The communal garden had been evacuated, save for the lonesome cuffed and hooded figure that rested on its knees.
Guiren ruminated on the days when he himself was as a youth. He had never learned who the victim was that his own designated father had produced for the occasion. Just as his designated son would never learn. He wondered briefly if he had outdone his own father, and assessed it was a near-certainty that he had.
"Come," he said to his son. "He won't hurt you. He won't be hurting anyone of our great family..."
"Who is he," the young boy asked, just as Guiren himself had asked in a bygone age.
"It is not important," Guiren answered.
Someone that will attract much attention when he is gone, he thought. The UEC will surely launch an inquest. We stand to gain much from the aftermath, so we will be the prime suspects. Soon, DNA sniffers will be all over this place. They may even pick up a molecule or two our scrubbers missed. But entitled to corp secrecy as we are, we do not need to entertain their questions. Still, the fewer people know, the better. Even within our own family.
"All you need to know is that he is an enemy to our family," Guiren continued. "A dangerous enemy. How do we deal with our enemies?"
"We bide our time and await opportunity," cried the eager youth. "And when we have certainty, we strike!"
"Biding your time is to wait forever!" came a furious reply. "Our true enemies equal us in cunning. They will not afford us opportunity. To defeat them we invite risk, and to protect our family, we dirty our own hands, if we must. Never forget that!"
The kneeling figure trashed as Guiren coiled a garotte around his neck and tugged hard.
Inward pressure flowed outward across both paved tiles and flesh with equal velocity. Dark blood pumped like thin air beneath skin's surface. Feet struck something solid as limbs gave way under force. Disinterred muscles sprang forward feebly to grasp closing ligatures—then fell away. Blood splashed thick upon brickwork, fountain drained between incandescent flowers in rueful tribute to a life denied completion.
The young boy stood as immobile and expressionless as the glazed ornamental sculptures in the garden, only staring silently, perhaps understanding death a little more than necessary. After a while, Guiren felt calm enough to release the strangling cord. He withdrew the grimy piece of metal that had been tightly lodged between vertebrae, feeling mostly empty. Another part of him simultaneously understood and resented the kid didn't seem particularly upset about anything—just quietly gazing at what remained in body form of the professed enemy that lay sprawled in front of him.
I once was as you, and as me, you will one day become, Yuelang, he thought. Like his generational name, everything about the child was pre-planned and pre-determined, a plan set in motion centuries ago. The two of them shared little in appearance, but despite the outward differences, the child opposite was carefully gene-crafted to be every bit like him on the inside, even down to key memories of himself and his predecessors as recent as a decade ago.
It is not the first time he has seen this, Guiren reminded himself. Just like me.
The rawness of the scene stirred something deep inside him, past and present chasing like the myriad bloodstains on the ground before him, flowing before culminating into a roiling nexus. He remembered seeing the same scene as a boy, and his memories dragged him back down into the deep, buried past wherein he once had performed the exact same bloody deed. A morbid twist, to consider that upon one man's fall, others ascended, finding their past lives. And here, generations later, like baubles in some dark fetishistic rite, these children stepped forth intent to reprise a human atrocity, only striving further towards assuaging guilt.
Did they understand why they did such things? Did Guiren's heart resonate because it wasn't really cold-blooded killing at all, or was it merely a primal response born of biological determinism, societal imprints feeding fundamental drives and instincts throughout history repeating themselves through collateral entanglements due to inevitable causality...? Why were the blind alleys of philosophy and religion perpetually filled with stained-glass echoes of reality that they called God and karma respectively? Had mankind truly lost any meaningful sense of purpose? Or had necessity tempered fate, providing only the narrowest sliver for transcendence?
Perhaps, perhaps not. It was simply done.
His mind snapped back to the present, clearer than it had been before. He looked into the deep eyes of his son.
"You understand?", he asked gently.
After a long pause, the child replied. "When men kill other men... Others die too, don't they?"
"...They certainly do."
"If we did not, wouldn't this world be happier?"
Guiren regarded his progeny, reflecting on the naivety that gripped him during his own early days. All the preloaded memories in the world would not smother the idealism of youth.
Why perpetuate this, he had once wondered. Why seek to awaken the shattered, twisted remnants of our predecessors, their memories now tattered and distorted? How can we know for sure the version of history that we live by is what truly happened, or whether what we think is true were just badly stored memories, their details corrupted and blurred with some other piece of information?
"Men do what they must to retain what they have."
"How can we make it stop if those with power keep fighting among each other instead of trying together?"
"What good does asking do?"
Silent stare.
"We are done here. Return to your studies."
Yuelang offered a curt bow and hurried to obey.
Yet still Guiren lingered in thought until the evening meal, pondering over matters he could neither control nor change.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
There comes a point where pragmatism no longer suffices, when long-term calculations overcome short-sighted expediency to comprehend essence. When I'm burdened by knowledge yet ignorant of truth, I behold darkness descending; yet the light refuses to come. There exists no ease of choice, no perfect solution; hence should any scion decide against hope, how easily triumph becomes curse.
"Sir?", the man in a long gray tunic called.
Guiren looked up from his bowl, seeing his operations officer standing at the door.
"We have managed to successfully zero out several prime JS holdings across the Ostyurt Peninsula. Liquidator teams are on site to secure key assets. Projections range from seven-point-eight to over thirteen billion credits."
Guiren smiled inwardly. His technicians had cost him a non-trivial sum for obtaining the director-level access codes from the man he had just killed. It had been well worth the investment. The whole operation had been prohibitively costly, but all would soon be recouped, and more.
"Good. You can take care of her now. No loose ends."
"Sir, that is an issue. She managed to slip out and take the morning flight to Kerala... We are working on it..."
Guiren's face remained stoic, but his thoughts sprang to action, assessing the risks, the potential chance for words getting out, the odds of a blackmail scheme following, the legal expenses, the weight of a mere aide's word against his...
Of course an operative of her level would not have been without wit and resources of her own!
"I trust you will resolve the matter with due diligence..."
"Of course, sir..."
The operations officer's eyes trailed off briefly, as he was distracted by urgent incoming information.
"Sir... Vice chairman Wenlei just landed, his detail came in moments ago on an unlisted flight..."
Guiren froze for only a brief moment, before he sprang up and stormed out of his private dining room.
A guard in yellow armor blocked his way.
"I am sorry sir, please remain where you are..."
Guiren realized that the man was here for him. But why would the vice chairman of the United Economic Council and director of Ceres, one of the most powerful men in the great family's industrial empire if not the Sol system, come all this way to see him?
It was not long before the droning sound of the lockstep of armored boots rang amongst the halls, a mass of bright sunshine yellow that illuminated the dark of the anthracite stone that surrounded them.
"Vice chairman," Guiren said, bowing deeply as his eyes found the man in black robes amongst the group. "Forgive me, if I had known of your visit, I would of course have received you in a proper setting..."
"Remind me," the man said, raising a crooked hand and cutting Guiren off, "of your role in our family?"
Guiren swallowed hard and studied intently the stern face. An austere look of pure judgment rippled along the vice chairman's visage; gray hairs woven amongst darker hairline. Though pale skin marked with wrinkles left little doubt about age, the older man bore himself upright rather than slumped beneath gravity, revealing a solid physique. Unabashed, dignified. Yet there was also a heaviness weighted onto his shoulders: the history weighing down the massive legacy symbolized behind him.
Vice chairman Wenlei glared, forcing Guiren to answer.
"I am a subdirector of the Human Resource Cartel, vice chairman," Guiren said quietly, his eyes cast down.
"Ah." The vice chairman said, pausing for a painfully long time, leaving Guiren apprehensive despite knowing full well exactly who stood before him—an imposing figure whose influence spanned worlds, someone with a stake in every major operation in the Sol system. "Then, even though in my ignorance I would not know why a Human Resource subdirector is conducting high-risk strategic operations, nevertheless allow me to congratulate both of us on our imminent victory over the Jehangir-Shawiri Great Family. Truly a monumental battle between fierce opponents, subdirector Guiren. If only... it was not so entirely inconsequential."
"Vice chairman...", Guiren began, cut off once more by an immediate, firm glance.
Wenlei paused again, his posture shifting.
One of the yellow myrmidons knew what he meant, and quickly janked a chair away from Guiren's dining table.
Slowly, the black-robed man seated himself across from the subdirector, his folded hands resting upon his knees as though waiting patiently.
"It is confirmed. JS has launched for Wolf 1061," he said solemnly. "Do you know what that means?"
Guiren remained silent.
"It means that soon, JS will control two systems. How many do we have?"
"Two," Guiren answered, referring to the Centauran colonies and the recently settled Ross 128.
"ZERO!" the vice chairman boomed. "JS are the sole owner of their systems, while we share our worlds with the Buhakhara!"
"They are our joint-venture partners... They have been reliable for over two thousand years..."
"Not as reliable as having your own people, and not having to open your boardroom to non-Family shareholders."
"Yes, vice chairman," Guiren conceded.
"Just look at this world. Its many leaders, its many peoples, all its different corps, different families, different scales, everyone at each other's throats, vying for power, struggling for resources and market share..." He sighed. "It does not work. It fundamentally cannot work."
"The UEC keeps the peace..."
"As a vice chairman of the UEC, I am of course restricted from voicing criticism..."
"Of course. I did not mean..."
"In ancient times, the strong simply culled the weak, and the survivors were forced to submit and become part of the dominant culture, sustaining and invigorating it. Now, the strong are forced to restraint, for the systems that sustain us have grown too big and too prone to disruption. Destroy the infrastructure, kill a few handfuls of specialized people, bring the logistics to a halt for just one day, and we plunge into the abyss. We as a species cannot afford true war, let alone the total war that settled all the species' problems in the days of old."
"...but the status quo serves us best," Guiren tried carefully.
"Does it? Do you not see the trend?"
"Trend, vice chairman?"
"Everyone who has the means will soon be leaving Sol!"
Guiren returned a blank stare.
"Not just JS! Our operatives have informed me that Folke is sending out illegal AI-operated ships, Shincho likewise. Both are in the process of restructuring their finances, no doubt to commission a colony ship. Teegarden has already been settled by a joint venture of the minor families. We are fighting for scraps and sinking our resources into this write-off," the vice chairman said, making a wide gesture as if to encompass all of Earth. "Meanwhile, we lose the stars, one by one! Tell me, what happened to all the corponations of old that struggled for Earth, while the Great Families took to the heavens?"
"They no longer exist, we bought them all," Guiren mumbled.
"And those we could not buy, we eliminated. Now, what do you imagine will happen if all the successful people depart Earth, blatantly violating the UEC rules on banned technology in the process?"
"Earth stagnates, the UEC will crumble into irrelevance, and the colonies will eventually surpass Sol technologically..."
"Precisely. Technological progress may well be exponential, under the right conditions, conditions currently not present on Earth, with the UEC convention keeping a tight lid on all cutting-edge tech. If only one of the colonies somehow invents a critical technology, say, a radically more efficient starship drive, or unrestrained artificial general intelligence that does not try to kill humans..."
"All the other worlds will be zeroed out...", Guiren completed.
"You are departing for Proxima," the vice chairman said in a tone that allowed no room for argument. "You appear well versed in strategic operations. You know what to do."
Guiren nodded, bowing as Wenlei rose from the chair and slowly departed from the dining room, radiating a strange tension around him that threatened seeping out into Guiren's very being. His silence became stillness broken by long footfalls that faded quietly in the distance.