Remembrance - Awakenings (Part 1)
14 Nov 2024Astraeius
Elus Dionis - 10th of September, the Year 3306
“Elus. Come boy, wake up. Wake up, Elus.”
I’d felt the hand shaking my shoulder more than I’d heard the words, but I was still quick to realise that it was my father’s voice I was listening to. Curious, I remember thinking, the man not having woken me up in person since I was a little child. For a few moments longer I feigned sleep, or at least gave it my best attempt, reaching out with my other senses as my martial arts instructors had taught me. Picturing the feeling as waves of transparent water flowing from my body out into the room, I tried to see my surroundings with the eye of my mind, simultaneously trying to calm my racing imagination.
If there was something to notice, I did not feel it, and I regretted never practising the skill as much as I should have. Barely had I felt the presence of the glass doors of my bedroom terrace, ajar as they were to let in some air, in the hopes that it might cool the night of a particularly hot Emerald summer. Neither had we ever agreed upon coded messages in case of danger – as many imperial noblemen do with their children – or, if we had done so in my infancy, these had long fallen into disuse and oblivion. That I never regretted, nor do I regret it now, for how can one regret peace and joy?
Still, it left me with no choice but that to finally abandon my pretence and open my eyes, to be greeted by the silhouette of my father’s face, faintly illuminated by starlight and a weak glow that peeked in from my antechamber. I could barely see the grim expression on his face, but I knew us to be in the small hours of the night, and that was cause enough for worry. Late night is for sleepers, lovers, and conspirators, and I much prefer being counted amongst the first two. I don’t know whether my father had made up the saying, but he’d certainly been the one who taught it to me.
“What’s going on?” I stammered, no longer asleep but neither properly awakened.
“There’s been an attack,” my father answered, his voice as calm as if though he were telling me of a minor post-terraforming quake. “We are getting off planet, before the system is fully locked down.”
I leapt up, but he raised a hand before I could say – or shout – anything of note. “Your mother’s all right, nobody we know has been hurt. They hit the Relay. But a fringe group of Marlinists have claimed responsibility. I’ve had Darien pack some clothes for you, but I do recommend you wear a flight suit for the actual trip. Just in case,” he added with a smile.
Whether the smile was meant as an olive branch, or whether – in the dark – he had simply not noticed my anger, I do not know. But angry, I was. Angry and terrified and mute as the worst of my fears materialised itself, with nothing that I could do to fight it. Because the lord Sallus Dionis, faithful Imperial that he is, had never been part of the Marlinist movement, but we – his son and his wife – had long warned him that compassion, if sufficiently outspoken, can easily be mistaken for sympathy, agreement, and even assent. And my father’s compassion for the persecuted Marlinist republicans had been expressed quite loudly, and quite publicly. I did not believe for an instant that he might have had anything to do with any Marlinist attack… and yet for that I hated him even more, the prim and proper Imperial in me certain that we were committing a horrible mistake, showing culpability by fleeing like thieves in the night. Fleeing from a system of law and justice that, I was certain, would solve this new crisis in very short order.
I sulked and I pouted as I fit myself into that shining white flight suit that I had had very little reason to use up until that moment. A retractable helmet, sure. At times even a pressurised suit, with that tight shoulder padding and uncomfortable gloves. It would be foolish to undertake long space travels without any type of protection against depressurization. But a Remlock flight suit? Commanders use that type of hardware. Combat pilots, or deep space explorers. Those to whom loss of limb or the prospect of being stranded in space are a very real possibility. I had one, of course, but I’d only ever worn it during those flight lessons that I had so passionately begged my mother for. Another excessive precaution, I thought as the tight bodysuit smothered my chest, not quite the “second skin” that the advertisements speak of.
My mother was yet giving some last orders to Gaspar, our freeman majordomo, when I came out onto the small landing pad that had long replaced the old lakeside wharf the original colonists had built on the property. I tried to listen in to have some clue as to how our trip would be (or at least how long she believed it would be) but I was far too soon distracted by the arrival of Darien, worried about whether I was satisfied with the selection of clothes he had prepared for our departure. Oh, Darien! Kindest and best amongst all of our slaves! I was curt with him, annoyed at being unable to overhear the lady Aline, and immediately regretted it. He had repeatedly refused my father’s offers of early emancipation, but I vowed that I would arrange for his manumission as soon as I could. As far as I was concerned, he had already worked off his debt a hundred times over.
Then and there, I could only offer Darien my excuses while he was helping me settle into the Courier’s cabin. Excuses which he promptly deflected as unnecessary and instead reassured me that he understood my distress at the situation. Whether or not Darien knew what the “situation” really was, he did not betray. The man should have been the family’s seneschal, not my valet. With the same courtesy he bid me a short farewell the second he saw my father making his way towards the ship, and had already taken his leave when the lord Sallus stepped in. I barely had time to offer a wave in return.
“All settled in, Elus?” my father asked, taking my luggage and storing it into one of the wall compartments before I could answer. I so clearly remember taking it back out in front of him to pull out a physical tablet; not because I was in any mood to read, mind, but rather to make some silent statement about how I was perfectly capable of taking care of my things myself. The man probably wanted to give no reproach, and was genuinely trying to make things easier for me, but then again I was still angry at him. And I was still young, though at twenty three I was not young enough for it to be an excuse anymore.
“As settled as I can be, father,” I answered, sitting back with my book open, looking at it intently, though not really seeing it. “I assume we’ll be leaving soon?”
He stared at me in silence for a while, as ever skilled at making me bask in the discomfort of the knowledge that I had been caught being inadequate – this time due to inexcusable rudeness. When my eyes left that book that I was not really reading I was forced to watch the harshness endure in his expression for one moment more before it softened into an otherwise sincere and reassuring smile. “Soon enough. Janus informed me he has already completed the pre-flight checks. Once Aurana is done preparing the servants for our absence, he’ll take us out.”
I half nodded: after all, the question had been asked rather to fill the void than out of genuine curiosity, and I was already relieved that the lord Sallus’s reproach had been limited to a stare. Only a few moments later, a matter which I blame entirely on my rough awakening and lack of sleep – and not on my general ineptitude with names, did I realise that none of our chauffeurs had ever been called Janus. “Your secretary, Janus?” I asked, as my father was settling down on his own flight couch.
“He sold himself into slavery to pay for a debt, but he used to be a Commander.”
“A Combateer?”
“Something like that…” my father said, hiding behind his own book after flashing me a meek smile. “But he’s a trusted man, you don’t need to be worried about him.”
No, I thought, no, perhaps I do not. But now I know that you're far more worried than you let on.