“In the beginning we had the Devastation. Better than any school you can imagine, for mistakes were punished not by bad grades, but by death. The modern incarnation is more forgiving and more versatile. There are multiple versions for Proxies to learn the tricks our violent trade. There are the apprentice-ships, when a younger Proxies are taught by older ones. There are the schools, of grades both junior and senior, meant for those who have not reached the majority. The third one, for those who are above the age of majority but have been unable to gain patronage of a senior Proxy, is the Tutelage.”
- foreword to The Modern Proxy, written by Fatimeh Vahde 2087, Federated Press
Berenice stared down at the real life, physical letter. It bore the imprint of the Federated World, but all she could see were the final words.
You have been accepted…
Her voice rose then, and the sound she made had her brothers banging on the walls.
“Mom!Dad! Alexei!Sija!”
“You’re not gonna believe this. I got in!”
Her mom bustled into her room, carrying Sija on her shoulder.”Great sweetie!”
Something in her voice…they had talked about this, at length. Berenice’s lips twitched. She wasn’t her uncle. She hugged her mother on a impulse, whispering.
“I’m not Sasha, mom.
_____
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
The door opened to a small degree, letting a sliver of light in.
Two glowing orbs winked out. The light hurt him, though he would never say such. If they knew… The Bureau of Administration could incarcerate him, but it was not allowed to torture him. Though, captivity itself was a form of torture for someone who had once lived in Free Siberia.
Theirs was an civilised world. They did not kill criminals, certainly not Proxies, not when they could be rehabilitated and made to fight the Host. They only locked them up and threw the key away.
“Your request have been fulfilled.”
A duffel-bag bounced on the floor.
“As part of the parole agreement, you will keep the violence to a minimum and you will tell nobody of the Chepri Solution.”
He stood then. That abominable project was more than hypocrisy, it was vile.
“If I don’t?”
“Serena Smiler will be taking a longer hiatus in her old home arcology.”
He got the message.
_____
The silverware was set down with a clink. Guo Juan, matriarch of the clan with the same name, cleared her throat.
Silence descended along the long table and expectant eyes zoomed in on her.
“Hong. Lisa.”
The twins gazed up at her with a certain amount of trepidation. She would not drag this out, not as her own grandmother had been in the habit of doing before personal revelations.
“You are accepted.” She waited until the wild cheers died. “You leave tomorrow. Bring but a duffel-bag of belongings.”
Oh, how quick the children grew up. She could remember when they took their first hesitant steps in Chassis she herself had harvested.
They would be ready, of that she was certain.
_____
“Isla!”
“Isla!”
Maria Calix pushed the button and light flooded the room. A figure rose from the bed, t-shirt askew, eyes groggy.
“Mama, it’s…”
Isla paused. “It’s way too fucking early.”
“Language!”
“Mama…”
“Oh, stop complaining.” Maria pointed the letter like a gun at her daughter. “Don’t you wanna know what it says?”
Isla Calix snatched the letter like a snake, pausing momentarily to glare at her mother. “As if you hadn’t read it yourself…no secrets in this home…” She halted. Took a slow, slow breath. “Mom! I got in!”
_____
The tomb rose above him. Square, a few transmuted lines in gold to stand out amongst the grey granite. He had carved it to stand forever, until the Host was obliterated and Mankind was free.
He sat down and closed his eyes. “I got in.” Below, on the parallel to the tree-line, a goat bleated. He smiled to himself. His dad would have laughed, his mom would have eyed the foreign creature and Lair… he didn’t know how Lair would have reacted.
His brother had died too young, too early. He would have made one of his baby-sounds and then something else would probably have caught his attention.
The wind whistled through the trees. Silence. “I’m going to kill them all. The Sixteen Sovereigns. The Regials. I will rip open the earth and baptise the Holds in lava. I will not rest, will not allow another family to die like ours.” The man said these things in a conversational manner, as if discussing the weather.
“I promise.”