"Then you should be thanking the Confederacy for the ammunition," said Arcturus.

"Oh, I am, son," said Angus, forgetting the tension between them in the fiery heat of his ire. "This whole project has been a public relations disaster that, thank God, even the UNN isn't afraid to report on, and one upon which I fully intend to capitalize."

His father continued to list the many faults of the building and the process by which it was being built, or rather not being built.

Arcturus tuned the words out as the unfinished building passed from sight.

This deep in the city, the colossal scale of the towers was much more apparent. Shadows enveloped the convoy, and Arcturus felt a chill travel down his spine as the driver expertly wound the groundcar through the streams of traffic.

People thronged the streets, well dressed and healthy, but only a few turned to watch as the convoy sped by. To see such things on the streets of Styrling was not unusual, for many captains of industry or senators traveled in this manner.

His father reached over and activated the comm unit on the armrest beside him.

"Ailin," said Angus. "We're coming up to the academy to drop Arcturus off, so we won't be far behind you. Let's just hope he stays here this time."

This last comment was directed squarely at Arcturus, who ignored his father's barb, though his mother placed her hand on her husband's forearm and frowned sternly at him.

"Very well, Angus," replied Ailin Pasteur. "I shall await you at the Skyspire."

The comm unit was shut off and Arcturus sighed as they passed alongside the lush parkland and playing fields of Styrling Academy. Here, the buildings thinned out and became less vulgar in scale, for this was a district of culture and breeding, where the young minds of the future were molded into compliant citizens of the Confederacy.

Arcturus knew the area well, despite the fact that students were forbidden to venture from the walled, security-patrolled campus of the academy by Principal Steegman. That such petty regulations needn't apply to him was a decision Arcturus had long since come to, and he—and a select band of adventurers—had often visited the exotic, neon-lit depths of the city's night.

Of course, his mother and father knew nothing of this, but the less they knew of what he got up to the better. In Arcturus's opinion, it was best that parents know as little as possible about their offspring's doings, since they'd only try and put a stop to them if they had any idea.

The great clock spire of the academy loomed large over an immaculately manicured line of trees in the distance, and Arcturus sighed as he contemplated another six months sitting in sterile classrooms being "laught" by morons who knew less than he about politics and history, while blathering about the great destiny that awaited the school's alumni.

He shook himself from that bitter reverie as the groundcar slowed and turned down a graveled driveway that led to the academy's security checkpoint.

That checkpoint consisted of an old, brick-built gatehouse and a couple of wooden sawhorses that blocked the road to the campus proper, with a handful of plastic orange cones scattered in front of them. The car slowed as it reached the gatehouse, and Old Rummy emerged from within, leaning down to examine the occupants of the vehicle.

Old Rummy was the name the students gave to the venerable gatekeeper, and Arcturus had never bothered to find out his real name. He reeked of liquor from the middle of the morning onward and his swollen nose and puffy cheeks were rife with the ruptured capillaries of a professional alcoholic.

Arcturus could smell the drink on his breath, and wrinkled his nose.

He'd started early, Arcturus reasoned.

"Morning, Mr. Mengsk, sir," said Old Rummy, doffing his peaked cap as he saw Angus. There were few people on Korhal who didn't know Arcturus's father, thanks to reports on the UNN of his political grandstanding and near-constant berating of the Confederacy.

Angus was popular in most quarters of Korhal, but where his money was spent freely —and the academy was such a place—he was feted and fawned over like royalty.

Old Rummy shuffled over to the sawhorses, clearing them from the road with grunting heaves before picking up the cones and waving the groundcar through. The driver gunned the engine and the car passed onward.

"Ten million for 'enhanced security measures' to protect the sons and daughters of Korhal from rebel attacks," said Angus, shaking his head as they swept past the grinning, idiot face of Old Rummy and onto the grounds of the academy. "You remember the fund-raising ball the academy held to raise money to implement these security measures, dear?”

"I do indeed," said Arcturus's mother with a shiver of distaste. "That frightful Principal Steegman preened like some oily salesman, begging his betters for money. A most distasteful evening."

Angus nodded. "I pledged over half a million to that fund, and look at the security it's bought: a few planks of wood and some cones shifted by a fat man in an ill-fitting uniform. I'd wager the same again that the best part of that fundraiser went into Steegman's pockets."

Arcturus stored that nugget away and watched as the great mass of Styrling Academy hove into view around the perfectly maintained woodland and expanse of lush green grass. The finest examples of the topiarist's art decorated the lawn, and a number of youngsters were already practicing with foils and rapiers under the watchful supervision of Master Miyamoto.

"If it weren't for the quality of the tutors, I'd school the boy myself,” continued Angus, and Arcturus stifled a horrified laugh at that idea.

The building, nearly a hundred years old, had been built from polished gray granite and positively reeked of money. A grand, columned portico sheltered the entrance, and the triangular pediment was decorated with heroic individuals and symbols of academic and martial excellence.

Carved statues sat in niches along the building's length and elaborate carved panels filled the spaces between each of the tall, narrow windows. Though the building was old, amongst the oldest on Korhal, its eaves and roof were fitted with recessed surveillance equipment and sophisticated eavesdropping equipment though why the faculty should feel the need to spy on the students was a mystery to Arcturus.

The groundcar crunched to a halt on the gravel at the bottom of the wide stone steps that led up to the main doors of the academy. A liveried porter descended and opened the back door of the groundcar.

"On you go, dear," said his mother.

Arcturus nodded and turned to Dorothy. "See you soon, little one," he said. "I'll write you lots of letters and Mummy can read them to you."

"I can read, silly," pouted Dorothy. "I'll read them myself."

"Well aren't you the smart one?" he said, laughing.

Dorothy threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. "I'll miss you, Arcturus."

He blinked in surprise. Normally Dorolhy had difficulty in pronouncing his name, mangling the syllables and calling him 'Actress' or 'Arctroos,' but this time she said it without fault.

Arcturus untangled Dorothy's arms from around his neck and handed her off to his mother, who smiled warmly at him.

"It's only one more term, dear," said Katherine Mengsk. "And then the world will open up for you, I promise. If not for yourself, do it for me. Please?"

Arcturus took a deep breath and nodded. He could disappoint his father without fear of guilt, but every time he felt he'd let his mother down, it cut him to the quick.

"Very well," said Arcturus. "I'll finish the term."

"You'd damn well better," snapped Angus. "Because I don't want to see you again until I'm watching you graduate. Understand me?"