Gerald looked at the jar. “Is... that my brain?”
“This? Oh, yes. We’ve been using it as a coffee table.”
The door flew open and Cha’Rolette flew in.
Leave, she ordered, her ta’atu glowing, and everyone obediently cleared the room.
She floated over to Gerald, concern on her face. I came as quickly as I heard.
“I missed the ribbon cutting, didn’t I?”
She tried to take his hand, but he flinched in pain beneath the bandages. Don’t worry about that. I filled in for you, and we had enough footage from last night to splice together a press packet to give to the media.
Gerald leaned back. In spite of the fact that the skin on his neck was new, it still felt like it was burning. “Always about the job, isn’t it?”
I know you can’t access your external memory, but you should know that it is filling up with adoption inquiries. The footage of you with the kids is already going viral.
Gerald smiled, even though it hurt to do so. “So long as the kids get adopted, that is all that matters.”
Cha’Rolette put her hand over her mouth. She couldn’t stand to see him in so much pain. I’m going to add a security detail to your staff. I should never have allowed this to happen. That Trahzi is...
Gerald held up his bandaged hand. “No, no more staff. It’s time to end this, Duchess.”
End what?
“Please, we both know exactly what is going on here.”
She feigned innocence. Well, yes, I am training you up for the job you have accepted. Your duties...
“I don’t mind preforming my duties. What I mind is you training me up to be the kind of man you prefer.”
Oh please, don’t flatter yourself. I am simply trying to look out for my employee. Women in the Alliance prefer a man who is well-groomed, skilled, studied, assertive, well-spoken, aggressive...
Gerald reached up and tapped his bandaged head. “But I don’t care what women want.”
And that is your problem. If you don’t pay attention to what women want, then they won’t take any interest in you.
Gerald threw his head back. The pain was making it hard to control his temper. “Holy crap! Are you deaf? You can read minds but you can’t understand a simple sentence! Listen to me: I don’t want to attract a woman.”
His outburst surprised her. But... you should.
“Why? Because women want me to? I don’t care what they think. I choose my own path, I hurt nobody but myself. What gives them the right to dictate to me how I live my life?”
Cha’Rolette flicked a ringlet over her shoulder. Because it is for the greater good. Society requires that men...
“Oh, so now the cut-throat industrialist is going to tell me that I should do something for the common good? Please, spare me the hypocrisy of that.”
Despite the pain, he clenched his fist in anger. “Alliance society says it is my duty to work sixty hours a week for the rest of my life, so I can go home to kids that don’t know me, and a wife that will divorce me and leave me in poverty. Well, you know what I ask? I ask what is in it for me? And do you know what society’s answer is? Nothing. That is what I get out of it. Nothing. I’m just supposed to do it because they say I am. So, I am opting out of a system that holds no benefit for me. I have chosen the life of a priest. That is my focus. You can dance around this all you want, but we’re just circling over the same point over and over again, Duchess. Women want me to act in a way they approve of, but I don’t need or seek their approval.”
Cha’Rolette seemed hurt. I... I don’t believe you. I have seen the way you look at me when you think no one can see you. You try to hide it, but you can’t hide it from me. Your problem is that you lack confidence. You don’t believe that you can win a girl over, so you don’t try, and you fool yourself into thinking that you don’t want her in the first place. Someone just needs to help you gain the confidence you need to push past a woman’s hesitation and make her yours.
She reached out and placed her hand against the hard muscles of his chest. If you really don’t care, then why is your heart beating so fast right now?
Gerald tried to reign in his temper. “The way I look at you? I thought this wasn’t about you?”
She looked away, unable to meet his gaze. It... it isn’t.
He reached up to finger his necklace, only to find that it wasn’t there. It had been incinerated by the blast. He said a prayer to calm himself. It didn’t work.
“I know what you want, Duchess.”
Please, as if you could know what I want.
Threatened, she turned to leave.
“You want to be accepted for who you are. Who you really are.”
She froze.
“You want to be loved, faults and all, weaknesses and all, shortcomings and all, mistakes and all. You want to be cherished unconditionally, by someone who understands exactly who you are, without requiring that you change to suit him.”
Slowly she turned around and looked at him. Her eyes were swimming, her hands held tight over her chest.
Yes, she admitted. That is what I want.
Gerald looked at her softly, his eyes full of sympathy. “How can you want those things, and yet expect me to change?”
She stepped back, as if pierced by an arrow. Her eyes went wide with realization. Her arms and legs pulled tightly together, as if she were in pain.
Gerald looked at her sincerely. “Don’t you think I would want the same thing as you do?”
The question hit her like a ton of bricks. Her legs lost their strength and she fell to her knees.
But... but... these tutors, these instructors. It is required of everyone in my world. Everyone has them. I’ve had handlers since I was...
“And did you like it?”
What? She asked distantly.
“Did you like being molded and shaped into something you were not?”
She shook her head. It doesn’t matter, what matters is the family legacy...
“Stop hiding behind your family crest!”
...what matters is my duty...
“Stop dodging!”
...what matters is my station...
“Stop deflecting! Just, tell me what you think.”
She sat there, immobile on the floor, at war within herself. Her ta’atu writhed about in agony. I... shouldn’t... I... I can’t.
Despite the pain, Gerald pulled himself to his feet. The monitor pads yanked off of him as he walked over to her. He trembled as he dropped to his knees and took her hand gently in his.
He looked deeply into her eyes and gave her comfort. “I don’t want to know what the Duchess thinks. I don’t want to hear what Cha’Rolette Ssykes is supposed to say. I want to know what you think. You. Did you like being molded?”
She looked up at him, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. No, she answered honestly. I hated it. I hated every minute of it. And, I hate what they turned me into.
Cha’Rolette shot up straight and strangled her ta’atu, as if she couldn’t believe what had just come out of her.
“No,” Gerald said, easing her hands down. “Don’t try to deny your own feelings. If that is what you feel, then let it be said.”
But... to speak ill of my family to an outsider... my father would...
Gerald reached out and held her close. “I’m not an outsider, I’m your friend.”
As he cradled her head against his chest, she struggled within herself.
But... if it ever got back to him that I had said...
“It won’t. I promise. You can trust me.”
Her eyes half-closed, and she eased into his strong arms. I can, can’t I.
Despite his injuries, he rocked her slowly back and forth. She closed her eyes the rest of the way, and tears formed. She seemed so frail now. Normally she was this monumental legendary thing, but at that moment, on the cold floor of the recovery room, she was as small and delicate as glass. For the next hour he held her as she cried quietly
into his chest.
I hate that I’ve become just like him...
Chapter Twenty-Two
Quick reliable genetic testing always has the effect of making the dating scene more awkward than it needs to be. After all, finding out that the handsome strapping young lad you’ve been making out with is actually your fourth cousin does tend to put a bit of a damper on the relationship. This is exacerbated by the fact that if you go back far enough, almost any two people on a given planet will share a common ancestor, making them cousins. Two people who share the same great-great-great-great-grandparents, for example, are fourth cousins. The farther back it goes the higher the number, but let’s be honest, once you hear the word “cousin” you really stop thinking about the number and all you consider is the squick factor and the realization that you are, in fact, not a sophisticated socialite, but an inbred redneck.
When Earth joined the Alliance, many humans were surprised to discover that they had a mixed ancestry with other races. Rowan Atkinson, for example, is one-fourth Raxomanian, Kim Jong Un is one-eight Arganite, and Sarah Jessica Parker is one-third horse.
-A Tourists Guide to Earth, 2nd edition, page 119, Valium Press
As the last of the students filed into the auditorium, the doors closed behind them. Everyone was chatting excitedly. It was very rare for the entire student body to be gathered this way. The nocturnal students yawned sleepily. The few students from species that hibernated this time of year snored quietly in their seats.
Cha’Rolette used her powers to help Gerald float to his seat, which he thanked her for. He winced in pain as he sat down and checked his bandages. His pain medication was wearing off, and the damaged nerves in his back were hurting so bad he could barely move. Even though his skin had been replaced, he could still feel it roasting.
“What is this about?” Gerald asked, trying to hide his discomfort.
I’m not sure, she said, sitting down alongside him.
Zurra rolled in as a pink ball and came up to them. “Hey, I want to sit with Geri,” she pouted. “I saved his life. That means I get to sit next to him.”
But there are no more seats, as you can plainly see.
Zurra puffed out her cheeks, then reformed her buttocks into the shape of a chair and sat down in the isle next to Gerald. Cha’Rolette rolled her eyes.
Director Nathers walked out and the auditorium went quiet. He placed a pair of glowing fingers against his throat and his voice carried everywhere, even waking up one of the hibernating students from class 2-C.
“Welcome class of 202, welcome staff and professors; welcome everyone to the third quadmester of this cycle.”
Everyone lightly applauded.
“I have brought you all here because for the first time in eighty cycles, we are adding a new curricula to Central Exeter.”
The students looked at each other in surprise. Everyone was awake now and giving their full attention.
“Here to explain it is a good friend of mine. We served together for fourteen cycles. He needs no introduction, Admiral T’bob Qetimong Greir.”
There was an expectant hush from the students as Nathers walked off the dias.
Admiral Greir fixed his cap over his closely-cropped white hair and walked out onto the stage. Despite his years, he stood straight as an arrow, his age somehow making him seem more imposing rather than less. They knew him as the hero of Embers, the man who had outfoxed the ArchTyrant, but seeing him in person was so much more powerful than any recording.
“Good morning students,” he began. “We live in changing times. The use of high-yield wireless crystronics is rapidly changing our social and economic landscape. When I was your age, knowledge was a skill. A historian, for example, was useful in my day because he or she or it knew things that other people did not know. Their knowledge itself was a skill, because it was more efficient to ask the historian rather than tear through mountains of archives on a dozen different worlds.”
“But no more. You each have instant access to more historical data than my generation could have ever dreamed of. The roles of the scholar, the critic, and the professor, are becoming laughably obsolete. Knowledge is no longer a skill. Thanks to Central Core, it is free, instant, and ubiquitous. This has led many to ask if education itself is even necessary anymore...”
From the corner of his eye, he could see Director Nathers swiping his hand across his neck from offstage, pleading with Greir to leave that line of reasoning unexplored.
Greir brought his hand up and coughed into it. “Ahem. So, in a world where knowledge is no longer a skill, how do we train you in a way that will add value to you? We train you with the one thing that has always and will always be a valuable skill: Experience.”
Greir rested his hands at the small of his back, revealing the firearm at his side. Zweitlan, he called it. The weapon that had pierced the ArchTyrant’s black heart.
“It is something we in the military have learned at great cost, and at great loss of life. Give me a thousand soldiers, each of them as illiterate as rocks, but each with a hundred cycles of experience across multiple theaters of operation, and I will beat an army of treg-head scholarly greensaddles ten times my size every single time...”
Gerald was distracted as Gwof made his way over to him in the dark.
“What are you doing here?” Gerald whispered.
“I couldn’t wait,” Gwof whispered energetically. “I couldn’t sleep I was so excited to give it to you.” He held up a simple looking black belt.
Gerald raised an eyebrow. “A belt?”
“Yes, isn’t is great?”
“Umm...”
“Oh, but this is perfect for you. It has a full holo-imaging system built into it. It can project normal clothes over you. That way, you can look fabulous, but still actually be wearing your Cossack.”
Gerald moved to rebuke him, but then changed his mind. “Okay, that’s actually pretty cool, but now really isn’t the time.”
“I’ve already programmed a couple thousand outfits into it.”
“Get out of the way,” Zurra complained, stretching her neck out so she could see over him.
Several of the nearby students shushed them.
“Sorry.”
Admiral Greir reached his point with his gravelly voice. “...And it is for precisely that reason that we are implementing the new Kalia Greir Program. Academy students will be selected at random to spend one quadmester traveling aboard a special ship designed for this goodwill tour. You will receive real-world experience in diplomacy, negotiation, mediation, and practical jurisprudence.”
The students looked at each other excitedly. A few cheered.
“Don’t be misled. This will be no pleasure cruise. You will be conducting actual diplomatic missions for the Alliance Military, reporting to actual superiors like myself, and using real diplomatic authority to resolve actual planetary disputes. The consequences of your actions will be real and lasting, and failure to preform your duties properly will result in court-martial.”
No one cheered at that one. Many of the students were now looking nervous.
“But the experience you gain will be worth more to you than a thousand diplomas.”
Admiral Greir clicked his boots and crossed his arm across his chest in salute. He smartly turned and walked off stage. Only once he was out of view of the students, did he allow himself to lean against a table for support, and clutch his aching hip.
Director Nathers patted his friend on the back and scooped up the pair of commission tablets.
“I thought we were only going to send the boy?” Greir whispered, looking at them.
“Last minute change of plans. I’m getting rid of both problem students at once.”
Greir shrugged and wiped the sweat off of his face with a handkerchief.
Nathers walked back out on stage and took a randomizer out of his shirt pocket. “The following students will come up to the dias to receive their military commissions for this quadmester. Nat
hers tapped the randomizer and waited for the result. Only someone standing directly behind him would have been able to see that the device was turned off.
“From Class 1-A, Trahzi,” Nathers called out.
Some of the students clapped politely. A few seemed disappointed that they were not picked. Most arrived at the conclusion that sending Trahzi away was a very good thing.
Trahzi appeared in a flash of fire up on the stage. Nathers was so surprised he nearly fell over. She accepted the tablet and looked it over curiously, as if she didn’t know what to make of it.
Nathers tapped the randomizer again, barely able to contain his joy. “And, also from Class 1-A, Gerald Dyson.”
Trahzi looked like she was about to scream.
Gerald looked like he was about to faint.
The student body rose up as one and cheered wildly, clapping their hands and pumping their fists. A few threw flowers up onto the stage, although where they came from no one could be sure.
“Oh, here, this is perfect, you can use it now,” Gwof gushed as he locked the belt around Gerald’s waist. A flash of hard-light later, and Gerald was now wearing a flawlessly tailored school formal dress uniform.
He barely noticed, though. His mind was blank as he hobbled his way up to the stage, the fresh skin on the bottom of his feet feeling like he was walking on hot coals.
“Good riddance, Dyson,” Cleylselle cheered out as Gerald passed, slapping him roughly on the back. Gerald nearly passed out from the pain. He began to sweat as he approached Nathers.
Gerald avoided looking at Trahzi, but he could feel her glaring at him from behind. It was so strong, he could feel the back of his neck burning as he walked up to Nathers and accepted the commission. “So, uh... when do I leave?” he asked, fidgeting with the tablet.
“Immediately,” Nathers said with a satisfied grin.
There was a spark from Gerald’s belt, and then suddenly the student body made the most unusual sound. It started as kind of a gutteral gasp that morphed into an embarrassed roar, finally evolving into mocking laughter.
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