Half a Savage - Part 4

"Amazing how quickly time goes, isn't it?"

The main corridors of the Central Educational Complex were more than crowded enough with little knots of chance-met students, conversing with fashionable languor, to make it slow going for anyone not endowed with the ruthless rank of a senior instructor. But the two cadets strolling back to their dormitories after classes were in no particular hurry.

The younger and more slender of the two, thrust momentarily apart from his companion in the swirling wake of an impatient Cadet-Major, brushed down his jacket absently and continued as if nothing had happened. "Your last exams are in a few weeks, aren't they? Planning to go Home?"

"Back to Silmareno?" The older cadet, in his twenties, was scowling, but his opinions were cut off by the youth's gentle correction.

"Back to Horizon, you mean."

"Oh yes. Horizon. That's the latest decree, isn't it?"

Taken from his homeworld, Porah had learned avidly and well, as if determined to shake the dust of his childhood from his feet. In the last few years he had grown into a broad-shouldered young man, bronzed and healthy. But bitter lines on his face marred his good looks, and even among his compatriots he was isolated. Only Ro, gentle and tolerant, had managed to establish something approaching friendship, in despite rather than because of their shared past.

"And I suppose your great and royal father --"

Ro laughed, and punched him cheerfully on the shoulder. "Give it a drop for once, can't you? We're all Federation citizens here -- and your marks are better than mine, you know that --"

"At least you've got a family to go back to," Porah said angrily, the callous news of his own parents' rebellion and death in the mines still sullen within him despite the years that lay between; and then broke off, flushing in unaccustomed apology. "Ro, I'm sorry. I forgot --"

Ro shrugged it off, though he had flinched a little. "It's all right. It was three months ago. Anyway it's not as if it was a surprise, not really. If it hadn't been for Federation medicine she'd have gone long since, and I suppose Father and I always knew it. She should have gone to a proper off-world regeneration centre, but of course she wouldn't leave Father..."

Porah could scarcely remember the Lady Elaya, save as an imperious voice to scurrying young priests, and he doubted sometimes that Ro, who had been allotted only four visits Home in the last ten intensive years, could remember her much more clearly. But the boy had taken the news of her death unexpectedly hard; hard enough to worry Porah out of his habitual resentment.

"Well, you've got two days' leave of your own coming up soon," he said instead, nudging his companion in the ribs as they passed a group of girls who were making a great show out of not noticing them. The tallest and most striking of the group, whose cadet uniform had clearly been tailored to her figure, had bold eyes and long dark hair that brought to mind someone they both knew. "I'll take one guess at where you'll be this time next week... if she hasn't got herself rusticated yet, that is!"

The colour had risen in Ro's cheeks; but he took the suggestion in good part. "No, she went on the last ship," he admitted, flushing again. "I tried, but they said she was an incorrigible case, and you know what Selma's like -- she wouldn't climb down, not if she thought there was a principle at stake..."

Porah said honestly enough that he was sorry to hear it, but couldn't, privately, say he was surprised. It was a pity, though. He'd liked Selma; even if, fresh from their homeworld, she'd persisted in showing an uneducated reverence for Movo and the old order. At least, unlike most of their compatriots here, unlike obedient, gentle Ro, she had retained a healthy scepticism towards the almighty Federation and all its works. She'd done Ro a world of good in more ways than one, and he'd rather envied the younger man her obvious interest.

But she'd been too outspoken, too vocal, and far too uncooperative to have lasted more than a couple of terms at the C.E.C, even with Movo's influence behind the scenes in what Porah strongly suspected was a planned dynastic alliance. If the sainted Elaya had really picked this girl for her son, her taste was better than he would have given her credit for; but her political ideas were hopelessly naive.

It wasn't Ro's fault, though. And the boy was looking more than a little dejected. Porah, sighing, was about to jettison his own plans for the evening and propose a joint night out in the name of taking his mind off it, when the announcement came through.

You learned to tune them out, in the Federation. The constant soft music of the speakers, broken by intermittent calls to classes, news broadcasts, and the occasional individual summons, had been a background to his life almost since the first day he could remember, when a handful of huddled illiterate children had been landed at the chief processing centre, and escorted to the newcomers' quarters by matronly assistants who'd seen it all before. At first, the voices from the sky had been an incomprehensible terror. By the time the young savage he'd been had acquired enough education to understand where the sounds were coming from and why, he had already achieved the knack of isolating the calls that applied to him and ignoring the rest.

"Cadet Ro to Gate G-6, please." The calm female monotone had already repeated itself once before the message caught his attention. Up and down the corridor, around them, a hundred other students had raised their heads briefly and dismissed the words without even consciously registering them. "Cadet Ro to Gate G-6 --"

But Ro, at his side, had stiffened to attention at the first call and was casting around for the triangle that marked the nearest public intercom. He was twenty yards away before Porah caught up, catching the boy's arm and pointing towards the sign half-hidden down an intersection to their left. Ro nodded. "Thanks."

He gave his registration number briefly into the intercom, acknowledging the call, and came back slowly, looking rather puzzled. "Whatever do you suppose they want with me down at G-6 at this hour? The next flight isn't due in until late tomorrow, and there's nothing else out there they could conceivably want me for..."

"Unscheduled courier. Urgent news from Home." There was nothing else it could be. Porah's mouth had regained its old bitter twist. Ro was a decent enough chap in his way, the closest thing to a friend among those he knew -- but the fluke of fate that had made him his father's successor, that had guided the Federation to Movo's clan in its quest to rule the planet, bestowed upon the younger cadet even here on a distant world a mantle of importance out of all proportion to his rank. News from Silmareno -- even to think that name was a private act of rebellion -- would come first to Ro.

The Federation needed its puppet governors. It couldn't let them believe they were the same as everyone else.

"I'll go with you," he said abruptly, staking his own claim, and was repaid by the rare sweet smile that, as always, left his resentment helpless in the face of the boy's own good nature. Ro meant well, that was the devil of it. He believed the best of everyone.

~~~~~~~~~~

The terminal gate had changed very little since the returning traveller had shaken the dust of the place off his feet after graduation, all those years earlier. Battered wall-plating, scarred load-marks across the wide floor where heavy crates had been mishandled; the constant half-sensed flicker of the lighting plaques far above. He supposed he ought to be feeling some kind of nostalgia, under the circumstances.

It was hard to summon. The place was, if possible, even less attractive when cavernously empty than in the usual bustle of departure. His own footsteps rang loud in the silence as he made his way across the hall to meet the slender figure waiting between the pillars; the future ruler of Horizon.

Still half a savage under the skin, the new-fledged Assistant Commissar reminded himself, observing the young man's neat cadet uniform and short-cropped black hair with approval. He may not be wearing braids and beads like that thrice-cursed father of his, but an educated primitive is a primitive for all that... The hulking senior behind Ro -- who had not been sent for -- scarcely even looked educated.

The years that had broadened Porah's shoulders had set their own widening trace upon the former adjutant's waistline, and patches of unseasonal grey at his temples. He was not -- at least consciously -- aware of his resentment.

"Well, young man," he told Movo's inheritor with assumed joviality, "I don't suppose you remember me? I must confess you've grown an inch or three since last we met, but I feel I know you like a brother. I've been trying to fill your place at your father's side since you've been away... but it's a hard task, a hard task to substitute for a true-born son."

He shook his head sadly, caught sight of the rank contempt in the trouble-maker Porah's face, and hastily toned it down a notch.

"Of course I remember you, sir." Ro was civil, but distant. "You were advising my father over that sad business with the mines during my last visit."

The Assistant Commissar, who until that moment had entirely forgotten the solemn-eyed adolescent who had walked in so inopportunely upon the shouting-match following Movo's discovery of the fatality rate among the mine workers, winced. "Ah yes. We all have our responsibilities to the future progress of the Federation. Your father found it a heavy burden to bear. Too heavy, of late."

Ro glanced up at that, attention caught at last, and reached out in an unconscious gesture. "How is he? How is he bearing up -- since Mother --"

"A sad loss," the older man agreed, setting his features into an expression of grave sympathy. Confound it, the wretched woman had been as obstinate about dying as she had about everything else -- and she'd been a moderating influence on Movo, at that.

Federation tech could have saved her, if she hadn't been so stubborn about going off-world. It had been quite grossly unfair for Movo to have all but accused him personally of her death like that, when he'd spent years trying to keep her strong enough to curb her husband's idealistic starts. Without Elaya, he'd been left with almost no means of control. Movo had given him no choice but to act as he had, even his superiors had agreed that. It had been past time in any case to bring in a new ruler, one properly trained in Federation ways...

"I'm afraid your father found the bereavement very hard to bear. He became increasingly... erratic. He was neglecting his duties, his health -- even the welfare of his people." There was no evidence that Movo had been directly behind that last revolt, but privately he had no doubt of it. The man had clearly considered himself to have nothing left to lose.

"'Was'?" The sharp query came from Porah, who had so far said nothing, and Ro shot a swift glance up at the other cadet before echoing the question.

"Indeed, Assistant Commissar... 'was'?" And the rising intonation was as much for the stiff new rank-tabs at his collar as for the injudicious word.

He bowed his head in the full obeisance due to the boy-puppet's new status. "I had meant to break the news more gently -- but yes. You are right. Your father, Ro, is dead. And you and I have a new rank -- a new position -- a new responsibility to take up. Together."

He took a stride forward, as if on impulse, and pulled the stiff young figure into a close and brotherly embrace. Ro, frozen, made no response. The scorn in the other boy's dark eyes could have cut like a knife.

He didn't see why he should have to put up with this. "Get out."

The words, hissed over Ro's oblivious head, were pitched as an order. Porah had no business here in the first place. He was a known malcontent, lucky to have retained his place at the C.E.C. at all. The worst possible influence for Ro -- little more than a primitive. Something would have to be done about him; and it could start now. "Out!"

"'Out'?" Porah's air of puzzlement, as he surveyed the deserted expanse surrounding them, verged on the insolent, and the Assistant Commissar's patience snapped.

"Get back to your quarters -- where you should be at this hour. And be grateful I don't report you for being out of bounds."

For a moment the youth looked as if he were going to make an issue of it. But there was clearly no help on offer from Ro, who had scarcely moved, and Porah's sullen face darkened. "Yes -- sir."

He turned, with a deliberate lack of hurry, and walked away. In the silence that followed, the receding sound of his steps could be heard until the closing thump of the airlocks as gate G-6 cycled.

Only then did the other man turn his attention to Ro, stepping back and setting his hands on the boy's shoulders. "Forgive me. I would not have told you in such a way... if the choice had remained mine."

Ro took a deep breath and seemed to register the words at last. "Were you there -- at the end? Did he leave any message?"

"Alas, no. We were on a survey of the sensors. He struck his head when he fell. It was a very sudden... seizure." The Assistant Commissar flexed his fingers almost unconsciously, remembering the ebbing pulse of life under those hands. Unforeseen inspiration enabled him to add, truthfully this time, "His last words were of your mother."

"They always were," Ro said very softly. His hand had moved in a queer sinuous gesture across his breast. "May the Serpent hold them together in his coils --"

He broke off, flushing, under the older man's gaze. "I'm sorry. Self- deluding beliefs for the primitives -- I know. But childhood habits die hard..."

Which is more than could be said for your father. That inward jibe was hard to resist; he let his smile pass for indulgence at the boy's lapse into tribal religion. For so big a man, Movo had gone limp with surprising ease... Better, perhaps -- his mouth twitched again -- not to think of that at this precise moment.

Ro had pulled himself together, instinctive courtesy re-asserting itself. "I do beg your pardon, sir. You spoke, I think, of a recent promotion -- new responsibilities?"

The Assistant Commissar nodded, smoothing down the rank-tabs at his collar where they crackled. "Indeed. Even as your father's mantle now falls upon your shoulders, so does my duty bring me here. To your side. To take up that position and place in the Complex by which you and others like you may be guided in what you need to know."

He allowed that last phrase, with all its eloquent implication, to fade into a hint of sacrifice. And prayed, to whatever godless Providence the Federation had left him, that the young savage's education had not yet stretched so far as to encompass the phrase -- let alone the concept -- of 'kicked upstairs'.

Promoted out of the field. Relegated to a desk job twenty years ahead of his time... with the merest tendril of a lure that he might see duty again "if the situation should warrant". If he delivered Ro in a sufficiently docile state, that meant. Oh, and others like him, of course. Naturally.

He could still hear his Sector Chief's pained tones: "My dear fellow, I know it was an unavoidable situation. I quite understand. But do try to win the affection of this one, won't you? We simply can't afford to write off the colony by the usual methods..."

And so he smiled warmly at the youngster's dutiful congratulations, at his anticipated pleasure in learning from the best. Allowed Ro to make arrangements for the safe delivery of his new tutor's personal effects. Pretended ignorance of the layout of the hallways so that the boy could offer the honour of escorting him to his quarters himself.

He wouldn't repeat the mistakes he'd made with Movo. The son was affectionate -- malleable. He'd have Ro ruling Horizon in his own right for the Federation in two years' time... and he'd have his career back. And nothing -- not Porah, not the Sector Chief's report, not Ro himself -- was going to stand in his way.