THE VILLA WAS DARK, ITS OCCUPANTS ASLEEP. From the outside it looked peaceful and quiet. Vulnerable. He knew, of course, that it was not: laser trips surrounded the villa in an interconnected web, motion sensors swept the high marble wall that surrounded it, and tremor alarms were set into the floors and walls around every opening. It wasn't the most expensive security system money could buy, but it wasn't far off.
To penetrate the Mengsk summer villa, a white-walled compound perched on a headland of white cliffs overlooking the dark waters of the ocean, would be no easy feat, and the silent figure took his time as he approached the farthest edge of the system's detection envelope.
The scanner attached to his belt, used by prospectors of the Confederate Exploration Corps, was a modified geo-survey unit, a harmonic detector set to read the electromagnetic returns of vespene gas. It had been a simple matter to adjust the sensors to pick up the security lasers and link its display to the goggles he wore over his young, handsome face.
For such a device to work, you had to know the frequency of the lasers and the exact mineral composition of the crystals that produced them. All of which had been simplicity itself to obtain from one of the techs who had installed the system only the previous summer.
The goggles bleached everything of color. The midnight blue of the sky was rendered a flat, rust color, the mountains to the north a deep bronze, and the sea a shimmering crimson.
Like an ocean of blood.
The walls of the villa were dark to him, the lasers and sensor returns gleaming like cords of silver strung like a hunter's trip wires.
"Too easy," he whispered, then inwardly chided himself for the unnecessary words.
The figure dropped to his belly and slithered around the northern side of the villa, avoiding the road that ran all the way to Styrling and keeping to the tall grass that waved in the brisk winds blown in off the sea.
The net of lasers moved regularly, but preprogrammed algorithms in the survey unit meant that by the time they shifted, he was already in a patch of dead ground.
Of course, no algorithm was completely perfect and there was always a chance that he would be detected, but he was confident in his abilities and wasn't worried about failure.
In truth, the prospect of failing was something that hadn't occurred to him. Failure was something that happened to other people, not to him. He was good at what he did and knew it. It gave him a confidence that reached out to others and made it all the easier to ensure he always got what he wanted.
Well, almost always.
He eased ever closer to the villa, keeping his movements slow and unhurried. He knew that to rush things would be to invite disaster, and it took him nearly two hours to come within six meters of the wall.
Passive infrared motion sensors were built into the eaves of the wall, but these were old systems, installed nearly a decade ago, and were about as sophisticated as those you'd find protecting some fringe world magistrate. It was most assuredly not what you'd expect to find protecting the summer villa of one of Korhal's most renowned senators and his family.
The figure was rendered invisible to these sensors by the coolant systems of the black, form-fitting bodysuit he wore. He had fashioned it in secret from the inner lining of a hostile-environment suit used by miners when prospecting high-temperature sites, and he smiled as he rose to his feet and the beams swept over him without detecting him.
Once again the laser net shifted, and he froze as the new pattern was established. He let out a breath as he saw a glimmering, hair-thin beam of light at his calf, and carefully eased away from it. It would be another seventeen point three seconds before they changed again, and he shimmied up to the wall, careful not to touch it for fear of setting off the tremors.
He was within the laser net, and so long as he kept close to the wall—but didn't touch it—he would be invisible to the villa's security. Taking a moment to compose himself, the figure eased around the compound, heading for the delivery entrances.
He froze as a patch of light was thrown out onto the ground.
A door opening.
A man came out, followed by another, and he felt a flutter of fear. Then they sparked up cigarettes and began to smoke and gossip. He let out a breath, his heart hammering against his ribs. Kitchen porters, nothing more.
They moved away from the door, taking refuge from the cold wind behind a lean-to, and he took this golden opportunity to sneak forward and slip through the door, flipping up the lenses of his goggles as he entered the kitchen.
Warmth assailed him from the large, stone-built ovens, and the air was redolent of the lingering aroma of the Mengsk family's last meal. This time of night, the kitchen was empty, the cooks and skivvies retired for the night before rising early to prepare breakfast, and he briefly wondered what the two smokers were doing up this late.
He dismissed the matter as irrelevant and continued onward, moving from the kitchen to the door that led toward the main entrance hall, easing it open, and looking out into the shadowed chamber.
Portraits of Angus Mengsk's illustrious ancestors lined the walls and a number of tasteful statuettes, vases, and weapons, chosen by his wife, Katherine, were displayed on fluted columns. In contrast to the dignity of these objets d'art, a number of toys belonging to Angus's youngest child, Dorothy, were scattered at the bottom of a flight of carpeted stairs that led up to the family bedrooms.
The tiled floor was a black-and-white, checkerboard pattern, and he waited as a guard entered from across the hall and checked in with his compatriots in the security room on a throat mike.
Angus Mengsk kept only a handful of armed guards within the summer villa, claiming that he came here to get away from the trouble Korhal was having with the Confederacy, not to be reminded of it.
The guard turned from the front door and started toward the dining room, shutting the door behind him. With the guard gone, the figure swiftly entered the hall and made his way up the stairs, pausing at the top to glance along the wide corridor.
The bedroom shared by Angus and Katherine was to his left, but the figure set off in the opposite direction, toward the bedrooms of the Mengsk family children.
The floor was wooden, covered with thick rugs, and he walked carefully on it, avoiding the places in the floor where he knew the wood creaked. He slopped before a thick door with a bronze “A” fixed to the wood and smiled to himself.
He gripped the handle, softly opened the door, and ghosted inside the room.
The room was dark, with long benches strewn with dismantled equipment and rock samples lining the walls. Framed images of geological strata and rock compositions hung from the walls and a lumpen, sheet-covered form rested in the large, iron-framed bed.
He took a step into the room and a voice said. "I suppose you think that was clever."
Turning around, he saw Achton Feld, head of security for the Mengsk family, seated on a plush leather chair in the far corner of the room. Dressed in a dark uniform jacket and loose-fitting trousers, Feld's hand rested on the butt of a heavy pistol. He was tall and powerful—built exactly as one would imagine a head of security would be proportioned.
The figure in black relaxed and removed the goggles, revealing patrician features, a strong jawline, and the wide, eager gray eyes of a seventeen-year-old boy.
"I thought it was very clever of me, as a matter of fact," said Arcturus Mengsk.
Achton Feld examined the geo-survey unit with a critical, and not unimpressed, gaze. The boy had managed to put together quite an infiltration package, and Feld was going to have to thoroughly review the security procedures in place at the summer villa.
He put the geo-survey unit down. If Arcturus could get this far, there was no telling how far someone with more malicious intent might reach.
Feld didn't want to the think about the consequences of that. Korhal was in a volatile enough state as it was without something happening to Angus Mengsk. To have so outspoken an opponent of the Confederacy murdered in his bed would be a blow from which the fledgling independence movement on Korhal might never recover.
"Shouldn't you be at the academy in Styrling?"
"I got bored,” said Arcturus, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling the covers back to reveal a series of pillows arranged to give the semblance of a human being. "They weren't teaching me anything I didn't already know."
That was probably true, reflected Feld. Arcturus Mengsk was many things. Including a truculent teenager and a selfish rogue who possessed a confidence some called arrogance. But he was also fiercely clever and excelled at everything to which he turned his hand.
"Your father won't be happy about this."
"When is he ever happy with what I do?" countered Arcturus.
"Once a rebel, always a rebel, eh?" said Feld.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. Forget it," replied Feld. "So why break into your own house?"
Arcturus shrugged. "To see if it could be done, I suppose."
"And that's all?”
“Well, maybe to annoy my father," Arcturus smiled. "That never gets old."
"Oh. I have no doubt it'll annoy him," said Feld. "Especially now. And after he's gotten through chewing me out, I'm sure he'll have some choice words for you, too."
"So how did you do it?" asked Arcturus. "Find me, I mean? The bodysuit kept me off the infrared and I know the laser net didn't get me. So how did you know?"
"And why should I tell you? If anything I should be hauling you over the coals to find how you got this far. You had help, didn't you?"
"No." said the boy, but Feld knew he was lying. Having a senator for a father had schooled the boy in many of the political arts, and he was almost as skilled a dissembler of the truth as a seasoned veteran of the Palatine Forum.
Almost, but not quite.
"There's no way you could have known how to avoid the laser net without help."
"All right," admitted Angus. "I had help. I persuaded Lon Hellan to give me the specs for the lasers so I could modify that geo-survey unit to make them visible. I told him it was for a school project."
"Then Lon Hellan will be looking for a new job in the morning."
"Yes. I suppose he will."
Anger touched Feld at Arcturus's lack of concern for the man whose life he had just ruined for the sake of a prank and at the boy's need to challenge the limits of his abilities.
"Come on," said Arcturus. "Tell me. How did you find me? Some new system I didn't know about? A biometrlc reader? A DNA scanner?"
Feld looked at the young, eager face and felt his anger melt away. Angus Mengsk's son had a quality that caused those around him to forget their ire and want to please him. Only his father and mother seemed immune to his charms.
"It wasn't a new system, it was an old system you forgot about."
"An old system? What?"
"EB Mark I," said Feld, picking up the geo-survey unit.
"EB Mark I?" repeated Arcturus. "I've never heard of that one? Is it LarsCorp? No, wait, it has to be Gemini, yes?"
"Neither," said Feld, pointing to his eye. "Eyeball. Mark I. I saw you on the spy-cams as you came in through the kitchen."
"Spy-cams? What spy-cams?"
"The new Terra model spy-cams your father had installed last week in time for that Umojan ambassador's visit".
"Who?"
"Do you listen to anything that goes on in this house that doesn't involve you?"
"Not if it's anything to do with my father. It's all politics and business, far too boring to pay attention to," said Arcturus. "So who's here?"
"A man named Ailin Pasteur and his daughter," said Feld. "Apparently he's some sort of bigwig on Umoja, and he wants to talk trade with your father."
That wasn't entirely true, but Arcturus had displayed little enough interest in the senator's dealings before now for Feld to bother with explaining further. World-changing events were in motion and all Arcturus wanted to do was piss his father off and spend his time with his coterie of sycophants at the academy or his collection of rocks and gems.
With the geo-survey unit confiscated, Achton Feld turned and made his way to the door.
"Oh, and you'd best tell your friends the game's up."
"My friends?" said Arcturus. "What do you mean?"
"Don't," warned Feld. “Just tell them to go home. It's late and I'm too tired to deal with any more nonsense.”
"Honestly, Feld, I have no idea what you are talking about."
Achton Feld stared hard at the boy, looking past his glib exterior and power to make the unbelievable believable. Arcturus Mengsk could, with a few words, get techs with ten years' experience to give up the specs for a laser net, but Feld knew that what he was hearing now was the unvarnished truth.
Which meant...
"Crap," said Feld, activating the comm unit on his wist. "All units, condition black: I repeat, condition black."
Feld turned back to Arcturus. "Stay here." he said. "And hide."
"What is it?" cried Arcturus as Feld ran for the door.
Feld drew his pistol and said. "Intruders."
Arcturus watched Feld disappear through the door, and it took a moment for the implication of the head of security's words to penetrate. Intruders? Here?
Arcturus now wished he had not thought to try and test himself against the defenses of his father's home: it seemed suddenly foolish and childishly impulsive. Close on the heels of that thought was the idea that his family might actually be in danger, and he felt a knot of warm fear settle in his belly.
The emotion was quickly suppressed, and contrary to Feld's instructions. Arcturus bolted from his room into the corridor. Lights were coming on throughout the house and shouted voices were rousing guards from their posts. As doors slammed, Arcturus was suddenly rooted to the spot with indecision.
The hard bang of a pistol shot echoed in the hallway and a man's scream galvanized him into motion. He set off farther down the corridor and skidded to a halt beside a door hung with paper flowers and a child's drawing of a pony tacked to it.
Colorful paper letters declared that this was "Dorothy's Room," and Arcturus pushed it open. The lights were on, and he pulled up short as he saw his four-year-old sister sitting in bed, her long dark curls spilling messily around her shoulders as she sleepily rubbed her eyes.
Sitting next to her in the bed was a young girl, roughly Arctums's age, whose blonde hair shone like honey and whose face was as beautiful as it was unexpected.
"Who are you?" demanded the girl, putting protective arms around Dorothy.
"I could ask you the same damn thing," said Arcturus. "What are you doing in my sister's room?"
"I'm Juliana Pasteur," said the girl. "Dorothy asked me to stay and read her a story. I guess we must have both fallen asleep. You must be Arcturus, but what's going on? Was that a gunshot?"
"Yes, and I'm not sure exactly what's going on," said Arcturus, rushing over to the bed. "I think we might be under attack."
"Attack? From whom?"
Arcturus ignored the question and knelt beside the bed. "Little Dot," he said, keeping his voice even and using his sister's pet name. "You have to get up."
At the sound of Arcturus's voice, Dorothy looked at him and his anger rose as he saw the tears in her eyes. Arcturus did not care much for his father or his dealings, but he doted on his sister. Her smile was able to melt the hardest of hearts and not even Angus could resist giving in to her every whim.
"Where are we going?" said Doroihy, her voice drowsy.
Before Arcturus could answer, more gunshots boomed. Dorothy squealed in terror. Arcturus looked up at Juliana Pasteur and said. "Look after her. I'll see what's happening."
Juliana nodded and clutched the little girl tightly as the door to the room opened and two people burst in. Arcturus leapt to his feet, but let out a relieved breath as he saw that one of the figures was his mother.
Katherine Mengsk was tall, beautiful, and slender, but she was no shrinking violet who spent all her time at needlepoint or recitals. A core of neosteel ran through her, and with her children threatened, that quality was in the ascendancy. She blinked in surprise to see Arcturus, but overcame that surprise in a heartbeat and quickly gathered her children as the man next to her ran over to Juliana.
"Are you all right?" asked Katherine. "Arcturus? Dorothy?"
"We're fine, Mother," said Arcturus, prizing himself free of her embrace. "Where's Father?"
Katherine lifted Dorothy to her breast. "He's with Achton. Some men are trying to get inside and they've gone to stop them."
More shots sounded from beyond the door, and Dorothy burst into tears.
His mother turned to the man who had entered the room with her and nodded to Juliana. "Is she okay?"
"She's fin," said the man, his voice strong and lyrical.
Arcturus thought the man looked around the same age as his father, which put him in his mid-forties. His concern over Juliana identified him as Ailin Pasteur, and Arcturus thought him an unimpressive man for an ambassador from so important a world as Umoja.
Receding gray hair and a weak chin conspired to make Ailin Pasteur look timid, but from an early age Arcturus's father had warned him that where politicians and men of words were concerned, it was almost always the ones you underestimated who would bring you down.
"What's going on, Mother?" asked Arcturus. "Are we really under attack?"
"Yes," said Katherine, nodding. His mother was never one to sugar the pill—it was one of the things Arcturus loved about her. Ailin Pasteur took his daughter by the hand as Katherine Mengsk said. "Now we need to get to the refuge. Everyone follow me, and no dawdling."
The bark of automatic weapon fire roared from somewhere nearby. The noise was so loud it was impossible to pinpoint the source of it, but Arcturus thought it was coming from this floor.
He heard booted footsteps and more shouts.
Arcturus hauled on his mother's hand as more shooting exploded nearby.
The wooden frame around the bedroom door splintered as gunfire tore through it. Everyone screamed and dropped to the floor. Arcturus covered his ears as a clatter of metal and wood rained down from the shattered door.
A twisted spike of silver rolled across the carpet, a thin cone of metal as thick as the tip of his pinkie.
Arcturus recognized it immediately: ammunition fired from a military-grade assault rifle. A C-14 gauss rifle, to be precise. An Impaler.
He heard thumps from outside and two men spun around the doorway. One was Achton Feld, his slugthrower smoking and blood pouring from wounds in his arm and chest. The other was armed with the Impaler rifle, and Arcturus recognized him as one of his father's security guards, a man named Jaq Dolor.
As Feld's gaze swept the room, he spoke hurriedly into his shoulder mike. "Angus, it's Feld. I've got them. We're in Dot's room."
Arcturus missed the reply as another roar of gunfire sounded. Delor quickly leaned around the door and fired off a couple of shots. The noise of the gun was deafening, especially mixed together with Dorothy's sobbing cries.
"Achton," said Katherine. "Where is my husband?"
"Downstairs organizing the defense, but he's on his way,” said Feld, slamming a fresh magazine into the butt of his pistol and awkwardly racking the slide. "And we have to get out of here. We're too exposed. The refuge is just along the hall."
"We can't go out there!" said Ailin Pasteur. "We'll be killed."
"We'll be killed if we stay here, Ailin," replied Katherine.
"No time to argue," said Feld, his face pale with blood loss. "They have men coming in from both sides. Jaq, how's it looking?"
Jaq Delor raised his rifle and leaned around the door, checking left and right. He fired a burst of Impaler rounds along the length of the corridor, and Arcturus heard a scream of pain.
"Clear now," said Delor as the sound of gunfire intensified.
Arcturus could make no sense of this. All he could hear was a meaningless cacophony of cries for cover, medical attention, or mothers.
Who was winning this fight? Did anyone know?
"Now!" shouted Feld. "Let's go!"
Feld was first out of the room, his pistol extended, as Delor hustled Katherine—still with Dorothy clutched to her chest—Ailin Pasteur, and Juliana through the door. Lastly came Arcturus, and Delor remained with him as they sped along the corridor toward the refuge.
Smoke from the gunfire filled the hallway and Arcturus could see little beyond the floor in the dim glow of sputtering lights that had been shot out. He passed a bulky shape lying on the ground, a body with a bullet wound in the neck.
Blood squirted onto the floor from the ragged crater in the man's throat and Arcturus gagged at the horrid, burned-metallic smell of the man's death. Another man's body lay farther along the corridor, this one with his chest torn apart by Impaler spikes. It looked like he'd been sawn in two.
Delor kept watch on their rear as Feld haltingly led the way to the refuge, a fortified bolt hole constructed in the heart of the house with comm systems capable of reaching Korhal's orbitals and enough supplies lo last four days.
Arcturus's mother had objected to the idea of installing such an ugly thing in her summerhouse, but had reluctantly consented to its construction after a crazed psychopath had murdered Senator Nikkos and his family in their beds a few years ago.
A crazed psychopath who was probably now a neurally resoclallzed Confederate marine.
Arcturus stumbled, but Delor held him upright.
The refuge was up ahead, its neosteel door open and a cold fluorescent light spilling from inside. The wounded Achton Feld lay slumped in the doorway, his face ashen as he tried to hold his slugthrower level.
Shouts sounded behind Arcturus, urgent and demanding.
Jaq Delor released him and spun around, dropping lo one knee and bringing his rifle up. The barrel exploded with noise and light, and Arcturus cried out at the unimaginable volume of the weapon. Gauss spikes roared from the barrel and more screams of pain followed.
"Go!" shouted Delor.
No sooner had he given this last instruction than Jaq Delor was struck by a burst of Impaler fire.
It was as if a giant fist had hammered into his side and hurled him against the wall. Blood spattered Arcturus, and he watched in horror as Delor's head lolled down over his chest, almost severed by the impact of the Impaler spikes.
"Arcturus!' screamed his mother from the refuge, but her voice seemed tinny and indistinct. All he could hear was the last rasp of Delor's breath and the sound of his blood as it sprayed from his ruined neck.
Without conscious thought, Arcturus knelt down and lifted Delor's fallen rifle. He'd never fired such a weapon before, but figured all you needed to do was point it at what you wanted to kill and pull the trigger.
How hard could it be?
A shape resolved itself from the smoke of the corridor, a gunman dressed in dark fatigues, body armor, and a strange helmet. It had a number of projecting attachments jutting from the side and a matte black visor, upon which Arcturus could see his own face reflected.
The rifle was a dead weight in his hands, but he raised it without conscious thought. The gunman already had his rifle aimed, and Arcturus knew he would not be able to pull the trigger before he was torn apart.
The thought made him more angry than fearful.
Before the gunman could fire, Arcturus's reflection in the helmet's visor exploded in a mist of Plexiglas fragments, bone, and brain matter.
Another shot struck the gunman's helmet, then another and another. The man dropped to his knees as high-velocity slugs tore into his chest and legs.
Arcturus turned and saw his mother marching toward him, Achton Feld's slugthrower held out before her in both hands. With her long black hair unbound and her nightdress flaring behind her like a cloak, she looked like some warrior woman from the old myth stories.
The gun boomed in her grip and she never once broke step as she fired.
Arcturus watched the gunman die and dropped the gauss rifle as his mother's hand clamped on his shoulder. He looked up and saw that her face was thunderous with anger— not at Arcturus, but at the man who had dared threaten one of her children.
Katherine pulled Arcturus to his feet and all but dragged him into the refuge. With help from Ailin Pasteur, she hauled the heavy door of the refuge shut, then punched in the locking code to a keypad set into the wall. Arcturus took heaving gulps of clean, recycled air, feeling his hands shaking at how close he'd come to death. He clenched his fists, angry at such a display of weakness and fought down his fear through sheer force of will.
In control of himself once more, he look stock of his surroundings.
Achton Feld lay slumped against one wall, his chest and shoulder a mass of sticky red fluid, but Arcturus couldn't tell whether he was alive or dead. Juliana Pasteur sat against the opposite wall of the refuge, holding Dorothy tight, and Arcturus went to them. He stroked his sister's hair and smiled reassuringly at Juliana.
"Little Dot," said Arcturus. "It's me. We're safe now."
Dorothy looked up and Arcturus smiled, putting every ounce of sincerity into his words. "You were very brave, little one. No one is going to hurt us now."
"We're safe?" said Dorothy, between snotty exhalations. "You promise?"
"I promise," said Arcyurus, nodding. "I won't let anything happen to you. Ever."
"Never ever?"
"Never ever," promised Arcturus.
With the door to the refuge sealed, there was nothing to do but wait, and waiting was something Arcturus Mengsk wasn't particularly good at. He sat on a fold-down cot bed with his legs crossed and Dorothy's head resting on his thigh, her thumb jammed in her mouth and a stuffed pony named Pontius clutched tightly beneath one arm.
Despite all that had happened, she had fallen into a deep sleep, and Arcturus smiled as he ran a hand through her dark hair.
As it turned out, Achton Feld was still alive, and Arcturus's mother was doing her best to treat the Impaler wounds in his shoulder. With the practical mind-set that had made her such a formidable matriarch of the Mengsk family, Katherine set about assigning them all tasks, as much to keep their minds busy as to actually achieve anything useful.
Arcturus was told to look after Juliana and Dorothy, while Ailin Pasteur was ordered to keep watch on the vidcams to get a better idea of what was happening beyond the refuge. The Umojan ambassador nodded, taking a seal by the wall of monitors that displayed a multitude of images of both the exterior and interior of the Mengsk summer villa.
Arcturus wasn't surprised that his mother had taken charge, or that Pasteur had so readily acquiesced to her, for Katherine Mengsk had an aura that conveyed absolute authority, confidence, and credibility. Even at seventeen, Arcturus was old enough to appreciate his mother's strength of character and knew that his father had learned, over the years, not to underestimate her.
Without looking up from Achton Feld's wound, Katherine said. "Ailin, what's going on out there? Can you see Angus?"
Arcturus watched as Pasteur scanned the images before him—empty corridors, dead bodies, and black-clad figures dashing furtively from cover to cover. But the ambassador couldn't tell whether the figures were the attackers or Angus's security forces.
Some of the cameras had been disabled, the screens displaying a hash of static, so that it was impossible to tell exactly what was happening.
"There's still men with guns on the ground floor, but I can't see Angus, no."
"Well, keep looking," said Katherine.
Pasteur nodded and returned his attention to the screens as Katherine stood and wiped her bloody hands on the front of her nightdress. His mother's face was strained, yet beautiful, and Arcturus smiled as he remembered the sight of her standing over him with Feld's pistol blazing, as she killed the man who was about to shoot him.
“Your mother seems very calm," said Juliana Pasteur beside him. "Does she know something we don't?"
Arcturus turned his head to face Juliana. With time to think, he made a fuller inspection of her. He'd thought she was beautiful when he'd first seen her, but now, looking more closely, he saw that he had done her a disservice.
Juliana Pasteur was more than beautiful: she was absolutely stunning, and made all the more so because she plainly had no idea of how attractive she was. The girls at the academy were either driven politicos who bored him or academic types who were no challenge to seduce.
He sensed Juliana would fit into neither of these camps.
The nightdress clung to the curves of her body and his seventeen-year-old mind pictured what she looked like underneath it.
He shook off that image, knowing that this was neither the time nor the place for such thoughts. "My mother is a strong woman," he said at last.
"My mother got sick and died when I was very young," said Juliana. "I barely remember her."
Arcturus heard the weary sorrow in her voice, but did not know what to say. He did not deal well with grief, for he could never empathize with those who had suffered loss and found them unpleasant to be around.
"I'm sorry," he said at last.
Juliana nodded, seemingly oblivious to his discomfort. "Are we safe in here?" she asked.
Arcturus nodded, pleased the conversation had shifted to a subject he could speak on with some authority.
"Yes, we're perfectly safe," he said. "The walls of this refuge are three feet of plascrete with neosteel reinforcement bars. It would take the Mining Guild's biggest drills —at least a BDE-1400—to get through. Maybe even the 1600."
"You know a lot about drills?"
"A little," he said, with just the right hint of modesty for her to infer that he knew a lot about drills. "I plan on becoming a prospector someday."
"Aren't you going to go into one of your father's businesses?"
Arcturus's face darkened at the mention of his father. "No, not if I can help it. I wouldn't be surprised if it's his speaking out against the Confederacy and meddling in things that don't concern him that's gotten us into this mess."
"What the Confederacy is doing should concern everybody." said Juliana.
"Maybe," said Arcturus with a shrug, looking over to Ailin Pasteur to find some clue as to the state of affairs beyond the refuge. "I don't really know and I don't really care. I just want to be left alone to make my own way in the galaxy."
"But if the Confederacy goes on the way it is, no one will be able to do that."
Arcturus glanced over at Ailin Pasteur. "Did your father tell you that?"
"As a matter of fact it was your father," said Juliana archly.
"Then I have even less interest in it."
"You aren't very polite, are you?"
"I don't know you," pointed out Arcturus. "Why do I need to be polite to you?"
"Because even fringe worlders know it is good manners to be polite to a guest."
He saw the color in her cheeks and realized she was right—he was being rude, and being rude to such a pretty girl seemed like the behavior of a savage, not that of a senator's son.
Arcturus took a deep breath and flashed his most dazzling smile, the one that melted the hearts of the girls at the academy who briefly piqued his interest. "You're right: I am being rude, and I'm sorry. This has been an... unusual evening. I'm not normally like this. Normally I am actually quite pleasant to be around."
She stared at him, trying to crack the mask of his handsome sincerity, but even the most desirable of Styrling socialites had tried and failed to do that.
Juliana Pasteur would have no chance beneath the glare of his charm.
"Apology accepted," she said with a smile, but Arcturus knew she wasn't yet hooked.
"You're a sharp one, aren't you? I like that." he said, more interested in Ailin Pasteur's daughter now that she had displayed a measure of resistance to his wiles.
"Korhal may be one of the jewels in the Confederate crown, but Umoja isn't without culture and breeding."
"I've never traveled there," said Arcturus. "Maybe I will soon, if all its maidens are like you."
"They're not, but I think you would like it there."
"I'm sure I would. Would you be my guide?"
"Perhaps," said Juliana. "I could show you Sarengo Canyon."
"Where the supercarrier crashedm" said Arcturus. "It's said to be breathtaking."
"You have no ideam" promised Juliana.
"Well, if we live through the night. I'll be sure to take you up on that," said Arcturus. his light tone robbing the commenl of any danger.
Juliana smiled, but before Arcturus could say any more, Ailin Pasleur said. "Katherine! The door!"
Arcturus looked over to the bank of monitors, but the vidcamera showing the corridor had been shot out in the fighting. A series of clicking beeps came from the keypad next to the door, and Katherine bent to examine the sequence before typing in her own code.
This was in turn answered by another series of key punches from the other side, which was again answered by Katherine. His mother nodded to Ailin Pasteur and then typed in a last key sequence that disengaged the locks.
Arcturus fell a mixture of relief and disappointment that their time here was to be cut short, but smiled as he fell Juliana's hand lake his and squeeze it in nervous anticipation.
The thick neosteel door of the refuge swung open and Angus Mengsk, senator of Korhal, father to Arcturus and Dorothy, and husband to Katherine, entered with an Impaler rifle cradled in his arms.
Angus was a broad, powerfully built man, his dark hair pulled into a long ponytail that, like his beard, was lined with silver streaks. His features were strong, gnarled with age, and a pair of cold gray eyes stared out from beneath a bushy set of eyebrows.
He swung the rifle over his shoulder and took his wife into a crushing bear hug.
"Thank God you're safem" he said. "I knew you'd look after them."
"We're all finem" said Katherine. "Achton's been hitm but he'll live. Is it over?"
Angus released his wife from his embrace and nodded. "They're all dead, yes."
Arcturus swallowed nervously as he saw his father finally notice him sitting on the bed.
Angus prized his gaze from Arcturus and shook hands with Ailin Pasteur, his scowl replaced with the practiced smile of a politician. "Good to see you're still alive, my friend."
"And you, Angus., said Pasteur. "A bad business this and no mistake. Confederates?"
"Maybe," said Angus. "We'll talk later, eh?"
Pasteur nodded, and Angus moved past him to stand before Arcturus, the politician's smile falling from his face like a discarded mask.
"What in the name of the fathers are you doing here, boy?" demanded Angus. "Have you been thrown out of the academy again?"
"Nice to see you too, Father," said Arcturus.
ANGUS MENGSK POURED HIMSELF A GENEROUS measure of brandy from an expensive crystal decanter and downed the amber liquid in one swallow. He closed his eyes and allowed the molten taste to line his throat and settle in his stomach before pouring another glass. He lifted up the bottle inquiringly toward Ailin Pasteur, but the Umojan ambassador shook his head. "No thank you, Angus."
"I know you don't drink, Ailin," said Angus. "But under the circumstances..."
"Angus. I can't."
"Come on, man," cajoled Angus. "Surely one won't hurt?"
"He said he didn't want one," said Katherine, replacing the stopper in the decanter and glaring sternly at her husband.
"There's no such thing as just one for me. Not anymore," said Pasteur.
"Fine," said Angus, shrugging and taking his own drink back to the table.
In the aftermath of the attack, Angus had gathered the occupants of the summer villa in the main dining room, a long, oak-paneled room dominated by an exquisite rosewood table carved with pastoral scenes of a rustic Korhal that had probably never existed.
An exquisite chess set with pieces carved from jet and ivory sat next to the drinks cabinet, the pieces apparently arranged in mid-game, though the white king was in checkmate.
Angus's wife took a seat at the end of the table, next to Dorothy and Ailin Pasteur's daughter, and he allowed himself a moment of quiet relief that his girls had been spared the worst of this night's bloodshed. His mood darkened as he shot a glance over to Arcturus, the boy sitting with his arms folded across his chest and his eyes steadfastly refusing to meet those of his father.
Achton Feld had managed to haul himself from his sickbed to join them. The man looked terrible, his skin gray and greasy with sweat. Everyone knew he should have been resting, but, to his credit, he had found the strength to be part of their debate as to what was to be done about this terrible night and how best to repay those responsible.
Angus paced the length of the table, his expression murderous, his eyes smoldering with anger.
"Angus," said Katherine. "Sit down before you wear a hole in the carpet. And calm down."
"Calm down?" exploded Angus. "They tried to kill us in our own house! Armed men came into our house and tried to kill us all. I swear I'll lead the army to the Palatine Forum and strangle Lennox Craven with my bare hands if he had something to do with this. For God's sake, Kat, how can I be calm at a time like this?"
"Because you need to be," said Katherine firmly. "You are a senator of Korhal and you don't have the luxury of anger. It achieves nothing and only clouds your judgment. Besides, you don't know yet who was behind this. It might not be Craven and his Confederate goons."
Lennox Craven was the senior consul of the Korhal Senate, the man tasked with ensuring that the will of the Confederacy was carried out, upholding its laws and providing a controlling influence on the unruly senators below him.
Angus loathed the man, believing him to be little more than a stooge for the corrupt Old Families that governed the Confederacy from the shadows. But for all that, Craven was a formidable senator and canny businessman, and Angus had exchanged many an incendiary barb with him across the marble floor of the Palatine Forum. The Mengsk family was one of the Old Families too, one of the oldest in fact, and Craven never tired of reminding Angus that he was spitting in the eye of the establishment that had given him such power and wealth.
Angus took a deep breath and nodded, smiling al Katherine as he took a drink.
"You're right, my dear," he said. "O need to think this through clearly... Achton? Do you have any thoughts on what happened here tonight? Who were these men?"
"Professionals," said Achton Feld. "They were good, but we got the drop on them, thanks to Arcturus's stunt. A few minutes more and, well, I don't like to think what might have happened."
"And you and I are going to talk about the security here later," promised Angus, staring at his son. "But who were they?"
Achton Feld chewed his bottom lip for a moment, then said. "Everything about them leads me to think they're a corporate death squad, a black-ops unit used to kill off business rivals and engage in corporate espionage, kidnapping, and that kind of thing."
"Why would anyone want to target Angus?" asked Katherine. "And why now?"
"Perhaps someone got wind of the things Angus is going to address in his Close of Session speech to the Senate?" suggested Pasteur.
"It's sure to ruffle some feathers, to say the least," agreed Angus.
"But that's not for months," protested Katherine. "And your business interests only benefit Korhal."
"A lot of people on Korhal have become very wealthy thanks to their dealings with the Confederacy," said Pasteur. "Plenty of organizations have ties to both Korhal and the Confederacy, and Angus is stirring up trouble for them. If the Confederacy were to be kicked off Korhal, they would stand to lose millions."
"I know it's a long shot, Achton, but is there anything on the bodies that might tell us who sent them?" asked Angus.
Feld shook his head. "The kit they used is all ex-military stuff, the kind you can pick up easily enough if you know where to look. It looks like something local, but I don't buy it. My gut's telling me something different."
"And what is your gut telling you?" asked Katherine.
"That this is bigger than some corporation trying to hold on to its savings."
"Why do you think that?" said Angus.
"Because all those dead men are marines. Or at least they were."
"Marines? How do you know?"
Feld reached up and tapped the back of his neck. "They've all been brain-panned. All six of them have got neural resocialization scars."
Ailin Pasteur cleared his throat. "Well, naturally that leads us to the Confederacy."
"You're probably right. Ailin," said Angus, "but it seems heavy-handed, even for them."
"Really? You heard about the rebellion on Antiga Prime?"
"No. What rebellion? I didn't see anything about that on the UNN."
"Well, you wouldn't, would you?" pointed out Katherine. "Aren't you always saying that the Old Families control the corporations that run the news channels? They broadcast what they want you to see, their version of the truth in twenty-second sound bites."
"That's true enough," replied Angus. "But what of Antiga Prime?"
"Yes, well, apparently the people of Andasar City kicked out the Confederate militia and held the local magistrate hostage. They demanded an end to Confederate corruption, and whole districts rallied to their call to arms. The city was as good as in open revolt, but two days later, a troop of marines under a Lieutenant Nadaner went in and took the place back. And they didn't leave any survivors."
“Good God," said Angus. "How many dead?'
"No one knows for sure, but my sources say the figure is in the thousands."
"And that's exactly why we need to be careful here," pointed out Katherine. "If the Confederacy isn't shy about perpetrating a massacre like that, then clearly they don't have any compunction against killing a senator and his family, do they?"
"But why send resocialized marines?" asked Arcturus, lifting his head up from staring at the table. "Surely any dead bodies would be easy to trace back to the Confederacy?"
"Because they didn't expect to fall," said Angus, returning to the crystal decanter on the drinks cabinet and pouring himself another glass of brandy. "Their paymasters expected them to kill us all and not leave any of their own dead behind. The damned arrogance of it!"
"Then why bother making them look like corporate killers?" said Arcturus.
"Plausible deniability," said Achton Feld. "In case the assassins were caught on any kind of surveillance. Corporate-sponsored murders are terrible, if not exactly uncommon, but if it was discovered that the Confederacy was complicit in the murder of a prominent senator..."
"The planet would erupt in revolt," finished Katherine.
Angus laughed without humor. "Almost makes me wish they'd got me after all."
"Don't say that!" snapped Katherine. "Not ever."
"Sorry, dear," said Angus, standing behind his wife and kissing her cheek. "I didn't mean that, but I feel it's going to take something truly dreadful to bring the Confederacy to its knees. We won't beat them overnight, but will beat them, and I'll tell you how."
Once again Angus paced the length of the table as he spoke, allowing his voice to became the rich baritone he used when speaking in the Forum. "It's their arrogance that will be their undoing. They can't see how they can possibly do anything wrong, and when you can't see that, you make mistakes. My father once said that when all you have is a hammer, everything starts to look like a nail."
Angus paused and turned to address his audience. "We'll show them what happens when the nail hits back."
The dining room was empty save for Angus and Arcturus, the two sharing an uncomfortable silence as the elder Mengsk poured out two snifters of brandy. Angus took one for himself and walked over to where his son sat to offer him the other.
Arcturus looked askance at the glass, clearly wishing to reach for it, but unsure as to whether or not he should.
"Go on, take it," said Angus. "I know you're too young, but on a night like this it hardly matters, does it? There's a lesson for you right there: sort out what matters from what doesn't. Act on the things that mean something and discard the rest."
Arcturus took the glass and tentatively sniffed the expensive drink. His nose wrinkled at its potency, and he took an experimental sip. His eyes widened, but he kept it down without coughing, and Angus felt his anger loosen its hold on him as he sat across from his son.
Achton Feld had explained what Arcturus had done and, as much as he wanted to rage biliously at his son, Angus couldn't help but be proud of the lad's inventiveness and sheer brio in pulling off a stunt like that.
But despite his grudging admiration, Angus couldn't allow Arcturus off the hook too easily.
"Do your tutors at the academy know you are gone?" he asked.
Arcturus looked at the timepiece on his wrist and smiled. "They will in a few hours," he said. "I sent a message with an attached comm-virus to Principal Steegman's console. He'll open it with his morning java, and it'll really spoil his day."
Angus shook his head. "They'll expel you for this."
"Probably," agreed Arcturus, and Angus fought the urge to slap him.
"Have you any idea of how much your place al Styrling Academy cost?"
Arcturus shrugged. "No."
"A great deal, and there are plenty of prospective students just waiting to take your place.”
"So let them have it," said Arcturus. "I'm not learning anything there anyway."
Angus bristled at his son's belligerence, forcing himself to remember what he had been like on the verge of manhood: his entire life ahead of him, and the sense that he knew all there was to know about the world. Arcturus was no different, and he began to appreciate the patience his own father had displayed.
He took a deep breath before speaking again. "Listen to me, son. You live a privileged life here, but it's time you learned that it is a harsh world out there beyond these walls, and that you are not prepared for it."
"I'll survive."
"No," said Angus bluntly. "You won't. I can't pretend I'm not impressed by what you did tonight, but stunts like that will see you dead sooner or later."
Arcturus laughed and said. "Now you're being melodramatic."
"No," said Angus. "I'm not. It's the truth, and now I have to discipline you."
"Why?" said Arcturus. "If it weren't for me, those men would have killed us all."
"I think you'll find it was Feld catching you that alerted us."
"It was just a joke," said Arcturus. "And anyway, isn't that something that doesn't matter after what happened tonight? Or don't your own lessons apply to you?"
Angus put down his glass and leaned over the table, lacing his hands before him. "You've the seeds of a debater in you, son, but you have to be punished. To allow youth to run unchecked is to invite a recklessness of spirit and disregard for the proper order of things that is anathema to any ordered society."
"You're one to talk," said Arcturus. "You disregard the proper order of things' all the time. All I ever hear the other students at the academy say is how you're stirring up trouble for Korhal with all your speeches about the corruption of the Confederacy and how we'd be better off without it. Why do you have to be such an embarrassment?"
Angus sat back in his chair, surprised at Arcturus's outburst and angry at how little his son understood of the world beyond his own little bubble of reality.
"You have no clue what you're talking about, son," said Angus. "What the Confederacy is doing on Korhal is criminal. Corruption, backhanders, and bribery are everywhere, and if you have money the law is a joke. Virtually every penny earned by the citizens of Korhal swells the coffers of some Confederate puppet corporation while our own. Independent industries wither on the vine. Tell me how that is the proper order of things?"
"I don't know," said Arcturus. "All I want to do is become a prospector."
"A prospector? Grubbing in dirt and rocks like some Kel-Morian pirate? Hardly. You are the son of a senator, Arcturus, and you are destined for greater things than prospecting."
"I don't want greater things. I just want to do what I want, not what you think I should do."
"You're too young to really know what you want," said Angus.
"I know that I don't want to follow in your footsteps," snapped Arcturus. "Hell, I might even join the military."
"You don't mean that: you're just angry," said Angus. "You don't know the reality of life, what the Confederacy has done and what they're going to do if someone doesn't stand up to them. In the centuries since the supercarriers crashed, the Old Families have been taking over everything by force, guile, and corruption. Soon there won't be anything left they don't control."
"So what? Who says that's a bad thing?"
Angus fought down his anger, but he could feel his temper fraying in the face of his son's obstinacy. Didn't the boy understand the scale of the Confederacy's corruption? Couldn't he see the terrible fate that awaited all right-thinking people if they didn't take a stand against the all-controlling, all-pervading influence of a remote, unthinking, unfeeling government?
Looking into Arcturus's face, Angus could see he did not, and his heart sank.
Speaking in the Palatine Forum, Angus Mengsk had swayed recalcitrant senators to his side, won hopeless causes through the power of his oratory, but he couldn't convince his own son that the Confederacy was a great and terrible evil that threatened everything the free people of Korhal prized.
Angus Mengsk, firebrand senator and son of Korhal, might yet save his planet—but might lose his son in the process.
The irony of it all was not lost on him.
The following morning, with the sun rising over the mountains, Arcturus yawned as he heard the door to his room open. He rolled over and smiled as he saw Dorothy standing in the doorway, the bright blue form of Pontius the pony clutched in her arms.
"What is it, Little Dot?" he said, propping himself up in bed.
“Why do you fight with Daddy?" asked Dorothy.
Arcturus laughed. "That's a big question for such a little girl."
"But why?"
Arcturus swung his legs out of bed and opened his arms, whereupon Dorothy ran to him and jumped up onto his lap.
"Ow, you're getting bigger every day," said Arcturus. "You're getting fat."
"No I'm not!" squealed Dorothy, jabbing her fingertips into his ribs.
"All right, all right! You're not fat!"
"Told you," said Dorothy, satisfied she had won the argument. She looked up at him, and he knew she hadn't forgotten that he hadn't answered her question.
"I wish you didn't always fight with Daddy," said Dorothy.
"I wish we didn't either."
"So why do you?"
"It's hard to explain, Dot,” he said. “Falher and I...well, we don't agree about a lot of things and he's too stubborn to admit that he's not always right."
"Are you always right?"
"No, not always, but—"
"So how do you know Daddy's not right then?"
Arcturus opened his mouth to answer her child's logic, but floundered when he couldn't think of an answer that would satisfy them both.
"I suppose I don't. But he wants me to do things I don't want to do."
"Like what?"
"Like not be who I want to be," said Arcturus.
"Who do you want to be? Don't you want to be like Daddy?"
Arcturus shook his head. "No.”
"Why not?"
Arcturus was spared from answering by a gentle knock, and he looked up to see his mother standing in the doorway. Katherine Mengsk was dressed in a long cream dress with a midnight blue bodice and looked as fresh as if she had had a full night's rest and not been hunted by armed soldiers.
"Dorothy, it's time for breakfast," said Katherine.
"But I'm not hungry," said Dorothy.
"Don't argue with me, young lady," warned her mother. "Go down to the kitchen and have Seona fix you a bowl of porridge. And don't turn your nose up at me. Go."
Dorothy leaned up and planted a small kiss on Arcturus's cheek before dropping from his lap and running off, Pontius dragging on the floor behind her.
With Dorothy gone, Arcturus stood and pulled on his shirt and a pair of dark britches, hiking the braces up over his shoulders.
"You didn't answer her question," said his mother.
"What question?"
"Why you don't want to be like your father."
Arcturus ran his hands through his dark hair and poured himself a glass of water from a silver ewer beside the bed. He took a drink and swilled the water around his mouth before answering.
"Because I want do something with my life that's mine, not his."
His mother swept inlo the room, graceful and strong, and placed a hand on Arcturus's shoulder. The touch was maternal and comforting, and Arcturus wished he could be as close to his father as he was to his mother.
"Your father just wants what's best for you, Arcturus," she said.
"Does he? Sometimes I think he just wants a carbon copy of himself."
Katherine smiled. "I see a lot of him in you, it's true, but then there's too much of me in you to ever be that much like your father."
"That's a relief," said Arcturus, but the smile fell from his face as he saw the hurt in his mother's face.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I know he's a good man, but he doesn't understand me."
"You think you're the first seventeen-year-old who's said that about his father?"
"No, I suppose not."
"You are a brilliant boy, Arcturus: you could achieve great things if you allow yourself to. Everything you turn your hand to you master within days, and your father just wants to make sure you make the most of your talents."
"I remember you telling me I was going to be a great leader when I was Dot's age," said Arcturus." But I grew out of that a long time ago."
His mother took his hands in hers and looked straight at him. "No, it was true then and it's still true."
Uncomfortable with his mother's grandiose dreams for his future, Arcturus changed the subject. "Do I really have to go back to the academy?"
"Yes, you do. I know you don't like it there, but it means the world to me that you finish your education. You did recall that message with the comm-virus you sent to Principal Steegman's console, didn't you?"
"I did"—Arcturus grinned—"though it would have been worth gelling expelled just to have seen the look on his face as the virus sent his private files to the parents of every student at the academy."
His mother shook her head in exasperation, but he could see that she too was amused at the thought of Steegman's humiliation. "I don't even want to think what might be contained in that odious little man's 'private files'."
"Are Ailin Pasteur and his daughter going to be staying with us for a while yet?" asked Arcturus, hearing movement from another part of the house.
Katherine's eyes narrowed as she sensed his interest. "Yes, they will be our guests for a spell. Your father thinks it wise for them to remain with us until he can recall some more guards to escort us all back to Styrling."
"That sounds sensible," Arcturus nodded, trying not to sound too interested, though of course his mother saw through his nonchalance in a heartbeat and smiled.
"She's very pretty," said his mother. "Juliana."
"Yes, she is," agreed Arcturus. "And I think she likes me."
His mother leaned down and kissed his cheek. "Who could not love you, my handsome boy? Now go and get some breakfast with your sister; I've no doubt she'll be trying to talk Seona into giving her something so laden with sugar it'll keep her awake for days."
Arcturus made his way downstairs, along the corridor that had only the previous night been filled with gunsmoke and the sound of battle. The bodies that had lain here, pumping their lifeblood over the carpet, had been removed and the domestics were cleaning the stains they had left behind.
It still seemed unreal to him that people had tried to kill them last night. The idea that people would kill helpless civilians for the sake of something as prosaic as money seemed ludicrous, but if his reading of history had taught him anything, it was that entire cultures had been wiped out for far less. Killing for honor, glory, land, or freedom seemed more noble ideals to kill or die for, but Arcturus Mengsk planned on doing none anytime soon.
He set foot on the stairs, the wood creaking and the banister splintered by Impaler spikes. Entire sections had been blasted away and the marble and plaster walls were stitched with impact craters.
When he reached the bottom, Arcturus heard voices coming from the dining room. The door was ajar, and he paused as he recognized his father's stentorian tones and the more mellifluous sound of Ailin Pasteur's voice.
Curious as to what they were talking about, Arcturus edged closer to the door.
"...exactly why we need your help more than ever, Ailin," said his father. "Korhal can't do this alone. We're gathering strength, but without the support of Umoja, the Confederacy will crush us."
"I understand that," replied Pasteur, "but you have to understand the precariousness of our position. Umoja can't be seen to be openly supporting you, Angus. We have a hard enough time fending off the Confederate influence as it is, and to be publicly linked with a rabble-rouser like your good self would give them an excuse to increase their pressure. The Ruling Council is willing to supply your men with what they need, but our involvement can't be made public."
"That's a given, Ailin, but matters are coming to a head. The attack last night only goes to show how desperate they're becoming. I have supporters within the Senate and all over Korhal to make this work, and you know well enough that brushfire rebellions are erupting throughout the sector. All it needs is one shining example that the Confederacy can be beaten and the old order will be swept away. Korhal can be that example, but only if you support us."
"And we will, but what you are talking about... you'll be called a terrorist."
"I prefer the term 'freedom fighter,'" said Angus.
"That depends on whether or not you win."
"Then I'll need to make sure I win."
Arcturus knew he was hearing words of great import, but the sense of them washed over him. What was his father planning that might have him labeled a terrorist? The word itself was a powerful one, conjuring up images of secretive men who met in shadows to plot the death of innocents to achieve their diabolical ends.
The idea that his father might be such a man repelled Arcturus, and his previously solid notion of Angus Mengsk as a powerful and controlling, yet mostly benign, presence in his life now seemed as fragile as glass.
As these thoughts surged through Arcturus's head, he heard footsteps, realizing too late that they were approaching the door at which he listened. He turned away, but was too slow, and a heavy fist took hold of his shirt and dragged him into the dining room where they had met last night.
"Spying on me, are you?" roared Angus. "What did you hear?"
Arcturus struggled in his father's grip. "That you're a terrorist!" he shouted.
Angus spun him around and pushed him down into one of the chairs.
"You heard nothing, son," said Angus. "Those words were not meant for the likes of you."
Arcturus looked over to Ailin Pasteur. The man clearly surprised and worried that Arcturus had overheard their discussions.
"What are you going to do?" asked Arcturus. "Are you going to kill people?"
His father stared hard at Arcturus, and the father's cold gray eyes saw deep into the heart of his son.
Arcturus saw his father come to a decision within himself.
Pasteur saw it too and said. "Angus... are you sure?"
"Aye, he'll be eighteen soon. It's time he started acting like a man, so I'm going to treat him like one."
Arcturus felt a nervous thrill at his father's words, wondering if all those years of wanting to be treated as an adult were about to blow up in his face.
"Well, boy, are you ready to become a man?"
Arcturus hesitated for the briefest second before answering. "I am."
"Good," said Angus. "I'll respect that. But you have to understand that what I'm going to tell you can't leave this room."
Angus held out his hand to Arcturus. "Swear that to me and I'll tell you everything."
"I swear it," said Arcturus, shaking his father's hand.
"Very well," said Angus, taking a seat next to Arcturus and sitting with his legs crossed. "You know, of course, that I detest the corruption of the Confederacy with every fiber of my being, but it runs deeper than that. The Old Families control everything from their capital world of Tarsonis, and the entire apparatus of the Confederacy is geared to keep them in power, exploiting the planets under their control and stealing their wealth. Well, no more."
"You're going to fight the Confederacy?" asked Arcturus. "Why?"
"Because someone has to," said Angus. "They've overstretched their empire and, like a house of cards, all it needs is one push in the right place to make it fall. People are tired of the yoke of the Confederacy around their necks and rebellion's in the air—you can feel it."
"You're going to declare war on the Confederacy?" said Arcturus incredulously.
"Well, not war exactly," replied Angus. "Not yet, at least."
"Terrorism," said Arcturus. "Is that it?"
"I have no doubt some will call it that, yes, but if you think about it, what the Confederacy is doing can easily be construed as terrorism."
"Surely that's not the same thing?"
"Isn't it?" asked Angus. "Isn't the purpose of terrorism to kill and maim people so that whoever it's directed against will bend to your will? And doesn't the Confederacy engage in military operations designed to coerce people into bending to their will through fear?"
"But that's different," said Arcturus. "That's war."
Angus shook his head. "No, it's not. Afler all, the purpose of war isn't, or at least shouldn't be, about killing every last man in the enemy army. It's about killing enough of them that their leaders are more afraid of continuing the war rather than of surrendering."
"Then, by your definition, every act of war could be called an act of terrorism, since it's coercion through fear by the use of violence."
"Exactly," said Angus, pleased he had made his point.
"But you're still going to kill people," pointed out Arcturus.
"In war, people die. It's unfortunate, but inevitable," replied Angus. "I wish it were different, but the Confederacy has brought this on itself. Unlike them, however, we won't hurt innocent civilians: we'll only be targeting military installations."
"It's still wrong," said Arcturus. "People will still die and you'll have killed them."
Angus leaned back in his seat, his face lined with disappointment. "I thought you would be man enough to understand what needs to be done, Arcturus, but I can see I was wrong. You're still a child and you still think like a child, unable to see the truth of the world beyond your own selfish little bubble."
His father's words stung like red-hot whips, and Arcturus felt his resentment flare. He stood up and turned on his heel, marching toward the dining room door.
"Angus..." hissed Ailin Pasteur.
"Son," barked Angus. "You are never to speak of this. You understand me? Never."
"I understand," snapped Arcturus.
SUNLIGHT RIPPLED THROUGH THE CANOPY OF treetops and made the landscape glow as the convoy of silver groundcars sped along the road to Styrling. Altogether there were six cars, one conveying the Mengsk family, another Ailin Pasteur and his daughter, and the other four bearing armed men.
The cars were '58 Terra Cougars, an older model of groundcar, yet a mode of transport favored by many of Korhal's senators, thanks to the heavy steel undercarriage and thick side panels that had foiled more than one assassination attempt.
Two of the cars were equipped with turret-mounted Impalers, and the convoy moved at speed along the wide strip of road. Half a kilometer ahead, three vulture hovercycles ran point, herding what little traffic there was on the road out of the convoy's path.
This time of the morning, traffic was light, but Achton Feld was taking no chances and had ordered his men to shoot first and ask questions second—assuming anything survived grenade barrage from the vultures. The Confederacy had already tried to kill Angus Mengsk once, and Feld wasn't taking any chances that they might try again.
Arcturus watched the countryside flashing past, lush greens and sumptuous golds as the autumn tones blended together in a swirl of color like a painting left out in the rain. The Mengsk summer villa was built sixty kilometers to the south of Styrling and the countryside separating the two was amongst the most verdant and lush of Korhal, yet it was shrinking every year as the industrial complex of the city spread farther and farther.
His father had chosen the site precisely because it was far enough from Styrling to feel like he could escape the day-to-day running of his many businesses and the politics of the Senate, but close enough that he was never too far out of the loop.
Arcturus felt his mood sour with every kilometer that passed beneath the groundcar and brought him closer to the academy. His father sat opposite him, his face unreadable, though he smiled whenever Arcturus's mother looked at him. Dorothy was on her knees on the backseat next to him. Pontius clutched tightly as she peered out the polarized, armored glass of the window.
He smiled at the simple joy on her face, wishing he could go back to a time when life had been simpler. All Dorothy cared about was Pontius, sugary sweets, and being close to her father. She didn't yet have to worry about disappointing anyone or being farced into role she didn't want.
Little Dot would be the apple of Angus's eye no matter what she did, and Arcturus felt a twinge of irritation, but quickly shook it off, recognizing that it was foolish to be jealous of a four-year-old.
Despite his mother's pleasant ramblings on the colors of the leaves and the beauty of the scenery and Dorothy's enthusiasm for the journey, the interior of the groundcar was tense. Arcturus and his father had not spoken since their harsh words in the dining room the previous morning, and no amount of calming words from his mother could bridge the gulf, which grew wider with every minute of silence.
Arcturus kept his gaze fixed on the landscape unfolding around them as the groundcar wove its way though the low hills to the south of the city. Despite the inevitable growth of business, Korhal remained a defiantly green world, the planetary authorities long ago having had the foresight to invest in renewable energy sources and enforce stringent clean air laws.
As a result, Korhal was one of the few planets in the Confederacy to be a thriving hub of trade and industry that was also actually a pleasant place to live and visit. Arcturus had not yet ventured off world, but he had ambitions beyond Korhal's skies. He longed to travel between the stars and explore new worlds and earn his fortune with his skills, instead of simply inheriting it as his father had done.
That his father had also worked tirelessly since he had achieved adulthood never occurred lo Arcturus. Not that Arcturus disapproved of inheriting wealth, title, and position —the dynastic traditions of Korhal were well established—but he wanted to be known as a man who had gotten to the top by virtue of his own abilities. He wanted people to look at him and know that he had achieved what he had through blood, sweat, and sacrifice.
His thoughts of the future were interrupted when he caught sight of a shimmering lattice of silver through the branches of the trees, the first signs of civilization. Despite his foul mood, he smiled as he caught tantalizing glimpses of Styrling through the wide canyons of the hills.
It was a huge city, a mecca of commercial interests and a glittering symbol of all that had been achieved in the two centuries since the planet's settlement. Arcturus loved the opportunities the city offered: the wealth, the entertainment, the bustle, and the sheer, vibrant humanity of it all. Everything a person desired, and more besides, could be found in Styrling if you knew where to look.
The groundcar swept over a ridge that curved along the road, and then the city was laid out before him.
No matter how many times he saw it, it never failed to impress.
Styrling was like the frozen aftermath of a droplet that had fallen into a petri dish of mercury, a silver crown of soaring structures that stood tall and majestic in the center and which gradually diminished in size toward the edges.
A dizzying web of flyovers surrounded and penetrated the bright metropolis, like a hundred threads of dark wool woven through it, and the city shone with dazzling reflections from the mass of neosteel and glass that made up the bulk of the buildings.
The architecture of Styrling was not subtle. Most of the towers and spires belonged to one of the megacorporations or to representatives of one of the Old Families, and each of the owners sought to outdo the others with the height and magnificence of a given structure. Graceful curving walls had once bounded the extreme edge of the city, but the pressure of commerce had driven a great deal of the city's infrastructure beyond them.
The wealthiest families of Korhal kept their headquarters within the walls of Styrling, and the Mengsks were no exception.
The Mengsk Skyspire was a mighty, fortresslike edifice that towered over its nearest rivals: the Continental Building, the LarsCorp Tower, and the Korhal headquarters of the Universal News Network. Arcturus hated the Skyspire, its angular lines and neo-Gothic stylings appearing at odds with the sleek, graceful designs of its neighbors.
As far as Arcturus was concerned, it was the architectural embodiment of his father: cold, stern, and uncompromising.
The city drew closer and the traffic grew heavier, the vultures drawing back to surround the groundcars like mother hens protecting their chicks. Arcturus watched the traffic flow like a living thing around them, moving to its own internal rhythms, and as he looked at the faces within each car, he wondered at the lives he saw passing him.
Each one represented a self-contained world, around which the universe revolved, and Arcturus idly tried to fit histories to each face—trying to imagine what lives these people lived. What were their dreams and ambitions? What made them rise from their beds each day to toll in the factories and offices of Styrling?
Love? Ambition? Desire? Greed?
Watching the people as they made their way to work, Arcturus saw all human life before him—laughter, quarrels, stolid silences, and a thousand other things. He saw conversations between men and women, fathers and children, lovers and colleagues, each small world with its own hopes and dreams for the future.
A young girl with a yellow ribbon in her hair sat in the passenger seat of a car two lanes over. She noticed Arcturus looking at her and waved to him. He smiled and waved back, feeling an unaccountable closeness to these people of Korhal, feeling that in some small way they were his people. He sensed a kinship with the faces he saw around him, a bond with the people with whom he shared his homeworld that he had never felt before.
The girl's car drifted away, vanishing down an off-ramp, and Arcturus returned his attention to the city around him as they were swallowed up by its glass and steel canyons.
The tense silence in the groundcar was broken only when their journey took them around the chaotic site of the new Korhal Assembly Forum.
Or what was supposed to be the new Korhal Assembly Forum.
Towering cranes and enormous earthmoving machines stood idle around a monstrous, half-finished building of concrete and exposed steel that looked as though it had been stripped by an army of looters. A number of prefabricated cabins were arranged around the perimeter of the site, but there appeared to be no men or robots working there.
Arcturus was no judge of aesthetic, but even to his untrained eye, the building looked as though it had been spawned in the worst nightmares of a demented architect.
“Look at that," said Angus Mengsk, jabbing a finger at the unfinished building. "If there's a more visible symbol of the moral decay and corruption at the heart of the Confederacy, I don't know what it is."
"Oh, please, not this again, dear," said Katherine.
But Angus was not to be denied venting his outrage.
"I ask you, why do we need a new building for the Senate anyway? What's wrong with the Palatine Forum? Granted, it's old, but it's got character and tradition behind it. This new fiasco of a building sums up everything that's wrong with the Confederacy: money siphoned off into the pockets of corrupt officials, perverse priorities, and an arrogant indifference to public opinion. Did you know that the costs have soared to over five hundred million and counting? Oh yes, and that's from an initial estimate of sixty-three million! And where's that money gone? On insane expenses like a Chau Saran sunwood reception desk or bribes to Confederate city officials. They've been 'working' on it for the last six years, and it never seems to get finished. Oh, they say it'll be finished later this year, but look at it.... Does it look like that's realistic?"
"No, dear, it doesn't," said Katherine dutifully.
"The truth is that the one thing people know about the Confederacy is that everything costs quadruple what it ought to, thanks to the bribes you need to pay to get anything done and the dozens of new 'taxes' that suddenly seem to apply to any project that isn't intended to line the pockets of the Old Families."
"Then you should be thanking the Confederacy for the ammunition," said Arcturus.
"Oh, I am, son," said Angus, forgetting the tension between them in the fiery heat of his ire. "This whole project has been a public relations disaster that, thank God, even the UNN isn't afraid to report on, and one upon which I fully intend to capitalize."
His father continued to list the many faults of the building and the process by which it was being built, or rather not being built.
Arcturus tuned the words out as the unfinished building passed from sight.
This deep in the city, the colossal scale of the towers was much more apparent. Shadows enveloped the convoy, and Arcturus felt a chill travel down his spine as the driver expertly wound the groundcar through the streams of traffic.
People thronged the streets, well dressed and healthy, but only a few turned to watch as the convoy sped by. To see such things on the streets of Styrling was not unusual, for many captains of industry or senators traveled in this manner.
His father reached over and activated the comm unit on the armrest beside him.
"Ailin," said Angus. "We're coming up to the academy to drop Arcturus off, so we won't be far behind you. Let's just hope he stays here this time."
This last comment was directed squarely at Arcturus, who ignored his father's barb, though his mother placed her hand on her husband's forearm and frowned sternly at him.
"Very well, Angus," replied Ailin Pasteur. "I shall await you at the Skyspire."
The comm unit was shut off and Arcturus sighed as they passed alongside the lush parkland and playing fields of Styrling Academy. Here, the buildings thinned out and became less vulgar in scale, for this was a district of culture and breeding, where the young minds of the future were molded into compliant citizens of the Confederacy.
Arcturus knew the area well, despite the fact that students were forbidden to venture from the walled, security-patrolled campus of the academy by Principal Steegman. That such petty regulations needn't apply to him was a decision Arcturus had long since come to, and he—and a select band of adventurers—had often visited the exotic, neon-lit depths of the city's night.
Of course, his mother and father knew nothing of this, but the less they knew of what he got up to the better. In Arcturus's opinion, it was best that parents know as little as possible about their offspring's doings, since they'd only try and put a stop to them if they had any idea.
The great clock spire of the academy loomed large over an immaculately manicured line of trees in the distance, and Arcturus sighed as he contemplated another six months sitting in sterile classrooms being "laught" by morons who knew less than he about politics and history, while blathering about the great destiny that awaited the school's alumni.
He shook himself from that bitter reverie as the groundcar slowed and turned down a graveled driveway that led to the academy's security checkpoint.
That checkpoint consisted of an old, brick-built gatehouse and a couple of wooden sawhorses that blocked the road to the campus proper, with a handful of plastic orange cones scattered in front of them. The car slowed as it reached the gatehouse, and Old Rummy emerged from within, leaning down to examine the occupants of the vehicle.
Old Rummy was the name the students gave to the venerable gatekeeper, and Arcturus had never bothered to find out his real name. He reeked of liquor from the middle of the morning onward and his swollen nose and puffy cheeks were rife with the ruptured capillaries of a professional alcoholic.
Arcturus could smell the drink on his breath, and wrinkled his nose.
He'd started early, Arcturus reasoned.
"Morning, Mr. Mengsk, sir," said Old Rummy, doffing his peaked cap as he saw Angus. There were few people on Korhal who didn't know Arcturus's father, thanks to reports on the UNN of his political grandstanding and near-constant berating of the Confederacy.
Angus was popular in most quarters of Korhal, but where his money was spent freely —and the academy was such a place—he was feted and fawned over like royalty.
Old Rummy shuffled over to the sawhorses, clearing them from the road with grunting heaves before picking up the cones and waving the groundcar through. The driver gunned the engine and the car passed onward.
"Ten million for 'enhanced security measures' to protect the sons and daughters of Korhal from rebel attacks," said Angus, shaking his head as they swept past the grinning, idiot face of Old Rummy and onto the grounds of the academy. "You remember the fund-raising ball the academy held to raise money to implement these security measures, dear?”
"I do indeed," said Arcturus's mother with a shiver of distaste. "That frightful Principal Steegman preened like some oily salesman, begging his betters for money. A most distasteful evening."
Angus nodded. "I pledged over half a million to that fund, and look at the security it's bought: a few planks of wood and some cones shifted by a fat man in an ill-fitting uniform. I'd wager the same again that the best part of that fundraiser went into Steegman's pockets."
Arcturus stored that nugget away and watched as the great mass of Styrling Academy hove into view around the perfectly maintained woodland and expanse of lush green grass. The finest examples of the topiarist's art decorated the lawn, and a number of youngsters were already practicing with foils and rapiers under the watchful supervision of Master Miyamoto.
"If it weren't for the quality of the tutors, I'd school the boy myself,” continued Angus, and Arcturus stifled a horrified laugh at that idea.
The building, nearly a hundred years old, had been built from polished gray granite and positively reeked of money. A grand, columned portico sheltered the entrance, and the triangular pediment was decorated with heroic individuals and symbols of academic and martial excellence.
Carved statues sat in niches along the building's length and elaborate carved panels filled the spaces between each of the tall, narrow windows. Though the building was old, amongst the oldest on Korhal, its eaves and roof were fitted with recessed surveillance equipment and sophisticated eavesdropping equipment though why the faculty should feel the need to spy on the students was a mystery to Arcturus.
The groundcar crunched to a halt on the gravel at the bottom of the wide stone steps that led up to the main doors of the academy. A liveried porter descended and opened the back door of the groundcar.
"On you go, dear," said his mother.
Arcturus nodded and turned to Dorothy. "See you soon, little one," he said. "I'll write you lots of letters and Mummy can read them to you."
"I can read, silly," pouted Dorothy. "I'll read them myself."
"Well aren't you the smart one?" he said, laughing.
Dorothy threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. "I'll miss you, Arcturus."
He blinked in surprise. Normally Dorolhy had difficulty in pronouncing his name, mangling the syllables and calling him 'Actress' or 'Arctroos,' but this time she said it without fault.
Arcturus untangled Dorothy's arms from around his neck and handed her off to his mother, who smiled warmly at him.
"It's only one more term, dear," said Katherine Mengsk. "And then the world will open up for you, I promise. If not for yourself, do it for me. Please?"
Arcturus took a deep breath and nodded. He could disappoint his father without fear of guilt, but every time he felt he'd let his mother down, it cut him to the quick.
"Very well," said Arcturus. "I'll finish the term."
"You'd damn well better," snapped Angus. "Because I don't want to see you again until I'm watching you graduate. Understand me?"
Arcturus didn't deign to furnish him with an answer as he stepped from the groundcar, taking a small measure of satisfaction from the withering glare his mother shot his father.
As satisfying as that was, it was small recompense for the bitter seed planted in his heart.
Still, once he had graduated, he could go anywhere.
Somewhere that was as far away from Angus Mengsk as he could get.
Three months later, his promise to see out the term was being tested to the limit.
Principal Steegman had made it clear that Arcturus remained a student of Styrling Academy thanks only to his father's generous patronage of many of the school's facilities, and repeatedly informed him that he was skating on thin ice, walking a tightrope, balancing on a knife's edge, and performing numerous other well-worn cliches.
Lessons had continued much as they had before, and with all the extra attention being lavished upon him (no doubt at his father's insistence) Arcturus could not even find a way to relieve the crushing boredom of the academy by escaping into the city for an evening.
Arcturus Mengsk was, it seemed, a marked man at Styrling Academy, and even his former cohorts appeared to have been warned of the dangers of associating with him.
As a result, Arcturus spent the majority of his time during his last term at Styrling Academy in the school's library, reading and rereading every digi-tome he could find on geology, politics, psychology, and warfare. Many of these books he had already memorized, but each rereading brought fresh insight and understanding.
Arcturus wrote to Dorothy as promised and her return letters were among the few sources of comfort and amusement left to him. In these letters his mother informed him of the workings of the world beyond the walls of the academy, and he was surprised at the frankness of them, talking as they did of revolts in the outer colonies and fringe worlds (of which there was a growing number) as well as relating the latest society gossip. Her letters skirted carefully around the subject of his father, but Arcturus needed no letters from home to know all about Angus's dealings.
The UNN broadcasts were replete with stories of his fiery speeches denouncing the corruption of the Old Families and the Council. Though Angus publicly condemned the rising tide of violence engulfing Korhal, which had seen hundreds of Confederate marines dead in rebel bombings and ambushes, Arcturus knew his father had to be pan of it.
The objective part of Arcturus actually admired the skill with which Angus was able to distance himself from the violence while subtly implying that it was the inevitable result of the Confederacy's oppression and engendering sympathy for the rebel cause.
As much as he was now regarded as something of a pariah at the academy, this did not stop his fellow students from making their feelings about his father plain to him. Many of them came from wealthy families with close ties to the Confederacy, and were suffering dally embarrassment thanks to the withering scorn of Angus Mengsk's rhetoric.
Though Arcturus wanted nothing to do with his father's politics, he was savvy enough to recognize that what he said made a great deal of sense. Still, the retaliatory humiliations heaped upon him by his fellow students only served to further his resentment toward the Mengsk paterfamilias.
But Arcturus's resentment was made bearable by the stimulating diversions offered in the letters he was now exchanging with Juliana Pasteur.
Within a day of his arrival back at the academy, Arcturus had received a letter from Juliana, politely inquiring after his health and the possibility of setting up a meeting during one of the periods he was allowed off the campus. With the precision of a razor, Arcturus had dissected the true meaning within her letter and seen the naked interest beneath the platitudes.
Clearly the rapport established in the short time they had spent in the refuge of his father's summer villa had blossomed despite his absence. Or perhaps because of it.
In return, Arcturus replied with a missive brimming with the foibles of his fellow students, the foolishness of the masters, and his trials within the prisonlike walls of the academy.
His words were well chosen, witty, erudite, and filled with enough self-deprecation to puncture any sense of self-importance his letters might convey that might make him seem arrogant. That such self-deprecation was entirely contrived did not strike Arcturus as false in any way, and the effusive letters he received in return were proof positive of the success of his writings.
As they corresponded over the course of the term, it became increasingly clear that Juliana Pasteur was smitten with him. In marked contrast to their initially frosty meeting in the refuge, it appeared that Juliana now appreciated his brilliance and was assessing his suitability as a consort.
Though he remembered her intoxicating beauty, it had become a detached memory to Arcturus, and he indulged her letters as an outlet for his polemics and occasionally grandiose predictions of his future power. Truth be told, his desire to maintain the friendship had begun to wane, yet Arcturus continued to write to Juliana in the interest of eventually bedding her.
It would be the final act in the completion of a challenge that had once seemed difficult, but which he now knew had been simplicity itself.
The weeks and months passed in a gray blur, lectures boring him and insultingly easy assignments completed with barely a hint of effort. The end was in sight, and with only two weeks to graduation, Principal Steegman summoned the entire senior year to the grand assembly hall in the main block of the academy.
The assembly hall was a grand, vaulted chamber of cedar-paneled walls, gold-framed portraits of illustrious former students, high ceilings, and soaring oak beams. Every morning, Steegman would mount the stage to stand behind his lectern and address the entire upper school, announcing the results of the academy's sporting endeavors and notices of supposed importance.
Occasionally the assembly hall was also used for scrupulously chaperoned balls or played host to visiting dignitaries who would speak to the student body on the virtues of civic service or some other similarly dull subject.
The identically uniformed students filed drearily into the hall, and Arcturus briefly wandered what manner of speaker they were to be subjected to today. As he drew closer to the assembly hall's doorway, the excited hubbub of voices from within told him that whatever awaited them was something beyond the run of the mill.
He passed beneath the arched entrance to the assembly hall and the academy's motto of Alen Apisteyein, which meant “ever to be the best” in one of the dead languages of Old Earth.
The vast floor space in front of the stage was filled with uncomfortable chairs, each one occupied by an excited student. Principal Steegman was at his lectern, looking very pleased with himself, but it was the three hulking figures standing at attention behind him that captured Arcturus's attention.
They stood several feet taller than Steegman, their backs ramrod straight and their bulk enormous, thanks to the heavy plates of neosteel armor they wore.
Arcturus recognized the armor from the technical manuals he'd read in the library.
They were CMC-300 Powered Combat Suits, a brand-new design that was replacing the dated CMC-200 series.
Powered Combat Suits...
As worn by soldiers of the Confederate Marine Corps.
PRINCIPAL STEEGMAN WASTED NO TIME IN GETTING the proceedings started. Once every boy in the upper year was seated, he clasped the lectern with both hands and leaned forward, in what Arcturus knew he hoped was an authoritative stance. In reality, it just emphasized how short he was, but either no one else had noticed or no one had thought to tell him.
“We are fortunate indeed," began Steegman, his nasal tones grating on Arcturus's nerves, "to have representatives from the brave Confederate Marine Corps here to talk to you today. It is a great honor for us to have them here, and I know you will give them a rousing, Styrling Academy welcome."
This last comment was clearly an order, and the assembled boys gave an enthusiastic round of applause as Steegman retreated from the lectern and one of the marines stepped forward, his heavy steps booming on the wooden floor of the stage.
He reached the lectern and removed his helmet, revealing that he was, in fact, a she.
And a strikingly pretty she.
The marine placed her helmet on the lectern and smiled at the assembled boys, who now appeared even more interested in this morning's talk. Behind her, the curtain parted to reveal a large projection screen, upon which the red and blue Confederate flag was displayed, billowing dramatically in the wind against a golden sunset. Stirring music played in the background, piped over the assembly room's PA system.
"Good morning, my name is Angelina Emillian," began the marine. "I'm a captain with the 33rd Ground Assault Division of the Confederate Marine Corps, and I'm here today at your principal's request to talk to you about a career in the Marine Corps."
Captain Emillian marched to the front of the stage and planted her hands on her hips. "I know what you're thinking."
A nervous titter ghosted around the assembly hall, suggesting that Emillian might not want to know what many of the boys were thinking right at that moment. "And it's 'Why in the name of all holy hell would I want to join the Marine Corps?' Right? After all, as graduates of this school, you'll no doubt be expecting to go into some cushy, well-paid job. And it's dangerous, isn't it? You might get killed. The Corps is for losers who don't have any other options open to them, isn't it?"
Arcturus saw Principal Steegman's eyes widen in surprise. Captain Emillian's presentation obviously wasn't starting in the way he had imagined and for that reason alone, Arcturus found himself warming to this pretty marine captain.
"Well, if you're thinking that, I've got some news for you, boys. You're dead wrong."
Captain Emillian swept her gaze around the room, her confidence and steely demeanor capturing everyone's attention.
"The Confederate Marine Corps embodies three principals," said Emillian, slapping her fist into her palm to emphasize each one. "Strength. Pride. Discipline. Those ideals have enabled the Confederate Marine Corps and the Colonial Fleet to defend Confederate interests along the galactic rim for more than a century and a half. And right now, you're thinking that marines are just resocialized panbrains, but I'm here to tell you that's just not true. Marines come from all walks of life, from every level of society, but they are united by one thing—their devotion to the preservation of the Confederate way of life."
As Emillian spoke, the projection screen behind her displayed images of laughing marines as they abseiled down cliffs, played padball, or skied down snowy mountainsides. To Arcturus's eye, they appeared to be having so fantastic a time it was a wonder they managed to do any soldiering at all.
"The Corps offers countless opportunities for young men and women to see the sector and gain valuable real-world experience. We will train you. We will teach you. We will shape you into an efficient warrior, garnering respect and admiration from your peers. During your service, you can choose where and what you learn. And when you come out after your short service period, you'll have a strength of character that you'll find nowhere else."
The projection screen now showed marines working through an assault course, men and women with rippling muscles and movie-star good looks. Once again, they appeared to be having the time of their lives, despite the rigors of the physical exertion, and Arcturus wandered who had shot this promotional film—clearly someone not averse to incredible visual hyperbole.
"The Corps has an honorable tradition of service and there are a great many benefits to joining up. Pay and conditions in the Marine Corps have steadily improved over the years and barely fifty percent of recruits ever see active combat. But armed with the latest weaponry and armor technology, a marine has little to fear from the kinds of folk that need fighting. And don't forget that your service becomes pan of your permanent record. Combine that with the reputation of this fine institution and you have the key to open any door you want once you muster out. A life in the Marine Corps is one lived without limits, a life lived for the greater good of the Confederacy and everyone in it. You can be part of that, boys. You can make a difference. You can be all you can be."
Despite himself, Arcturus found himself swept up in the general enthusiasm that filled the assembly hall. The endlessly repeating images of handsome, fulfilled soldiers and Emillian's charismatic delivery combined to make him feel that a life in the military might not be such a bad option.
Captain Emillian stood back and saluted the assembled boys, and the two marines standing behind her repeated the gesture. Thunderous applause erupted and Arcturus found himself standing with the other boys as they rose to their feet to give Captain Emillian a standing ovation.
She smiled and gave a shod bow, turning to shake Principal Steegman's hand. Arcturus wanted to laugh at how ridiculously insignificant the man looked next to the armored marine.
Steegman returned to his lectern and raised his hands for silence, which was forthcoming only after a few minutes of clapping and wolf whistles. When the boys sat down, Steegman said. "Thank you, Captain Emillian, for those stirring words. I'm sure you have given our senior year a lot to think about."
Again, scattered sniggers broke out amongst the assembled boys.
"And now," continued Steegman, oblivious to the effect his ill-chosen words were having, "I want you to take some time to collect some of the literature kindly provided by the Confederate Marine Corps. Classes will resume in one hour, so you'll have plenty of time to gather anything you wish and talk with the marine recruiting sergeants."
Arcturus followed Steegman's gaze and saw a number of tables stacked high with pamphlets and books set out along the side of the assembly hall. He'd not noticed them before, his attention captured by Captain Emillian and her dog-and-pony show. Tall, attractive marines of both sexes in immaculately pressed dress uniforms of navy blue and gleaming brass stood behind each table, hands clasped tightly behind their backs.
"Dismissed," said Principal Steegman, and there was a rush of bodies as the boys of the academy stood and made their way eagerly over to the tables.
Arcturus followed the herd, curious to see what might be on offer.
"Hold still, will you," said Katherine Mengsk, fastening the red toga around her husband's shoulder with a bronze clasp. "This is hard enough as it is without you fidgeting all the time."
"Pain in the damn neck is what it is," said Angus. "Remind me why I need to wear this?"
"Tradition," replied his wife.
"Tradition," spat Angus, as though it were the filthiest swear word he knew.
"You can't very well give the Close of Session speech to the Senate in that old suit of yours, now can you, dear?"
"Fine," said Angus. "But why are you making me wear it now? The speech isn't for another two months."
Achton Feld concealed a smile at Angus's pouting and complaining as his wife turned him this way and that to alter the cut and hang of the ceremonial robes of a senator of Korhal. The robes were heavy and uncomfortable-looking, but the governmental apparatus of Korhal had a long tradition of pomp and ceremony where its procedures were concerned.
"Because, dear," said Katherine patiently, "it needs a few adjustments. It's been a few years since you wore it and you are not as sylphlike as once you were."
"So you're saying I'm fat," said Angus.
"Not at all," replied Katherine lightly. "Merely more statesmanlike."
Angus looked unconvinced, and Feld rose from his chair and made his way to the Skyspire's balcony window as he felt his employer's gaze linger on him, daring him to laugh at his discomfort.
Feld shifted the holster beneath his jacket, wincing as his shoulder pulled stiffly from where the doctors had removed six Impaler spikes from him. He'd been told he was lucky to be alive: four inches to the side and his lungs would have been perforated.
Months of agonizing skin grafts and bone reconstruction surgery had given him plenty of opportunities to curse that luck when tin pain meds wore off and left him with bone-deep ache that not even scotch could obliterate.
Katherine continued to fuss over Angus and Feld left them to it, activating the force field that protected the balcony and heading outside. The energy shield had cost a small fortune and not only protected the balcony from ballistic projectiles, energy weapons, and electronic surveillance, but also kept out the winds that howled around so high a structure.
Feld made his way over to the handcrafted ironwork barrier at the edge of the balcony and gently rested his elbows on it as he leaned out and admired the view.
As far as views went, it was up there with the best of them.
The upper balcony of the Mengsks' tower was on the one hundred and sixtieth floor of the building, some eight hundred meters above street level. The mountains to the north reared up like the ramparts of a giant's castle and to the south the landscape became progressively greener until it reached the azure line of the ocean.
On a clear day such as this, the distant coastline was visible and you could see the summer villa as an oblong of white through the optical viewer that sat on its tripod on the edge of the balcony.
The city of Styrling was laid out before Feld in a grid of silver, with soaring lowers rising to either side of the Skyspire like stalagmites of steel and glass. From here, the sheer scale and life of the city was apparent, and that such a vast conurbation had been built in so short a time was testament to the ingenuity and dedication of the people of Korhal.
That it had been achieved in the face of rampant Confederate corruption made it all the more impressive. Feld loved Styrling: from here he could see the green of the Martial Field, the site of Korhal's establishment as a member planet of the Confederacy. That day had been filled with so much promise so many years ago, but now, as a parade ground for Confederate marines, the Martial Field served only as a bitter reminder of how bad things had become.
Across from the Martial Field was the Palatine Forum, home of the Korhal Senate. Its bronze roof shone like a beacon, shimmering like molten gold in the sunlight.
"Inspiring, isn't it?" said Angus, appearing at Feld's side on the balcony. "Reminds you what we're trying to achieve."
For a big man, Angus Mengsk could move silently when he wanted to. Feld hadn't heard him approach.
"Yeah, it's some view," agreed Feld.
"The jewel in the crown of the Confederacy, they call it."
"I've heard. And now you want to pluck that jewel."
"Right from under them," said Angus with a smile. "It's not their jewel to keep. Not anymore."
"And what will we do if we win?" asked Feld.
“If we win?" said Angus. "Don't you think we can defeat the Confederacy?"
"I don't care anymore," said Feld, standing up straight and stretching his shoulder. "I just want to hurt them."
"Oh, we'll do that, my friend. Have no fear of that," promised Angus.
"You really think we can bring them down?"
"I do." Angus said, nodding. "I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't believe that. It may not happen in our lifetimes, but what we start here will be the beginning of something truly exceptional. Even a landslide has to start with a single pebble, eh?"
"That's true," conceded Feld.
"The influence of the Confederacy is spreading." continued Angus, warming to his theme as he always did when talking of his hatred of corruption, "but the people with the power to lake action are the very ones who won't recognize that there's a terrible malignancy at the head of that power.”
"Why do you think that is? It must be obvious, surely?"
"Of course it is, but recognizing the problem creates a moral obligation to then do something about it," said Angus. "And too many people have too vested an interest to take action."
"But not you?"
"The Old Families and the Council can make things difficult for me, yes, but all the Mengsk businesses are largely self-sufficient. We own every part of the process involved in my factories, from the hovercar plants to the AAI production lines. There's nowhere for them to squeeze us."
"Not legally."
"I've no doubt that the Confeds will throw money at any number of pirate bands or mercenary troops to cause us trouble off world, but we've come too far to give up now. Pretty soon we'll be able to do more than plant bombs or ambush lone squads of marines. Soon we'll be able to declare war."
Feld heard the unmistakable relish in Angus's tone and wondered if the senator truly appreciated what was at stake in taking on the awesome power of the Confederacy. Lives had already been lost, and Confederate troops were cracking down hard all across Korhal.
Early morning raids on those they suspected of terrorist activities were commonplace, and only Feld's rigorous insistence on watertight security and isolation among the various active cells had kept the integrity of the fledgling resistance movement intact.
Though Korhal wasn't yet under anything that resembled martial law, it wouldn't take much to force the Confederates' hand.
"Let's walk before we run," cautioned Feld. "If we rush things, we risk losing everything.”
"You're right, of course," said Angus. "But the moment is coming where the scales will start to tip, and if we don't act when it comes we'll miss it. And it's coming soon, Achton. The guns and tech being brought In from Umoja makes us stranger every day. Our men are now almost as well equipped as the marines."
That was true, reflected Feld. Every day, shipments of “industrial parts” for the Mengsk factories came from Umoja via a number of dummy corporations and along circuitous freighter routes. Innocuously labeled and accompanied by all the correct documentation, these freighters' cargo containers were laden with the guns, ammunition, explosives, armor, and technology that allowed the Korhal freedom fighters to wreak havoc on the Confeds at the behest of Angus Mengsk.
"I never thought Ailin Pasteur would come through like he has."
"He's a good man, Ailin, and not to be underestimated," said Angus. "I've no doubt he's helping us more for the Umojan cause than our own, but I'll take whatever I can get."
"He's still coming back for your Close of Session speech?"
Angus nodded. "Indeed. He and Juliana are returning to Korhal at the end of the week.”
"His daughter's coming?" said Feld, making no effort to hide his irritation." That wasn't in the security briefs. It'll complicate things. Why wasn't I told?"
"I just heard this morning," said Angus, his tone neutral. "Apparently my son has asked Ailin's daughter to accompany him to his graduation ball. And, irritatingly, she has accepted."
Feld looked away, cursing Arcturus for adding this unnecessary burden to his already overworked security staff. In addition to the extra security measures he had instituted since the attack on the summer villa, Feld had assigned men to keep watch on each member of the Mengsk family.
Katherine was relatively easy to protect, as she kept close to Angus, and Dorothy was escorted to and from her preschool playgroup, but Arcturus seemed to delight in making Feld's life difficult, and this was surely another of his schemes lo test Feld's patience.
"Great," said Feld. "Another problem I could do without. As if you weren't making things difficult enough."
"I know what you're going to say, Achton, and the answer's still no."
Feld knew he was fighting a losing battle with Angus, but that didn't stop him from trying.
"Look," said Feld. "You need more guards when you make your walk to the Forum. You're too exposed, and if you don't let me put more men on the ground beside you, I can't guarantee your safely."
"I told you," said Angus, his tone suggesting he was growing weary of having this argument. "I won't walk to the Senate surrounded by armed soldiers. I can't look as though I'm traveling as a war leader. For now I need to be seen as the voice of peace."
"But—"
"But nothing," said Angus. "That's the end of it. I've already consented to the ruinous cost of a personal force field, which I'm not happy about, but I will not be surrounded by soldiers. The Forum is a place of democracy and debate, and Lennox Craven will call me a tyrant or a usurper if I walk in with armed men at my back."
"It's your funeral," said Feld. "I'm just telling you what I think. Hey, I could have taken a cushy job on Brontes getting paid a fortune to babysit rich kids, you know."
"So why didn't you?"
Feld sighed. "Hell, I'd have died of boredom, you know that."
"You're a man of action," agreed Angus. "And you are my friend, so it means a lot to me to know how worked up you're getting over my safety."
"Just remember, that force field's going to give you only a few minutes' protection, just enough to get you to the Forum."
"Yes, so you've told me a dozen times already."
Feld shook his head with a rueful smile. "I still get paid if you die, right?"
"Honestly, Feld, I swear you're worse than my mother ever was."
"She was a sensible woman, your mother," said Feld.
"Pah, there's nothing to worry about, Feld," said Angus. "You're jumping at ghosts, nothing more."
The press of bodies around the tables had eased now and Arcturus lifted one of the pamphlets. An animated graphic of the Confederate flag billowed beneath the words. "The Confederate Marine Corps—A Place for Heroes."
The two marines who had stood immobile behind Captain Emillian circulated throughout the assembly hall, demonstrating aspects of their armor and allowing students to handle their AGR-14 gauss rifles.
Arcturus replaced the pamphlet as the marine recruiting sergeant loomed over the table. He could smell the polish of the brass on the man's uniform and the sweet, slightly sickly aroma of gun oil. The marine's face was open and earnest, but devoid of any real personality.
"Thinking of joining up, son?" asked the man.
"Maybe," said Arcturus. "I haven't decided."
"It's an honorable profession, son," said the marine, and Arcturus noticed the telltale bump of resocialization scars just above the neckline of his uniform's collar as he bent down.
"When did you enlist?" asked Arcturus.
"Six years ago, and never looked back," said the marine automatically, and Arcturus caught the whiff of words said by rote. "Best decision I ever made, son, let me tell you. I've traveled all over the Koprulu sector, seen all kinds of worlds, and met me plenty of interesting folks."
"And killed them?" finished Arcturus mischievously.
"Well, let's put that to one side just now," suggested the marine. "What's your name, son?"
"Arcturus Mengsk."
"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Arcturus. Now, what you need to think of are all the opportunities the Corps can offer you. Travel, self-respect, honor, discipline—"
"Well, have you?" interrupted Arcturus. "Killed anyone, I mean?"
"See here, Arcturus," said the marine sergeant. "Being a marine means you got to kill people sometimes, but only those as deserve it. When bad folks are trying to kill me or my buddies, it ain't no choice. When someone's got a gun pointed at you, well, there's only thing you can do, right?"
"I suppose it depends on why they're pointing the gun al you,” said Arcturus.
"Making trouble, are you, Mengsk?" said a voice behind him, and Arcturus recognized the supercilious tones of Principal Steegman.
"Not at all, sir," said Arcturus, turning on his heel. "Just finding out what I'd be getting into."
"A stint in the military would do you a power of good, Mengsk, said Steegman. "Knock some of the smart-ass out of you. Bit of military discipline would soon sort you out."
"I wasn't aware I needed sorting out, sir."
Steegman leaned in close, and Arcturus had to resist the urge to cough at the overpowering reek of the man's aftershave.
"I know your type, Mengsk," hissed Steegman. "If I had my way, I'd have you all drafted. A dose of military training is just what a boy needs to turn him into a man."
Before Steegman could press his point, a shadow fell over him and Arcturus looked up into the face of Angelina Emillian. Up close, she was even more impressive, the bulk of her combat armor giving her an extra foot of height over Arcturus, who wasn't exactly small.
She absolutely towered over Principal Steegman.
"And what unit did you serve with, Principal Steegman?"
"Excuse me?"
Captain Emillian smiled sweetly, displaying perfect teeth in a perfect smile. "I merely asked what unit you served with. In your time with the military."
"I, uh...haven't," said Steegman. "I mean, that is to say, I couldn't."
Arcturus bit his lip to hide his amusement at Steegman's discomfort and kept his eyes downcast. When he looked up, he saw Steegman staring at him, his face florid with embarrassment.
"I wonder if I might have a word with Mr. Mengsk," asked Emillian. Steegman nodded curtly and all but fled from the marine captain.
"I think I love you," said Arcturus with a broad grin.
"You wouldn't be the first," returned Captain Emillian.
Arcturus watched Principal Sleegman's departing back and said. "He's always made out he served in the military, but I'd always suspected he was lying."
"To be fair, he did apply to join the Colonial Fleet, but he failed the entrance exams and couldn't pass the physical. And between you and me, the physicals for the fleet are a cakewalk."
"Well, thank you for sparing me from him, Captain," said Arcturus.
"Mr. Mengsk?" said Emillian as he turned away.
"Yes?"
"I didn't save you from your principal's attentions out of the goodness of my heart. I do actually want to speak with you."
"Oh? Well, of course," said Arcturus, pleased the captain had singled him out. He could see his fellow students looking over with envious eyes and relished the attention being lavished upon him.
"Thank you, Sergeant Devlin," said Emillian, addressing yhe marine still standing to attention behind Arcturus. "That will be all."
The marine sergeant snapped a smart salute. "Yes, ma'am."
With that, Captain Emillian strode off, her hands clasped behind her back, and Arcturus was forced to step lively to catch up with her.
"Do you always bring resocialized marines to recruitment drives?" asked Arcturus.
"Most of the time," said Emillian. "They don't make great speakers, but they do a good job in giving the right answers to students’ questions."
"So what did he do?" asked Arcturus. "Sergeanl Devlin, what did he do?"
"I don't know," replied Emillian. "Those files are sealed. Once you're a marine, resoclalized or otherwise, your past life is irrelevant. You're a marine, plain and simple."
"How very egalitarian, but I don't think that's entirely true, is it?"
"No, it's not, but would you rather bear how he murdered his entire family with a butcher knife? Or maybe that he enjoyed molesting small boys in the park?"
"I see your point," said Arcturus, looking over his shoulder at the bland face of Sergeant Devlin and imagining it contorted with rage, a bloody knife in his hand.
"The few, the proud, the psychotic..." said Arcturus.
"You're trying to make fun of us, but it won't work, Arcturus," said Emillian with a smile.
"No? Why not?'
"Because I already know you're thinking of joining up."
"I am?" said Arcturus. "And how would you know such a thing?"
"I know more about you than you think. I've seen your test scores and read your psych profile. I know you have fine leadership skills and a confidence that makes people want to follow you. I know that you have a problem with authority figures you consider your inferiors and that your IQ is at the upper end of genius level."
"Those files are classified," said Arcturus, more irritated at her spot-on assessment of his personality than at the violation of his privacy. He didn't like to be so easily read by others.
"Yes they are, but Principal Steegman allowed us to read up on his final-year students before we came here today. Makes selecting likely candidates for recruitment much easier."
"Isn't that against the law?"
"Almost certainly."
Arcturus was surprised at Emillian's easy admission and smiled as he realized why she'd allowed it. "You're trying to put me at ease by sharing a secret," he said. "If you've read my psych profile, then you think I'll trust you more if I think you're being honest with me and appeal to my sense of rebelliousness."
Captain Emillian nodded. "Very good. Is it working?"
"A little," admitted Arcturus, enjoying the back-and-forth he was sharing with this attractive warrior woman.
"So tell me, Arcturus," said Emillian, slopping at one of the sergeants' booths and lifting a handful of different flyers. "What do you want to do with yourself once you leave the academy?"
"I was thinking of becoming a prospector, traveling to the fringe worlds and exploring the edge of space. There's planets there that even the Confederacy hasn't set foot on. I want to leave my mark on history—name a planet, discover something no one's ever seen before. You know, the usual..."
"A prospector," said Emillian. "Thai's an honorable profession. Did you know the Corps can help you with that?"
"Really? How?"
"Most of our tours take place out on the fringe worlds. We deal with miners all the time. You'd be able to pick up some real firsthand experience dealing with mines, miners, and the like. Not to mention the training you'd get on your downtime. The further education facilities on our fleet ships are second to none, equipped with the very best in neural interface mnemo-tutors. You could learn entire new skill sets while you slept."
"Sounds interesting," said Arcturus, surprised to find he was actually intrigued.
"You could do a lot worse than the Corps," said Emillian, handing him the flyers she'd picked up. "With your test scores, you easily qualify for officer training. And once you've completed your basic service, you're free to leave if you want and use the skills you've learned in the military and apply them in civilian life."
"Ah...my 'basic service'..." said Arcturus. "How long would that be?"
"The Corps offers a range of flexible terms," said Emillian smoothly. "It all depends on your circumstances and the current threat level as defined by High Command."
"And what's the current threat level?"
Emillian smiled. "Low," she said.
GRADUATION DAY. ARCTURUS FELT A NERVOUS thrill of excitement coursing though him at the thought of finally escaping the confines of Styrling Academy. After the Marine Corps recruitment morning, Arcturus had found his thoughts returning more and more to the idea of joining up. He had even filled in the electronic application form, though he had not yet submitted it.
The idea of learning the skills of a prospector while being paid by the Confederacy appealed to him, as did the idea that it would drive his father up the wall. And given the current low level of threat in the Koprulu sector, it seemed likely that he would need to serve only a minimum of three years before he was eligible to resign his commission and begin his life as a prospector.
Yes, the idea had its merits, but in the back of his mind, he couldn't shut out the idea that his life would be at risk, and Arcturus hated the idea of placing himself in physical danger.
Wasn't that what the marines were for, to keep danger away?
He put the military from his mind and concentrated on the day at hand. He had enough to concentrate on without creating distractions.
Styrling Academy was bathed in sunlight, the gray granite shining like marble and imparting a sense of modernity to the building. A wide stage had been set up on the lawn before the main portico, with row upon row of seats facing it.
The hundred and fifty-six students of the senior year who were graduating (and that was all of them, for an institution of the stature of Styrling Academy did not allow its students to do anything so prosaic as fall) sat in these seats, dressed in long black capes edged with pale blue silk and wearing mortarboard hats.
Bleachers had been set up on either side of the seats in the center of the lawn, and proud parents sat watching their offspring finally graduate from school. Behind the lectern at which Principal Steegman handed out gold-edged scrolls containing diplomas sat the tutors and masters of the academy. Accompanying them were distinguished alumni of the academy. CEOs of major corporations, noted academics, patrons of the arts, senior marine commanders, and even the chief of the Styrling Police Force.
The principal of Slyrling Academy was dressed in his full ceremonial robes of black and gold, complete with scarlet chasuble and tall, conical hat—which made him look like a cockaded martinet—and Arcturus was sure he was concealing height augmenters beneath his robes.
The school band played rousing tunes as the students walked toward the stage one by one and accepted their diploma from Steegman to the hearty applause of their parents and the curl applause of those whose sons or daughters had already accepted their diplomas or had yet to receive them.
By virtue of his surname, Arcturus was in the middle of the list of names being called out by a lower school prefect, and he eagerly awaited his turn to take the walk to the stage. He glanced over at the bleachers, smiling as he saw his family watching with pride.
Dorothy saw him looking and waved enthusiastically. His mother gave a more restrained wave, and even his father gave him a proud nod of acknowledgment
Sitting next to his father was Ailin Pasteur and beside him was Juliana. It was the first time Arcturus had seen Juliana since the attack on the summer villa, and he was struck again by her stunning beauty. Aside from her being someone to write to, Arcturus hadn't thought of her much, but seeing her here in the flesh reminded him of the desire she had stirred in him upon their first meeting.
The student next to him, a panbrained moron by the name of Toby Mercurio, fallowed his gaze and said. "Who's the curve, Mengsk? Sweet looker."
Mercurio was from one of Styrling's nouveau riche families and had little in the way of breeding, still using slang imported from the Gutter of Tarsonis. Despite that, Arctunis couldn't fault his conclusion.
"Yes," agreed Arcturus, looking forward to the graduation ball that evening. "Sweet is exactly what she is."
"You taking her to the ball tonight?"
"I am indeed, Toby."
Arcturus tuned out Mercurio's nonsensical banter and concentrated on the names being called out. He smiled as he heard names beginning with К being called out.
Not long now...
The K's didn't last too long, and Arcturus felt his heart rate flutter as his own name was called. He rose from his seat, glancing over his shoulder to where his family watched, and strode out into the aisle between the two rows of seats. The clapping of the students was somewhat muted, but Arcturus knew they would soon be changing their tune.
He walked with his head held high, reaching the front of the stage and making his way to the steps at the side. The school photographer took a vidsnap and Arcturus lifted his gaze toward where he knew his mother and father would be recording the event on holocam.
Arcturus smiled for the photographer, then ascended the steps and walked casually across the stage to where Principal Steegman walled with a gold-rimmed diploma. Arcturus fixed his most ingratiating smile across his face and extended his hand to receive the scroll.
It was traditional for the principal to congratulate a graduating student and wish him well in his future endeavors, but Arcturus had no illusions that Steegman would make any such gesture. He was not to be disappointed.
"You'll come to a rotten end, Mengsk," said Steegman, handing him the diploma. "I can always tell the bad ones. And you're the worst of the lot."
Arcturus took the proffered scroll in his left hand and offered his right to Steegman. which, his being unwilling to appear ungracious before the parents and alumni, the principal shook.
"Thank you," said Arcturus. "I hope you enjoy your new residence."
Steegman's face registered confusion, but he quickly recovered and waved Arcturus off the stage. Arcturus swiftly made his way around the back of the seated students, holding his diploma up with a smile for his mother and father to see.
Juliana was on her feet, clapping and staring at him with rapt adoration, and Arcturus smiled. He walked back to his seat and quickly fished his remote terminal console from within his coat pocket.
Little more than a simple communications device with an optical reader, the console nevertheless had the capability to tap into computer networks remotely. So long as you had the connection key and authorization codes, you could get into pretty much any network without too much trouble.
Arcturus quickly tapped in the codes for Steegman's console, long since having memorized the details from the many times he had been summoned to the principal's office and seen them entered in the mirror behind the idiot's desk.
Numbers and letters flashed across the screen for several seconds until a small square appeared on the screen with a line of text beneath it.
DNA verification required.
Arcturus pressed a fingertip onto the optical reader and a green light flashed on the screen.
Identity Confirmed: Isaac Steegman.
He laid the console down on his knee and peeled off the thin, transparent coating he'd coated his right hand with before walking out onto the graduation field. The one-way bio-mimetic gel had been simplicity itself to create in the academy's chem-labs and would disintegrate in the sunlight within a few moments now that he'd removed it.
Arcturus picked up the console once more and opened Steegman's private directories. Using a linguistic algorithm based on a few well-chosen keywords, he quickly discovered the files he'd known he'd find.
"My God, he didn't even try and hide them," Arcturus laughed.
"What's that?" asked Toby Mercurio, sitting back down next to him with his diploma.
"You'll see," Arcturus said with a smile. "Just wait."
Quickly and methodically, he highlighted every file his algorithm had turned up, then set his console to scan the surrounding area for fones and other personal consoles. Hundreds of personal designations scrolled past on the screen, his father's and the SPF chiefs amongst them, and Arcturus set the console lo send the selected files to every one of them.
Arcturus's finger hovered over the Send icon and he hesitated for the briefest second, savoring the moment.
"To the victor go the spoils," he whispered, and pressed Send.
Angus rested his arms on the balcony of the Skyspire as he stared out over the nighttime cityscape of Styrling. During the day, the view was impressive, but at night it was something truly spectacular. An ocean of light spread across the hinterlands that sprawled from the mountains, a web of interconnected light that reflected on the underside of the clouds with a warm, golden glow.
Despite the turmoil engulfing Korhal, the bombings, the unrest, and the Confederate crackdowns, being up here at night always brought Angus peace. Looking over the city from the balcony gave him a sense of perspective he often lacked when dealing with the minutiae of the life he had chosen.
Sometimes it was good to step back from what you were doing and look at the larger picture. Yes, things were hard just now, but with every blow struck against the tyranny of the Confederacy, their hold on Korhal slipped a little further.
Angus scratched a long-ago-healed scar on his forearm, earned on a hunting trip with his father in the forests of Keresh Province to the east, which had taught him that there was no more dangerous a beast than a cornered one. Achton Feld had called Korhal the jewel in the Confederates' crown, which was an apt description, and the Council and the Old Families weren't going to give it up without a fight.
Well, they were going to find out just how much the people of Korhal wanted them gone.
Angus could feel his anger growing as he turned the many injustices inflicted upon the people of the Koprulu sector over in his mind.
On Tyrador X, Confederate meddling and illegal financial dealings had caused the planetary economy to collapse, resulting in mass unemployment on a global scale. Only extensive loans (complete with ruinous rates of interest) and economic restructuring that placed the entire system in the hands of the Old Families had prevented entire comments of people from starving to death.
Another favorite tactic was to set up loss-leading businesses on the fringe worlds— where the Old Families' monopolies were not ironclad—to run local competitors out of business. Once any competition was eliminated, those same businesses would begin charging extortionate prices for basic necessities.
While the use of corrupt business stratagems was the Confederacy's preferred modus operandi, the Old Families were not above using force to take what they wanted.
A prospecting team from the Kel-Morian Combine exploiting the Paladino Belt, an asteroid field containing huge mineral reserves within the larger rocks, had been eliminated when CMC forces launched an assault to capture its leader, a man apparently wanted for murder on Tarsonis. The deaths were described as a tragedy, but within days, a Confederate mining team was working the field, complete with marine garrison and battlecruiser support.
Hundreds of similar stories were the common currency of the Confederacy, tales of greed, bribery, corruption, and nepotism told over a drink with a resigned shrug and a shake of the head. The injustice of it all screamed out for someone to fix the problem, but the scale of the Confederacy was such that no one could do anything. It was the way of things, said people.
Angus Mengsk was going to prove that belief wrong.
He did not relish the thought that he had brought violence to the streets and cities of Korhal, but he knew that it was the only way to wake people up to what was going on around them.
Already things were beginning to change here. Angus was bringing the flagrant abuses of power perpetuated by the Confederacy to light, and the people were finally opening their eyes.
And they did not like what they were seeing.
When you watched a tale of misuse of power on the UNN, it was far away and thus easily forgotten, but when trouble hit close to home it was harder to ignore.
And when those misuses of power began to threaten your livelihood and the future of your family, even the most torpid of viewers would be forced to take a stand.
Angus did not want power for himself and he had no desire to replace the faceless, conscienceless Council with a tyrant of his own making. No, when the Confederacy fell, he would become part of the process of creating a democratic government that sought to benefit all mankind, not one that served the will of one man.
He sensed a presence behind him and smiled as he caught the fragrance of Epiphany, his wife's perfume. Angus turned to see Katherine standing in the green dress of shimmering taffeta with navy bodice she had worn to Arcturus's graduation ceremony earlier that day.
"You look beautiful, Kat," said Angus, accepting one of the thin-stemmed wineglasses his wife carried.
"You've told me that already today, but don't let that stop you," Katherine smiled.
"Never," said Angus. "How did I ever convince you to marry me?"
"You didn't. I asked you, remember?"
Angus sipped his wine. "I maneuvered you into a position where you had no choice."
"You keep on thinking that."
It was a familiar pantomime, one he and his wife often played out in the few moments they had together in private, away from prying eyes and the needs of business and revolution. Theirs had been a tempestuous courtship, for both were passionate, independent individuals who did not like to be overshadowed by another.
But through it all, they had felt a shared need for companionship, recognizing that being one half of a couple could be as liberating as freedom.
Their wedding had been the most glorious day of his life, and throughout their entire married life they had been pillars of strength for one another, supporting each other through times of bliss and despair, and never wavering in their love.
Katherine leaned her head on his shoulder, and Angus kissed the top of her head.
"Dorothy asleep?" he asked.
"Out like a light," said Katherine. "Today really took it out of her, bless her."
"I'm not surprised."
"Yes, it was quite a day, wasn't it?" said Katherine, and Angus laughed so hard tears rolled down his cheeks.
When he had composed himself, he said. "You always did have a knack for understatement, dear."
It had indeed been quite a day, a day that had seen his son finally graduate and the principal of Styrling Academy hauled off to jail by a former student.
When Angus's fone had trilled in his pocket, he had been irritated at the interruption of his son's graduation day, for he had left strict instructions with all his subordinates that he was not to be disturbed.
Then he had heard a multitude of clicks, bleeps, and whistles of hundreds of fones and personal consoles receiving incoming data streams. A ripple of consternation spread throughout the crowd and Angus felt his stomach lurch as he saw that the originating signal belonged to Arcturus's console.
"Oh Cod, what's he done now?" Angus whispered as his fone's screen lit up and a number of files opened. His practiced eye quickly scanned the contents and his anger built as he flipped though the various statements and account records.
"The thieving little bastard...” hissed Angus, looking up and seeing that same anger on scores of other faces now staring in fury at the principal of Styrling Academy. "I told you he was nothing more than a damn crook!"
"Who?" asked Katherine, puzzled at the suddenly tense atmosphere.
"Steegman," barked Angus, making Dorothy flinch. "These are his private accounts. The little toad's siphoned millions from the school treasury and fund-raisers over the years."
People were getting to their feet now, an angry hubbub of voices cutting through the sound of the band and the shouted names of graduating students.
Onstage, Steegman looked puzzled and angry at the disruption, calling for quiet and order. But as an irate school governor marched over and thrust a portable console in front of him, his face blanched in horror as he realized what the entire audience had just read.
Looking back over the day, Angus chuckled as he remembered Steegman's halfhearted attempts to calm the situation. Violence had been averted only by the chief of the SPF's hauling the principal away and bundling him into his groundcar, to the uproarious cheers and applause of the entire student body.
The news had traveled fast, for Arcturus had been thorough in his dissemination of Steegman's files, and within the hour the scandal was being reported on the UNN. Steegman was not connected to anyone of influence, and a great deal of the money he had stolen had come from some very wealthy, very powerful families.
They would throw Steegman to the wolves, and the courts were sure to show him no mercy.
In the aftermath of Steegman's arrest, the vice principal had tried to calm the situation, but gave up in the face of a horde of angry parents and jubilant students, who cheered and hurled their mortarboards into the air.
A near riot had only been avoided by the contagious glee of the students, who danced and laughed and sang as Steegman was driven away in disgrace. Recriminations and a thorough investigation of the depths of the principal's corruption were sure to follow.
With Steegman's departure, the staff and parents milled around in confusion until the vice principal led them off into the main administration block like a marching mob, leaving the jubilant students to continue the party on the main lawn.
Some of the academy's masters had wanted to cancel the graduation ball planned for the evening, but after the day's amusements, it was clear the students weren't going to allow this day of festivities lo end so quickly.
Now, with the day behind them, Angus and Katherine stood and drank wine as the architect of the day's mischief enjoyed his graduation ball.
"I should be angry at him," said Angus.
"Who?"' asked Katherine.
"Arcturus, who else?"
Katherine chuckled. "I know, but it's hard to be angry with him for today. After all, he's graduated now, and you can't say Steegman didn't deserve what happened."
"Oh, he deserved it all right," agreed Angus with a smile. "And to get his just desserts so publicly... I almost don't mind losing the money to have been there to see it."
Katherine leaned up and kissed him on the cheek.
"What was that for?"
"Do I need a reason to kiss my husband?"
"No. Never."
"Good. I'm proud of you," said Katherine. "You know that, don't you?"
Angus nodded. "I know that."
"I'm proud of you both, you and Arcturus. You're very alike, you know?"
Angus furrowed his brow and turned to face his wife. "The boy is willful."
"He's his father's son," Katherine pointed out, laughing.
Angus grunted, unwilling to concede the point. "He has a fine mind and the capacity to achieve anything. And he wants to waste that talent on prospecting, flying around the fringe worlds, and associating with backwater hicks and Kel-Morian pirates? It's no life for a Mengsk. We're made for bigger and better things than that."
"If I didn't know you better, I'd say that was arrogance speaking," said Katherine.
"You know it's not, though," countered Angus. "I know you see it too—you've told the boy often enough that he can be great if he wants to be.”
"That's just it, isn't it? It has to be if he wants it. You should know by now you can't make Arcturus do anything he doesn't want to. The more you try and force him down a path, the more he'll resist you."
"Willful," said Angus again, though his tone was mellow this time.
"Just as you were," pointed out Katherine. "Until you met me."
Angus took a drink of wine and leaned down lo kiss her. "Then let's just hope that the women in his life are as wise and calming as you."
Katherine smiled at him, and Angus Mengsk knew he was the luckiest man alive.
The assembly hall had been transformed.
On every other day, it was an austere, cold place of announcements, the news of sports results, and dull speeches, but now it was a place of festivities. Hundreds of students filled the hall, drinking, dancing, and reveling in the sheer fun of the day. Of course, the only topic of conversation was Steegman's arrest and Arcturus's part in his downfall.
Music pounded from the stage, colorful lights flashed from the ceiling, streamers trailed from every wall, and even the portraits had been hung with fake beards and noses.
The ball's theme was aliens from another world, and a floating banner of light shone with the words: "Class of ‘78! They Came From the Stars!"
Papier-mache creatures of all descriptions hung from the roof beams on wires, reared from punch bowls, or emerged from lovingly detailed lairs set against the walls.
The students' imaginations had run riot and the past week had seen a frenzy of creation in the art classes. A carnival of grotesque creatures filled the assembly hall: giant lizards, bulbous floating jellyfish with multiple eyes, snakelike creatures with whipping tails and tentacles for mouths. At the edge of the stage, sharklike creatures mingled with hairy, multilegged spiders with long necks and terrifying mandibles.
Arcturus knew the subject of alien life had been an obsession with mankind ever since it had first looked up into the night sky In fear and wonder. Thus the abject failure of the Confederacy's science and exploration vessels to find any sign of surviving intelligent alien life was a source of constant frustration to those who believed that the human race was not alone in the galaxy.
Of course, a few explorers were said to have unearthed ancient ruins they claimed were the remnants of alien civilizations, but most people believed these to be elaborate hoaxes. Then there were the big insect creatures on Umoja, which had been domesticated by the people of that world, but they hardly counted as intelligent life.
Even the band was dressed in alien costumes, made up with latex prosthetics to look like fearsome creatures with gnarled foreheads, long hair, and jagged, spiky armor. The effect was more comic than frightening—something Arcturus suspected was half the point.
He normally detested such events, but had to admit he was enjoying himself immensely.
Perhaps he was still on a high from this afternoon's unmasking of Steegman's crimes. After all, it had been deeply satisfying to see the odious little man led away, and he had made sure the principal knew exactly who'd uncovered his crimes and destroyed his life.
It might also have been due to the attractive girl on his arm, for Juliana Pasteur was without fear of contradiction, the most beautiful creature in the room.
But, if he was honest, Arcturus knew it was none of these things—it was the acclaim accorded him by his fellow students and the near worship in which he was now held. His former status of pariah had been forgotten now that Steegman was gone, and Arcturus suddenly occupied a position more akin to a war hero.
It was quite intoxicating.
"Arcturus?" said Juliana as the volume of the music dropped.
"Hmmm?" he said.
"You looked miles away," she said, offering him a glass of punch.
"Sorry," he said with a winning smile, accepting the glass as he returned his attention to the beautiful girl standing next to him.
Juliana Pasteur wore an ankle-length gown of ivory silk with a velveteen bodice that hugged her budding figure and which accentuated her delicate features. Blonde hair spilled around her bare shoulders in golden ringlets and a fine silver necklace set with an Umojan sapphire hung down her neck.
He took a sip of the punch and raised an eyebrow. "There's alcohol in this."
Juliana nodded. "I saw some students emptying some bottles in earlier, but I don't think anyone's going to mind. Not after today."
"No," Arcturus grinned. "I suppose not."
Juliana took his hand and smiled at him. Over the months they had corresponded, he had reveled in the power he seemed to have over her, but with her here next to him, he now fully appreciated the reality of what he had done.
Everything in Juliana's body language told Arcturus that she had fallen for him, which was ridiculous given the few times they had actually met. Truth be told, he didn't know quite what to do with that, for, while he liked her and found her engaging company, he certainly didn't reciprocate the strength of her feelings.
"Dance with me," said Juliana as the band struck up the opening bars of a song with a more relaxed tempo that saw couples all over the room make their way to the dance floor. With no chaperones present, the students of Styrling Academy weren't about to waste this opportunity for some dancing that involved full body contact.
"Dance?" said Arcturus. "I don't think that—"
Juliana took his drink from him before he could protest, then put her own down as well.
"That wasn't a request," she said, leading him onto the dance floor.
Arcturus followed her, nervous at the prospect of making a fool of himself, but pleased at the attention he and Juliana were garnering. Arcturus had to admit they made an attractive couple. Juliana in her ivory gown and he in his exquisitely cut tuxedo and golden cummerbund.
The idea of kissing her leapt to the forefront of his mind and suddenly the idea of dancing close to Juliana didn't seem nearly so bad.
She turned to face him, holding up her arms. "You do dance, don't you?"
"Not for a long time,” he admitted, taking her left hand and placing his right hand on her hip. "My mother made me take lessons when I was young, in preparation for my entrance into soclely. I always haled them."
"Don't worry," promised Juliana, moving his hand lo her backside. "You'll be fine.”
"I fear I may not be the dancer you hope for.”
"Trust me, Arcturus, it'll all come back."
"Well, don't say I didn't warn you if I trample those expensive shoes."
Juliana smiled, and they began to move in time with the music. Arcturus thought he'd forgotten the steps of those long-ago lessons, but, sure enough, after his first faltering steps, he began to move with the music instead of against it. He and Juliana flowed naturally into the rhythm of their shared movement, and he felt like he'd just stepped out of dance class.
A series of dancers spun past them, the girls offering compliments to Juliana on her outfit and the boys hearty congratulations to Arcturus for having Steegman sent down.
"They really like you here," said Juliana, looking up at him. "You must be sad to leave."
Arcturus laughed and shook his head. "Not even a little bit," he said.
"Really? I think I'm going to be sad when I leave the Umoja Institute next year."
"That's because you are well liked and don't have a troublesome, embarrassing father."
"Well, since you're so glad to get out of school, what are you going to do with yourself?"
Arcturus didn't answer at first, wondering how much he should tell her of his plans for the future, for she clearly wanted to be part of them.
"I still want to be a prospector," he said. "But I don't think that's what I'll do first."
"No? Then what?" said Juliana, pressing herself closer to him.
"I think I might join the Marine Corps."
Juliana looked up sharply at him. "The Marine Corps?"
"Yes. I think it would be good to have some military service on my record," said Arcturus.
Arcturus could see she was uncomfortable about his joining the Marines, but whether it was from any concern for his safety or through moral objections, he couldn't yet tell. "What do you think?" he asked.
"I...I'm not sure," said Juliana. "It sounds dangerous, but if it's what you want to do..."
"It's a stepping-stone, nothing more," said Arcturus. "It's not like I plan to stay in the military. Once I'm done I'll muster out and be a prospector, just like I always planned."
"Your father won't like it."
"I don't give a damn if he likes it or not," snapped Arcturus. "It's my life and I'll do what I want, not what he thinks I ought to do. I'll be eighteen next week and there's nothing he can do to stop me."
Juliana looked into his eyes, seeing the steely determination there, and nodded. "Then I think it's wonderful. I just know you'll be the best soldier they've ever had."
Arcturus wanted to laugh at how easily Juliana had come around to his way of thinking, despite the anti-Confederate propaganda her father was no doubt feeding her.
"You'll be a general within six months," she said. "My hero."
Sensing a moment of opportunity, Arcturus let go of Juliana's hand and tilted her chin upward with a light touch of his fingertips. She guessed what he was doing and closed her eyes, her lips parting slightly as he leaned in.
Their lips met, and they kissed.
Juliana's skin was warm to the touch and her lips were soft. She held him lightly, as though afraid to let him go, and the students closest to them cheered at the sight.
Arcturus felt a surge of vindication at the sound, understanding exactly what it meant. It meant he could have anything he wanted.
THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE LINED SENATORS' PARADE, the marble-paved street that led from the Martial Field to the Palatine Forum. Their cheers were deafening, and Achlon Feld had to concentrate to hear the updates from his men over the mike nestled in his ear.
He had been awake since dawn, overseeing the last-minute preparations for Angus Mengsk's walk through the heart of the city. After the attack on the summer villa, Feld had increased security around the senator, but this had been the moment he had been dreading for weeks.
Angus's natural disregard for any threats to his person had given Feld dozens of sleepless nights as he worried about Confederate assassins, lone nutcases, or simply a zealous supporter of Lennox Craven. To watch for such a threat, Feld had men spread throughout the crowd, equipped with detectors attuned to the spectral frequency of the alloys used in the ammo of slugthrowers and spike pistols.
Thai would detect the most common firearms, but he knew that if anyone in the crowd carried a more sophisticated weapon, it would need to be visually recognized.
The atmosphere was electric and the mood of the crowd was jubilant (which was something to be thankful for) as they awaited Angus's arrival. Today was the final day of the Korhal Senate's sitting for the year, and it was traditional for a senator chosen by popular acclaim to deliver the Close of Session speech.
Ever since he had taken a stand against the tyranny of Confederate rule, it had been clear that it would be Angus Mengsk the people of Korhal would choose to deliver the speech.
Feld looked along the length of Senators' Parade, steel barriers keeping the crowd from the road. Banners with Angus's name on them were held high alongside flags with the wolf-head emblem of the Mengsk family crest. The route itself was clear and the gleaming white structure of the Forum shone like a beacon of light at its end. The roof blazed in the summer sunlight as though afire, and even Feld had to admit that it was an impressive sight.
All being well, Angus would walk through the great oaken doors of the Forum and stand before the assembled senators and visiting planetary dignitaries to deliver his speech. And after that...well, after that, the dynamic between Korhal and the Confederacy would be changed forever.
Feld heard a double click in his earpiece and felt a jolt of adrenaline hit his system. Angus was on his way.
Sure enough, Feld saw the silver ‘58 Terra Cougar as it pulled slowly around the curve of the road that led to where he awaited his employer and friend. The groundcar moved slowly and Feld silently willed it to hurry up as the noise of the crowd grew louder with word of Angus's arrival.
At last the groundcar pulled up, and Feld moved quickly to open the door. The door slid upward and Angus Mengsk emerged from within, resplendent in his bright red toga. Angus stood tall, waving to the crowd with his head held high, his smile warm and genuine.
Katherine Mengsk followed him from the car, and Feld did a slow double take at the sight of her. She was dressed in a simple yet elegant dress of cornflower blue, her long dark hair bound up in a flattering style that brought out the classical lines of her cheekbones.
Angus turned back and took Katherine's hand, but before he could walk to the end of Senators' Parade, Feld stepped close and said. "What the hell are you doing, Angus?"
“I'm walking toward the Forum, Achton," said Angus through his smile. “What does it look like I'm doing?'
"It looks like you're blatantly disregarding the security plan we discussed. What is Katherine doing here? She was supposed to meet you at the Forum."
"I didn't like that plan," said Angus. "Now get out of my way. I'm going to walk to the Forum with my wife, and I don't want you next to me like a guard dog at my heel."
"Do you want to get killed?" asked Feld. "Is that it?"
"Don't be ridiculous—even the Confederacy wouldn't try anything today," scoffed Angus. "And we're both shielded by that force field of yours. Nothing's going to happen."
Feld stepped back and allowed Angus to walk past him, angry beyond words that the senator had so casually thrown out the security plan designed to keep him safe. Angus was probably right that nothing would happen today, but in Feld's experience it was usually just at that moment—when you lowered your guard—that your enemies struck.
Cursing Angus's need for dramatic gestures, Feld quickly broadcast an update on the security situation to his men in the crowd and closed the groundcar's door, thankful that Angus hadn't gone the whole hog and decided to bring Dorothy along. The vehicle would follow a discreet distance behind Angus in case a speedy exit was called for, and Feld just hoped it would not be needed.
Setting off alongside the groundcar, Feld scanned the crowd as Angus began his walk to the sounds of ecstatic cheers and howls of support. Every face was fixed on Angus and his glamorous wife.
Any one of them could be a potential threatm Feld knew.
I should have taken that job on Brontes, he thought.
Angus felt the mood of the people surging through him and knew he'd made the right decision to bring Katherine along with him. He was just sorry he hadn't decided to ask his wife to bring Dorothy and Arcturus, but quickly discarded that thought.
Bringing a child as young as Little Dot to an event like this would be foolish, and Arcturus... well, his son would never have agreed anyway. They had spoken little since the events of Graduation Day, his dealings with Ailin Pasteur and preparations for today's events taking up the bulk of his time.
In any case, Arcturus had been spending most of his time since leaving the academy with Pasteur's daughter. The only real time Angus and his son had spoken had been yesterday at breakfast, where, despite his wife's warning glance. Angus had broached the subject of what Arcturus was planning on doing with his life.
"I haven't decided yet," said Arcturus, and Angus's political instincts sensed evasion.
"I could set up an interview with Nestor Jurgens," said Angus nonchalantly. "He runs one of my machine tooling factories in Fairstens. He's a good man—you could learn a lot from him."
"What would I want to learn from a factory manager?" said Arcturus.
"Nestor's more than just a factory manager," replied Angus, irritated at his son's ingratitude. "All my managers effectively run their businesses autonomously. They're CEOs and financial managers all in one, though, of course, they answer to me. You're eighteen now, and you'd learn the ropes of what it takes to succeed in the industrial marketplace and acquire the skills you'll need if you're going to succeed me."
"Succeed you?" spat Arcturus. "I have plans of my own."
"I thought you said you hadn't decided on what you wanted to do."
"Well, I have."
When Arcturus didn't continue Angus sat back. "Are you going to keep us all in suspense?"
"You'll find out," said Arcturus, and Angus hadn't liked the sound of that one bit. After Arcturus's stunt at Graduation Day, Angus knew his son's mind could work in the most devious ways.
Arcturus had excused himself from breakfast at that point, and only Dorothy's spilling her cereal over the table had prevented Angus from going after him and demanding to know what was going on.
Angus pushed thoughts of Arcturus from his mind as Katherine gave his hand a squeeze.
He turned to her and kissed her cheek, and the crowd went wild.
They walked along Senators' Parade, the shimmering whiteness of the Forum drawing them ever onward. A tall figure in a red toga stood at the top of the steps and Angus smiled as he recognized Lennox Craven, the senior consul of the Senate and the man who would formally welcome him.
"This must be killing him," said Angus. "Having to welcome me in personally."
Katherine didn't need to ask who he meant, and smiled back. "I'm sure it is, but I can't say I have any sympathy for him."
Angus heard the steel in her voice, knowing that Katherine believed with utter certainty that Craven had dispatched the men who had come to kill them in the summer villa. She was probably right, but without concrete proof, there could be no public accusations.
"I'm going to enjoy watching that bastard squirm," said Angus.
"Careful, dear," cautioned Katherine, waving to the crowd. "There are a dozen holocams on you, and it would be bad form if someone lip-read that from you."
"Very true," said Angus. "As always, you are the soothing wind to my raging storm."
"Such is my role." She smiled. "But just make sure you do make the bastard squirm."
Lennox Craven was not a man given to public displays of emotion, but as he watched Angus Mengsk march toward him with barely disguised relish, it was all he could do to keep the anger from his face.
Dressed in a red toga identical to Mengsk's, Craven knew he was nowhere near as imposing or impressive a figure as his nemesis, but then, he had never set out to make himself a self-styled man of the people.
He knew for a fact that Mengsk's public face was as manufactured as that of any of the dozens of vacuous actors and actresses that UNN's celebrity channel broadcast day and night. Mengsk might pretend to be the champion of the common man, speaking out against the perceived injustices of the Confederacy, but hadn't he in fact benefited massively from all the Council of Tarsonis had done?
Wasn't Mengsk a wealthy man thanks to the very apparatus he so gleefully attacked with his speeches in the Forum and his incessant interviews on UNN? No, Lennox Craven knew the true face of Angus Mengsk, which made it all the more galling that he had to stand here as though they were the greatest of friends.
It made him want to throw up.
Even with bribes and calling in the many favors he was owed, he had not been able to prevent Angus from winning the hearts and minds of the people and the right to speak at the Close of Session. The Council had been most insistent: Angus Mengsk must be silenced. If one of the Confederate's most treasured and pampered worlds was seen to turn against them, then it would only be a matter of time before others attempted to follow its example.
And that could not be allowed to happen.
His paymasters were demanding results, and Lennox Craven had singularly failed to deliver them.
Thousands upon thousands of people lined the streets, and Craven could not remember a time when such numbers had come out to watch a senator march to the Forum. He remembered the year he had been chosen to make the Close of Session speech, and his bitterness at the apathy the people had displayed threatened to choke him in the face of Angus's popularity.
He drew himself up to his full height as Angus and his wife reached the bottom of the wide steps that climbed to the columned portico and the great black doors, beyond which lay the grand debating chamber.
Angus turned to give another wave to the cheering crowds, raising both arms above his head and accepting their adulation. He then turned and, taking his wife by the hand, began his ascent of the steps.
Craven could see the relish in Mengsk's eyes and prayed the man would stumble and fall flat on his face—anything to puncture the pompous arrogance that surrounded him. But Angus reached the top of the steps without mishap, and Craven fixed a practiced smile across his features and assumed the dignified mien of a seasoned senator who was about to welcome one of his dearest friends.
"Angus Mengsk, you've brought quite a crowd with you," he said by way of greeting. "And Katherine, you look radiant. A pleasure to see you, as always."
Mengsk's wife curtsied graciously and said. "Thank you, Lennox."
Angus Mengsk came forward with his arms open, and Craven's smile faltered.
Dear God, was the man expecting an embrace?
The crowds roared, and Craven knew he would have to play along with this charade of friendship. He opened his arms as Mengsk swept him up in a crushing bear hug, then awkwardly patted Mengsk's back in a suitably brotherly fashion, hoping that this would suffice.
"I know it was you who sent those men to kill me," whispered Mengsk. "I just wanted you to know that before I destroy you in there."
Craven stiffened, but before he could reply, Mengsk released him and made his way to the great doors of the Forum. Katherine Mengsk swept past Craven, locking her eyes with his as she went to join her husband. Though she said nothing, her cold gaze pinned him like a butterfly on a collector's wall.
Taking a deep breath to compose himself, Lennox Craven turned and followed Angus Mengsk into the Forum, already dreading what the damnable man was going to say in his speech.
The inferior of the Palatine Forum was no less magnificent than the exterior, the floor of the vestibule fashioned from great slabs of black marble veined with gold and its columns fluted and rising to dizzying heights. The alabaster walls were painted with great murals depicting the pioneers of Korhal's heroic past: revered senators, intrepid spacefarers, great architects, military commanders, and far-seeing philosophers.
Angus and Katherine crossed the vestibule and approached the bronze doors of the great chamber of the Forum, behind which could be heard the animated buzz of voices.
Lennox Craven caught up to them, but Angus did not deign to glance in his direction.
Katherine squeezed his hand. Once again, Angus was thankful for her steadying presence.
She turned to him and said. "I love you."
"I love you too," said Angus without hesitation.
Katherine smiled and made her way to a door at the side of the vestibule, which Angus knew led up to the viewing gallery. Tradition demanded that only senators enter the main chamber through this door, so Katherine would need to view proceedings from above, with the rest of the families and Invited guests.
He waited for a few minutes—pointedly ignoring Lennox Craven—until he was sure Katherine would have reached her allocated seat. Then he approached the door.
It swung open smoothly, and Angus felt his heart race as he saw the assembled senators and dignitaries awaiting his arrival.
Yes, he thought. This is my moment...
"There's your mother now," said Ailin Pasteur, and Arcturus turned to see Katherine Mengsk threading her way through the assorted family members gathered in the viewing gallery. She saw him silting there, her eyes bright at this unexpected pleasure, and Arcturus felt a genuine moment of regret at what he was about to do to her.
Juliana sat behind her father, full of nervous excitement at the thought of seeing Angus Mengsk give the Close of Session speech in the Korhal Forum. In the time since graduation, she had spent a great deal of time with Arcturus, though thanks to the constant presence of a chaperone he had not had a chance to take her to his bed.
Instead, they had spent most of their time in closely supervised walks through Styrling, and though he never tired of filling her head with his grandiose dreams of the future, he had begun to tire of her company.
Not that that would be a problem soon, he thought, picturing the sheaf of papers nestling in his coal pocket. Only Juliana knew what he planned, but he knew she would say nothing.
His mother smiled as she negotiated her way toward their little group, obviously pleased to see him there. She smiled at people she passed, and Arcturus could see the genuine affection in which his mother was held. In addition to being the glamorous wife of a senator, Katherine Mengsk was a patron of numerous charities and spoke out on many issues that affected people from every strata of society.
She had been the first to address the subject of child trafficking between worlds, had opened people's eyes to the plight of the homeless in Styrling, and had set up numerous health organizations to aid the many victims of war. His mother offered kind words to everyone she passed, and watching her easy smile and natural grace made Arcturus realize why she was so beloved by the people of Korhal.
At last his mother reached them, and Arcturus shifted up on the wooden bench to allow her to sit next to him. She leaned over and kissed his cheek.
"I'm so glad you came, Arcturus," she said, her smile warm and genuine.
"So am I," said Arcturus.
She directed her attention to the Pasteurs and said, "Ailin. It's wonderful to see you here. And Juliana, Angus will be so pleased you came to see him deliver his speech."
Juliana smiled shyly at Katherine, and Arcturus could see she was a little in awe of his mother. "Thank you, Mrs. Mengsk."
"Call me Katherine, dear, please." She smiled, patting Arcturus's knee. "You're practically family now."
Ailin Pasteur returned Arcturus's mother's smile and said. "I wouldn't have missed this for the world, Katherine. People are going to remember this day for a long time to come."
"I have no doubt of that," said Katherine, beaming as the master of ceremonies rapped his bronze-tipped staff on the tiled floor of the Senate floor.
The senators below stood a little taller and everyone in the gallery leaned forward as the bronze doors opened and Angus Mengsk made his entrance.
Angus raised his arms in triumph as he stepped into the vast domed chamber of the Senate, recognizing that this was a symbolic as well as a literal crossing of a threshold. Like the most alluring woman, the Palatine Forum saved its most majestic treasures for last and, as always, Angus felt a deep sense of pride, awe, and reverence for what this chamber represented.
Democracy, free will, and freedom from oppression.
The central floor was paved with panels of opus sectil, in which porphyry and serpentine figured prominently. To either side were three broad, low, marble-faced steps, and on the level nearest the floor sat the more notable senators upon their curule chairs.
The two top steps were broader than the others, and upon them stood hundreds of richly dressed men and women, the entire body of the Korhal Senate and assorted dignitaries granted special leave to attend the Close of Session.
Gray marble wainscoting ran along each wall, finished with a molding above which marble panels were rhythmically placed with only the interruption of three statue-filled niches to break the pattern. As the wall rose toward the dome, it was faced with tall gray rectangular panels with golden lettering: the constitutional tenets set down by Korhal's earliest settlers and the principles by which its people were to be governed.
The dome itself was made up of heavily gilded lacunaria consisting of square coffers set with golden discs at their centers. Just below the dome was the viewing gallery, where those important enough to be allowed into the Palatine Forum yet not of sufficient stature to set foot in the main chamber could be seated.
Ailin Pasteur watched from here, as did Katherine, proudly awaiting Angus's arrival. He resisted the urge to wave to her. Looking farther along, he was surprised and pleased to see Arcturus next to her.
Katherine had probably emotionally blackmailed their son to get him here, he figured. Briefly he wondered why Katherine hadn't told him that Arcturus was going to be here, but put the thought from his mind. Where Arcturus was concerned, Angus would take what he could get.
He looked up into the dome as thunderous applause swelled from the assembled senators, and let the moment stretch as he reveled in the acclaim of his peers. When he judged the moment right, he slowly lowered his eyes to the Confederate flag hung opposite the entrance, below which sat the senior consul's plinth.
It was from this plinth that Angus would deliver his speech, and he marched across the floor of the Senate chamber toward it. With applause still ringing in his ears, he stepped up onto the plinth and stared up at the red and blue of the flag.
His scathing look made no secret of his loathing for all it represented.
Creed, corruption, and moral stagnation.
With one swift movement, he reached up and ripped it down.
The cheers of the assembled senators doubled in volume.
Arcturus watched the faces of the people below in the Senate hall and gathered around him in the gallery as they clapped and cheered. He was amazed they could be so enamored of his father. Could they not see him for what he was—an ordinary, stubborn man who didn't know how to listen? In that moment, a realization crystallized in Arcturus.
It didn't matter what the reality of a person was, it was what he showed the world that mattered. The people of Korhal didn't know the real Angus Mengsk: they knew the reality he gave them, the manufactured persona calculated to win them over to his cause. It didn't matter that his Father was as human and as fallible as them: all that mattered was what he meant to them and what he promised them.
Arcturus had always known that ordinary people were easy to manipulate, but to see supposedly educated men and women so easily swayed was a revelation.
He sat back as his father strode across the Senate floor toward the senior consul's plinth, basking in the applause of his fellow senators. This was a salutary lesson in the power of perception versus reality, but Arcturus had no wish to sit through another of his father's impassioned rants about the iniquities of the Confederacy.
He'd heard enough of those over the course of his young life to last him a lifetime.
It was time.
Arcturus took a deep breath and reached inside his coat packet, removed the sheaf of crisp papers he'd signed earlier this morning, and laid them on his lap. He looked over at his mother, again feeling slightly guilty about what he was about to do, but knowing that this was the right thing for him to do simply because it was what he wanted to do.
Sensing his scrutiny, his mother glanced over at him, and her clapping faltered as she saw the papers laid out before him and the insignia emblazoned at the top.
"Arcturus...." she said hesitantly. "What's that?"
"Enlistment papers, Mother," he said. "For the Confederate Marine Corps. I went to the recruitment offices this morning."
Katherine looked down at the papers, her confusion turning to cold dread in the space of a heartbeat. “Oh Arcturus, no...please, no... What have you done?"
She went to lift the papers from him, but he was quicker, and snatched them up before she could take them as the cheers of the crowd suddenly swelled in volume.
"Arcturus, what did you do?" cried his mother. "Tell me!"
"I joined up," he said.
"No, no, you didn't!" said Katherine. "You didn't. Arcturus, if this is a joke, it's in very poor taste."
"I'm not joking, Mother," said Arcturus. "As of this morning, I'm part of the officer corps of the 33rd Ground Assault Division under Commander Brantigan Fole."
"No, no, you're not. This is some kind of prank, isn't it?" said his mother, and Arcturus saw real panic in her eyes. "Isn't it? Tell me it's one of your stupid pranks!"
People were turning from watching his father below on the Senate floor to the growing commotion in the gallery as Katherine's voice rose in pitch and volume. The applause was still loud and cheering echoed around the chamber, drowning out their words to all but the nearest spectators.
"It's not a prank, Mother," said Arcturus, cold fury entering his heart at the idea that something this important to him would be dismissed as a prank. This was his life, and she thought he was joking?
"I'm leaving this afternoon," he said.
His mother slapped him across the cheek.
Gasps of surprise spread like ripples in a pond at the sound of her palm connecting with his cheek.
"You stupid, stupid boy," stormed Katherine. "You stupid, selfish boy. Is this your way of hurling your falher? Of hurting me? Do you have any idea what you've done?"
"I know exactly what I've done," said Arcturus, his resolve now hardened in the face of his mother's insulting slap. "And you've just made it easier for me."
Katherine reached for him, but he batted her hands away and rose to his feet. His mother looked up at him, tears spilling down her cheeks, but Arcturus didn't care anymore. He slid his enlistment papers back into his coat pocket and said. "Good-bye, Mother. Tell Dorothy I'm sorry I didn't have a chance to say good-bye to her. Tell her I'll write."
"No!" wept Katherine, her heartbroken cry swallowed up by the clapping that still filled the Senate chamber. “Oh God, please don't do this! Arcturus, please, please...wait!"
Arcturus ignored his mother's terrible, aching grief and strode through the astonished crowd silting in the viewing gallery. He could feel their eyes upon him, but kept his head held high, determined to leave this place with dignity.
A strong hand gripped his arm, and he turned to berate the person for this impudence.
Ailin Pasteur stood behind himm his face a mask of anger. "Your father will never forgive you to this, Arcturus."
"I'm not asking him to," snapped Arcturus, shrugging off the Umojan ambassador's hand.
"Of all the days you could have done this, why today?" demanded Pasteur.
Arcturus returned Pasteur's stare with a steel gaze of his own. The man recoiled from the determination in Arcturus's eyes as though struck.
“Sometimes you have to do something dramatic to make your point," said Arcturus.
Pasteur shook his head sadly, turning to look at his weeping mother.
“Well, boy," he said sadly, "you've certainly done that. I just hope you don't live to regret what you've done today."
“I won't," promised Arcturus, turning and walking away.