The Engine of the Empire. A Path to Power. The temple had many monikers, though the Hermesium was its only true name. Inside, an unassuming circle of stone was set into the floor, large enough for no more than four adults to stand at a time. The rock was not of this world. Its place of origin was still unknown, though the Empire was now four hundred years into its search. The stone circle had no official name, though senators often wasted days at a time pontificating on how a recently deceased statesman was, finally, a worthy candidate for such a naming.
So it was called, simply, a launch pad.
Outside the temple, fresh Cadets milled about in the plaza. A small crowd had turned out to see them off. First Recruits were the bigger draw, those young men and woman with little to their names. It was a wonderful story, seeing young citizens set out to pull themselves up by their bootstraps. Those days filled the plaza with well-wishers.
Cadets were the recipients of no such good cheer. They were the sons and daughters of the wealthy and the landed and the powerful. They were brilliant students, loaded down with academic and athletic and extracurricular accolades. But they had started out with such tremendous advantage, nothing less had been expected of them.
Inside, they would use the launch pad just as Fresh Recruits, just as full Officers, just as millions of people had used it in the preceding centuries. Some would go at their parents’ behest to see the world, or to tick off the military service box in their long-term political career checklist, or to escape the pressure of life at a rich, famous manor. Some did it to impress a boy or a girl or a friend. Slipping on that Empire uniform was an enormous honor in the eyes of tens of trillions of sentient beings on a hundred worlds in a dozens universes. It made its wearer look like something important, something valued, something worthy.
Other Cadets went for a different purpose. These Cadets were restive and unfulfilled. The duty of service, the glory of being an Empire officer, the adventure of seeing many worlds was secondary, barely an afterthought to these few young people with old souls. They sought to impress no one. If they felt pressure, it was internal, not from parents or friends or loves unrequited. The opinions of tens of trillions of people on a hundred worlds in a dozen universes meant nothing. These Cadets did not march toward the launch pad inside the Hermesium because what lay on the far side might make them look better. They went because what lay on the other side might make them better.
A young Cadet watched a crane swing toward the temple frieze. A civil servant unleashed a hose to begin cleaning the ancient stone façade. A blast of water shot out onto a ridged column. Dirt and wear ran down the marble, bringing out in the stone a dull gleam of stately age. Just beyond the temple roof, the sun eased into view and washed the small group of Cadets in warm light.
“It’s morning,” the young Cadet said quietly.
Beside him, a tall boy yawned and nodded. “Tell me about it. I could hardly sleep.”
“No,” the Cadet said, nodding toward the temple and the launch pad that waited inside. “I mean… it’s morning.”
The Tall Tale Year 