Three Sons

by Saxon Keeley

  “How did Mother and Father do it?”

  “What do you mean?” Alistair said, looking over the top of his bowl.

  “Raise the three of us. I mean, they were both so involved in their own work, yet they were great parents. There was not a single day that Father did not go to the labs, but we always sat down to a family meal. Neither of them missed a single school event. They just, were never absent. Or at least, I do not remember them being.”

  Alistair finishes his mouthful with a gulp, then explained, “That was because there was two of them, a third if you include Grandfather. And we lived relatively peaceful lives growing up, none of them were fighting a war. We could not have predicated how it would affect our lives.”

  “Nor our children’s,” Oscar admitted.

  The remark leaves them both heavy-hearted and a moment of silence passes whilst they eat. The sound of passing ministers echo out in the empty corridor. They had hoped to gain an audience with the Chairman but on seeing the blacked-out office they walk on by.

  A troubled mind upsets Oscar’s appetite, he places down his bowl and rests his chopsticks over the rim. Leaning in closer to the desk, he muttered, “Nevertheless, Mother and Father made it look so effortless.”

  Alistair sympathetically nods. Not yet finished with his dinner, he pauses before scooping another load into his mouth. “How are things with Alexander?”

  “Distant, would be the right word.”

  Alistair waves his chopsticks in the air, not allowing Oscar to continue until he has swallowed his food and said his piece. “Perhaps you should come home more often. Spending a little more time on Maia would do you both good.”

  “Looks like you could take some of your own advice.”

  His brother regretfully agrees.

  “You look tired brother.”

  “I am. If it is not the war, then it is something else. Internal squabbling on Neo-Shanxi; working conditions in the Outer Core; a lack of an Inner Core which puts strain on water supplies; and on top of that, the day to day administration of Maia.”

  “You are taking on too much. Even Grandfather delegated certain mundane duties to his ministers,” Oscar reminded his brother.

  “I have ministers,” Alistair said, lowering his voice. “They lack vision.”

  “Pragmatism is just as valuable.”

  “Compromise is not an option,” he said with grit.

  Oscar leans back into his chair, slowing down the pace of the conversation, giving his brother the chance to calm down. Though he is not hungry, he picks up his bowl and takes another bite. Already Alistair’s glass needs topping up.

  He knows the conversation cannot be delayed any further. Swapping the bowl for the directive detailing the plan of attack, he skims over it. Re-reading it after a shot of whiskey, it becomes obvious that the orbital strike has been devised on the misadvise of a general who wants the war to see a similar end.

  “What is it that you would be compromising?”

  “Ourselves,” Alistair said bluntly. “Our history. The deaths of our family.”

  “This is nonsense,” he retorted.

  “And when did you become acute in military strategy?”

  Oscar throws the papers back down on the desk. “I do not need to be to see this is just murder. Further, I designed the Sisters and despite your modifications to them, there is no way they have the capability to launch an assault with the precision that is described. Not from that distance and at that speed. There are so many other factors that are simply glossed over. If this were to happen, civilian causalities would be immeasurable.”

  “However,” Alistair began, brushing Oscar’s analysis swiftly aside, “if we secure Mu, we would have an Inner Core that alone could sustain each of the Loyalists colonies, as well as serve as a buffer between Neo-Shanxi and Separatist forces. Together with Jotunheim, we would have a line of defence from which we could push forward into the Charted Systems.”

  “Since when was this war about territory?”

  “Since the CERE took everything from Father,” Alistair snapped, slamming his glass down.

  Again, Oscar tries to calm the conversation by taking a sip of his drink.

  “At the expense of innocent lives?”

  “Maia was first, then Shanxi,” Alistair said coldly.

  Having heard enough, Oscar stands and does up his father’s coat, ready for the brisk change in weather. He thinks about tidying up, but stops, deciding it is best his brother eats some more. He downs the last of his drink hoping it will warm him through long enough to get home. Alistair looks almost shocked at the sudden departure.

  “I can hardly believe what I heard tonight. Wesley was right about you.”

  Alistair rolls his eyes and returns to his work.

  At the door, he asked one last question, “If it is not Wesley, who are you seeking your council from?”

  “Sun Ren of the Neo-Shanxi Army.”

  Wesley Jung

  Snowflakes dance around the streetlamps that appear as faint twinkles to guide people home. Minsters and other high ranking officials battle against the weather, holding their briefcases to shield themselves against the icy bluster of wind. Houses sit in darkness with their curtains drawn and heating turned up to the max. A few teenagers throw snowballs at one another, playing in the streets before it gets too cold to do so.

  Wesley pulls his coat tightly around himself, cursing the freezing temperatures. Although he hates Jotunheim, at least the weather is always the same.

  Treading through the snow that covers the garden path, he makes it to the front door and rings the bell. The excited stomping of footsteps come rushing to answer, and as the door swings open Jessica throws herself into his arms. She squeezes him tight. Despite the snow, he maintains his balance.

  “Get indoors…silly girl. You have nothing…on your feet,” he said, waddling them both inside.

  He kicks the wall before entering, shaking off as much of the snow as possible, and then closes the door quickly. Jessica tuts at her cold wet socks and pulls them off, slinging them over the radiator by the entrance. Over on the staircase, Nicholas hides behind the banister. Spotting his nephew, he waves him over.

  Just as Wesley is about to greet him, he notices Nicholas’ black eye. He holds his nephew’s chin in place and inspects the bruise.

  “This happen…today?”

  “Yes,” Nicholas said ashamed.

  “What…happened?”

  Seeing how uncomfortable her brother is, Jessica decides to interject. “You think that is bad, you should see the other guy.”

  “I will tell…your father to have…words with the Academy,” Wesley said to no protest, as Nicholas knows full well that will never happen. He looks around the hall, then turns back to his brother’s children. “Have you even…eaten?”

  They both shake their heads.

  “Where is…she?”

  “In the family room, she told us not to disturb her,” said Jessica.

  Wesley storms into the room, making a point to be as loud and abrasive as possible. Their nanny groans as she rolls over on the sofa, knocking over the half empty bottle of liquor. He quickly saves it from pouring out completely and indicates for Jessica to fetch a cloth. Nicholas places the bottle back in the drinks cabinet. Disgusted by her behaviour, Wesley claps his hands in front of her face. She springs up and is about to lash out, only to find that her rude awakening was not from the children.

  She stares at him, repulsed by the very sight of his face.

  “Leave…now.”

  “I am paid to be here until midnight,” she protested.

  “Not tonight. You are dismissed…of your duties. Go…home,” he forcefully instructed.

  She huffs, folding her arms in a temper. “Where is my bag?”

  Nicholas disappears for a second, then remerges with her bag and coat. Drunkenly she manages to find her feet and snatches her garments from the boy. With the greatest of fuss, she throws on her coat and marc
hes to the door.

  “It is bloody freezing out there,” she yelled. “I’ll catch my death.”

  “I do not…care,” said Wesley, herding her out.

  The door slams closed with such force it is felt through the whole house. He turns the lock so there is no chance of her barging back in. Furious with his brother’s negligence, he shuts down those emotions for the sake of Nicholas and Jessica.

  He returns to the family room to find Jessica scrubbing the floor. Kneeling besides the puddle, he holds his hand out for the cloth.

  “Give me that. You…should not have to…clean up this mess,” he said with a smile.

  Nicholas takes a seat on the sofa and begins to read out a takeaway menu from a tablet. Already him and Jessica know exactly what they want to order.

  “Wait,” Wesley stopped him in disbelief, “do you order…in every night?”

  “Most nights,” she replied.

  He takes a seat on the floor up against the sofa, careful not to let the cloth drip over him, shaking his head.

  “It is a really good place and they have all of Father’s details, so you will not have to pay,” explained Nicholas.

  “No…we are not getting…takeout. We are going to have…a home cooked meal tonight. Tell me…you have some ingredients…in the kitchen.”

  They both nod unconvincingly.

  The two of them follow their uncle into the kitchen and watch as he raids the cupboards, finding a meal out from the odd scraps he can scrounge together. Laying out three different stations, he designates each of them a job. He keeps things simple, teaching them the basics of home cooking. As they begin, he hits the play button and to the sound of Grace Chang they slice and dice the ingredients.

  Wesley and Jessica dance around the kitchen, singing obnoxiously loud. She shuffles her feet in time with the music, mimicking his movements. Nicholas looks on with amusement whilst he tends to the frying pan, tossing the vegetables every now and then.

  The rice boils over and Wesley slides across the kitchen to rescue the pot. Next to his nephew Wesley sings into the spoon, encouraging him to join in. They leave the kitchen door open filling the house with an alluring aroma of herbs and spices.

  By the time they finish dinner it is late into the night and with full bellies the two children fall asleep in their uncle’s arms.

  ARE YOU COMMITTED?

  Wesley jolts awake, disturbing the two children’s sleep. An unpleasant heat lingers in his nostrils. Then the doorbell rings again.

  Remembering that he had locked the front door, he cannot imagine how happy Alistair will be having to wait out in the cold. He nudges them, preventing them from finding another comfortable spot to continue sleeping, and insists they carry themselves off to bed quickly.

  He makes sure they are out of sight before opening the door. To his surprise, it is not Alistair on the other side. Wrapped in barely weather appropriate clothes, Sun Ren waits on the doorstep. Rosy cheeks and nose, she jogs on the spot just to keep warm. In her hair rest perfectly formed snowflakes.

  “Hello.”

  “Hello…”

  “Can I come in? It is fucking freezing out here,” she said through chattering teeth.

  He steps to one side, hastily closing the door after her. Unlacing her boots, she leaves them by the radiator and the snow already begins to melt. Though she protests, Wesley reassures her that she will be warmer without her coat, and hangs it in a closet to dry out.

  “I knew it got cold, but I did not imagine anything like this,” Sun Ren said, trying to control her shivers.

  “In fairness...your coat is not very…thick.” Wesley then leads her to the family room and gestures to the sofa so she can make herself comfortable. “I will find something to…warm you through,” he said, inspecting his brother’s drink collection.

  Unacquainted with the chairman’s lavish taste for extravagance and luxury, Sun Ren can hardly believe how comfortable the sofa is. At first, she tests it with a slight bounce, then sprawls across it as if she were posing for a fashion shoot. She laughs at the absurdity of her surroundings in a way Wesley has never heard her laugh before. Bringing over the drinks, she moves over to make space.

  “What are you…doing here on Maia?”

  “I have some leave, and well, I hoped to come and see you and Li. We have not seen each other since Shambhala,” she explained. Her skin is covered in gashes and scars, a likeness to his own tapestry weaved in battle. But something is different about her, she seems less guarded.

  “Shambhala was…two years ago now.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, gazing up at the ceiling with fond recollection. “Then, Maia’s Army advanced to Jotunheim, while the Neo-Shanxi Army pushed through Mu to Brasil. It felt like a life time had passed, yet seeing you now, it feels like no time at all.” Abruptly she changed the subject, “How is Li?”

  “Good…he is here training…new recruits. We could go and see…him tomorrow if you would like?”

  “No, I doubt I will” she refused in an odd manner.

  An uncomfortable lengthily silence follows.

  Sun Ren downs her drink, takes Wesley’s from his hand and places the glasses on the table. She keeps eye contact with him, facing him square on. Slowly she leans in. He can feel the warmth of her body. The nervousness in her breath. The taste of alcohol on her lips. Apart by no more than an inch, she waits for him.

  Her lips press up against his. She waits for him to kiss back. Nothing happens.

  She pulls back, red with embarrassment. Simultaneously they have a sudden revelation about one another.

  “I am…sorry,” said Wesley.

  “No, do not be.”

  “I am just not…like…”

  “You do not have to be,” she interrupted. “I think I always knew.” She realises how exposed Wesley must feel and places her hand upon his. “We all came to Sun Tzu for different reasons. We each carry weight. Your secret is safe with me.”

  Wesley just nods.

  He sees Sun Ren out, her coat and boots still damp. After he tidies up the bowls from dinner and scrapes any leftovers into two tubs for the children’s lunch tomorrow. Realising Alistair will not be back until the early hours of the morning, he switches off all the lights bar the entrance hall. Upstairs he checks on his niece and nephew fast asleep.

  Restlessly laying there in bed, he watches the snow fall outside the window.

  Alistair Jung

  Opposite him lay three empty bowls. Already his children have been fed and left for school. He hadn’t even heard them go. The steam from his tea soothes his head. His stomach aches with hunger. Wesley serves the last of the congee for his brother, practically placing the spoon in his hand forcing him to him register his breakfast. Taking a place on the other side of the counter, Wesley cradles his own tea.

  Alistair spoons the congee into his mouth and decides it needs a little salt. His brother watches him with intent, an argument too early for this time of the morning.

  “Thank you for setting them off,” he said hoping to ease the tension.

  “No problem…have you seen the state…of your son?”

  Alistair averts his eyes and shakes his head.

  “Does he often…get into fights?” Wesley pressed.

  “Not again,” he muttered. “I will go and see the Academy about it.”

  Wesley stares into his tea. “Nicholas does not need…more input from the Academy. He needs…structure and…support from home.”

  “Can we not have one fight at a time?” he sighed.

  His brother does not say anymore, instead he leaves the kitchen in disappointment. The lack of fight shakes him. The argument would have been better, Alistair thinks to himself. Alone he finishes his breakfast.

  *

  As he navigates the transparent corridors of the Crystal Castle, Alistair murmurs to himself, rehearing justifications and counterarguments. Ministers, civil servants and administrators who attempt to steal a moment of his time are flat-out ig
nored.

  Snow slides off the angles of the structure. Thule hangs imposingly in the sky. Under a glass ceiling the board congregates. Alistair takes his place at the head of the table surrounded by officials from Maia, and by representatives from Neo-Shanxi and Thuỷ Phủ. Respective generals also take their place amongst them. Wesley takes a seat towards the end, while Oscar finds somewhere in the middle, each of them strategically placing themselves amongst the board. By his side sits Sun Ren.

  He runs his hands through his hair and inspects the table one last time before beginning.

  “We have arrived at a turning point in this war. For six years, all those who remain loyal to the ideals of my father and the former Chairman of Neo-Shanxi, that life within the Charted Systems can and would prosper independently from the unlawful and dogmatic rule of the CERE, have fought valiantly to attain that independence. We have liberated our own colonies, and increasingly unrest spreads through the systems as more colonies recognise there is indeed an alternative to Earth’s rule.

  “However, to achieve prosperity our political-economic system of a Tripartite Division of Labour must be fully realised. Currently, the Outer Core is achieving levels of productivity that far surpass our expectations. The Cores are cohesive and I commend all of you for your hard work on that front. Water, as we know too well, is a strained resource.

  “We survived when it was only ourselves, but as our influence expands and new colonies join our cause, our reserves struggle to meet demands. Without a stable Inner Core, water will forever be a contention, and the CERE could use that against us, driving our new-found allies away with the fear of thirst.

  “Nysa, Shambhala and Jotunheim are not self-sufficient; Jotunheim being in the most venerable position. If we were to lose such a wealth of rare elements and minerals, well, I am sure I do not need to explain how devastating that would be for the war effort, let alone the impact it would have on our people’s standard of living. Current predictions outline that within the next two years those colonies will be without water.