TMarkos
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Chapter 48 - Decision Point
🕑 Added 2022-02-16 16:53:02 +0000 UTCUntil further notice all domestic project budgets are suspended unless directly supporting field assets. Affected teams shall report to their departmental heads for reassignment within Initiative Parasol. All non-medical leave is canceled.
The covert withdrawal of irreplaceable field assets from the continental theatre is less than ten per-cent complete. Priority focuses such as large troop concentrations and key northern-front outposts are thirty-two per-cent evacuated. Troop morale is a notable obstacle in proper movement of assets, with malingering and desertion present at increased rates across all fronts. Obruors have been moved to the last evacuation group in order to minimize morale decay during this phase of the operation.
Safid advances have begun in earnest along the impacted areas, but should not become problematic prior to the likely date of Mendiko action.
Initiative Lumberjack teams have prepared a briefing for Ravensday. This briefing is required for all Initiative Parasol personnel. Access to the Calmharbor campus will be limited on Ravensday; no outside service staff, contractors or guests are permitted. Truth-axis ensouled without Parasol clearance will be relocated to the Korbel campus for the duration of the project.
- Institute Circular #3502, 38 Bounty 693.
—
Michael pushed the heavy wooden door aside and entered the room, looking around as it swung closed behind him. It was a small office, richly-appointed with carpets and tapestries; the center was divided once again by the familiar crystal barrier he had seen in the large hall.
He took a chair and sat, meeting Leire’s eyes through the divider. It was an effort to hold his gaze steady. Her soul was less radiant than it had been the other day, calmer and settled like a comfortable fire. She cocked her head to the side as she stared back.
“Ah,” Leire said. At once, the glow of her soul vanished. “My apologies. I’m usually better at spotting the ones who can see souls. You hide it better than most, but the eyes tell. An unconscious reaction, reliable even for spectors. Even in a dim room such as this, the brain sees the light and contracts the pupils.” She leaned forward. “Did the sight come along with your soul, or did you have it before?”
Michael shifted in his seat. “From before,” he said. “Since I was young. Jeorg said it was likely because I kept watch for my father’s soul. When it manifested strongly, the results tended to be - unpleasant.”
“Yes, unpleasantness tends to be the culprit when someone so young has the sight,” Leire sighed. “For most it takes years of practice.”
“Can you see souls?” Michael asked, curious.
Leire nodded. “I can,” she said. “Although I have no natural talent for it. It took me more than twenty years to become anything approaching proficient, and even now I would wager your sight is clearer than my own. A useful tool, nevertheless, when ensouled control so many positions of power. It often reveals the nature of the person in question much more reliably than conversation; souls have no interest in keeping up appearances.”
Michael made a vague noise of assent, only half-hearing her words; Leire smiled at the look on his face. “You want to know what yours looks like?” she asked.
“I would,” Michael said. “Jeorg looked, but he wasn’t able to give me a straight answer.”
She laughed raspily, rubbing her fingers along the wrinkled skin of her cheek. “That sounds like him,” she said. “Unfortunately, I don’t see much from you. I can catch small glimpses of the Gardener from you, or the Sculptor - Stanza and Spark, as you say. Of the soul that is yours alone, however, I haven’t seen a trace. It may be that it is a quieter soul than most, or - and I consider this more likely - it may not show itself except when you’re actively using it. If that’s the case I expect that I shall see it no more than once, and shall be in no condition to speak of it afterward.” She gave him a grim little smile, then shook her head.
Michael pressed his lips together, considering. The image of Jeorg’s face as he lay dying flitted before his eyes, that brief flash of realization, of recognition - and then nothing. He looked back up to find Leire’s eyes still on him, watching.
“I haven’t said that I’ll accept yet,” Michael pointed out. “That’s why we’re speaking now.”
Leire snorted. “You’re going to accept,” she said. “You made up your mind yesterday.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Did I?” he asked. “I hadn’t realized.”
“The mind is much better at making decisions than it is at accepting its own judgment,” Leire said. “When you meet a person, you know in moments if you will like them or not; it is often the same with large decisions like this. Your visceral reactions are immediate, and often entirely correct. The part of your mind that knows doubt is slower.” She steepled her fingers in front of her. “But nevertheless, you deserve to have your questions answered before formally accepting. What would you like to know?”
Questions percolated through Michael’s mind; he disregarded them and maintained eye contact with Leire. “What should I know?” he asked.
“Hah!” Leire barked, her face bending into a true smile. “I hear Jeorg in those words. He always liked to answer a question with a question. Infuriating man.” Her smile faltered for a moment, then returned softer, gentler. “The Star of Mendian has gone to those outside of our borders many times throughout history. We have always found it during its bearer’s lifetime, and they have always come back willingly to Mendian. Do you know why?”
Michael shook his head. “I have a guess,” he said. “Your soul is dangerous. The barriers, the lead, the viewscreens - they’re to protect people from what it might do.”
“Yes,” Leire said, holding up her hand. For a moment, her soul’s radiance returned to play about her fingers. “I consider myself fortunate, having been born Mendiko. When I gained the soul I was prepared as well as anyone could be. When we find the Star outside of Mendian, we do it by looking for sickness and death. Their families, friends - often their entire town dies. They all come to Mendian to live here, in this place that protects others from what their soul might do.”
“Is the soul that hard to control?” Michael asked.
Leire waggled her hand, grimacing. “Yes and no,” she said. “Souls on the Matter and Electromagnetic axes operate with more autonomy than their Information and Mind counterparts. Your major souls require an effort of will to utilize, whereas your minor calorigens soul requires an effort of will to suppress. Does this match your experiences?”
Michael nodded hesitantly, remembering his frantic attempts to quiet Vincent’s soul before Amira returned. “I had to focus to stop Vincent’s soul,” he said. “I haven’t had too many issues since, though.”
“Fortunate for you,” Leire said, her face looking suddenly drawn and tired. “I also have nearly-complete control over the expression of my soul - I have for some time.” She flexed one thin arm; the radiance of her soul leapt into being around her, then disappeared. “It’s likely that you could spend days in my presence and not notice any ill effects. But every so often there is a distraction, or I do not sleep well. My lunch disagrees with me, perhaps. Stress accrues, my mind wanders - and, pah!” She snapped her fingers. “Just for an instant, my grasp slips.”
She lowered her hand, her mouth pressed into a thin line. “But nobody notices a thing. I may not even notice anything. Our eyes can see only a small fraction of light’s variety, after all, and the most dangerous types are the hardest to detect. A short while later, though, whoever was standing near me will feel ill. They won’t be able to keep food down, or they’ll have a dull headache that won’t go away.”
Leire leaned forward, her eyes locked on Michael. “But then it clears up. Often they don’t even think to mention the illness, assuming it was something they ate - until the pain comes back worse than before. Their skin begins to peel and blister, their hair falls out. They quickly become too weak to move. An anatomens can do nothing but dull the pain. Death follows - for the lucky, in days. For others, it takes weeks. It is easily the worst way to die that I have ever witnessed.”
Michael swallowed, resisting the urge to shift farther away from her. “The crystal stops the light?” he asked.
“It does,” Leire confirmed. “As do the lead walls. The viewscreens and the isolated location serve as additional protection - to keep Mendian safe from its protector.” She looked up at the barrier for a moment, then back to Michael. “You seem to be aware of the dangers of the souls you already bear. It speaks well of your control that you’ve harmed none of your companions - Spark, in particular, is a soul notorious for such things. But I’m sure there have been - precarious moments. Instants where you saw harm was close, and pulled back just before.”
Michael nodded. “A few times,” he said quietly. Vera and Isolde, the soldier just shy of the border - and Charles, just the other night. Michael felt his heart beat faster just thinking about it, and sat quietly while he tried to reclaim his calm.
Leire let him, looking on with an inscrutable expression until his attention returned to her. “Then you understand what accepting this soul means,” she said. “A barrier between you and the world for the rest of your life.”
“You are not doing a very good job of convincing me to accept your offer,” Michael said, managing a faint smile. “I mean no offense by this, but it sounds awful.”
“There are days when it is,” Leire said. “I don’t lack for preoccupation, of course, and Mendian has centuries of practice accommodating the particular needs of the Star. I live as comfortable and full of a life as may be managed, for someone in my position - and those things which I lack, I endure.”
She paused. “It’s easier than it sounds, when you know the alternative. The Star of Mendian is a burden, but one which must be borne - and borne properly. Its absence or misuse would mean death for everything we both hold dear.”
“I’ll be honest with you,” Michael said. “After what you’ve said, I want nothing to do with your soul, or with you. I want to avoid any entanglements that could cause it to come to me.”
Leire smiled. “Rational of you,” she said. “But you’ll accept it anyway, because your fate is already bound to the soul. If it goes to Saf, they will use it to burn the free Gharic countries to ash - along with anyone who stands in opposition.”
A chill danced across Michael’s skin, raising gooseflesh. “It isn’t certain that it would go to Saf,” he said. “Nor that resisting them would be useless.”
The soul that Leire had been restraining leapt into being around her; Michael flinched back from the burst of light on reflex, averting his sight a moment later.
“What I did at Leik was restrained,” Leire said. “I have no love for war, or for killing. I believe that death is only justified if it is the sole means to prevent greater death. You’ve met the Safid - and the ones who lead them. Did you sense any particular love for restraint there? For moderation? Do you think Saleh Taskin would shy away from this power?”
The radiance blared for another moment before subsiding; Leire slumped back in her chair as though exhausted. “That man would see the world scoured with fire and death and sleep all the better for it. If the soul comes under his command, millions will die. So ask yourself the same question I did, many years ago: what would you do to avert that tragedy? To ensure there is not even the barest chance that it would come to pass?”
Michael shifted in his chair, the walls of the room seeming to press in around him. His mind raced, turning away from an ugly truth that grew larger with every pounding heartbeat. “I don’t know,” he protested. “Ghar’s ashes, I’d never even left Ardalt until a month ago. I don’t want to make decisions that save or doom millions!” He stood from his seat to glare down at Leire; she looked up, impassive. “I want nothing more than peace and quiet. Why should the fate of the world come down to my choice?”
“It doesn’t,” Leire said. “If you don’t choose, the choice will fall to another. A man like Saleh Taskin - or your father.” She looked up at Michael as his face fell slack. “Would you trust your father to decide the fate of those millions? An odd choice, given that you just crossed a continent to right a smaller injustice wrought by his hand.”
She stood from her chair and walked to stand up against the crystal barrier. “But you won’t believe me when I say you’re a likely a better man than those in power, because good men never do. So instead I’ll say plainly what you already know: if my soul goes to Saf, your friends will be dead within a year. They cannot help but fight for Daressa; it is a fight they are doomed to lose.”
“You can’t know that,” Michael said.
Leire raised an eyebrow. “Who will they turn to?” she asked. “Ardalt? I can assure you that Mendian would be in no condition to assist. It won’t be you that saves them either.”
“Why not?” Michael shot back. “Why am I some grave threat one minute, and worthless the next?”
“You won’t even take a soul when it’s freely-offered!” Leire snapped. “What will you do in a war? Even Jeorg shied away from Stanza’s true potential in war. There’s something more personal about having to understand the men you’re killing, to know intimately how your soul will rip their lives away.” She glared at him, her jaw set.
“Could you do it?” she asked. “How many men would you kill to save your friends? A thousand, ten thousand? With your soul pressed close against their dying flesh, listening to their hearts falter - no. That isn’t you, Michael.”
Michael stared back, his teeth clenched and his pulse pounding in his ears. “No?” he asked. “Then why are you trying to make a killer of me? Trying to make me what Spark wanted me to be, a man who uses his power to dominate others. You just don’t care, so long as Mendian benefits.”
Leire stared back at him for a long moment, then sighed. She slowly lowered herself back into her chair and motioned for Michael to do the same; after a moment of stubborn waiting, he did.
“What I’m offering you,” she said, “is the chance to be the surgeon rather than the butcher. Any nitwit with a sufficiently-powerful soul can carve up nations; you and I are both quite capable of annihilating cities should we choose to. Mendian’s power gives us more palatable options. We can project force effectively, identify where to strike for maximum effect. Sort the necessary death from the unnecessary as best as we are able.”
The room fell silent again; Michael looked away toward its sides, letting his eyes stray desperately over the art on the walls, drinking it in to distract his mind from the horrible visions Leire was drawing for him. His eyes strayed to a small writing desk in the corner, more utilitarian and worn than the rest of the office’s furniture. There was a small figurine there of a man in traditional Mendiko dress, his arms raised as if dancing with an invisible partner.
“Sera said I should ask you why you decided to fight,” Michael said quietly. “And if it was worth it.”
Leire pursed her lips. “These things never turn on a single decision, or rarely do. There are a cavalcade of little choices that build upon each other day by day. In the moment, though, every choice I made was for the same reason: because I had the chance to shoulder a small evil so that those I love might avoid a greater one.”
Michael nodded slowly. “I suppose I can see that,” he said. “Although the evil never seems so small in the moment.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You know what is right without having to dwell on it,” she said. “I read the reports from the border outpost. A man attacked you; you burnt his eyes from his head. Did you hesitate overmuch, when you did that?”
The image of the empty, smoking sockets swam in front of Michael’s eyes; he grimaced. “I was surprised. He shot Sera-”
“What if he hadn’t?” Leire asked. “What if he had raised his weapon with intent to fire, and you had no means to stop him otherwise?”
Michael’s frown deepened. “That’s self-defense,” he muttered.
Leire raised two fingers. “Two men, then, both raising their weapons at her. Surely two lives outweigh one, you cannot justify killing them both.”
“They’re acting unjustly,” Michael protested.
“They would disagree.” Leire raised a finger. “To them, her death is not only just, it is necessary - as necessary as her survival is for you. She is their enemy, she has killed and sabotaged her way through both armies on the continent for years now. You cannot dissuade them from killing her with words. You may only act against them as you did, by removing the threat.”
A twist of nausea kindled in Michael’s gut. “But you could use that logic to justify any manner of violence,” he said. “It does not stop at two, nor three.”
“No,” Leire said. “It does not. And if you follow that road to its logical conclusion, the question becomes - what price is too steep to ensure that those you love will be safe and happy? What burden would you not shoulder, what privation would you not endure so that they might live full and joyful lives?” She leaned forward, and her soul flared bright. “I have answered that question with every tool at my disposal for over fifty years now. There has been pain, yes, but never regret save when I let my doubt stay me from what I knew was right.”
Michael looked down at the table. “I wish I had your certainty,” he said. “I don’t have any concept of what the right path forward is. Not even for myself, to say nothing of Mendian or the continent.”
A smile cracked Leire’s face. “It’s both an easy and hard question to answer,” she said. “There are answers in philosophy or law, but I’ve found the most reliable path to right action is simply in reciprocity. Be good to those who are good to you. Protect them from those who would do them harm. Simple precepts, but more grounded than something like fear or anger.”
“What reciprocity was there in destroying the Safid navy?” Michael asked. “That was a preemptive strike, made under false pretenses. That sounds more like fear to me.”
“I do fear,” Leire admitted. “I feared that those ships I destroyed would be turned against my country once I was no longer there to deter them. I acted while I had an opportunity. It was morally questionable, yes - but strategically correct.” She sighed and passed a hand over her face. “Reciprocity is reactive, by its nature. Sometimes being proactive can save more lives in the balance. You have to know when to take the risk, when it’s worth it.”
She met his eyes again. “The proactive move is to secure your ability to protect your friends now, while you have a clear path to power. You will sacrifice, and you will endure suffering - but less, much less, than if you wait in the vain hope that the world will not force your hand. You will take this soul of mine because the part of you that does not doubt knew the answer to my question the moment I posed it. What price is too steep to safeguard this family you’ve found?”
Michael’s impulse was to equivocate, to say that it wasn’t possible to know until the moment came; the look in Leire’s eyes stilled his tongue. She wasn’t asking after hypotheticals. The effort to free Daressa would inevitably run up against Friedrich and Sofia, Saleh and Amira. Uncounted thousands of men under their command, each seeking to rip away that comfortable warmth he felt in their company.
Avoiding those confrontations wasn’t realistic. Changing their minds wasn’t feasible. And though Michael had come to appreciate how much of a terror Sobriquet could be in a fight, Friedrich had shown that she was by no means invincible. Even together, they had lost to Friedrich twice now.
But Michael’s soul was not at fault. His soul held all of the strength he needed; strength that could have saved Gerard and Clair. The limiting factor had always been Michael himself. His own lack of knowledge and will had left him unprepared. In the moment he had been helpless. His mind’s eye saw Charles, choking on his own blood. Vernon clutching at a wound in his belly, Emil staring sightlessly upward.
Sera, the blood dripping slowly from her outstretched hand. Michael felt his heart beat harder, his jaw clenching against the phantasmagoria swimming through his vision. It would happen unless someone stopped it. Perhaps not him, but - here was the chance, and who else did they have?
Who was he waiting for?
Nothing stays the same, Jeorg had said. Always changing. Better, usually, but not always. Best to see the change and move with intent.
“Improve relentlessly,” Michael murmured. “Or risk the world changing you instead.”
Leire’s eyes widened for a moment, then crinkled in a smile. “I thought Jeorg had forgotten most of what I taught him,” she said. “But it seems he remembered the important parts, even if it took him some time.”
“I didn’t realize what he meant,” Michael said. “I thought I had changed, but it was just accepting the change that came to me. I could have done so much more. I could have saved-” His breath caught in his throat, and he shook his head.
“Blame yourself when you fail to learn from a mistake,” Leire said. “Not when you make it. Ignorance is man’s natural state. The only failing is in loving comfort over truth.” She smiled, then shrugged. “A failing we’re all guilty of occasionally.”
“I-” Michael paused, his mouth feeling suddenly dry. “I don’t need to wait until Rimesday to decide,” he said.
Leire’s face did not change, but her soul rippled with a blur of emotions that flitted past too quickly for Michael to parse. After a moment, she smiled; a tear wet her wrinkled cheek. “I’m sorry,” she said. “To have to ask this of you. You and your friends deserve a better world than this, and I - I, too, could have stepped in to help so many. Now my failings will be your burden, and this lonely house will watch another grow old within its walls.”
Michael smiled back at her, the expression only half-forced. “Growing old doesn’t sound so bad,” he said. “At least, none of the alternatives seem appealing - and this past month has presented me with several.”
She barked out a quick laugh, blotting at her eyes with a sleeve. “It was the threat of unfinished business that bothered me more,” she said. “But perhaps now I can learn to enjoy it.” She took a steadying breath, then looked up at Michael; some of the softness had gone from her face, but it lingered still in her eyes.
“Thank you,” she said. “For easing an old woman’s worries. If you have more questions between now and Rimesday I will make time to answer them, but - for now, you should be with your friends. Enjoy their company while you can be among them.” She stood from her chair.
“It’s rare that a Star has the advantage of foresight,” she said. “I won’t be going anywhere in a hurry, so you’ll have some time. Enjoy your life before I rob it from you. I won’t say you will be able to avoid regret, but you may be able to lessen the sting somewhat.” She looked suddenly tired, her shoulders slumping.
“Go,” she said, making a shooing motion with her hand. “And tell them everything.”
Michael nodded, somewhat thrown by the abrupt dismissal. He thought of saying something more, but thanks didn’t seem appropriate. In the end, he walked out of the room without another word, leaving Leire sitting pensively in her chair. He turned his sight to watch her as he left and saw her eyes tracking him until the door swung shut once more.
Unai was waiting outside; the valet led him down the halls to their suite - but paused just shy of the door. He turned to Michael with uncommon emotion etched into his face before bending down in a shallow bow.
“Thank you,” he said. “It weighed on her greatly.”
He turned without waiting for a response, striding to the suite door and holding it open. Michael managed to nod in acknowledgment as he entered, though Unai’s face had returned to its formal facade once more.
Vernon was the only one immediately visible as he entered, idly eating a piece of fruit at the dining table. The auditor turned his head to look as Michael entered, raising an eyebrow. “How’d it go?” he asked.
“Well,” Michael said, pausing a moment to order his words - and then a moment more. After a few seconds, he sighed and shook his head. “Well.”
Vernon’s other eyebrow went up. “Well?” he asked.
Michael stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. “I’m taking a nap,” he said. “If anyone asks, things are fine.”
“Hm,” Vernon said. “Cryptic. Are things actually fine?”
Michael paused. “Probably,” he said. “Ask me again at dinner.” He tossed a wave in Vernon’s general direction and nearly ran into Charles emerging from one of the suite’s washrooms, shirtless and rubbing a towel through his hair.
“Oh, hey,” Charles said. “You’re back sooner than I thought. How’d it-”
“Dinner,” Mike said, opening the door to his room. He shut it on Charles’s confused face and fell into his bed. Sleep eluded him, despite the fatigue he felt. Thousands of faceless men crowded around him, protesting that they, too, had families and friends. Spark’s high, thin, laughter cackled in the background, while blood dripped steadily from a woman’s hand onto the floor.
He knew he was dreaming when the blood vanished, replaced by the gentle breeze and sun of Jeorg’s garden. Michael turned his head to see the old man sitting on a nearby rock.
“Did I make a mistake?” Michael asked.
Jeorg rubbed his chin, then shrugged. “Everyone makes mistakes,” he said. “Can’t know if it is or isn’t until it’s too late to change.”
Michael’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not very comforting.”
“Comfort isn’t what you chose,” Jeorg said.
A sigh escaped Michael’s lips; when he looked back over Jeorg had gone. He sat back against a weathered, sturdy tree and looked up at the branches waving in the wind, felt the cool caress of the air on his face.
A few moments later, he closed his eyes and slept dreamlessly.
Comments
TMarkos
Leire is a pragmatist at heart, like many of the characters, but I've always thought of her as the most optimistic of the differing philosophical poles presented in the story. If you read through her epigraphs she is very focused on crafting an environment that will allow people to reach their potential - an ideal society creates ideal individuals. This is in stark contrast to Saleh's philosophy that individuals should strive to live their personal truth to its utmost, after which society will naturally improve. It also reflects on Jeorg's attempt to recreate Mendian's successes in Ardalt, but that got out of hand when he built an organization that could change society without safeguards to ensure those changes were to everyone's benefit. Leire recognizes that she bears responsibility for a sociopolitical working that has grown over centuries, and is very unhappy that one person is so important to its survival.
Damn. Now I can't but help like Leire. She's more interpersonally thoughtful than I would have guessed given the previous interactions, and I appreciate that she both recognizes the unfairness of her actions as well as moves forward with them regardless because a good answer that you've got is better than a perfect one that you don't. Honestly, Stellar seems like a wretched soul to have, given the enforced isolation, and I really hope that Michael finds some sort of workaround for the radiation problem. Regardless, it was an excellent chapter that gave some lovely depth to Leire. As as always, I look forward to your next update.
TMarkos
I think I've said elsewhere that they're not just going to take her out behind the shed and shoot her, haha. She'll want to stick around as long as possible to use her influence and knowledge to help Mike, and to build that affinity between them.
JoBo12
Good chapter. I suspect that Micheal won't actually face too many problems with stray electromagnetic radiation. He could either try and absorb the light using Vincent's Ember soul or he could try to suppress the soul like he did with Spark. These approaches should work as Micheal was not able to sense emotions while he had Spark suppressed. Yet Micheal gaining Stellar would still be some ways away as the current Stellar does not seem to be on the brink of death. Unless we soon either see a timeskip or Leire is met with an unfortunate accident.
TMarkos
I'm glad you're enjoying it! Things should be accelerating after this point, now that we've got our future path locked in. Of course, he still has to figure out how to tell everyone...
Alexandria Clarke
God damn I love this so much
TMarkos
They do tend to be suspiciously wealthy. I'll have to keep the option in mind...
Another masterpiece of art. If this writing thing doesn't work out for you, I've heard there's money to be made drawing for the furries.
