by M. D. Hall
‘My aunt, I don’t have an aunt,’ came the confused reply.
The official ploughed on regardless. ‘A word of advice, it is customary to view the formal galet first, as it may require action, you would do well not to delay, in order to preserve the value of your holdings.’
With that, he formally inclined his head towards Jaron and Ciarra, then left the three of them alone.
‘Well,’ said Jaron, ‘what was that all about?’
‘I think,’ replied Gorn, ‘that I’ll find out tomorrow when I speak to my father. I’d already decided to meet him again, but by then we’ll both have heard from my mother - I'm guessing the third message is for him - and there are things I need to learn, that only he can tell me. May I visit you tomorrow, afterwards?’
Ciarra simply smiled. Looking at the small box held by her husband she said. ‘We need to go home, and meet with an old friend, for the last time.’
Jaron looked puzzled, but then followed the gaze of his wife and replied. ‘Oh, of course, my dear.’
‘Until tomorrow, my boy,’ Jaron said before the two of them made their way to the exit.
Gorn’s grandparents left without him noticing. He had often thought they were a strange pair. Reading between the lines, they must have settled the family home upon their only child, when she attained majority, a move inconsistent with their coolness towards her. They had moved into the country soon after she had married Bakir, and had little more to do with their daughter. It was as though, having provided her with security they could, in good conscience, wipe their hands of her. Why they had turned up today was anyone’s guess, and he wondered whether he might be hearing from them at some point. As for the deposits, he had no idea what they were, no doubt he would find out soon enough. ‘Beloved aunt Ceiza,’ she came from nowhere, he thought. Incredibly wealthy, probably powerful, and yet I knew nothing about her.
He watched as Jaron and Ciarra left the large room, passing Bakir and his half brothers, as they did so. His friends inclined their heads towards their erstwhile friend who, in response, walked straight past without sparing them a glance. Followed by his other sons, he continued walking until they were only a couple of paces from Gorn.
He saw Jaron stop and turn round, it was clear he wanted to come back. Gorn shook his head, and with that Jaron turned back to his wife. Within seconds they were gone.
Gorn was now completely alone with his family. Their expressions matched those at the remembrance ceremony. The man, he used to think of as his father, cleared his throat before speaking. ‘Gorn, I would like you to know that despite our differences, you will always be welcome in our home.’ He fell silent, adopting the look of a man who had performed the noblest act imaginable, Naraak still looked angry.
Before replying, Gorn gave himself a chance to rethink what he was about to say, but he knew there was no turning back. ‘For my part, you were my father. You chose, for reasons beyond my control, to punish me,’ Bakir was starting to turn blue in the face. Gorn continued, ‘but I don’t bear you any ill will for that.’ The blue began to recede. ‘However, there is,’ he looked at his half-brothers, ‘the matter of our mother.’
He watched the colour of anger flood back into Bakir’s face, and considered the effect his next statement would have on his audience. This was not going to end well, and he regretted sending Jaron away, but his decision was made, and it was too late to turn back. Mentally, he took a huge intake of breath before looking straight into the hard eyes of Bakir. ‘I don’t know the full story behind her death, but I know you had a hand in it. I will get to the bottom of your involvement. If I'm right, and you caused her death, I will make you pay. As for the house, I was never happy there and don’t intend, ever again setting foot inside it. I will sell it, but until then, you can stay.’
There, it was said, and no sooner were the words out of his mouth than his half-brothers looked at their father who nodded. Naraak stepped forward, his fists clenched. Gorn readied himself as best he could, but before Naraak could advance any further, Serkar placed a restraining arm before him. ‘No, this isn't right. He’s our brother, and none of this is his fault.’
Naraak froze, then turned towards the oldest brother. With his back towards Gorn, the look of utter surprise on his face was hidden.
Serkar took advantage of the lull, and stepped around Naraak so that he was standing side by side with Gorn. ‘Naraak, you're my brother and I love you, but you’re wrong and I won't let you do something I know you’ll later regret.’ If Naraak was astonished, it was nothing compared to how Gorn felt. His memories of his oldest brother were from many years before. They were stories of adventure, and surprise presents during infrequent visits. He never really knew him, but he could have sworn that Serkar’s loyalty was to his father.
Naraak looked to Bakir, who remained steadfast in his silence. Now, totally confused, Naraak lashed out at his older brother. ‘Whose side are you on, Serkar?’
‘There doesn’t need to be sides. We’re brothers, the three of us.’ His voice was placating, seeking to avoid confrontation. The moment for violence had passed, but there needed to be some resolution, and it was now that Gorn received his biggest surprise. ‘If you force me to choose sides, Naraak, I will choose our brother,’ he turned to Bakir. ‘Is that what you want, Father, to turn your sons against each other?’
Bakir’s silence had become a constant.
Serkar continued. ‘I want to think Gorn is wrong, but if he isn't and you did cause mother’s death, you will never see me again,’ he turned back to Naraak, ‘well?’
The middle brother backed away, clenching and unclenching his fists in turns. He looked at each of his brothers, a mixture of confusion and anger in his face, before he finally stopped and turned to Bakir. ‘Father?’
Bakir continued to look at Gorn, with an undisguised hatred that seemed about to consume him. Of Naraak’s plight, he was oblivious.
Naraak shook his head as if that would clear everything that was happening from his mind, and return him to a simpler time just minutes before, but nothing changed, he was alone. He turned and strode from the large room, so caught up in his conflicting emotions he failed to notice Jaron standing in the doorway, where he had returned moments after seeing his wife to their flyer. He stood alongside a bear of a man, Zaran.
As if through some sixth sense, Bakir turned and looked at his two former friends, before walking slowly from the room.
The tension departed with Bakir and, for a moment, the two remaining brothers just looked at each other. Serkar broke the silence. ‘Well, I suppose I’d better find our brother, he needs someone to talk to, although I very much doubt he’ll want to speak to me. He isn't bad you know, it’s just that he takes after our father,’ he corrected himself. ‘I should say my father, he doesn’t always think things through.’
Gorn frowned. ‘I was sure, when you hadn't responded to my message…’
‘Manoeuvres, we had a blanket communications ban until we were in orbit. Your message was blocked out until it was too late. You couldn’t have known, and let’s face it, we’ve never been that close. That was my fault, and I’d like us to get to know each other better. Who knows, even Naraak might come around,’ he smiled at the absurdity of what he had just said and, almost as one, they both shook their heads.
‘Where will you go?’ Gorn asked.
‘After I've found Naraak, and made sure he’s all right, I’ll go back to my ship. If you need me, I'm easy to find.’
He began to walk away, then turned back. ‘If our mother mentions me, will you…?’
‘Of course,’ Gorn replied.
Serkar’s face took on a look of sadness, then he continued on his way. As he passed Jaron and Zaran he inclined his head in greeting, which they returned.
For the second time, Gorn thought of his mother leaving no message for his brothers. With Serkar gone, he walked towards the exit and the two waiting men. ‘I thought you were leaving,’ he said to Jaron.
‘I was, but
look who I bumped into!’
Gorn looked at his coach, his father. ‘I don’t suppose this was a coincidence?’
‘I did wonder how Bakir might react on hearing what your mother might say. Better to be safe than sorry, I thought, but it looks as though we weren't needed.’ Zaran replied.
Gorn shifted his gaze to the doorway Serkar had just gone through. ‘I think I've just found a long lost brother.’
The two older men exchanged looks, and Jaron shrugged. ‘I don’t know why I'm surprised by anything now,’ then added, ‘I'm pleased for you, but I’d still be wary of the other one, he's got a lot of anger in him.’
‘Perhaps he takes after Bakir?’ Zaran suggested.
‘You're not the first person to say that,’ Gorn answered.
‘Maybe I'm not, but the man you knew as your father is a very violent man, always was,’ Jaron nodded, as Zaran continued. ‘When I discovered that he’d been violent to your mother, I found it difficult to stop myself from breaking my promise. During a visit to the city, I bumped into Jaron, and told him everything. He persuaded me that it wouldn’t be in your mother’s interests for me to confront Bakir, people would begin to wonder why I was involving myself. I later discovered that Jaron had paid him a visit and demonstrated how harming your mother again would be more painful to him, than to her. She was never hurt again, and for that I’ll forever be in his debt.’
‘Nonsense,’ replied Jaron.
‘He obviously found a way to hurt her even more,’ Gorn said.
Both men were silent at this pronouncement. Eventually, it was his father who spoke. ‘You’re right, we should have seen it coming. She outmanoeuvred him, but at a high cost. That’s why you can’t let her sacrifice be in vain, being bound up in vengeance with Bakir would make her death meaningless,’ before Gorn had a chance of answering, he continued. ‘Don’t you think she knew how you would feel, that you would strain every fibre of your being to bringing about his downfall? She gave up the chance of us being together, so as to ensure your brothers wouldn’t be punished for her infidelity. They were never aware of what she did for them, because Bakir certainly wouldn’t have told them. She has now made the ultimate sacrifice, to ensure you are protected. In many ways your brothers were better off not knowing. Perhaps Cyrar didn’t think they could handle the truth and, while it must seem unfair, she obviously thought you were up to the task. Taking revenge on Bakir would be the last thing she would want you to do.’
Jaron decided it was time for him to speak. ‘I think we’ve dwelt on these matters long enough for one day. We each have a message from Cyrar and I know I’d like to be with my wife to listen to what our old friend has to say. I suggest we all retire to view our messages. You’re both welcome to stay with us, but I imagine you’ll want to be alone in your apartments, for now.’
This last comment was more of an order, than an observation
He continued. ‘I know that you,’ he looked at Gorn, ‘intend meeting with your father tomorrow morning. Ciarra and I will make ourselves scarce until noon. The two of you can come to our house and talk. We can then all meet up for lunch, any objections?’
Neither of the other two said anything. ‘Then, it’s settled. Gorn, I’ll travel part of the way with you while Zaran, you’ll go directly to your apartment.’
Both father and son mutely nodded their agreement.
Outside, Jaron gave his old friend a rueful smile before walking off with Gorn, and leaving Zaran to ponder the events of the day. Some minutes later, Zaran was boarding a public flyer, secure in the knowledge that Jaron escorting Gorn, while one of his step-brothers and Bakir remained in the vicinity, was a wise decision. The immediate danger had been avoided, but the underlying threat remained.
His son needed more answers than he was able to provide, and only two people could fill in the gaps. He needed to hear what Cyrar had to say, then he would be better placed to help. As he walked the last few steps towards his apartment, every instinct he possessed told him he was not going to like what he would hear inside.
Ω
Jaron left his young charge at an entrance to a park, any danger had receded to the infinitesimal. Neither man had said anything during the walk, and Gorn watched until Jaron had stepped onto the flyer that had been on auto-track since they left Zaran, and which now swept up into the sky, soon to be lost behind some monumental trees.
Gorn continued, for a little while, looking at the last point he had seen the flyer, then set off through the park towards his apartment in the full knowledge that, from an elevated vantage point, Jaron’s watchful eyes would remain on him until he safely entered his building.
He strolled across the close mown grass, threading his way between trees, which still clung to leaves already changing from green to varying shades of gold, through to brown, and noticed he was not alone; others meandered through the parkland watching the ever-changing hues of the sky.
As the third quarter of the year was approaching, the sun would descend behind the mountains long before he reached his apartment. Sunsets, at this time of the year were spectacular, especially as Te’ath’s moons, the twins Yuraath and Zriaa, named after two mythical sisters who had defied the gods to protect their tribe, were now both visible. Yuraath was already at an elevation of forty-two degrees, her colour flaxen, while Zriaa had yet to clear the horizon.
The Sunset reached its crescendo, firing the sky with pale yellow, moving to amber then gold with burnt orange and streaks of vermilion, a constantly changing canvas, intermingling colours that never held a pattern for more than a few seconds before remixing, and placing a different masterpiece before him. The breathtaking display began to soften into twilight, and he let his mind drift through the events of the last few hours. He knew the confrontation was dangerous, and his mother would have disapproved, telling him that it achieved nothing, and she would have been right, but it did draw the venom from his intended response.
When he first discovered what Bakir had done, his feelings worried him. Always a creature of reason, he had given free rein to his emotions, evolving a plan to assure Bakir’s destruction. An essential element of the plan was secrecy, if suspected, he would fail. By openly confronting Bakir, he had ensured that suspicion would fall on him alone, should anything untoward befall his erstwhile father. Reason had reasserted itself, and the danger averted. Avoiding an outcome guaranteed to make him no better than the man who was never a father to him, would have pleased his mother, while the knowledge of Bakir having sleepless nights, helped placate his more emotional side.
As for the family home, the reality was that Bakir and Naraak would secure one of the properties belonging to their family. While not as wealthy as his wife, Bakir was still very comfortable.
Sitting on the bench outside his apartment, he looked at the now jet black sky. The mountains to the west were only grey shadows, illuminated by the pale light of Yuraath, and her little sister, now hovering above the horizon to the east, climbing towards, yet destined never to reach her sibling. Fulfilling the punishment of the gods, the sisters would forever be in sight of each other, but never touch. The tiny moon was uninhabitable, containing highly radioactive elements. Those same elements, however, gave her the appearance of a celestial jewel, with patches glowing emerald green, and cobalt blue.
The night sky held him, not simply by virtue of its intrinsic beauty, but because it consoled him, offered him perspective, unlike one of the galets nestling within his bag, which threatened to tear his life apart. Exhaling slowly, he got up and made his way indoors. The military had blocks like this scattered throughout the city, for active personnel on shore leave who might, for personal reasons, not have ready access to accommodation.
Within a few minutes, he was standing over the console situated in the centre of the small apartment’s sitting area. Removing the box from its bag, he placed it on the flat work area and, for a long time, stood gazing at the innocuous looking receptacle. His life had already changed dramatically, am I
ready for this, on top of everything else? He knew the question was meaningless, he had no choice. If he left the personal galet in its box he would forever wonder what it contained; eventually, he would succumb and play it, so why not now. Destroying it was not an option, he needed to hear what his mother had to say, but he was wary, certain she was going to tell him something he did not want to know.
In the centre of the box lid was a green triangle. By placing his forefinger onto the symbol, the lid slid open, revealing the contents. Arrayed side-by-side, and held within their secure enclosures, were the two galets: one blue, bearing his mother’s family insignia; the other green, and unadorned.
Gorn had no interest in the property, and was in no hurry to view the formal galet - he was in no hurry to view either of them - but he needed to meet with his mother again, to hear her make sense of what had happened, and exonerate him. Despite what he knew so far, he felt responsible; if not for him, she would still be alive. Logic told him he was being irrational, but logic did not make him feel any better. For as long as he could remember, he had dreamed of entering the Navy, but it went beyond a dream, it was all consuming. His mother knew this, and probably thought the damage to his career would devastate him. Surely, she knew he would surmount any obstacle, it would take time, but he would do it. That could not be the reason she took her own life, but only one person could tell him the truth.
Taking the green galet from its enclosure, he placed it into a receptor at the base of the console, which in turn, controlled multiple sensors and projectors placed strategically throughout the apartment, a facility shared by all Te’an properties. The sensors would identify all occupants, and situate the hologram in the optimal position for the viewer, or viewers.
An image of the official he had met that day appeared in the centre of the room, it shared the original’s brittle and formal manner. ‘You have been scanned, and are now permitted to interact with the following recording. Please note, only questions pertinent to the topics voiced by the transcriber will be allowed. Furthermore, in accordance with the wishes of the transcriber, this recording will be in two parts. Remember to put all your questions during the two sessions that follow. At the end of the recording you will be invited to put any final questions. Once the recording has ended, the interactive facility will be terminated. As the message you are about to experience is personal, it has not been viewed by my office and, therefore, no liability for the contents, can be accepted by the Office of Formal Closure. Do you accept these terms?’
