Captain Owningsburg relayed his account of the events on the station. Afterward, Oscar shared the story he had compiled from the other three knights during the return trip.
There is no merit in a twice-told tale. The Magus accepted the reports of what had happened on Turlington Station with patience and deference. He did, however, make much ado about Charles's helmet.
The gash was impressive, and the other knight had forgotten he was relying on analog sensors. Ultimately, the result was the same: he simply needed a new helmet.
Oscar's radiation dose was checked—102 mSv. A doctor examined him and the men who had performed the spacewalk. There was nothing serious, yet. Jason visited the scientists to inquire about their work; they confirmed their progress in gene therapy. Out of curiosity, he asked about the value of the snakes. Meanwhile, Gabriel instructed the squire in basic customs.
Charles found a replacement helmet and commissioned a local artist to create a small, keychain-sized metal replica of his damaged one. The original helmet was sent to be recycled.
Only four hours later, the knights and marines had shed their armor and tended to their mild wounds. Finding nothing that would inhibit them, they joined the Magus in the small barracks.
The Magus began his briefing. "I don't mean to sound crass, but this planet has a genetic problem."
Keen observers would have noticed a terrible glee upon the Magus's visage as he spoke. He knew how uncomfortable such statements made people. "Oh, don't worry, it is nothing illegal or uncouth. It is just a little unfortunate and inconvenient. Given its scope, however, it cannot be ignored."
"About sixty years ago, when this planet was first seeded with humans, one of the angel investors secured—through questionably legal means—the sole genetic rights to artificial insemination and cloning. To cover their bases, they also secured various forms of gene therapy, though those are not as dominant as the first two mechanisms. Unfortunately, this investor enforced these options and ensured that only genetic copies of themselves were available. This is normally illegal, but it was explicitly legal in this instance."
The magus was good at avoiding nervousness, but the knights knew him somewhat and could tell he wasn't comfortable with the topic.
"And so it happened: on this new planet, a large portion of the population for those first generations was artificially created, either by cloning or artificial insemination. The problem was identified quickly, but not before the damage was done. Given the automated security involved in the process, it took several years to shut the practice down."
With intrigued horror, the men wondered if the Magus was simply crazy; this sort of madness was unheard of.
"The long and short of it," the Magus continued, "is that over 40% of the population is so thoroughly related to one founding shareholder that the colony's mainstream is hostile toward that single shareholder and his progeny. It is estimated that 60 to 70% of the planet's population is related to this single individual."
The magus drew a few concentric circles on the whiteboard as a crude visualization of the proportions. The old man was bad at circles.
"On any other world, this would be a health emergency. Indeed, it already is; sixty years have passed, and the demography is going to buckle under this bizarre sin that has escaped outside notice until recently. On this planet, it takes an almost uncouth form, especially given the mannerisms and genetic predispositions of our shareholder.
"You will likely find their progeny untrustworthy and slothful, though I hear they are humble and charitable. This would be no matter if such people made up only 10 to 20% of the population, though even then it would be noticeable—cultural, in fact. Some worlds have this sort of severe founder effect. The unfortunate truth is that this population represents over 50% of the planet, truly exceptional. It creates a feedback loop where there is a single community and youth's of today have fewer ancestors than their ancestors. It's a perverse and disruptive effect. As it happens, the shareholder population has largely become homeless vagabonds and criminals; they have no issue forming parallel societies. Tragically, they are likely to suffer from disease, birth defects, and harmful genetics normally suppressed by healthy genetic diversity."
Charles couldn't tell if the magus was laying on the anxiety very thick by nervously playing with the whiteboard marker, or if he genuinely was this nervous.
"All of this is to say: our job here is not particularly hard, as the people are already primed for violent living. The goal is to prepare the local populations for invasion and siege."
The Magus trailed off, perhaps sadly. Those listening didn't have a way to process what they had just heard. The small room, with its glass whiteboard, fell silent.
"No questions? Perhaps I was not explicit: the mainstream society of this planet is the minority. Over 50% of the population is hostile to outsiders due to mainstream xenophobia."
The knights—now eight of them—understood. The five outsiders (four marines and one squire) could not possibly.
"The population on this planet is effectively reduced by 50%, then? We are but a squad of marines and knights; I fear this information, while relevant, does not concern us," Owningsburg said. He clearly hadn't grasped the message.
The Magus nodded slowly. "It's an ugly tragedy. I have contacted the mainstream leaders of this planet and found them willing to help. They are happy to aid an external power in defending against the alien threat. But as it happens, they cannot work with those outside their structure without the force of arms."
Owningsburg looked cautiously at the old man, perhaps realizing for the first time the dreadful game the Church was playing.
"So, in order to gain compliance, you expect us to enforce the will of the stakeholders on these 'barbaric clones'?"
"We have a week, if I understand correctly—hardly enough time for hearts and minds," the Magus confirmed. "We have a squire to initiate and a monster to defeat. For the foreseeable future, we will train you here."
Owningsburg felt lost; if this was the briefing, it was a waste of his time. This felt like peacetime demobilization, cowering in a forward operating base. It was hardly a mission. The Magus seemed to sense this unspoken concern.
"The monster fled to this planet ahead of you. It is here, make no mistake. It will actively destabilize the fabric of this world, and you will be the team to respond to it. This context is necessary. Forgive me if I am old and ramble."
"You said on the radio you could verify this information. I hope I don't seem rude in asking you to present the evidence," Owningsburg said. It was unclear what he hoped to see. Perhaps he imagined a nurse or doctor would grab the Grand Magus by the arm and lead him away for a long nap.
The Magus was only fifty-three, though he acted senile. "Of course! Do you want paper or a data chip?" He produced a small disk from his robes, his eyes twinkling as if to imply that any evidence he produced might be faulty anyway.
The captain accepted the disk and inserted it into a small tablet concealed within his plainclothes. His face darkened as an official Syndicate loading screen confirmed that some "bigwig" had signed off on the story this wizard was spinning.
"Trust me, young man, truth is stranger than fiction," the Magus said, speaking as if there were more than eight years of difference between them. (To be fair, the captain looked very healthy for forty-five). "This story of mine is hardly the strangest I could tell you. If it aids our relationship, my name is Joseph. Unofficially, you may know me as such."
"With respect, I'd rather get my men some rest, some good food, and some time in the simulators to decompress" the captain replied. It was what everyone wanted to hear.
"Good! Arrangements are made. You are temporarily an attached force to the Republic of the Planet Zephyr. They will deploy you as they see fit—likely on short notice when that critter of the stars rears its head. I suspect you will be in arms against some rebel faction."
The Magus smiled wide and clapped his hands together. "If you need me, I shall be in meditation—specifically, I shall meditate on planetary weather patterns, if you care to join me!"
The offer extended to everyone but was mandatory for two of the eight knights. The Magus never went anywhere without at least two bodyguards, though they were not always armored.
The squad—it could be called a squad now—consisted of eight knights, four marines (one of which was the captain) one squire, and one Magus. Any two knights could be stuck as bodyguards at any moment, depending on the Magus's whim.
The friendly arctic town that housed the army base seemed less dangerous than the Red Solstice. There was an excess of civilians and a lack of military; the equipment and halls were noticeably underutilized.
The squad ate, bathed, and slept. They woke and, after forcing the squire to read the old stories of Ned Ludd, resigned themselves to the simulations, where they would relive and share their past conflicts with simulated monsters.