![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
(Author’s note: This would be the replacement of what was the original original first chapter of THE CONCEPT OF WAR. The original first chapter will be shoved back to Chapter Two. I'm also thinking of changing the title of the novel to THE OTHER SWORD.)
I was at my station on the auxiliary bridge of the flagship of the Vengeance Fleet when she reentered normal space at about thirteen hundred thousand kilometers above the north pole of the planet Chiron, the world also commonly known as Centaurus Prime.
I was born here and I grew up here. It was once my home. Now it was just a collection of targets.
My mother, who was virtually a saint, was constantly exasperated by the fact that I would rather climb trees and read old encyclopedias than to go play with the very expensive dolls that I was given. Or that I would not share the interests held by other girls of my age and social standing.
My father, on the other hand, was delighted. Even though I would never be the son he always wanted, he would still take pride in teaching me the usually masculine skills of shooting and hunting.
One night in camp, before his political career ascended out of control, while we sat around the fire, he said something to me.
“In the Empire of Persia,” he said, “on ancient Earth, the sons of the Great King were sent out to live with the minor chiefs at the edge of the empire. The young princes were to not have soft beds, nor were they to have rich clothing, or fine food and wine. They were not to be taught obscure doctrines, or to have servants -- especially female ones -- or to have money. Each young prince was to be taught to ride, to shoot straight, and to speak the truth.”
For a moment, Father looked up into the night sky, It was a true night. The binary companion of our sun was on the opposite side of the system at the time. His eyes then dropped back to me, and he spoke again.
“When the young prince reached his eighteenth year he was sent back to the Imperial court. There he would be quickly brought up to speed by his elders on the other aspects of princely conduct.”
I remember pondering for a moment before I replied.
“But we’re not a monarchy.” I said. “Sovereign authority is vested in the people... at least in theory.”
Father smiled.
“And even if an ordinary citizen was able to tolerate such a program,” I continued, “there just aren’t enough minor chiefs to go around.”
“Yes.” He said with a bit of a chuckle. He then asked me a question.
“Since sovereign authority rests with the citizen, how do you know that he knows how to use it?”
I was at my station on the auxiliary bridge of the flagship of the Vengeance Fleet when she reentered normal space at about thirteen hundred thousand kilometers above the north pole of the planet Chiron, the world also commonly known as Centaurus Prime.
I was born here and I grew up here. It was once my home. Now it was just a collection of targets.
My mother, who was virtually a saint, was constantly exasperated by the fact that I would rather climb trees and read old encyclopedias than to go play with the very expensive dolls that I was given. Or that I would not share the interests held by other girls of my age and social standing.
My father, on the other hand, was delighted. Even though I would never be the son he always wanted, he would still take pride in teaching me the usually masculine skills of shooting and hunting.
One night in camp, before his political career ascended out of control, while we sat around the fire, he said something to me.
“In the Empire of Persia,” he said, “on ancient Earth, the sons of the Great King were sent out to live with the minor chiefs at the edge of the empire. The young princes were to not have soft beds, nor were they to have rich clothing, or fine food and wine. They were not to be taught obscure doctrines, or to have servants -- especially female ones -- or to have money. Each young prince was to be taught to ride, to shoot straight, and to speak the truth.”
For a moment, Father looked up into the night sky, It was a true night. The binary companion of our sun was on the opposite side of the system at the time. His eyes then dropped back to me, and he spoke again.
“When the young prince reached his eighteenth year he was sent back to the Imperial court. There he would be quickly brought up to speed by his elders on the other aspects of princely conduct.”
I remember pondering for a moment before I replied.
“But we’re not a monarchy.” I said. “Sovereign authority is vested in the people... at least in theory.”
Father smiled.
“And even if an ordinary citizen was able to tolerate such a program,” I continued, “there just aren’t enough minor chiefs to go around.”
“Yes.” He said with a bit of a chuckle. He then asked me a question.
“Since sovereign authority rests with the citizen, how do you know that he knows how to use it?”
Leave a comment