When they snuck home later that night, Lex lay in bed sleepless until morning before finally begging Maggie for help. She was wheeled into Maggie's cyberdoc clinic, and the old woman replaced the searing slag of metal in Lex's neck with a fresh silver slate.
By the time Maggie was done, and the pain relievers were wearing off, Lex was sitting in the dining room with a knife and fork in hand—it was dinner again.
"Oh scaeg," Lex whispered.
"Hmm?" Brackus said, his eyebrows raised. Mike stayed quiet, no one else from their family in sight. Tapping her chin, Lex thought she remembered them heading out after Maggie finished Lex's surgery.
"N-nothing," Lex said, picking up her knife and fork to start tearing into her protein block.
Both Bell and her Tengokuan jacket had disappeared.
Brackus snapped his book closed, the title glittering with gold letters.
"The Wars of Justinian," Lex read aloud. "Any good?" She peered at Mike, who was busily swiping air. She wanted to ask him if Bell had gotten home safely, but she didn't want to risk pouring water on a sparking wire.
"Those who don't learn history are doomed to repeat it," Brackus said. "Did you know that in Ancient Rome the historians wouldn't write about an Emperor until after he died?"
"That's stupid," Lex said.
"It wasn't. Unkind reviews of the Emperor's reign ended in executions, but adjusting their remarks to flatter the imperial dynasty led to falsehoods that could be just as dangerous if disproven. Few were willing to risk their neck by bringing up the gravest ills of the age."
Brackus frowned. Not the angry kind; more like the forehead wrinkles from heavy thoughts.
"What do you think would happen if the King refused to listen to critiques?" Brackus said and raised a spoon before an assembly of forks. "And his Scion Senate could only discuss the most pressing matters of his reign after he had died?" Brackus dropped the spoon into his bowl before collecting the forks together in mourning.
"Maybe that's why they call him the Still King," Lex said, watching Brackus's funeral of forks. "Because he doesn't execute people who bad-mouth him."
"For the sake of the argument," Brackus said, and raised the spoon again. "The King doesn't like people pointing out his failings and dies." He dropped the spoon to clatter into his bowl. "Now, the Still King has no clear heir, and his dozens of family members are left picking up the pieces. What then?" Brackus snatched a teaspoon from the table and a knife from the little bowl of blubberpaste.
"The winner could pick from the previous King's mistakes however they wanted?"
"Indeed." Brackus nodded and stabbed the knife, the little teaspoon and all the forks one by one into the stick of blubberpaste with a ferocity that put Lex on edge. "Now imagine you went to that droid fight." Brackus shoved the stabbed blubberpaste down the table and pulled her Tengokuan jacket out from underneath his chair. "And you died." He threw the jacket onto the table. "Even after Maggie and I swore to your parents that we'd keep you safe. Do you know what would happen then, Alexandra?"
Lex's face fell. How did he know?
"We'd fight and cast blame—and that's not even speaking of the children." Brackus's hands formed fists, and his eyes stared daggers through the 'Crimson Arcade' logo stitched on the Tengokuan jacket's carbon-fibre seam.
"Rubia would be traumatised for life, Kaizen would grow even more rebellious and Melissa … I can't even guess." His eyes turned to Lex, filled with so much pain Lex flinched. "I, an old man, would have to pick up the shattered pieces of the Vulcan family."
The hololoop, with so many smiling faces, from before their family's first breaking haunted Lex. Sorrow stretched abyssal deep in her grandfather's eyes as if he were watching his children, brothers and sisters be killed all over again.
"Goldarm is a threat," Mike said suddenly. The pair turned to stare.
"The company?" Brackus said, then nodded. "Aye, but that's not a concern for Alex."
"Your argument—" Mike said as he stoof up "—is to speak your Empyre truth while you can." He slapped his hands down on the table. "Goldarm thugs stole another one of our deliveries today. In the last cycle they've poached two more clients, and all the while their connections in the Department of Purity have raised our taxes after that joke of an 'inspection'. We've had three tax hikes this orbit, Brackus, and Vulcantech will not survive a fourth."
"Michael, that's enough."
"How?" Mike stood back, creating a respectful distance between them. "Your argument demands I speak up. Vulcantech has been in the red for two orbits and Goldarm is on schedule to ruin us! I decided to fix it by fighting as we were created to fight, and Lex was good enough to help me."
That was completely ignoring the fact that it was Lex who got Mike involved. But, if Mike insisted on shouldering the blame, Lex wouldn't get in his way.
Mike shook his head, then switched to Empyrean. "We got a Vulcantech droid out into the pits to prove our tech is the best and win clients. I have fifteen prospective buyers already, and more maintenance work than we can handle."
"Honest work is better than—"
"Work is work," Mike said, digging in. "We should work alongside the Eros Union, and the other warcaste families. While I'm willing to go alone, know I'd prefer it if you and Talos had my back. Now more than ever, the Empyrean people need the Red Fist—"
"Everything is fine," Brackus said, in grating Graexian. "Alex will get Upstairs, our taxes will drop back to normal, and the protectors will defend our shipments from Goldarm and everyone else. Speaking of that, how did your last test go?" Brackus turned to Lex with a smile warm as an open fire, already assuming the news was good.
Lex squirmed under that heat.
"Avus," Mike pleaded. "Brackus, please, listen to me. I didn't get an Offer to go Upstairs. You didn't. No one in the Empyre District has for a decade. Why by the gods would Alex make it?"
Mike leaned forward—close enough to be rude. "Fighting back is the only way. We need to sell to anyone willing to buy, hit Goldarm back tit-for-tat, and prove that even in another enginestate, we warcaste are blessed by Mars to fight until the bitter end—"
"ENOUGH," Brackus roared, his robotic fingers scraping against the table. "Enough. I've been called by your 'clients'. Half want wargear: Vulcantech does not make wargear. The other half don't know what they want, offer too few credits, but … it's a lead. As for fighting back, swear to me, Michelangelo Vulcan, swear on your parents' souls, that you will never seek out a war."
Mike shook his long hair.
"You claim we were warcaste. That through Mars we were reborn, strong and fearless." He stared, unblinking, holding Brackus's gaze. "If that is true, then why are you such a coward?" Mike stormed towards the front door.
"Michael—"
"After all the suffering our people have gone through, a little respect is the least we deserve." Mike vanished out into the dark streets. The door slammed closed behind him. Lex could almost hear the twisted whispers in Brackus's head as he blamed himself in a dozen different ways.