“Your Honor,” said Anastasia. “About the NewHope gleaning…”
“Yes, yes, it’s old news,” he said dismissively. “I didn’t journal about it at the time, of course. It was all very hush-hush. But I have since then. It’s all in these volumes.” Again he gestured to the pile on the desk.
“What a shame that they’ll be squirreled away in Alexandria,” said Jeri. “Nothing but tourists and academics there. No one of any importance will read them.”
His response was to look at the brush in his hands. “See how full of hair the bristles have become?” Then he handed the brush back to Jeri, who picked out the matt of hair from the bristles and began brushing the other side of Alighieri’s head.
“If you don’t mind me saying so, Scythe Alighieri…” said Anastasia. “Isn’t it time you got the credit you deserve?”
“Scythe Anastasia’s right,” said Greyson – who knew none of the particulars, but knew what was needed. “Everyone should know the sacrifices you made. You need to share it with the world, once and for all.”
“Yes,” said Anastasia. “The world has forgotten you – but you can make them remember. You need a lasting legacy.”
Scythe Alighieri took a long moment to consider that. He wasn’t entirely convinced yet … but he wasn’t entirely dismissive either.
“What I need,” he said, “is a new brush.”
“My name is Scythe Dante Alighieri, formerly of EuroScandia, FrancoIberia, TransSiberia, and Byzantium, currently and permanently of Region Britannia, although I do not claim professional alliance there, or anywhere else.
“I am not making this broadcast merely at the behest of Scythe Anastasia; I am here of my own accord, to set the record straight.
“A number of years ago I participated in an organized plan to glean a substantial number of people. A mass gleaning, yes, but not just any mass gleaning. I played a key part in the destruction of the NewHope orbital colony.
“It was my right as a scythe to do so. I proudly stand behind my actions, and have absolutely no remorse for the gleanings.
“Nonetheless, I failed in my duties as a scythe, and that failure weighs heavily on me. As you know, it is our sworn duty to grant immunity to the families of those we glean. It is stated explicitly in our third commandment. However, due to the delicate nature of the operation, we did not follow through on that duty, and granted no such immunity.
“I will not plead ignorance or naivete – we knew what we were doing. We were, in effect, shepherding the world, you see. Protecting it from uncertainty. If off-world colonization became a successful endeavor, there would be no need to thin the population. No need for scythes. People could, and would, live forever without fear of being gleaned. Surely you can see how unnatural it would be to exist in a world without scythes. By protecting ourselves, and our purpose, we were protecting the way things ought to be.
“And of course we needed to make the space station’s destruction appear like an accident. What need was there to trouble common folk with the weighty decisions we scythes must make? So devoted were we to this noble cause that two scythes sacrificed themselves in the operation. Scythes Hatshepsut and Kafka took control of a shuttle, crashing it into the orbital colony in order to destroy it and glean its full population. A most noble self-gleaning. My part was to make sure that the shuttle and key trigger points in the station were loaded with sufficient explosives to ensure there would be no survivors.
“In order to maintain the semblance of an accident, however, the scythe in charge of the operation demanded that we not grant immunity to the immediate families of the victims. Since they were colonists, he reasoned, the third commandment did not apply, as their immediate families were no longer immediate, save for the ones who died with them.
“That decision to not grant immunity violated our solemn code, and thus weighs heavily on me. I therefore urge the scythedoms of the world to accept responsibility for this and rectify it by granting a full year of immunity to anyone alive who was a close relation to those we gleaned in the orbital colony. Not just this, but we must also publicly acclaim Scythes Hatshepsut and Kafka as heroes for their sacrifice.
“I have said my piece, and have nothing more to say on the matter. Any further questions regarding the destruction of the NewHope orbital colony should be directed to Scythe Robert Goddard, who commanded the entire operation.”
40
A Bed of Stars
Overblade Goddard stood in his chambers, looking down at the blue satin bedcover. It was the same fabric, the same color, as his robe. And while his robe was speckled with diamonds, the bed was awash with them. Tens of thousands of them were spread across the bedspread, a galaxy of glittering stars so heavy, the mattress sagged from the weight.
He had strewn them there as a way to raise his troubled spirits. Surely their magnificence would bring him not just comfort, but elevation. Elevation enough to rise above the attacks and accusations that were being leveled at him from every direction. The streets of Fulcrum City below were flooding with crowds chanting against Goddard and his new-order scythes. It was the type of thing that had not been seen since mortal days. The Thunderhead kept people reasonably satisfied, and scythes had never abused their power to such a point that people would risk gleaning to rally against them. Until now.
But Goddard still had his diamonds.
He did not covet them for their value. He did not hoard them as riches. That would have been beneath a scythe such as himself. Riches were nothing, for a scythe already had everything. Any material object one could desire, scythes could simply take from whomever they pleased, whenever they pleased.
But the scythe diamonds were different. For Goddard they were symbols. Clear and unambiguous markers of his success, counterweights on a balance that would not be level until all 400,000 were in his possession.
He had close to half of them now, all given to him freely as tribute by High Blades who saw the value of allegiance and had accepted him as the way forward. The future of the global scythedom. The future of the world.
But would any more diamonds come after Anastasia’s broadcasts? Common people everywhere were openly speaking out against him, in spite of their fear of being gleaned. Regions that had allied with him were hedging and even pulling their support – as if he was nothing more than a mortal-age despot who had fallen out of favor.
Couldn’t they see that he was motivated by duty and a clear sense of destiny that he had nurtured for many, many years? He had sacrificed everything for that destiny. He had helped to murder his own parents, and everyone else, on the Mars colony – because he knew that would be nothing in the larger picture. And once ordained into the MidMerican scythedom, he had risen quickly in the ranks. People liked him. People listened to him. He had eloquently convinced the wisest of the wise to embrace the joy of gleaning. “In a perfect world, one’s job should be a perfect pleasure – even ours.”
The fact that he could convince the wise was proof that he was even wiser than them.
And now he had brought them to the brink of a better world! A world without Tonists, or genetic outliers, or lazy parasites who contributed nothing of value to society. A world where the unsightly, unseemly, and unredeemable were put down by those who knew best. Thou shalt kill! Goddard was proud of what he was and what he did. He would not allow these uprisings to derail him this close to achieving that goal. He would quash them by any means necessary. The diamonds before him were proof of what he had accomplished and what he still could. And yet the sight of them made him feel no better.