Master of the Guard

By Bruce T. Holmes

By the author of "Anvil of the Heart."
As he graduates from school, Dave Fletcher finds himself selected for the Service, the elite rulers of humankind. He endures the four grueling years of training on Everest, and then commits himself to the total obedience demanded by the Service. He now walks among his fellow citizens as a god, and yet there is a price to be paid. Sometimes you are asked to do the unthinkable. And sometimes it costs you a piece of your soul. This is a story about consequences, compromise and standing up for what’s right when it will cost you everything.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bruce T. Holmes
• Release date: Apr 8, 2013
• ISBN: 9780911361018

Bruce T. Holmes

Bruce Holmes is the author of two SciFy novels, two music CDs, and a 48 lesson series on the Feldenkrais Awareness Through Movement lessons. His first novel, Anvil of the Heart for one brief moment in the summer of 1984 led the Nebula nominations for best novel and was promptly left in the dust. It made the Locus recommended reading list for 1984 and was a Prometheus Nominee. Both Anvil and a subsequent novel, Master of the Guard, are available as Kindle downloads. Holmes is also an award-winning singer/songwriter with two CDs out: Life’s An Intelligence Test and The Old King’s Reel. He’s been picked up by over 200 radio stations and both CDs charted. He also authored a 48 lesson series based on his years studying with Moshe Feldenkrais. The Feldenkrais Lessons: Awareness Through Movement is now available on a single CD. In addition to his work as a performing artist, Holmes is USA Traithlon Certified Coach. He’s taught dance, Aikido, juggling and coached Oakton Chess to two state championships.

Book preview

Introduction

It still feels strange to call myself Master of the Guard. In my own heart I know myself far less courageous than those I lead. We talk of courage and fear, and I tell them of my own fears. But my people do not believe me and only think me brave to have spoken thus. We say that fear is the stallion we must ride, that without fear there is no courage. But I only ride the stallion for fear of being found out.

I recall a time when I chose life over honor. The memory is still vivid: my fingers on the switch, my friends dying before me, the fear for my own life far greater than the horror of my deed. I have been crazy-mad enough times for others to think me brave. Yet that is the one moment I will always live with.

I must have been sixteen when the invitation arrived. Everyone in my family smiled and congratulated me. But their smiles were tight and painful. The next day my father came into my room and sat before me as I answered riddles. He looked troubled, and I put the slate aside. His exact words I cannot recall. It is possible I state the case more eloquently than he did then, for I know how it truly is, while he could only speculate. But I do remember one phrase. He said, To walk among the stars changes a man. There was more. He said that a few become religious, but many turn hard and cruel inside. To become a Counselor was to put oneself under the authority of the state. When one pledges obedience, sooner or later that obedience is called on. Obedience is only necessary when one is asked to violate what one knows is right. To become an instrument of the state is to live with violence. To exercise power is to kill the humanity within us.

He seemed so small and frightened as we talked. I pitied him and wondered if he was jealous. He said the exercise of power would make me cold and rational. And I became so as he spoke. I did seek power, but most of all, my own importance. All youth do. Which is why so few refuse the invitation. Of course, I told myself I would guard against such things. Which is impossible. There is a price one pays to walk among the stars. I know artists of my own age who play at life with joy and laughter and a childlike sweetness. I cannot understand their rapture. I fear that we who play with power place a mark upon ourselves. In discovering the truth about ourselves and our fellows, something dies inside us. Yet I keep wondering if ours is the only truth. As much as I detest those innocent artists who play at life and swoon over aesthetics, I also envy them.

I walked behind a child and its mother once. They wandered one summer evening through a park on Usa. I was in civilian clothes and they did not know what I was. The child was three or four years old, clinging to its mother's hand, and full of questions. I could not tell if it was boy or girl. I walked a few meters away, looking elsewhere but listening intently to their talk. The child's questions were so clever and so full of wonder that I ached to answer the child and appear wise in his eyes. I wondered what it would feel like to hold such a small hand in my own. There was enchantment in that child, and I looked for such in myself and could not find it. There is little wonder left when one has seen too much.

And yet, to walk among the stars means to become one with them, to expand out into the universe, to take the interstellar dust within the spaces of ones own atoms. To catch a glimpse of the breadth of the Universe, the emptiness between the spaces, almost makes one holy.

So you see, it has not been a dull life. I have a story to tell which will rival any fiction you have ever sensed. I meant to tell the story of the Overseer, at one time ruler of the known universe. I thought that if I were not a true tale-teller, I had best have a momentous theme. But, as you will discover, this is not his story but my own. A far better story than if I had stayed on China and lived my life at sports. Sports are pretend. One must pretend that the game matters. My life played with reality. This is no small thing. It is almost enough.

ONE

I think it a testament to our kind that we do not let our machines live our lives for us. There are many, who could subsist nicely on the state, who instead open shops and engage in commerce. China boasts some of the finest craftspeople in the universe. And those who do not engage in business still participate. The artists create; the sporters play. The latest figures show that only ten percent of the population are full time sensors with surgical implants. Another ten percent are hooked on drugs, but that has always been so. I will not judge such lives, but I think participation more remarkable.

My father was a crystal shaper, our home a wonder of glitter and depth. The walls glowed ruby or deepest blue or danced with a thousand diamonds. Fantastic, delicate shapes hung from the ceilings, the light reflecting through them. I remember father like an elf hunched over his work. He was always creating some new vision, and until he had sold them they graced our home. At times the clutter was annoying, but more often it was like living in a fairyland.

My mother was a philosophical debater, a striking woman with a ramrod back, sardonic smile, and commanding presence. I learned a love of theater from her. She won so often not because her arguments were more telling, but because she entertained. People love to laugh. Let them laugh and they will give you anything you ask. Looking back, it seems to me Mom and Dad were an unlikely combination. Yet they had been together for over sixty years and were still seemingly in love. They were both certified parents, and I was the fourth child they had raised. I once heard them talk of giving up the profession, but after I left the nest they hatched a daughter and began again. In retrospect I think they were very good as parents. And since I never thanked them when I could, perhaps I should do so here.

I think I was very happy as a child. That thought seems quite impossible to me now. I cannot conceive of the millions happily living out their lives in blissful ignorance of the true workings of this universe. I know I was an innocent.

It had never occurred to me to wish to be a counselor. I never thought myself so superior to others to think that I would be chosen. The counselors were remote figures, seen making important announcements in the tele. My father tells me I saw the Governor of China in person when I was quite young, but I have no memory of the occasion. But there was another time I remember vividly. I had just begun high school, and one day after classes was walking down the street of the painters, when I saw a counselor coming towards me. People stopped in their tracks to stare. The world went quiet. He looked very powerful in the black. I had often thought that making it illegal for anyone but a counselor to wear solid black was outrageously silly, but I cannot tell you the electricity of that sight. We all watched as he passed. I spent that night dreaming of how wonderful it would be to feel so important, to be noticed like that. I can imagine how foolish that sounds, but when one is fourteen and shy one has strange dreams.

We were all required to take the test at the beginning of our senior year. I had always assumed that the test selected only the finest, most intelligent, and most ethical amongst us. As I finished the test I remember being bewildered by the experience. To this day I remember some of the questions: Is floating a waste of time? Yes, No, Maybe. Intelligence? Ethics? I was so annoyed by the end of the test that I no longer cared about the outcome. I have since spent considerable amounts of time wondering what they were really selecting for. I have not been pleased with my conclusions. Three months later when my selection was announced, I was sure they had made a mistake.

I had been dating Betty, a girl in my riddle class. I cannot picture Betty now, but I know I thought her rather plain. She was no more popular than myself, yet she was the first person I felt free to talk to openly, and I suspect I was quite in love. I think I was lucky we had entered our relationship before the big announcement. Because as soon as my invitation to qualify as a counselor was announced, my popularity skyrocketed. I was everyone's long lost pal. The most popular girls in school were giving me big friendly smiles. I would like to say that I stayed with Betty out of integrity. I think the truth is the pretty ones terrified me so I was rendered speechless. When the beauties approached my head would buzz and the words would not come. It was only later, after they had passed on, that I would realize that an opportunity had slipped by.

That does not matter. I was important for once. That need to be noticed, which had ached within me for so many years, was being met. I later realized, much to my surprise, that the need then passed. And I was happy with Betty, as happy as I have been in any relationship since. Of course, I did not know that then.

As the year finished and I prepared for leaving, Betty and I agreed the relationship would have to end. I would be gone for at least four years and could not know where I would be sent subsequently. I was secretly pleased. It seemed a painless, guiltless way to let the relationship end. I wanted to put the past behind me and knew that better things lay ahead. I was certain that once I was a counselor, I would be able to attract any woman I wanted. I promised myself I would have scores of women. They would want me because I wore the black, which means I would not have to be appealing in my own right. Since I knew I was not sexy, this was an enormous relief. Yet by the time I was stationed on Usa, I had stopped wearing the black. Perhaps I hoped to find someone who could want me for other reasons. Life is full of surprises.

I spent my last morning on China floating above the city. Betty was afraid of heights, and so this was something I did alone. I was full of the glory of my coming brilliance. I thought back on my life and imagined I could neatly tie up my failures and put them behind me.

When I came back down, Betty was waiting. My folks said their goodbyes at the front door. Mom reminded me that many dropped out. My room would be waiting for me if I needed to come home. Dad was unusually quiet. He gave me a hug and stepped back without a word. Betty rode with me to Citygate. We held hands and said little. Our parting had a strange sense of déjà vu. I had experienced this scene many times before in betheres. Only then my leading ladies had always been much prettier. When we live out our fantasies with the most beautiful people in all of creation, reality can become sadly insufficient. For a moment I could better understand those who live their lives wired in to the sensors.

But I had a real adventure before me. I had been off planet a couple of times as a student, but always then I was one of many being shepherded by my elders. Now it was my turn. The trip was uneventful. Four days being pampered, fed, and bored to death in a metal tube. I lived a few romantic betheres which were ultimately boring compared with what I imagined lay ahead. At times I talked to the passengers around me, but I have never been good at small talk and was always relieved when our exchanges ended. One of the stewardesses struck me as exceptionally beautiful, and I wasted quite a bit of time waiting to catch her eye as she passed my seat. If she only knew where I was going, and what I was to become. But I could think of no way to start up a conversation, let alone slip in the important news.

I had a one-day layover on Paris. That was the beginning of my course in reality. I had imagined I was about to become one of the privileged lords of creation. Instead of a quality hotel room, I slept that night in a dorm bed without antigrav. I know it seems a small thing, but I had never slept on a mattress before. There were a dozen other candidates like myself in the room, and two beds down one of them snored. I couldn't fall asleep. By morning my eyes burned, and I was wondering if I had made a serious mistake. By mid-day the rest of the connecting flights had arrived. Close to three hundred of us boarded the counselor ship to Everest. I had expected high spirits and camaraderie, but everyone was much too nervous to join together. I also suspect anyone with a strong tendency toward silliness had been selected out by the test. That was my impression throughout my years on Everest. We were a terribly serious bunch.

Everest was the real shock. A minute after we landed, ship gravity was shut off and the real thing took over. I had unbuckled my seat and was about to stand when I suddenly sagged back into the seat. Gravity was one-and-a-half times earth norm. China was a shade over norm so I wasn't in as much trouble as some of the students, but still it was tough. You know all those stories of superhuman stunts by counselors? They're true. If you spend four years at one-and-a-half gravity it changes you. Your bones get denser, the collagen in your ligaments toughens, your musculature changes, even your cardiovascular conditioning is affected. All gyms in counselor compounds are set for the heavier gravity to keep our bodies from reverting to the lighter density. Conversely the one location on Everest with antigrav was the gym. At least half the training we went through was done at lower gravities. At first the different gravities were incredibly confusing and people tripped up a lot. Eventually we were able to adjust our behavior very quickly to whatever gravity we were working under. But I cannot tell you how exhausting and disorienting those first few months were.

Instead of a normal exit, we left the ship by climbing down a lower hatch onto the planet itself. It seemed a cold and barren place. We stood on a flat plain with no vegetation. Underfoot the ground felt hard and unyielding. Off in the distance I could see mountains. I suppose through a picture window they would have looked pretty. But then I could not see their beauty. I was too cold and frightened by this world. The icy wind blew through my shirt, and I held my breath against the chill. Surely the next four years would not all be spent in this desolate place.

We were immediately herded into a huge auditorium. Once seated the lot of us only filled in the first ten rows. A woman stood in the front, watching us as we filed in. She was old, her gray hair cut short about a deeply lined face. The look she gave me as I passed was full of kindness. There was no need to quiet us down before she spoke. The room was so quiet I could hear my own heart beating.

My name is Jenny, she smiled benevolently, "that's what I'd like you to call me. The rest of your instructors here on Everest you will call 'Sir.' Some of you will be here for four years. Most of you will not. Seventy percent of you will leave before your time is up. Only a few of those will be asked to leave. Most will simply decide that becoming a counselor is not worth the price demanded. Regardless of when you leave, I hope you will not regret the time you spend here. This is a unique experience which I believe will serve you well in the course of your life.

"If you are here thinking that being a counselor is glamorous, you may want to leave now and save yourself a lot of disappointment. You are here to become a servant of others. It is