Offspring

by Steven Harper

  Ahead, the foyer opened into a formal sitting room, and Kendi attention was immediately drawn straight to a hovering easy chair and the a woman seated therein. Senator Salman Reza. She had silver hair, pale gray eyes, and an absolutely straight posture. The senator was a large woman, and her presence permeated the room. When she sprang to her feet to greet Ben and Kendi, her movements crackled with fierce energy.

  “Come in, ducks,” she said. Her voice filled the space around her. “Your aunt and uncle should be here any moment now.”

  “They’re on the roof,” Kendi said, and kissed her on one soft cheek. She reminded Kendi of Ara Rymar, her daughter and Kendi’s long-time teacher. Ara had also been Kendi’s surrogate mother from the time she had freed him from slavery at the age of fifteen. Her death had dealt him a heavy blow, one that still made him reel at times.

  Elsewhere in the room, fresh flowers made splashes of scented color among the furniture, and in the corner a floor-to-ceiling cage swarmed with dozens of tiny Bellerophon tree dinosaurs, each one yellow as sunshine. They chirped with musical softness. On a sofa that floated a few centimeters off the floor perched younger versions of Sil and Hazid—Zayim and Tress, Ben’s cousins.

  Ben gave his grandmother a kiss of his own while Kendi turned to the cousins.

  “Brother Zayim,” he said formally. “Sister Tress.”

  Neither of them rose to the bait. Zayim got up to shake hands. Tress kept her seat. Her eyes were tired, almost vacant, and she looked unfocused and dim, especially with her grandmother in the room. Still dealing with the aftermath of the Despair, Kendi thought.

  The lift came down again, and Sil and Hazid entered the room, looking defiant. More greetings were exchanged. Ben said very little, pulling inward tight as a turtle. His handsome face remained expressionless, though Kendi’s practiced eye saw the misery. It made Kendi’s blood boil to see Ben like this, and fresh anger burned in his chest. Ara Rymar had been active among the faction of the Children of Irfan that traveled about the galaxy, seeking enslaved Silent and doing whatever it took to free them. Ara had used bribery, theft, blackmail, extortion, and an endless supply of con games to pry Silent chattel away from their owners and bring them back to Bellerophon.

  This meant, of course, that Ara had been away for long periods when Ben was a child. During those times, Ben had usually stayed with his aunt, uncle, and cousins. Ara had hoped that Tress and Zayim would turn into a brother and sister for her only child, but it had never worked out that way. Not only did Ben look completely different, he was also the only family member who wasn’t Silent. Tress and Zayim had made his life miserable, and Hazid and Sil had turned blind eyes to it. Had contributed to it. Kendi kept hoping that one of them would finally give him an excuse to use an uppercut. Or a groin shot.

  Everyone settled back into couches and chairs, which adjusted their elevation for optimum comfort. A tray of hor’s d’oeuvres sat on the etched glass coffee table next to a selection of chilled flasks and bottles and a steaming tea set. Kendi knew the rule—no one but Salman touched that tea set.

  “Help yourselves,” Salman said. “Dinner will be ready soon. I don’t know about all of you, but I’m tired and starving.”

  “Long trip?” Hazid said.

  “Fourteen days of speaking, pleading, cajoling, and even roaring like a dinosaur,” she said. “And I’m not a hatchling anymore.”

  “So what’s this meeting about, Grandma?” Kendi asked, pouring himself a glass of juice. “As if we didn’t know.”

  “When will you be making the formal announcement?” Tress asked. Her voice was low, barely audible.

  “Soon,” Salman said. “Within a few days. There are things to discuss first, my loves.”

  “Such as?” Ben asked, and Kendi could hear his apprehension.

  “The impact my candidacy will have on this family.” Salman picked up a teacup and saucer in her large hands. “Bellerophon’s population numbers about ninety-eight million people. Just over half are human. The Ched-Balaar make up approximately forty percent, and the rest consist of other sentient species. I want to be their governor. This means that millions of people are going to be watching me and mine very carefully. Unfortunately, this also means that you’ll come under a certain amount of scrutiny as well. Sil, you’re my only...my only child now, and the press will try to take a hard look at you.”

  “Let them,” Sil said airily. “I have nothing to hide.”

  “What about all those recreational drugs you took last year?” Kendi asked.

  “How dare you!” Hazid snapped, half-rising.

  “I never did any such thing!” Sil said.

  “Candidate’s Daughter Denies Taking Drugs,” Kendi intoned like a newscaster. “Details at ten.”

  Ben said, “Ouch.” Sil stared at Kendi, her mouth open.

  “He’s right, Mother,” Tress said quietly. “We have to be ready for that.”

  “I can, of course, let the press know that my family isn’t involved in my politics, and that any reporter who bothers you will never have access to my administration,” Salman said, “but that sort of protection only goes so far, and it’s an empty threat to the scummier newsfeeds that know they’d never be allowed inside the governor’s mansion anyway. Everything you say, everything you do, is a potential story. If you accidentally belch in a restaurant, there’ll be a vid of it on the feeds within minutes. If you step outside with your fly unfastened, they’ll beam a close-up into every living room on the planet.”

  “What about personal safety?” Kendi asked.

  “Safety?” Zayim echoed. “You mean we’re in danger?”

  “We have ninety-eight million people in the world,” Salman said, “and some of them talk to trees. Or wear foil hats. Or think they’re the reincarnation of Irfan Qasad.”

  Ben snatched up a napkin and coughed wildly, drenching the cloth with a mouthful of soda. Kendi thumped him on the back.

  “You all right?” he asked, concerned.

  “Fine. Sorry, Grandma.”

  Salman nodded. “Since the Despair, the number of mental patients has skyrocketed,” she continued. “Some of them fixate on public figures and may—I stress, may—want to harm you. And, of course, I have political enemies who might try to influence me by threatening you.”

  “I don’t want bodyguards,” Zayim said. “Do you think I need bodyguards?”

  “We’ll talk specifics in a moment,” Salman said. “Right now I’m just laying out the topics of discussion. We also need to go over privacy issues, what’s likely to come out in the press, and how to behave in public. Especially you, Kendi.”

  “Me?” Kendi said, startled.

  Zayid smirked while Hazid nudged Sil in the ribs. They exchanged knowing looks.

  “You aren’t known for your tact, hon,” Salman said, and Kendi shifted a little under her penetrating gaze. He was surprised to find himself flushing. “What you did during the Despair has granted you a certain amount of leeway—”

  “You mean the fact that I saved the universe means people give me a little slack now and then?” Kendi said despite his warm cheeks. “Imagine that.”

  “Now that’s exactly what she means,” Sil said. “You can’t shoot your mouth off whenever you like, Kendi, or lord your status over the rest of us like a spoiled child. If you want to be a part of this family, you can’t go around saying—”

  “If I want to be a member?” Kendi interrupted. “Let’s get one thing straight, Sil. I was dragged kicking and screaming into this den of dysfunction. Ben is the only one of you lot who’s worth a—”

  “That’s enough!” Salman’s voice boomed like a cannon. “You listen to me—all of you. I know damned well that this family has two enemy camps. I also know that if I’m going to win this election, we have to present a united front. I don’t give a flying shit-fit if it’s a fake front or not. What you do and say behind closed doors is your own damn business, but in public, you behave. Or do you want Michael Foxglove in the gov
ernor’s mansion?”

  Her fury silenced the room. Kendi clenched a fist. Tress had drawn her feet up and tucked them underneath herself on the sofa. Sil and Hazid sat rigidly next to each other, and Ben’s face was carved from stone. The stillness lay thick as dust.

  “Grandma’s right,” Kendi said at last. “We can’t let Foxglove anywhere near the governorship.”

  “I never liked the fighting,” Tress said softly. “Not since the Despair, anyway. Ben...” She took a deep breath. “Ben, I want to apologize. I treated you like dirt when we were kids, and I wasn’t any better when we grew up. I was dreadful, and I’m sorry.”

  Ben stared, clearly unable to speak. Kendi squeezed his hand. It was sweaty.

  “Tress!” Zayid said. “What the hell? We weren’t any meaner than kids in any other family.”

  “Yes we were,” Tress said. “We treated Ben like an outsider and a bastard child just because he wasn’t Silent. Well these days he’s Silent and we aren’t, and now I know what it’s like. So I’m apologizing.”

  “To make yourself feel better?” Kendi burst out. “Assuage some guilt? All life—is he supposed to forget everything you did and said to him just because you say you’re sorry?”

  “Kendi,” Ben said. “You’re hurting my hand.”

  Kendi instantly relaxed his grip, though he couldn’t keep from grinding his teeth. Tress expected a single sentence to undo more than twenty years? What kind of trick was she trying to pull?

  “I accept, Tress,” Ben said gravely.

  “Thank you,” Tress replied.

  Kendi started to speak again, but Ben squeezed his hand hard, and Ben’s hands were strong. Kendi suppressed a wince and shut his mouth.

  “Let’s continue, then,” Salman interjected from her chair. Every head swiveled toward her. “I’m afraid very little of this is going to be pleasant, my ducks, and I want you to remember that I love each of you very much. The public, however, may have a different view.”

  “What do you mean?” Zayid said.

  “Let’s start with the news media. They’re going to dig into our pasts to look for delightful and interesting facts to air on the feeds. We need to anticipate what will come up and how to handle it.

  “First, Zayid, they’ll make hay over your four marriages, your four divorces, and the child you had from that one-night stand.”

  Zayid paled. “How did you know about that?”

  “And Tress,” Salman continued, ignoring the question, “they’ll learn how your studies at the monastery were delayed while you underwent rehabilitation. Sil and Hazid, you separated for six months and got back together again, but only after Sil spent time in a psychiatric hospital. None of this should cost me the election, but it will come out, and you need to be ready for it.”

  “What about Ben and Kendi?” Sil said, her face hard. “They aren’t perfect, you know.”

  “The circumstances of Ben’s birth will come under scrutiny, yes,” Salman said. “As will his and Kendi’s role in the Despair, though that’s already gone through the feeds a thousand times. If there’s anything else you can think of that might come out, you’d better tell me, either here and now or soon and in private.”

  The room remained silent. Kendi thought about his checkered past at the monastery, his angry teenager days. He’d stomped on several dozen rules and almost been expelled twice. Or was it three times? Maybe he should mention that to Salman.

  “Remember,” Salman continued, “that the media are extremely resourceful and persistent. If there’s anything to find, they’ll find it, and they’ll make it public. It’s easier to deal with such things if we know about them in advance, my loves.”

  On the couch beside Kendi, Ben tensed. A flushed crawled over his face, and subtle movements of his jaw told Kendi he was chewing the inside of his cheek. Did Ben have a dark secret? A skeleton in the closet? No. Kendi knew Ben’s past like he knew his own, and it contained nothing Grandma hadn’t already mentioned. Kendi considered asking him. Then he caught sight of Sil and Hazid, whose faces bore an odd mix of stubbornness and anticipation. They were dying to hear some tidbit about Kendi and Ben, something they could snicker and snarl about. Kendi’s own stubborn streak came to the fore and he clamped his lips firmly shut. There was no way he would give Hazid and the others the satisfaction of ferreting out some nugget of scandal, especially one attached to Ben.

  “I’ll talk to each of you later, then,” Salman said. Her words sounded ominous. “Also remember that reporters will almost certainly dog your steps every moment of every day once I declare my candidacy. The four of you”—she made a gesture that took in Kendi, Ben, Tress, and Zayim—”can expect less attention because you’re ‘only’ my grandchildren, though Kendi is already a celebrity.”

  “Senator,” said a gray-clad maid at the doorway, “dinner is ready.”

  They rose and went into the dining hall, where they took places at a long polished table beneath a crystal chandelier. Salman sat at the head. The first course was clear onion soup covered with a mild melted cheese. It was delicately seasoned and delightfully salty. Kendi savored each mouthful and wished that Ben liked to cook. Or that Kendi himself could cook. Ben, however, remained supremely uninterested in culinary matters. As for Kendi, every time he even glanced at the kitchen, food smoked, shriveled, vaporized, or exploded. Eventually the two of them had given up and run up tabs at all the local take-out places. Ben called it their duty to the local economy.

  Salman continued her speech as they ate. “In answer to Sil’s earlier question,” she said, “Sil and Hazid will indeed need bodyguards. It would be foolish for you to go out in public undefended. The Guardians will work with you, of course, and keep the disruption to a minimum.”

  Hazid groaned and Sil covered her mouth with a napkin, but neither one of them questioned Salman’s assertion.

  “What about the rest of us?” Kendi asked.

  “As a rule, grandchildren of high-ranking government figures don’t need bodyguards. However, if any kind of threat arises, we’ll provide security to you.”

  “How much will all this cost?” Hazid asked.

  “The bodyguards are government employees,” Salman said. “No cost to you. And that brings us to the next thing—blathering personal opinions.”

  The maid took away the soup bowls and replaced them with a small fish fillet drizzled with a creamy mushroom sauce. Kendi picked up his fish knife and suppressed a smile. He had grown up in the poorer section of Sydney, Australia back on Earth, running half-wild with his older brother and younger sister on the grimy streets. His parents had fought to get him to use a plastic spoon to shovel beans down his throat. Now he was eating fish fillet at a table decorated with enough cutlery to arm a small nation. Life was a strange thing indeed.

  “The media will ask you about this issue or that problem,” Salman said. “And they’ll be relentless. Just acknowledging their presence will start a frenzy, and they won’t leave you alone.”

  “Well, that’s all to the good,” Sil said. “I have a few things to say about—”

  “No,” Salman interjected firmly. “That’s exactly what I’m warning you about. Never, ever talk to a reporter or newsfeeder. Even a comment that seems inocuous at the time can have earth-shattering repercussions for my campaign. Kendi already showed you how easily they can twist words. The only thing you should ever say in the presence of a reporter is—”

  A ‘Get the hell out of my way’?” Kendi asked.

  “I was thinking a firm ‘No comment,’ “ Salman replied. “You need to understand that even the slightest slip can damage my party and my chances.”

  “How many Senate seats do the Unionists hold right now?” Ben asked.

  “We have thirty-two out of ninety-eight,” Salman said. “A little over a third. Foxglove’s Federals hold only twenty-five, but we’re both outnumbered by Ched-Pirasku and the Populists, since they have the remaining forty-one.”

  Kendi did some math. “Ninety-ei
ght seats total. When did they lose one?”

  “Just after the Despair,” Salman said. “Enough people died that we had to adjust the Senate down a chair. The Federals were the losers, thank heaven, and you should have seen the fight they put up. Redistricting everyone was hell, especially because we were trying to run this place on our own for the first time. We still don’t know what the hell we’re doing half the time.”

  Kendi nodded. Just a few months ago, Bellerophon had been a part of the Independence Confederation, a powerful government that encompassed dozens of worlds. The Bellerophon Senate had run local affairs but had ultimately answered to Empress Kan maja Kalii, a benign and popular ruler. After the Despair severed all interplanetary communication, however, the Confederation fell apart and Bellerophon was left to its own devices. Political parties rose out of the chaos, and the Senate decided to elect a planetary governor, imbued with the powers once held by the Empress. To avoid giving any one party too much power, the Senate also decided that the Governor would be elected by popular vote and not appointed by Senate majority.

  “The real struggle is going to be defeating the Populists,” Salman said. “They hold the most seats, and Ched-Pirasku’s popularity is pretty high right now.”

  “But together the Unionists and the Federals outnumber them,” Tress pointed out. “That has to be some kind of advantage for you.”

  “Not as much as you’d think,” Salman said. “We’re polar opposites. My Unionists are out to keep Bellerophon a united planet, and we’ve got to build up the military and find some allies. It’ll mean more jobs, for one thing. For another, Bellerophon has more functioning Silent per capita than any other planet in the galaxy, and you can be sure someone out there will realize that we’re ripe for picking without the Empress to defend us. An invasion is inevitable. But Foxglove and his pet Federals are pushing that separatist nonsense. They want to pull away from the rest of the galaxy and retreat into racial enclaves. Foolishness! This isn’t the time to entrench—it’s time to expand, to reach out toward other—”