Mother fearest

Back on Earth, the most secure facility on the planet is simply known as The Tower. It’s here we house some of the galaxies most dangerous and notorious prisoners — the ones we can’t simply make vanish.

It’s here you’ll find the political revolutionaries we didn’t want to make martyrs, senior officials who were found guilty of treachery, celebrities who became social justice commentators. It’s also the current residence of my mother.

Most High Protectors don’t leave their predecessor alive … but then my predecessor was my mother. It’s not like we were particularly close, or I could describer her as affectionate. Difficult? Yes. Stubborn? Yes. Strict? Without a doubt.

As my mentor in the Protectorate Order, it was my obligation to make an assassination attempt on her at least once a year. When my attempt would fail, her reaction to me was always “try harder” as if my lack of success was a disappointment.

When she needed removing, I managed it not through assassination but through politically rallying the support of the military to force her out of office.

All the same, today I needed to go and see her, to find out why she’s wielding influence with the head of my Pretorian Guard, and sabotaging my dating.

As prisons go, The Tower is quite comfortable — it was built knowing a change of regime could see it’s denizens suddenly come back into favour. Unlike other facilities, each “resident” (note they’re not called prisoners) gets their own sizeable room, and can even furnish it as required.

Mother’s looks quite comfortable — antique furniture from plush armchairs, book shelves, collectables. It’s a solid three walls, with the force field barrier as the forth wall.

As I stood there she sat reading a book from her daisy-print armchair. I waited and she continued to read. I shuffled nervously, even now she makes me anxious. I coughed, trying to get her attention, and yet she still continued to read.

“Mother,” I declared, and she finally looked over the glassed at me, before returning to her book. She continued to read for a minute, taking her time, putting a bookmark in the book, and finally walking toward the force field to look at me.

“Oh my son, how good of you to visit. Why don’t you take down this force field and let your mother give you a hug.”

Captain Chuki moved forward to the force field controls before I told her, “Don’t”.

“Oh, you’re finally learning something then son. It really is about time,” then turned her back on me.

“Mother, I want to know why you’ve been trying to interfere in my life. Captain Chuki here has been secretly doing you bidding whenever I’ve been out on a date.”

Mother turned back to us, and addressed Captain Chuki directly, “Captain, you are to draw your pistol and shoot my son.”

I snapped around to Chuki who did have her hand on her sidearm, but was looking clearly at mother, who repeated her statement, “Captain Chuki, I gave you an order. Do it. NOW!”

I held my power gauntlet at Captain Chuki, ready to vaporise her myself if she flinched. Chuki’s response was cool and calm, “With respect my lady, you are no longer High Protector. I am bound by my oath, and answerable to my fraternity in my conduct”.

Mother smiled, “As it should be Captain, stand down.”

Chuki seemed to relax a little at that, as mother turned to lecture me, “Do you know how the oath of the Pretorian Guard goes Mair? ‘I swear my life, by dying breath for the office of the High Protector. May we keep them from harm to protect mankind’. Odd choice of words don’t you think? Nothing about obeying them, just protecting.

“It was created by High Protector Robert Brown. As with so much in our history, it’s either genius or an act of madness. They aren’t dogs, they have the freedom to be creative in the pursuit of their duties if the orders of a High Protector is against them.

“Their training reinforces their oath. As a group, they hunt down any of their number who breaks them. Like many organisations, they have a lot of secrets and rules … such as no member of the Praetorian Guard can also be a member of the Protectorate Order … ever wondered about that?

“You see, they both protect the High Protector, and in subtle ways, police them. So no, I don’t control them. Neither do you.”

This is classic mother, always with the history lessons. My childhood was full of this stuff — I vaguely remember her talking about the Praetorian Guard before. I steered the conversation back to the reason I was there, “But mother, what about my series of dates which my Captain of the Guard has been repeatedly trying to kill?”

“Oh yes,” replied mother sarcastically, “I heard all about those women — what were their names again? Barbie, Trixie, Debbie? Sounds like the two who died were a tremendous loss to the gene pool.”

I looked coolly at mother, and she finally shrugged, “Okay, I might have suggested that the wrong woman could seriously invite catastrophe. This isn’t like one of those 21st Century reality shows you claim not to watch. You’re the High Protector not The Bachelor — you’re supposed to be tyrannical champion of mankind, and that doesn’t leave much room for sentimentality.”

“Oh you would know that, mother”.

Mother raised an eyebrow, “Touche! Look … I know you’re at that age, and you really want a girlfriend. And maybe it’s a good time for you to look, but I’ve got a shortlist of women I know who’d really be much more suitable. Do you think you could just humour me and try dating one or two of them first? For your mother?”

Why did I relent so easily? On the shuttle back Chuki couldn’t stop herself from teasing me, “So … High Protector of the galaxy, but his mum picks out the girls he can date?”

Damn the Captain of the Guard has a point!