by Scott Meyer
Hennik stopped celebrating with barely enough time to take his position for the challenge round. His opponent offered the information that his right hand was dominant. Hennik grasped the proffered right wrist grudgingly, snarling that he didn’t care and it wouldn’t make any difference.
When the round began, the competitor’s arm shot forward like an arrow, trying to grasp Hennik by the neck. Unfortunately for him, Hennik’s neck was not there.
Hennik had already dropped to the mat, and was halfway between his opponent’s legs. A moment later, he sprang up behind the other boy and in one—now well-practiced—motion, ground the challenger’s meaty forearm into his most sensitive weak spot.
As instinct dictated, the opponent sprung up on his tiptoes and pitched his weight forward. Hennik easily steered him across the mat. The opponent’s legs kicked pathetically as he landed in the gutter, but the feed didn’t linger on the defeated opponent. It followed Hennik as he once again started running laps of the mat, celebrating his victory.
“This is my first meet! My first, and I’m already the king of Apiosan sports! I’m undefeated! I’m undefeatable! All this time, all you needed was a Hahn to come and show you how your own idiotic game should be played!”
Lord Jakabitus slunk onto the mat and held Hennik’s hand aloft. Before Lord Jakabitus could open his mouth, Hennik screeched, “It is the prophecy.”
It was a revelation for Rayzo. After all these years, all the time spent worrying that he was a disappointment to his father, he now realized this was the first time he’d ever actually seen his father genuinely ashamed . . . and it wasn’t at him. Rayzo nearly wept from the joy of it, but his happiness was short-lived.
Hennik started thrusting his pelvis forward and pointing at it with his free hand. He was drawing attention to his ranking.
Up until that moment, Rayzo had been proud of his own ranking. This had been his most successful sports meet ever, and he’d progressed from #4,231 to #3,856.
Hennik’s ranking was difficult to read, as his attempts to call attention to it had made it a moving target, but then he spun and bent over so that the rear display of his rank would be clearly visible: #3,320.
I don’t look forward to talking to Hennik tonight, Rayzo thought. Oh well, why should tonight be any different than usual?
33.
Umily pushed her grav-platter into the servant’s corridor. She had just delivered the linens for Master Rayzo’s postmeet shower.
Both Master Rayzo and Master Hennik would have cleansed themselves at the arena after the meet, but Rayzo always did it again once he got home. He’d once said that it took extra time to feel clean after a meet, which Umily didn’t understand, but she didn’t let it bother her. Working at the palace, you got accustomed to not understanding things.
The point was: there was reason to expect that Master Hennik might want extra linens, and Umily delivered them to his still-empty room without having received a request, which was her job. Of course, she made sure Master Rayzo was well cared for before tending to Master Hennik’s needs. This was just one example of the countless ways in which Master Rayzo was getting preferential treatment, even if he was unaware of it.
Umily took no satisfaction from having done her job well, because she knew she hadn’t done it well enough. She had cut the timing far too close. The letter from Gint, which she still had not read, was a lingering distraction.
She knew that the longer she put off reading it, the harder it would be to start. She also knew that Shly would ask about the letter at dinner, and admitting that she hadn’t read it yet would likely lead to an uncomfortable conversation.
Umily had the time, she had the letter, and she had to get it done, so she left her grav-platter outside her quarters, sat on the corner of her bed, pulled out her papers, and started reading.
Umily,
I hope things are good for you. They’ve gotten better here.
I have been killed in combat twice since I wrote last, but that’s good. Every time I die, I come back a better soldier, and I hate the Hahn more.
They are lower than animals, Umily. They throw themselves against us, wave after wave of them, climbing over their dead comrades as if the corpses are nothing but obstacles. They don’t use bulk-guns. Some of them have fission grenades (as I’ve learned the hard way a few times), which they only detonate to keep from being captured alive. At first I thought it was because they were conserving their bulk-ammo, but the commander says it’s all part of their plan. She says that they know Her Ladyship won’t let us use arms against an unarmed force, on account of it being monstrous.
I’d like to see Her Ladyship and her generals face a few waves of bloodthirsty Hahn coming after them with sticks and clubs and murder in their eyes. Then we could have a nice talk about what is or isn’t monstrous.
None of us likes it, but we abide by the treaty because those are our orders, and just like at the palace, the utilitics are always watching.
Oh! Here’s something interesting. The other night, the commander came and had drinks with us. She told us stories about the old days. Did you know that at one time utilitics were weaponized? Apparently you could make them swarm and kill people. She said she didn’t know how it worked, just that the enemy would breach your perimeter, take two steps, and then fall down dead. They even experimented with sending the utilics into enemy camps. There was no way to see them coming and no way to defend against them.
Of course, we can’t do that anymore either, because some Jakabitus signed a treaty. I can’t see why. It seems like such a great way to win a war. You could send the tics into an enemy base at night, then make your move come morning. The utilitics would even cart away the bodies like they do Barsparse’s kitchen scraps.
How is Chef Barsparse? I hope she’s well. She was always good to me. Please tell her I asked.
I should go. Some of the boys and I are working on a new weapon. It looks like a club, but after you hit a Hahn in the head, you keep the club pressed against their skull. It emits radiation that increases the pressure inside their head until the stuff that’s inside comes out, either by exploding or finding a hole to squirt through. There’s no treaty against that yet.
We’re ready to start testing. I almost can’t wait until the Hahn attack again.
Take care of yourself. I miss you.
Gint.
Emily folded her papers, put them back into her pocket, and silently mourned for her husband, who was not, at the moment, dead.
34.
“You should’ve seen it,” Hennik said. “There I was, on the big screen, pointing at my shorts and laughing.”
“You paint such a vivid picture, it’s as if I were there, Master Hennik,” Migg said.
Hennik lay on his bed, smiling up at the ceiling, trying to relive his victory in his mind. Migg stood in her corner of Hennik’s bedchamber, also trying to use her mind to go elsewhere, though with less success.
“And to think,” Hennik said, “you told me I shouldn’t apply moves from spak in Apiosan sports. You said it was a bad idea.”
Spak was a Hahn sport, wherein a skilled athlete would select a spak partner, usually someone smaller and weaker, and force them into some humiliating physical position without warning and against their will. The name derived from the sound made when an unwitting participant was slapped very hard on the back of the neck, a popular opening gambit. Spak was a very popular spectator sport. Many of the top spakers were quite famous on the Hahn Home World, although fans seldom approached them on the street.
“With respect, Master Hennik, I didn’t say that it would be a bad idea. I said that it would be wrong.”
“Then you probably shouldn’t have brought it up, Migg.”
Migg said, “Quite right, Master Hennik,” then attempted to change the subject. “How did Master Rayzo do?”
Hennik sat up, excited. “I can�
�t believe I forgot to tell you. That’s the best part! He was pathetic! Absolutely terrible!”
“I’m sorry to hear he didn’t do well.”
“No, Migg, you dummy. That’s what makes it so great! He had his best day ever; it just wasn’t nearly as good as mine! He won all of his matches, but he was slow and had no style, so his ranking only went up a little while mine exploded. He tried to make some lame excuse about strategy and setting himself up for success. I told him he wasn’t doing a very good job of it.”
“Well said, Master Hennik.”
Hennik shrugged and shook his head. “I can’t get over the dishonesty of these people, Migg. I mean, either he was lying to me, or he was lying to all his opponents by pretending to be worse at sports than he is. Either way it’s shameful.”
“I must remind you, Master Hennik, that you are currently deceiving the Jakabitus family, pretending to have accepted life here while secretly maintaining a hostile attitude.”
“But that’s different, Migg. I hold them in contempt. I mislead them as an insult. They mislead each other as a basic form of communication. It’s disgusting.”
“Yes, Master Hennik. Clearly, from what you say, Master Rayzo is beneath contempt. In a way, it’s lucky that you were adopted by his parents rather than the other way around. He would have been a complete waste of your father’s time.”
Hennik studied Migg for a long moment, then relaxed, clearly satisfied with whatever he saw.
“No, Migg. Wrong again,” he said. “Rayzo is not without skill, and he’s still young enough that he hasn’t been entirely poisoned by his own culture. My father, or any good strong Hahn, might be able to make something of Rayzo.”
Migg said, “It’s a shame that’s not possible, Master Hennik.”
“Why not? The Formalities allowed the Jakabituses to take me. Why couldn’t the Hahn take him?”
“It’s not a matter of the form, Master Hennik. It’s a matter of access. Master Rayzo never leaves the planet Apios, so no Hahn will ever have access to him.”
Hennik stood and advanced on Migg. “I’m a Hahn, Migg. I’m the son of Kamar Hahn, ruler of the Hahn, and I have access to the Jakabitus whelp every single day.”
“True, Master Hennik,” Migg stammered, “but you are an adopted member of the Jakabitus family, you’re only a year older than Master Rayzo, and your movements are restricted to the palace. If you were to try to forcibly adopt Master Rayzo, it would cause a tremendous amount of confusion and unpleasantness.”
Hennik considered it, then muttered, “Yes, you’re probably right.”
35.
While most of the cleaning after a dinner service was handled by the utilitics, there were still some tasks that were done by hand for no better reason than tradition.
Barsparse silently watched Ebbler wipe his cutting board reverently, as if he were polishing his most prized possession.
“I think dinner service went well,” Barsparse said, keeping her voice casual.
“Yes, Chef, I think so,” Ebbler agreed.
“You seemed on top of your game.”
“Thank you, Chef. I try my best. After I abandoned you at lunch, I knew I had to work harder to redeem myself.”
“Really, you think that was it?” Barsparse asked. “Not the nap the medics ordered you to take after they fused your finger back together?”
Ebbler’s shoulders slumped and his head hung down. “How did you know that they prescribed a nap?”
“I’m the one who told them to. Seriously, Ebbler, have you ever had a medic prescribe a nap before?”
“I suppose not.”
“So, whose work have you been reading at night?”
“Shly told you,” Ebbler moaned.
“Yes, she and Umily did. Kreet kept your secret, which is not to his credit. You should thank the ladies, Ebbler. I know you lack certain knowledge, but I like that you’re diligent. Hiding things from me, however, is unacceptable. I could’ve terminated you because I thought you didn’t care enough about the job to get a good night’s sleep. Understand?”
“Yes, Chef.”
“Good. Now, you’ve been reading in your off time to supplement your knowledge. Who have you been reading?”
“Garleth Senior.”
Barsparse moaned. “No wonder you were sleepy.”
“It wasn’t while I was reading that I was sleepy,” Ebbler said.
Barsparse cut him off with a wave of her hand. “At least you picked the right Garleth,” she said. “Garleth Junior was a better writer, but didn’t know anything about cooking. He just traded on the old man’s name.”
“Yeah,” Ebbler said. “He was good at describing how dishes looked and tasted, but he never really told you how to make anything.”
“Because all of his instructions would have been have a father who’s a great chef, and let him do the cooking. Look, Ebbler, I like that you’re studying, but I don’t like what you’re studying. If you want to continue, I’ll suggest things for you to read.”
“You’d do that?” Ebbler asked.
“Of course. That way I know you’ll learn what I want you to learn, and you won’t pick up any bad habits. Make sense?”
“Yes, Chef.”
“Good, because you’ve got one seriously bad habit that you need to break: keeping secrets from me. I can’t teach you if you won’t tell me what you need to know.”
PART 5
Should a party succeed in executing a complex scheme, proper form demands that said party be allowed to explain said scheme in granular detail. The joy of explaining is part of the reward. Often, the most satisfying part.
-Excerpt from The Arbiters’ Official Guidelines Regarding Etiquette for the Defeated, Vanquished, and Demoralized
36.
“Know that two thousand, one hundred, and seventy-one conventional years have passed since the Terran Exodus,” Wollard said. “Today is the sixteenth day of the fourth month. We meet on the planet Apios, in the servants’ hall of Palace Koa, the ancestral home of House Jakabitus and its matriarch, Lady Joanadie Jakabitus. I am Wollard, Master of Formalities for House Jakabitus, and I am currently delivering the daily meeting to the palace staff.”
Wollard looked up from his papers to survey the assembled staff. He had walked in looking at the floor and launched into the greeting immediately. Now, he took a moment to select his next words.
“Why are there multiple people missing?” he asked.
Kreet raised his hand and said, “Aren’t you supposed to start your question with query?”
Wollard regarded Kreet silently, raising an impatient eyebrow.
Kreet grimaced, then said, “Query.”
“Recognized.”
“Aren’t you supposed to start a question with query?”
“You’re supposed to. I, as the chair of the meeting, have the power to ask questions at will, as long as they are pertinent to the matter at hand. As such, I ask again, why are there multiple people missing?”
Wollard had been delivering the daily meeting to the palace staff since the day the Arbiters had assigned him to Palace Koa, and in all that time, there had never been more than two staff members absent from any one meeting, and he had almost always been warned in advance as to who would be absent and why. Now he found himself looking at three empty seats with no warning or explanation. Of course, Glaz was the person who usually alerted Wollard of these absences, and she was one of those who were absent, along with Hartchar and Migg.
Three key staff members were lost, and the remaining staff appeared to be at a loss. They looked back at Wollard with puzzled expressions, and no one came forward with new information.
Wollard turned to Phee and asked, “Would you please see if you can find any of them? I’d suggest starting with Glaz.”
Phee nodded and left. The day before, she had mad
e Wollard angrier than she had ever seen him, and he had promised to decide on her punishment before this day was out. So she was alternating between trying to be the perfect protégée when he needed her and being invisible when he didn’t.
“Well then,” Wollard said, “while we’re waiting for Phee to return, there’s no reason we can’t press on. As you all may know, both Master Rayzo and Master Hennik had successful outings at the sports meet yesterday. Normally, I would suggest congratulating Master Rayzo after a strong match, but in this case I recommend that you avoid discussing the topic with either Master Rayzo or Master Hennik. My understanding is that one of them has taken the events of yesterday very badly, and the other has taken them far too well.”
The portion of the staff that was present listened attentively, but Wollard could tell they were distracted. He couldn’t blame them. He was having difficulty focusing on the morning briefing too, and he was the one presenting it.
Wollard continued. “At this time I’d like to congratulate Ebbler on the quality of the food served at last night’s staff tasting. I know I speak for everyone when I say it was both delicious and instructive.” Wollard took a moment to consider his next comment, but not long enough of a moment.
“I’m also absolutely certain that the dishes you prepared are not the cause of the absent staff members this morning.”
Wollard was embarrassed by his words as soon as he’d spoken them. He didn’t often indulge in overt attempts at humor, and could tell that on this occasion it had been ill-advised. He looked up from his papers and smiled apologetically, but his audience, mercifully, hadn’t been listening. Every single head was turned toward the door.
“Ah, has Phee re . . . turned?” Wollard asked, turning to look. He trailed off at the sight of Phee standing next to an ashen-faced Glaz.
