Editing Eternity (Warhammer High) (section)

=== Nate's Travails ===


The robes of a Senior Counselor to the Master of the Astra Telepathica are more than mere fabric.  They include a variety of psy-dampening or psy-enhancing materials, depending on the stability of the wearer, and are frequently customized with personal accoutrements.  Often, the wearer will also bear a Rosette or Rosarius shaped like the Scholastica Eye, in the form of a pendant.  One set in particular was sky blue, trimmed in black, and the belt was laced with a huge variety of technological trinkets.  The Rosette was built with a compact Refractor, and encrusted with Star Gems.  The Refractor field could divert attacks of all sorts, even plasma, and was designed to prevent the wearer’s death from the attack their psychic senses didn’t see coming.

At the moment, however, nobody was wearing them.  The Rosette and robe were stuffed into a locker in the City of Sight’s sparring hall, and the owner was fighting desperately in the next room.

The sparring chamber was tucked into the base of the Whispering Tower, near the Novitiate chambers of the Scholastica Psykana.  Over the millennia of the Crusade, the restrictions on psy-power from the Edict of Nikaea had been loosened as mountains of data on the use of psychics and the temptations psykers suffered had been uncovered by the Emperor’s servants.  Primarchs and Astropaths of every stripe had begged the Emperor to allow psychics to serve in the Imperium as more than living telephones once more, and eventually, he had agreed.  The City of Sight returned to its admittedly subdued bustle of activity shortly thereafter, as the Sisterhood and Scholastica had returned to the harvesting and training of young psychic minds, and as the Black Sentinels went back to their normal jobs.

Among the roles filled by Adepts of the Scholastica was that of the teacher, specifically the teacher of Imperial Army officers in how best to deploy Primaris Psykers and War Psychics in battle.  That, of course, required that psychics of the Scholastica be trained in how to actually fight, and so the sparring halls of the Astra Telepathica were once more opened to their intended use, that being: beating the shit out of each other.

Nathaniel Romanvene, Prince of Prospero and husband of Miranda, danced back from the young War Psychic he was fighting.  Her armor was scratched and scarred from generations of use, but it was well-fitted and tough, and she was far more youthful than he.

Nate threw himself backwards as fast as he could, just barely dodging a blow that he hadn’t foreseen.  Luckily, his opponent wasn’t a very skilled fighter.  Unfortunately, she was also a much stronger psychic.

The Prince had to duck to dodge a stream of shimmering silver fire, which splattered against the energy field at the edge of the practice ring.  He lunged forward, trusting in two decades of footwork practice to carry him around her counter.

It worked.  The younger psychic lashed out once, twice, thrice, four times at him, but he slid past her brutal blows, deflecting her training staff with his armored gauntlets, their serrated finger-guards the only visible weapons he was carrying.

She stepped back to let him approach her with her guard up, then lashed out again, launching a slender beam of violet light that coiled and spun like a hyperactive snake.  Undeterred, Nate clenched one fist and threw himself sideways again, letting the phantom blow right over him.  He straightened up and tossed the contents of his fist into her face.

The woman gasped and jerked back as frighteningly bright grey sparks blasted into her face.  It was a parlor trick and nothing more, but the message was clear: he could have melted her face right off.  She snarled and swung her staff low, this time feeding psychic energy into it to push through an extra sting.

Nate didn’t bother dodging.  Before it could even connect, he had gripped the insides of both of her thighs and twisted them upwards.  She gasped again, this time in pain, and fell right on her ass.  Little witch-fires burned on her training pants where he had grabbed her, though they weren’t hot at all.  It was just another reminder of how much more experienced he truly was.

“Enough!” Nate barked as she squealed and slapped at the illusory flame.  They vanished as he dropped the charade, and he crossed his arms over his chest with a stern glare.  “Get up, student!”

The student scrambled to her feet, panting and ruddy-faced.  “What the HELL was that?” Nate demanded.  “I killed you four times in twelve seconds!”

The student stiffened.  “With respect, sir, it was two.”

“Bullshit!  You were dead before I even closed,” Nate said hotly.  “Look down.”

The student glanced down, to see a thin slick of blood coating the tops of her shoes.  She sucked in a breath as she noticed two shallow cuts on her shins, just below her leg armor.  “If I had aimed that two centimeters lower and held the slash,” Nate said, pointing at a seemingly random spot on the far side of the ring, “you’d have had your feet cut clean off.  Did you even notice?”  She squinted and spotted two bloodied coins sitting at the rim of the arena.  He’d launched them from the pockets of his pants while they had been approaching each other at the start of the bout.

“Sir, no, I did not, sir,” the student admitted.

“Then, when you tried a Warp Scorch, I ducked it like a beach ball!  Why throw so slowly?  I’m not going to catch it!  I’m supposed to AVOID catching it!” Nate continued.  “Believe me, there are Weirdboyz out there who WILL catch it, and they will throw it right back at your ass twice as fast!  And, of course, the face and the legs,” Nate finished up.  He marched up to the student and stared down into her hazel eyes.  “Nothing wrong with ambition, student,” he said quietly, his demeanor changing entirely.  “But…never, EVER mistake a lack of power for lack of refinement.  If you ever fight an Eldar in CQC, you will die and never know how.  And,” he said, turning away and adding the stinger over his shoulder, “go tell MacMillan that’s three lunches.  He knows what I mean.”

The student blinked back harsh tears.  “Yes, sir.”

“Dismissed,” Nate called, and vanished into his locker room.

The student wiped her forehead with a bloody hand and nearly threw her staff into the corner.  She ripped her towel off of the bench and wiped it over her soaked face, muttering bitterly under her breath.

“Student?” a new voice asked.

The girl whipped around, ready to work out her frustration on some new target, and dropped the towel.  Instead of venting anger, she turned shock white, and slid into a ramrod-straight attention.  “Ma’am!  Primaris Candidate Eight Able Mike Four, Ma’am, Terran WPTS, Ma’am!” she sounded off.

Miranda, the Crown Princess and Sceptre-Bearer of Prospero, and Nate’s wife, was standing where Nate had been.  Unlike her husband, she was wearing no war panoply.  Instead, she had a positively restrained Psykana robe dress on; her only visible icon of office was a solid Star Gem pendant in the shape of a glowing orange eye.  The light locked inside it roiled like a living thing.  It was every bit as unnerving as her real third eye, which she never bothered to cover in the City.

She smiled.  “I didn’t ask your billet, officer code, or rank, student.”

“Force of habit, ma’am, I apologize!” the student said quickly.

“Very well, no harm done.  Where is Prince Nathaniel?”

“In the locker room, ma’am,” the student said, and for reasons she would not figure out for the rest of her life, continued with “wiping off my blood!”

Her jaw clenched at the completely disrespectful addendum, and the reptilian survival instincts at the back of her mind wondered if taking a knee would help her overcome Miranda’s rarely-seen but nigh unsurvivable displeasure.

It seemed Miranda was in a good mood, however, because all she did was laugh.  “He’s faster than a mongoose when he’s angry, isn’t he?”

“I…confess to not knowing what a mongoose is, ma’am, but he’s faster than any non-cyborg I have ever witnessed, ma’am,” the student said, her cheeks burning.

“Yeah, being taught close-quarters anti-psychic fighting tactics by Atok himself tends to impart some lessons,” Miranda agreed.  “Though, technically, he is a cyborg.  I dunno, though, you think I could take him?” she asked playfully.

The student hesitated.  “I…would assume so, ma’am, your power vastly eclipses his and mine combined.”

“Very true, and well said,” Miranda said with mock seriousness.  She walked past the student with a wink a murmur.  “Buck up, kid, you’re not even twenty.  You’ll get the hang of restraint soon enough.”

The student looked away.  “Yes, ma’am.”

Miranda waited outside the locker room as the student walked off to the showers.  At length, Nate emerged with his armor in a bag, clad in his robe.  Without even stopping to look if anyone was watching, he slung an arm around his wife’s shoulders and drew her into a breath-taking kiss.  Miranda returned the gesture, gripping his shoulders with both hands and leaning into it.  Several seconds later, they parted, both grinning, and walked off together.

“Good bout?” Miranda asked.

He scoffed.  “Not at all.  I don’t know what the trainers are doing down in the College if that’s the best they can send up.”

“I hate to break it to you, there, Champion, but the really good ones know their limits and don’t challenge their Lord,” Miranda pointed out.  “The next batch of Senioris Primaris, the Legionary War Directors, are the best I’ve seen in thirty years.”

“Yeah?  And that’s the best name they could come up with?” Nate mused.  He flicked shower water from his close-cropped black hair as they walked into the grey afternoon light together, arm in arm.  “‘Primaris Senioris?’”

“I don’t create the pay grades,” Miranda said.

“Oh, I know, it’s the fault of someone else,” Nate replied.

Miranda nodded gravely.  “Well, yeah.  Everything is someone else’s fault.  Still, she was in tears.  Were you hard on her?”

“I was quite hard on her,” Nate said unapologetically.  “She’s a fourth my age, and she had the gall to claim that I had no business directing psykers of Epsilon talent when I’m an Iota on a good day.”

Miranda sighed.  “Oh, dear.”

“Yeah, she had it coming.  Iota, Gamma, Alpha plus, who gives a damn?  If you can’t block a pair of coins with your mind or smell your own blood, you’re useless in a fight,” Nate said.  He looked down at his wife and smiled.  “But you didn’t come down from the Oneirocritica to tell me that I’m being mean to the young people.”

“No, no, I can do that over the intercom,” Miranda said, nodding regally.  “I came down to float an idea.”

“Do tell.”

“I want to have a few people over to the manor for dinner tonight, if that’s quite alright with you,” she explained, waving to a bowing Acolyte they passed.

“And whom shall we be cannibalizing?” Nate asked in an eagerly curious voice.

“Oh, nobody of importance,” Miranda said, continuing the joke.  “A few Lords General, my father, a representative from the Black Army, you know.  Nobody that anyone will miss.”

“Right.  So who did you have in mind, really?” Nate asked.

Miranda counted off on her hand.  “Petra, us two, Garret, and Hebe.”

Nate stopped dead.  Miranda stumbled and let go of his arm.  She looked back at him to see him ram his hands into his pockets and look away.  “Hebe.”

“Yes, Nate, she was in town and she called,” Miranda said.  She didn’t need her incomprehensibly vast psychic power to see the sudden flare of irritation in him.  “Nate.  It’s been forty seven years.  She just wants to have dinner.  You can’t still be angry at her for what your mother did.”

Nate resumed walking towards the Archway.  He kept his fists in his pockets the whole way.  Miranda hurried to catch up with her taller husband’s stride.  “At least consider it?” she asked.  She settled for the gruff ‘fine’ she received, and decided to change the subject.  “So…who is this MacMillan?”

“Trainer in the Primaris office who likes to send unprepared students up against senior instructors with lower Assignment ratings.  We bet lunches over it sometimes,” Nate explained, his temper easing.  The two discussed work until reaching the gateway to the more welcoming parts of the Palace, where they parted ways; her back to the Tower and Nate to the garage.

As soon as his wife was out of earshot, Nate’s mind drifted.  Away from the green-walled City, away from the gilded Palace to the north, away from the kind words and unfathomable complexity of his wife.  His mind went to Europa, a lovely childhood cut short, and a pair of bitter, cynical, cruel nobles.


Miranda sat at the very peak of the Whispering Tower, listening to the vague sounds from the walls.  The Whispering Tower – aptly named – was the core of the psychic antenna that was the Telepathic Temple of Earth, and there was nothing else like it outside the Craftworlds.  It was so large that there was room for four separate libraries through its huge structure.  One of them was hers and her father’s, and it was a tiny speck compared to the huge Chamber of Thoughts, the Great Dream Library, or the Code Room.

Still, it was home away from home for her.  As she had gained refinement and control over her abilities, she had come to enjoy her time there.  The little room was filled with mismatched furniture, of wildly varying sizes and themes.  Some were for Magnus’ size, others were for her petite 5’10” frame, and others were sturdier, so that armored Custodes and Marines could sit comfortably.

At the moment, she was curled up in a bean bag chair she had stashed in one corner, sipping a cream tea, and trying not to think about her husband’s abusive family.  She let her mind walk through the pathways of the psy-reactive structure, casually eavesdropping on various telepath messages.  Here was a picture of a starmap someone wanted sent to the Navy outpost at Cyprya.  Here was a joyous message of a successful breach birth sent to an anxious father, far away on tour.  Here was a classified file – she ignored that.  Here was a sad tale of an overzealous Enforcer who had blundered into a drug deal and gotten lynched for his trouble.

All the words of the messages from that day filtered through the walls around her and pressed against her thoughts.  She had found it frightening when Magnus had brought her here first, but now it helped her focus.

So she said, anyway.  At that moment, absolute silence couldn’t have helped her focus.  She sighed and picked up a slate, trying to force her way through it.  The Sisters of Silence were practically begging for an expansion of the Blackships’ escorts through Cahrdammzog.  Well, obviously.  What would happen if an Ork Warboss managed to capture and enslave a ship with thousands of psychic human children in it?  She granted the request and sent the form to the Palace for Roboute’s signature; that region of space was his jurisdiction.

She set the slate down and wormed her way into the bean bag chair, a fond relic of her college dorm, and the one addition to the furniture she had made.  Magnus had bought the rest of his own volition.  She sipped at her tea and allowed herself to address the elephant in the room: Nate’s family.

He had been born on Europa, the eldest child of the Romanvene noble family.  They ruled one of the floating cities that drifted across the odorous seas of that moon, and as far as the rest of the planet knew, they were gregarious but unremarkable nobles.  They were also, as a far more select group knew, cruel and insular, prejudicial, and bitterly racist.  This, of course, was not the face they showed the public.  Nate knew it all too well.  After all, the family had voluntarily disowned him before the Black Ships had come to harvest him with rest of the Sol System’s psykers.

Miranda sighed into her teacup as she remembered when Nate had finally opened up to her about his past.  They had met in college, where Nate had been laboriously working through a two-year degree in psychology, and she had been breezing through a four-year degree in the same.  The two psychics had fallen quickly, thanks to the insights into each other’s minds that their powers allowed.  They had married almost immediately, to Miranda’s parents’ concern, but it had been a wise move.  The Emperor had grown to like the boy, and accepted him into the small, elite circle of the immortal grandsons straightaway.

Nate’s outlook on life was a product of the upbringing he had lost.  Scorned by his family for his psychic talent, equipped with mere psybernetic implants rather than Sanctioned due to the (then) paucity of his raw power, and essentially kicked to the curb by the Astra Telepathica because he was no threat to anyone, it would have been reasonable to assume that he’d have a long pessimistic streak.  In reality, he had embraced his lot in life, taking to working during the day and studying at night, applying for every scrap of scholarship money he could find.  His outlook had been positive despite everything, which had gone a long way in drawing Miranda to him.  She had sensed the trained psychic walk into the bar she had been patronizing and spun in her seat to see him staring straight back at her with eyes wide.

The moneyed life into which he had married was familiar enough that the only obstacle had been her bizarre family.  Magnus’ surprise and disappointment at the haste with which she had married had faded as Nate took the time to get to know him personally, though.  His own family, however…

She stood, slowly walking up to the window of her library.  The rising sun shone from the distant hive structures beneath the Himalayas, but the windows polarized to compensate.  Miranda looked into her own reflection, trying to find an answer to Nate’s problems.  Unsurprisingly, none emerged.  Her own family adored her.  Nate’s reviled him.

The vox built into her table beeped.  She answered without looking, pressing the switch with a thought.  “Miranda.”

“Miranda, it’s Garret,” her best friend outside the Family said.  She turned at that point.

“Garret!  How’s things?”

“I was calling to RSVP for tonight, if we’re on,” Garret said.  The much older man was one of the serfs who served Magnus’ office on Prospero and had transferred to Terra after the Crusade.  He had taken something of a mentorship to Miranda in her youth, and was one of Nate’s confidants.

“We are,” Miranda confirmed.  “Thanks for letting me know.”

“Of course, Miranda, I look forward to seeing you.  What’s on the menu?”

“Home-made pierogies and sausage, actually,” Miranda said.

“Exquisite.  See you then.  Goodbye.”

“Bye.”  Miranda cut the channel and turned back to her musing, but answers were as unforthcoming as they had been before.


Nate sat down at the little table in his own study in the home he and Miranda had built in the peaceful retirement quarter of Cordoma.  The idea behind building a home for a young couple in the retirement quarter was as much derived from the peace and quiet they would enjoy as it was the perceived increase in security.  There are few geriatric homebreakers.

The Prince paged through the book on the table before him, thinking about his youth.  The book was full of the few mementos he had salvaged of that part of his life; press clippings and holopicts that included him, a few report cards from his tutors.  The last entry in the book was the positive psy-active test result from his doctor.  He had smuggled the original off of Europa with the Sister of Silence that had come for him, minutes after leaving a copy behind with the Arbites.  Why he had been driven to such an act was no mystery: he had come to loathe his parents very quickly.  In the span of a few days, they had gone from regarding him as a prodigy and lucky star of the family to an abhuman – subhuman? – mutant, unfit to live.  He had been just old enough to recognize the inherent unfairness of such a claim.  He retorted to his enraged parents that Malcador himself was a psychic, as were at least two Primarchs, the Emperor himself, and fully every one of the Navigators in the family’s service.

That argument had gained little tread in his parents’ embittered hearts, and they had unceremoniously thrown him from the building, barely pausing to give him some clothing to wear and a ration stick to eat.  Weeping and destitute, he had marched straight to the nearest Arbites Precinct and explained the entire story to an astonished Judge Arbitrator.  Starting with the unusually high luck he had displayed at card games and guessing games from the age of six to twelve, continuing with the discovery of his psychic talents, and culminating with his brutal disowning, he relayed the whole tale.

He fully expected the Judge to kill him for his ‘crime,’ but instead the lawman had summoned a Black Ship from nearby Terra, and had the boy hustled off to begin a new life.  Such as it was.

Upon reaching the age of thirteen, he was judged to be a weak Iota psyker, too frail of power to be a threat to anyone, and given stabilization psybernetics.  Even this wasn’t enough to make him worth the attention of the senior psychics of the Scholastica, and he was honorably discharged at the age of sixteen, sent off to a civilian job with a warning never to use his powers and a paltry bit of money to start afresh.

He had met Miranda some time later, and the two fell deeply in love.  “The rest, as they say, is history,” Nate muttered under his breath as he closed the scrapbook.

His younger sister Hebe had never sided with her parents.  Nor, for that matter, against them.  She had only been four years old at the time of his disowning, after all.  She had never attempted to reconcile with him, any more than his parents had.  Even when he married into the Royal Family, she had sent only a cursory message of congratulations.

In recent years, however, something seemed to have changed.  She had appeared in a documentary on the subject of children taken by the Blackships without their parents’ consent, and even though she had sided with the Sisterhood’s authority to do so, it had been a shocking move for someone from the Romanvenes to do so at all.  Later, she had included him, perhaps even by accident, on a list of recipients for a message to several hundred family members around the system, though its contents had been irrelevant to him.

Finally, less than two years before, she had been spotted in public attendance of a lecture given at a Terran theater on the subject of civilian use of Sanctioned psychic power.  While a younger, more privately cynical Nate might have suspected that she was up to something, the older and more satisfied Nate was just plain curious.

He had to arrive at that conclusion, he told himself as he filed the book away in the small house’s library.  As much as he resented his family, the jump from ‘appearing publicly interested in psychics’ to ‘asking to drop in for dinner’ was a huge one.  What did his sister want from him?

Reconciliation, perhaps?  Unlikely.  If she hadn’t felt such a desire to rejoin him to the family when he married the Emperor’s granddaughter, it wouldn’t come now.  Not when they were in their late fifties.


Miranda’s car slid to a halt outside the house.  The Princess emerged and walked in, looking around for Nate straightaway.  She found him in the kitchen, supervising the servitors making the food.  He was hands-deep in a salad himself.  “Program five, guests for tonight,” Nate was saying as he chopped up some cabbage.

“Acknowledged,” the servitor replied in its flat monotone.  Miranda stood across the island from Nate and waited for him to turn around.

“Hello,” he said over his shoulder.  “Thought I’d get some cooking done.”

“So I see.”  Miranda glanced over at where the plates were stacked.  “Only four settings.”

“Yes.”  Nate kept working the vegetables.  “Hebe’s not coming.”

Miranda sighed under her breath.  “You turned her down?”

“I haven’t.  Could you do it?  How did she contact us?” Nate asked.  “Come to think of it, how did her name appear on a list of cleared persons without my seeing…a note…” his voice trailed off.  He wiped his hands on the towel at the side of the table and slowly turned around.  “She couldn’t.  All household residents have to be informed when a name is added to the cleared access list,” he said, suspicion creeping into his voice.

“Unless I ask them not to notify you,” Miranda said, steeling herself.

Nate stared at her, his face suddenly blank as paper.  “You…told them not to notify me,” he said flatly.

“I did.”

He whipped back around, his hands tightening into fists.  “You knew I would refuse.”

“I did.”

“And…then you told me…in public, no less…the day she gets here…so I would have minimum chance to refuse,” he finished.  His teeth clenched.  “Wow.”

Miranda’s shoulders slumped.  “It was callous.  I apologize for that.  Nate…you shouldn’t hate her.  She was four when-”

“When my parents THREW ME out on the STREETS!” Nate suddenly barked.

“And look where it got you!” Miranda shot back, annoyed herself now.  “If you don’t want to have her over for food, fine, but at least reach out to her!  What could she possibly have to say?  Why would she contact you and ask for a seat at the table?”

“I don’t know,” Nate said coldly.

“Do you think she’d come to you if all she has is recrimination for you?” Miranda pressed, not shouting now, but still upset.  “Come on.  At least talk to her!”

“All right!” Nate snapped.  “Fine.  After work tomorrow, I’ll call her.”

“Why wait?  You want me to call and let her know she’s not invited, right?” Miranda pushed.

Nate glared daggers at his wife and threw the towel back on the peg.  “You just don’t know when you’re not helping, do you?” he muttered bitterly.  He snatched up the vox and stomped out before she could get in the last word.


His study was a small affair, stuffed with bookshelves.  The wood panels were some of the most expensive things in the house; he had had them imported from Prospero itself.  One of them concealed an audio dampener, which he engaged when he wanted privacy as he did now.  He sank into a chair at the desk and looked at the vox’s little screen.  Sure enough, an incoming call from one H.T. Romanvene was listed as having come the previous day.  He stared at it, steeling himself for the task, and pressed the ‘call back’ button.

He immediately hung up, before the call could even go out.  Nate’s fingers gripped the vox until he could bear it no more, and dropped it into the chair.  He rose to his feet and stared at the trophies on the walls between the bookshelves.  Knickknacks of worlds he had visited with his wife, an image of himself with the other Royal grandsons, and other collections of his younger years stared back at him.  Faint psychic whispers of his past echoed from them.  He wondered with an ironic half-smile if thinking about the past so much was healthy, given how his life had started.

Eventually, he sighed and picked the vox back up.  He punched in the number quickly so he couldn’t stop himself, then switched on the speakerphone and set it down on the desk.

It rang twice before someone answered.  “Hello?” a male voice asked.

“Hello,” Nate said, someone put off his anger by the unexpected voice.  “Is Hebe there?”

The tone of the reply was pure boredom.  “What is your business with mistress Romanvene?”

Nate glared at the vox.  “She knows this number.”

A few moments of scuffling sounds followed that.  Nate heard the sounds of people and music in the background.  A shopping complex?

“Hello?  This is Lady Hebe,” a new, female voice asked.

Nate squared his shoulders.  This was it.  “Hebe.  It’s Nathaniel.  Nate.

The sounds of footsteps on the far side died down.  “Oh…yes.  Hello,” Hebe said.  Her voice lost a fraction of its aristocratic edge.  “I…hello, yes.”

“Hard to say hello after forty seven years, isn’t it?” Nate asked.

“Yes, it is.”  The sounds of activity beyond faded further.  She must have sat down somewhere secluded.

“I…understand you spoke with my wife, sometime last night,” Nate said, searching for a thread.

“Yes, I wanted her to know that I was here, and…I guess…” she trailed off.  “I don’t know.”

“And Miranda extended an invitation to dine with us tonight,” Nate supplied.

“She did.”  Hebe paused before continuing.  “I…think I sent a congratulations when you married into the Royal Family,” she said.

“You did, we got it.”  Nate tapped his chin, remembering the surprise he had felt.  “What did Mother and Father think of that?”

“All they really knew was what they read in the news, you understand,” his sister replied.  “They thought it was someone else, at first.  They thought you were on Terra, still.”

Nate blinked.  They had kept track of him?  “Why?  Did they have me watched, or something?

“No, they just thought that was where you were.”  Hebe coughed lightly, probably to buy time to think.  “So…may I assume that this call isn’t purely social?”

“I suppose, in an absolute sense, it is,” Nate said.  “We won’t be having you over tonight.”

Silence greeted his words.  “I understand.”

“I will be meeting you,” Nate said abruptly.  “Pick a spot.  Or ask me to, it’s not a trouble.  I know the city.”

“Nathaniel?”

“It’s been forty seven years, and you were four,” Nate said briskly.  “We should talk.  But not in front of my wife and her friends.  Somewhere private.  Neutral.”

“I…very well,” Hebe said, feeling a bit whiplashed.  “Er, I’m in a city called New Arks.”

“I’m in a city called Cordoma,” Nate said.  “By gravity shuttle it’s half an hour.  There’s a city called Azor between us.  There’s a restaurant there, Calie’s.  We’ll meet there at…say nineteen thirty local.”

“Very well, I’ll…I’ll find it.  See you there, then.”

“Yes, goodbye.”  Nate thumbed off the vox and dropped it into his pocket, feeling much older.


Outside, Miranda was finishing up his salad when he returned.  He dropped the vox into the cradle and sat down at the kitchen table without a word.

Miranda looked up at him.  Her third eye – the metaphorical one – could see exhaustion in him.  From the fight earlier, from the conversation now, and all that had happened between.  She could also, however, see an ember of resentment from her behavior.

She looked back down at the food and tucked one lock of red behind her ear.  “Do you know how hard it was to keep it quiet all night?” she joked.  Sleeping with a mind reader has its drawbacks.

His glare informed her that that had been the wrong thing to say.  “It was childish, Miranda.”

Miranda hesitated, then conceded.  “It was.  I’m sorry.  I stand by the outcome.”

“That she’d be meeting me in neutral ground?” Nate asked.

She nodded.  “How did you know?” Nate asked, then held up a hand.  “Alpha plus.  Right.”

“Well, forgive me my intrusion,” Miranda said contritely.  “I’ll set three tonight.”

“Yeah.”  Nate looked up at the clock.  He had about sixteen minutes before he had to leave.  “Well.  I should get dressed.”



Hebe stared at the restaurant her brother had chosen.  It was a dive.  “Why in the world would a member of either the Romanvene or Imperial families come here?” she asked aloud.

Her manservant Serge looked around.  “Perhaps this isn’t the right place?  Shall I check the map again?”

“Please do,” Hebe said, nervously glancing at the mobs of tourists and commoners around her.


Several blocks away, Nate’s car slid into a private garage he had called.  For a member of the Royal family, getting a place there was no trouble.  He slid his sunglasses over his face, damped his psybernetics with a thought, and emerged from the garage into the little street beyond.  Walking towards the restaurant at a quick pace, he kept his eyes open.  His guards were nearby; he could sense five Beehives within two hundred paces at least.  Beyond that, his senses were no shaper than anyone else’s.  He could, however, also sense two Treasury shadows around too.  Nate belatedly recalled that his guard shift was training some new guys.  At least they wouldn’t follow him into the restaurant.

Ahead, he spotted a woman in aristocratic clothes and a well-dressed man beside her.  The woman was in her forties, while the man looked barely older than twenty and was built like a volleyball player.  That had to be Hebe and her sidekick.  Nate diverted to the other side of the street and walked up behind them in silence.

“I mean, why would he pick this place of all restaurants?  Nothing classier on Terra than this?  He’s royalty now, we could have gone to the Palace!” the woman complained.

Nate spoke up.  “And be seen in Royal company?”

Both others turned to see him standing there.  He had chosen up-style clothes for the occasion, in the sort of understated dress a modern noble of the Sol System might wear if they grew weary of ostentation.  His sister looked a thousand years old, to his surprise.  She had clearly decided to eschew juvenats.  Grey lined her hair, and wisdom cracks gathered at the corners of her eyes as well.  Her associate’s belt was covered in all manner of gadgetry; no doubt it was assigned to her scheduling.

“Oh…er, hello, Nathaniel,” Hebe said.  “It’s…been too long.”

“It has.”  Nate glanced at her companion.

Hebe took the hint.  “This is Serge, my secretary.”

Nate extended a hand in the routine of greeting that had been burned into his mind since the age of three.  “Nathaniel Romanvene.”

The man bowed over his hand before taking it.  “Prince Nathaniel, a pleasure.  Serge Antonius.  I am your cousin.”

Nathaniel started.  He squinted, looking for a resemblance.

“Well, first cousin once removed would be more appropriate,” Hebe corrected.  “I’m giving the lad a taste of life in the main branch of the family.”

“Ah.  So your great grandparent is my grandparent,” Nate said.

“Indeed, sir.  Specifically, Lord Apollo of the Io branch,” the young man said.

“Mm.”  Nate fished around in his pocket for a money card and found one for a few hundred credits.  “Do me a favor, Serge.  Go find yourself a place to dine and keep the change.  Call it delayed birthday presents.”  He passed the boy the money and jerked his head at the restaurant.  “My sister and I need to catch up.”

The boy stared, but slowly took the money.  “Er…very well, sir.”

Nate walked towards the dingy building with his surprised sister in tow, leaving the younger scion of the family staring.  “Ever been to Terra before?” he asked Hebe.

“Well, a few times when I was much younger,” Hebe said, puffing in his wake.  He pushed the door opened and smiled at the familiar surroundings.

“I guarantee you’ve never been here,” he said.  “Miranda and I met in this place, nearly…wow.  Thirty four years, it’s been.”

“You met at such a young age?” Hebe asked, wrinkling her nose at the strange décor.  The room was filled with random-seeming little collections of tables and hanging lights, a few small island bars with rings of stools around them, and booths on the walls with privacy screens.  “And…in this place?”  It was no Imperial Restaurant, that was for sure.

“Yes.  The college we attended was quite near, after all, and I felt like debauchery,” Nate said, enjoying the burst of nostalgia.  The pure, unprecedented rush of joy when he had first seen Miranda…  “Anyway.”  He approached a hostess.  “One shielded booth, please.”

“Absolutely, sir,” the hostess said, and lead them to a booth with a flickering holoscreen over the seats.  From the outside, it looked empty.  As she pressed a button on the back of one of the chairs, a light overhead turned red.  “I’ll be by in a moment with your orders.”

“Thanks,” Nate said.  He shucked his coat and hung it on the peg behind the seat.  As he sat, he scanned the crowd.  Nobody he knew, no reporters, no visible security.  Good.

“Dare I ask why someone in college would want to dine invisibly?” Hebe asked, looking at the surface of the table askance.  She gingerly touched it, and found it clean.

“Privacy.  Nothing else,” Nate said.  He pushed them menu aside without opening it.  “I took the liberty of calling ahead and ordering for us.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.”  The waitress walked up to the table and waited for him to lower the holo.  “Thought you’d approve.”

The waitress deposited two plates of steaming Europan gene-crabs.  “Enjoy!”

“Thanks,” Nate said for them both.  He turned the holo back on as she walked away and cracked a crab open.  “Home sweet home, eh?”

His sister started on her side salad.  “Hmm.  Do you really think of Europa as home?”

“Not once since they did it.”  Nate spooned butter onto his crustacean.  “So.  What did you want to talk about?”

Hebe stared into her food.  “Well.  I guess…we probably both have questions for each other,” she started.  “I…well.  You know about our brother?”

Nate choked on his food.  He swallowed the half-chewed crab in his mouth with a major effort and stared across the booth.  “I…what the hell?”

Hebe shook her head.  “Mother and Father had a third child after you left, Nate.  Mother was pregnant when you were being sent away.  A boy.  His name is Zander.”

A sense of disconnection and overwhelming surprise slammed into Nate like the waves at the edge of the massive floating hive he had once been in line to rule.  He slumped back in his seat, passing a hand over his eyes as he struggled to take it in.  “I…I have a brother.”

His sister – middle sibling! – nodded.  “He’s the new heir to the Romanvene family, in fact.”

“They bypassed you?” Nate asked automatically.

Hebe’s aristocratic air didn’t allow a shrug, so she gave an eloquent roll of the eyes instead.  “He’s so smart and charismatic, though, it was an easy decision for them to make,” she said.

Nate stared at her for several long seconds before gingerly resuming his eating.  “I don’t know what to say.  Why didn’t he accompany you?”

“He’s so busy with the family that he couldn’t find time,” Hebe said.

“Perhaps I should drop in on him,” Nate joked darkly.  “Wonder if he even knows I exist.”

“Oh, he does,” Hebe said.  “We all do.  You married a Princess.  A Lady Primarch, no less.”

“For love, despite everything,” Nate said.  “That may surprise you.”

“Why would love surprise me?”

“I know Mother and Father would have thought I’d marry high for station, try to get back what they stole from me,” he said bitterly.

Hebe glared.  “How would you know what they thought?”

Nate looked up to return the glare.  “I knew them for twelve years, Hebe.  That was enough for them, by all accounts.”  He set down a crab shell and leaned back in his seat.  “What did they tell you?  When they disowned me?  That it was all my fault?”

Hebe fidgeted.  “Not in so many words, but…yes.”

Nate scoffed in disgust.  “Arrogant swine.  Like I can help that I was born with a mutation?  It’s a random thing.”

“It’s not,” Hebe insisted.  “You know how it works?”

“What?  Being a mutant?”

“No.  Genetics,” Hebe said.  “I looked it up.  You get your genes from your parents.  Mother was a latent carrier of the psy-gene.”

Nate nodded.  “I know.  I had myself tested at the Scholastica.  The psychic allele – it’s not just one gene – was partially activated by a hormone from the X chromosome.  I got it from Mother.”

“She was terrified that Zander would be psychic too,” Hebe recalled.  “Me, as well.  We’re not.”

“Well, all right then.  I suppose it’s good that they didn’t make you suffer too,” Nate said blankly.

Hebe tried again to glare at him.  This time, it slid off his indifference like oil over steel.  “Nathaniel, they were afraid.”

“But not justifiably!” Nate snapped.  “I was twelve!  I would have gone willingly if they had just given me the chance!  But oh, no, that would have deprived them of the chance to enjoy disinheriting me in person!”

“They didn’t enjoy it!”

“Didn’t seem to be hesitating, either,” Nate retorted.

Hebe impaled a crab leg like it was a recalcitrant underling.  “Look, I won’t say it wasn’t cruel, but what if you had been a channel for psychic devastation, like had happened so many times before?”

“There was a Black Ship IN ORBIT!” Nate exploded.  “They couldn’t place a call?  They couldn’t ask the Sisterhood for a moment of their time?”

Hebe looked away.  “They’re very insular and traditionalist people, Nathaniel.”

Nate’s face was ice.  “And horrible parents.”

“Nathaniel!  I don’t…” Hebe trailed off as Nate tore into his crab.  “I didn’t track you down after all this time solely to talk to you about the tiny parts of our lives that overlap,” she finally said.

Nate paused his voracious eating for a moment to consider that.  He was struck by the accuracy of the point.  “That’s…”  He set down the crab leg.  “That’s entirely fair.”  He slowly resumed eating as she did the same.  “So…what else is new?” he asked blandly.

She scoffed.  “Well, there’s quite a bit of upset back home right now anyway.”

“Oh?”

“The old social houses are jockeying for position.  Lots of arranged marriages, it’s quite distasteful.  I never married, myself,” Hebe said airily.

Nate nodded.  “Miranda and I decided not to have kids, at least not for a long time.”

His sister raised an eyebrow.  “Did you?”

He sighed into his crab, feeling the fires of anger fade a bit.  “I think we’d do well, but…  Anyway.  We have several wonderful nieces and nephews to care for and be with, and I have my students, and Miranda has her students, and we’re all right.”  He dripped some crab in imported Totnis garlic butter and chewed.  “The others who have kids let them over as often as possible.”

The waitress stopped to pick up empty plates, and Hebe took the opportunity to change the subject.  “My own status in the family is declining as well, truth be told.”

“Because you appeared in that documentary?” Nate asked pointedly.

Hebe scoffed again.  “Oh, nobody cares about that.  I mean that the political negotiation between branches of the family for heir status over the cities is tumultuous.  Uncouth.”

The vaguest thread of an idea was forming in Nate’s mind as he heard that.  It didn’t coalesce from his intuition immediately, but he could feel it.  Perhaps he was just tired.  The whiplash of the revelatory and emotional meal was draining.  “Unfortunate.  Who’s coming out on top?”

“Our brother, Zander,” she said in a patient tone he found vaguely annoying.  How was he to have known?  He worked on a higher scale of politics now.  “He has Father’s support.  Mother keeps her own counsel.”

He grimaced as memories of the aristocratic life filtered back to him.  He had buried that in a dark place.


Hebe looked over at her older brother from behind an aristocratic mask.  So far, he had been a curious mix of things she had expected and things that had surprised her utterly.  He hadn’t lost even a scrap of his noble bearing, even as he dug into a plate of crab meat, surrounded by commoners.  He was also dressed like a mere merchant lord instead of a member of the Emperor’s family, and filled with loathing she had hoped he would have forgotten.

The only thing she had been worried about before had been the man’s psychic abilities.  As of yet, he hadn’t shown them.  Perhaps that was what the little silver lines on his right cheek were?  Psychic implants, or something?  Who knew.  As long as she was careful, it wouldn’t be a problem.  Decades of negotiating inner family turmoil had made her a skilled dissembler.


Nate felt the faintest sense of recall again as they turned to their personal lives.  He wasn’t done with his parents’ misbehavior, of course, but it could wait.  He was immortal, and they weren’t.

“I work in the City of Sight,” he explained.  “Technically I’m a liaison between the Skitarii and the Astra Telepathica.  They take care of themselves out there, though, so I spend much of my time with the younger students.  Teaching them how not to make asses of themselves.”

“That must be challenging,” Hebe said.

“Not as much as you’d think.”  He stirred his drink in his hands as he thought.  “Really, my favorite part of that job is working with the techpriests to coordinate the dispatch of Astropaths to the Mars temples.  They need them, too, but they’re always haggling, always negotiating.  It’s interesting.”

“I imagine.”  The crowd outside the booth started to disperse as the hour grew late.  Hebe sensed the time to make her ploy approaching.  “Nathaniel, do you ever think of returning to the Family of your own accord?  Not asking for forgiveness, just coming back and stating your case?”

The glass in Nate’s hand cracked.  Hebe’s head jerked around at the sound.  Very slowly, Nate raised his head.  Hebe caught his stare and flinched.  Where he had been icy before, now his eyes were like two cauldrons of seething plasma.

“Did…you say…forgiveness?” he hissed.  He set the glass down.  Very carefully.  “Did you say forgiveness?”

“I don’t think you need it!” Hebe said hastily.  “Just that Father would!  And Mother would!  They don’t understand!”

“Then why would I approach them at ALL?” Nate barked.  “They’ve had FORTY years to get it right!  If they’re too stupid and proud to speak to their firstborn after forty years, then what POSSIBLE reason would I have to approach them now?!”

“Because they won’t!” Hebe said with no small amount of real desperation.  If this didn’t work…  “Because they are proud!  Because they are arrogant and elitist!  And because you can be better!”

“I don’t need to see them firsthand to know that I’m better than them,” Nate growled.  “Look at me!  They were handed their power on a silver plate, and I earned mine through wisdom, perseverance, and will!  And I, by the way, don’t find psychic power repugnant!”

“But did you?  When you were small, and you were raised like I was and like they were?  Did you think it was repugnant until you saw it firsthand?” Hebe pressed.

Nate caught himself.  Self-recognition gripped his throat.  “…Yes.”

“Then show them what you showed me!” Hebe insisted, trying to suppress her triumph.  This could actually work out better than she had planned.  “Go back to Europa and show them!  See them!”

The immortal psychic slumped in his chair, fuming.  Somehow, it hadn’t occurred to him to extend the olive branch.  The darkest part of his married life had been overcoming the urge to use his power to toy with his parents, it was true.  But reconciliation wasn’t worth his time, was it?  What did he stand to gain?


Hebe held her breath, realized she was doing it, and let it out.  She decided to press while she had the initiative.  “Look, Nathaniel, I can’t tell you what to do.  But…as far as Mother and Father are concerned, they only have one son.  Would it really be so bad to remind them that they have two?”

He looked away from her.  She was gambling on this, she knew, her support in the family could wane even further if he was seen as overly influenced by the Emperor or Magnus, but if he backed her…


Nate closed his eyes in the chair and let his mind churn.  This had to happen.  He knew that.  What had he expected?  Open arms?  He ground his hands over his eyes and winced as one finger snagged on his psybernetic implant on his cheek.  It was supposed to be level with his skin.  He would have to have it adjusted soon.

That thought kicked off a new train of logic.  Didn’t he only have his sister’s word that the family would be open to him?  In fact, had she said any such thing?

He opened his eyes again and slowly leaned forward.  He crossed his arms over the table in front of him and stared at Hebe.  “What would I gain?”

“Gain?”

“If I went to talk to them?” he pressed.  “I have a loving family now.  A far higher station.  A job I love.  What would I gain?”

Hebe hesitated.  “Closure, I suppose.”

He narrowed his eyes.  “Would they even see me?  They locked the door behind me, I recall.”

“If a member of the Imperial family drops in on someone, they get noticed,” Hebe reminded him.  “Especially if it’s public.”

Nate snorted.  “They threw me out in public.  Would a public return work as well?”


Hebe’s heart leaped.  He was actually going to do it?  After one meeting?  She had expected weeks of cajoling!  “I think it might,” she said, pretending to give the matter some thought.

His narrowed eyes widened.  “What do you mean?” he asked, apparently surprised.

“Well, if you return in public, given how long you’ve been away, it wouldn’t be seen as supporting one side or the other in the family’s power struggle,” Hebe lied.  She would make sure the right people knew it was her idea.

Nathaniel’s hands squeezed his elbows.  “And you?”

“Hmm?”

“What do you think I should do?” he asked.

“Well, I think you should do it, if only to put it behind you,” she said.  “It needn’t be a millstone around your neck.”  She was going to say more, but then she saw a peculiar gleam in his eye, and this was a real one, not a trick of his mood like before.  His mouth suddenly clenched into a curved line, and he shot to his feet, nearly dislodging the table as he stood.  He dropped a small-denomination money card on the table.

“Don’t leave Terra,” he growled, and then he was out the door before she could react.

She stared at the door, as did everyone else in the room.  What had just happened?  What had she said?


Outside, Serge was fidgeting.  He had eaten, very quickly, and now he was waiting.  Commoners flowed around him like leaves on the surface of a river flowing around a pillar, and still no sign of – 

WHAM.  The doors to the restaurant flew open, and Prince Nathaniel stormed out.  He marched straight up to the shorter man with flames in his eyes.  “Serge,” he ground out, drawing the eyes of everyone around him.

Serge took a step back.  “Y-yes, sir?”

“What’s your training?” Nate bit off.

“My…”

“Your schooling, boy, your education!” Nate snapped.

“Er, I am a graduate of Clementine Academy,” Serge managed, naming a prestigious Europa liberal arts college.  “Business and history.”

“Then leave the family while you still can and find HONEST work,” Nate rumbled.  His fists were clenched.  “They have no future, no soul, and no place in the Imperium.”  He nearly slammed a small piece of paper into the boy’s hands and stomped down the street.

Serge watched him go, bewildered.  Hebe slowly emerged from the restaurant, looking haunted.  She started off to where he had parked her car without any explanation.  Serge struggled along behind her and caught up.  “Ma’am, what happened?” he asked, breathless.

“I have no idea,” she said quietly.


Nate didn’t get hot when he was mad, not for long.  He wasn’t like Thangir, who got territorial when angered, or Mike, who grew imperious, or Jake, who grew self-loathing, or Armin, who got wrathful.  When Nate got mad, he went cold.

He slid into the seat of his car and started it up, employing his rarely-used Royal Family codes to prioritize his vehicle in the local traffic grid.  It lifted, and moments later his escort arrived too.  He clicked on the autopilot and sat back in the seat, crossing his arms again.  He thought back to those last few moments, and his lips curled in another bitter frown.  He hadn’t been mistaken.  He knew what he had felt.

His damnably intermittent psychic senses had taken a while to clue him in.  The stirrings of memory he had been feeling were his psy-senses trying to tell him something.  Locked in the clarity of dichotomy – did he go back, or not – they had crystalized.  Hebe’s surface thoughts vanished.  Beneath had been one, single purpose: revenge.  It had surprised him, at first.  What had he done to her?  She had been four when they parted ways.

Then it had hit him.  The patronizing tone in her voice when she discussed the new sibling in the family, the way she had poached some idealistic younger family member to keep him out of the way, the condescending note after the wedding, the sighting at the lecture…and of course her emphasis that his return to Europa wouldn’t be a big deal when it obviously would.

She wasn’t after vengeance towards HIM.  She was using him to get a leg up over Zander in the race to claim the Romanvene throne.  Something that should have belonged to her after he, Nate, had left…but no longer did, because she had been seen as supporting reconciliation by appearing in that stupid documentary.

His confusion had vanished.  A misleading couple of questions later, and her soul was laid bare.  Her little plot, just as he had speculated.

Now, the boy, Serge, was probably on his way to something better, his sister was stymied, and the only thing left to do was find a bit of vengeance of his own.


Miranda waved goodbye as Petra’s car vanished into the night sky.  She glanced up and smiled as the faint psychic beacon of her husband appeared at a distance.  She settled against the frame of the door and watched his flame approach.

As it did, however, her smile faded.  His mind was a cloud of anger.  That had been her worst-case prediction.  As he landed, she steeled herself for whatever emerged.

Nate unfolded his long legs from the luxurious car and walked up to her.  Stopping to plant a kiss on his wife’s cheek, he walked past her into the house.  “Hey.”

She turned to watch him, feeling mightily apprehensive.  “Hello.”

“So my sister’s an evil monster, it seems,” Nate said conversationally, reaching into the refrigerator for a popsicle.  “She wanted me to go back to Europa to back her for Lady Governor.”

Miranda jerked her head back in pure shock.  “W…what?  That’s insane!”

“Welcome aboard the Royal Imperial Navy vessel Crazy, destination Romanvene gene pool,” Nate said bitterly.  “My entire family’s either so bigoted the world takes on different colors in their eyes, or so selfish that they’d fly to other planets just to annoy me.”

Miranda hung her head.  “I’m sorry, Nate.”

“For trying to get us back together?” Nate asked, in a studiously level tone.

Her voice was small and tired when next she spoke.  “For not trusting you.”  He glanced back to see her staring at the floor.  “You said that they were completely insane, and I thought you were exaggerating.”  She looked up again, downcast.  “Sorry.”

Nate, as a general rule, found it nearly impossible to stay angry at Miranda for any meaningful length of time.  This time was no exception.  Still, even as his anger lessened, a nugget of resentment remained.  “Well, you had only the best of intentions,” he said tiredly.  “Just don’t do it again, okay?”

“I promise.”  Miranda hugged Nate from behind, all contrition.  “Will you be alright?”

“Much better than she’s going to be,” Nate said darkly.  Miranda frowned and stepped back.

“Nate, you’re well within your rights to be angry, but don’t go looking for a fight.”

He glared at her over his shoulder as his resentment flared.  “Miranda, I haven’t spoken to her in forty-plus years.  She came looking for me!”

“Be the better man and let her go, Nate,” Miranda counseled.  “She’s not worth it.”

“Worth…I’m sorry, Miranda, worth what?” Nate asked levelly.

“Worth your attention.  She’s beneath you,” Miranda said quietly.  She was sad, deeply, at the thought.  She couldn’t imagine hating her cousins any more now than she could two days before.

Nate closed his eyes and forced his fingers’ death grip on the popsicle – his one vice – to relax.  The idea of allowing his family to get away with trying to toy with him was repugnant.  How could he allow it?  Could he allow it at all?

“Look, I know you’ll have no trouble believing this, but I know what you’re thinking,” Miranda said, which at least drew a silent chuckle.  “But just like she had no business dragging you into Romanvene family politics, you have no business dragging me in either.  And I will be, if you pull a string to inconvenience her.”  She looked away.  “I’ll always be there if you need me, Nate, but I won’t be an accomplice.”

And there it was.  Nate’s revenge, if exacted through the Family, would hurt Miranda’s reputation and public image.  Was punishing Hebe worth that?

He dropped the stick in the trash and sank into a chair in the kitchen, staring bitterly at the table.  What the hell was he supposed to do now?


Hebe paced in her cabin.  The little family shuttle was about all she had left, now that her status in the Romanvene hierarchy was eroding.  Serge was in his own cabin, trying to figure out whether they had clearance to leave.  Her brother’s warning not to leave Terra was something she could scoff at, surely, except that if it had been given under the authority of the Royal Family, she could get the vessel impounded.  Had it been?  Things had been so casual until that happened.  What was he up to?  Come to think of it, what had made him storm off like that?  What had she said?  Not a piece of this made sense.

The cabin door slipped open.  Serge stuck his head in.  “Ma’am, we’ve received clearance to depart.”  The youth shuffled his feet.  “Do you think…”

“Go,” Hebe snapped.  “We’re leaving now, before something changes.”


Nate glanced over his slate, head hung low.  The bright lights of the kitchen glared off of the screen, damn it.  He needed a matte screen.

Sure enough, his sister’s ship was leaving.  She sure hadn’t waited.  At least that confirmed her objective didn’t involve his well-being.

He dropped the slate on the table and stormed off.  Miranda looked away as she felt him walk out of the house.  Her senses as a psychic and wife alike said how much he needed alone time.  Or at least, needed a new perspective.  She suspected that he was on his way to gain just that.


In his car, Nate tapped a few keys on the panel beside the air controls.  A few moments of introspective grumpiness later, a screen lit, and a list of names appeared in glittering silver letters on his dash.  He selected two and spoke.  “Julius, my friend, are you free tonight?”

The little vox was silent for a moment, before a voice on the other side responded.  “Of course, Nate, what’s happening?” asked a clipped voice.

The lights of the cityscape beneath cast shadows over Nate’s face.  “I just had one of the worst days of my entire life, and I need to become more drunk and less morose, quickly,” he ground out.  “And grab Thangir if he’s on-planet.”

“He’s not, but I can meet you somewhere,” Julius said.  “You have a preference?”

“Someplace we won’t be recognized.”


Julius craned his head back and stared at the façade of the bar he had picked.  The Toledan Publican.  At least it rhymed.

Nate appeared behind him, hands shoved in his pockets.  He was still in his noble clothes, which wouldn’t lend themselves to hiding his identity…though, they were in a rich district.

“Thanks for coming,” Nate muttered.  “I needed someone to talk to.”

“Of course.”  Julius held the door open for his friend, who shouldered past him into the bustling pub.  Julius’ eyes narrowed at the unintentional snub.  His friend’s mind was dark.  “So what happened?”

“Get me smashed first,” Nate grumbled.  Julius nodded.

As the two men walked into the riotously loud pub, Nate angled straight for the bar, pawing at his pocket.  He slapped some money on the counter when the barkeep caught his eye.  “Four Iblis Triggers and a screwdriver.  I have my own lighter.”

“How courageous,” the barkeep said, chuckling as he produced the ingredients.  “You want a tab?”

“Sure.  Open it for…Zander,” Nate said.  At least his mysterious brother would be good for something.

“You got it, pal.”  The bartender started pouring the drinks while Julius grabbed a booth for the two of them.  This place didn’t have a holoscreen to use, but it was dark in the corners, and most attention was directed around the billiards and pool tables.  It would do.

Julius scanned the crowd, an instinct that military life had left firmly ingrained in him.  There was nothing more dangerous here than a group of revelers.  Then, he’d seen those turn deadly.

He forced himself to return his attention to the night.  His friend needed him.  From the look on Nate’s face, he’d recently fought a battle too.

The taller man slid into a seat, arms full of drinks.  Julius stared.  “Okay, the screwdriver’s for me.  Four Iblis Triggers?”

“One at a time,” Nate muttered.  He slid his lighter into the first cup and ignited the near-toxic mix of energy drink and alcohol.  With a tip of the cup at his bemused friend, he slammed the whole thing, fire and all, in a single gulp.

Julius gripped his own drink and cupped it in his hands, looking into the orange depths.  How best to approach this?  Ask for clarity?  Or just wait?

“So.”  Nate set his drink down and pocketed his lighter.  “This evening.”

Julius snorted.  No waiting, then.  “Yes?”

“The crazy thing…how much do you know of my family?” Nate asked.

His friend shrugged.  “Well, I know you’re the eldest son of the family, but I really don’t know…”

“Not my family life,” Nate cut him off.  “My actual family.  The Romanvenes.”

“Well…”  Julius paused to collect his thoughts.  “Your great-grandfather, one of them, he was one of the Emperor’s counselors.  He was appointed the leader of one of the major hive cities of Europa…after that, your family has always had a presence in the politics of the system.”

“At one point, a Romanvene was in charge of at least one major economic hub city on Io, Europa, and Ganymede,” Nate supplied.  He flicked a drop of hot sugar off of one finger.  “We’ve come a long way since then.  Discovered exciting new lows.”

Julius snorted.  “Oh dear, you only control one body in the Sol system now?”

“Oh yeah, man, we’re downright paupers these days,” Nate chuckled.  “I mean, look at us.  The family heir was disowned by his parents and shoved off to the Black Ships for being born with a psychic mutation.  It’s hard to bounce back from that.”

Julius started to laugh at the jest.  A single shiver of intuition cut the sound off before he could finish it.  As he snapped his head up to stare at Nate, he saw a mixture of sadness, morbid humor, and regret that made him think of trench warfare.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You?”

“The very same.”

Julius sat back, stunned.  “And, tonight…”

“My sister came out of the woodwork to ask me to back her for the throne.  Fifty years, and that’s what I get.”  Nate lit the second cup of pure upper and downer and slammed that one too.  “Welcome to my life.”

Julius felt his jaw tighten as Nate spoke.  “That’s…oh, Nate, my friend.”

“Good thing my car has autopilot,” Nate said quietly.  He coughed on the flames of his second drink and set down the cup.  “Help me.”


Miranda set down her book and closed her three eyes.  When she had been younger, she had hated her appearance.  Her willowy, near-androgynous body and visible mutation had put her through a lot of grief.  Unlike most bullying victims, however, she didn’t need to hear a taunt to feel it.
She was hardly the only Daughter to be mutated, of course.  Angela had her wings.  Venus had her eyes and skin.  Morticia had her illness.  And the Twins, of course, though that was arguably a beneficial mutation.  The difference was that Morticia was never around, in school at least.  Venus’ eyes and skin made her alluring as well as different, or so Miranda had felt, and clearly so had her husband.  And Angela, of course…well.  She had assets to offset her wings.  Miranda remembered boys who had temporarily lost the ability to speak when Angela smiled at them.

Miranda hadn’t had any of those things.  She had, however, had a father who utterly adored her, the most patient mother one could ever want, and a coterie of dear, close, loving sisters.  By her family’s standards, she had been somewhat alone.  On the whole, she had nothing to complain about.

She slid her book away on the table and drew her knees to her chest, scooting back on the couch.  She wrapped her arms around her knees and stared glumly across the cozy library.  This was her room, opposed to Nate’s across the hall.  Where his was all about stately wood paneling, hers was a mess of books, mismatched furniture, and holos.  Some were connected to her personal computer, some were for more general use, but all were controlled by a little remote control at her side.  They were all off.  She could never understand people who watched holos while they read.

A quiet chime from her desk announced the hour.  2200.  The boys wouldn’t be back for a while longer yet, she was sure.

Was that okay?  She was worried about her husband.  Who wouldn’t be?  But Julius was with him, and Julius was steady as a rock.


Julius finished his own drink and watched as Nate ignited his third.  “Easy on that stuff.”

Nate glared, but acquiesced.  “Yeah.”  He doused the drink with an ice cube from Julius’ empty glass and set it back on the table.  “So.  What do you think I should do?”

“Well, frankly, I think you’re right to be pissed,” Julius hedged.  “I will say, though, you had really ought to stifle that vengeful impulse-”

“I did,” Nate cut him off with a snort.

“-until you can act upon it more creatively,” Julius finished.

Nate slowly raised his head.  His eyes were as wide as teacups.  “…It’s possible that I’m very drunk, but…what did you just say?”

“Don’t act on vengeful impulses yet,” Julius repeated.  “Listen, it would be possible for you to play the better man, here, and say that you had no interest in meeting in your sister, and all that nonsense…but doesn’t your sister’s behavior imply some real political turmoil on Europa?” he asked.

“Massive,” Nate said, bewildered.  Was his disciplined, selfless brother-in-law actually proposing revenge as a viable item of diplomacy?

“So does that benefit the Royal Family?” Julius asked reasonably.  “If the leadership of a moon is in serious jeopardy, the Royal Family can step in and restore order.  The military does it with worlds that fall into unrest all the time.”

Nate winced in discomfort.  “Those are worlds embroiled in actual civil war, though.”

“Well, then, man, I don’t know,” Julius shrugged.  “The options available to you are pretty slim.  But then, that’s why you came to me, right?  And not Armin, Mike, or Jake?”

“Because I was looking for someone who could give me some experience in ruining people?” Nate said drily.  “Political subterfuge wasn’t what I had in mind when I asked for you.”

“For me, and for Thangir.”  Julius sniffed one Iblis Trigger and winced.  “How can you drink this?”

“With valorous determination.”  Nate sighed into an empty glass as his gaze drifted back down.  “Man, I was just…I don’t know.  Can I confide something in you?”

“Moreso than you have already?  Of course,” Julius replied.

Nate set the drink down and steeled himself.  “I asked you and Thangir because…I wanted to know how you two dealt with your own family shit.”

The Pius family, lacking a mother since the early days and a father for some time now, was hardly a perfect parallel for Nate’s dysfunction, of course, any more than Thangir’s having to watch as his entire family was murdered.  Still, the sentiment was clear.

Nate’s face fell as he realized, from the look of restrained displeasure on his brother-in-law’s face, that perhaps this had been as much an act of foolishness as he had been afraid.  “Nate…I’m not really comfortable discussing that,” Julius said.

The disowned Romanvene slumped in his seat.  “Then…consider it dropped.”

Julius nodded again.  “Very well.  What else did you want to talk about?”

“I suppose I’d like your opinion on what I should do from here on out, still,” Nate said, a vague slur appearing in his voice.  “I mean…this can’t go unanswered.  I know, I know, like you said, I could be the bigger man, but this…this was an act of brazen blackmail.”

The slightly younger man shrugged.  “My friend, if you didn’t represent the Royal Family with each act, I would agree.  But…you need to remember that whatever you do, Miranda will be seen to do.”

“Miranda…” Nate’s voice drifted off.  “Damn it.  She knew I would run into a roadblock here,” he muttered.  He ran one hand over his eyes.  “This…I can’t act in public, or she’ll look petulant, then?”

“Yes.  I’m sorry.”

“Ugh.”

“My friend, you need to get this solved in silence, or not at all,” Julius said, driving the point home.

“I suppose I do.”  Nate set his head in his hands and stared at the table, wracking his brain.  “Well…I can’t let this stand, either way,” he said at length.  “I mean, I can’t allow this.  They were trying to drag the Royal Family, however indirectly, into their little slapfight.  It would set a poor precedent if this were allowed to continue.”

“Well, that I will concur,” Julius allowed.  “Perhaps Magnus should weigh in.”

“You think I should tell him?” Nate inquired.

“You haven’t yet?” Julius asked, surprised.  Miranda and Magnus spoke nearly every night they were both on-planet concurrently.

“It was four hours ago, rounding up,” Nate shot back.

“All right, all right.  Absolutely tell him.  He needs to know what someone from Europa just tried to do to his family,” Julius supplied.

Nate ignited his third drink and slammed it.  “Yeah.  You’re right.  I should…well, he’s in town tomorrow.  I’ll go and meet him after his whatever.”

“What is he up to here?  I thought he was working on some project in the Prospero system.”

“He is.  He’s meeting with a few members of the Emperor’s advisors on some economic whatever to ask if he can piggyback his project on the establishment of some…trade station somewhere, hell if I know,” Nate muttered.  “When I said ‘in town,’ I mean he was on Earth.  You know.”

“The things we take for granted, eh?” Julius chuckled.  He slid his empty glass back and forth on the table and glanced at his brother-in-law.  “You really need four of those?”

Nate looked at the fourth, un-burned Iblis Trigger on the table before him.  “Fuck it,” he grunted, pushing it at Julius.

“Oh, trust me, I’m not drinking that, I just think you’ve damaged yourself enough tonight.”

“What are you, my mother?”

“No.  And you may thank God for it.”

Nate stared at his friend, shocked.  After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, his head slowly sank back into his hands.  His back heaved, and Julius felt a sudden burst of guilt.  “Ah, shit, Nate, I wasn’t trying to-”

His friend waved him off, tilting his head back as he did.  His mouth was a compressed line, holding back a desperate laugh.  A tear of pure hysteria gathered in the corner of his eye as he sagged back in the seat.

Julius relaxed a fraction as Nate collapsed.  “It wasn’t that funny,” he said flatly.


Miranda glanced up at the sky through her window as she sensed her husband approaching.  His soul was still a shimmering mess of emotions, but at least the black streak of anger in him was fading.  Julius’ presence was absent, meaning that at least her husband was sober enough to remember where the autopilot controls on his car actually were.  He didn’t drink often, but when he did…

She leaned on the open frame of the door in her evening dress, trying to look more welcoming than judgmental.  As he stumbled out of his car and made his way to the door, aided by what little psychic power he could muster in his inebriated state, Miranda spoke up.

“So, do you need to jump in the shower, or the washing machine?”

“That’s funny!  It’s amusing,” Nate called back, walking up closer.  The weave in his step wasn’t particularly pronounced, luckily enough.

“I try.  Who did you meet?”

“Julius,” Nate replied.  He halted at the door as he realized Miranda wasn’t stepping aside.  “Hi.”

“Hi.”  His wife leaned forward and inspected his clothing.  Not too rumpled, not too odorous.  “How are you feeling?”

“Much better, thanks,” Nate said, fully aware that he was under inspection.  “Do I smell too bad to use the bed tonight?” he asked flatly.

“No.  Go clean up.”  Miranda, ever the stickler for hygiene, had sent her husband from her bed precisely once: when he had been so drunk that she had foreseen him ruining the quilt in a midnight vomiting spell.  It had been an accurate prediction, though it turned out to be a section of carpet instead.

“Thanks,” he said, and she stepped aside to let him pass.

“So what did you decide regarding an appropriate reaction?” Miranda asked as her husband climbed the stairs.

“I want to let Magnus know first,” Nate said.

“Know…that you’re planning something?” she asked apprehensively.

His voice floated down the wood-paneled stairs.  “No, that someone tried to drag his family into internecine warfare on Europa, and thought we wouldn’t notice.”

“Ah, vengeance by proxy?  Dad will approve of that particular use of the Royal name,” Miranda said as she followed him up.

His footsteps paused.  “What?  No, I won’t ask him to do anything.”

“I mean, that’s what you’ll tell Dad.  That your sister was looking for vengeance by proxy,” Miranda explained.

“Ah, yeah.  The most effective of all lies: the truth,” Nate proclaimed.


As the sun rose on the endless cities and armored hive skin of Terra, Primarch Magnus set a slate down on the table before him as a group of economic advisors filtered out, arguing over facts and figures.  He filed away the information from the day’s meetings and dearly wished he were elsewhere as he did.  Some of his brothers may have been able to find such trivia interesting, but he was not they.  The relative impacts of economic expansion in the newly-conquered systems as a proportion of the post-Crusade tithe income?  Why did that need a Primarch’s signature?
He stood to go as the door closed behind the last of the bureaucrats.  The glaring light through the high windows of the conference room dimmed as the screen polarized.  It was further softened by the neatly-kept gardens outside, on the lower roofs of the Palace.  As Magnus came to his feet, a Custodian in glittering gold armor entered.

“Lord Primarch Magnus, if I may?” the warrior asked.

“Speak.”

“A guest awaits you, Lord.”

Magnus looked into the hall, and spotted the dim, steady shimmer of his son-in-law standing beyond.  “Ah, see him in.”

The Custodian bowed at, gesturing Nate in as he did.  Nate entered his wife’s father’s presence and immediately inclined his head.

“Lord Magnus.”

“Nathaniel, rise,” Magnus said, spreading his hands.  “And you needn’t bow to me.”

“Thanks, sir, but we’re in the Palace.  I wasn’t sure if we were on the record,” Nate chuckled.

“Assume we are, but that’s just Palace propaganda speaking,” Magnus rumbled.  His bass voice rattled unsecured pens on the table.  “So what do you need, son?”

Nate sank into a chair and weighed his words.  The decorative stone tabletop was hewed from stone unearthed when the Palace had been built; it was a symmetry that Rogal Dorn and the Emperor had found amusing.  The light from beyond the polarized windows suffused the stone with a faint silver glimmer.

“Well…you should know that the collection of genetic stains that call themselves the Romanvene family have reached out to me,” Nate began.  He could have made an attempt to conceal his utter contempt towards his family, but felt no need.  Concealing things from Magnus was generally fruitless.  “My sister, Hebe, visited Terra and called Miranda.”

Magnus’ psychic aura shifted colors a bit at the implications in Nate’s words.  “And what happened?”

“Miranda invited her over for a reconciliatory dinner.  Needless to say, I shot her down,” Nate sighed.  “I meant no offense to her, and none was taken, but I wasn’t ready.  I met her, alone, instead.”

His father-in-law narrowed his eye and stared.  “May I assume that things went poorly?”

Nate snorted.  “Oh, yes.  Turns out, she just wanted me to come to Europa to back her for ascendency to the throne of the hive city they rule.  They thought the Royal signature on her claim would lend it legitimacy.”

Magnus leaned forward and rested his lips against his steepled fingers.  “I see.”

“So I told her not to leave Terra and stormed off, though I rescinded that order and let her take off.  She’s halfway to Europa now,” Nate finished.  “I was all set for vengeance, but Julius talked me out of it.”

“That was wise of him,” Magnus noted.

“You’re taking this well.”

Magnus half-smiled.  “Oh, I’m angry.  I just see no way I can act.”

Nate looked back up at him.  “…But there’s some way we can?  Miranda and me?”

“No.  I do think that their assumption that the Royal Family can be so easily deceived should be countered, but realistically, how can that be done?  Make a showy, open visit to the world under false pretenses?  Chastise them publically?  Sabotage?”

Nate sighed.  “I suppose you’re right.”

“I assure you that I do not take attempts by outsiders to abuse the ties of the Royal Family passively,” Magnus reminded him.  “However…I think any overt action on your part would be precipitous.  Consider also that your sister has waited rather a long time to do this.  Might this not suggest that your parents are suffering health problems of their own?  They strike me as the sort that would eschew juvenats.”

“Oh, they are.  Purists, all the way,” Nate grumbled.  He heaved a sigh.  “Well.  Alright.  I suppose I just wanted you to know.”

“I appreciate it, Nathaniel.”  Magnus rose to his feet again and gestured to the door.  “Give my love to Miranda.”

“Of course, sir.  Thanks for helping.”


As the day drew to its end, Nate sat down in his cozy study, working on the paperwork from the Scholastica.  His teaching duties were mostly dealing with the martial and philosophical aspects of psychic power, and only rarely did he have to deal with children.  As most of his students were adults, the majority of the problematic students derived their issues from the mental instability that accompanies psychic power with such depressing frequency.

As bizarre as it was, working on such issues was a good distraction from his own troubles with his family.  If nothing else, it allowed him to help the development of Imperial psychic stability in his own way, which he had always found rewarding.

It also helped him concentrate.  By nature, he was a very focused man, who found a piece of good, challenging work welcome.  It was what had delivered him to the college he had attended, especially since he had already had a thirty-hour job on top of it.  When a group of hive scavvies had beaten him senseless on the way back from work one day, just for having been born psychic, he had dragged himself to his apartment and nearly blacked out from the pain.  All it took was the knowledge of what he had stood to lose if he hadn’t gone back to work the next day, and he was back on his feet.  When he had met Miranda, it had been that determination, she had informed him once in a private moment, that had helped draw her to him.  Surrounded by drunken kids and life-weary serving staff, the cool, icy blue of his mind had been like a gas burner in a candle store.

His determination was helping him keep his disappointment at Magnus’ words at bay, too.  That his family could escape unpunished was annoying him profoundly.

He set his stylus down and closed the last envelope on the stack.  He had finished the last grading task of the week, and had a bit of time to himself.  Nate decided that he was done thinking about the horrible parts of his family, he decided.  It was time to spend a while with the part he loved.


Miranda was leaning back in a lounge chair on the top balcony of their house, reading a slate with her bandana off, when she felt her husband’s mind approaching.  She kept an idle gaze on him as he approached, then smiled to herself when it turned playful.  He emerged on the balcony, hands in his pockets, and looked down at the slice of red hair peeking over the top of the furniture.  “Hey, what’s this?  Miranda’s home and I’m done with work,” he said, all surprise.

His wife smiled again, but didn’t take her eyes off the screen.  “Hey, how about that?”

Nate leaned forward over the back of the couch, ‘carelessly’ letting his fingers drape over the terrycloth shoulder of her robe.  She let the very, very faintest wisp of disapproval appear in her mind, and he infinitesimally nodded, message received.  He leaned down to kiss her on the cheek.  “So…Miranda.”  He let his head rest against hers for a moment longer, marshalling his thoughts.  “I’ve been sort of obsessing over this thing with my family lately.  I guess I should say I’m sorry.”

“Forget it.  You’re justified.”  Miranda locked her slate and set it down on the armrest.  Nate slid over the back of the long chair and sat down beside her, and she cuddled up to his flank.  “So Dad advised restraint?”

“Not just restraint, total inaction,” Nate said dolefully.  “Hell.  Maybe he’s right.  Maybe we can’t return fire on people who take cheap shots at us.  But I feel like I’ve sort of been short-changed.”

Miranda nodded.  “Are you still?”

“Nope.”  He slid his arm around her shoulders, and her mind glowed a fuzzy, contented pink.  “Not at all.”

There was so much more to be said.  So many things they could have done.  Instead, they sat there, two eternally youthful people in love, and let time slip by for a while.

[[Eternity: Beyond]]

[[Category:Warhammer High]][[Category:Stories]]