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“Contract. Study it. We begin when you agree to the terms.”
Yeriala was Primus for the district that included the residence. She looked like a nineteen year old Goth girl; in fact she was probably a couple thousand years old. I pulled the contract into my datalink and cross-checked against what we’d gone over with Asto’s uncle Parnit. Before becoming a stay-at-home dad with a consulting practice a couple years before, he’d been a First General, commanding a sub-prefect. He had more time currently available than any other member of the family, and an almost eager willingness to help us understand out of a desire for more adult conversation. The text matched what we had studied and discussed; the military contract hadn’t changed since the Restoration, and in its essentials was older than Scimtar himself.
We could have just arrived at any military facility and signed up. But we had decided we wanted to use graycodes, at least to start. A graycode was a transactional pseudonym, used to prevent identity theft, provide commercial expense accounts, and allow people whom the public might be interested in to appear in public without getting mobbed. Most graycodes were simply a repository for a certain amount of money, but others were more complex records for more complex undertakings. In order to use a graycode for military service we had to have that graycode agreed to by a Primus or other government official. Several family members could have done it, but their approval on the deal would have told anyone with a fraction of a clue most of what we wanted obscured. House Scimtar was famous; Yeriala was obscure. Scimtar’s powerful opponents could look her up as easily as anyone else and that would tell them what they needed to know, but people that rich and powerful would find us if they wanted us, no matter what precautions we took. It was the casual bullies and wannabes we were discouraging. Graycodes were everywhere in the Empire. Using a graycode wasn’t mandatory, and in the case of military service they were frowned upon. But for those closely associated with a Great Family, they were a good idea. They minimized gratuitous trouble, training in an environment where the less mature and disciplined might manufacture excuses to play giant-slayer, and Scimtar was one of the seven who had brought about the Restoration. Asto’s elder sister Anri had served under her own name from the beginning. But even she admitted that if she had it to do over again, she’d start with a graycode, and not switch over to her own name at least until she made Staff Private (her current grade), and probably not for several grades thereafter.
Yeriala’s dog Bones had greeted us. Once upon a time, we’d been intending to adopt the big white lab-akita mix because he was such a good pal of More. But Yeriala had taken him in lieu of her fee for writing an Official Opinion approving dogs. It hadn’t been necessary, but getting that Official Opinion had seemed prudent to me. He remembered us, but his manners were good and he was restrained in his greeting. I regretted having to drop off Lady and More before the appointment, as once the contract was signed we were subject to orders and couldn’t plan on doing so afterward. Ononi and Imre would take good care of them.
Contract matches, Asto said, and I agreed. For both of us, he said, “We are prepared to agree.”
“Good for you. Didn’t expect trouble with your family, but the last one of these I had was the daughter of a Tertius who didn’t bother to learn the contract ahead of time, and she ended up not enlisting. Better for everyone, I thought. What changes did you want to make for your graycodes?”
We’d thought about this carefully. I was going back to being plain Graciela Juarez (no di Scimtar), and Asto would become Asto di Juarez. In other words, still married, still even using most of my real name, and Asto using an appellative to which he was entitled, without the names of irrelevant but famous ancestors. My records would show me as Second Order Guardian, but no record of who certified me. Asto was officially Fifth Order, in reality Seventh, but his proposed graycode also showed him as a Second Order Guardian. Residence records redacted, showing my dog property on Sharanna as formal home of record. Three years of work as a pilot with Vector, Interstitial, and Interstitial Vector qualifications were retained, but my weapons and hand to hand combat training was redacted – the military didn’t care and wanted you to requalify anyway. Lots of minor ratings that weren’t in relevant subjects redacted. Asto had enough level six ratings to cover walls with diplomas if the Empire used them, but most of them weren’t relevant to a soldier at what would be our levels of the military. Nobody asked a newly minted private – or even a Platoon Private who led a unit of 400 – to make policy. The military was a lot more than “Hulk smash!” but what privates were faced with was more a question of intelligent implementation rather than deciding what the objective should be. Field level military operations were hard and fast and as overwhelming as practical. Kill people and break things, or be prepared in case someone else tried. Winning hearts and minds was something you did when people weren’t getting killed.
Yeriala reviewed the proposals for our new graycodes. “I believe it is needlessly dishonest for you to portray yourself as Second Order,” she said to Asto, “I understand your preference, but your superiors are entitled to a closer approximation of your real capabilities, and that outweighs the implied testament to the power of your character.” She changed his proposed graycode to read Fifth Order, which meant that, unlike Second Order, he had been born operant and that he was strong enough for the second tier of operancy. To most Imperials, Fifth Order would indicate someone of his age (thirtythree Imperial years, twenty-three Earth) was a real shooting star in terms of talent, rather than the truth, which was that he had inherited his abilities. That wasn’t universal, but it was the way the probabilities ran. There were billions of Fifth Order Guardians, only nineteen families of which were that way for having a Sixth Order forbear. “You’ll just have to live up to it.” Asto would have no problems, there. Imperial politics being what it was, he’d been faking not being Seventh Order his whole life, along with most of his family. Nobody had slipped up yet.
One final thing our graycodes did not show was civil service points, used to qualify for government office or bid government contracts. Each year in the military was worth three points (regardless of rank), and points we earned through the military would show as we earned them. Asto was already a Primus-in-rank, approaching Secundus, and even I would hit Primus-in-rank before the ten year contract was complete, but that didn’t make a difference to the military. The military was a completely different chain of command and responsibility. Having the points meant you were entitled to wear a blue triangle and style yourself a Primus if you wanted, but it wasn’t getting appointed to office, it was only theoretical eligibility. For most people, it was more important that soldiers could make a good bit of money using their points to back contractors who needed more service points to bid more jobs or bigger jobs, albeit at the risk of losing those points if the contractor failed.
“Give me a moment to do a cross check.” We mostly spent the time petting Bones. It was only a minute or so, but Yeriala was responsible for what she approved. Scimtar was immensely wealthy; even if Asto wasn’t as well integrated as he was, his family could have used some pretty powerful techniques to make the graycode appear different than it was. Yeriala had no reason to believe that had happened (it hadn’t), but she didn’t have proof, so she had to double check the proposal herself before approving it. One of the realities of office in the Empire was that sometimes you were responsible for double checking people who could tie you in knots if they really tried. The Empire kept actual instances of that to a minimum by keeping to a strict consequences rule. When (not if!) they caught you, you didn’t expect mercy from an Imperial Primus (or higher judge), what you expected was justice, no matter who you were. A lot of people talk about justice, but the idea of strict justice is scary once you understand the principles of restitution. Labor was the Imperial economy’s bottleneck – you could make a decent living for your family with only basic skills and even have money left over. That set of incentives kept crime of all sorts microscopic by Earth standards.
After a minute or so, Yeriala told us, “I am approving these profiles for military enlistment.” We formally agreed to the enlistment contract, and she transmitted both, then gave us our first orders: “I have been instructed to inform you that you are both to report to Fulda Training Facility between fortythree and fortyfour. Complete details are included in messages to your separate datalinks. Confirm receipt and understanding please.” I had a new message from the local defense command confirming receipt of the contract and providing detailed instructions for initial reporting. “I have received the message and will comply,” we chorused together. We were committed.
Copyright 2014 Dan Melson. All Rights Reserved.
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