Starcraft II_ Heaven's Devils Part 2

"I solemnly affirm my duty to support and defend the planets of the Terran Confederacy against all enemies, interstellar and domestic. I further affirm that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same and that I will strive against any and all threats to the continued progress of mankind in this sector."

Confederate Soldiers' Oath THE PLANET SHILOH, THE CONFEDERACY OF MAN.

Jim Raynor's swearing-in ceremony took place in the town of Centerville, where everyone knew the Raynors. So after Trace parked the truck, and the family made their way toward Main Street, all sorts of people came up to shake Jim's hand and exchange a few words with his parents. Trace's hand never left Jim's shoulder. Jim was beaming with pride.

About fifty people showed up to witness the moment, a crowd that grew larger when a government-chartered bus pulled up in front of the colonial courthouse and sighed wearily as it came to a stop. Fifteen recruits got off. And even though most had joined earlier that morning, they swaggered around the town square as if they were combat veterans, much to the amus.e.m.e.nt of some real real veterans who were sitting on a bench. veterans who were sitting on a bench.

In spite of all the well wishers, there was something a little bit sad about the dusty courtroom, the tired-looking bunting that had been draped across the front of Judge Guthrie's bench, and the limp flag that drooped from a pole. Guthrie did his best, though, administering the oath as if it had been handed down from on high, while pausing at regular intervals so Raynor, Tom Omer, and the other recruits could repeat the words after him.

Rather than the sense of excitement he thought he'd feel as he prepared to leave his home planet for the first time, Raynor felt a vague sense of foreboding instead, but put the emotion down to the fear a.s.sociated with going off to marine boot camp. A h.e.l.lish place by all accounts, where brutal drill instructors ruled, and recruits were routinely abused. But all for a good purpose, or so Gunnery Sergeant Farley had a.s.sured him, while processing his application because "boot camp produces marines! And we're the best of the best."

There were handshakes all around, and lots of hugs, as Raynor worked his way out of the courtroom and onto the front steps. Then it was time to say one last good-bye to his parents. Much to Jim's embarra.s.sment, his mother had packed a lunch for him, and tears were rolling down her cheeks as she kissed him. "Don't forget to write... . We're going to miss you so much."

Trace Raynor didn't say a word, but it was all there in his eyes and the strength of his grip. Jim's heart swelled with emotion, but he gritted his teeth and managed a weak smile. This is it, Jim thought, and a moment later was left to the mercies of a noncom named Corporal Timson who, if he had a first name, never chose to share it.

Timson was dressed in a reasonably clean uniform that was at least one size too small for him. Raynor noticed that there were four five-year pins on his left sleeve, which indicated that he'd been in the Corps for more than twenty years. So, either he'd been broken from a more lofty rank, or had been unable to rise above the rank of corporal. Neither of which spoke very well of his performance.

Whatever the case, Timson appeared worn out and eager to leave. "All right," he announced to those who had been sworn in earlier, "it's time to get back on the bus. We haven't got all day, you know."

Raynor gave a final wave to his parents and boarded the bus, carrying a small satchel and his lunch. There was a center aisle with seats on both sides, and a storage rack above.

Some of his fellow recruits were already aboard, shooting the breeze with each other or fiddling with their fones. The back of the bus appeared to be empty, so Raynor headed there and sat on the bench-style seat that ran from side to side. He looked around for Omer.

Moments later a boisterous group of young men entered the cabin and paused to give one of the girls some unwanted attention before shuffling toward the back. Their leader, a gangly red-haired youth, led the way. Fekk! Fekk! Raynor's stomach dropped when he recognized Harnack, and one of his father's well-worn phrases came rushing back to him. Raynor's stomach dropped when he recognized Harnack, and one of his father's well-worn phrases came rushing back to him. "Trouble is like a boomerang-the harder you throw it, the faster it'll come back at you." "Trouble is like a boomerang-the harder you throw it, the faster it'll come back at you." Why did his old man Why did his old man always always have to be right? have to be right?

Whether he knew it or not, Harnack had become the b.u.t.t of a lot of jokes around town the last couple weeks, thanks to Raynor and his iron fists. But now, as Raynor pretended to look casually out the window, he knew the b.a.s.t.a.r.d was looking for trouble, and could feel it coming straight for him. When he heard Harnack's boots stop short midway through the aisle, Raynor knew he'd been spotted.

Harnack pretended to sniff the air. "d.a.m.n! What's that smell?" Then, as if seeing Raynor for the first time, Harnack pointed at him. "Here's the problem... . Somebody took a dump in the back of the bus!"

Harnack's toadies erupted into laughter.

"What have we here?" Harnack demanded, as he s.n.a.t.c.hed Raynor's lunch sack off the seat. "This yours?" Then, having dropped it on the floor, Harnack stomped it. "Oh, sorry ... must'a slipped. Too bad there aren't any farmers around to protect you now."

Raynor knew he had to stand up for himself, and was halfway out of his seat when a florid Timson appeared. "What the h.e.l.l are you jerk weeds doing back here?" the noncom demanded. "This ain't no fekkin' tea party. Sit down and shut up or I'll put a boot up your a.s.s!"

The admonition left Raynor with no choice but to sit down, or complain about the other recruits, which was sure to make the situation even worse. Timson wasn't there to protect him-he just didn't want any trouble. Where the h.e.l.l is Omer Where the h.e.l.l is Omer? Jim thought. And then he spotted him. Having just boarded the bus, Omer pretended not to notice the confrontation and immediately took a seat in the front row. Well, so much for loyalty. Well, so much for loyalty.

Harnack straightened and nodded solemnly. "Sorry, we were working on seating arrangements, that's all... . We're good to go." Raynor was surprised by the bully's sudden deference.

Timson's beady brown eyes flicked from face to face. "Don't cause any trouble back here... . You'll regret it if you do." And with that he turned back toward the front of the bus and proceeded to count heads as he made his way forward. Then, having matched the total to the number on his list, he gave the driver permission to proceed. Harnack flashed Raynor a wicked smile before taking a seat a few rows up.

The engine roared and the bus lurched into motion. Then, while the few remaining spectators looked on, the transport raised a cloud of dust as it followed the main street to the two-lane highway, which is where the journey to the next town began. There were two additional stops, each lasting an hour or so, which meant it was well after dark by the time the bus pulled into Burroughston.

But rather than the hotel that Raynor had been hoping for, the recruits were ordered to get out in front of the local upper school, where the custodian was waiting to lead them to the gymnasium. They're going to make us They're going to make us sleep sleep in this place? in this place? he thought. It had high ceilings, simwood floors, and bleachers that were positioned along the south wall. The score on the electronic reader board was zero-zero. Raynor could have been back in Centerville. he thought. It had high ceilings, simwood floors, and bleachers that were positioned along the south wall. The score on the electronic reader board was zero-zero. Raynor could have been back in Centerville.

"Welcome home," Corporal Timson said sarcastically. "You think this this sucks? You ain't seen nothin' yet. This is a fekkin' paradise compared to your average barracks." sucks? You ain't seen nothin' yet. This is a fekkin' paradise compared to your average barracks."

There was a scattering of mumbled replies, which, judging from the expression on Timson's face, amounted to a personal insult. He stood with fists on hips. "What the h.e.l.l was that?" he demanded rhetorically. "Eventually, should one or two of you be fortunate enough to get through basic, you will be ent.i.tled to call me Corporal. But until that unlikely day dawns, you will address every noncom and officer that you encounter as either sir or ma'am, depending on the type of plumbing they were issued. And you will do so in a voice that can be heard on Tarsonis. Do you scan me, maggots? Do you scan me, maggots?"

Maggots? It was so melodramatic, Raynor had to battle a grin as he shouted "YES, SIR!" along with the other recruits. The response was still ragged, but a good deal louder, and phrased correctly. It was so melodramatic, Raynor had to battle a grin as he shouted "YES, SIR!" along with the other recruits. The response was still ragged, but a good deal louder, and phrased correctly.

"That's better," Timson allowed grudgingly. "Not perfect, but better. Draw your gear, pick a place to bed down, and report to me. We're eating field rats tonight, better known as barf boxes, and don't even think about trying to heat one of them up. If you burn this dump down it will be deducted from your pay. Do you scan me?"

This time the answer was nearly perfect. "YES, SIR!" "YES, SIR!"

"All right, a.s.sholes," Timson growled. "Get your b.u.t.ts in gear."

It didn't take long for Raynor to get a mat, blankets, and towel. Then came the problem of where to put them. A good number of at least temporary friendships had been forged on the bus, but after being targeted by Harnack and his toadies, Raynor had been ostracized. Even Omer had deserted him. Not as part of a conspiracy, but because of a generally held desire to stay clear of the bully, as well as his pin-headed supporters.

So Raynor wound up throwing his mat down on the floor next to the north wall, a position that was a good fifteen feet from the nearest recruit, but would allow him to sleep with his back against something solid. Hopefully, a.s.suming things went well, Harnack-whose name Raynor had discovered was Hank-would turn his attention elsewhere.

With that accomplished, Raynor went over to the line that led to Corporal Timson and three crates of A-rats-containers holding meals that could be eaten hot or cold-plus heat tabs they weren't supposed to use, an energy bar, and two contraceptives.

Two minutes later Harnack showed up, elbowed his way into the queue, and grinned menacingly. "Hey, sissy boy, mind if I cut in?" It was the fueling line situation all over again.

Raynor felt the anger begin to rise inside him, and was careful to channel it, as he snapped his head forward. It was a move that his father, who had been something of a brawler in his younger days, had taught him when he entered upper school-when his mom wasn't around, of course. "Don't ever back down from a bully," "Don't ever back down from a bully," Trace had said. Trace had said. "Fight to win and end it as quickly as possible." "Fight to win and end it as quickly as possible." And the head b.u.t.t worked extremely well as solid bone met the bridge of Harnack's nose, cartilage broke, and blood gushed onto the bully's chin. And the head b.u.t.t worked extremely well as solid bone met the bridge of Harnack's nose, cartilage broke, and blood gushed onto the bully's chin.

Then, while Harnack was still trying to absorb what had happened, Raynor brought a knee up into his crotch. That was when Harnack produced a high-pitched keening sound, fell to his knees, and brought both hands in to guard his aching stones.

"Sure," Raynor said conversationally, "please feel free to cut in front of me anytime you want to."

Corporal Timson heard the disturbance, issued a long string of swear words, and arrived on the scene thirty seconds later. He looked down at Harnack and up to Raynor. "Did you do this?"

Raynor was about to say yes when Harnack lurched to his feet and came to something resembling attention. This was when Raynor learned his first lesson about the military: the unspoken code that marines don't rat out other marines. "Sir, no sir," he lied. "I slipped and fell."

"Really?" Timson inquired cynically. "You fell on your b.a.l.l.s?"

That got a laugh from everyone within ear range with the notable exception of Harnack's toadies, who shuffled their feet and glowered at Raynor.

"Yes, sir," Harnack said stiffly, his eyes straight ahead.

Timson shook his head wearily and sighed. "Okay, be more careful next time. Now hit the head, get yourself cleaned up, and report to me. I'll put a box of A-rats aside for you."

Harnack gave a stiff nod, said, "Yes, sir," and limped away. Once he was out of earshot, Timson looked Raynor up and down. "What's your name?"

"Raynor, sir. Jim Raynor."

"Well, recruit Raynor," Timson said in a voice pitched so low no one else could hear him. "I know Harnack has been up in your face ... but what goes around nearly always comes around, which means you should keep a close eye on your six."

Raynor knew Timson was referring to the six o'clock position on a standard clock, which was to say, his a.s.s. "Sir, yes sir."

"Plus," Timson added ominously, "if you do anything like that again you're going to p.i.s.s me off... . And p.i.s.sing me off is a very bad idea. Do you scan me?"

"Sir, yes sir."

"Good. Go get something to wipe up the blood with, get back in line, and don't screw up. I'll be watching you."

So Raynor went in search of a utility room and found one. Then, mop in hand, he went back to clean up Harnack's blood. And it was then that he noticed how things had changed. Recruits who hadn't been willing to speak with him before were openly friendly now-which meant he had people to sit with as the group explored their rations.

The fact that each of them had been issued two two condoms came in for a good deal of humorous commentary, as did the political propaganda that was printed inside the lid of each barf box, urging "each member of the Confederacy's military forces to fight the Arbellan menace with all of his or her strength." The problem was, the Arbellan rebels had been defeated ten years earlier! The rations had apparently been sitting in a warehouse for a very long time. condoms came in for a good deal of humorous commentary, as did the political propaganda that was printed inside the lid of each barf box, urging "each member of the Confederacy's military forces to fight the Arbellan menace with all of his or her strength." The problem was, the Arbellan rebels had been defeated ten years earlier! The rations had apparently been sitting in a warehouse for a very long time.

Once the meal was over, Raynor returned to his mat, removed his fone from the travel satchel, and surfed the latest sports scores, followed by a news summary.

He readied his Dopp kit, and began what turned out to be a long surveillance of the men's bathroom. Raynor had taken Timson's-and his father's-advice seriously and knew there was a very good chance that a person like Harnack would come looking for revenge. And what better place to attack someone than in a restroom?

As he waited, Raynor brought up one of the digi-tomes he had uploaded for the trip. It came complete with a soundtrack that matched the story, continually morphing ill.u.s.trations, and opportunities to pull up more information about the characters and their backgrounds. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Harnack and each one of his toadies had come and gone from the lavatory before he followed a group of three other recruits into the brightly lit s.p.a.ce and took a quick sonic shower. Then, with a towel tied around his hips, he made his way over to one of the mirrors and went to work with his sonic toothbrush. That was when he heard the boy who had been singing in the shower stop suddenly.

Raynor turned, but not quickly enough, as a big bony fist hit him in the side of the head. He fell, and was still sprawled on the tiled floor when Harnack placed a size thirteen boot on his chest. Toadies formed a semicircle around him, and judging from the lack of other background sounds, the rest of the recruits had been ordered to vacate the room.

There was a black scab on the bridge of Harnack's broken nose, one eye was beginning to turn purple, and there was no sign of humor in the smile he produced. "Well, sissy boy, we meet again. You surprised me, I admit that-I didn't think you had the b.a.l.l.s. But there's a big difference between head b.u.t.ting someone when they don't expect it and fighting like a man. So get up, sissy boy, and let's see how you do in a real real fight." fight."

Raynor considered mentioning the time he kicked Harnack's a.s.s in the fueling line, but refrained. A foot belonging to a very angry person was pressing down on his chest, after all. It was not the time for brutal honesty.

Jim understood both the situation and the part he was about to play. Having been put down in the gym, and having lost face in front of his followers, Harnack had to whip him. Or at least seem to, although Jim realized the chances of a truly fair fight were pretty slim as he scrambled to his feet.

That didn't make any difference, of course, because what was, was, and all Raynor could do was accept the situation and make the best of it. Which was why he began the one-sided contest by taking a swing at the nearest toady. He felt his fist connect and had the satisfaction of seeing the youth go down.

That was a victory of sorts, but a short-lived one, as the other three rushed him. Raynor landed a punch on Harnack's cheek, but that was the extent of the damage he could do as a flurry of punches and kicks drove him to the floor.

Then, while blow after vicious blow landed, all Raynor could do was curl up into the fetal position and try to protect his head as the other recruits kicked him. "How do you like this moron moron now?" Harnack demanded from some place far away, as Raynor began to fall toward the bottom of a deep well. now?" Harnack demanded from some place far away, as Raynor began to fall toward the bottom of a deep well.

Then the beating was over, the pain was gone, and Raynor was at peace.

CHAPTER FIVE.

"This year's historic Reunion, an interplanetary summit of representatives from the original Old Families, will take place on Tarsonis, following a week of ceremony and celebration. More than a century has pa.s.sed since the first supercarriers arrived in the Koprulu sector from Earth, and the descendants of those intrepid pioneers are slated to discuss a variety of topics regarding the economy and governance of terran s.p.a.ce. Members of the Confederate government have already scheduled meetings with these representatives in order to incorporate their counsel into action more smoothly."

Max Speer, Evening Report Evening Report for UNN April 2488 for UNN April 2488 THE PLANET TARSONIS, THE CONFEDERACY OF MAN.

The curtains made a hushed whisper as they rose far enough to let some sunlight in, the bed shivered ever so slightly, and the console that was built into the headboard of Ark Bennet's bed produced a soft chiming sound.

The teenager yawned, swung his feet over onto thick carpeting, and began the process of getting ready for a new day. He threw open the double doors that led to his private terrace. Tarsonis City was so vast that it stretched all the way to the horizon, where the details of it were lost in the early morning haze. The metroplex was both the capital of the Confederacy of Man and its largest city, which meant it was home to millions of people-very few of whom had the privilege f viewing it from the perspective of a sixty-three-room mansion every morning.

But as a member of an Old Family, such was Ark's birthright. And as his eyes swept across cl.u.s.ters of high-rise office towers, slab-like apartment complexes, and scabrous slums, he could feel feel the city's seething energy, the dark allure of its mazelike streets, and the siren call of pleasures he had heard about but never experienced. Because to be rich was to be the target of thieves, kidnappers, and paparazzi. So he rarely had the opportunity to venture out without a small army of heavily armed bodyguards who would report whatever he did to his parents. the city's seething energy, the dark allure of its mazelike streets, and the siren call of pleasures he had heard about but never experienced. Because to be rich was to be the target of thieves, kidnappers, and paparazzi. So he rarely had the opportunity to venture out without a small army of heavily armed bodyguards who would report whatever he did to his parents. So what good was wealth, So what good was wealth, Ark asked himself, Ark asked himself, if you're a prisoner to it? if you're a prisoner to it?

The city offered no answer other than the subdued roar of traffic as he closed the doors, turned back into the room, and crossed a broad expanse of carpet to his private bathroom. It was large enough to accommodate four. The walls were covered in exquisite marble, and at least a dozen fluffy towels were available for use, as Ark examined himself in a large, ornately framed mirror.

He was, according to his mother, "a very handsome young man," although Ark knew it wasn't true. His eyes were too far apart, his lips too thin, and his chin too narrow for that. Girls liked him nonetheless-or seemed to-but was that for real? Or the result of his family's wealth?

There had already been talk of an arranged marriage with the Falco family, which, though less prominent than his, owned one of the smaller shipping lines. It was a logical merger-interstellar shipping, building s.p.a.ceships, and developing atmospheric craft-like military transports would provide strong horizontal integration. An arranged marriage would allow the Falcos to maintain a measure of independence. And if they were part of the larger family-so to speak-they would have a greater voice, which could make an important difference. But the prospect of marrying sixteen-year-old Hailey Falco had very little appeal for Ark.

He had finished upper school two weeks earlier-and the pressure was on to choose between two competing visions of who he would become. His father wanted him to learn the family business, his mother wanted him to become a scholar, and Ark was pretty sure that he wouldn't be any good at either one of those things.

The intercom buzzed as Ark ran a sonic razor over his face. The voice belonged to his father. "Ark, we're leaving in twenty minutes."

Ark sighed, said, "Yes, Father," and eyed himself in the mirror. A very young face stared back at him. What should I do? What should I do? The other Ark was mute. The other Ark was mute.

There were two ways that members of an Old Family could travel, and each had certain advantages. They could blast through traffic in a heavily armed convoy, or move covertly in vehicles that didn't look special but were. In this case Ark and his father were coc.o.o.ned inside a groundcar that was tricked out with what dealers called "a city package." That included screened windows, a bullet-proof skin, and solid run-flat tires. All of which was intended to ensure the Bennet family's privacy as well as their safety.

Unlike some of the Old Families, who clearly enjoyed "giving face" as the paparazzi referred to it, Ark's parents had gone to great lengths to keep both him and his sister under wraps. That was partly because they looked down on families who consistently played to the press as being cra.s.s, but it was a practical matter as well, because kidnappers frequently went after the most visible targets. And young people who were out on the town, traipsing from one nightclub to another, were easy to intercept. So Ark was used to playing his status down rather than up, and was const.i.tutionally happy to do so.

Clearing a path for the nondescript car and its two pa.s.sengers was what appeared to be a beat-up cab with a couple of armed guards inside. And bringing up the rear was a graffiti-covered delivery van, equipped with drop panels. Once the sides fell, two combat-suited ex-marines would be free to wade into traffic firing AGR-14 gauss rifles. Which should be more than sufficient firepower to defeat kidnappers or a.s.sa.s.sins.

But, for the moment, all three vehicles were waiting for a light to change. That was the problem with the low-key approach. The convoy was forced to blend in rather than blast through intersections with lights flashing and sirens bleeping.

The elder Bennet had a broad forehead, close-set eyes, and a prominent jaw. The businessman was dressed in a two-thousand-credit silk suit, which shimmered slightly as light from the moon roof hit it. Ark couldn't imagine wearing something like that; he preferred to dress the way most of his peers did, in a wire jacket that morphed from color to color depending on the nature of his surroundings, a Thump Band T-shirt, and the latest Street Feet shoes.

"So," Errol Bennet said dryly, as he eyed his son, "this will be your first conference-which is to say your first opportunity to see what awaits you."

Given the way his comment was framed, Errol Bennet clearly a.s.sumed that once everything was said and done, Ark would see things his his way. The business-an empire really, that was built around interstellar shipping, but had holdings in related industries as well-was an endless source of fascination for Ark's older sister, Tara. She had been groomed for as long as he could remember to follow in their father's footsteps. way. The business-an empire really, that was built around interstellar shipping, but had holdings in related industries as well-was an endless source of fascination for Ark's older sister, Tara. She had been groomed for as long as he could remember to follow in their father's footsteps.

But the business held little interest for Ark, a fact that the youth had recently conveyed to his father in a particularly contentious family discussion. Errol had responded by sending Ark's mother and sister out of the room so he could have a man-to-man conversation with his "beloved son," as he put it. It seemed as though he'd uttered the phrase with a tinge of hostility, and Ark felt it like a kick in the gut. After Errol had effectively convinced the teenager that he had no other options-what with no natural talent and average intelligence, what could he possibly have to offer?-the deal was set: Ark would attend the meeting.

"Who will be there?" Ark asked as the light changed and the convoy continued.

"Representatives from the various families, as I told you before," his father replied. "We compete with each other, but we must cooperate as well, or risk tearing the system apart."

By "system," Ark knew his father meant the interlocking relationships between the Old Families, the government, and the public. All of which struck him as intensely boring. The prospect of going to meetings every day, of trying to figure out what each attendee's true true motives were, building alliances, executing strategies, cutting costs, and boosting profits filled him with dread. Surely there was something motives were, building alliances, executing strategies, cutting costs, and boosting profits filled him with dread. Surely there was something more more to life? to life?

"I want you to pay very close attention today," Errol added. "I can't have you appearing ignorant in front of my a.s.sociates because you can't be bothered to listen."

"Yes, Father."

The convoy had turned into the campus by then, having been forced to pause in front of a heavily fortified gate, prior to being allowed to proceed. The university was a private inst.i.tution that owed its existence to the largess of families like the Bennets and was more than happy to provide the ruling oligarchy with a place to meet. Ten minutes later the vehicles were parked in an underground garage, where they would remain until the conference came to an end.

Ark accompanied his father upstairs, where the senior Bennet was quickly surrounded by well-wishers, oily enemies, and hopeful sycophants. He nodded to Ark, who smiled in return before going off to find his seat. It was as one would expect for a person of low status, high up and in the very back row.

The Hall of Reason was circular in shape, which some wags claimed was a pun, foisted on the unsuspecting university by a cynical architect. Ark was impressed by the soaring domed ceiling and the unconventional manner in which the tiered seats were wrapped around the speaker's platform. Once the opening ceremonies were over, Ava Holt, the rather dowdy matriarch of Holt Enterprises, rose to introduce Ark's father.

The crowd rose to applaud Errol Bennet and continued to clap as he mounted the platform. The businessman gave Holt a hug and motioned for the audience to sit down. Bennet began his remarks by reiterating the need for harmony and what he called "an obligation to provide the Confederacy with support and guidance."

That's how the process was explained in all the textbook digi-tomes that Ark and millions of other students had been exposed to in school. The Old Families were expected to provide the democratically elected government with advice that it could accept or reject.

But, as the meeting continued, Ark was reminded that the reality of the situation was quite different. Especially when it came time for his father to address the Guild Wars. "The conflict with the Kel-Morian Combine has been very profitable by any measure," Errol Bennet intoned, as the platform under his feet slowly rotated.

"Those who manufacture uniforms, body armor, weapons, ammunition, vehicles, tanks, aircraft, naval vessels, communications systems, orbital defense platforms, and all of the other countless items supplied to our military forces have profited from the war. That includes every family represented in this room, although I'm sure every single one of us regrets the terrible cost borne by the Confederacy's brave soldiers, and by their families."

That was true, the families had had profited handsomely, and Bennet's summary brought the representatives to their feet. The noise was thunderous, but as Ark clapped his hands, he wondered what the audience was applauding. The money they had made? Or the "brave soldiers" his father had referred to? Especially since none of his privileged friends were planning to join the military. profited handsomely, and Bennet's summary brought the representatives to their feet. The noise was thunderous, but as Ark clapped his hands, he wondered what the audience was applauding. The money they had made? Or the "brave soldiers" his father had referred to? Especially since none of his privileged friends were planning to join the military.

"But regrettable though it is, the conflict has had the effect of bringing our population together," Errol Bennet continued as the representatives took their seats. "And," he added, "to the extent that the UNN spends its time covering battles, it's not talking about us us!"

That got a laugh, and it was supposed to, since all of those present had to contend with the press corps's eternal eagerness to run stories about the Old Families. A lot of it was society fluff focused on who was engaged to whom, coming out parties, and the like. But there were serious pieces, too, many of which were focused on allegations that certain officials were becoming rich by taking money from the Old Families in return for no-bid government contracts, favorable regulations, and a host of tax breaks. The stories were annoying, and potentially dangerous to the status quo, which everyone in the room had reason to protect.