Bright Star

by E G Manetti

  Lilian waits silently for what Chrys will yield. Had the girl’s spine been severed, it could have been mended. Her eyes damaged, they could have been replaced. However, environmental toxins savage the neurological and immune systems. Those few who survive the initial event rarely manage more than another decade of life.

  Blind and crippled, the girl would have had but half a life. She would not have been attractive. None would have lain with her. Damaged by the toxins, she would have been infertile. No marriage alliance would have been possible had she lived to the age to wed. The best the Shades could offer would have been a short life of limited commerce.

  “I was but half trained,” Chrys continues, grief heavy in his voice. “There was much I did not know about life among the upper levels of society or the expectations. It was difficult and she was kind to me. It was her intervention that found me a place at the Western Continent Institute. I knew she was failing when I departed Genji. She was not yet forty. The Shades are cruel.” The last is a lament.

  Forty. Lilian rapidly revises her mental image of the scholar’s granddaughter. Chrys has not confessed it, but there is no question in Lilian’s mind that Chrys bedded the scholar’s granddaughter. It would not have been a transgression. It would have been the scholar’s will. Chrys’ affection for the deceased woman is well beyond what is considered acceptable from an apprentice toward his mistress. It would have shamed him even as he masked it. In the intervening years, Chrys would have been no more able to contact the crippled woman than Lilian is able to contact Dean Joseph.

  Lilian may not embrace Chrys for comfort. She can offer naught but words. “The Shades are kind. She lived to know you valued her, Chrys. It is no small thing.”

  Lilian cannot and will not voice the balance of her thoughts. That this uncommon commoner’s regard is worth more than the warrior Damien St. Gervais ever had to offer. To her shame, Lilian feels the bite of envy for the affection Chrys holds for the scholar’s deceased granddaughter.

  »◊«

  “I imagine you have set Trevelyan on St. Gervais?” Lady Estella is once again lounging in the quarters she shares with Lucius. Even with the aid of Chin’s potions, the end of the day finds Estella weary, her back and legs aching.

  “I will know all by the end of the sevenday,” Lucius agrees, discarding his jacket and satchel.

  “What will you do about him?” Estella is curious. Lucius can be so inventive.

  “Naught for the moment.” Lucius smiles at Estella’s confusion. “I wish to discover how Lilian will exact retribution for me.”

  “You are as inventive as always.” Estella smiles in return. After Damien’s betrayal, Lilian is likely to be far less merciful than Lucius, and they will learn much about her from the exercise. Gariten’s heir is proving far more interesting than Estella anticipated. With that thought another comes. “This does explain how your Lilian has proven so resilient.”

  At Lucius’ querying look, Estella shakes her head in bemusement and deigns to enlighten her husband. “Oh Lucius, for such a clever man you do have your masculine blind spots. The girl was already broken. Your first encounter was with the rebuilt Lilian.”

  “I doubt not your insight, my dear, I would appreciate a little more of it.” Lucius slides into place on the lounge to gather Estella to him.

  “She gave it voice, ‘it was a dark time.’ Her words, I believe?” Feeling Lucius’ nod, Estella continues, “One only uses that phrase if the current time is not so dark. In her worst moment, Lilian was betrayed by someone she loved and trusted. What is interesting is that she had the ability to recover and rebuild herself. Know you the source of that resilience?”

  Shaking his head, Lucius ponders the enigma wrapped in a riddle that is his apprentice. “Given her privileged and academically sheltered upbringing, from where came her resources to rebuild after such a betrayal? No one comes to that level of resiliency at the age of twenty-four. A foundation must have been laid at an earlier age.”

  “My love, your ability to see to the core of a puzzle has not waned in twenty years. What are your thoughts on this?” Estella leans back into Lucius’ warm embrace, gently tracing her fingers over the hands that hold her close.

  “Something else drives her. When Dean Joseph first brought Lilian to my attention, I noticed she was overly solemn for a girl of twenty. Joseph attributed it to the pressure of intense intellect. I begin to suspect a darker source,” Lucius admits.

  Lucius considers the matter further and then continues, “Lilian rarely speaks of Gariten and never as ‘Father,’ only by name. It may well be her early entrance to advanced studies had a source other than driving intellect.”

  “I believe you are well on your way to solving the enigma that is your apprentice. You must keep me informed. I would sleep now, my love.” With that, Estella curls up against Lucius’ chest and closes her eyes.

  13. Correction

  Three months after the Code of Engagement was ratified on Sinead’s World, Rimon Ben Claude became the final signatory. Confronted with the combined commitment of his rivals, the Second Warrior ringed his system with battle transports and threatened isolation. Knowing that a well-armed and unallied Second System could shatter their fragile agreement, the other four warriors entered into a treaty with Rimon. They also matched his battle transports two for one. Rimon did not yield without concessions.

  At the Second Warrior’s insistence, the Code of Engagement was amended to contain protocols for the resolution of disputes and the legitimate pursuit of territorial ambition beyond the Three Systems. The Code of Engagement and the Second Warrior’s ‘Governing Protocols’ are the foundation of all stricture in the current era. ~ excerpt from The Origins of the Five Warriors, a scholarly treatise.

  Sevenday 32, Day 2

  What ails the woman? Lucius is yet again confounded by his apprentice. Lilian’s correctly attentive stance and meticulous reference to her slate does not mask her tension or the tightness around her eyes that telltale short sleep. There is no hint of the relaxed and sated woman Lucius returned to the Cartel shortly after midday the day gone.

  The source cannot be the prior day’s events. The ruby eargems indicate Lilian is in her cycle, but it has not troubled her before. Fingers steepled, Lucius prepares to discover what he may. “Is there aught else?”

  Lucius is not mistaken about Lilian’s fatigue. The bells at the penthouse placed her behind on her assignments. It neared dark of night when Lilian found her bed. She awoke well before dawn, certain she has missed a vital clue in Damien’s intrigue. “If milord pleases, may I review the monitor recording from yesterday morning?”

  “To what end?” Lucius asks with a frown. Lilian’s request is exceptional. The monitor recordings are for Lucius’ use. They are not available to others.

  “I voiced something, or did not voice something, important. Something related to Damien’s conspiracy. I simply cannot recall. I am certain it is there.” The reserved demeanor does not completely mask Lilian’s frustration with her faulty memory.

  Without another word, Lucius turns to his techno group and taps out a series of commands. After a moment, Lilian’s disembodied voice is heard.

  “I was surprised to see him. None of the profile research suggested he would be there. I know when he left the university, he was not protégé to Monsignor Horatio. He said it was recent and not requiring Serengeti approval. I did not wish speech with him, but he blocked me, so I moved away to the terrace to draw him from the—”

  “There, milord. That is it.” Lilian is on her toes in excitement.

  “What is it, Lilian?” Lucius waits, anticipating.

  “Damien’s recent attachment to Monsignor Horatio, milord,” Lilian announces, cool dispassion swallowing her momentary lapse. “Why now? Matahorn has been party to the secret of Bright Star for months. There is naught in Damien’s abilities or kinship that would bring him to such advancement. There must be another reason. I know not what it is, but I will discover i
t. My thanks, milord.”

  Lilian’s commitment is palpable. Considering her tenacious pursuit of the fraud affair to its resolution, Lucius is satisfied. Whatever Horatio Margovian’s play, Lilian will discover it. “Is there aught else for this morning?”

  At Lilian’s correct “No, milord,” Lucius releases her.

  »◊«

  With a final pleased tap, Lilian submits her categorization of the Matahorn assets. Seigneur Marco will have all he requires. And now for Damien St. Gervais. With a brief stretch, Lilian settles more firmly into her worksite and begins to tap.

  Odd. The details of Damien’s career are readily discovered. Lilian had some of it already. There is no record of Damien having aught to do with Matahorn until a few sevendays gone. That cannot be correct. Protégé contracts are the labor of months. Somewhere there must be a record of an earlier encounter.

  Familiar with Damien’s habits and behavior, Lilian does not lack for avenues of inquiry. The data is immense. She may as well be attempting to sift the entire public archives of the First System. There must be a better means. Rebecca!

  Her alert to Rebecca returns in attendance. It is midday. Rebecca attends one of the seigneurs.

  Chrys! Lilian is due to meet Chrys at the Fountain Café. Tugging a red eargem in gratitude for the Shade intervention that left her midday free, Lilian hurries to Chrys. She is concerned at his grief and eager to repay some of the debt she owes for his ready aid since she entered Serengeti. Although she had not intended it, when Lilian formed her consortium, she created a commerce-kin tie with Chrys and Rebecca and later Clarice. In addition to gratitude and friendship, Lilian holds a strong sense of protectiveness for the other three.

  »◊«

  “By the Five Warriors, I do not tire of this.” Chrys’ expression lifts in a brief smile as he settles across from Lilian at a prized fountain-side table. Once again, Lilian’s presence has cleared space.

  “Neither do I,” Lilian agrees, causing a widening in Chrys’ smile.

  Pleased by the lightening in Chrys’ spirit, Lilian’s lips twitch as she remarks, “I fear I own an ill sense of humor. It delights me to see them shackled by their disdain. They cannot exploit rank to take my place, for then they must occupy it and risk contact taint.”

  With a glance at the empty places at either side, Chrys wonders, “How has the Fountain Café offended you?”

  Blinking in confusion, Lilian returns a question. “Offended me? What say you?”

  Briefly glancing right then left, Chrys replies, “You are unconcerned by the loss of custom those four empty places represent.”

  Loss of custom? Hidaka’s Café! A brief, bright trill of amusement breaks from Lilian at Chrys’ mistaken conclusion. This once, her clever friend has misread.

  Startled and entranced by Lilian’s brief laughter, Chrys barely hears her explanation.

  “Chrys, Mr. Hidaka is my friend, and the Garden Center District is a small population.” Lilian shakes her head in bemusement. After taking a sip of tea, she continues, “The Fountain Café is at no risk. Those I displace crowd together elsewhere. Much of its custom comes from tourists who will claim our places as soon as they are vacant.”

  As Lilian’s words penetrate, Chrys sputters, “You never cease, do you? Do you ever act without knowing the outcome?”

  “Not often,” Lilian admits. With another sip of tea, she offers, “Although you have been present when I have done so.”

  “I was? When?” Abandoning mirth, Chrys is intent. Lilian reveals so little.

  Regarding her food, Lilian says, “I asked a new-met Raven for aid.”

  On her first day at the Cartel, bewildered, sadly unprepared for her bond, Lilian risked all to reveal her vulnerability to Chrys and request his aid. After several heart-stopping moments, Chrys agreed to help her.

  “Lilian, I . . . that is . . .” Chrys struggles for a response.

  Lilian does not wait. “Why, Chrys? Why did you take the risk?”

  “You entreated,” Chrys returns.

  “Chrys, that makes no sense,” Lilian challenges. She entreated? Shrine beggars entreat and do not receive.

  At Lilian’s confusion, Chrys’ heart briefly seizes and he reaches halfway across the table before fisting his hand and setting it in his lap. As with Associate Master Straus, Chrys expected the fallen warrior to disdain her fellow apprentices and to trade on her brilliance for aid from the senior associates and protégés. “Lilian, I knew you were Monsignor Lucius Raven and warrior born. I expected you to command my service.”

  As Lilian shakes her head in negation, Chrys insists, “Peace. Another would have done so, and I would have yielded to please Seigneur Rachelle and Monsignor. I would have done my duty and naught else.”

  As Rachelle’s apprentice, Chrys’ duty to Blooded Dagger requires he provide Lilian with truthful answers to direct questions. Their mutual-aid agreement goes well beyond his duty, as are his many insights into obscure matters of custom.

  “Chrys, you have aided me well beyond duty.” Lilian heard Chrys’ naught else and chills at her fate had Chrys been so reserved.

  “You entreated, Lilian,” Chrys repeats. “You treated me as an equal.”

  Chrys’ voice catches on the last word, and for Lilian, the pattern completes. Like Lilian, the scholar’s granddaughter was a warrior, and like Lilian, she treated Chrys as an equal, not one of lesser rank. Involuntarily, Lilian voices, “The scholar’s granddaughter.”

  “Yes and no,” Chrys nods, forcing his grief into a small, cold pocket in his heart. “You are stronger and fiercer, but you own the same sense of humor. You would have liked each other.”

  “Yes, I believe so,” Lilian agrees as she delicately addresses her meal, politely ignoring Chrys’ broken voice and the anguish he struggles to master.

  “Thank the Shades.” Clarice’s voice shatters the painful moment as she sets her tray in a place to Lilian’s left. “Less than half the period remains and the café is bursting.”

  Involved with Chrys, Lilian had not noticed that the café has filled to the point that two tourists occupy the spaces to the right. Another moment, and others would have had the space Clarice has claimed.

  Pushing her slate satchel into the place across from her and next to Chrys, Clarice says, “That will hold it for Rebecca. I am surprised she has yet to arrive.”

  “Rebecca attends a seigneur,” Lilian responds with a shrug.

  “Yes, I know.” Clarice shrugs in return as she begins her meal. At Lilian’s silence, Clarice swallows and smiles. “Unlike Monsignor, few seigneurs linger over midday encounters.”

  “Clarice!” Lilian remonstrates, knowing that like those of Blooded Dagger, when Clarice omits the governor’s name, she means milord. Commenting on milord’s dalliance verges on effrontery. “You should be more respectful.”

  With a laugh, Clarice shakes her head before taking another bite. “I am not in error. It is well known.”

  Thinking a moment, Lilian nods. Milord’s slightest gesture is dissected by the Cartel. His whims drive gossip for days. As to the seigneurs, Lilian is well aware that with one exception, Rebecca rarely spends more than a half period at her duty. “It is not Seigneur Thorvald’s usual day?”

  “Third Day and sometimes Fifth,” Clarice says, acknowledging that this day is not customarily Thorvald’s. “Truly, I am surprised by her delay. Seigneur Damocles is not one to linger.”

  At the mention of the severe security-privilege seigneur, a chill runs through Lilian. She has never directly encountered the Grey Spear warrior, but occasional proximity has filled her with unease. That the Grey Spear seigneur exploits his position to assault milord’s security-privilege by compromising the riser monitors only adds to Lilian’s dislike. Knowing Rebecca, it is quite likely that the blonde encourages Damocles to finish quickly. Do not voice that! Stifling the irreverent thought, Lilian focuses on her plate.

  “Lilian, have you had an untoward thought?” Chrys teases. He misse
d neither Lilian’s momentary discomfort at the reference to Monsignor Lucius or the brief flash of enlightened amusement as she considered Damocles’ hasty midday encounters.

  “I will not admit so.” Lilian lifts her nose with mock haughtiness that calls laughter from her companions.

  Pings from their slates alert the trio that the period is closing. Wordlessly, they finish their meals. As Clarice tucks a piece of fruit into her satchel, Lilian says, “If that is for Rebecca, I will encounter her within a bell. I have a protein bar as well.”

  With a smile, Clarice hands over the fruit as they rise to clear their spaces and return to duty.

  »◊«

  With a sudden jolt, Lilian releases her focus on her worksite reviewer. Something, what? A slight scuffling from the worksites that front Lilian’s draws her attention. Tucked into a corner by the risers, Lilian’s worksite has a wall at the back, no one across the aisle, and the taciturn Grim Twins occupying the front two worksites

  The two discouraging associates have yet to offer Lilian their names, let alone admit their duty. Lilian suspects they are Trevelyan’s operatives, set to exclude others from her sequestered corner and to monitor her activities. Lilian is not offended; she finds the Grim Twins comforting. With a wall at her back and the Grim Twins on guard, Lilian may labor at ease.

  The Grim Twins rarely acknowledge her and never her occasional visits from Chrys, Clarice, and Rebecca. Curiosity aroused, Lilian rises to find Rebecca moving gingerly down the aisle past the two associates. The insouciant blonde is pale and tight-lipped. Something is amiss.

  “Rebecca, well met,” Lilian offers carefully. With the Grim Twins listening to every word, they must be circumspect.

  “Well met, Lilian.” Rebecca nods without her customary sunlight smile. “Show me what you require.”

  It is not the first time Rebecca has aided Lilian with complex data searches. As before, to avoid speaking in front of the Grim Twins, Lilian has her requirements listed on her slate. Motioning Rebecca to the small, hard visitor’s chair, Lilian settles at her worksite.