The Alpha Choice (20 page)

Gorn interrupted. ‘He knew how she would react. She gave up her happiness for my brothers, and it was a safe guess she wouldn’t risk my career.’
 

‘I think you're right. Neither the military, nor the Supreme Council would be able to remove you, but your mother is…was a very intelligent woman. She knew that there are many ways to halt, or ruin a career. You would find obstacles placed in your way, and have no idea why you were being singled out.’

Something about this whole thing made no sense to Gorn. ‘He only threatened to tell, if she left him. If she stayed he wouldn’t have carried out his threat.’

‘You’re assuming Bakir was rational, he wasn’t, and your mother knew that. There had been no contact between her and Zaran, and nothing to suggest otherwise, yet Bakir was convinced they were seeing each other. I can only imagine that something was said, or happened after Cyrar left us, to convince her she only had one option.’
 

Instead of anger taking control of him, Gorn’s rational mind surfaced. He let it take him to the unpleasant, but unavoidable, conclusion he now put to Jaron. ‘My mother took her own life to protect me against her husband?’

Jaron had noted the change in designation for the young man’s adoptive father. He knew that from this day Gorn would never again refer to Bakir as father. He was distancing himself from the man he may have to act against now, or at a chosen point in the future. He also knew that Cyrar’s son had decided to punish the man who had indirectly caused her death. The calculated nature of Gorn’s reaction chilled him. ‘I swore to your mother that if you asked me any questions, I would only tell you the truth, even if the answers would cause you pain. She would know that, according to custom, the surviving husband must laud his deceased wife at the remembrance ceremony. This he did, Ciarra and I were there after you left, we witnessed it. He couldn’t say anything that would tarnish your mother’s memory. The effect of his threat had been inverted. Any attempt to besmirch her character would result in a dishonour that would destroy him, and infect your half brothers.
 

‘While he hates you for what you represent, the product of a few short months of happiness your mother and father enjoyed together, he knows that you will be sympathetically received as the son of a woman of honour. He is powerless to do anything.’

He paused to see Gorn's response, there was none. He had to do something to halt whatever was being planned. ‘Gorn, you have every right to be angry, and no one would blame you if your first reaction was to seek vengeance on your father...’ he corrected himself, ‘Bakir, but think it through. Your mother wouldn’t want that, she wanted better things for you.’

Gorn leaned across the table and took the older man’s hands in his own. ‘I appreciate everything you have said to me. I promise I won't seek revenge against my mother’s husband. I have no feelings towards him, at all. Following the closure ceremony, I’ll rejoin my ship,’ he paused and looked through the archway to the adjoining room where Ciarra was still sleeping. ‘I can't tell you how grateful I am to you both. I wouldn’t feel right going back home when I'm on shore leave, I’ll probably use the Navy apartment I've been loaned, until I can get something more permanent. ’

Jaron was relieved, sensing no veiled animus in the young man. ‘Formal Closure is tomorrow, I know that seems too soon, but it’s already been delayed because of your deployment. Of course, we’ll be there. Ciarra told you to treat our home as your own. I can speak for both of us, when I say we would be very unhappy if, after tomorrow, you stayed away.’

The two men walked around the table and embraced, not as members of the Navy, but as family.

‘I wish,’ added Jaron, as the two walked into the next room to wake Ciarra, ‘that Genir’s commanding officer hadn’t insisted he join his ship. They aren't departing for three months, but his squadron’s engaged in some major manoeuvres, and as one of the wing men he had to be there. He was devastated.’

Gorn nodded. ‘I wondered where he was. He would have been here if he could, but we both know the demands of the Navy come first. If they say they need him, then they need him. He doesn’t…?’

‘No, he has no idea that Zaran is your father. You’ll have to find the right moment to tell him.’

They woke Ciarra, and Gorn took his leave, agreeing to meet the next day and politely refusing the offer of their flyer. Walking through the parkland, between the villa and the town, he regretted the lie he told Jaron.

Ω

Gorn met his two friends at the Office of Formal Closure, where a state official would play a certified recording made by his mother, to all interested parties.
 

Certification was a lengthy process, and involved Cyrar recording, within the Office itself, all instructions concerning her property, as well as any other requests of a personal nature. Her instructions would be considered binding if the official was satisfied that title was established to the property being gifted, and she was of sound mind. Both matters were easy to establish, the first from official records, the second from scans taken immediately before the recording.
 

As well as Jaron and Ciarra, Gorn recognised his maternal grandparents. They did not speak, but each acknowledged him with a courteous nod of the head.
 

At the far end of the room he noticed his adoptive father, and half-brothers. Walking up to them, he smiled cordially and extended his arm, only Serkar returned the gesture.
No matter
, thought Gorn,
the die is already cast
.

There were several people present who Gorn had never met. He suspected they were distant relatives who would emerge intermittently, on occasions such as these, to see if the deceased had seen fit to remember them in some, rewarding fashion. They were the type who preyed on the dead.
 

The official called upon everyone to take their seats, in readiness for the proclamation. Medics were on hand as the experience had, on a number of previous occasions, been too emotionally overwhelming for some participants. With everyone seated - Jaron flanking Gorn on one side, Ciarra on the other - the lights were dimmed and a holo sphere appeared in the centre of the room and, within it, the smiling image of his mother.

Ciarra must have sensed the effect of the image on the young man, for as she took hold of his hand and squeezed it tightly, he noticeably relaxed.

The image of Cyrar confirmed that the recording was made three weeks earlier, and recited all the official requirements to confirm authenticity. Formalities over, she turned her attention to the people in the room.
 

It appeared to Gorn that his mother was looking directly at him, when she confirmed there would be a personal message, ‘which might fill some of the gaping holes I’ve left in your life.’
 

What came next surprised all there, and outraged some. ‘I hope all who were requested, were able to attend. At the outset I must inform you, I’ve broken with custom, and will make no personal statement as part of my proclamation. I have, however, prepared three personal messages to be distributed. One, as you’re now aware, to my son Gorn. Another to my oldest friends, Jaron and Ciarra, and finally to an old and dear friend who couldn’t be here today.’

Gorn could read nothing from the faces of his half-brothers.
How could she leave no message for them?
he thought.

The image continued. ‘The way is now clear for matters of most interest to some here, my property. Many of you will think, I was seized of very little, that all I ever owned became the property of my husband upon the sealing of our marriage contract. That isn’t the case. When we contracted, I wasn’t of dependant age and, consequently, all of which I was possessed, remained my property.

‘To my dear friends, Jaron and Ciarra, I give my summer villa on the shores of Lake Roseir. I know you have loved it for many years. For my part, I don’t know how I would have coped, without creating some wonderful memories in that beautiful place. Thank you. May you always be happy there, and remember me from time to time, as you walk along the beach towards the sunset.
 

‘I will now pause, as I suspect someone will need a few moments.’
 

As his mother had predicted, Ciarra was weeping not, Gorn knew, from the pleasure of gaining a valuable summer residence, this was of no interest to her, but rather the memories his mother had conjured. It was his turn to comfort her by putting his arm around her slender shoulders. A grateful Jaron, separated from his wife, put his hand on the young man’s shoulder.
 

A minute later, the image smiled. ‘Now you’re back with us Ciarra, I’ll continue. All of my remaining property, including my home, and the deposits I held, largely untouched, since the death of my beloved aunt Ceiza, I give to my son Gorn. The deposits are substantial, use them wisely my son.’

In hearing that last message, directed at him, Gorn felt his mother was there in the room, with him, not just her image and her recorded voice, but physically present, speaking only to him.

Without further ado, the image disappeared.
 

The carrion feeders left immediately. For them, it was never about emotion, and probably the way most of their expeditions ended. They lived for the occasional opportunity when a windfall would be theirs, or a sole recipient would be in need of succour. In such circumstances, they would circle and eventually descend upon the unfortunate victim. Today they were out of luck, as it was clear that Jaron and Ciarra were the boundary they would not be able to cross.

Gorn and his friends got to their feet as the official approached them. To Jaron he gave a small obsidian box, which contained a galet bearing the personal message from Cyrar. He handed Gorn a slightly larger box which, law dictated, had to contain two galets: one private; the other providing him with details, of his holdings, together with access codes, and detailed technical advice on dealing with them. As though acknowledging the importance of its contents, he was given a bag to accommodate the box. Clearly, the official did not think such matters would occur to bereaved relatives.
 

The official spoke, which of itself was rare, it not being customary for them to interact with the bereaved, but it was what he said that surprised Gorn. ‘Young man, your mother was less than candid when she described the size of your holdings. They are not substantial, they are vast. You are now one of a very small group which comprises the richest people on our planet.’

The expression on Gorn's face did not go unnoticed. ‘I see that you are surprised,’ the emotionless face turned to Jaron and Ciarra, ‘I am on hand to help, should you need me. My details are on the galet.’ He turned back to Gorn. ‘In case you wonder why I should be so generous, in offering my services, I am an old friend of your aunt.’

‘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.’