Editing Tytania:Volume 2 Chapter 9 (section)

=== V ===
Mid-December. Viscount Balamy Tytania found himself on the surface of planet Tyron. While there were variations in temperature depending on latitude and altitude, it was, on the whole, a planet with high humidity, and a chill dampness pressed against the young man’s cheek like a wet palm.

Walking out of the spaceport gate, on his ninth step, Balamy came face to face with a fellow counsellor who had come to greet him.

“You must be Viscount Balamy Tytania, who has taken up post as counsellor.”

“That is correct, have you come to welcome me?”

By the time he replied, he had steeled himself. The person who had addressed him was a woman, though she lacked both youth and beauty. A thin, pale woman in her forties, she lacked physical beauty, yet her small grey eyes seemed to brim with intelligence. To the young Balamy, she would hardly be the object of romantic affection, but she might well be someone worthy of trust. At the very least, Tytania should not be the sort of organisation where an incompetent woman with no public support could hold such a key post as counsellor.

But that would only be the case for someone who did not bear the surname Tytania. As he climbed into the ground vehicle, Balamy thought this with bitterness. There was the fact that a foolish and brutish young man like Baron Radmoth Tytania had risen to become Commander of the Vardana Imperial Guard simply because of his family name. Was this not the first step towards decadence and corruption?

“If it had been Duke Idris, that might have been one thing, but to be lumped together with the likes of Baron Radmoth? Was that all the Clanner thought of me?”

A sense of humiliation seared through his nervous system like hot grease. His cheeks flushed, and the female councillor seated beside him cast a discreet sidelong glance his way.

The ground vehicle was driven by a non-commissioned officer in a grey uniform. Power did not lie in mechanisation or automation, but in the deployment of greater manpower. Tytania wielded the greatest power in the cosmos and was, consequently, the cosmos’ largest employer.

The ground vehicle wound its way gently through the city streets, heading towards Tytania’s Tyron Representative Office.

“That is the Interstellar City League’s kontor.”

The female counsellor pointed with her bony finger at a majestic edifice featuring a high wall of Tyron sandstone and a massive iron gate. The gate faced a square paved with permeable ceramic tiles, while the building at the front displayed a string of lights from its windows, glistening like jewels. There were so many of these jewels that it was impossible to count them at a glance; they stretched to the left and right, continuing into the depths of the building, all framed by the outlines of several other structures. Amidst the rapidly deepening twilight, its grandeur made a powerful impression on Balamy’s vision.

“It’s a city in its own right,” he marvelled, though deep down, Balamy harboured a different impression.

This magnificent urban structure spoke not so much of the Interstellar City League’s authority as of its vulnerability on this planet.

Looking back at the history of humankind on Earth in ancient times, one finds examples where it was often the rulers of fallen nations, rather than those of powerful states, who built sturdy fortresses. They could not ensure their safety unless they barricaded themselves within high, thick walls. Traditionally, the inhabitants of planet Tyron were said to be unfriendly towards the Interstellar City League. Consequently, the fundamental stance of the Tyron government and its people towards Tytania had been one of benevolent neutrality.

“Viscount Balamy, you are sure to become the darling of Tyron’s high society in no time. I expect that, before the year is out, dozens of local dignitaries will be vying to offer their daughters to you.”

“I look forward to it,” replied Balamy replied in a voice devoid of both enthusiasm and sincerity.

For a Tytanian noble, it was one way of life. To marry the daughter of a local dignitary, attain wealth and influence on that planet, and live out one’s days in leisure.

But that did not sit well with Balamy’s values. To burn slowly and gently over time, turning from warm ashes into cold ones. If that were another’s way of life, he would have no intention of interfering; but if it were to be forced upon Balamy himself, he would resist it even at the cost of his life, choosing instead a way of life that burns with such intensity it eventually explodes.

''“I shall ensure you return to Uraniborg as soon as possible,” ''had said Duke Jouslain. Could he really be trusted? Ever since being banished from Uraniborg, the sense of loneliness, his sole companion, sounded a faint whistle of suspicion. Could it be that, to Duke Jouslain, Balamy was nothing more than a nuisance?

Seated in the gently rolling ground carriage, Balamy remained silent, and the female councillor sitting beside him, perhaps sensing something too, made no move to speak.

“War has broken out! War has broken out!”

But suddenly, a shrill voice staggered into his ears.

“Tytania and Bargash have plunged into all-out war! The Emperor of Vardana has declared war on Bargash!”

A man was shouting on a street corner, his fingertip pointing at the screen of a street-side news TV. Citizens exchanged glances and quickened their pace, flocking towards the TV.

Balamy tapped the back of the driver’s seat to bring the ground vehicle to a halt. He stepped out. He had taken two or three steps towards the crowd when the female councillor called out to him. She explained that if he went to the Tytania delegation, he would be able to obtain far more comprehensive and accurate information than from the street TVs. After a moment’s hesitation, Balamy nodded and began to turn on his heel.

Suddenly, an extraordinary sense of breathlessness seized Balamy. He took several deep, ragged breaths and closed his eyes. His sense of balance faltered slightly, and Balamy found himself on one knee on the ground. A non-commissioned officer cried out and tried to help his young superior to his feet, but Balamy brushed his hand aside and remained in that position for a while. The non-commissioned officer seemed to think it might be anaemia, but it was not.

He knew the reason. Or, at least, he felt he knew it. It was the opposite of anaemia. It was an excess of blood. The blood of Tytania, swirling and coursing through Balamy’s veins, yearned to leave the planet’s surface and soar into space, surging like the tide. At this very moment when Tytania and Bargash were on the brink of all-out war, what a bitter disappointment it must be to be chained to a remote planet far from the heart of the cosmos.

“The Universe exists along with Tytania.”

So boasted the founder, Neville. The phrasing was of little consequence. It was only within the vast ocean of stars that the blood of Tytania could find fulfilment. Just as birds are not creatures of the earth, so too is the Tytania clan not a race of the earth. Balamy felt this truth with every fibre of his being.

At last, Balamy sat up and gazed at the night sky, a thin trickle of sweat glistening on his brow. The Milky Way, like white sand, cast a bewitching band across the heavens. He had to return to the depths of that night sky as soon as possible. With every passing moment, the blood within his body would grow thinner. He was a Tytanian, and to remain so, he required the very existence of the cosmos.

SY&nbsp;446 was drawing to a close amidst turmoil and chaos. It seemed likely that the fleets of both the Tytania clan and the Republic of Bargash would clash head-on as the New Year’s bells rang out.

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