Louis Collins: A Post-American Odyssey

The reception suite ran along the west side of the Citadel, with deep-set windows looking over the city. Food and drinks had been prepared on a long sideboard. Once the joint statement ended, Harvey took Constantine and Philip into a side alcove. The rest of the party spread through the suite while Collective host staff kept to the walls and Dominion security stayed near the doors. Louis poured himself a glass of water and took it to one of the long windows. He stood with his back to the room and looked out. Austin extended in orderly blocks.

He heard Serana approach before her reflection appeared in the glass beside him.

“Good,” she said. “You’re already brooding.”

He ignored her. She went to the sideboard and poured herself juice.

“I counted twelve journalists whose faces went pale when the First Consul said Uncle Philip’s name.” Her voice was light, almost admiring. “He did it on purpose.”

“I know.”

She smiled. “You’re probably going to have to marry her now.”

“Shut up, Serana.”

“You should have seen it coming. You always fall for the ones who are going to make it complicated.”

“Not now.”

Judith joined them at the window, coffee in hand, her press smile already gone. She crossed to Louis and studied his face.

“Look at me.”

He turned. She touched his jaw with her thumb.

“The rest of this trip will be like this,” she said quietly. “Every room, every dinner, every handshake. The world is going to read you through Angelique now. That does not mean you have to let them write the ending. If you want her, take her. But decide what you are taking along with her.”

His jaw shifted once. “I know.”

“Good.” She took a sip of coffee. “You will be introduced to a selected group of cadets. They’re going to ask about you and the Bourbons as much as the press did. Be gracious. Be memorable for the right reasons. And understand this before you walk in there: this country trains its young to believe they owe something forward. Try not to look as though you find that exotic. And of course, you represent the family.”

He nodded. “I’ll behave.”

“Good.” Judith turned to Serana. “That goes for you too.”

“I’m always well-behaved,” Serana said with perfect seriousness.

Judith laughed. “Of course you are.”

A knock came before he could answer. A protocol officer appeared to say the youth reception was ready. Judith withdrew her hand and gave him one last look.

Serana lifted her glass. “Good luck not looking decorative.”

Louis looked back at her. She smiled sweetly.

He joined Angelique at the door, and they were led into the next room. Her mouth was still, her eyes already on the cadets waiting inside. She glanced at him once as they entered, then looked back to the room.

The ballroom was large, with a painted high ceiling. Cadets and civic volunteers waited across the floor in ordered groups, already facing the entrance. Louis and Angelique were announced together. They walked toward the center of the room. The director of the Collective Youth Civic Corps stepped forward to meet them.

“Mr. Collins. Miss Bourbon.” The director bowed slightly. “Welcome to Austin. We are honored to host you.” He turned toward the waiting groups. “These are the next generation of the Collective. They have been looking forward to speaking with you.”

Angelique inclined her head. “Thank you. We look forward to it.”

Louis nodded. “Appreciate the hospitality.”

The director stepped aside, and the first group came forward. The cadets offered firm handshakes and short introductions. The civic volunteers smiled more easily. Louis returned names, accepted greetings, and answered questions about the Dominion, the university system, and Californian pop culture. Angelique stood beside him, composed and attentive, taking her own questions in the same measured voice. The line kept moving until a young man in a dark uniform stepped forward.

He was perhaps eighteen, tall, serious-faced, with squared shoulders.

“Mr. Collins,” he said, his voice firm. “I was hoping to ask you something.”

Louis turned fully toward him. “Go ahead.”

The cadet hesitated, then spoke clearly. “In the Collective, most of us are taught that public life begins with duty. Service is how we prove we deserve what we receive.” His eyes flicked briefly to Angelique and back. “In the Dominion, you are the son of the Supreme President. What are you serving, exactly?”

The people nearest them went still. Several waited for Louis to answer. A safer answer formed first, the kind he had used in Sacramento to get out of rooms like this. Then he saw Angelique watching him. He did not say it.

“I don’t know yet,” Louis said.

No one spoke. He stared at the cadet’s badge for a moment before speaking again.

“In Sacramento, people usually decide what I mean before I arrive. Maybe I serve the image they make of me. Maybe I serve the state by confirming their expectations. Or maybe I’m still figuring it out.” He looked at the cadet directly. “But I don’t think service has to look the same everywhere. In the Collective, you earn a place through what you give. In the Dominion, sometimes you earn it through what you refuse to be.”

The cadet considered that. “What do you refuse to be?”

Louis held his gaze. “A symbol. An ornament. A title without a reason.”

The cadet gave a small nod. “And what are you going to be instead?”

Louis glanced at Angelique. She pressed her lips to one side, amused, and waited. Then he looked back at the cadet.

“Something that matters,” he said. “Even if it’s only to a few people.”

The cadet gave him a quick, almost surprised smile and offered his hand. Louis took it.

“Thank you, Mr. Collins,” the cadet said. “I hope you find it.”

Louis stepped back as the conversation shifted around him. Angelique moved beside him, her shoulder brushing his.

“Smooth,” she said, her voice low and dry. “I almost believed you.”

He looked at her, surprised.

“Did you?” he asked.

She tilted her head, considering. “Almost.” She glanced toward the people still around them. “They certainly did.”

At last the director guided them toward a small table at the back of the room. Two walnut cases sat side by side.

“The Collective has prepared something to mark the occasion of your visit,” he said. “We hope you will accept these as tokens of the friendship between our states.”

Louis and Angelique followed him. The director lifted one of the cases and gave it to Louis. Louis took it with both hands. Around them, the cadets went still before the case was opened.

“Open it,” said the director quietly.

He did. Inside, fitted into dark felt, lay a pistol.

A Colt M1911. Silver caught the light first. The engraving came clear: scrollwork along the slide, the star of the Collective pressed into the grip. Then he saw the inscription.

My Place is Earned in Service.

Louis lifted the pistol from the case. It was heavier than he thought.

“Mr. Collins,” the director said, “we hope you will accept this as a gesture of respect between a state that values service and a man who has yet to prove his.”

Louis lifted his eyes.

The director met them without softness. “Take it, use it, train with it. Let us see whether you understand what service costs.” He paused, then added, “Not in my lifetime. But in yours.” He inclined his head. “Welcome to the Free State Collective.”

Louis set the pistol back into the case and closed it. His hands were steady. He looked at Angelique. She blinked once, then held his gaze.

He looked at the director. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll try not to carry it lightly.”

The director nodded, satisfied. Then he turned to Angelique.

“Miss Bourbon.” He gestured to the second case.

She stepped forward and accepted it without hesitation. She opened the lid.

Inside lay a fighting knife with a Damascus blade. Dark lines ran through the steel. The handle was wrapped in black leather, the pommel inlaid with the same star. The same inscription had been cut along the blade.

Angelique looked down at the knife for several seconds before closing the case herself. Her hand stayed on the lid for a moment. When she raised her head, she looked directly at the director.

“Thank you,” she said. “I am honored.”

The director gave a small bow. Then he turned to the room and raised his voice. “The Collective has not forgotten those who stood against terror, or those who were driven from their homes.” His gaze swept the room, then returned to Louis and Angelique. “You two are not only the children of powerful houses. You are heirs to the same struggle we all survived. We hope you will not be strangers to the Collective when it matters again. We hope you will both earn the tools you have been given.”

Applause broke out. They shook hands and said their farewells. Louis left with Angelique beside him, the walnut case still in his hands. She carried hers under one arm. Neither of them spoke until they were out of the crowd.

Angelique looked at him as they walked down the corridor toward their assigned rooms.

“They gave you a gun,” she said.

His mouth lifted slightly. “And you a knife.” He looked at her. “I think they like us.”

She glanced at the case in his hand. “Do you know how to use it?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve shot before. You?”

“Of course.” She shifted her grip on her own case. “My father insisted.”

Louis made a small sound in his throat. “Of course he did.”

She smiled. Louis walked half a step behind her, still carrying the inscription in his head.