Back then everything was simpler, he mused, then realized this kind of thinking was just the rosy mist of memory softening problems that, at the time, had been huge and calamitous. Time, he knew, had a way of distorting the truth of experience, embellishing past pleasures and diminishing hardships.
Though he was still a young man, Arcturus felt old now. Part of that was no doubt the fact that he had a son, a factor surely designed to make any man feel as though he had advanced in age—if not maturity—by an order of magnitude.
Arcturus wondered if his own father had felt like this when presented with his newborn son. He didn't think so, since Angus would have had nine months and more to get used to the Idea. Fatherhood had been sprung on Arcturus like a bolt of lightning from an open sky.
The idea had taken root, though, and instead of railing against the idea of a son, Arcturus had begun to feel that perhaps it was for the best he now had an heir (and had skipped the messy years of nappy changing and midnight feeds).
He had sent a message to Korhal—tagged specifically for his mother and Dorothy— telling his parents of this latest development, though it had taken him several days to work out exactly how to tell them of Valerian's existence without casting himself in an unfavorable light.
That hadn't been easy.
Arcturus had fought Kel-Morian pirates, been shot at by angry miners, and faced furious superior officers, but composing himself to record a message to send home and inform his family he was now a father had been the most nerve-wracking experience of his life.
Arcturus remembered when he'd been about eight or nine and had broken one of his mother's ornamental dancers with a poorly thrown padball. He'd sweated for days to pluck up the courage to tell her he'd broken it.
The sensation engulfing him as his finger hovered over the Record icon on the vidsys was uncomfortably familiar to the cold dread he'd felt as he stood before his mother's drawing room bathed in a guilty sweat.
He smiled, realizing it didn't matter how old you were—your parents would always be figures of authority, and it never got any easier telling them something difficult. Just as would always be their child, no matter that you grew up, fought battles, made a life for yourself, and perhaps even started a family of your own.
The evolutionary dynamic between parents and their children was inescapable.
In any case, he'd sent word of Valerian to Korhal and three days had passed without a response, which surprised him. He had expected his mother to respond more or less instantly to the news that she was a grandmother.
And Dorothy... she was now an auntie. If anyone should have reacted with glee, he would have expected it to be her. Arcturus knew Dorothy would love Valerian. But what kind of relationship could he expect to have with the boy? Would they bond or would they remain distant, as Arcturus and his own father had?
The last week had given him an inkling as to how their relationship would go, and it was not a pleasant realization to discover it would likely be one of disappointment. The boy was weak and displayed no aptitude for the skills and enthusiasms a man needed to prosper.
Arcturus would journey to Korhal soon to formally present Valerian to his family, and the boy would need toughening up if he was to became a worthy successor.
In the meantime, he'd received word from Diamond de Santo regarding the claim, and the news was all good. The initial core samples brought up by the rigs was about as pure as it ever got and the yield from the rocks was like nothing any of the workers had ever seen. Arcturus smiled as he recalled the excitement in de Santo's voice as she spoke of the value of the claim. She'd also mentioned a rumor going around the inter-guild networks that the Guild Wars were in fact over: that the Kel-Morians had lost.
Arcturus hadn't heard anything of that news, since Ailin Pasleur had no cine-viewers in his home, claiming they showed nothing but Confederate propaganda and mindless, brain-rotting melodramas anyway. Arcturus could sympathize with that view, so he'd connected remotely to a UNN satellite feed via the Kitty Jay's console and, sure enough, the channel curried the triumphant news of the defeat of the Kel-Morians.
Images of marching marines and hundreds of gleaming siege tanks rolled across the screen and the gushing announcer spoke of the craven capitulation of all enemy forces, as though the Confederate military machine had just defeated the most bloody regime imaginable instead of a loose alliance of pirates and miners.
Was this why Ailin Pasteur had been called away?
Bored and slightly disgusted by the relish the UNN was taking in its paymasters' victory, Arcturus had disconnected with the feed and returned to Pasteur's home to pour himself the brandy that warmed him as surely as the crackling fire in the hearth.
Arcturus was enjoying this rare moment of solitude when he heard Juliana enter the room behind him. He recognized the hesitancy of her step and knew it signaled another argument about the bay.
"What is it, Juliana?" he said without turning.
"Your son is in tears again," she said.
"Why doesn't that surprise me?"
"Why are you being like this?" said Juliana, coming around the chair to stand before him.
"Like what?"
"Why are you being so hard on Valerian?" she asked, ignoring his question. Her face was hard and pinched with anger. "Can't you see he adores you? Even though you belittle him every time you see him. He's just met his dad and all you can do is tell him how bad he is at everything."
Arcturus put down his brandy, angry with her now. "That is because he is bad at everything. He can't even hold a gun, let alone fire one. The books you've been foisting on him are turning him into a flower-wearing believer in universal harmony, and he's as skinny as a rake. There's no meat on his bones and he gets tired after even light calisthenics. If I'm hard on him it's because I'm trying to undo the damage your mollycoddling has done."
"We love him here, Arcturus," said Juliana. "We don't force him to do what we think he should do. I thought you, of all people, would respect that. Our son is free to choose what he wants to learn and what he wants to be passionate about."
Arcturus shook his head. "That's just the kind of woolly-headed nonsense that'll leave him unprepared for life beyond this cozy little bubble you've built around him. You're raising a bookish, effeminate weakling, Juliana. The galaxy is a hard, ugly place and if you carry on raising him like this, he'll not survive when he has to face it alone, do you understand me?"
"I understand all right," snapped Juliana. "You want to make a carbon copy of yourself!"
"And would that be so bad?" retorted Arcturus, surging to his feet. "At least I've made something of myself. I've gone out into the galaxy, gained real experience, and forged my destiny with my own two hands. What's the boy ever going to manage on his own? He's a Mengsk and he's made for great things, but he'll never amount to anything like this."
"Whatever he wants to do with his life is up to him," said Juliana. "We can't choose the path of his life for him."
"Utter rubbish," said Arcturus. "Children need discipline, and you have conspicuously failed to give him that. He's too young to know the right path when he sees it, so it behooves us to make sure we put him on it."
Juliana balled her fists, and Arcturus saw the strength he thought she'd lost resurface in her. "I wish you could hear yourself, Arcturus. I really wish your younger self could hear what you're saying now."