The Alpha Choice (19 page)

‘No.’

Gorn began to fidget with one of the emitters. After about a minute Zaran looked up. ‘Well? The question won't ask itself.’

Younger Gorn recounted what happened between himself and his brother. He could not help but delve further back in time, explaining that while neither of his brothers had been especially friendly towards him in the past, this was the first time one of them had been cold and unresponsive. He had racked his brain, but was unable to think of anything that he had done wrong. Then he described how his father had been towards his mother, and older Gorn remembered a reddening creep into his coach’s face, something that had escaped the attention of his younger self.

Zaran had looked thoughtful, and seemed to ponder carefully what had been said to him before replying. ‘Prior to you coming along, your brothers were the centre of attention of both your mother and your father. When you were young, they moved out of the home, and on to exciting lives in the Naval Academy, with no time to give you any thought. Eventually, despite Naraak’s adventures, things were bound to slow down, giving him time to think and realise he was no longer one of the youngsters getting all the attention. I've seen it before, resentment born of confusion…’

‘Why should Naraak be confused, I don’t understand?’

‘That’s families for you, no one says it’s easy, and brothers don’t have to behave logically. I know you're smart Gorn, you like to think that everything conforms to rules, and is explainable, but life isn't always logical and people certainly aren’t. That kind of resentment isn't uncommon within families, but is usually short lived. The next time you see him he’ll have moved on, and rationalised the situation. I wouldn't be at all surprised, if he hadn't forgotten the whole incident.’

While Gorn was not entirely convinced by his coach’s reasoning, he had no alternative theory to advance, and hearing this explanation expressed by someone he so greatly admired, quelled any misgivings he had concerning his brother. Still, he could not easily forget the look on his father’s face. Nor how his mother had reacted. For some reason, Zaran had decided not to comment on the quieter, but more worrying incident between his parents. Perhaps it was an adult thing, but the feeling stayed with him that there was something deeper going on, something he was not privy to; younger Gorn thought it better not to pursue the matter. As for Naraak, he never warmed to Gorn, and over the intervening nine years they became strangers to each other. Gorn realised that, as his brother’s behaviour was beyond his understanding, it was pointless to be concerned over it, relegating the old question to the furthermost parts of his memory.

Now, they were all thrown together once more, and again he felt the presence of that deeper something. The actions of his family just hours before, and his experience of nine years ago merged. Younger Gorn remembered, and Older Gorn agreed, they were excluded from a vital piece of information which would make everything fall neatly into place.

During the night, he had spoken to the non responsive image of his mother as though she was real and could provide him with the key, but as the night receded, giving way to daylight, nothing changed. As he walked back down the pathway to the exit, he was still without answers, perhaps this time Zaran would provide them?

Ω

Gorn arrived at the Shimmering Park a little earlier than arranged, and sat at a table set apart, overlooking the lake at the centre of the park. He watched as patches of water changed in colour, from azure to the deepest blue, through to turquoise, emerald green and then to yet another shade of blue. The pattern of the changing colours constantly varied, but the most beautiful aspect was the soft light suffusing this aquatic ballet, hence the name given to the park. The lake contained algae, unique to these waters, in a constant state of flux. He would often come here and ponder scientific questions, to which no one had the answers, while sitting on the bank-side. The irrational part of him hoped the unpredictable beauty created by these simple life forms would provide him with inspiration. The answers usually presented themselves, and while his rational mind remained unconvinced the lake had anything to do with it, he still came.
 

This visit was for an altogether different reason, and he was about to hear something that would impact on his future, in ways he could not possibly imagine.

Zaran arrived, and sat down without any ceremony. He ordered water for the two of them and said nothing until it arrived.
When satisfied they would not be overheard, he took a sip of his water then looked directly into Gorn’s eyes. The look in his own was soft and showed concern, perhaps for what he was about to say, or more likely the effect it was to have on the young man before him. He had thought long and hard before suggesting the meeting. Never a coward - his decision not to enter the military, and its consequences were testament to that - what he had to do now required more courage than the decision he made as a young man, the ramifications far greater. However, the decision had never been his to make, he was bound by an oath to Cyrar, which he was honour bound to fulfil.

Gorn had never seen his coach so troubled.
 

‘Many years ago, before you were born, your mother and I were, along with your father and Genir’s parents, inseparable...’

Gorn interrupted. ‘I know, Jaron told me this years ago, there was another friend, Denaa.’

‘That’s right,’ Zaran smiled, wanly.

‘Your mother and I grew very fond of each other, and while we were too young to be contracted, it was understood by everyone, including your maternal grandparents, that one day, we would marry. Unfortunately, when I made the decision not to enter the military, your mother’s parents forbade me from ever seeing her again.’

Gorn was surprised his mother had never mentioned this to him, when he told her who his zagball teacher was, but from what little he knew of his grandparents, this last part was not unexpected. His mother saw very little of them when she was alive, but never restricted Gorn’s access. He found them dry and cold, more like his father than his mother, and tried to visit them as little as possible. Even at his mother’s remembrance ceremony, they were as impersonal as ever, showing no sign of grief or remorse.

Zaran continued. ‘We were both strong willed, your mother more so than me. She suggested we run away, but I knew she would come to regret it. I left the city to study elsewhere, and in time I heard that she had married your father,’ he took another sip of his water, and Gorn noticed his hands were shaking. ‘I understand you’ve been told of the incident that sent your father into a decline?’

Gorn nodded.

‘You haven't been told everything you need to know about your father. He was a difficult man long before Gallsor, but he hid this from his friends, and your mother never complained. To begin with, he was just surly and uncommunicative, she could cope with that, but after Gallsor he became violent and hurt her badly.’ Gorn was horrified at what he was hearing, and was about to speak when his old coach shook his head. It was obvious the man was suffering, and needed to continue uninterrupted, so Gorn remained silent.

‘Cyrar left your father, and came to the city where I was teaching, she had no idea I was there, our meeting was pure accident. When I saw what had been done to her, I insisted she tell me everything. She agreed, on condition I wouldn’t confront Bakir, I accepted her terms, but later wished I hadn’t. When she finished her story, I wanted to go to your father,’ he stopped himself and took a deep breath, the memory of that day showing as anger in his face, ‘but I was bound by my promise, and so let it go. We stayed together, your mother and I, for almost six months when, out of the blue, she received a communication from your father pleading with her to meet him. She agreed, and after the meeting told me she had to return as her
situation,
Bakir called it, had come to the attention of the military authorities. It had been made clear that if she stayed with me, it would prejudice her sons’ future in the military.’

‘Why would it affect my brothers, they hadn't done anything wrong?’ Gorn asked.

‘Because, the military have their own rules, which bear only a passing resemblance to civilian codes of conduct. They have no problem with people having multiple relationships, and children born outside of marriage, Denaa is a prime example. If a serving officer has a relationship with the wife of a civilian, it isn't a problem, but if the roles are reversed they will do all they can to bring the relationship to an end. All they care about is preserving the semblance of decency.’

‘By punishing my brothers for something they hadn't done? Why not threaten my father?’

Zaran shook his head. ‘Your mother was unlikely to respond to that, and they knew exactly how to restore equilibrium. It didn't matter to them that the stability they wanted involved a brutal husband misusing his wife, as long as everything appeared to be well on the surface. I’ve no doubt something was said to Bakir to the effect that visible signs of unrest were to be avoided at all costs. The myth of life in the military being near perfect, would continue.’

‘Would they have carried out their threat? asked Gorn.

‘I really don’t know, but if I was forced to make an educated guess I’d say, yes,’ he returned to his story. ‘Your mother had no choice, she returned. As the military correctly predicted, she would put the interests of her children first.’

‘This isn't why you asked to speak to me. You're leading up to something.’

Zaran said nothing.

‘I need you to tell me.’

‘Six months after your mother returned to Bakir, you were born.’

A wave of something Gorn had never before experienced swept through his mind, touching all that he knew. The constants in his life were instantly changed, the elements that formed the essence of him, based on a lie. At once, everything made perfect sense, in a sick and twisted way. He had been punished all his life, for something that was not his fault, with those he was closest to, allowing him to think he was somehow to blame. He felt betrayed by everyone he loved and respected.
How many of them knew, yet said nothing?

It was late morning and he found himself back at the home of his friends, with no idea how he had got there. No recollection of getting up from the table, or leaving the park, it was all a blank. He was about to walk on, when Ciarra came running down the sweeping entrance to the villa. She came up to him and held out her arms, he stood back. ‘You knew about Zaran and my mother,’ it was not a question.

Ciarra’s arms fell to her sides. ‘Yes, Jaron and I knew.’

‘When were you going to tell me?’

‘Never. It was for your mother or Zaran to tell you, when you were ready,’ she stepped forward and took his arm, he did not resist. She then slowly guided her friend’s son indoors, fearful that if she were to let go he would run off with no one to help him heal; Zaran had contacted them, afraid of how his son might react. She led Gorn to a large couch that he and Genir had jumped on as small children and, by placing her hands on his shoulders, made it clear he was to sit. Nothing was said.

In the last twenty-four hours, he had slept for only two. Feeling anger and betrayal, he knew it was unlikely he would sleep for many more hours. Within three minutes of sitting on the old couch, he was asleep.

Ciarra stayed with Cyrar’s son, determined to be there for him when he woke, and to let him know the truth about his mother.

As far as Gorn could tell, his sleep was dreamless, but he opened his eyes, mind made up, only to find Ciarra asleep in the armchair next to him with Jaron sitting on the edge of the couch, looking at him.

Jaron pre-empted Gorn’s question, ‘a little over eighteen hours.’

Gorn rubbed his eyes. ‘Eighteen hours?’

‘Ciarra has remained at your side, but even she couldn’t stay awake that long. I didn't think it fair to wake her, and so I’ve been here for three hours.’

‘Why would you both do that?’ Gorn was genuinely baffled.

‘Because my boy, contrary to what you might think, other than Genir, there are three people who care for you. Ciarra and I are two, the other is your father, your real father; the man who was desperate to be with you from the moment you were born, but stayed in the shadows only because your mother asked it of him.’

‘Come,’ he said, his voice brightening, ‘let’s eat,’ he looked over to his sleeping wife. ‘She won’t thank me for letting her sleep, and she’ll wake with a very stiff neck, but I think it best we leave her.’

Gorn rose from the couch, taking care not to wake Ciarra, and followed Jaron into another room where three places were laid with food and drink. While he was content to keep Jaron company, food was the furthest thing from his mind. Jaron motioned for him to sit and soon the two of them were helping themselves to what was before them. Once he started eating, Gorn found a bottomless well in the place where his stomach should have been, he could not remember ever eating as much. Neither of them spoke.

Once they had cleared their plates, for the last time, Jaron leaned back in his chair. ‘So what are you going to do now?’

‘How long did you know about my mother and Zaran, and me?’ he asked.

‘Soon after Cyrar discovered she was pregnant. Ciarra and I have always been very close to your mother and Zaran. It wouldn’t have been possible for them, either of them, to keep it from us. As she did with Zaran, your mother swore us to secrecy over your true parentage. She knew we would never mention it abroad, but she was adamant we weren’t to tell you. Later, she wished she had let you know, and intended telling you when you had established your independence. She told the three of us, that if anything happened to her, Zaran should be the one to tell you.’

Gorn asked. ‘Did he, Bakir, have anything to do with her death?’

‘Cyrar was completely alone when it happened. He was in another city…’

‘That isn't what I asked. Did he have anything to do with her death?’

Jaron glanced towards the room where his wife was sleeping, as if hoping she would appear and take away the burden of answering. When no help came from that quarter, he turned back to the persistent young man. ‘Bakir thought your mother was going to leave him for Zaran. She said it wasn’t true, but he didn’t believe her. During her last visit here, she told us of his threat to inform the Navy of your true paternity, if she ever did leave.’