There are still remnants of my hastily-consumed breakfast on my face when I arrive for class on my second day at the Citadel. Most of the other Gazelles are already there waiting- I see Sofie wave at me from across the room, and wave back with one hand, while wiping off my face with the other. Day two of our eight-day week, and each unit is in a class run by their sponsor. The only problem is, ours is nowhere to be found.
If I’m honest, I feel a little silly for how fast I rushed over here, knowing now that Professor Gabrielli wasn’t present at the time. Thankfully, there’s still an empty seat near where Sofie and Niko are sitting, and I hurry to place myself in it, in order to avoid having to sit anywhere near Bret. Sander, who helpfully woke me up after I slept through my alarm, is the one who’ll have to suffer that fate instead. At least his general aura of intimidation will likely spare him the misery of having to put up with Bret’s incessant attempts at ‘banter.’
“Late night?” Nikolai asks, light glinting off of his black metal horns. I grimace in response, straightening out my shirt slightly. No time to carefully consider my wardrobe choices this morning, so I just threw on a short-sleeve button-up with storm cloud patterns, and tight black jeans that cling to me in all the right ways. Not bad for a selection picked out in a frantic rush, with a nearly seven-foot gray-skinned behemoth looming over me, warning me that I’m going to be late to class.
“Not even,” I grumble back. “I was in bed before eleven, and still this happens.”
“We’ve all been there,” Sofie says sympathetically, though I detect an undercurrent of amusement in her words as she pats me on the back. Not that I can blame her. My line has a reputation, and while it’s not all great, I still have an obligation to uphold it, something I’m clearly failing at right now.
Before I can do something to repair my image, however, the professor enters through the same door as me. She’s got a cup of coffee in one hand, something I suddenly wish I’d had the foresight to get along with my breakfast. Gabrielli’s presence doesn’t do much to stifle the chatter amongst my unit, until she sits down behind her desk, seemingly already exhausted, despite also clearly having not woken up more than an hour or two ago.
“Good morning,” Gabrielli says flatly. “Welcome to Rulership. As you all know, this is the one class that all students of the Citadel are obligated to take. This is because, as Nobles, you will all be expected to rule in some capacity, should you successfully graduate from this august institution.”
The professor’s tone makes me think she’s literally reading from a script. She could have downloaded one via the brainband, which would be a good way to cover for the fact that she probably hasn’t done much in the way of preparation. In some ways, I respect her clear lack of interest in her job, considering how selective the Citadel is in hiring instructors. They don’t exactly have tenure here, which makes me wonder how she’s kept her job. Does she have hidden depths we’ve yet to see, or just blackmail material on the Dean?
“An admiral or general exercises a form of rulership over their soldiers. A regional governor rules over the people within their sector. A Minister in the Imperial Cabinet rules over their domain, be it finance, agriculture, or transportation. These are all very different disciplines, but one thing unites them- managing subordinates. This is one skill required of all Nobles, and if you fail to adopt it, you are unlikely to succeed here at the Citadel.”
Several seats away, I hear Katrina squeak nervously. Not much of a surprise that she’d be uncomfortable with the idea of occupying a leadership role. Hopefully she’ll be able to grow into it, or at least learn a little something from watching me, but that all depends on her being willing to get out of her comfort zone. Something tells me Gabrielli isn’t going to be the one to coax her out, though.
“This isn’t the sort of thing you can practice in a sim,” the professor says, clearly no longer reading from her script. “That’s why we’ll be splitting you up into small groups and doing exercises later today. For now, we’re simply going to review the basic course materials. Our main text will be Lifeblood of an Empire, by Angelika Morgenstern, nineteenth in the line of the Emperor. You should have already downloaded the first two chapters before this class- if not, please do so now.”
Fortunately, I just barely managed to summon the presence of mind to do that last night before bed. It seems like some of the others didn’t bother, though, and we all sit in silence waiting for them to process the new information they just slotted into their own short-term memory. Of course, there’s limited storage space in the human brain, and frequently downloading lots of new information can displace older memories, but that’s what makes the brainband so useful. It serves as a decentralized ‘backup brain’ for everybody in the Imperium, storing our memories remotely, which is how we can be resurrected with all of our memories, right up until the moment of death. Originally, the plan was to store all of that data in one giant planet-sized computer, but the main problem there was lag time. If you lived near that planet, good for you, but if you were on the other side of the Imperium, you’d have to wait hours to call up any externally-sourced memories. The solution was simple- instead of storing it in one place, they’d distribute it universally. The brainband is in the air we breathe, trillions upon trillions of microscopic machines infesting the atmosphere of every planet in the Imperium. Each individual unit only stores a tiny fraction of the total system data, but put together, they have enough capacity to hold every single Imperium citizen’s entire history, and then some.
For obvious reasons, that doesn’t work in hard vacuum, which is why there’s a vast system of relay stations throughout the entire Imperium, which allows the brainband network to permeate across every planet, inhabited or otherwise. However, brainband-only communication is still slow and unreliable if you’re not on the same planet as whoever you’re trying to reach, which is why we use holo-screens instead. That, and it’s sometimes nice to see the face of the person you’re talking to, rather than just hearing their voice in your head.
Access to the brainband network is one major sticking point that’s fouled up the few attempts we’ve had to forge a peace between the Imperium and the Meritocracy. They’re all a part of it, in theory- but the Imperium controls the means of resurrection, and doesn’t bring back any Meritocrats who die, as a matter of policy. As a result, we’ve got millions of ‘hostages’ stored in the network, and the Meritocracy has no way of bringing them back. It’s harsh, but the Imperium’s stance is that the Meritocracy is a dangerous ‘rogue state,’ and resurrecting any of its citizens would constitute an unacceptable security risk.
“We’ll also be covering excerpts from various other essays and published works by various Nobles and academics,” Gabrielli continues, once everyone has the assigned chapters downloaded. “Some of you may be wondering how I am qualified to teach you all about rulership, considering I myself am not a Noble. However, unlike all of you, I have decades of experience working with young Nobles, which I believe constitutes qualification enough. If you have a problem with that... I don’t care.”
She clearly didn’t mean that as a joke, but I can’t help myself from laughing. When the professor’s gaze turns my way, I just wink at her, and contort the end of my tail into the shape of a heart. Rolling her eyes, she shifts her focus elsewhere.
“So as to avoid impeding your ability to prepare for war games and other competitive activities, I will not be assigning any exercises outside of the classroom. Instead--”
Before Gabrielli can finish, I raise my hand high. The look she gives me is long-suffering.
“Yes?”
“When exactly can we expect the first of those to take place? If an itinerary has been released, I don’t have it, and planning our training exercises will be difficult if I don’t know when we’ll need to be ready by.”
“Sometime next month. Details will be released to all unit commanders before the end of the week.” I give a satisfied nod, and she slowly scans the room, as if looking to see if anybody else has a question they’d like answered. Nobody volunteers. “As I was saying, everything you do for this class will take place within this room. I don’t intend to spend any time on this besides what we’re scheduled for, and I don’t expect any of you to either.”
A refreshingly honest admission if I’ve ever heard one. I suppose she’s got all the course materials and such prepared in advance, so she really doesn’t have to do any work outside of the classroom. That does imply she hasn’t changed up the syllabus in a while, which is hardly unexpected, but I wouldn’t have guessed she would admit it so openly. My curiosity as to how she’s maintained her position for so long is growing by the minute. Perhaps that’ll be my first assignment for whoever I end up appointing as Intelligence Officer- to figure out what hold she has on the Citadel administration not to have been fired yet.
“Now, unless there are any further questions, we can get started. Can anybody tell me what the title of Morgenstern’s book refers to?”
Initially, nobody raises a hand. The bystander effect on full display. I’m halfway to biting the bullet myself, when somebody I haven’t spoken with yet raises her hand. She’s got shoulder-length black hair that’s not quite as curly as mine, but seems more voluminous, although that’s not exactly what draws the eye when you look at her. That prize would go to her set of horns. Unlike Niko’s black metal spikes jutting out from his forehead, hers are in the style of a ram, but rather than keratin, they look to be made from amber. How that works with regards to weight, I’m not entirely sure, but the visual effect is nothing short of stunning.
“Yes. You. And your name, please.”
“Amalia,” she replies primly. “The title is in reference to people, which Morgenstern argues in the introduction are the true lifeblood of any polity, be it an empire or a democracy. All other resources are ultimately a secondary consideration, because without people, the polity may as well not exist.”
“Correct,” Gabrielli says, her morose demeanor even more pronounced when contrasted with Amalia’s enthusiasm. “Would anybody care to explain how Morgenstern extends this metaphor further in chapter one?”
Again, nobody raises a hand, and the shape of the problem begins to become clear to me. Most people here, myself included if I’m being frank, see themselves as far too cool to volunteer an answer in a class of any sort. If this were a different class, where answering correctly would win points against another unit, maybe it would be different- but here, raising a hand would practically be more embarrassing than getting cold-called and having the wrong answer. I suppose that as unit commander, it falls upon me to change that.
“The state is a body,” I answer, without waiting to be called on, “and its travel networks are the veins through which its blood flows. It requires other resources to survive, but most crucial is blood, and the blood must be allowed to travel unimpeded.”
Gabrielli doesn’t look especially pleased that I didn’t raise my hand before speaking, but she clearly doesn’t want to muster up the effort to reprimand me.
“That’s right. Morgenstern is arguing that restricting the travel of a state’s citizens will eventually deprive the state of life. It causes culture to become stagnant, prohibits the development of new technology, and impedes the establishment of commerce. This is consistent with her policy as Emperor, which removed many of the regulations on transit through the Imperium, something her successors largely maintained... until the Betrayer War.”
A number of people turn to look at me as she says that. The Betrayer War is the most common term for the conflict that arose over the establishment of the Meritocracy. It has no official name, mainly because the Imperium refuses to recognize that it’s over. We’re still at war with them, at least legally speaking, and giving the conflict a formal name would be akin to admitting that we lost. I don’t react, and the gawkers swiftly lose interest, turning to look back at the professor.
“For security purposes, this principle has been partially suspended since the founding of the Meritocracy and the beginning of our conflict with them. That leads us into our first topic of debate. Do you believe that security concerns should supersede cultural and commercial concerns? Why or why not?”
Galvanized by my willingness to engage- or at least, I’d like to hope so -several people put their hands up. The professor’s gaze passes back and forth over the crowd, before eventually settling on someone I recognize, from having asked him to leave his room while Sander and I wired it up yesterday. He’s wearing a black leather jacket, of all things, and leaning back in his chair with a hand raised lazily, just to make sure we all know he doesn’t really care. In his other hand, he’s got a mood-fluid pen held between two fingers, and he takes a puff from it as Gabrielle points at him.
“Valent,” the cool kid says by way of introduction. He’s got a bit of an old Earth accent- French, I’m fairly certain. Definitely an affectation. “The answer depends on whether the security concern is genuine or not. We have not exchanged fire with the Meritocracy in decades, for instance, yet we continue to regulate interplanetary commerce and travel carefully, as if the slightest slip could allow them to strike a deadly blow. In such a case, maintaining a high alert is clearly foolish.”
“Interesting,” Gabrielli says disinterestedly. “Would anyone else care to share their opinion?”
For once, she doesn’t have to wait. Another hand shoots up, and she waves in its direction swiftly. Unfortunately for all of us, the body attached to that hand belongs to Bret, who seems almost breathless in his excitement to offer his perspective.
“Well, if people are the most important thing in an empire, security should always be the biggest concern, right? Because without people, the empire might as well not exist, so you have to protect them before anything else.”
It would probably be unprofessional of me to point out the vast holes in his logic, but it’s truly hard to resist. Luckily, Mars does it for me, sounding as if he can’t quite decide to be incredulous or just amused.
“I don’t think the Meritocracy is out to exterminate every Imperial citizen, man.”
Several people chuckle at that. I do my best to keep myself from joining their ranks. Bret’s take seems to have been founded on a misunderstanding of what ‘security concerns’ means in this context. The Meritocracy isn’t some terror-state that would be detonating dirty bombs in every major city in the Imperium if we didn’t regulate travel as tightly as we do now. The issue is more that it would be easier for them to provide aid to planets seeking independence, whether it would be in the form of weapons shipments or covertly deploying battalions of Redeemers, their answer to the Imperium’s own Myrmidons.
“Well, yeah, of course,” Bret says, backpedaling, “but the most important thing is still to protect people, right? We shouldn’t stop doing that just because it would make the economy better.”
Next to speak is Amalia, in calm, if slightly condescending tones.
“I think what Valent was trying to say, is that if they were going to try something, they’d have done it already. It’s been decades since they took any direct action against us.”
Having multiple people disagreeing with him only seems to make Bret want to double down. Mostly I’d rather he stop talking entirely, but a part of me is enjoying watching him try to defend a position that, it’s becoming increasingly clear, he didn’t consider much before taking.
“Well, maybe the only reason they haven’t done anything is because we’re still taking security seriously. They didn’t try to help with the uprising on Serpex II at all, even though it’s a super important world for helium mining and stuff.”
“Maybe because the insurrection on Serpex II was incredibly poorly planned, and they didn’t see the point in committing forces to a battle that deep within Imperium territory when they stood such little chance of winning, and even less chance of holding the planet for longer than a year even if they did win?”
Almost every head in the room turns my way as I’m talking. It’s a good thing that the topic turned to rebellion, because speaking up about it will help remind people that someone of my line founded the Meritocracy. Sure, it might serve to make them fear or mistrust me, but it’ll also be a good reminder that Nobles of my line are capable of doing the impossible. It’s as true now as it was back on Earth- when you’ve got to choose one of the two, it’s always better to be feared than to be loved. Hopefully, I’ll be able to go two for two, but there’s no sense in cultivating love without also sprinkling in a little fear for good measure.
“These are all good points,” the professor says, though I’d bet money she wasn’t paying any attention to the actual content of our words. “However, in the interest of time, I think we should move on.”
Gabrielli’s near-monotone helpfully drains most of the energy from the room, and the people who were looking at me slowly turn back to face her. As she begins to lay out the next set of questions she wants us to discuss, I wonder idly if there’s any chance I could convince her to let us use this class period for training exercises. Unless something changes dramatically, I don’t think it’s much of a stretch to say we won’t be learning much in this class, and she probably doesn’t want to even be putting forth the marginal effort that this ‘instruction’ requires. Letting us do something more self-directed would be a win for all parties involved. The only problem is, it might require her clearing it with the Citadel administration, something I can’t imagine she’d be able to bring herself to do, even if it would save her effort in the long run. Still, something to consider.
While the professor is still speaking, tap Sofie on my shoulder with my tail, and send her a brainband connection request, which she accepts with a smirk.
Hey there, you, the platinum-haired woman says coyly.
Hey yourself. Tell me, could you be persuaded to join me for dinner tonight?
Sofie raises an eyebrow.
My my, commander. Aren’t we forward?
Don’t get your hopes up, I reply. Sander would be joining us.
Your big new friend? I can think of worse thirds, I guess. Strong and silent isn’t really my type, though.
Nobody seems to have noticed that we’re having a private brainband conversation in the middle of class. It would hardly shock me if some of the others are doing the same thing. Hell, if she didn’t have to seem like she was teaching, I’m sure Gabrielli would be too.
Oh? What is your type, then?
This was meant to be a simple request that she join me for a business meeting, but somehow she’s drawn me into this flirtatious back-and-forth. I suppose some of that must be thanks to her Noble line. Her Founder was known as the Silver Shadow, a spymaster who spent almost the entire War of Conquest embedded within the court of one of the Imperium’s main rivals, not only passing on information directly to Imperial high command, but actively managing a network of other spies and assassins at the same time. That feat was enough to elevate her to the status of Founder, and have her personality matrix preserved eternally, but it also meant that few people trusted her once she returned to the Imperium. After all, anyone capable of such dedicated deceit would have to be morally bankrupt, even if they used their talents for the ‘right side.’ At least, that was the thinking at the time- but it’s remained the conventional wisdom about her line ever since. Probably why Sofie was assigned to the Gazelle unit, much like many of the others. They’re not merely rejects, but rejects with potential the rest of the units would fail to recognize. My theory that somebody was pulling strings in my favor when assigning people to my unit is growing stronger by the day, as is my burning curiosity about who the hell it could have been.
Sofie’s voice inside my head snaps me out of my reverie.
I don’t think we know each other quite well enough yet for me to be telling you that.
Maybe so. Why not come to dinner, then, and we can get to know each other better?
A soft, almost exaggeratedly girlish laugh comes over the brainband connection.
Sure, why not?
----------------------------------------
The rest of the class session passes without much of note happening. We spend about an hour discussing the reading, then Gabrielli goes into the least memorable lecture in the history of the Imperium, following which she dismissed us early, something I suspect will be a recurring trend with this class. Unless I can get her to cancel it entirely, so we can have extra time for training exercises.
Unlike yesterday, I don’t let Katrina slip away from me after class. Most of the others leave in pairs or trios, but she, predictably, is walking alone out of the lecture hall when I catch up with her. My guess is that her anxiety over not wanting to be around other people isn’t greater than her anxiety at refusing a direct request from her unit commander- and that proves correct when she nervously accepts my invitation to join Sander and I for lunch.
On some level, I feel guilty for pulling her out of her comfort zone, since I’m sure she’d much rather eat alone in her apartment, but I can’t afford to indulge her, and it’s best to break the pattern now, rather than giving it longer to develop. Neither she nor Sander offers any input on where to eat, though clearly for very different reasons, meaning it falls to me once more. Bearing Katrina’s disposition in mind, I search the brainband for a restaurant that’s off the beaten path, where we aren’t likely to be surrounded by a horde of other lunchgoers. Most of the nearby restaurants are going to be fairly crowded, considering all four units are all leaving their classes at the same time.
The three of us take a route that avoids the worst of the crowd, for which Katrina seems somewhat grateful. Her attire for the day consists of a hooded jacket, with the sleeves rolled up past her elbows to accommodate the temperate climate of Akademos, and a pair of blue denim pants. Not especially eye-catching, which I imagine is by design.
After a short walk through some of the Citadel’s back alleys, which are about as well-polished as the rest of the city, we arrive at my chosen eatery. One disadvantage of living in a city that was designed ‘complete,’ and hasn’t grown much since its initial construction, is that there aren’t the same kind of hole-in-the-wall places you’d find in a proper metropolis. Not that I have any firsthand experience with places like that, but popular culture has informed me that they’re supposedly better than the popular establishments. This place, Neutrino Noodles, is about as close as it gets, but it was clearly designed to consciously replicate that aesthetic, with only a handful of tables, the main dining area being a counter with stools where you can watch the chefs as they prepare your food. They specialize, as the name suggests, in noodles, which seemed like a choice unlikely to offend the sensibilities of our sensitive companion.
Katrina follows Sander and I inside, eyes darting around the room swiftly, and relaxes noticeably as she realizes we’re the only ones here, the staff aside. Hanging her jacket on a peg, she seats herself to my left, while Sander places himself on my right. Thankfully, the stools seem to be capable of dealing with his bulk- having to replace the furniture here would probably take a decent bite out of our unit’s budget.
From across the room, one of the chefs sends us a menu over the brainband, and within a few moments, Sander and I have replied with our orders, while Katrina takes a bit longer, clearly uncertain, before eventually deciding on something. The cooking crew gets to work, and Sander watches them like a hawk while they work, while I turn my attention to Katrina.
“So, do you prefer Katrina? Kat? Trina?”
It’s a simple question, but she somehow manages to seem completely dumbfounded by it. I wait patiently for her to process what she’s being asked, trying not to get annoyed. Being overly accommodating isn’t exactly in my nature, despite having been raised in a loving home. Probably something to do with my Noble line, though it’s not like I’d really be able to tell even if it wasn’t.
“Kat is fine, I guess.”
“Cool. I’m Iza, obviously. The big guy is Sander.”
Upon hearing his name, my bodyguard looks over, and gives Kat a nod, which she returns, less nervously than I’d have expected. He’s got an intimidating presence, to be sure, but she doesn’t seem to be too bothered by it. Maybe she can tell that he doesn’t perceive her as a threat.
“Is there, uh... a reason you wanted to talk to me?”
“Just trying to get to know everyone in the unit. Plus, I didn’t want to let you get too used to hiding off by yourself. I grew up in a house with seventeen people, so I get the same urge sometimes too, but you can’t do that forever if you want to be a part of the group.”
That’s only a compelling argument if she actually does want to be a part of the unit, which is far from guaranteed. My current read on her is that she’s not actually that antisocial, though- she’s just too nervous to approach people first.
“It’s only been two days,” Kat protests, but I can see in her eyes that she recognizes the truth of my words.
“Yeah, well, I’m not saying you have to turn into a party animal by tomorrow. Just trying to reach out as early as possible. We’re not gonna be able to work together if we don’t get to know each other, and I figured this would be the best way to do it.”
“Uh, okay...”
“If it helps, we can trade questions. You can go first.”
After all, there’s little point in me knowing more about her if she doesn’t also know more about me, because otherwise there’s no way she’ll ever be able to trust me. And it’s not like I have much to hide, or much of interest to even share, considering the circumstances of my upbringing.
Being put on the spot like that does seem to make Kat a bit uncomfortable, though. Fortunately, our food arrives before she can go into a full-on panic attack. Relieved, she digs in, hopefully taking the opportunity to think of a few questions for me at the same time. Sander and I both follow suit. He and Katrina both ordered fairly standard ramen bowls, while I opted for something a little more experimental, a thick, dry, salty noodle dish that comes with a whole pitcher of water to rehydrate with. Despite that, I manage to slurp half of it down in just a few minutes, before I have to take a break.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
“So, any thoughts? I’m an open book.”
An open book with a few redacted passages, but I doubt Kat is going to ask anything that I’d have to outright refuse to answer.
“Do you... have any siblings?”
That’s a good start, I guess. Not exactly going to provide some deep insight into my worldview, but it’ll do for now.
“Yep. Three. All boys. Two older, one younger. You?”
“Seven,” she replies, looking away. “All older.”
She doesn’t seem inclined to elaborate any further on that, and I have an idea why. My guess would be that her parents wanted more than anything to have a Noble child. It’s the ultimate prestige for a family that’s already in the upper echelons of Imperium society- the one thing that can’t simply be bought. So they had half a dozen kids, with no luck. And on their final try, they succeeded, not only getting a Noble, but one of a prestigious line- Finnala, the Shieldmaiden. Yet the weight of their expectations had the opposite of its intended effect, turning Katrina into a nervous wreck, who probably wishes more than anything she’d been born ‘normal’ like her seven sisters and brothers. Almost entirely speculation on my part, but I have a bit of an instinct for these things.
“Well, that counts for my go,” I prod. Seems like Kat didn’t think past her first question, though, as she falls silent once again.
“Um... How old were you when you were discovered?”
When it was discovered I was a Noble, she means. It isn’t automatically flagged during the birthing process, meaning there’s an entire department dedicated to tracking down new Nobles as soon as a vacancy opens, although the size of the Imperium means they can often go undiscovered for years, and in some rare cases, decades. That’s not how it happened with me, though.
“Well, I knew what I was pretty early, and I wanted to get here as soon as possible. So when I was fourteen, I rigged a fieldball game in favor of one of my fathers’ favorite teams. The Inheritance Office figured it out pretty quickly, which was intentional on my part. Still had to wait for years until I could actually come here, though.”
Rigging that game in favor of the Raptors, and breaking a years-long losing streak, is one of my proudest achievements, although the list is admittedly quite short besides that. It wasn’t exactly a demonstration of the talents associated with my line, but it’s not like I had an army to command at the time. In any case, the Inheritance Office seemed appropriately impressed, especially because the game itself took place millions of light-years away, and I never left Demeter VII to arrange it. I pulled all of the strings remotely, using one of a few dozen fake identities I cultivated on the brainband. Many of them are still active, mostly maintained by a spare member of my copyclan, although their utility to me is fairly limited right now. It’s not like I could talk my way into power by arguing with people on political message-boards, even if we did live in a democracy.
“Oh. My parents had me tested when I was twelve.”
More evidence for my theory. I’m not going to push her to confirm or deny, though.
“I see. And what do you think about your Founder? Have you read much of her history?”
One of the unfortunate things about the Founders is that the more well-known ones generally didn’t leave behind a ton of personal accounts of their lives. Very few memoirs, certainly compared to the lower-tier ones, who were eager to cement their Founder status by writing a self-aggrandizing account of their role in the war, and the subsequent establishment of the Imperium. Some left behind treatises on their field of specialization, but those don’t tend to offer too much insight into their personalities. That means we have to make do with second-hand retellings.
“She was very smart and very brave. It’s a lot to live up to.”
In other words, she hasn’t read much of Finnala’s history, because that would give her more to compare herself to. I did pretty much the exact opposite, immersing myself in Thorn’s stories and legends, not because I regarded him as some mythic figure I could never surpass, but rather to know exactly what feats I’d have to outmatch if I wanted to be remembered as his equal.
“I can relate.”
Kat gives me a strange look, as if she wasn’t expecting that response. It’s true, though. I may act confident, and even feel that confidence most of the time, but being of the line of one of the most infamous Founders ever is a heavy burden at times.
“Okay, uh...” She trails off, tapping a fingernail against the rim of her bowl as if she’s impatient with her own brain. Eventually something clicks. “What kind of music do you like?”
“Oh, all kinds. One of my moms was really into classicpunk, so I heard a ton of that when I was little. Y’know, Brass Action Lawsuit, that sort of thing. Lately I’ve been getting really into voidwave- it was this trend from ten years ago or so, where people would record exclusively in zero-g. Lot of it was terrible, but there’s a few gems in there.”
“Wow. I mostly just listen to, like, Seven Seasons or Diana December.”
Fairly basic picks, but who am I to judge?
“Where did you grow up, if you don’t mind my asking? I lived my whole life on a farm-world before coming here.”
“Really? I wouldn’t have guessed.”
“Glad to know I don’t come off like a complete hick,” I joke. Kat laughs along with me.
“Well, I’m from II Vale. One of my fathers is actually the regional magistrate there.”
So he’s important, but not that important. Always living in the shadow of whatever Noble governs that entire sector, always aware that the highest rank he could hope to attain is their steward, only ever holding power in their absence. It makes sense that he’d want a Noble child, so he could have someone to pursue ambitions that will always be out of his reach.
“Well, hopefully you picked up some useful skills from him.”
“Yeah,” Kat says unenthusiastically. She seems to have relaxed a bit, at least compared to how we started off. We both return to our food for a while, although my noodles have started to congeal a little, and I stir them up before continuing to eat.
Behind me, I hear the restaurant’s door open, and see an unfamiliar face enter. A Noble from one of the other units, although he isn’t wearing a pin that I could use to identify him by. He takes a seat at one of the empty tables on the other side of the room, likely already placing an order with one of the chefs over the brainband. He could very well just be here to eat, but something about his presence is making me suspicious. It’s been at least half an hour since classes let out, if not more. Sure, he could just be here for the same reason we are- because it’s quiet and out of the way. But if so, why did it take him so long to get here? Maybe he came from a lecture hall on the other side of the city, but if so, why come here of all places? It’s not the only small, quiet establishment in the Citadel, and I’d be surprised if there weren’t any closer to where he was. Maybe he’s just in the mood for noodles- or maybe he was sent to spy on me, and he’s been scouring restaurants in the vicinity of my last known location until he finally found me here.
It’s certainly possible that I’m being excessively paranoid. And even if not, what’s the worst he could possibly do? It’s not like we’ve discussed anything of critical importance so far, and I don’t have plans to change that, especially not with him here. Even if he wasn’t sent as a spy, he’d be a fool not to keep an ear out around me, and report anything interesting to his unit commander. Either way, I’m not going to take chances.
Sander. Keep an eye out for that guy. If he starts tailing us when we leave, feel free to deal with him.
He doesn’t nod outwardly, but sends me a silent pulse of confirmation, before finishing off his noodles. Kat and I do the same shortly after, and they both follow me as I stand up and head for the door, Kat grabbing her jacket on the way. We already paid up front, so there should be no issue with that.
“Where are we headed?” Kat asks.
“I thought we’d just walk for a little while,” I reply. “It’s your turn, by the way.”
“My-- oh, right. What’s, um, what’s the deal with Sander? Why is he following you around, I mean?”
The man in question is lagging a bit behind us, but even if he were right beside her, I doubt Kat would have addressed him directly.
“His Founder was the Emperor’s bodyguard. Since I’m unit leader, that means that he’s my bodyguard, at least for the time being.”
“Oh. That’s cool.”
“Very.” I pause, feeling slightly hesitant to put forth my next question. “Kat, do you mind if I ask you something a little more serious?”
She falls silent, but doesn’t shut down completely, which is what I was mainly worried about. Then I see a sly grin appear on her lips, which isn’t what I was expecting at all.
“No, I don’t mind. But that counts as a question, so now it’s my turn.”
Surprised, I laugh out loud.
“Well played. Go ahead, ask away.”
“Well, I didn’t actually have another one ready,” she admits. “But you owe me an extra one, okay?”
“Sure thing,” I chuckle. “Now, the question. I apologize if this is too heavy, but I need to know if we’re gonna work together.”
“Okay.”
“What kind of future do you see for yourself? Do you intend to graduate and become a Noble in full? Are you expecting to fail? Will you try to escape and avoid doing either?”
Kat falls silent again, but it doesn’t last very long.
“I... don’t know.”
A somewhat disappointing response, but I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. Most people, including Nobles, don’t spend much time thinking about that sort of thing. They just drift through life on the path that’s been laid out for them. Changing course carries with it risk and uncertainty, and nobody likes dealing with either of those. It’s easier to just... not.
“Well, think about it. And I mean, seriously think. Because if you want to succeed, I can help with that, provided you’re willing to work with me. If not, I don’t want to waste my time.”
----------------------------------------
Neither of us says anything as we head back to the Hyperion Building. At some point, Sander peels off without a word, which I take to mean he noticed we were being tailed, and went off to deal with it. Probably best I don’t know the details, in case it becomes something I have to deny or condemn later. Not that I expect Sander would get caught. It is nice to have my suspicions confirmed, though.
Kat retreats to her room, but gives me a serious look over her shoulder before she heads up the stairs. With any luck, she’ll give the right answer. Nothing much in what she said indicated that she was uniquely talented, but neither did I get the impression that she’s completely incompetent. It’s just her anxiety that’s holding her back. My job will be to try to draw out her true potential, just like I’m aiming to do with Grant. Part of me is curious to see how that’s going, but I told him he didn’t have to deliver results until the end of the week, and I’m not going to go back on that.
With hours to go before my scheduled dinner meeting with Sofie, I find myself largely bereft of purpose. After briefly checking in with Sander to make sure he’s alright, I return to my room and summon up my copyclan. We sync up quickly, then I spin them all off again, and we set to work together. The War Council won’t be meeting until the end of the week, but I need to finalize its membership before then, as it’s going to determine who leads the various groups in our training exercises, after we’re finished with classes.
I’m already pretty certain about who I’m going to appoint to head the Intelligence Unit, but I still need to interview one person about who’s going to be in charge of Engineering, and there are still multiple candidates for the head of the Combat Unit that I’ve yet to speak to. I can’t do much about that right now, though, other than review their profiles again.
Rather than doing that, I decide to focus on preparing for the training exercise itself. Someone in my copyclan has already reserved a time slot in the Crucible, and requested that the modular design be set up to our specifications. The Crucible is a sort of arena, albeit one without spectator seating of any sort, located on the outskirts of the Citadel. It’s essentially a customizable battlefield, one large enough to comfortably fit all four units at once. Some of our mock battles will be held there, but it’s also available for everyone to use, so long as you reserve it in advance. Fortunately, there’s a large construction crew who will assemble and disassemble a requested build, so I won’t have to put the unit to work.
My design for the battlefield is intended to be as confusing and complex as possible. No doubt members of the unit will complain about it, but the point is for them to learn from the experience and do better when we run the exercise again. Since ten copies of me have already been working on it, there isn’t much to do except make a few tweaks, mostly ones inspired by my interactions with fellow Gazelles over the past two days. It’s somewhat tedious, but ultimately rewarding. Mostly, I look at battlefields as if they’re fixed, and it’s me that has to adapt to them. Here, it’s the other way around.
Having extra copies of yourself to work with, or to do work for you, is incredibly useful. However, given the narrow window in which a copyclan is allowed to exist before automatic synchronization, they can often offer very little in terms of a unique perspective on a problem. If your own personal biases are giving you trouble, having more of yourself around to confirm those biases is the opposite of helpful. That’s why I use a technique that’s quite common amongst the highest levels of the Imperial bureaucracy, known as ‘Forking.’ It’s designed to intentionally make the members of your copyclan diverge as much as possible within a short period of time. There are limitations, of course, as a copy that diverges too greatly may decide it doesn’t wish to resync, which could cause serious issues. To prevent this, it’s recommended that you create certain preset roles which different members of your copyclan can step into, immediately after being stuck off. For instance, I always make sure to have a ‘Contrarian’ assigned, whose role is to pick apart any suggestion or proposal made by the group, no matter how clever it may seem.
It’s an important role, and I’m glad to have someone playing it, but after a few hours, arguing with myself gets rather frustrating. Thankfully, I’m currently the one with a body, so I can walk away and leave the others to keep working. At some point, Sander returned to the building, not content to remain out of shouting distance from me for very long. He doesn’t even blink when I show up, and silently accepts my assistance continuing to wire up the Hyperion Building. He finished doing the inside at some point or another, meaning we’re now working on the exterior. Displaying some shrewdness I wouldn’t have thought he possessed, Sander acquired two different types of cameras for this task- one that’s meant to be seen, and another that isn’t. His thinking was that if people saw the obvious surveillance devices, and disabled or destroyed them, they wouldn’t think to look for the smaller, more well-hidden ones. In order to make sure that works, though, we have to be careful not to let anybody see where we put them up, not even members of our own unit. Luckily, not many of them seem to be around, presumably off doing their own things now that classes are done for the day.
On the horizon, Sol Prime is slowly setting, a cool breeze counterbalancing its warm rays. The black metal exterior of the Hyperion Building is hot to the touch, having been absorbing heat all day. The Citadel’s weather is semi-regulated, to prevent any droughts or floods, but the rest of Akademos has no climate control whatsoever. Even knowing it’ll be dangerous, a part of me is excited for the opportunity to get out there. It’s not exactly the real world- more of a nature preserve, if anything. But it’s a far cry from the isolation and safety of Demeter VII.
It’s hard to say how long it’ll be until then, though. Past precedent suggests that the first of our war games, and most likely the second, will be held in the Crucible, rather than out in the wild. And even that seems frustratingly far-off from my current position. Most of my time back home was spent waiting to get here, and now that I’ve arrived, it’s still more waiting. The worst kind of waiting, too, because patience doesn’t even come into the equation. Nothing I can do will make time progress faster. Like it or not, I have to wait, and do my best to make productive use of my time.
Mercifully, as the sun is beginning to dip below the horizon, Sofie sends me a brainband connection request. I accept it hastily, tossing Sander the spycam in my hands and leaning against the nearby wall, which has cooled off enough to be comfortably warm.
When you asked me out for dinner, did you have somewhere specific in mind?
No, I reply, did you?
Yes, actually. And I already got us a table. So don’t keep me waiting too long, hm?
In my mind’s eye, I see the ghost of a grin not my own.
Send me the location, I’ll be there before you know it.
----------------------------------------
After a short stop in my room, to change out of my sweat-stained clothes and into something more presentable, I head over to the restaurant Sofie chose. Somehow, despite being the one who wanted to speak with her, I completely failed to think of a place for us to meet. Part of that is doubtlessly due to the fact that I’m new to dining out in general, having never eaten outside of my home until two days ago. Sure, popular culture has given me a decent idea of what places are appropriate locations for different kinds of meetings, but I’m still not entirely comfortable actually going through all those motions. Sofie’s a child of wealth and privilege. She’s got better instincts for this sort of thing.
The truth of that statement is immediately apparent when I arrive at the restaurant. It looks like it could have been a bank, had it been built on another world. A polished steel exterior, in stark contrast to the white marble architecture surrounding it, and vaulted ceilings on the inside. This is Elysium, where true Nobles come to dine on their rare visits to the Citadel. Since the actual population density of the city is normally pretty low, it’s not like getting a reservation is hard- in fact, I’d wager Sofie didn’t even bother to do that, just walked in and asked for a table. But people don’t normally just come eat here for an ordinary meal, for the same reason you wouldn’t wear a silk shirt out for a walk in the park. That, and the bill.
Before I can say a word, the waiter- whose thin mustache and slicked-back hair I suspect is contractually obligated -shows me to a spacious private booth. This time, I’m entirely alone, although I gave Sander the go-ahead to keep an eye on me through the scope of a sniper rifle. It seems unlikely that either Sofie or the kitchen staff here would try to poison me, or otherwise make an attempt on my life, but he isn’t one to take chances, and neither am I.
Sofie is already waiting in the booth, sporting a platinum-silver dress to match her hair, which leaves me feeling a little underdressed in my black hi-lo skirt and studded leather jacket, which I hang on the coat hook as I slide into my spot across from her, exposing my bare shoulders to the cool air-conditioned atmosphere of the restaurant. A semi-transparent curtain closes automatically once I’m seated, closing us off from any hypothetical other diners, although I didn’t actually notice any on my way in.
“You really went all-out, huh?”
“Well, it felt like a good idea, considering you’re gonna ask me to be your Intelligence Officer.”
To be honest, getting my bluff called so early kinda takes the wind out of my sails, but I do my best not to let it show. I suppose she wouldn’t be very good at the job if she couldn’t recognize in advance that I was going to make the offer.
“If you think bribery is the best way to get the job, you’d best think again. And you are going to be footing the bill either way, miss ore-baron parents.”
Leaning forward to rest one elbow on the table, Sofie gives me a disarmingly charming smile.
“What if I’m not trying to bribe you, but to show you that I know how to wine and dine someone when the situation calls for it? You’re right about my parents being wealthy, and that means I had plenty of opportunities to learn how this game is played. That’s experience I’m willing to bet most of your other candidates don’t have.”
She isn’t wrong about that. As unit commander, I’ve got limited access to the student profiles of the other Gazelles. None of the other Nobles that I’ve considered for the role of Intelligence Officer have a background like Sofie’s. Of course, neither do I, and she’s using this setting to remind me that I’m out of my element. A not-so-subtle hint that I’d benefit from having someone by my side who’s more comfortable in a place like Elysium than I am.
“How about we save the sales pitch for after the first course, huh?”
If she wants to play up being high-society, I’ll make no effort to disguise my own more humble origins. It could be just as effective of a reminder, that there are plenty of people on whom her charms won’t work. Unfortunately, I’m afraid I may not be one of those people, despite the pretense I’m doing my best to maintain.
The way you order food in a place like Elysium isn’t the same as an ordinary restaurant. Though it’s less efficient, you actually read off of a digital menu, and place an order on a holo-screen, rather than doing it all over the brainband. That allows you to avoid interacting directly with the staff as much as possible.
“Lobster is supposed to be the traditional choice in a place like this, right?”
Sofie looks a little surprised that I’d ask her something like that. An admission of ignorance is equivalent to an admission of weakness in this kind of context. But we aren’t rivals, we’re allies, and it benefits neither of us to act otherwise. Realizing that, she drops her raised eyebrow, and relaxes her posture somewhat, coming to more closely resemble the woman whose hand I kissed on the walk back from the Entrance Hall two days ago, back when most of the rest of the unit was still looking at me like I was an alien.
“Maybe, but in my experience the shell is a bit of a hassle. I’d recommend a nice flank steak, but you’re from a farm-world, so...”
“Sof, all we grew back home was corn. I’ve never even seen a cow in the flesh.”
“Right, but you’ve had steak before, haven’t you?”
“Sure.”
“So get something you’ve never had before. Be adventurous!”
Her point doesn’t make a ton of sense, as just about everything we ate was imported from off-world via teleportal, so there wasn’t much that was unavailable purely due to our location. But the stereotype about people from ‘the country’ not being wise to the ways of the big city has persisted long past any of those concepts being particularly relevant, and I doubt I’m going to be able to challenge it on my own.
“Okay, what would you suggest?”
“Well, for starters, you’re supposed to start with an appetizer. I’m gonna take a wild guess and say your parents weren’t huge on dining etiquette, though.”
“That they were not.”
“Thought so. Not to worry, though. I’ll be your guide. How about you start off with a Regis Salad? Kinda basic, but hard to get wrong. Used to be named after some old Earth king from the Mediterranean zone, you know.”
“Sure, why not?” I shrug, and put it in as my first selection.
“As for the main course... oh, it looks like they have lamb meatballs. You should try those, you’ll love them.”
The words remind me of Mother Stella, but everything else around me couldn’t be further from home. Rather than the warm glow of the setting sun, our surroundings are lit by deliberately dimmed bulbs, which I’m sure are supposed to make the place more ‘atmospheric,’ but only really serve to make it harder for me to focus. I silence the memories of my brothers and fathers arguing good-naturedly, and add Sofie’s recommendation to my order.
“What are you having, then?”
“Oh, I’m having the flank steak,” Sofie laughs.
Once our orders are confirmed, we sit back and wait. Sofie seems to have adapted to this environment effortlessly, while I still can’t help but feel out of place, even though there’s nobody around to judge me except for her. Being here, both at the Citadel in general, and in Elysium in particular, feels like walking around on a sound stage. I belong here, of course. In fact, if I tried to leave, the Imperium would send its Myrmidons to drag me back. Yet there’s still a certain sense of unease I can’t shake. Like someone is right around the corner, waiting to tell me that I’m not really supposed to be here. Funny, how I’m more worried about that than the very real threat of truedeath assassination attempts.
My salad arrives through a slot in the wall just large enough to accommodate a plate, without giving us even a glimpse of whoever prepared the dish itself. I have no doubt that Sander was watching the process carefully through his scope, though. Following that comes a small bowl of soup that Sofie takes, swirling the broth around with her spoon for a moment before taking a sip.
Hoping to avoid embarrassment, I spare a moment to consult the brainband as to which fork is the correct one to use for salad, but still catch a glimmer of amusement in Sofie’s eyes when I pick it up and dig in. It’s not much like Father Nico’s salads, which tend to be heavier on fruit, but I can’t find anything to complain about. The portions aren’t huge, which makes sense considering it’s just an appetizer, but I’m used to seeing dishes made to serve nearly twenty people, so a proper meal that’s just meant for one person is something of a novelty.
Sofie finishes off her soup swiftly, and betrays a hint of eagerness in her expression as she puts down the spoon and looks up at me.
“So, are we gonna talk business now, or are you gonna make me wait until dessert?”
Washing down the salty aftertaste of the grated cheese with some water, I meet her gaze and nod.
“You did screen this place for bugs before I got here, I hope?”
“C’mon,” she replies, rolling her eyes. “What kind of an amateur do you take me for?”
“Just had to check. Now, what I’m about to say stays between us, unless I explicitly tell you otherwise. That clear?”
“Clear.”
“Good. As I’m sure you’re aware, Nobles of my line tend not to make it off this moon alive. What you don’t know yet is that somebody has already tried to truekill me. And they very nearly succeeded, too.”
Sofie raises an eyebrow, looking appropriately alarmed.
“I’m telling you that for a couple reasons. First, because you’ll be putting yourself at risk by becoming one of my officers. I won’t ask you to take a bullet for me, but someone might still end up shooting you if we’re standing close to each other. Second, because part of your job as Intelligence Officer would involve dealing with further assassination attempts. I’ve got Sander, true, but he can only protect me from threats he knows about. That’s more responsibility than you’d have in any of the other units, and I won’t blame you if you decide you don’t want it.”
That’s a bit manipulative of me to say. No self-respecting Noble with real ambitions would ever turn down an offer like that. One of the few things almost all of the Founders shared was a sense of pride, and the insinuation that they couldn’t handle additional responsibility or danger would prickle at it. But frankly, I think Sofie would have been a little insulted if I hadn’t tried to manipulate her at least a little. In her shoes, I certainly would have been.
“So, how many other people have you given that speech in the last couple days?”
“Zero,” I reply without hesitation. “You’re my only choice for this job. If you say no, I’ll figure something out, but it’ll leave us at a disadvantage. The others have their talents, but none of them know how to run an actual intelligence operation, just individual aspects of one. And they don’t have your practical experience, either.”
This isn’t just idle flattery. Sofie’s Noble line has a solid pedigree, and if it weren’t for an undeserved reputation for untrustworthiness, I suspect it would be significantly more well-respected.
With a loud clack, the slot in the wall opens, startling Sofie. She stares at the plate mutely for a moment, before recognizing that it’s her food and hastily moving it onto the table. My lamb meatballs come out right after, and I waste no time digging into them. Being praised so effusively seems to have thrown Sofie off a bit, and I want to give her a chance to formulate a proper response. Plus, the meatballs smell really good, and I don’t want them to get cold while we’re talking.
Through some miracle, I manage to wait until I’ve swallowed an entire mouthful of the delicious meat to inform Sofie that her prediction about my appreciation for the dish was correct. Unfortunately, I don’t quite manage to convey that sentiment verbally- it comes out more like a moan.
“That good, huh?”
“Mmf. Yes.”
“Well, try not to choke on it. That’d put a bit of a damper on things.”
It’s genuinely quite difficult to overstate how much I like the dish. The blend of flavors is perfect, between the tomato sauce, basil, and crumbled cheese, to say nothing of the meat itself. Naturally, it doesn’t come from live animals- the Imperium did away with that barbaric practice centuries ago. Our meat is all vat-grown, using the same cloning technology that lets us build new bodies for the dead in a matter of hours. Most of it is based on the ‘classic’ meats of old Earth, along with a few indigenous animals from other worlds that are safe for human consumption. Science has even given us some unique meats made from tinkering with the gene sequencing during the cloning process, although that work is done slowly and carefully, to avoid accidentally creating any horrible super-plagues. The last thing anybody wants is a new, man-made version of Mad Cow Disease.
Several minutes pass without either of us saying anything, mainly because we’re more concerned with eating. However, Sofie makes short work of her steak, and I eventually realize I’ve been gorging myself a bit too much, and have to put down my fork. That’s when she folds her hands together and gives me a sober look.
“Look. Not saying I don’t appreciate the flattery, and I’m not unwilling to take this job, but... I need to know what it’s all for. Because you wouldn’t be doing all this if you didn’t have some agenda. And I need to know what it is, before I decide whether I want in or not.”
It doesn’t escape my notice that this could very well be an attempt by some higher power to ascertain my allegiance. Maybe she’s been paid off by the Imperium to figure out whether I’m going to defect to the Meritocracy. But frankly, they’ve already tried to kill me, so even if that is the case, what’s there to worry about? And if not... well, she’ll never trust me if I don’t tell her the truth.
So I tell her.
“Okay,” Sofie says, a grin slowly spreading across her lips. “I’m in.”