Most people would have a hard time getting a good night’s rest after the day where they died for the first time. I suspect I’d be no exception to that, if I didn’t have the option of simply putting myself to sleep. Insomnia is one of the many minor biological inconveniences that modern technology has effectively eradicated, and as a result, I wake up early in the morning feeling refreshed.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” one of my other selves says cheekily. I wave her away lazily, my hand passing through her holographic avatar, which flickers when I touch it. “Just so you know, we finished going through the personnel files. Got some solid candidates for officers, and started working on plans for the group training exercises.”
“Great,” I mumble, head still half-buried in my pillow. “I’m gonna go take a shower, then we can synch back up, and I’ll spin you guys back off again before I head to class, so you can finish up those plans.”
“Sounds good,” the other me chirps. Psychologically speaking, we’re almost indistinguishable, except for the fact that they don’t get tired or bored, which is how they can keep working for hours at a time, while I have to sleep and eat and deal with all the other inconveniences of having a body. Like cleaning myself, which is first on the agenda in the morning.
Forcing myself to sit upright, I peel off what few clothes I left on while sleeping. Somewhere in the room is a camera, which is being operated by a member of Sander’s copyclan, so he can make sure I’m safe while we’re both sleeping. He’s probably merged with it already, but even if it’s still watching, I don’t particularly care. He’ll end up seeing it all eventually, while patching me up after a battle or what-have-you.
My tail drags lazily behind me as I make my way into the en suite bathroom off of where I sleep. It’s a marked improvement from back home, where I shared the bathroom with all three of my siblings. They’re probably happy to have it all to themselves, now.
The hot water does wonders to wash away the last remaining vestiges of exhaustion from my mind. My body, not so much, mostly because it’s less than a day old. There are still areas I can’t quite reach with my hands, though, which is why having a tail is handy. The tip is sharp, but the edges are blunt enough that I can use them to work out any kinks in my muscles. The fact that I’ve already got those forming is probably not a good sign about my stress levels, though. Hopefully I’ve managed to keep anybody else from noticing.
When I’m done, I dry myself off and get dressed. No uniform today- instead I decide to go for something a little less restrictive, in a crop-top with a metallic scale-mail exterior, and a pair of shorts with a hole for my tail, as most of my pants have. After I’m finished, I head into the office and take a seat in the desk chair, before accessing sim-storage and resynchronizing with my copyclan. It’s usually slightly disorienting, which is why I make sure I’m seated first, to keep myself from falling on my ass from the sensation of having ten different sets of memories merged with my own.
Merging with your copyclan isn’t exactly like learning new information, so much as it’s like suddenly remembering something you once knew, but forgot. Getting someone else’s memories doesn’t feel the same way, because their thought patterns are generally not the same as your own. The other Izas did some good work while I was sleeping- their assessment of the Gazelle unit’s potential candidates for officers seems to essentially bear out my own initial assumptions, and they expanded my vague plans for our first training exercises into something I can see being highly effective. Of course, I’m somewhat biased, seeing as how it’s essentially my own plan, but still.
Running a hand through my still-damp hair, I plop down on the couch in my living room, which has a recessed area next to the fireplace. Leaning back, I close my eyes and send Sander a message over the brainband.
Mornin’.
Talking to someone over the brainband more or less feels like having their voice in your head, which can be exceedingly disconcerting the first few times. Of course, it alerts you before sending the message itself through, so you don’t get surprised by hearing someone else in your own skull at an inopportune moment.
Good morning, Sander replies.
I’m gonna get breakfast, you wanna come with?
It’s a bit of a rhetorical question- he wouldn’t let me out of his sight. But framing it as a request feels less weird. It’s not like he’s my employee, or anything. Sure, he’s in my unit, but I don’t want to start ordering him around outside of a battlefield context.
Yes.
Great, let me find a place and get back to you.
With a yawn, I stretch my arms above my head, eyes still shut, and run a search for breakfast places near the Hyperion Building. That works by polling the collective ambient memories of everyone in the area, including those who are no longer here. Obviously not all of a person’s memories are stored in the brainband network, and the ones that are get divorced from the person who originally had them, so they’re just abstract thoughts and impressions. Makes it easy to tell if a restaurant is good or not, though, based on the positive or negative emotions associated with each one.
Soon enough, I settle on a coffee shop just down the block, and send Sander the address. He doesn’t respond with words, just a muted pulse of positive emotion, the brainband equivalent of a nod. Before leaving the apartment, I spin up my copyclan again, and set them to work finishing up the plans for our training exercise at the end of the week.
Sander is waiting for me outside my apartment, arms folded, expression as unreadable as ever. He gives me a nod and falls into step just a pace behind me. Getting some rest has more or less cured me of my anxiety from last night, though having Sander by my side probably has something to do with it too. A few of the other Gazelles are hanging around in the lobby when we come down, though I imagine most are still sleeping, as classes don’t start for several hours. Most of them are ones I haven’t spoken with before, though I recognize them from my copies’ late-night study session. On a spur-of-the-moment impulse, I send a brainband message to the whole room.
Hey, I’m going to get breakfast. You’re all welcome to join me.
At least one person ignores me outright, and another gives an apologetic shake of his head, but two people glance back and forth between each other, then get up from where they’re sitting and come to walk with Sander and I. One of them is a woman with two-toned blue-blonde hair, who I recognize as being a tech-type of some kind, and the other is an older guy, maybe in his late twenties, who’s an intelligence specialist. My offer included information on where we’re headed, since I wouldn’t expect them to come along if they didn’t know what they were getting into.
“Nice day,” the woman remarks, as we step outside. There’s a patch of faint green in the lavender sky this morning, and the sunlight is just filtered enough to be pleasant, without being too bright.
“Definitely. Adelaide, right?”
“Just Ada,” she replies with a half-smile. “Tech-spec. Mainly weapons, but I can be flexible.”
“Tai,” says the older guy, sticking out his hand for me to shake. “I do surveillance.”
“Good to meet you both. I’m Iza, obviously. Big guy is Sander, he’s handling security.”
He and Tai shake, while Ada just offers him a two-finger salute. I wonder what the odds of three people with three-letter names all meeting up like this are. If I started calling Sander ‘San,’ would it trigger some sort of probabilistic collapse?
Introductions took us long enough that we’re already at the cafe. A white-clad Citadel staff member offers us a friendly smile as we walk in. I suppose doing the customer-service act is easier when you’re getting paid generously, and these people are. The reason why is simple enough- if they were getting paid peanuts, it would be much easier for someone to bribe them. Of course, that didn’t stop someone from almost certainly doing that exact thing, in order to make an attempt on my life, but that’s another matter entirely. For all I know, there could have been no money involved whatsoever. We’ll know the truth soon enough- in fact, I’m sure Sander already has most of his copyclan looking into it. The rest are probably making preparations to have the Hyperion Building wired up by the end of the week. Maybe he and Tai should compare notes, come to think of it.
While we’re ordering, I use the brainband to literally put that idea in both of their heads. Sander may be a bit antisocial by nature, but he’ll follow up on something that’s relevant to his job. After getting our drinks and food, we find a suitably-sized table and sit down. Predictably, Sander seats himself right next to me, starting in on his ham and cheese sandwich with mechanical efficiency.
Ada takes a bite out of her blueberry scone, washes it down with some coffee, and then looks to me curiously.
“So… what’s your deal?”
Raising an eyebrow, I sip at my tea and chuckle.
“How so?”
“Well, I have to imagine you wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t a reason, you know? Considering how all the other Nobles in your line have turned up dead before they could get out of here. Sure, the Myrmidons would probably have dragged you back, but if anybody could duck them, it’d probably be someone from your line.”
She’s probably giving me a bit too much credit. After all, plenty of others in the line of Thorn have tried and failed to avoid the Citadel for exactly the reasons she brought up. Really, it’s a testament to the accomplishments of a fairly small handful of Nobles in my line, plus our Founder himself, that we’ve still got such a reputation despite the number of failures we’ve produced. But I’m not going to be the one to try to dispel that.
“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have ambitions, but honestly? At least half of it’s just that I want to prove I’m better than all those assholes who died. If I ran, I’d be admitting that I thought I’d die the same way.”
Tai starts to laugh through a mouthful of croissant, then thinks better of it and swallows before responding.
“How many of the ones who died do you think came here thinking the exact same thing?”
“Most of them, I’m sure. The difference is, they were overconfident fools, whereas I am clever and brilliant.”
While my joke does seem to amuse the others- save for Sander, naturally -it’s mainly a way of deflecting from the fact that he’s completely right. Having grown up where I did, I’ve got virtually no evidence that I’m in any way more capable than any of the others that came before me. If it weren’t for Sander, I’d have been truekilled already. Yet for some reason I still feel inexplicably confident. Maybe it’s because I do have Sander, and a surprisingly solid unit, despite that I’d have expected from being assigned to the Gazelles. Or maybe it’s got something to do with my hypothetical secret ally, who I’m fairly certain arranged for me to get Sander in the first place. But even if they do exist, I can’t put too much faith in them- or anyone other than myself. Not yet.
“How about you two? Just here out of obligation, or do you have any bigger plans?”
“Figured it would be my best chance to play with all the Imperium’s fun toys,” Ada says with a playful grin.
Tai just shrugs.
“Trying to run didn’t seem worthwhile. Myrmidons would have taken my parents if I tried. Can’t say I’m too into all of this competition stuff, though.”
“Fair enough. Can I assume you’re not interested in being an officer, then?”
That provokes a look of surprise.
“Am I under consideration?”
“Well, I need somebody to run intelligence for me, and it’s a pretty small unit. Only two or three other people I could see being up to the task.”
One thing that’s convenient about dealing with Nobles is that you don’t really have to test their capabilities before assigning them to a specific task. With a very few notable exceptions, Nobles are pretty much all good at the same things their Founder was good at. That means I can pretty safely assume Tai would be capable of running the Gazelle unit’s intelligence apparatus, if I gave him the job.
“Well, it’s nice to be appreciated, but... I’m not sure that’s really my wheelhouse. Surveillance, I can do, but I don’t know much about the other side of spy stuff. If none of the other options pan out, I’d give it a shot, but you should really hope it doesn’t come to that.”
I can respect that he knows his limits, at least. And to be honest, he wasn’t exactly my first choice to begin with.
“Understood.”
“What about me?” asks Ada, wiping some crumbs off her face. “Don’t tell me you’re planning on putting gearface in charge of tech.”
“Not in a million years,” I reassure her, grateful to know I’m not the only one who finds him insufferable. “Though if I did put you in charge, it would mean you’d have to deal with him all the time.”
The engineer freezes with her scone halfway to her mouth, horror dawning in her eyes.
“Shit, you’re right.”
“Well, get used to the idea, because I’ve only got one candidate for the job other than you. Seems like they really shafted us in terms of tech specialists, compared to the other units.”
Ada snickers.
“Yeah? Who’s the other candidate, then?”
“Well, her Founder was famous for developing chemical weapons meant specifically to be used on civilians.”
Startled by how casually I dropped that little bombshell, Tai nearly chokes on his coffee.
“Sounds charming,” Ada replies, deadpan. “So either I’m gonna be working for her, or she’s gonna be working for me. And either way, we’re both gonna be working with that fucking worm. Awesome.”
When she puts it that way, it does sound like a rather unenviable position. Still, the personal disposition of a Noble’s Founder doesn’t necessarily inform their own disposition. I’ll have to judge for myself whether this other tech specialist is best suited to run our engineering division. It’s not a decision to take lightly, after all. Our engineers will be in charge of keeping the unit’s weaponry in good condition, producing any tech we require for a given challenge, and building fortifications for our war games. Of course, it would hardly be realistic to ask them to actually put it together with their hands, given the size required, but they’ll be coming up with the designs for the industrial matter-fabricators to produce.
“Hey, he’s not that bad,” Tai says awkwardly. “Just kinda… I dunno, immature.”
“Well, I’m not here to play babysitter,” I reply. “Or to pretend he’s any less annoying than he is. The fact that everyone around him up to this point has been doing that is probably how he got to be this way.”
Not shockingly, that fails to make him look any more comfortable.
“Maybe. I don’t know if that’s justification enough to condone bullying.”
Through some heroic feat of willpower, I manage not to roll my eyes, or laugh in his face.
“I’m not condoning— look, talking shit about someone behind their back isn’t the same as, I don’t know, shoving them into a locker or whatever. Everybody does it about everybody else. I’m sure plenty of people have been making jokes at my expense since yesterday. Maybe him. Maybe you. I don’t care. If the jokes are funny, I’d probably laugh.”
Tai just shrugs.
“If you say so. Anyhow, I should be getting ready for class. Good luck finding your officers.”
As he finishes off his croissant and stands up to leave, I give him a friendly wave goodbye. Bit of an unfortunate note to end our first meeting on, but I don’t think it’ll be much of an issue going forward. If anything, having to keep an eye on Bret in his capacity as our surveillance guy will probably change his tune. From what I recall of my copies’ research into his Founder, that’s precisely what happened in that case as well. Watching the private lives of so many people cultivated a deep misanthropy within him, to the point where he pretty much disappeared after the end of the War of Conquest.
The three of us eat in silence for a few minutes, before Ada speaks up, eyes twinkling with amusement.
“Personally, I think you should institute a mandatory locker-shoving policy for anyone who gets on your nerves. But that’s just my take.”
<hr>
After breakfast, Sander and I head back to the Hyperion Building. For him, it’s an opportunity to get started wiring the building up, something he has to do physically, rather than just letting his copyclan handle it. Since my more pressing tasks can be passed off onto my copyclan, I decide to take the opportunity to call my parents.
As expected, it only takes a few moments before somebody at home accepts my call request. Mother Stella’s round face pops into view on the holo-screen before me, instantly beaming the moment she sees my face.
“Iza! You look so good, sweetie! How are you? How was your first day? Did you meet anybody nice? Have you had any classes yet?”
It’s been less than a day since I left, yet her overbearing nature, which would ordinarily have me rolling my eyes, instead feels closer to comforting. A little sliver of familiarity in an otherwise unfamiliar environment.
“I’m fine, my first day was fine. They put me in charge of the unit, like I said they would. Most of them seem nice enough. And no, I haven’t had any classes yet, they don’t start until after lunch.”
Before I even decided to call home, I’d already decided not to tell any of them about my little near-death experience. It’s not like they have any power to help me at this point, so letting them know would just make them worry fruitlessly.
Stella’s smile grows even wider at the news of my appointment to the position of unit commander, despite the fact that I told her, and the others, that it was almost certain to happen. Really, I’m not sure how much of the Noble stuff they really ‘get.’ The only time it’s ever impacted their lives was when it turned out I was one, and discovering that all the previous Nobles in my line had died made them justifiably concerned. It took quite a while to get them to calm down about that, which is another reason I’m not about to bring it up again.
“Okay, okay. Just asking, sweetie. Hold on for a minute, I’m going to get some of the others.”
That doesn’t give me much of a chance to respond, so I just brace myself, and hope there aren’t too many of my parents in range, so this doesn’t turn into a repeat of yesterday morning. A minute or two later, Stella returns, with Father Nico and Byron in tow. Fewer than I’d thought. My older brother gives me a wave, which I return, smiling.
“Are you in your room?” Nico asks. “Why don’t you give us a look around?”
“Sure. Y’know, one of the guys in my unit is called Niko too. Short for Nikolai, but still.”
As I’m speaking, I switch the video input on my side to my own point of view, so they can see directly through my eyes. Easier than just holding up a camera. I slowly pan around the living room, before poking my head into the small kitchen area, then the office, and finally my room, giving them all a good look at my disheveled bed. Stella makes a slightly disapproving noise when she sees that, but doesn’t go any further in that.
“Small universe,” Nico laughs. He’s one of my quieter parents, even more so than Emil or Len, who can get verbose when discussing topics they’re passionate about- military history and sports minute respectively.
“Is that all?” Stella asks anxiously. “It seems a bit small...”
“Bigger than any of our rooms,” Byron laughs.
“Yes, but you aren’t training to be a Noble.”
Making my way back into the living room, I switch the feed back to an external view, so they can see my face again.
“It’s fine, I promise. You all haven’t had any trouble, have you?”
“None,” Nico reassures me. It’s early days yet, of course, but someone did try to kill me on my very first day, so I think some concern is justified.
“Good. Try and make sure it stays that way, okay? I’ve gotta go now, but I’ll talk to you all soon.”
The trio waves goodbye, and I close the connection, suddenly feeling rather tense. Maybe giving them a call was a bad idea. Just a reminder of what I have to lose if I fuck things up here on Akademos.
Trying to shake that nagging feeling, I pace around the apartment for a few moments, but my head refuses to clear. With a scowl, I open up my dresser and pull out a thigh holster, strapping my sidearm on. It’s not a massive hand cannon, but rather a mid-sized one that optimizes for a fast rate of fire and high accuracy. In the training sims, I can triple-tap someone before their body even hits the ground. In realspace, I’ve never had cause to use it in that context. Something tells me that’ll change before too long.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Having iron on me does a surprising amount to clear my head. However, it doesn’t make me feel any better about sitting around in my room doing nothing until lunchtime, so I head out without much of an idea of where to go or what to do. Eventually, probably later than it should have, the thought of going to help Sander occurs. So that’s exactly what I do.
When I finally track him down, he’s in someone else’s room, shifting aside a bookshelf to put a listening device in place. I can’t imagine anybody is especially thrilled about having their rooms filled with surveillance devices, but it’s on my orders, and I made clear in the announcement that I wouldn’t be exempt from the order either. Plus, it really is mainly for their protection,
Sander doesn’t say a word, just hands me the bug and moves aside so I can get into the space between the bookshelf and the wall and attach it. We continue like that in silence for a while, our only direct interaction being nonverbal brainband exchanges, when I don’t know the right place to put a camera. The room we’re in belongs to another Gazelle I haven’t spoken to personally yet, Colleen, who seems to have something of a fixation with swords. I spot no less than five, already hanging up on her walls or occupying positions of honor on top of her dressers. Something to do with her Founder, as I recall from the dossiers I downloaded this morning.
When he notices that I’m strapped, Sander nods approvingly. The Citadel’s policy on carrying weapons is a little strange. On one hand, they understandably want us to feel safe enough that we aren’t wearing body armor or carrying rifles wherever we go. But at the same time, they have to acknowledge that the threat of death here is nonzero, despite all their security measures, and it would be foolish to outright forbid us to carry weapons. So there’s a weird middle ground, where people will frown at you for carting around a huge gun or wearing protective equipment, but won’t blink twice if you’ve got a revolver on you. Sander might be pushing the limit a bit with his short-barreled slug-thrower, but he’s physically intimidating enough that I doubt anyone would risk trying to tell him to leave it at home.
Before I know it, a couple of hours have passed. We manage to get two full floors covered, including one room in which the occupant was currently present, though I had to ask him to hang out in the lobby for a while so he wouldn’t know where all the bugs were. He was surprisingly amenable, introducing himself as Valent, one of the few others on my shortlist for head of intelligence besides Tai.
Besides that, the whole process goes pretty smoothly. We’re mainly just setting up listening devices and hidden cameras, although Sander does set up a handful of traps in certain spots- mainly the stairwell and elevator shaft. I can’t really see a scenario where we have to seriously defend this place from a siege, except in the context of a war game against one of the other units, but it does feel somewhat comforting to know we’ve got protection beyond what the Citadel provides.
The main defense that the Citadel has, is that it’s essentially a closed system. There are no spaceports on the moon, so the only way to get in is via teleportal, and those access codes are tightly controlled. The staff lives here full-time, students can’t leave without authorization, and no visitors are permitted save for on specific days. That doesn’t mean it’s entirely impossible to get people onto the moon, though. If I were to do it, I’d fly a stealth ship over the uninhabited ‘wild side’ of the moon, and drop a team into the jungle from orbit, then have them make their way to the Citadel on foot. Getting past the wall would be a challenge, and unless they had an ally on the inside, it would be virtually impossible for them to go unnoticed by the security system, which would mean Myrmidons would swarm them within minutes- but those are all problems with potential solutions and workarounds. Not that I foresee a future where I’m ordering a strike on Akademos, but it does make for an interesting problem to ponder while working.
We’re not anywhere near close to done when lunchtime rolls around. I’m still not really in the mood for any more chatting, so I don’t invite anybody else this time. Sander and I eat at a ‘Western-style’ restaurant. Most of the food in the Citadel is from old Earth cultures, rather than more modern Imperial ones. Probably for the same reason that there’s a taboo against visible body modifications within the core worlds of the Imperium. A deliberate attempt to maintain Earther cultural norms, as a contrast to the more libertine conventions of the Meritocracy. Of course, that’s backfired in many respects, alienating many worlds far from the Imperial core, but I’m sure there are some Nobles who see that as a benefit.
The Meritocracy isn’t something I spend much time thinking about- and why would I? It’s not like their existence has really impacted my day-to-day life much so far. But there’s probably some value in thinking about it more now, especially since it’s probably first in most peoples’ minds when they look at me.
As the name suggests, the Meritocracy, unlike the Imperium, isn’t ruled by a permanent class of Nobles. Instead, it’s got a parliamentary system with no restrictions on who can hold office, at least in theory. In practice, most people wouldn’t vote for a child or a moron, but there are no laws strictly barring them from running. Also unlike the Imperium, it’s not quite as organized. While there is a core set of solar systems they do control pretty much inarguably, most of the Meritocracy is made up of individual worlds, space stations, and asteroid outposts that don’t want to be a part of the Imperium, and hope that existing under the aegis of its only real competitor as far as governments go will provide them some level of protection. Whether that’s true tends to be somewhat contextual, depending on the circumstances.
For about a hundred and fifty years after its founding, the Imperium’s rule was pretty much uncontested. There were a few semi-serious uprisings, all of which were put down without much effort. Then something unexpected happened. A Noble from the line of Thorn- my line -decided that he’d had enough. Our Founder had earned the name Tyrant’s Bane for his campaigns against the worst dictators and warlords of the pre-Imperial era, and the Noble now known only as the Betrayer, after his true name was erased from the Imperial history books, decided that the Emperor himself now qualified as a tyrant as well. But attempting to overthrow him would be a fool’s errand. The Nobility system ensures that simply killing the Emperor will never be enough. Instead, the Betrayer and his Deceiver Fleet led an uprising in a far-flung colony system, swaying the people there to his side with promises of self-governance and freedom from a Nobility they saw as not having their best interests at heart.
Most other people wouldn’t have succeeded. Even other Nobles of the same line. The Betrayer possessed unique talents of his own, not just ones inherited from his Founder. As he won victory after victory, dozens of other worlds joined the cause. He’d chosen the perfect time, as well. With the loss of the Deceiver Fleet, the Imperial Navy was short handed, and almost all of their greatest commanders, from the Grim Dragon to the Spear of Bone, were in the Citadel at the time, their positions occupied by stewards. Instead of pushing his luck, however, he sued for peace at a moment when the Imperium was scrambling to marshal its forces, and failing to retake worlds dangerously close to the core that were declaring allegiance to the Meritocracy. In desperation, they accepted, recognizing the independence of most of the worlds that had attempted to break away, in exchange for a few key concessions, including that the Meritocracy would no longer permit new worlds to join.
That pact lasted only a few brief decades, before several more worlds broke away, and were swiftly recognized by the Meritocracy, which dispatched their own navy to protect them. Another, far shorter conflict ensued, resulting in another defeat for the Imperium, and a paradigm that has mostly remained up to the present day. If a world far enough outside the Imperiums direct sphere of influence attempts to leave, it’ll likely be allowed to do so without more than a token show of force. However, if a world attempts to leave the Imperium and is met with a full deployment in response, the Meritocracy will likely hang them out to dry, in order to avoid a full-scale war, which they know they’re unlikely to win. Part of that is because their productive capacity, while growing, is still inferior to that of the Imperium, meaning they likely can’t compete on either an economic or military field. Another part is that they haven’t had a Noble of my line on their side for over a century.
Following the Betrayer’s death, almost a dozen other Nobles in the line of Thorn defected as well, and many more attempted to do so, but were stopped before they could escape the Imperium. Those that successfully defected were, almost without fail, elected to the position of Prime Minister within the Parliament of Merit. After a while, though, it became clear they were better suited to military leadership than political power. Add to that the fact that several of them went completely insane in the Citadel and murdered their own units, and they lost a great deal of popularity. In recent years, nobody has even made it as far as attempting to defect, because they’ve all died before they could leave. Many people think that it’s because the Emperor is trying to prevent them from ever getting the chance to join the Meritocracy, something that could give them the upper hand in the ‘cold’ conflict between them and the Imperium.
Personally, I’m not so sure. It’s hard to know who else could benefit from the members of my line being killed, but if the Emperor wants us dead, it does seem like there are easier methods. Defecting to the Meritocracy did seem like a tempting option for a while, but it’s no longer on my agenda. My plans are more ambitious than just becoming another wannabe Betrayer.
Part of me wonders how many people in my unit are expecting me to try to defect. And how many of them would follow me if I did. It’s not been anywhere near long enough for them to follow purely out of personal loyalty to me, but I’m sure there are at least a few idealist Meritocrats among our ranks. It’s a seductive concept, democracy. For those who grew up within the more restrictive cultural norms of the Imperium, the promise of more personal freedom might be enough to sway them. On the other hand, I’m sure many people who’ve grown up inside the Meritocracy would welcome the stability of the Nobility. The grass is always greener on the other side, or so they say.
When I’m finished with my chicken wings, and Sander with his pasta bolognese, we head for Vance Hall, named for the original Grim Dragon. That feels like a bad omen, considering there’s virtually no chance I won’t be in direct competition with Hark, the latest Noble in that line, in today’s class. Vance Hall is home to the Tactics and Strategy Department of the Citadel, and the class we’re going to is Introduction to War, with Professor David Brennan. I’ve got no idea what to expect of the man, as he, like most of the other teachers at the Citadel, isn’t himself a Noble.
Between starting to work on wiring up the Hyperion Building and when we arrive at Vance Hall, I don’t think Sander and I have said more than five full sentences to each other. It’s actually rather refreshing, considering how chatty my parents usually are. Still, I’ll be glad to hear some other voices once we get into the lecture hall. The building is an octagonal structure, which I vaguely recall reading was a historical allusion of some sort, but to exactly what I can’t remember.
Before we reach the entrance to Vance Hall, I hear someone call my name. Sander’s head snaps around like a whip, while I turn more slowly, and see Tellis approaching at a rapid clip, waving enthusiastically at me.
“Iza,” he repeats, smiling exuberantly. “Headed to Professor Brennan’s class, are you?”
“Yep. You too?”
“Indeed, indeed. As my unit commander is not of the tactical persuasion, the role of field leader has fallen to me, and I intend to fulfill it to the very best of my ability.” He pauses, as if not having fully registered Sander’s presence until now. “A pleasure to meet you,” the ginger-haired Noble says, extending a hand to shake.
“That’s Sander,” I inform him, while my companion returns the gesture silently. “He’s my self-appointed bodyguard.”
That provokes a look of slight confusion from Tellis, although it’s quickly overshadowed by visible discomfort at Sander’s grip strength. He breaks off the handshake swiftly.
“Bodyguard? What business does he have in a tactics seminar?”
“Probably not much,” I chuckle. “He’s taking all the same classes as me. Not my choice, but I’m not complaining, considering my life expectancy relative to all the rest of you.”
Tellis frowns slightly.
“Naturally, but aren’t you worried about depriving him of an education?”
“Not especially. The Citadel doesn’t have a dedicated class on bodyguarding, and I’m pretty sure he already knows just about everything he needs to in that field already. If anything, it’ll be useful to have someone with me who’s studying the same stuff I am, in case I end up unable to do my job at some point.”
It’s hard to imagine Sander in a captain’s chair, considering he’s practically nonverbal most of the time, but we can work on that. I’d be surprised if there wasn’t an element of the Tactics and Strategy curriculum that didn’t involve how to actually command people. A plan is only as good as your ability to get people to execute it, after all.
“Maybe so,” Tellis replies. “In any case, we’d best head inside, or risk missing the beginning of the lecture.”
In truth, we’ve got plenty of time before class starts, but I think Sander’s stoic gaze is starting to make the Ox unit’s tactician uncomfortable. The three of us head into the octagon, and make our way through the corridors towards the main lecture hall. Though the Citadel is vast, the academic institutions themselves don’t need to be huge, because they’re never servicing that many people at a time. I don’t think there are more than three classrooms in this entire building, and only a handful of offices, considering the department itself only employs a select few instructors, as well as their assistants. What the rest is used for, I’m not entirely certain, but I suspect we’ll be finding out soon enough.
Despite what the name suggests, the lecture hall itself isn’t exactly voluminous. It looks like it was designed to support about fifty total students, which is far more than I suspect this class is going to be. As such, most of the desks towards the back of the room are closed off, leaving us with no option other than to seat ourselves near the professor’s desk, which is currently unoccupied.
Spotting someone he recognizes, Tellis waves goodbye to Sander and I, and goes to seat himself next to her. For my part, I pick a spot one row back from the professor’s desk. Not too close, not too far. There’s also an empty seat right beside me, where Sander positions himself. Over the next few minutes, as we sit in relative silence, a few other students trickle in. The first one I recognize is a member of my unit, Katrina. She seems about as uncomfortable as ever, but relaxes marginally when she sees me. I wave her over, and she meekly accepts my offer of the seat to my immediate left.
After her, a small gaggle of Komodo unit members enters, with Lucia Hark at their center. Despite being quite a bit younger than the rest, she’s clearly dominating the conversation, at least until she draws it to an immediate close with a single sharp gesture. They all take seats in a cluster near the front of the room, although some distance away from Sander, Katrina and I. Several of them stare at me, and don’t even flinch when I notice them and stare right back. It’s a little eerie how quickly they’ve been housebroken by a young girl. Then again, the Grim Dragon’s reputation is probably doing a lot of the heavy lifting there.
Nobody else I recognize enters for a short while, just a handful of Oxen and Peregrines. The former sit near where Tellis and his friend are, while the others find an unoccupied area bordering the Komodos. Soon, however, I see someone I do very much recognize. Anton, the leader of the Peregrine unit, who doesn’t even register that the rest of his people have already staked out territory, and sits on the other side of the room. That makes three of the four unit commanders in this class- and since Starling isn’t exactly a tactician, he’s almost certainly not showing up.
Not long after that, an older man enters through a door close to the front of the room, which I presume leads to his office. He’s got sharp, narrow features, displaying neither the utter apathy of the Gazelle unit’s sponsor, nor the cloying enthusiasm of the Dean himself. What he has is an air of quiet seriousness, one that swiftly silences the remaining chatter in the room, without him having to lift a finger.
“Greetings,” he says, voice cutting through the air like an axe. “Welcome to War.”
Rather than sit down, Brennan stalks around to the front of his desk, and stands before the gathered students, arms folded, looking decidedly unimpressed by our assemblage.
“You are expecting me to begin with an explanation of how this course will work. My expectations for you, the structure of each class session, et cetera. This is what most of your other professors will do. I, on the other hand, prefer to begin with a test of your capabilities. Each of you has been assigned to this class as a result of the capabilities you inherited from your respective Founders, but that alone does not guarantee competence.”
Brennan snaps his fingers, and a holo-screen blinks to life in front of each student, currently blank. They flicker gently as he continues to speak.
“Typically, we will begin each class with an examination of theory, before you will attempt to apply what you learned in a tactical simulation. For this class, we will be doing things in reverse. Each of you will attempt to complete a tactical simulation of my own design, and once you are finished, we will spend the rest of class discussing your performance.”
Flicking his wrist upward, Brennan calls up a holo-screen of his own, and taps out a few inputs, which causes our own screens to activate, each displaying what looks to be the same image- a battlefield, as seen from above. I’ve done plenty of tactical simulations before, so the software is fairly familiar to me. It seems like most of the others recognize it as well, and I pity those that find themselves having to learn on the fly.
“The objective of this simulation is to finish the battle with as many of your own troops left standing as possible. Fifty merit points will be awarded to the unit whose member has the most troops left at the end of their simulation. That reward will be doubled if all of their troops survive. You have one hour. Begin.”
While the professor is circling back around to sit behind his desk, each one of our simulations goes live. When I try to glance at the other screens, I find them impossible to see clearly from my position, presumably an anti-cheating measure. Not a problem for me, of course.
Assessing the capabilities of the soldiers provided to me, I quickly realize that this is a very basic simulation. No ranged weapons of any sort, just swords and shields. It looks like a beginner program, the kind I outgrew before I even had a proper body. But there’s no way someone like Brennan would throw something so simple at us without some kind of hidden catch.
Deploying units for my first sortie, I discover the catch very quickly. Our units may be underequipped, but the enemy is not. Still hoping to win the Gazelles that hundred-merit prize, I draw my forces back, but see any chance of that vanish as the enemy archers pick off two of my troops, something I had virtually no chance of preventing. By the sound of it, the others are discovering just how unfair it is at the same time, and several of them are becoming rather frustrated.
My first thought is that it’s a test we’re designed to fail, in order to teach us that some battles simply can’t be won. But that feels too easy. It would be an insult to my intelligence, really. Not to mention it wouldn’t exactly serve to divide the competent from the incompetent, as Brennan suggested this was intended to do. I take stock my my troops as the enemy begins their advance, clearly possessing superior firepower, and feel the frustration around the room starting to infect me. Then something clicks in my head.
It’s not a fight we’re meant to lose. We’re just meant to come to that conclusion, and give up. But there’s a path to victory that lies before me, shining clear and bright. And for all the supposed brilliance of the Corsair Captain and the Grim Dragon, I’m willing to bet they don’t see it. Reinvigorated, I crack my knuckles and launch a counter-strike.
<hr>
Unlike a traditional test, there’s no ‘finishing early’ here. The simulation will run for its allotted time, and your job is to keep going until it’s done. Unless, of course, your forces are completely wiped out, which seems to be the case for most of the other people around me. I, however, am still going right up until the moment that the simulation ends.
As our holo-screens all go dark, silence in the room reigns. Everybody stares at the professor, most with accusatory looks in their eyes. Wondering why he would put such an unfair task before them, on their very first day. I just do my best to keep from grinning.
“It seems that most of you have failed,” Brennan says bluntly, his expression as cold as ever. “All of you, in fact, except two.”
Curious, I glance around the room, searching for who my fellow Very Clever Individual could possibly be, but nobody gives any indication that it’s them. Hark is sitting with her arms folded, looking as if she’s trying to compete with the professor in a frigidity contest of some sort.
“Izanami, commander of the Gazelle unit, with one percent of her troops remaining. And Anton, commander of the Peregrine unit, with one hundred percent of his troops remaining.”
It takes a moment for me to process the words. Like everyone else, I turn to stare at Anton, who has a smug grin on his face. There I was, feeling so damn clever for figuring out the trick, but apparently there was something I completely missed, because he actually managed to fulfill the optional objective somehow. That shouldn’t be possible, unless--
“Of course, the latter result is only possible to achieve through manipulating the simulation itself. Which was not against any rule that I stipulated, but still clearly against the spirit of the exercise. Meaning the only genuine result was from Miss Izanami here.”
For a moment, it feels like there’s a weight off my shoulders, knowing Anton didn’t somehow see something that I missed. Then everybody is staring at me, and the weight is right back where it belongs.
“Would you care to enlighten your colleagues as to how you achieved this feat?”
Forcing my voice to stay steady, I twist my lips into a grin that doesn’t match how I feel on the inside. Normally I’d be taking a victory lap, but something about Brennan’s contemptuous tone is making that difficult.
“Well, I realized pretty quickly that you were deliberately misleading us by suggesting that it was possible to win without losing a single unit. In fact, it seemed like it wasn’t possible to win at all. But part of that is because you primed us to think that losing any units was unacceptable, because victory would be determined by who had the most at the end. So instead of employing more conservative tactics designed to preserve my units as much as possible, I used intentionally reckless tactics that sacrificed many of my own troops, reasoning that having even a small fraction of my troops left at the end would be better than having none at all.”
Nobody says anything for a few moments. I was hardly expecting a standing ovation, though. It sounds deceptively simple coming out of my mouth, but it was actually rather difficult using the sort of knife’s-edge tactics I described, without being overwhelmed by an enemy with superior numbers and weaponry. Fortunately, the simulation was clearly designed to favor that approach, with my reckless assaults scattering and disorienting the enemy forces to a greater degree than I’d have expected in real life.
“Very astute,” Brennan says at last, though nothing in his tone indicates that he’s remotely impressed with me. “As many of you are no doubt thinking, this was not a fair test. In reality, deliberately sacrificing a significant portion of your forces to win a single battle would be a massive blunder. You would be better served to retreat and fight another day. But both Anton and Izanami have illustrated an important point today. The condition of victory is not fixed. The rest of you failed when you decided to treat this simulation as if it were a real battle, and not an artificial construct, to be won or lost on its own terms.”
That only serves to intensify the glares that he and I, are getting from many of the other Nobles in the room. I do my best to mirror his lack of response.
“Anton did successfully fulfill the additional objective I set forth. However, reality is not as easy to manipulate as a simulation. As such, rather than give the Peregrine unit the full reward, I will award both the Peregrines and Gazelles seventy-five merit points.”
Still no ovation, but it does soften the looks of the other Peregrines somewhat. Sander’s face has barely moved the whole time, and Katrina looks too terrified to be angry. It’s more of a reward than I was expecting, but I’m still not sure if I should be happy or not.
“Though I will not be awarding any additional merit points, special note should be given to Lucia Hark of the Komodo unit, and Katrina of the Gazelle unit, both of whom employed efficient defensive strategies that allowed them to last much longer than their other classmates.”
Katrina almost seems to shrink in her seat, while the other Komodos applaud their commander politely. Hark doesn’t react at all, except to narrow her eyes slightly at the professor.
“If you are feeling discouraged by your results, do not despair. You will have ample time with which to hone your tactical acumen. Now, I will provide the course syllabus for you to download, and we can begin the class in earnest.”
<hr>
When we walk out of the lecture hall a few hours later, the mood of the group is still rather subdued, but most of the simmering anger I felt amongst the others has evaporated, or at least disappeared beneath the surface for now. Brennan spent a little while going over his plans for the semester, then we went straight into the first topic of discussion, a brief overview of pre-Imperial strategic paradigms. While Introduction to War isn’t a history course, he stressed the importance of understanding the context in which modern tactical thinking came to be, which necessitated a review of the past. Most of it was stuff I was already generally familiar with, but he went into details I’d never heard of in any history book.
The period before the War of Conquest was filled with strife, mainly conflicts between various warlords and petty despots. However, those rulers often conscripted talented strategists, including many who would later go on to become Founders of the Imperium, either by defecting against their masters, or by joining up with the winning side after they’d been conquered. It’s interesting stuff, but by no means the main focus of the course, and the Professor promised before dismissing us that we’d be getting into the real meat of it next week- including simulations that weren’t designed so that most of us would fail. I’m looking forward to it. Much as being the only one to figure out the trick gave me a much-needed ego boost, I don’t feel like I learned very much from that first simulation. Hopefully the ones we run next week will be a little more instructive.
For a few moments, I consider trying to approach Hark and speak with her, but before I can even decide if I want to, her little cabal of Komodos surrounds her. There are at least four of them, plus her, which seems like a lot more tacticians than one group needs. I’m sure some of them have other specialties as well, but it still seems odd. Maybe they figured that a Noble of the Grim Dragon line would need more officers with a strategic talent than the other units, in order to delegate responsibility to people they would know could handle it. Or maybe I’m overestimating the amount of thought that went into the assignments, and it’s just a statistical fluke.
My backup plan was to talk to Katrina, but she somehow manages to scamper off before I get a chance, leaving me to head back to the Hyperion Building with Sander in tow. She didn’t say a word through the entire class, despite having received a special commendation from the professor. Or maybe that was precisely the reason why. She does come from a justifiably well-respected Noble line, but her anxieties seem to be a bit of a handicap. Hopefully I’ll be able to change that, but I’m not incredibly optimistic about my chances.
The sun is starting to set as we head back through the Citadel’s streets to our dormitory. Our path takes us through an outdoor market, and I can’t resist stopping to look in some of the stalls. The price tags serve as a helpful reminder that I still need to audit the unit’s finances before the War Council meeting. Sander’s purchases have probably set us back a bit, but I doubt it’s anything too significant. However, we’re going to have operating costs going forward, since I doubt everybody brought weapons from home. Even those who did, like Sander and myself, probably didn’t bring a year’s worth of ammunition as well, and the Citadel won’t be providing any for free.
Weapons aren’t what’s on sale in this market, though. There are some specialty stores elsewhere in the Citadel where you can go for those, but these vendors are mainly hawking other wares, from ones designed to help with our studies, like custom tactical sims ‘guaranteed to improve your performance by fifteen percent or more,’ to more general goods like posters and other decorations for our apartments. That’s what I mainly focus on, since I don’t currently have much use for the other stuff.
Most of the decorations seem to be geared towards people with what I’d describe as ‘conventional’ taste. I’m aware that it’s typically considered somewhat contemptible to walk around flouting your own unique style sensibilities, but the fact of the matter is that what constitutes modern pop culture is both uninteresting, and largely alien to me. It’s not that I was unable to access popular music or other media from Demeter VII, but I simply had no interest in doing so, leaving me unaware of who most of the people on these posters even are. It takes a few minutes before I find the first thing that really interests me, a banner for the Romulus Raptors, the favored team of my father Len. He’s more into that sort of thing than me, but it’ll serve as a small reminder of home, so I buy it anyway.
Not much else catches my eye, though I do indulge myself and get a small bronze statuette of a gazelle. The shopkeeper winks at me as I transfer the funds. This is all a new experience to me, since virtually every other purchase I’ve made up until now has been done digitally. No shopping malls on a farm-world.
Some nagging part of me insists that I should use what remains of the day to interview more members of my unit, but I quash it. Overextending myself this early in the week would be a major unforced error. Instead, I decide to pick up some takeout and get to bed early. Class tomorrow starts early in the morning, and I want to be well-rested.