Structural Foundations
"A man fighting for glory has the strength of a bull. A man fighting for honor has the strength of an eagle. But a man fighting for knowledge has the strength of a man."
-Everian Solios
"Kill not the Khemrans, kill the despots."
-Anonymous wall inscription, uncovered after the Third Siege of Lux
Part One:
The Autorex Tactius was a good leader. Not because he cared for his soldiers any more than a hired general, (he did,) or was much more intelligent than the average king, (he was,) but because he left his soldiers with something they could actually use: The practice of battlefield medicine. Well, medical technology was not exactly "good" in the first few centuries after 2000 P.D. But the idea that microorganisms caused disease, the sterilization and wrapping of wounds, and the amputation of infected limbs was certainly a start. After the changes brought by Tactius, it was always said that the sharpest blades in the Legioni were wielded by its' chirurgeons.
A lot of Valin expressions involve their finest commanders, which is apparently a compliment. "Seeing Tactius smile" was an expression for going on the operating (or 'cutting') table, since it was rumored that the emotionless Tactius only smiled when he was slowly dissecting something...or someone. "Seeing Tactius frown" became a slightly less popular expression for dying on the operating table.
The current recipient of Tactius' immortal gifts was some poor Decadion, writhing in agony as the flesh of his left quadricep was slowly cut away to allow the removal of a barbed crossbow bolt. The chirurgeon gestured to an assistant, who handed him some awful-looking instrument, which in any other country would probably be used for torture. He snapped off the shaft close to the wound, took a breath, and began digging out the barb from the muscle of this soldier's thigh. The next set of anguished screams caused the three observers to flinch slightly.
"And there is no serum or plant that will dull the pain?" The speaker of this question was an older, bearded, and slightly portly man that had a good strain of Norvalin blood in his grizzled but (for the moment) quizzical expression.
"In his Anatomies, Tactius classified such plants as causing addiction, my liege," responded a completely unremarkable aide, probably a staff advisor with Septilion rank.
The third man, standing slightly off to the side from the two soldiers, was lost in thought, his head turned towards the operation. Whatever private thoughts all three might have had, they were thrown out of them when the bolt was tugged free of that suffering soldier's leg. When the chirurgeon's assistant brought down a glowing hot iron to cauterize the wound, his already piercing screams rose into an entirely new decibel range, right before he passed out from the pain.
"The man will live again," whispered the third watcher, his expression slowly changing from apprehension to certainty. "Yes," he said louder now, "Yes Majorian, he will not die from the wound."
Majorian turned, half a smile already on his face. "I had expected the great Master Licarian to perform this himself, but apparently any half-trained pup from Redemption can cure a wound in these days." He waved away the hovering aide annoyedly.
"And one would expect the great Stratikrator Majorian to be supervising his soldiers so close to the battlefield. Yet, here we are."
The Stratikrator chuckled, something he clearly hadn't done for a while. "I've missed you, my friend. But I get the feeling that it wasn't my handsome facial features that lured you across the Exodian."
"Not entirely. Though saving your poor nephew here was a nice vacation, young Marcus has more chirurgeon's healing in his hands than I ever did. As for my presence here, I have...something of a proposal for you."
"That's secretive enough to be interesting. But what could a man of science possibly offer a man of war?"
"Oh, so the Tormentae weren't up to your standards? Perhaps I should be getting back to Redemption, then..."
"Enough, enough! They pounded down the walls of Dysonis in two days. Just tell me what you want."
"Money. The Sophian Academy is neglected by the Assemblum, spitefully ignored by all the 'true scholars' of the city, and rapidly running out of the silver provided in the Autorex's will."
"Why Lici, how mercenary of you!"
"Majorian, our work is just as important as yours."
"I'm just pulling your robe. But in all honesty, I can't simply make suspicious payments from the Legioni to a non-military organization. Certainly we receive the bulk of the income from the Republics, but all is distributed for the war! Stratikrators have been sacked," ('Or poisoned,' Licarian cut in with a grin,) "for less."
"Your caution is wise. But if I were to give you something in return, the Assemblum would justify your funding, correct?"
"Well...yes, perhaps. But again, what could you give me?"
"A weapon."
Majorian sighed. "Well, I've heard this before. But I've seen far too many Anabetan sailors fry in Valin Fire to deny the power of surprise weapons. And I owe you much for the life of my brother's son, even if your apprentice saved it. You'll get your payments."
Licarian was satisfied. He knew that Majorian's weapon would help the war effort, but it was the precedent this set that was important. State funding for philosophical experimentation...perhaps Veritas might one day have another Age of Knowledge in truth.
