Planet: Euphrates
SHAD ABDELMANI ROSE from his spot at the head of the table. He lifted his glass and proposed a toast. The fifteen family members, some of whom travelled in from Azillabhad for the occasion, raised their glasses in reply.
“To family, and the neverending goal to seek higher purpose.”
They saluted by clinking glasses. Shad continued.
“My words are my art. I look across these gardens and the northern orchards, and I realize if not for my words, these wonders would not exist. Or others of equal deportment would own them. The Abdelmani clan was not always so fortunate.”
Shad smiled at the gray-haired matriarch opposite him.
“Most of you are too young, but Aunt Kora remembers the difficult years. The few who thrived under the old Chancellory did so because they collaborated. After the Fall, many of us pressed a new vision. We found allies, moved with furtive care, and set our goals to higher purpose. We saw the evolution of wormhole travel, the new Collectorate, and the Wave as vital tools to exercise our passion.
“Today, each of you owns a priceless stake in the future. The coming years will challenge our passion. I dearly hope this land will avoid the barbarity of war, but I cannot guarantee it – even a man of my stature. I simply say: Remember who you are. As Abdelmanis, we hold a special place in the annals of all the Damascene people. This must not end with the coming conflict. To my family: Salute!”
They responded with great cheer and refills of wine.
Did they understand the true nature of the threat? Would they have felt reassured knowing what Requiem intended to build after the Black Star War?
No. It was too complicated, and for most too frightening a prospect. Only Malik, who sat midway down the table, responded to his father’s speech with muted joy.
On occasion, Shad regretted stealing his first-born’s life in pursuit of an interstellar revolution. Malik believed in Requiem, but he was also practical. He gave up women and the idea of bringing children into this universe. If and when the new order took hold, he might consider building a legacy.
After they consumed the feast only a brilliant woman like Kora might oversee, Shad and Malik stood on the south gallery. Wine in hand, they admired the formal gardens which only came into full bloom in recent days. They missed last year’s colors. Too much on Shad’s agenda.
“I miss it here,” Malik said. “I loved nothing more than digging in the soil. I helped plant those olive trees.”
“You did? Hmmph. I was away.”
“Most of the year back then.”
“Conquering the universe fills the calendar, Son.”
Malik chuckled then faded into a long sigh.
“Some people sit around debating what to cook for dinner. You plan how to remake the human race.”
“Mostly. You’re wrong on one point.”
“Oh, yeah?”
Shad wrapped an arm around Malik.
“I plan how to remake the human race with you at my side.”
Malik sipped his wine and pointed to the long stairs leading down into the gardens.
“Shall we?”
“Yes. I think a stroll would do us good.”
Shad soon reacquainted himself with the authentic fragrance of fresh flowers, not the synthetic imitators common to space travel. Simple sounds like birds chirping filled him with nostalgia.
Neither father nor son said much as they walked, touched, and smelled. A quarter mile from the estate house, Shad retrieved his pom and flipped it open.
“I can’t put it off. I’ve been out of touch too long.”
Shad had conceded to Kora’s insistence that the family silence their technology during their time together. He told Marne Sarkisian, the Dalliance pilot, to forward incoming transmissions to his pom. It vibrated often throughout the afternoon, but Shad held off.
He and Malik might not return for months.
“I’m surprised you held out this long,” Malik said. “You spend so much time on the pom and watching the holos, I expected to see you twitching, Father.”
“The wine does wonders.”
Shad glanced about, made sure they were alone, and raised holos from his comm.
“Let’s start with the simplest.”
He yanked open a text message from Connor Stallion. Two words:
“It’s done.”
Malik frowned.
“Amity?”
“I’m almost as proud of him as I am of you.”
