Nowadays, there was no such respect. The Elite was largely regarded as obsolete. It was a crumbling institution with a draconian past, no longer useful in this age of peace and treaties. Much of the Elite's power had diminished as the Imperator gave way to the Jyne idea of peaceful coexistence. Danten sometimes wondered if the Imperator wasn't a little embarrassed by the Elite.
The Imperator and the Quorum had neutered the Elite, making it as sterile as the rest of Brysdyn. Oh, there was still power in the walls of the Enclave, but it would die with those strong enough to wield it. Like most of the senior officers in the Security Elite, he disliked the notion of an alliance with the Jyne, no matter how utopian it sounded. Peace, pacifism and enlightened ideals, like the one the Imperator believed in so passionately, were the breeding ground of subjugation.
Why were the Elite the only ones who could see it?
Fortunately, the Elite still had the General to fight for them. He embodied all the warrior strength that had made Brysdyn what it was. With confidence, Danten knew the Elite would not die without a fight, not if the General had anything to do with it. The Elite was born from his love of Brysdyn and the General was never afraid to do the things necessary to save it. They saw him as their voice in the Quorum and their loyalty for him almost superseded their devotion to the Imperator.
These days, General Edwen was the only true warrior left. All else were pretenders.
Rounding the corner, the number of people walking down the corridor thinned out significantly. Danten entered the short corridor restricted to everyone except the highest echelon of Security Elite. It veered away from the main corridors, almost like an untrodden path in a country road, and was guarded by sentries. It led to Central Command where the General ruled.
None of the guards asked him for identification as he walked past. They knew him well enough.
The corridor emptied into a large foyer where Edwen's executive aid was currently posted at her desk. Peering up from her terminal, Nalia reached for the com unit even as she offered him a nod of acknowledgement. By the time Danten reached her, his presence was already announce to the General.
Nalia rose to her feet to greet him. She was a slender, statuesque beauty whose gold hair was slicked back over her shoulders. Her face, as always, wore no expression whatsoever. Nalia's efficiency was seconded only by her glacial personality and she intimidated almost everyone with her icy stare.
“The General is expecting you. Please go right in, Major.”
“Thank you.”
Leaving her behind, he strode towards the polished red calsa wood doors preceding Edwen's familiar office. In the past twenty years five years nothing had ever changed. Everything had its traditional place, the same ornate rugs, the same furniture and artwork. The artwork collected by the General was neither priceless nor famous. Edwen collected them because he enjoyed the work.
“Good morning, General.”
Edwen did not rise from his chair at the younger man's arrival. Instead, the General acknowledged him with a single nod. His eyes and attention remained affixed on the data tablet before him. This did not surprise or offend Danten, who was used to the General's habits and manners.
“Good morning, Major,” Edwen greeted, his eyes still studying the pad.
Danten's reacted with a slight bow that was more effective than a salute.
“I would like to submit my report, Sir.”
Even though the General was waiting for it, Danten knew Edwen bore a weakness for dramatics and pomp. This was why Danten never met the older man's eyes until he was being addressed directly.
Today, the General was in no mood for such games.
“Sit down, Danten.”
There was a hint of surprise in the major's face, but it went no further than that and he sat down obediently, his back straight against the chair facing Edwen's desk.
“Proceed.”
“I did as ordered, Sir,” Danten began. “I performed an extensive background check on the mentalist. He is a notable name in the field of mental health and is highly regarded by the Healers Circle. He has, as our agent in the Department of Citizenship already disclosed, a practice in the Rura District. Most of his patients come from Brysdyn's best families. He has two sisters, one who lives in Girawon Province and the other who died during the Scourge. He hasn't seen the surviving sister in a decade, however.”
The information was interesting, but did nothing to explain why a mentalist would want to know about New Citizens off world.
“Then they aren't close. Girawon is on the home world, hardly a difficult journey to make to see family.” After a moment, he looked up at Danten, who paused when he spoke. “Continue.”
“There isn't much beyond that, Sir,” Danten admitted reluctantly. “We know that he has been in frequent contact with mentalists from other cities. Darix from Tesalone and Alwi from Rainab.”
Edwen took the information in and mulled over it for a moment. “Do we have any idea why he is so insistent on finding out about off world New Citizens?”
“Research perhaps?” the Major suggested.
Danten, too, was at a loss to see why a mentalist would be probing into something they thought they had buried long ago. Like Edwen, Danten was just as surprised to hear agents report the night before.
“It's possible, but unlikely.”
General Edwen was a man who trusted his instincts and right now his instincts told him the mentalist's inquiries had little to do with a research paper destined for some obscure medical journal. Great storms often announced themselves with the coming of a gentle breeze and Edwen suspected mentalist Jonen was a just such a breeze.
“Have you distracted him for the time being?” At least that was something they could control.
Yes, our informant suggested some intimacy between the woman and Jonen. We've taken the appropriate steps."
“By that you mean she's dead.” The General retorted, disliking Danten's sanitation of what was standard procedure in situations like this. Edwen was not ashamed of the dirtier aspects of his work. Unpleasant things were necessary when the cause was right.
“Yes, Sir,” he replied, choosing to speak directly if that was what the General wished. “I had one of our special operatives take care of it. As far as Central Police are concerned, it was just a traffic accident.”
“Good. That will buy us some time. Give our agent her instructions and make the necessary preparations.”
Danten's response was another short bow as Edwen returned to his data tablet again, signalling their meeting was concluded.
“Sir, forgive me but why don't we just eliminate him? We have the capability to do it without raising questions.”
It was an honest question, Edwen decided, as he looked up at the younger man. In their time, the Security Elite had carried out assassinations, incited riots and even silenced voices threatening the security of the Empire. Edwen understood Danten's puzzlement at why the mentalist was the exception.
“Because we don't know why he wants the information and that makes me uneasy.”
It shocked Danten to even think the General could be caught unawares about anything. For the last twenty-five years of his service to the General, Danten had never seen the man caught unawares. Their confidence in him stemmed from Edwen's ability to adapt to any situation, no matter how adverse. It was unsettling to see the General at a loss like everyone else.
Danten's surprise made Edwen smile faintly.
“Yes, Danten, I am human too. Sometimes I even have a conscience.”
It was a privilege for Danten to see the man behind the uniform. Edwen even felt good allowing it.
“Until we know more about mentalist Jonen and why he requires the information, we will not harm him unless we absolutely have to.”
VII
Kalistar
To Garryn's surprise, he missed his sessions with Jonen.
This was understandable, of course. During their last conversation, the extent of the man'
s grief was plain to see. Mira meant a great deal to Jonen and Garryn's obligatory condolences seemed trite and meaningless. Garryn imagined words would do little to comfort him if he were to lose someone he cared for. Jonen bore his grief with dignity, maintaining his composure when he spoke to Garryn. It wasn't difficult for Garryn to see through the facade when the man stated his need for an off world sabbatical for a few weeks.
Although he disliked the idea of Jonen being gone, even for a little while, Garryn understood the man's need for it. He couldn't begrudge the man some time away, since his consultations with the mentalist resulted in his being able to sleep better. Having an outlet to confide his dreams seemed to have the effect of letting him sleep some nights without incident.
Fortunately, his days were kept busy in the Quorum, watching his father conduct the affairs of state. He enjoyed that aspect of it, learning from the man he respected and loved most in the world. As Prime, he needed to understand his role as the next ruler of Brysdyn. The Imperator governed the people through the Quorum and, in times of extraordinary circumstances, had the power to make decisions without them.
It was a fine line to walk, because lesser men could take advantage of such power and risk civil war. The role of the Imperator was to maintain the sovereignty of Brysdyn and, if the Quorum put its safety at risk, he could restore order. Of course, it also meant if he abused his authority, the Quorum possessed the authority to remove him, with the Prime succeeding in his place.
It was a source of pride to his father that, since the Exodus, no Imperator was ever removed in such a manner.
Unfortunately, Garryn's education in politics was not limited to managing the Quorum. The Imperator was the head of Brysdynian society, which required him to deal with the noble houses. For this aspect of being Prime, Garryn found himself under the instruction of the Chief Courtier, an annoying little cretin called Feroz.
Feroz was constantly arranging his attendance at the endless engagements set up by Brysdyn's social elite. When his mother was alive, she protected him and Elisha from the insipidness of court life, showing them what snobbery really meant in the scheme of things. His mother was a Jyne who saw little value in aristocratic blood. Unfortunately, it still mattered on Brysdyn and it was Feroz's job to ensure the Imperator and Prime were always accessible to the minor houses.
Feroz's designation during this time was Chief Courtier to the Prime in Waiting. It was a pompous title, given to someone whose aim in life was to make Garryn utterly miserable, and he succeeded brilliantly. Feroz was in charge of his daily itinerary, the clothes he wore and the appointments he kept. The man seemed to have little regard for what Garryn wanted, satisfied only in ensuring Garryn was the paragon of culture and nobility.
It did not surprise Garryn to learn that Feroz himself was from one of the families. Ristalia, if he remembered correctly. The Ristalia were aristocratic all right, but possessed little or no fortune, explaining why Feroz was here making his life hell. A short, unimpressive man, he seemed like a caricature, dressed in the best clothes and carrying himself like the Emperor of the known universe. His face was made up, exaggerating looks he did not have, and his hair was styled more like a woman's.
If Garryn had still been in the military, they would have used him for target practice.
Still, the man was sneaky and Garryn could sense a reason for all the engagements he was forced to attend. If he had learned anything about the aristocracy, it was their ability to maintain the status quo with the skill of military tacticians. They planned their appearances like generals preparing for an invasion. The invitations and the introductions were the opening volley in a larger offensive. They were jockeying to become in-laws to the next Imperator of the Empire.
In other words, his father and the court planned to see him married.
He couldn't even begin to remember the exact number of women foisted on him during the last few weeks. Garryn was almost tempted to scandalize Feroz with the revelation that the last woman he'd been with, he'd paid for. Of course, the lady thought she was just servicing another pilot on leave, not the future Prime.
In any case, none of the socialites presented impressed him and, while these were definitely beautiful women, there was little else beneath the glitter. Being a soldier, he'd met interesting women during his time in the service, women who fought beside him, sometimes outranked him and some whom he considered his friends. He knew he would have to marry. The position he was in gave him no out. But he wasn't going to marry just anyone. A lifetime was a long time if you were married to the wrong person.
Sometimes, he wished he could have Elisha's freedom, being able to choose whom he would marry and in his good time. Being the eldest child effectively eliminated any such possibility. After the Scourge, it was more necessary than ever to perpetuate the line. As the eldest, whose offspring would be future Imperators, he was not afforded the luxuries Elisha took for granted.
For the future, he had to marry.
* * *
Returning to the Domicile after a day out, he knew he was late.
Feroz would be nearly hysterical by now. One of the houses, Garryn couldn't remember which one, was throwing him a ball. Why couldn't it ever be drinks down at a local tavern? Why did it have to be a ball? These royal houses, Tesalia, Grigor and Myzyne, just to name a few, were all trying to outdo each other. What was the point? In truth, they were about as royal as he was, which was not very royal at all.
There was only one genuine White Star aristocrat on Brysdyn: his father. Iran was the head of what was once House Brysdyn. During the Exodus, the worldships were assigned according to the Royal Houses of the White Star Alliance. Brysdyn and Jyne were one of these. The others were lost during the voyage. The modern aristocrats of Brysdyn, other than House Brysdyn itself, were descendants of minor houses with little importance.
Garryn reached the door to his chambers just in time to hear a familiar voice squeal in consternation.
“Your Excellency! Where have you been? Have you forgotten the Myzyne have thrown a ball in your honour? You are expected there in an hour!”
Garryn released a silent groan of frustration before the man could finish squealing his string of words. Who could forget that? Feroz had reminded him all week about it. It should not surprise him the man would be waiting to pounce as soon as he passed through the doors.
“I didn't forget, Feroz. An hour is plenty of time for me to be preened like a prize bull at Kirkaris.”
“An hour is never enough time to look like a gentleman,” Feroz snorted, raising his bulbous nose in that annoying self-important manner. “Your father expects you promptly.”
Garryn ignored the remark and opened the door. Upon entering, he saw his clothes were already laid out on the bed. He felt relieved, seeing it was his dress uniform Feroz expected him to wear. Feroz preferred him to wear some expensive ensemble from the fashion pages that made him look like a well-dressed fop.
“Your clothes, as you can see, are ready. I suggest you take a bath while I summon your groom.”
“Fine,” Garryn conceded, expecting Feroz to leave, but the man remained where he was for a moment.
“Sire, I know we have discussed this, but if you insist on wearing your uniform,” his nose curled up as if the word was distasteful. Of course, it would, Garryn thought. Feroz had no idea what it was like to be a soldier or what a uniform meant. “You might at least allow me to adorn it with the proper appellations.”
Garryn, who was in the process of undoing a button on his shirt, looked up sharply. In truth, this was an old argument, but hearing it again did not lessen his annoyance. “I'm not wearing a bunch of medals I didn't earn, Feroz. Just get over it.”
“It is not an embarrassment to wear the medals of your forebears. Your father wishes you to wear them!”
That was an outright lie, but Garryn was not going to debate it with the man.
“My father will understand. They were his medals. He fought the wars, he deserves the
m. I am not wearing anything on my chest I didn't earn myself. Now get out if you want me dressed in time.”
He was not undressing in front of a man trying to be that pretty.
Feroz threw up his hands in surrender and hurried out of the room. Garryn walked to the door after he had gone and slammed the door shut. He could hear the weasel's footsteps diminish as he scampered away. For a moment, a thought flashed in Garryn's mind. What if he left Brysdyn? Simply jump on a ship and get out of the Empire, perhaps visit Jyne for the first time?
No, I can't do that. He sighed inwardly before the thought could become entrenched inside him. This is my life and that's all there is to it.
Garryn stepped away from the door and walked towards the bureau at the far end of the room. All thoughts of the pending occasion disappeared from his mind as he pulled out a drawer and rifled through the belongings within. After a moment, his hand reappeared, clutching something that glittered in the evening light.
The fine links of gold made up a chain he'd outgrown almost two decades ago. Hanging off the chain was a circular pendant inscribed with a dead language. This was all he had to remind him he was once from another world. It was the reminder of a world devastated and a life lost forever. It was something uniquely his own, having nothing to do with the Imperators. Holding it always made him feel better. According to his mother, he was wearing it the first time she set eyes on him.
More than anything, it served to remind him he was not supposed to find everything about being the Prime or the Imperator easy. He was not born to it like his father. There was no blood in him that could be traced to the White Star. His ancestors crossed no great distance to chart a new galaxy. He became a child of House Brysdyn because Iran and Aisha chose him to be their son and because of that, he would do this.
Garryn needed to remember none of this was supposed to be easy. He was not born to be Imperator. He was chosen out of love and, because of that same love, he would accept it.
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