by Finn Gray
“That would be accurate,” Tiroli said, smirking.
“Tell us about your facial marking,” said Nagra. “What does it mean?”
“It symbolizes human imperfection and the fusing of the biological and technological in order to be the best we can be.”
“Do you have enhancements?” Nagra asked sharply.
“I have only one. I would like more, but once I marked myself as a Memnon,” her right hand strayed to her tattooed cheek, “I’ve had to live a solitary life. No physician would enhance me now, even if it were a medical necessity.”
“Was your enhancement medically necessary?” Tiroli asked.
“I don’t see that it’s anyone’s business. It is my body, Senator. Didn’t you say again and again during your campaign that the government has no place in making decisions about a citizen’s body?”
She’d scored a point, but Tiroli recovered quickly.
“Don’t take me out of context. I was talking about a dying person’s choice to end her or his life. That should be a private decision.”
“Why is enhancement any different? A dying person has decided that their quality of life has declined to the point that life is no longer worth living. Memnons are merely seeking to improve the quality of our lives through enhancement.”
Nagra chose this moment to interject. “But that isn’t your only belief, is it? Doesn’t the Memnon sacred text hold that everyone should follow the Memnon way, and if we don’t choose to bend the knee, we will be bent by force if necessary?”
“That’s one interpretation of an old scripture,” Kingston said.
Tiroli barked a laugh. “It’s not an interpretation. It’s what the scripture explicitly says.”
Score one for the senator, Lina thought. But Kingston was not backing down.
“You mentioned context, Senator. Scripture must be studied in context in order to be understood. What Memnons believed centuries ago is not necessarily what we believe now. For more than one hundred cycles we’ve lived peacefully among you.”
“Because we drove you off the planet after you started a war,” Tiroli said.
“We’ve been here all along.” Kingston leaned forward, voice raised, fingers gripping the arms of her chair. “The ones who were left behind. The ones who have found the faith. And in all that time we haven’t harmed a single Auroran.”
“You don’t consider yourselves Aurorans?” Nagra asked.
Tiroli shook his head. “Doesn’t sound like it.”
“We do and we don’t. We are Auroran. Like you, we were born here. We love the land, we love the people, even those who would wish us harm should they know the truth about us. But do we consider ourselves to be part of the Auroran people? How can we, when those people despise us?”
“How many Memnons live among us now?” Nagra asked.
Kingston shook her head. “I couldn’t possibly say. It is dangerous to reveal one’s self as a Memnon. I know the few in my circle. But remember, to be a Memnon is to believe we can be the best we can be. That idea appeals to many, even if they do not consider themselves Memnons.”
“Care to hazard a guess?” Tiroli’s tone was cautious, even fearful.
“I suspect there are Memnons in every sector of society, living peacefully among you, going about their lives, fearing the repercussions if they are ever found out.”
The three lapsed into silence, Tiroli staring hard at Kingston, who now gazed down at her hands. Lina felt a pang of sympathy for the woman who had risked so much to share her faith.
Nagra nodded thoughtfully. “Tell our audience why you are here today, breaking the Memnon silence after so many cycles.”
Kingston turned to the camera, which zoomed in. Her brown eyes and blue facial marking filled the screen.
“I want everyone to know that Memnons are here among you. We never left. The Memnon War was a terrible thing, and those of us who remained behind did so because we wanted no part of any violent attempt at conquest. We have lived here, in our home system, in peace, and we will continue to do so. We do not ask that you follow our faith, or even accept our beliefs. But please,” the camera drew back far enough to show her hands clasped in entreaty, “don’t make us hide any longer. Just let us continue to be the neighbors, colleagues, friends, and relations we have always been, but without the lies.”
“What, if anything, could someone like the senator do to help?” Nagra gestured toward Tiroli.
“Talk with us. Really listen. Perhaps, if you come to know us, you will understand that we deserve equal protection under the law.”
“You have equal protection,” Tiroli said. “It’s illegal to harm another human being, Memnon or otherwise. And, as I said before, there isn’t a single law on the books that prevents you from following the Memnon faith.”
“Name the religions that are officially sanctioned by the government,” Kingston snapped.
Lina winced. It was true that the Auroran church was the only officially-sanctioned religion, but Kingston’s comment made it seem like she was asking for equal standing for the Memnons. That was a misstep, and a big one.
Kingston seemed to know it, too. On screen, she grimaced and hurried on, talking over Tiroli’s protest.
“I am not asking for any sort of recognition for our faith. I only bring it up to illustrate that the law is not equal, and it probably never will be for all faiths.”
“It sure sounded like you were asking for official status,” Tiroli said.
Kingston shook her head. “We want to safely come out of hiding. We will continue to be the same, peaceful citizens we have been for more than a century.”
The camera turned to Nagra, who flashed a serene smile.
“Our vid lines are lighting up. After this break, we’ll be back to hear from you. If you have questions for Azeemah Kingston or Senator Tiroli, the code to call in is at the bottom of the screen. Remember, your image will appear in the corner of our feed, so for the gods’ sakes, put on some clothes before you call.”
An advertisement for a new male enhancement implant began to play.
“Lovely and fitting,” Lina said. She muted the screen, turned off the water jets, and sat in silent contemplation. The Memnons had revealed themselves. At least, one had. And what Kingston had said made sense. After a hundred cycles, there were bound to be Memnons in every part of society. The question was, how would the world respond to this revelation?
A box popped up at the corner of her screen. Her father, looking flustered, gazed down at her, though she knew he could not see actually see her.
“Girls, I want you in my office immediately.”
So he had been watching, too. Or, more likely, his advisers had alerted him of what had transpired on screen. Groaning, Lina stood, picked up the spray nozzle, and rinsed the scented bubbles from her skin. She would like to continue watching, see if the tenor of the calls would give her a feel for how Aurorans were responding to Kingston’s remarkable revelation. But she had a feeling the producers would filter out most of the calls, only accepting those that represented the most extreme viewpoints. One thing was certain—this was going to create quite a stir, and it would be up to the imperial family to set the example for others to follow. She only wished she knew exactly how she felt about it all.
Carlos waited outside her door to escort her to her father’s quarters. He checked his watch and winced.
“Fifteen minutes,” he said. “Your father won’t be pleased.”
“I guarantee you he didn’t want me to arrive naked and dripping wet. He’s always talking about keeping up appearances, so.” She held out her hands. “How do I look?”
“Very professional, Highness.”
“You didn’t even look at me,” she chided as they headed down the corridor.
“I looked at you when you stepped out the door. Hair pulled up, just a touch of makeup, white shirt, smart-fitted vest, black pants, sensible shoes.” He pressed his thumb to the pad by the elevator and the doors slid open
.
“You forgot the necklace,” she said.
“You aren’t wearing one,” he said, still not looking directly at her. “But the diamond earrings are a nice touch. Understated, not too big. I’m surprised you didn’t switch to the silver biowatch.” Now he looked at her and grinned.
“This one just feels better.” She held up her hand and pushed back her cuff to display the utilitarian, black biowatch that she wore on all but the most formal of occasions. “Besides, it’s covered up.”
“If you say so, Highness.”
When they arrived at her father’s office, the rest of the family had already assembled. Even her grandparents, the Emperor and Empress, were in attendance. Her breath caught at the sight of them. This was serious! Val glanced in her direction and quirked an eyebrow. When did Val ever beat Lina to a meeting? She took the last empty seat and waited.
Solis Navarre, Emperor of Aurora, stood, adjusted his tie, and gave his family a long, hard look. Despite his seventy cycles, he had about him an aura of vigor. A bald man with steely gray eyes, he could freeze most people with a stern look. With his granddaughters, however, his was a softer touch.
“Ladies, I assume you know why we are here,” he said.
“If it’s about the club,” Val said, “Father and Mother have already punished us for that.” She rolled her eyes at her parents.
Manuel and Alyse Navarre were an attractive couple in their mid-forties. Both sat stiffly, their backs ramrod straight, gazing at the emperor. They were an intense pair, like a couple of nervous cats. As Val spoke, Manuel snapped his head around and glared at her.
Solis managed a smile. “I assure you, Valeria, that is not why your father and I wished to speak with you all.”
“This is about the Memnons, isn’t it?” Lina asked.
Her grandfather nodded.
“What do you mean, Memnons?” Pilar, the empress, asked.
“It was just on the vids,” Lina said. “A Memnon by the name of Kingston revealed herself. What’s more, she says the world is filled with others like her.”
“Bollocks,” Val said with a dismissive wave.
“Valeria!” Manuel snapped. “You will remember yourself.”
“I’m just saying...”
“Don’t talk back to your father,” Alyse reproved.
Solis needed only raise a finger to restore quiet and regain his family’s attention. “I do not believe it is bollocks, to use the vernacular.” He turned to Lina. “What did you think, Catalina?”
Lina shifted in her seat, cleared her throat. “I believed her.” All eyes turned her way, expressions a mix of shock and disapproval. “It makes sense. Even if every single Memnon departed in the Memnon Exodus, which is absurd considering how many must have survived the war, the ideology would have remained. You can kill people but you can’t kill a belief system.”
“Why has nothing happened?” Val asked. “Not a single uprising, no terrorist attacks, not a hint of their existence.”
“Until today,” Manuel said. “I don’t want to believe it, but I believe Catalina is right. Deep down, I always suspected the Memnons remained in our midst.”
“If they have existed peacefully for more than a hundred cycles, perhaps that means they truly have changed,” Pilar said.
Solis nodded. “That is my hope, and I want it to stay that way. I will make a public statement, praising those who have lived among us in peace since the Memnon War, and reminding our citizenry that nothing has changed. We simply have more information now than we had an hour ago.” He turned to his wife. “I shall ask you and Alyse to utilize all your social connections to keep everyone calm. Plan a gala—the biggest the empire has seen. Use your judgment as to who should be invited. Choose those with the most influence—politicians, media, even entertainers. I want it to be spectacular...and effective.”
“I understand what needs to be done,” Pilar said firmly. “Dismiss it from your thoughts.”
Val turned to Lina, eyes sparkling, and mouthed, “A gala!”
“Grandfather,” Lina began, “I assume you will not take it for granted that the Memnons will remain peaceful.”
“Of course not.” He turned to his son. “That is where you come in. I need law enforcement to get to work on this. Investigate the claims of this Kingston woman; find out if they have any merit.”
“And because we don’t really doubt her claims,” Manuel said, “we need to find out just how high secret Memnons might have risen in the ranks of government.”
“And law enforcement, the military, any powerful institution.”
“That could take decades,” Lina said. “And how can you do it without turning it into a witch hunt?”
“That is my responsibility,” Manuel said. “Focus on your own task.”
“Patience, my son. I find it encouraging that your daughter has such a sharp mind.” The emperor smiled at Lina.
She sat up a little straighter. “Father said I have a task. What is it?”
“You and your sister have a shared assignment. A goodwill tour.”
“What is that?” Val’s tone suggested she did not really want to know the answer.
“The two of you will spend the next cycle traveling around Hyperion and Thetis. Be the face of the family to the common man.”
“A full cycle?” Val’s voice rose an octave. “You can’t possibly be serious.”
“It is time you did some real work. You are imperial princesses and your family needs you. Aurora needs you.” Solis folded his arms and waited for Val to protest, but she wisely held her tongue.
“What sorts of things will we be doing?” Lina was not yet certain how she felt about this so-called tour. She’d be more enthusiastic if Val wasn’t coming along. What sort of mischief could her sister get up to on a lengthy tour of the worlds?
“Get to know your subjects and make them feel loved. Visit academies, universities, hospitals, make public appearances. You will, of course, interact with diplomats and government officials throughout your travels, but your focus will be on the average person. Treat them all the same, and spread the message of unity and inclusiveness.”
“Even if we don’t fully believe in it?” Val asked dully.
Solis bared his teeth in a mirthless smile.
“Especially if you don’t believe it.”
Chapter 8
Camp Maddux
Hyperion
Rory steadied the butt of the rifle in the pocket of his firing shoulder and took aim at the target. The bright sun stung his eyes, made them water. He blinked twice and focused. The corps was obsessed with marksmanship and the lessons he’d learned were fast becoming a part of him. Steady position, proper sight alignment, breath control, and a measured squeeze of the trigger. Sometimes it felt like that was the only thing they’d worked on since they’d arrived at camp. Of course, that was not the case. He had the bumps, bruises, and muscle strains to prove it.
Careful not to tense up, he gently squeezed the trigger. He felt the satisfying report of the rifle, heard the now-familiar sound ringing in his ear. His bullet tore through the target just off the edge of the bullseye.
“Fine shot.”
Rory grinned, despite himself. He hadn’t realized Sergeant Clancy was standing behind him. Strange, the man had browbeaten and bullied him since the day he arrived, yet a single word of praise warmed his heart.
“I want five more like that. Pick up the pace.”
“Aye, sir.” Rory had every confidence he could do it, or at least come close. He’d been paying attention during training and was confident he was the finest marksman in his recruit class. Only Cassidy came close, but she stood a notch below him.
The dark-haired girl knelt a few meters to his right. As Clancy spoke, she glanced in Rory’s direction and winked. She didn’t resent the praise he received.
“Don’t choke, Plowboy,” she whispered as the sergeant strode away. “I’m right on your tail.”
Rory returned the wink,
then refocused on his target. He took aim and squeezed.
Something struck him in the eye and, reflexively, he jerked his head just as he pulled the trigger.
“Ha! Guess that first shot was just luck.” To his left, Marson knelt, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Bug in your eye, Sheepfucker?” The pale recruit held up a tiny, gray pebble, just to make sure Rory knew who was responsible.
Cursing, Rory tried to blink the water from his stinging eye.
“Check fire! Check fire!” Clancy stalked toward him. “What do you call that, egg? You barely hit the side of the target.”
“Bug in my eye, sir.” He blinked several times for emphasis.
“Well, for the sake of your fellows, let’s hope there are no bugs around if you ever see combat. Run the fence and then meet me at the quarterdeck for administrative correction.” The quarterdeck was the informal term applied to the drill instructor’s office, off-limits to recruits except for cases of administrative correction.
“Aye, sir.” Rory flashed a look of pure hatred at Marson, stood, and trotted away. He’d run his share of laps over the course of training, though not nearly as many as some. He ran along behind the row of kneeling shooters and kept running until he reached the perimeter fence. There, he made a right and picked up his pace. He soon left the firing range far behind, the staccato rifle fire dull and distant.
He kept a steady pace, the heat and humidity barely noticeable. His feet ate up the ground with easy strides. His rifle wasn’t exactly light in his hands, but he was accustomed to its weight. The corps was already changing him. His strength and endurance were far beyond what they’d been when he’d arrived.
“Gods damn that Marson,” he muttered. “What does he have against me, anyway?” He’d pondered this question many times. Best he could figure, it wasn’t anything Rory had said or done. Marson simply hated him. The mean-spirited recruit had carried on a low-level campaign of antagonism since they’d arrived at camp. Cutting, scornful comments, pranks, and exaggerated delight at every one of Rory’s missteps.