Chapter 20
“How has your unit been performing thus far, Sebastian?” My father asked, never bothering to look away from his screen.
His jet black hair had developed a few new strands of grey since our last meeting, visible thanks to the low light of his projection.
Though his dark eyes and harsh expression were as sharp as always.
I stood rigidly in the doorway of his office, assuring my posture reflected my status, not wanting him to catch even the slightest hint of imperfection in the corner of his eye.
“Everyone has been working hard, and even the lowest ranking among them have improved their status as of the last evaluation.” I spoke as if I was delivering a report rather than simply having a discussion with my father.
Though I’d been adopted before I was old enough to remember my biological parents, and General Hideki Takeyama had long since been my primary caretaker, it still felt like balancing on a tapering beam to meet his expectations of respect and authority.
“It’s an unfortunate reality that many of the men hadn’t taken their mandated training seriously prior to enrollment, but I feel—”
“You feel? Feelings have no place here, Sebastian.” Father corrected me before I even had the opportunity to finish my sentence, always ready to pick apart my every word.
I cleared my throat, “I have witnessed a desire for growth and a drive to improve from all of my subordinates.” I rephrased and tightened my stance.
I should have been better at this by now, but I’d been so off my game lately.
The normal day to day stress had hit a new high.
I still felt I’d done an admirable job of holding my own under the weight, yet the moment I was under his direct scrutiny, I was reminded of exactly how small and inferior I’d always be.
“I believe there will be several talented Shinka pilots among them.” That was a lie, but I would never admit that out loud.
My adoptive mother had told me that the great spirits never gave us more than we could handle, but the great spirits had never been tasked with impressing my father.
I was more apt to put my faith in the stars that were empty, soulless gas bodies that both asked for and gave nothing.
“That’s good to hear. I asked them to give you a challenge, so I expect you to shine in a way befitting of a Takeyama.
I’ll be monitoring the rankings closely to see how many of them make the cut by the end of the year,” he said, his gaze still focused elsewhere.
I wished he wouldn’t, but that was just more motivation to find ways to whip the recruits into shape.
It was unfair that my worth going forward was so reliant on the drive of others, but life had always been unfair, and I had to accept that my own efforts could never be enough if they didn’t inspire others into action.
“I don’t want your time at Astaroth to be so easy that you underestimate what real war looks like,” he added with a soft smile that didn’t suit his face.
“Of course,” I said aloud, while in my head I wanted to tell him I’d already had to kill, to fight, and to manage casualties.
I’d already witnessed the fallout from a Protectorate Station devastated by violence, and I’d had to be the sole soldier who was present without any back up, putting everything on the line to save the people I’d trained so much of my life to protect.
I never once had underestimated war in the past, but I absolutely didn’t now.
My training hadn’t prepared me for the mental toll, and I feared that I wouldn’t be able to instill that understanding into my men, either.
However many old war scenarios we simulated in the VR Servers, the real thing had been horrifying.
I thought back on the conversation in class, with how callously Dr. Dorian was able to speak on the death of one’s own comrades.
The way Vann and Elio were the only ones to speak up, and the way I’d once again let emotion control me when I took the time to talk to Vann after class.
Did the rest of the class simply not care?
Was I being overly sensitive and illogical?
Dr. Dorian was a seasoned veteran, after all.
He stood with father during the last war and was integral to the victory.
We could offer our opinions, but he was the only one who had lost his friends and brothers in combat, while my very decorated father had programmed the technology.
The fact that I’d questioned him only showed my weakness.
Not caring who died, and simply functioning in a way that would complete the mission no matter what came was the level of disconnect I needed to achieve, because at this point, I was still entirely too affected by everything.
The best I could manage was to never let it show outwardly.
I’d gotten better at masking my emotions, but in the quiet moments, when I had no one’s company but my own, I too often replayed every mistake I’d made that day on 005, from every ‘too late,’ to every ‘do I save him, or do I save her’ decision that I had to make.
It was only the first battle of what would likely be a long and brutal war. My mettle had been tested, I stepped up to the plate, and I successfully used every skill I’d learned while in live, real combat, so I should have been proud of that.
He should have been proud of me for that.
But in the end, all anyone saw was the body count, the destruction, and the lives I failed to save. Though I was in charge of training other men now, I was still barely more than a fledgling myself. Two years into a three year program had hardened me, but not like a real soldier.
I wasn’t a real soldier.
I was as flawed and as weak as everyone else here.
“Is that all you called me here for, Father?” I asked, hoping to be allowed to leave for the night. It was too volatile to stay in his presence when my head wasn’t in the right place. I was too at risk of messing up.
“No.” He shook his head, and I held my position, not showing the nerves that single word had set off in me. “I called you here because, as you’re in your final year at Astaroth, and with allegiances so unsteady, I’d like you to start looking for a match.”
The statement took me aback so intensely, I couldn’t help but visibly react. “A match? I… when would I possibly find the time?” I shouldn’t have said anything other than ‘yes sir,’ but I was too stunned to think straight.
“Oh, are you failing to properly manage your duties? Finding time to evaluate a basic match form shouldn’t be challenging.” He turned everything into another mistake I was making, and it was only thanks to a lifetime of this that I was able to mentally steady myself again.
“No, it simply seems like an unnecessary distraction in the current climate. My country takes precedence over my person, always.” I was careful not to stumble over a single word. I knew the script. I was a tool first and a human being second.
But Father shook his head. An unexpected response.
“This climate is exactly the climate where you need a match more than ever. Should this escalate to full scale war, and should you find yourself on the frontlines, your life cannot be guaranteed. You’re already twenty-four years old, and yet you have nothing you’ll leave behind.
The fact that I’ve allowed you to go this long without producing offspring is poor form on my part, as I’d expected you to know the right path on your own.
” It was almost artful that he managed to slip in those jabs so seamlessly amidst false self-critique.
“You need to find a match and put a child in her, or your genetic code may end with you, and we can’t have that. ”
I swallowed thickly and clenched my hand in a fist behind my back, squeezing until the muscles shook from the tension.
A slow draw of breath through my nose was enough to buy the time I needed to formulate a response.
“I’ll neither have time for courtship or to be a father with my current duties, and a war would draw me away from the home.
It wouldn’t make sense for me to bring a child into this world only to have it grow up without a father, be it by my duty or by my death. ”
“Courtship?” His laugh was more sarcastic than amused.
“This isn’t about love and partnership. This is a necessity.
A woman is built to raise children with or without the second progenitor.
Should something happen, you are replaceable as a father figure, but your genes are not, Sebastian,” he insisted, taking not a single word of argument.
It was difficult to push back when he’d been my replacement father figure.
“So you will find a match, you will pass on your unique gifts, and you will do this for your country. That is what it means to be a Vessel for the state. Do not make me tell you again.”
I dropped my chin in defeat. My genes had always been my value after all. The idea of fathering a child with a woman I barely knew for the sake of “legacy” felt wrong. Of everything he’d demanded of me over the years, this was the most heartless.
“Y-you’re right. I apologize for my dissension. I’ll enter my name into the matching system immediately,” and yet I relented, though unable to avoid a stumble as I spoke. “Is that all, Father?”
“Yes, that is all. You’re dismissed.” He returned his attention to his work, and that was the end of my speaking allowance.
I hid the frown as the sinking disappointment formed in the pit of my chest, then I tipped my chin in a subtle bow before I bid my father goodnight. I left the General’s quarters and the driver took me back to Astaroth for the night.