim his place? He wasn’t quite sure, but he thought it took seven years to pronounce someone dead if there was no body. Even if he managed to get back home, he might be seen as an impostor, a fraud. And his mother… Lady Everly might not even be alive by the time he got back, so he would be returning to a house inhabited by someone else. Max had never made a Will, but the estate would go to his next of kin, which was a distant cousin from Newcastle who’d emigrated to Canada a few years back. These thoughts drove Max crazy, making him uncomfortably aware of the urgency of getting back home. Max shook his head as if trying to dislodge his turbulent thoughts, but they kept coming back, refusing to leave Max in peace. Could Xeno be trusted? What if he just left Max to die? Who would know? Who would even care? Of course, many of the slaves had heard Xeno’s promise, but who was to say that they would condemn him for breaking it, or not encourage him to leave Max to his fate? Max was just a white man, a symbol of oppression, even if he himself was in a position of near-slavery. In their eyes, he was a man who had something to go back to, a life of luxury to reclaim where their lives had been stolen from them. They would never see their homeland again, or reunite with the people they’d been torn from. This was where they would live and where they would die, unless Jessop Greene decided to sell them on or give one of them as a gift, possibly one of their children. And what in the world could Xeno be smuggling to France? Did the slaves steal sugarcane and use it to pay for whatever it was they got from the French captain? Max hadn’t seen any items of luxury in the slave barracks -– nothing at all save a few clay pots and moth-eaten blankets. A few of the women wore colorful dresses and turbans, but everyone else wore the same linen pajamas like those issued to Max.MoreLess
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