by E G Manetti
Dropping into his desk chair, Nickolas grins. “I am to join the SEV1 as first lieutenant.”
Familiar with the conservative warrior’s frown, Lilian finds his grin a revelation. Milord’s protégé is beyond pleased with this assignment. The scion of a distinguished line that can trace an unbroken genetic legacy to the Fourth Warrior, Nickolas Cyncad was groomed from birth to excel in commerce. Even for one of his privilege, an assignment as an officer to the SEV1 is an incredible accomplishment. It has been two centuries since the last Stellar Exploration Vehicle and its crew ventured from the Twelve Systems. Although the expedition safely returned to the beaconed expanse, they did not discover another habitable system, bringing financial ruin to their investors. It required the combination of milord’s vision, the exceptionally promising transmissions from the Serengeti stellar discover, and Leonardo’s revolutionary SEV design to form Bright Star
As it is, Bright Star presents extraordinary opportunity but equally extraordinary risk. Only the most qualified and trusted warriors will be selected for the command crew. For a moment, Lilian battles between twenty-five years of warrior gallantry and a year and a half of apprentice discipline. The warrior wishes to offer all courtesy for such a triumph. The apprentice dare not offer effrontery. In the end, Lilian compromises with, “Serengeti will be poorer for your absence and richer for your service, Master Nickolas.”
“It is an honor to serve Serengeti,” Nickolas replies, the grin dissipating as he turns to the task at hand. “Within two years I must acquire sufficient skill in risk analysis and complexity theory to execute my duties. These are your areas of expertise, as well as your assignment for Bright Star. I will need your tutelage and your aid in designing the program. Monsignor wishes a plan within two sevendays.”
Relieved to be out of the unstable terrain of apprentice versus warrior custom, Lilian turns to her slate. It is a daunting assignment, but there is no doubt Nickolas will succeed. No challenge is too great when it comes to a place on the SEV1. “Please, permit me a moment.”
Forty minutes later, the outline for Nickolas’ tutelage is laid out on his worksite reviewer screen.
»◊«
“Monsignor, do I have your approval?” Trevelyan motions at the wall reviewer.
“If you are confident Malcon can secure our accommodations for the Bright Star summit, I am satisfied.” Lucius leans back on the scarlet sofa, pondering the display of security-privilege protocols presented by his spymaster. “It is better that you remain within the Cartel.”
“Do you have cause to distrust Monsignor Hercules?” Trevelyan asks in surprise.
“No, Hercules is sound enough,” Lucius returns. Trevelyan disliked and distrusted Sebastian Mehta as much as Lucius did. As Blooded Dagger’s head of security-privilege, Trevelyan was instrumental in the intrigue that saw Lucius’ choice made Grey Spear preeminence. “We selected him carefully for the position of Grey Spear preeminence, and I have no cause to doubt our decision. Nonetheless, his house remains disordered. It will be seasons, if not years, before it is swept clean of those loyal to Sebastian and his intrigues.”
“Damocles,” Trevelyan spits in disgust. “I thought Monsignor Hercules would have replaced him immediately.”
“I as well,” Lucius concurs. “But Hercules is ever cautious. He has not yet been preeminence a season and Damocles has amassed significant leverage over many of the Grey Spear elite through his decade as Serengeti security-privilege seigneur.”
“We nearly had him with Sebastian Mehta,” Trevelyan says grimly.
“Instead, he avoided indictment and made a bid for Grey Spear preeminence,” Lucius reminds his spymaster. “If we had not had evidence that he helped Sebastian throw away Grey Spear advantage in order to falsify evidence against Lilian, he might have succeeded.”
“His arrogance will be his downfall.” Trevelyan scowls. “Sooner or later, he will give us cause to sweep him from the Cartel.”
“Until then,” Lucius says, rising, “I trust you to keep Damocles contained.”
“Aye, Monsignor.” Trevelyan rises with his lord. Only a few inches shorter than Lucius and powerfully built, Trevelyan is in his early fifties, his close-cropped hair and erect posture reminiscent of the militia. The Serengeti champion, Trevelyan is a fierce combatant and not often thrown in training or defeated in combat.
Crossing to his desk, Lucius collects his slate and satchel. “Are there any special precautions for Martin’s caning?”
“No, Monsignor.” Trevelyan shoulders his satchel. “One of the Serengeti Militia will accompany your driver. Two of my operatives will be nearby at all times.”
“What of my sons’ driver?” Lucius questions as he strides from his office.
“Mrs. Tulip will follow in the second transport and guard both during the execution of Martin’s sentence,” Trevelyan says tightly.
“I know that tone.” Lucius sighs as they reach the riser bank. “Spare me the Universalist lecture on the damage such violence does to the executioner as well as the criminal. Martin intended Lilian’s rape, if not her murder.”
Trevelyan may have accepted the duty to respect the Five Warriors’ rituals with his seigneur’s signet, but Lucius is under no illusion that his spymaster has abandoned his Universalist beliefs.
“I am well aware of Martin’s foul intentions and acts,” Trevelyan returns, his lips thinning. “I care not for the barbarism of public execution, but this once, it does not trouble me.”
“What then?” Lucius sets the riser in motion.
“Your sons,” Trevelyan replies.
“Cesare and Raphael?” Lucius is stunned. “What of them?”
“Are they not over young?” Trevelyan challenges.
“They are both past the age of consent,” Lucius retorts. “Raphael has won his dagger, and Cesare is but two seasons from it. It is their duty to witness and uphold the Order of the Five Warriors.”
“Nothing very orderly about a public caning,” Trevelyan mutters darkly as the riser doors open on the lobby. “ ‘Savage’ would be a better word.”
“You have done worse,” Lucius reminds his spymaster.
“Not where a child could witness,” Trevelyan insists as they reach Lucius’ transport.
“They are warriors,” Lucius rejoins, entering the transport. “They ceased to be children when they passed the age of consent.”
»◊«
“Over there.” Lilian points with her head at a prized fountain-side table in the thronged café. It is always so at midday, the Fountain Café’s fast service and inexpensive menu drawing associates of all ranks.
“I do not think they are leaving soon,” Vicenza suggests, looking at the full trays in front of the three associates using the other places at the fountain-side table. The soft-spoken Archives apprentice has only recently joined Lilian’s consortium of allies—a small group committed to sharing skills and assisting each other in navigating the dangerous intrigues and torments that are an apprentice’s lot.
“They will leave,” Douglas assures Vicenza. Although a newcomer to Lilian’s consortium, Douglas has been within her small circle of friends and allies for more than three seasons. He knows what is about to occur.
“There they go.” Tabitha points her tray at the three outraged associates rapidly vacating the table. A nicely shaped woman of medium height and build, Tabitha wears her soft brown hair in a simple chignon, the fierce intelligence in her eyes giving her features a hint of true beauty. “They will not sit with her, and while she wears Monsignor Lucius’ conservator’s seal, they cannot force her to move.”
“But Martin has been banished,” Vicenza challenges, following Tabitha and Douglas to the vacated table. Martin was a leader among those who disdained Remus Gariten’s disgraced daughter. Not content to torment Lilian on his own, Martin used his high rank to encourage and bully others to follow his example.
“Martin has naught to do with it,” Tabitha replies. Once Sebastian Mehta’s abu
sed apprentice, due to Lilian’s intervention, she is a free associate and one of Trevelyan’s operatives. “Lilian is safer with his banishment, but it does not change that the warriors disdain her, and the other associates will follow their lead.”
“Not all of them,” Douglas interjects. “Many have dropped their disdain since Martin’s Cartel caning. This day, Lilian picked her targets well. Two of those who left the table are from warrior families that Sebastian Mehta favored. They will not release their spite.”
“They cannot,” Vicenza nods. “Their disdain is too well established. They cannot alter it now without a loss of honor.”
“Pride, rather,” Tabitha sniffs, placing her tray next to Lilian’s.
“Pride?” Lilian questions, having missed the conversation.
“I find that so-called warrior honor has more to do with pride,” Tabitha returns.
“It can be so,” Lilian agrees neutrally.
“I did not mean you!” Tabitha protests. Lilian’s disgrace stripped her of her warrior status, but it has not altered her commitment to the ancient tenets of warrior honor. “Lilian, I did not mean any insult.”
“Peace, Tabitha.” Lilian shakes her head, picking up her fork. “You have just cause for your opinion.”
An awkward silence descends at Lilian’s reference to Sebastian Mehta’s mistreatment of Tabitha. With the smooth grace of his media management seigneur, Douglas turns the topic. “They have altered the dates for the Moon Race semifinals so Master Fletcher may participate.”
“Truly?” Vicenza leaps on the change of topic. “Is that not unprecedented? I thought the dates for the Moon Race semifinals were set in tradition as hard as Vistrite.”
“There is no stricture that forbids it,” Douglas says in pious tones.
Suspicion aroused, Lilian’s eyes narrow. As with all in the Cartel, she admires Fletcher Detrenti, an Iron Hammer protégé and daring moon racer. He stood her friend when others tormented her, and aided Nickolas in rescuing Katleen at the prior year’s Five Warriors’ Festival. This year, Fletcher could not compete in the Moon Races and return in time to join the Bright Star summit. Having learned a good deal about media management since Douglas joined her allies, Lilian does not believe the favorable change is happenstance. “May we be confident that Seigneur Aristides had a hand in convincing the Moon Trial Board to reach such a desirable decision?”
“It is possible that Seigneur Aristides lamented to several friends in the media that it was a pity that last year’s most promising new contender would be forced to forgo the race this year.” Douglas’ smirk morphs into an air of innocence. “After all, the only reason Fletcher could not compete is that he is honor bound to serve Bright Star, placing the advancement of the Twelve Systems before personal inclination.”
“Which explains the recent media commentary about rigid, complacent race governors,” laughs Vicenza. “Seigneur Aristides owns a most manipulative mind.”
Douglas acknowledges the compliment with a smile as Tabitha comments, “Should Master Fletcher achieve the finals, the entire Cartel will be given the half day of liberty to view the race. What think you, Lilian, will Serengeti have a contender again this year?”
“I hope for Master Fletcher’s sake that he wins a place. I review not the possibilities. As you know, apprentices are forbidden to wager.” Lilian’s matter-of-fact response draws surprise from her companions.
“Lilian, everyone speculates and discusses. None of us places wagers.” Vicenza voices their thoughts.
“Not all of the bonded are expert in analytics and problematics—and assigned to complexity and risk analysis for an SEV venture,” Lilian explains. Her lunch companions are all recently come to the skill consortium and unaware of the prior year’s near disaster.
Tabitha is the first to grasp the issue. “Odds management,” Tabitha exclaims. “With your skills, even casual discussion of the possibilities could be indicted as odds management.”
Tabitha’s eyes narrow as she adds, “If someone were malicious enough to do so.”
At Tabitha’s words, Douglas makes the connection. “Martin.”
“He lost a thousand to Master Nickolas when Master Fletcher made the finals last year,” Lilian confirms. “I offered naught but a factual response to an inquiry of Master Simon’s on Master Fletcher’s chances of making the finals. The indictment was dismissed and Martin forced to pay.”
“Good. Serves him right,” Tabitha huffs.
“Nonetheless,” Lilian continues sternly, “Monsignor was clear that a second incident will not be readily dismissed. So now, I know naught, and I will know naught until the race season completes.”
It occurs to Lilian that being away from Serengeti during the build-up of Moon Race excitement will spare her from dangerous conversations.
2. Caning
Crime within the Twelve Systems is penalized by fines, corporal punishment, compelled labor, annihilation, or a combination of penalties as warranted. Since the time of the Five Warriors, the execution of corporal punishment has always been a public event to demonstrate that Order is served and to provide a deterrent to others. The only exceptions are annihilation crimes, in which the Final Draught is administered in obscure isolation, depriving the Twelve Systems’ vilest criminals of media recognition. ~ excerpt from Modern Governance, an instructional text.
Sevenday 88, Day 2—Continued
Crossed Sabers Academy, the Third System’s premier academy for the warrior elite, is located in the ancient section of the Garden Center District, not far from the Museum of the Fourth Warrior. Inside the well-guarded walls, Raphael and Cesare wait by the unmarked Blooded Dagger transport. Mrs. Tulip, a tall, raw-boned woman with tightly cropped rust curls nearly the same shade as her Blooded Dagger livery, monitors the surroundings.
As soon as Lucius’ transport glides to a stop, Tulip rushes forward to open the door. Exercising his privilege as eldest, Raphael slides into the seat next to Lucius, leaving Cesare to take one of the opposing spots. Handsome and charming, Raphael is above average in height, his dark hair and dark eyes are replicas of his father’s. His lanky frame holds the promise of a powerful warrior build but not Lucius’ inches. His mother’s fair beauty has lightened Raphael’s complexion and evened his features. Raphael’s heedlessness and self-indulgence are a source of increasing concern to Lucius.
Sixteen months younger than Raphael, sixteen-year-old Cesare has reached his brother’s inches. It is possible he will match his father’s height. Unlike Raphael, whose features are a blend of Lucius’ and Estella’s, Cesare is almost a duplicate of his father. His mother’s legacy is only visible in his lighter, creamier complexion and the brilliant blue of his eyes set beneath his father’s heavy lids. More introspective than Raphael, Cesare is more likely to think before he acts. He is also more likely to hold a grudge.
As the transport glides into motion, Cesare reaches into his satchel for a protein bar.
“Where did you get that?” Raphael eyes the bar covetously.
“Brought it from home.” Cesare rips open the wrapper. “It is already midday, and we will not have a meal until after Martin’s sentence is executed.”
“Any chance you brought another?”
With a grin, Cesare pulls out another bar. Tossing it across the transport, he claims, “You owe me.”
“And you always collect.” Raphael grins back, tearing into the snack.
“You may regret those bars,” Lucius warns. “A criminal execution is naught like what you have experienced at the academy.”
Swallowing his mouthful, Raphael replies, “I have borne Socraide’s Scourge. I need only witness this.”
“You bore it well,” Lucius acknowledges. Two months gone, Raphael was subject to shrine discipline after he violated his oath to his parents when he piloted his three-wheeled speeder off the grounds of the Mercio estate and into the Garden Center. To make matters worse, he joined his friends in an illegal high-speed race, lost control of the veh
icle, and crashed into the stall of a small-bites vendor. Neither the stall owner nor her daughter was harmed, but it was due to the Luck of the First and not Raphael’s skill.
Although Lucius paid the fines and reparations, naught could repair Raphael’s honor but submitting to shrine discipline. The caning by Socraide’s Shrine Discipline Master was more severe than a routine academy caning, but Raphael endured it without a whimper. Pleased by Raphael’s courage, Lucius remains frustrated by his son’s inability to comprehend the potentially dire consequences of his heedlessness. With the stall owner unharmed, Raphael remains convinced that his father is overreacting. Lucius cannot overlook this Shade-sent opportunity to educate both young men on what can come of overindulgence in warrior privilege and a limited commitment to warrior honor. “You will find Socraide’s Scourge mild compared to the governor’s justice.”
“Martin’s crime is also more severe, Father,” Cesare comments, having bolted the protein bar. “When he assaulted your conservator, he assaulted Blooded Dagger.”
By both custom and stricture, when executing her duty as conservator, Lilian is Lucius’ vessel. A physical assault on a conservator is the legal equivalent of an assault on Lucius.
“It was more than assault,” Raphael chimes in. “Attempted rape can be an annihilation offense. Truly, ten strokes is a mild sentence.”
“Blooded Dagger did not charge attempted rape, only assault,” Lucius explains. “With Sebastian Mehta under Cartel indictment, the matter needed to be settled without a public trial and media involvement.”
Martin Argon assaulted Lilian as part of one of Sebastian Mehta’s insane plots to overthrow Lucius as preeminence of Serengeti and take control of the Twelve Systems through a series of cataclysmic intrigues. Soon after Martin’s arrest for assault, a Cartel review ruled Sebastian Disordered in His Wits and banished him from the Cartel. If knowledge of Sebastian’s schemes were to become public knowledge, the damage to Serengeti and Bright Star could be incalculable. It was imperative that Lucius seal those events in the vault of Serengeti security-privilege. With reluctance, Lucius yielded to Martin’s father and exchanged the lesser charges for silence.