by C. C. Ekeke
In the holomirror, the large Cercidalean was taller sitting in a bed than Jeremy was standing up, bald and broad-shouldered with a trimmed goatee, and chocolate brown skin much darker than Jeremy’s. Daddy had his full military uniform on, black and grey and high-collared, but with the colorful rank emblems and insignias he didn’t usually wear. The crimsonborn silently studied his son’s attire in the mirror, smoothing out or tugging at any rumples to straighten them out.
“Brilliant,” his father exclaimed after several moments. His hands rested on Jeremy’s shoulders, engulfing them in his massive grip. “You look grand, sprout.”
Jeremy gave a little shrug and said nothing, watching his father intently through the mirror.
From Jeremy’s experience, the older crimsonborn’s hazel-gold eyes always reflected his moods: warm and liquid in happiness, cold and hard in anger, clouded and dim in sadness.
Though Daddy was smiling, Jeremy saw the sadness in his eyes. And he knew why.
Daddy’s friend, Mr. Honaa, had died almost a week ago. Even worse, he had died exactly like Mommy had—in a ship explosion.
Now Daddy and his Star Brigade workfellows had come to Rothor IV for the funeral.
Jeremy had been only to one funeral before, his mother’s. He had cried a lot, but didn’t sob. “Cercidaleans are like the rocks of our homeworld, solid and durable,” his father had said many times. “Cercs don’t crumble when life tries to break us.”
Jeremy was only half-Cerc, and hated funerals. But he promised himself not to cry like he had at Mommy’s funeral, which would be easy. Jeremy didn’t even know Mr. Honaa that well.
“Okay,” Daddy rose slowly from the bed, very slowly. His strong-jawed face tensed up as if in pain. “We’ll head over to the funeral in a few.” He walked toward the room exit with a noticeable limp.
Jeremy made a face at the prospect of venturing out into the muggy outsides. But he said nothing, only nodding.
Before this week the boy had never visited the Rothorid homeworld. Within a day of arriving, he quickly decided he never wanted to visit again.
Everywhere he’d been in this region of Rothor IV was muggy, smelly, foggy and really, really hot. So hot, Jeremy thought at times he was sweating despite the TempReg tech in his clothes. He had wanted to go to Rothor IV and be with his father. Now he really wanted to go back home to Hollus Maddrone or to his grandparents’ home on Terra Sollus like his father had suggested.
But Daddy was here with all his workfellows for Mr. Honaa’s funeral. Daddy had been so sad all week. Suddenly Jeremy felt bad about wanting to leave Rothor IV.
And he knew exactly what his father would say if he complained about the planet. “Cercidaleans don’t bellyache over nonsense like crap weather.”
So Jeremy made an effort to say as little as possible and not to complain. That way he wouldn’t upset Daddy. Especially since his father had been in the hospital a few days because of getting hurt at work.
“Been real quiet since we reached Rothor IV, sprout,” his father said as he lingered near the door exit. “Everything ollrigh’?”
Don’t make him upset. Jeremy nodded quickly and mutely.
That didn’t convince his father one bit. “Use your voice. The Twins gave you one for a reason.”
“I’m fine,” Jeremy murmured, avoiding his father’s unflinching gaze. He started fidgeting with his hands, but stopped.
“You don’t sound fine,” Daddy approached. With a look of great discomfort he lowered himself to one knee in front of the boy, tilting his chin up so their eyes met. “C’mon lad, what’s this about?”
Jeremy let out a heavy sigh. He tried to keep quiet, but knew Daddy wouldn’t take silence for an answer. “Because Mr. Honaa’s dead. And you’re sad. I don’t want to make you more sad, like you were when Mummy died.”
His father stared back at the boy in momentary disbelief. Then he chuckled and gave a slight shake of his head. “You sweet little boy.” He placed a hand on Jeremy’s left shoulder. “I’m going to be sad no matter what, lad. Honaa is…Honaa was a close friend. And your dad misses him very much.” His father gave him a soft pat on the face, like he usually did. “You can ask any questions you have about this, yea?”
“Yes, Daddy,” Jeremy nodded. Hearing that had lifted this weird heavy feeling off his chest. He had a lot of questions. Best to start asking, since it wouldn’t upset his father more. “Is Mr. Honaa now in the same place as Mummy?”
The question made his father’s mouth pull into a smile. His clean-shaven head gleamed under the room’s halolights. “I’d like to think so.”
Jeremy frowned. “But how?” he asked, confused. “They aren’t even the same species. And Rothorids don’t worship the Holy Gemini.”
“Smart lad,” his dad said with one of his long, serious looks that always made Jeremy feel so small. “What I do know is that they are both watching over us now…wherever they may be.”
“Even if they’re in different paradises?”
His father nodded and scratched at his trimmed goatee. “Absolutely, sprout. They’re in…similar paradises.”
Now Jeremy was more confused. “I don’t get it. Why doesn’t the Union just make every species worship the same religion?”
Daddy rose to his feet, wincing the whole way. “Would make it easier, yea?” he asked, trying to cover his pain with a chuckle.
Jeremy was serious. He put on his most serious face as he looked all the way up at his father. “But why don’t they? Then we’d know Mr. Honaa and Mummy are in the same paradise.”
Daddy shook his head then, still amused. He placed a hand on Jeremy’s back and guided him toward the room exit. “The Union doesn’t work that way, sprout. Now, we can get on about this later,” his father said as the boy opened his mouth with another question. “I need you to be really good for Mr. Honaa’s family and my coworkers at the service. Can you do that?”
“Yes, Daddy,” Jeremy nodded his head vigorously. He promised himself today to be a rock, like a true Cercidalean. “Can I ask one more question?”
“Sure,” his father said. Jeremy’s room’s door slid open before them.
“Why do our family and friends keep dying?”
His father froze in his tracks. He stared up at the ceiling, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment as if to steady his emotions, and Jeremy quickly regretted the question. I made him sad, the boy fretted.
He was about to apologize when his father spoke again. “Only the Twins know, Jeremy,” the tall Cerc replied in a quiet voice. He began walking again, taking his son by the hand. “Come on, then.”
The moment they stepped outside the Crimsonborn, the humid temperature smacked Jeremy in the face. The fact that he and his father didn’t melt into puddles of goo was surprising. A Unionjack shuttle filled with Daddy’s workfellows was waiting. All of them had on their formal UComm uniforms.
Jeremy saw Auntie Sammie, who looked pale and even sadder than Daddy. She did, however, have a smile and a hug for the boy. Everyone else was friendly and said ‘hi’; the tall Terranborn Dr. Cortés; the burly metal-skinned Thulican, Khrome, and the lean ice crystal guy, Tyris. The tawny Kintarian that Daddy had referred to as ‘Prydyri-Ravlek’ said nothing, scowling at everything and everyone. Jeremy’s father was really tall, but Prydyri-Ravlek towered over even him. His yellow eyes with their green flecks fell upon Jeremy.
The boy waved.
The Kintarian didn’t smile back, but he did wink before looking away to scowl at the ceiling.
The only being not on the Unionjack was that scary cyborg lady friend of Daddy’s. Jeremy didn’t remember her even coming to Rothor IV.
“She couldn’t make it,” Daddy had said a day ago, without any further explanation. The tone of his father’s voice had discouraged Jeremy from inquiring further.
Jeremy found it odd how Daddy and Auntie Sammie didn’t say much to each other after everyone sat down. In fact, barely anyone spoke during the whole trip to the Temple of Greater
Wuirothao, which took about ten macroms. Unfortunately, that meant they had to go outside again. Jeremy stifled a groan, remembering to be on his best behavior.
The Temple of Greater Wuirothao had been built on a vast bog, but visitors could enter by way of the hardlight bridges leading up to the entrance. Jeremy looked down at the murkiest, muddiest water he’d ever seen in his life. The thought of falling into that made him walk faster.
Even when they walked right up to the entrance, the massive spiral-shaped temple looked like just a dark brownish silhouette, thanks to all the muggy fog. Its three jagged pinnacles were shaped like teeth, rising up into a hazy greyish-brown gloom.
Once inside the foyer, Jeremy stayed at his father’s side as he greeted what appeared to be a never-ending procession of Rothorids, some marooned-scaled like Mr. Honaa, others green-skinned. Quite a few had black scales or bluish scales. Jeremy had no clue which ones were Mr. Honaa’s family, or if all of them were. Every Rothorid sounded alike with their hissing dialogue. Jeremy also noticed was how stick-straight their tails were when speaking with Daddy, which Auntie Sammie had said was a huge show of respect.
After the Rothorid parade ended, a number of other non-Rothorids came up to Daddy as they entered the temple’s inner sanctum where the funeral would be held. All of them had on military outfits too.
The inner sanctum was shaped like a huge half-circle, with vaulted transparent ceilings and patterned walls, showcasing a smooth, shiny bronze color. The pitch-black benches were divided by two aisle ways into three sections, all in long rounded structures to fit with the half-circle design of the inner sanctum. Even inside a building, a faint humid mist hung in the air. A soft chorus of rattling combined with zig-zaggy-sounding hissing played in the background. This must have been the funeral music, but Jeremy couldn’t find anything musical about those noises. He took in all the sights and sounds, until his eyes landed at the very front of the inner sanctum. The boy jolted back.
Floating to the right of the speaking podium was a 3D holographic bust of Mr. Honaa’s head and shoulders, identical down to the triangle shape of the muzzle. Jeremy inched closer to his father, hoping they wouldn’t have to sit close to that. But the seats all were beginning to fill up, so Jeremy tugged at his father’s hand so they could grab some seats quickly.
“This way, lad,” Daddy guided him forward. “We’re up there with Mr. Honaa’s family.”
‘Up there’ meant the very front of the inner sanctum.
Jeremy cringed away. But his much bigger and stronger father kept moving, almost dragging the boy forward until he came willingly. You promised to behave, Jeremy scolded himself, and scurried to catch up with his father’s long, limping strides.
While they walked, Auntie Sammie explained that since Mr. Honaa died defending the Union with Star Brigade at his side, the seating arrangement was a place of honor for Daddy, Auntie Sammie and their workfellows. Strangely, that made Jeremy feel less weird for having to stare at Mr. Honaa’s head.
Jeremy sat between Daddy and Auntie Sammie in the front, while the rest of Daddy’s Star Brigade workfellows sat in the bench behind them. Soon Honaa’s family arrived: twin teenagers who looked almost exactly like Mr. Honaa, even down to his maroon skin. Then Jeremy saw three smaller Rothorids, clearly preteens like him. One youngling’s scaly skin was bright green, another had a pale maroon coloring and a third was covered in cool ivory skin and blood-red eyes. All had super serious looks on their tightly clamped muzzles.
Behind the offspring stood a lean and petite Rothorid with darker green scales, muzzle clamped shut, eyes hard as diamonds. Though Rothorid males and females didn’t bear too many differences in physiques, Jeremy instantly knew this Rothorid was a she-Rothorid and Mr. Honaa’s partner. And that meant these five younglings were Mr. Honaa’s offspring. Jeremy gulped. How bad was it for them when they found out about Mr. Honaa? Jeremy remembered when he was told about Mommy not coming back. At first the boy didn’t believe it—refused to. Sometimes he had dreams that she was still alive.
Those thoughts made Jeremy’s eyes get itchy and his stomach feel queasy, so he pushed the bad memories of Mommy away and focused on being as nice as possible to Mr. Honaa’s family.
He smiled big like Daddy would when greeting Mr. Honaa’s partner and her offspring. But they were all very terse in their hellos, not friendly at all. Jeremy frowned, wondering what he had done wrong.
“Rothorids almost always look serious,” Daddy whispered after seeing his son’s reaction, “even when they are happy about something.”
Once everyone was seated, the rattling music stopped and the ceremony began with some rail-thin Rothorid priest speaking first. He spoke in Wuiroth tongue, all hisses and rasps that grated at Jeremy’s ears. A few other Rothorids came up with their hissing and rasping. After the fifth speaker Jeremy had tuned them all out, not even bothering to look at the translator screens.
How long is this going to go on? he wondered impatiently. The boy hated funerals, and looking at the holo bust of Mr. Honaa’s face was beyond creepy.
Finally, it was Daddy’s turn to speak. Auntie Sammie gave Daddy an encouraging rub on the back as he stood up. But the dread on his father’s face made Jeremy feel cold all over, despite the humidity.
Daddy took his place behind the podium, standing there alone. He stared down at the floor as if to gather his wits. After a long moment, he looked up at the crowd, still quiet, drawing in a deep breath.
Right then Jeremy remembered his father standing behind a similar podium, a year ago on Cercidale—the day of Mommy and baby Nwosu’s funeral. Daddy had spoken about how much Mommy meant to him and everyone in her life, how the heavens had gained two more stars. Jeremy didn’t like thinking about that day ever, but it just popped into his head. Then the boy recalled how tears had been running down his father’s face the whole time he had spoken about Mommy.
At one point his father, his strong-as-a-rock Daddy, had gotten so emotional during his eulogy that he almost couldn’t continue…
Jeremy jumped to his feet and ran.
He heard the chorus of surprised hissing from all the Rothorids and the gasps from the non-Rothorids. Auntie Sammie called out his name as loud as she dared, but the boy didn’t stop.
His father’s jaw dropped in disbelief as Jeremy dashed up to his side.
The boy grabbed hold of his father’s massive hand. “Y’ollrigh’?” he asked, looking up at Daddy, searching for his sad eyes.
Daddy looked so staggered that Jeremy might have laughed if they weren’t at a funeral. His father’s hazel-gold eyes brightened for the first time in days. The crimsonborn straightened up and sighed. “I think I am, sprout.” He gave his son’s hand a gentle squeeze.
Jeremy felt good hearing that, and seeing Daddy genuinely happy. “Okay.”
Daddy smiled broadly at his son. “Let’s do this.”
Jeremy grinned back in agreement, and then looked out into the crowd. Many of the Rothorids looked befuddled by this change in events. Khrome and Dr. Cortés were beaming at him. Aunt Sammie had a hand over her heart and mouthed, “Love you, Jerm.” Her eyes were all wet like she was about to cry. Jeremy mouthed back “Love you, too.”
“Seems my speech translator finally arrived,” Daddy told the crowd, pointing to his son. “Better later than never, yea?” The whole crowd laughed, mostly Rothorid sissing, with a distinct jumble of human laughter and other alien sounds of mirth. And Jeremy couldn’t miss Auntie Sammie’s big, loud laugh.
“Who was Honaa Ishiliba to me?” Daddy continued, bold and brave as ever. “Well, before I answer that question, I’ll start with how we first met…” Then Daddy began his speech.
It was kind of long, but Jeremy still liked every moment of it.
Birthright
When the skies of Terra Sollus turned blue again, the whole town of Big Victory erupted in joy.
The young and old hugged each other and danced together, jumping around in the makeshift dirt streets that
weaved through the dilapidated spaceships serving as Big Victory’s business establishments or homes.
It mattered not if they were earthborn humans, stormborns with their bone-white hair and colorful roots, scaly Rothorids, ivory-skinned Korvenites with their purple hair or whatever the species.
Terra Sollus had been saved. Maelstrom and his ministry of brainwashed extremists had been stopped. The town in the most isolated part of Terra Sollus’s Oklorada Basin had united in a deafening celebration that went well into the early evening. It would have surprised no one if Brightwater, the closest town at about twenty-eight miles east, could hear them clearly.
No one, however, was happier or more ashamed than Antur.
The sharp winds were needling the Korvenite’s whitish skin through his casual dark slacks and shapeless blood-red tunic. Antur, while not very tall at five-foot-nine, kept his physique lean and hard for someone north of fifty years. He had his waves of violet hair with a thick streak of gold pulled back in a shoulder-length ponytail.
Currently, the Korvenite stood silhouetted against the sinking sun. A faint smile brightened his sharp features as he observed the whirlwind of joyous activity around him. He couldn’t help but psychically feed off the town’s impromptu celebration, letting the exuberance flood through him. By the time night had fallen, Antur lost count of how many hugs or exclamations of relief he had exchanged with his many longtime neighbors.
But then he looked at the other Korvenites in their gold and ebony eyes, everyone filled with tension and dread. That was when the shame and the memories seeped in to darken his joy.
This morning all his nearly forgotten fears had returned with nightmarish force after Terra Sollus’s planetary shields painted the skies gold, followed by that psychopath Maelstrom spewing out his xenocidal endgame for every news streams to broadcast.
On that terrorist’s order, those shields were set to unleash radiation that would wipe out every sentient being on Terra Sollus, except the Korvenites of course.