~February 3rd, 140 AH~
~Joint Base Akra, Kurator Corps HQ~
“It seems that this is the first memory fragment the subject managed to re-encode. But I must say, I found your debrief with the subject to be rather… lacking. Shall we go over our scripts again, Corporal, or could we expect improvement on that front?”
This was typical of the way Yuito Shiranui asked questions: laying out the options but only really expecting one answer. And as was typical of the way Asena Shiranui answered to her father, she obliged his expectations.
“I know what I fell short on, sir. I’ll do better.”
“Good.” Father’s face was its usual impassive mask, but Asena thought she could imagine genuine consideration in the pause that followed. He went on, “All in all, I’m pleased with the day’s progress. Guiding the subject toward his Tethering was an astute decision on your part, and it gives us that much-needed foundation to build upon. I can foresee the rest of the sessions going more smoothly from here on out.”
Father’s compliments, rare as they were, nevertheless washed over Asena in her distracted state. After that gruelling [EVOCATION] session, what she wanted to hear wasn’t how well she’d done, but rather how she could stop feeling so miserable about what she’d just experienced.
“Sir, if I may…”
“You may. What do you require clarification on?”
Not how can I help or what’s on your mind; just… what clarifications did she require on mission-critical issues? Asena barely managed to hide a sigh as she asked, “Where is the subject being kept? In between our sessions, I mean.”
Another pause, but a noticeably more pointed one at that.
“This is relevant to the mission how?”
“I only thought—” Under her father’s impassive gaze, Asena nearly dropped the query. But she pressed on, believing it to be as mission-critical as it was personally vexing. “I only thought it could better frame my approach. In the latest session, I detected a certain… emotional isolation in the subject, at least at the time depicted in the memory fragment. I wonder if that’s at least partly what drove his unusual attachment to Si—his Spiegel. I also wonder if positive social interactions within his natural environment could promote—”
“You wish to see the subject?”
Asena blushed despite herself. The idea felt ludicrous as soon as it’d been voiced. But was it really more ludicrous than the reality that she could count on one hand the number of occasions she’d actually talked to her fiancé face-to-face? By this time tomorrow, she would’ve spent more time pretending to be Lieutenant Athelstan’s Spiegel than simply being in his presence.
She cleared her throat, and the flush on her cheeks dissipated somewhat. She said, “I think it may be of value, at least on my end. You yourself have taught us that the first step to any good Kuratorial work is building rapport. I feel as though I barely know the subject, and—”
“Are you saying my handover wasn’t sufficient?”
The flush returned in record time. Interruptions, putting words in her mouth—she should’ve been used to it by now, but the simple fact was it still bothered her enough to keep her off-balance.
“Not at all, sir. I merely meant that I—”
“I know what you meant, Corporal, but I cannot allow it. At least not yet.”
Asena let the answer deflate her some more, despite having expected nothing else. And though she didn’t require an explanation, her father offered one anyway.
“The subject is communicative for now, but still in a volatile state. Outside stimulus may offer the benefits you suggest, but it also comes with the risk of backfiring, such that we might entirely lose the thread to recovery. Remember, we still don’t know what brought on his Psychic collapse in the first place, and that’s part of what you’re trying to find out through [EVOCATION].”
Asena nodded wordlessly, unable to fully hide her disappointment. Her latest session with Lieutenant Athelstan had above all left her wanting one of two things: either to never dive into her subject’s mind ever again, or to equip herself with the know-how to help him once she was there. Since the former wasn’t really an option, she was desperate to feel like she was doing something—anything—in service of the latter.
“Stay the course, Corporal Shiranui,” her supervisor went on, allowing just a drop of fatherly concern to paint his voice. “You are helping the subject in ways only you can, and in doing so, you’re helping to secure the future of our civilization. Rest assured that, in between your sessions, Lieutenant Athelstan is looked after with the utmost consideration toward his health and comfort. All you need to worry about is helping him remember who he is.”
Asena nodded again, though not with any more conviction. Seeing this, Yuito suddenly stood from his desk and leaned forward. He reached with a gloved hand and placed it upon his daughter’s shoulder, with a stiffness to his motion that only made her tense anew.
“It occurs to me that perhaps you yourself might benefit from outside stimulus. I grant you day leave, Corporal. Go home.” Even in playing the caring father, Yuito Shiranui couldn’t help but express himself through commands. “Say hi to your mother. Enjoy a home-cooked meal. Come back tomorrow refreshed and ready to go again.”
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
~February 3rd, 140 AH~
~Upper Akra, Shiranui Estate~
The skies above the shielded dome of Akropolis—overcast as always—reflected Asena’s mood.
Presently, she trudged her way onto a front garden that was her father’s undisputed pride and joy. At first glance, it was a rather minimalist affair compared to the lush landscapes and imitation flowers that adorned the other Tetrarch estates. For Yuito Shiranui had painstakingly modelled his garden after the Zen aesthetics and sensibilities passed down from the family’s Old Earth ancestors.
This was yet another topic where father and daughter didn’t see eye to eye, but she could at least respect him for having an opinion about art at all. Few Akropolitans, not even the most image-conscious Tetrarchs, bothered with this aspect of Old Earth culture. And though they might’ve differed in their specific tastes, Asena and her father at least shared a kindred interest in the arts.
In her more charitable moods, she might’ve studied the latest arrangement of rocks or stopped for a chat with a servant that tended to the gravel yards. Today, however, she quickened her pace and kept her eyes firmly upon the stone blocks that formed a winding path toward the house proper.
In stark contrast to the front garden’s Zen, the house itself was a rusted fortress of scant artistic value. A holdover from the early days of the Syntropy War, it was a disorientingly haphazard collection of concrete blocks and metal plates, made even more hideous by extensions that had been added on the whims of Shiranui patriarchs through the ages.
Yuito made no secret of his lifelong ambition to give his house a complete makeover (starting with demolishing the extensions, of course). Yet lives and careers, especially wartime ones, had a way of getting in the way of dreams, which meant the Shiranui house remained as much an eyesore today as the day Yuito had inherited it.
Indoors, no effort had been spared to wash away the bad taste left by the exteriors. Tamamo, Asena’s mother, had combated the general dearth of windows by lining the walls with Nexus-powered lamps that glowed a warm orange. A gaudy amalgam of these lamps also hung in the foyer as an imitation chandelier, which made the Shiranui house one of the brightest locations in all of Akropolis.
Asena had often wondered—then decided against investigating—just how much of the family’s tribute income went toward the upkeep of their indoor lighting, not to mention the sheer man-hours required of the Jaegers that serviced the property.
Despite Yuito’s orders to say hi to her mother, Asena made a beeline for the solarium at the back of the house.
Her father, perhaps in a nod to their shared artistic sensibilities, had gifted the solarium for Asena’s exclusive use. Against her mother’s protests, Asena had stripped the room of all Nexa-Lamps, leaving it at the mercy of natural lighting (such as it was). It was the studio where she kept all her paintings, and also the refuge she retreated to in her less charitable moods.
As such, it caused her no small amount of consternation to discover that the door to the solarium was ajar, and someone was already inside.
“Oh, hello,” a tall young man about Asena’s height, dressed in a collarless button-up shirt reserved for casual visits, greeted her with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. He clearly hadn’t expected her to show up, and expressed as much, “I hope you don’t mind me—ahem—your mother said you were still on duty.”
“Hello, Bannan,” Asena said stiffly, channelling her inner Yuito to mask her annoyance. “What are you doing here? Were you looking for something?”
First, Bannan Athelstan’s blush deepened at Asena’s interrogation, but then he had the audacity to flash a wink and a smile. In her more charitable moods, Asena might’ve softened at that, as she could imagine many a girl her age would’ve done. Presently, however, she set her face in stone and waited for a response.
“Erm, not looking for, but just looking,” Bannan stammered as his smile quickly turned sheepish. “You know I’m fond of your paintings, Asena. This isn’t the first time I’ve come around just to have a look. And what good timing, now that you’re here!”
Asena couldn’t help but narrow her eyes slightly. Inwardly, she cursed this open door policy shared by the Tetrarch families. And she denounced the gall of this Athelstan heir to claim interests in her paintings when he’d never had a single thoughtful thing to say about them. More likely, he’d come calling in the hopes of running into her, and in her absence had to concoct an excuse for his visit.
Yet Asena was struck by a thought even more distressing than her annoyance at Bannan. For his presence here reminded her of her subject’s predicament. While Bannan Athelstan idled away his days with ill-guided attempts at courting his brother’s fiancée, said brother was trapped in a prison of his own mind—his reward for years of sacrifice for his people.
Of course, Bannan hadn’t been born a Seher, which by no choice of his had precluded him from military service. But should that permit him to enjoy the boons of his family name while partaking in none of the responsibilities—all with callous disregard toward his own brother?
And yet, this wasn’t the only thing she’d been reminded of. Bannan’s presence also made her think of her own older brother—and the abject terror he’d inspired in the erstwhile Cadet Athelstan. That had been only five years ago. Was Makiri Shiranui, who’d been a role model to Asena all her life, really the cruel tyrant depicted in her subject’s memories?
Since the moment Asena had begun to get to know her fiancé, the veneer upon the world she once knew started to show its cracks. Her father wasn’t the man she thought she knew. Neither was her eldest brother. And there was more to this war that raged beyond the dome over Akropolis than she’d ever been taught.
Right now, however, she was sure about only one thing: she had neither the time nor the patience to deal with Bannan Athelstan and his conniving ways.
“I appreciate your interest in my work, Bannan,” she said, stiffer than ever, as she pushed past her unwanted guest and into the solarium. “But I’ve just been given day leave, with strict orders to rest up before resuming my work. So, if you’d be so kind as to reschedule your visit—”
“Your mother misses you, you know. Says she rarely ever sees you these days.” Bannan didn’t budge. If anything, his smile appeared to gain in confidence. “What’s been keeping you so busy?”
What was with Tetrarch men and their obsession with interrupting her speech? Doing her utmost to quell her temper, she said, “You know I can’t tell you that. It’s classified.”
“It’s my brother, isn’t it?”
Asena froze and turned an apprehensive frown toward Bannan, whose smile widened at her reaction.
“Where did you—”
“Come on, Asena, I might not be a Seher but that doesn’t mean I’m blind,” Bannan chided her, then continued in an exaggerated whisper, “I haven’t heard from Zelen in weeks, not since that explosion at the Reiter Garrison that everyone's been so hush-hush about. Now the most promising young Kurator on base gets pulled into a top-secret mission. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.”
“You need to stop talking about this!” Asena hissed, though her now obvious displeasure did nothing to dent her companion’s glee. She was just about ready to resort to physical means, when Bannan’s next words gave her pause.
“I knew something like this would happen, you know. No one believed me, but I always knew that Zelen was a ticking time bomb.”