The End Of Childhood: Politics of Empire, #3

By Dan Melson

The die is cast.

 

The Empire has caught the fractal demons marshaling troops for assault, and there is no avoiding the decisive Armageddon between humanity and the fractal demons.  Both sides have their strengths and there is no certainty about the outcome.  While the Empire is free-falling towards open war, Grace is tasked with nudging the odds a little bit, ferreting out traitors to humanity, bribed with the seeming of the most precious gift possible but with a nightmare catch.

 

Then at the moment of the first skirmishes, personal tragedy strikes, clearing the way for a long-delayed impulse, which results in horror and more personal tragedy.

 

But out of the disaster, a new Grace emerges - one ready to stand on her own, fully realized as a potent force in her own right.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dan Melson
• Release date: Mar 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201769529

Dan Melson

Dan Melson is married to the World's Only Perfect Woman.  They have two daughters in training for world domination.  They live in Southern California

Book preview

Chapter One

Nothing in the Game of Houses is certain and nothing is forever.  The only guarantee is we all die someday.

I still remember the first time I heard that – Scimtar himself said it to me while training me as a Guardian.  Eventually we all make the fatal mistake.  That said, the fact it was Scimtar saying it changed the subtext – he’d been playing the game for over thirty square.  Just because you were going to die someday didn’t mean it had to be today or any time soon.  Maybe the metaphorical dice would come up snake eyes for you today.  Maybe you had enemies who’d do their best to make it happen.  But you got to influence those dice, too.  The leaders of the Empire were all masters at loading the dice in their favor, or better yet, controlling the outcome so the dice were never rolled.

But you’re not the only one the dice can turn fickle on...

-Graciela Juarez di Scimtar

It never begins dramatically.

It started on an ordinary day, when I’d been doing the perfectly ordinary thing of gathering evidence for a hearing.  The case I was investigating had to do with the tort of infringement.  In this case the plaintiff was alleging the defendant was generating excessive noise and interfering with the plaintiff’s enjoyment of their property.  Evidently, the defendant had refused negotiation on the subject and so the case was going before the relevant Primus the next day.

Both were out on the fringes of Sumabad, out in the hills, out where the towering arcologies holding tens of millions each petered out, and the residents generally had reasons to need or want ground space.  The plaintiff was an academy for self-defense, with classrooms for hand to hand disciplines and ranges for things like disruptors, lasers, flechette guns, and even the occasional firearm.  The other was the Grubaro Club, a nightclub catering largely to the Tumar culture which had a large presence in Sumabad and environs.  Tumars liked explosions while they were eating and dancing.  Tumars thought loud noises were exciting and envigorating.  Unfortunately for their neighbors, these explosions and other noises often reached ear-splitting levels, and it was not only disrupting to the peaceful conduct of the instruction at Hills Academy for Preparation and Discipline next door, many of the patrons and instructors were combat veterans.  It wasn’t my place to judge, but I was pretty sure the Primus was going to mostly rule against the Grubaro Club – they had a responsibility to see that any noise they generated did not disturb their neighbors, and my spak recording was getting readings consistently louder than an original Learjet on high-power takeoff.

Scimtar himself contacted me.  Grace, I have a job if you’re interested, or rather a series of jobs.  Mixed family and imperial.  It involves demonic traces, mostly spraxos and nephraim.

I was no longer the barely trained woman who’d been nervous about facing a terostes by herself, but neither was I a Sixth or Seventh Order Guardian.  I was mid-range Fourth Order – albeit trained by House Scimtar.  Furthermore, if I were observed taking on spraxos, that could be the end of me pretending to still be Second Order.  What’s it entail?

We’re seeing a surge in the number of demonic traces, not only here in Indra System but everywhere in the Empire.  The conclusion is obvious.

Trolling for traitors.  It was what the fractal demons did.  The vast majority of their troops would be easy pickings for Imperials when the inevitable confrontation came.  Unless they could get us to turn on each other, the eventual war would be notable mostly for a lopsided casualty count.  They’d seduced the old stons without anyone realizing it until the old Empire was already gone, resulting in a civil war that ended up destroying the Empire – and afterwards, almost the entire human species.  This time the leaders of the Empire were alert for their tactics.

The assignment?

Match demonic traces to human contacts by Event Line congruency.  Investigate the human contacts by behavior.  If you happen to destroy demons, we’ll pay a bounty – nephraim are worth three fourths, spraxos thirty.  Ancillaries too, although manesi and lemuure aren’t worth much.  What we’re looking for is evidence to convict or exonerate treason, and we’ll double your normal rate for results.

The money was nice even if Asto and I could live very comfortably off investments if we wanted, but demonic nobles were dangerous – and they had a habit of bringing in help when threatened.  Still, I didn’t think Scimtar would be offering me the job if he didn’t think I was able to handle myself doing it – I’d given the family five children thus far, all of them above average tracking metrics for Seventh Order Guardians their age thanks to yours truly carrying them naturally instead of using artificial gestation.  I’d done it for my babies, not for House Scimtar, but I knew Scimtar valued my efforts.

Grandfather is offering you a way into the Guardian’s Ears if you’re willing, my husband Asto put in his two cents.

I thought the Guardian’s Ears didn’t accept candidates born outside the Empire?

Maybe not, but it’s worth pursuing if you want to win appointment as a Primus yourself someday.

That was a carrot that had my eye.  Most Secundus-in-fact had more applicants for Primus-in-fact than they knew what to do with.  Even a ‘might be’ defect like being born on Earth before the Empire arrived could be enough to make them pass you by. Also, I was a di Scimtar, which had advantages but also carried baggage.  I wasn’t really qualified yet – but I needed something to counter-balance the possible defect I couldn’t cure, and it was never too soon to pick up that extra little something that would put me over the top when I was.  I already had work in the Merlon’s Eyes to my credit.  Add something equivalent to the Guardian’s Ears and that might be enough.

Why me? I asked Scimtar.

You’ve had ten years’ experience as an investigator now, and we both know you’re Fourth Order.  Most of our investigators are Second Order, and weaker than average Second Order at that.  They might be able to handle a nephraim, but a spraxos would squash them, and if they stumbled across a jopas it would be hopeless.

If there’s a basileus?

You’ve survived two confrontations with them.  There isn’t another active investigator who can say that anywhere in the Empire.

I’d rather not risk it a third time.

So be careful and don’t confront anything you’re not certain of.  Scimtar never had any sympathy for getting caught by your own mistakes.  If there’s the possibility of jopas, basileus, or something even stronger, bring it to my attention and I will use an appropriate agent.

When do you need a decision? I asked Scimtar.  Who are you trying to fool, love? Asto asked me.  I want to talk to the kids about it, I told him.

Tomorrow, I could tell Scimtar wasn’t fooled either, fifteen hours from right now.  He knew this was an opportunity as well as a risk.  You can bet he thought he was doing both of us a favor.  He broke contact without further complication.

What do you think? I asked Asto.

I think this is a good opportunity for you.  The kids are taking care of themselves, and we’ve got my splinters to provide any parental supervision they actually need.

You know being a parent isn’t just about supervision.

They can talk to you as easily as I can, anytime.  It’s not like they have music recitals or hadul games you have to attend.

I don’t want to miss Mom stuff.  When I’d had each child, I’d committed myself to thirty years of being Mom before anything else.  As much as I needed to get away a few hours a week, I enjoyed being Mom.  Unlike the situation on Earth before contact, I could expect plenty of lifespan after – Guardians lived until something killed them.  According to personal duration, I was prime thirtyeight Imperial years old – 69 Earth.  I kept myself healthier and looking younger than I had the night ScOsh stepped through the Gate back on Earth.  Even among the natural state humans, that was the way things were in the Empire.  I hadn’t seen anyone who looked middle-aged or old since my last trip back to Earth.  At somewhere over 80,000 Earth years of age, Scimtar himself looked no older physically than the college students of my youth.

You won’t miss it.  Things will just be a little different for a while. 

I had to admit he was right.  Thanks to our situation, even ten year old Alden was beyond what I could teach him about most subjects.  At sixteen Imperial, Esteban was starting to show glimpses of the amazing man he would become – even if his voice had just started to crack.  Ilora, Ilras, and Imtara, between them in age, were all starting to show specific interests and dispositions.  I appreciated Ferugio – Scimtar’s teaching master – more now than I had when under his tutelage.  The kids’ physical training was also more advanced than Asto had been at their age, as Scimtar himself had dedicated a splinter full time to teaching the family self-defense and dueling.  Even Amras and Iaren – the oldest of his surviving children, each well over a square in age and formidable opponents in their own right – took lessons from their father occasionally.  But the upshot was that my kids – and my husband and even I – were better prepared to defend ourselves than otherwise.  His splinter might literally be a shadow of Scimtar himself, but it knew everything he’d learned in his long and adventurous life.

Will you be home tonight?

I did tell you that our schedule was for thirty hours of fleet exercises?

Yes, but I could hope for a change.  His splinter would still be there, but his splinter wasn’t Asto.

I love that you’re always ready to hope the universe will be kind.

I love that you humor me.  I’ll talk with the kids tonight.

Conversation over for the moment, we allowed our bond to recede into background.  Both of us were working.  I finished my report on the noise dispute and sent it to Primus Vysair.  Then onto the next, a tort over damages caused by allegedly defective machinery – but both spak recording and other evidence traced the errant behavior to operator error.

Chapter Two

The first thing to greet me upon returning home was a furry golden torpedo, ankle high and forearm long.  Mischief launched herself off the sofa, demanding attention.  I picked her up and petted her for a moment, then tucked her under my arm before taking a seat on one of the couches.  The English Cream longhair dachshund fancied herself queen of the household, and she wasn’t far wrong when she was in Miss Chief mode.  Her chocolate and tan shorthair partner in crime, Scarecrow, wasn’t far behind, with his song of greeting, telling me of the neglect and starvation he’d endured in the two hours since I left.

Studious Alden, my youngest, interrupted his cosmology lesson to come get a hug.  It was still disconcerting the way he’d teleport next to me just to save a few steps and seconds, grab a hug, then teleport back to what he’d been doing.  At ten Imperial – seven Earth - he’d decided he liked his skin lighter than most, with light brown hair as well, so that was the way he was keeping it for now.  But he was a holy terror with a blade or in a hadul arena as well, to the point where Asto and I tried to get him to eat more to bulk up his slight frame, in order to have a reserve if he needed it.

Imtara, eleven with the same dark brown shade of skin and black hair her father and great-grandfather favored, smiled over at me from where she was working with the specialty converter, building a circuit for some project of hers.  Hi mom!  Did you get all the bad guys today?

I did get more than my share of criminal cases, because however weak I was compared to my husband’s family, I was a stronger than average Guardian.  No criminals today.  Just four civil cases any Investigator could have handled.  What are you building?

A sensor discrimination module.  Trying to find a more sensitive configuration for remote identification that doesn’t fry with interference.  Ilras and Esteban are with Dad’s splinter and Grandfather’s getting lessons.  Both thirteen year old Ilras and sixteen year old Esteban were better than I was with a blade – but Scimtar considered even me worthy of a six rating with a blade these days.  A six rating was broad territory though.  My six rating – graded by Scimtar, who was notoriously hard as an evaluator – meant he thought I was better than most sixes graded by other masters.  Ilras’ conditional six was better.  He’d be ready to try for a real seven by the time he was a legal adult - if he wanted to advertise his ability.  Esteban’s conditional six was a different kind of fiction – sandbagging.  Esteban was like his great uncles Amras and Iaren – but he competed with himself to improve.  Asto said Esteban was already good enough for a seven were he to enter the competition, which he wouldn’t.  Sandbagging – appearing to be less capable than you were, especially in things which could be applied to self-preservation – was the Unofficial Imperial Sport, especially among the Great Families.  It was a matter of record that Scimtar had won the Imperial championship multiple times before becoming politically important, but it didn’t follow that he was necessarily the best blade master in the Empire even then, and now that he was politically important, he’d never enter the competition again.  His official rating was a legacy seven – because he’d won the ten rating long ago – but nobody was fooled that he’d allowed his skills to erode or be bypassed by newcomers.

Ilora? I sought out my unaccounted-for child.

I’m with grandma! The fourteen year old replied, She wanted me to help her with Amassiye!  We’re teaching her how to control a link!

I didn’t bother telling her to be careful.  Ilora had a bright sunny disposition and a serious talent for both necris and mentis as well as auros.  There were advantages to living with extended family.  My mother-in-law was welcome to teach my children anything she wanted – she was stronger and better integrated even than I, probably better than Asto as well.  Anara and her husband Gilras had decided to start a new family, of whom Amassiye was the second, just over half-way through gestation.  Her next older brother Acroyn was four Imperial.  I think the decision had helped them deal with the loss of Etonas.

I didn’t particularly need to be involved in the older boys’ lesson, but it was a good way to be interacting with my kids without distracting them from their lessons.  I couldn’t help Alden or Imtara in theirs as they were beyond my learning thus far in what they were doing.  Anara would ask me if she wanted my help.  But despite my little hellions being more advanced than I in bladework, I knew I could contribute to the lesson – and it was never a bad idea to get another lesson myself.  I teleported to the gym.

Scimtar’s splinter was sparring with both of the boys simultaneously, while Asto’s splinter watched.  The splinters were using titanium rods, while the boys were using practice blades sized for their smaller frames.  Not that a real blade would hurt a splinter.  The titanium rods, however, would inflict a nasty bruise or even broken bones – and such injuries happened regularly.  Esteban and Ilras had been healing themselves from such injuries for years – the family believed it was necessary.  As much as it clashed with my American upbringing, evidence was on their side.  The boys were wearing head protection, but I knew from personal experience Scimtar could hit practically at will with the lighter titanium, and he would intentionally inflict broken bones or worse if he thought it necessary to drive home the lesson.

Since the boys were busy, I began by drawing my weapon and practicing parry-riposte drills with a drone.  Dead boring – and absolutely necessary to keep muscle memory fresh, even for Guardians.  Scimtar had produced a program that randomly mixed up the major drills.  Contrary to the fevered dreams of fiction writers unfamiliar with actual swords, there were exactly eight basic guard positions or parries against point attacks, six against cutting attacks.  There were variants on each, yielding parries versus circular versus active and a few others as well, but they were variations on the basic theme.  More complex were responses to compound attacks, which began with a feint.  However, you still had to move to parry the feint or the drone would hit you.

Similarly, there were only four basic thrusting attacks and three cutting, and although there was a choice of complicating maneuvers, from what Earth swordsmen would call degage to coupe to moulinet and others, and the possibility of feinting or turning an attack into a compound action, there remained only seven basic attacks.  Start multiplying all the possibilities out and you’ll understand there are a large number of possibilities, and I haven’t even mentioned stop actions or counters yet, but you have to practice them all to keep them in muscle memory, and they really do spring from a comparatively small number of basic actions.

I winced as I saw Scimtar’s splinter disarm Esteban, hit Ilras across his forearm, and move back to strike Esteban on his protective headgear all in one smooth action.  Ilras’ arm was broken, but he kept from crying out and transferred his blade to his off arm in time to parry Scimtar’s return stroke.  I kept at my practice, pretending not to notice what had just happened, or Scimtar’s critique.

You louts determined to waste all your mother’s hard work carrying and raising you?  You’ve got to work together or a single opponent will use your inability against you, ending up in both your deaths!  If you want to kill yourself, we can’t stop you but don’t get your brother wiped, too!

I kept up my drills, pretending not to pay attention.  Cut-parry-feint-thrust.  Cut-parry-feint-thrust.  Thirty repetitions of each drill, change to the other hand and repeat.  Keep it engraved in muscle memory, so all I had to do was tell my muscles what program to follow, and they would do it.  After thirty more repetitions, thrust to a new line, parry the riposte, feint a thrust, then turn it into a cut in different line.  What Scimtar was doing to the boys might sound like abuse to some, and if we were back on Earth with no Great Families full of Sixth and Seventh Guardians for rivals, I’d probably have agreed with them.  Not here.  My children needed to be able to handle deadly threats before they were adults, in whatever way those threats presented themselves.

The boys had learned enough not to argue with their great-grandfather or his splinters.  They’d get no sympathy from anyone else in the family, either.  Esteban was helping Ilras heal himself while the two of them endured their great-grandfather’s admonishment.  Their father’s splinter looked on in disapproval of their slipshod efforts.  I studiously kept to my drills.

Scimtar’s splinter ended his tirade once Ilras’ arm was healed, and struck a guard position.  Asto, illuminate your offspring as to the nature of teamwork.  Asto’s splinter struck a guard position as well, parrying Scimtar’s first attack, a circling parry in what an Earthman would have called octave, which defeated Scimtar’s initial degage, flipped his sword up into a quartre riposte to Scimtar’s high inside line.  The boys were slow off the line, but attacked Scimtar in the low outside and low inside as well.  Scimtar enveloped Asto and Ilras’ attacks in quartre himself, retreating from Esteban’s attack.  Esteban redoubled, Asto in turn bound Scimtar’s blade on his yielding parry, and Esteban scored a hit thanks to his father controlling Scimtar’s blade.  Better, he admitted, Now let the boys do it on their own.  Go spar with your wife for a while.

Thus encouraged, Esteban and Ilras renewed their assaults on the grandfather’s splinter.  Asto’s splinter saluted me with titanium rod, I returned it, and we were off.

Actually, this was pretty much the only sparring I did with my husband – blade practice.  If someone had told me how few arguments we’d have before I married him – on all of a day and a half of courtship – I would have probably laughed at them.  But the bond we’d forged in that day and a half forty Imperial years ago was true.  So long as we were in the same instance, we were in rapport with each other constantly, an unending string of wordless communication that told us both what we were feeling, what we were experiencing, what we were learning.  It wasn’t the merging of identities into one that so many people on Earth blathered about before contact – it was the two of us growing together, becoming ever more strongly each other’s partner.  I was me and Asto was Asto, but the bond helped us work out our differences before they ever exploded into conflict or fights.  We’d had one serious disagreement in our forty (Imperial) years of marriage that got to the point of open debate, but even there the bond between us had left me no doubt my partner loved me and valued my opinion – he just happened to disagree on that particular issue.  My husband might be stronger and more capable than I would ever be, but I was a real partner, his wife, the mother of his children, and someone whose happiness was essential to his own.  If I resented being the weaker partner, all it would have accomplished was ruining something wonderful – it wouldn’t have made me any stronger, and it wouldn’t have made Asto any less than he was.  So I concentrated on being me, and enjoying the miracle that was Asto and the partnership that we had.

The rules of bladework sparring were simple: blade only.  You were allowed to use auros to plan, but no mindbolts or anything else.  This wasn’t a duel; it was a test of our skills with the blade.  The point continued until someone drew significant blood.  When you could heal anything but brain function, lesser wounds might be painful, but they weren’t life threatening.  You’d heal yourself and be good as new in a few seconds – maybe a minute or two at most.  The ilestar floor covering would soak up any blood that fell, and as soon as the room was vacant, one of the little robots would be along to replace the ilestar.  Clothes were just as replaceable.  Head protection prevented practice weapons from doing anything that couldn’t be healed.

The point was that we didn’t hold back.  Our family could use the same sword moves we’d use in a real duel, and do so in earnest.  This meant no bad habits to break in a real duel, we wouldn’t be used to ‘holding back’.  I had no reason to suspect that the other Great Families did anything different.  Swordsmanship settled roughly a third of all Imperial duels.  If you were reasonably matched mentally, greater sword proficiency gave you a real advantage.  It wouldn’t balance out a large disparity in mental power – as I’d learned the hard way in my one duel – but it could be what allowed you to defeat an opponent that might otherwise have worn you down mentally.  I had no intention of fighting any more duels – but sometimes circumstances gave you no choice.  I’d learned that the hard way, too.  Since I wanted to keep enjoying my husband and children for as long as the Lord allowed, I practiced with blades regularly.

Parry riposte parry riposte parry riposte, and ow!  A hit on my wrist from the titanium rod meant momentary pain, and a bruise I’d be healing later, but no real injury.  In a real duel, it might have been the opening for an opponent to win decisively before I could transfer my weapon to the other hand.  A beat later, I re-started the engagement with a cut to his head. 

Attack parry riposte remise parry riposte.  He’d hit me several times before my blade nicked his elbow.  Good! He acknowledged the touch, and we kept going.  Unlike a real human, Asto’s splinter didn’t have blood – a splinter was a projection, not a real human body.  Ordinary action with a sword didn’t damage them.  Even in a duel with a real opponent, it would have been at most a minor annoyance – healed in a moment to negligible blood loss.  But it felt good to have the acknowledgement that I’d gotten some of my own back.  Good enough to trust me to take our kids to meet my family?

You’re going to have to talk to Mother and Grandfather about that.  Children of Great Houses did not leave the security of the Residence for anything more than short excursions that could be cut short at any time.  They were too vulnerable to other Great Houses.  No matter what the rules said about targeting children, every time I requested an Earth visit, I was told the gains wouldn’t justify the risk.

Eventually, our sparring ended.  Scimtar’s splinter indicated it was time for my lesson.  I was already sweaty and tired, but you didn’t refuse even a short lesson from one of the greatest living masters.

New drills, alternatives to the circular parry on the inside line.  Instead of responding to a degage on the inside line, change to outside secondary and beat-parry.  Alternate with turning the attack with a yielding head primary, and instead of cutting straight and low, force your opponent’s blade to clear by turning the riposte into a head cut.  This was adding to what some might call my ‘bag of tricks’, other ways to respond to a situation that might surprise an opponent who wasn’t expecting anything but the same old response.  Without another word of explanation, he thrust towards my high inside line, evading my first attempt at a parry by rolling his blade around mine.  Instead of coming back around in the most standard response, a circular parry that could turn into envelopment if the opponent was slow in responding, I changed to high outside parry and beat his blade aside to clear it, then a head cut riposte.  Scimtar parried in what an Earther would call sabre sixte and thrust to my high inside line to start the drill over again.  This time – per