Yes, I know I have a novel to be working on...but this idea just struck me so I wrote it all in one rush.
Let's just say this is my experiment at writing a more personal story in a space opera setting. We'll see how successful that is...
Other
Mother and Father are at it again.
They never know that I can hear them. They believe that the walls and the dead of night are enough to hide their arguments from me, but oh how they are wrong. A wall is thinner than paper to my sensitive ears, the same ears that I inherited from Father. And I rarely sleep. Not when so many thoughts trouble me, keep me awake at night.
My izieria—stepbrothers—inform me that a ten-year-old should have no worries to fill his empty little head, certainly not enough to keep him awake. If only they knew. I have more worries than anyone else in our family. Sometimes I feel I have more worries than anyone else on the planet.
“That’s it! I’ve had enough of this goddamn hellhole!” screams Mother. She always screams. She is loud, embarrassingly so. Father always has to remind her. He has to tell her that a proper Mieran woman does not shout. Mother always retorts that she is not Mieran, she does not have to obey our rules. “Soon as this year is over, I’m buying a one-way ticket for two to Earth and you are not stopping me, you understand, you miserable man?”
“Irena,” says Father. It is his tired voice; not tired as in he needs rest, but tired as in he is frustrated by Mother’s behavior. “You are speaking nonsense. You may leave, but Rione will stay on this world, and I will teach him the ways of our clan.”
“Teach him? Destroy him, that’s what, shrink his galaxy to the size of this little pebble of a planet—”
“And how is what you want is any better?” Father is not shouting because Mierans do not shout, but there is that edge in his voice, that edge that says that he is becoming exasperated in Mother and will not put up with her shouting any longer. “You want to uproot him from the only home he’s ever known, and roam the Galaxy like a homeless stray!”
“At least he’ll understand! Understand there’s an entire Galaxy out there, not this tiny speck where you can’t even see any stars from!”
“Stars, stars, stars. You and your stars.”
“You and your clan!”
“Then go. If you hate it so much here, go. You can buy that ticket to Earth, but Rione will stay here.”
“I won’t leave without the boy. He’s more mine than yours in the first place1”
“He’s both of ours, Irena. Whether you like it or not, he is a child of two worlds.”
“Then don’t you think he should see the other world?”
Father does not speak. Mother exits, slamming the door after her. The argument is over for now, but come the next night and it will begin again. Always the same things. They argue over me. Father says I am Mieran, mother says I am human, Mother says she will take me to Earth and to all the other worlds in the Galactic Empire. Father says no, she will not because I will learn to be a proper Mieran and honor my clan.
I cannot sleep. Their arguments always unsettle me too much to bring the fitful fog of sleep back for me. I find a book on the shelf. The books Mother brought from Earth. Stories of adventure, of people with pink skin and round eyes and ears and five fingers, of the world from which Mother came.
One of the worlds from which I come.
~*~
I like and dislike school at the same time.
What I like this is: The lessons and the reading. I am always ahead of my classmates in my reading. I like the lessons on law the most. It is amazing to me how hundreds of disparate worlds and species can come together under the single umbrella that is Imperial Law. Our teacher calls the Empire amazing every morning, when we sing our allegiance to it. I don’t think she understands exactly how amazing it is, though. I don’t think any of my classmates do.
What I do not like is this: The names. They are names my classmates call me when they are supposed to be reading or having discussion time. I believe my classmates invest all of their brainpower into coming up with names for me instead of their studies.
“Mongrel. Half-breed. Disgusting. Something that shouldn’t even exist. Look at him, look at him, he has five fingers, what’s with that hair, is it yellow—
“Freak.”
And what I like even less: The forms. For school we have to fill in forms every year, and we have to fill in forms for tests. I do not understand entirely what they are for, though I study them intensely since they are legal documents. Every year I hunch over my desk, running my hand over the glowing tablet, answering queries. Standard things. My age. My date of birth. My sex.
My species.
There are boxes that you check. They have the most common species on Miera next to them. Mieran, of course. Then Human. And Nolian. And Gontierran. And Picoto. You can only check in one box.
The box that I have to check, every year, is “Other”. I have come to see that box, stuffed at the bottom of the list like an afterthought, in my dreams. It glows, beckoning me. The simple word. Other. This is what I am. Not a “hybrid” as my teachers politically-correctly refer to me. Nor human nor Mieran nor mongrel nor freak.
Simply other.
~*~
Miera is a world at the edge of the Galaxy, and is small for a populated world with a breathable atmosphere. The atmosphere is naturally tinged deep purple, though I am told that to (fully) human eyes, it appears more reddish.
“Do you see that streak of stars over there?” says Mother.
Mother takes me stargazing often. It is what she calls lying on her back on the hill outside our modest cottage, a telescope trained to the night sky. Tonight she points to one of the few sprinklings of stars visible in the hazy purple. If I squint, I can see that the stars are gathered in a long trail.
“The Milky Way,” I say.
“Right.” Mother beams. I want to tell her to stop smiling so hugely because it is embarrassing, but I never can. She is happy out here with the stars, happier than she ever is when she is with Father and my izieria. “The Milky Way—that’s the name of our Galaxy. In that streak are all the stars in our Galaxy. So many stars—you wouldn’t believe it. And nearly every one of them has its own planet.”
She leans against the grass, her arms folded behind her head. I have never seen anyone but her make such a gesture. I assume it is a human trait.
“You have no idea, do you, Rione? There are so many worlds out there…”
“I know,” I say. “Like Miera. Or Heraldis.”
Heraldis is the fourth planet from our sun. The people who live there are mostly miners. Sometimes they come to Mother’s restaurant for drinks and smokes, but Mother does not like them because they kick her stools over and shatter glasses.
Mother’s smile is almost sad now. “Yes…like Miera and Heraldis. But there are so many other worlds out there, too. Far from here. Like Earth, my home world. Or Imperia, the world where I attended school.”
Imperia. A quiver of interest runs through me. Imperia is the capital of the Galactic Empire itself; all government, including the legal branch, is situated there.
Mother sighs deeply, drawing her knees to her chest, never removing her eyes from the sprinkling of stars. “Oh, I remember what it was like on Imperia. The nights were nothing like this. They were—bright. And the sky was black, not purple…and whenever you looked up, you just couldn’t stop seeing stars. Stars. Everywhere, all over the place. It was one glittering tapestry of stars on a black quilt. Everywhere you looked…stars.”
She lowers her head and doesn’t speak for a long time. I do not speak either, but lie on my elbows and let the breeze whisper against my face. Mother says the breeze here is too cold, but she says many things about Miera. The winters are too long, the grass too blue. The stars so few.
I believe that Mother wants to leave. I don’t know if I do either. I do have to admit, though, that it would be nice to see a world where there are many more stars…
~*~
“You have talent, Rione,” says Father.
Father dislikes the open air, so we have our practice sparring sessions indoors. We practice sparring because it is standard for any Mieran male to know how to wield a vareika—our customary short blade. For my family, it is even more important, because we are renowned for our skill with the vareika. Father was once in the Mieran militia, as is my eldest stepbrother.
Father lowers his practice vareika, wiping the sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes. His hair is very fine and dark, a perfect Mieran’s. Not like the blond locks which I inherited from Mother. And he is tall, too. Every time he stands he casts a shadow over me, and then I feel my smallness somewhere deep and visceral. My humanness.
“You’re very good at this,” he says. “Much better than any of your brothers were at your age. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say you are a natural with the vareika. In fact…I can see you carrying the mantle of the family someday.
“Thank you, Father,” I say politely. I bow to him, as is standard practice after a duel. Father returns the gesture, his bow somewhat higher than mine. “But…”
I do not mean to let the protest slip out, because a father’s word is law and must not be defied in any manner, but it comes anyhow. He has never praised me quite like this before and I don’t know how to respond. My face is all hot. I wait for him to smack me, or worse.
His hand rests on my shoulder, and squeezes. An encouraging gesture. “But…?”
He wants me to speak. I stammer, a little hesitantly, “But I’m not…I mean…I’m not full-blooded. I…”
No more words will come to me. I hang my head, wondering if he is ashamed at this display of weakness. Father frowns, but then he smiles, almost like Mother did earlier. I have never seen Father smile before and I don’t know how to respond, so I let him speak, let his words wash over me.
“What does that matter, Rione? You’re as adept with the vareika as many full-blooded Mierans, if not better. It shouldn’t matter that you are half-Mieran in blood—your soul, as far as I can see, is completely Mieran.”
And then he pats me on the head. I freeze; this is the most affectionate Father has ever gotten with me. It takes me a while to remember politeness, and whisper, “Thank you, Father.”
I know that Father wants, more than anything, for me to be in the militia like he was. I do enjoy the thrill and rhythm of physical fighting, but I do not know. How can I tell him that I have long nursed the dream of becoming a lawyer?
~*~
By the age of twelve, most Mieran children have already decided where they are headed in life. They will join the militia, or work the farms, or enter the levels of government. The women will enter convents, or marry, or become teachers.
I tell myself that since I am not full-blooded anyhow, the usual standards do not apply to me. Here I am, twelve years old, then, and undecided.
Mother takes me to the Earth Embassy almost every day. I think she is searching for an exit strategy from this world that does not involve her husband getting involved. Difficult to say the least. Emigration forms are open documents, which means that if Father pleases he could hop onto the hyperwave nets and find in an instant where Mother and I have gone. And she and Father are legally married, which means that by law she will have to make him aware of the forms, unless there is an indication that he is abusing her. As much as Mother hates Father, I do not believe she would make a false accusation against him. A false allegation of abuse is worth six weeks in prison.
Of course Mother believes I am a silly boy who cares more about my fighting games than legal documents, so she is entirely unaware that I understand the emigration process inside and out. Perhaps better than she does. When she takes me to the Embassy, she usually plunks me in the meeting room and lets me sit there boring myself with the childish hologram dramas they play.
Two human women enter the waiting room, absorbed in conversation. I always enjoy it when I get to see humans. I watch for how similar they are, yet different at the same time: they share my small stature, my five fingers, my rounded ears and colorful hair, yet they are loud, uncomfortably so. Humans don’t seem able to stop talking; every time I see them they’re always gabbling away about something or the other. Even Mother becomes like that in the Embassy, away from Father’s eye.
“—can’t believe it, little Jules already going to Imperia for school, and the Naval Academy, too,” squeals one woman, a tall one with dark skin and coiled black hair. “Seems like just yesterday he was running for class president in primary school.”
The other woman, who has golden hair like me and Mother, giggles. “What can we say? Every morning I wake up and expect it to all be a dream, it’s just too good to be true…”
“What’s Jules majoring in again?” gushes the dark-skinned woman. “Is that what they call them in the military academies? Oh, I don’t know anything about the Navy—”
“He’s full to bursting with plans, but I think he’ll settle the Judge Advocate Corps,” says the golden-haired woman.
“The what? I’m sorry, like I said I’m totally clueless about the military…”
“Oh, so are Frank and I, believe me! Jules had to explain to us. They’re sort of like…the military’s lawyers, I’d say? You have to go through extra training, like law school, to join, it’s so intense…sometimes I worry poor Jules won’t be able to handle it…”
“Oh, I’m certain he can! That’s wonderful, I can’t say how proud I am of him…I always knew little Jules would go far…”
I slip my attention away from their overly-loud conversation, my heart hammering. An odd sensation rises within me, one that I do not recognize until the gabbling women have long left the room.
Triumph. It seems, at last, that I have found a solution to my problems. I have found a potential career path—one which neither of my parents can possibly protest.
~*~
I set myself up to the task of finding out everything I can about the Galactic Naval Academy in Imperia.
It is not difficult; only a matter of plugging into the hyperwave nets and entering the information I want. I hide in my room, my door securely shut and the KEEP OUT sign I made years ago flashing on. Perhaps I am not doing anything technically wrong, but I still do not want my family to discover what I’m doing. Not now. This is my private moment of triumph.
I learn that I must be at least fourteen to apply to the Galactic Naval Academy, and that like every other student (or, in naval parlance, midshipman) I will have to go through four years of study that include not just my major and minor, but training in topics such as military history, tactics, combat, and emergency procedures. I am not worried; Father and my brothers have given me ample military training.
For potential Judge Advocate Corps members, education does not end after the four years. On Satelia, Imperia’s moon, is the Galactic Naval Law Academy, for which I will have to attend for two additional years before I can become an official naval lawyer.
The very prospect of going to Imperia causes my hands to tremble in excitement, though, so much that I can barely input data properly into the tablet. I can handle six years of training if it’s necessary to advance my goals.
I also learn that I need a recommendation, either from His August Majesty the Emperor himself (unlikely to happen unless you are very rich and influential), or an Assembly member, or any sufficiently high-ranking member of Navy brass. I make my choice without second thought.
Admiral Maxwell Gray, the current Judge Advocate General. It seems to me that if I wish to pursue military law as a livelihood, then a recommendation from the highest-ranking military judge in the Galaxy wouldn’t hurt.
Dear Admiral Gray, I type, I am Rione of Ibelia on the planet Miera, a twelve-year-old student whose dearest ambition is to one day work under you as a naval lawyer…
~*~
The day has come. Three weeks after my fourteenth birthday, I stand at the head of the dinner table, tablet held in one hand for all my family to see—my application to the Galactic Naval Academy on Imperia.
“You see,” I say calmly, “I require signatures from my parents before I can submit this. Everything else has already been filled out, so you needn’t worry.”
It’s been a while since I’ve seen Mother and Father agree on anything. But here they are, sitting and staring at me with identical expressions on their faces—looking at me as if I’ve suddenly sprouted horns. Since my head doesn’t feel any heavier, I assume I have not and they are delusional.
Or rather, they are astonished for a different reason.
I sigh inside; I knew this would not be easy. Yet I feel a strange sense of relief. Two years I have had to keep my activities secret, but today I can stand proud before my parents and allow them to judge for themselves the decision I have made long ago.
“Rione,” says Father, his voice tightly strained. “Have you thought this through?”
“I have, Father,” I say. “I’ve thought about this for years, ever since I first began to exchange correspondence with Admiral Gray.”
“With who?” There’s a dangerous edge to Father’s voice which I have never heard before. He sounds almost ready to explode, but of course he would not; he is a proper Mieran to the end.
“Admiral Maxwell Gray, the Judge Advocate General,” I say. “Two years ago I sent him a letter asking for a recommendation for the Academy. He gave me more than that. We’ve been corresponding regularly by hyperwave, at least as regularly as we can between his cases. He’s very interested in seeing me succeed—but that is all beside the point. The point is that I need you to sign this application.”
“No,” says Father, in the tone he uses when he is only seconds away from delivering a beating. I tense, but refuse to back down. He can punish me, but he cannot stop me. “I forbid you. I am your father and my word is your law. Do not forget that.”
“I…I have not forgotten that, Father,” I say. “But I’m sorry, my mind is set. I thought that you would approve—I am going to be joining the military. I will be a soldier.”
“You’re not even a man yet,” says Father, shaking his head.
“I am old enough to apply to enter the Academy,” I reply. “Admiral Gray—”
“Why?” To my surprise, Mother rounds on me, her face crumpled in pain. I take a startled step back; I wasn’t expecting this. I believed Mother would approve from the outset. After all, I am doing what she wants me to do.
“It’s you!” Father rounds on Mother, shouting for the first time I’ve heard him. His voice is like the crack of a whip. “This is because of you, you and your constant talk of leaving—you filled his head with these crackpot ideas, didn’t you!”
“No, no, I didn’t!” Mother holds her hands up, almost…scared. I have never seen Mother afraid of Father before. “Are you—are you sure about this? Rione? Why…why does it have to be the Navy, of all things?”
Ah. The Navy. That must be it. I have always operated under the impression that Mother wasn’t fond of the military. She often rebuked Father for wanting to turn all his sons into warriors, after all, and spoke critically of any military actions she thought were too heavy-handed.
“Yes, I’m certain,” I say to her. “I want to go to other worlds, Mother. I received that from you. But Father—you taught me to be proud of being a soldier, serving my clan. Well, I will be serving my clan. Don’t forget, you are all part of the Galactic Empire too.”
“You’re insane,” whispers Mother, her face bloodless and almost Mieran-white. She grips the table with trembling hands. “You’re insane, Rione, you’re only a child, you have no idea what you’re talking about…”
“I forbid you!” Father leaps to his feet, his hands balled into fists and his face contorted in anger. Despite myself, I stagger back; I have never seen Father so angry before and certainly never at me. “You will stay on this world and you will live for the clan as a proper Mieran! I will not have you running off doing whatever you damn well please!”
I force myself to reply—to defy my father. Oh, I know I will pay for this later…but I have to speak for myself. If I cannot stand up to my very own parents, what sort of officer will I be? “You forget, Father. I am not Mieran. I am human as well.”
“How dare you,” hisses Father. “How dare you. I am your father, you will not speak to me that way!”
“Father.” I blink; my eldest stepbrother has spoken for the first time, breaking the dutiful silence he and my two other izieria have been engaging in. “It seems to be…if Rione wants it…you cannot stop him. And he’s right, you know.”
Right about what? Being a proud solider? Or not Mieran? He does not elaborate, though, but falls silent again, his eyes downcast. Father trembles in rage, but doesn’t speak.
I use the silence as an opening. I rest the tablet on the table, and say, “Mother. Father. You have until today next week to sign this. It’s perfectly all right if you do not wish to. Admiral Gray knows the officers in charge of the admissions process. I am sure he’ll be more than happy to…ah…pull a few strings for me.”
No one speaks. The silence trembles through the dining room, until I can take it no more. I turn and leave, without asking Father’s permission. Then again, I have already defied him enough today. One final offense will not change anything.
I shut the door securely after me when I enter my room, and sink to the bed, digging clawed fingers into my hair. I’ve made my choice and I cannot turn back.
I know it is the right choice, though. There, in Imperia, I’m certain that for the first time in my life I will not be judged as Mieran, nor human, but as me. For my own abilities as a soldier and lawyer. And when I become an officer, then everyone will have to respect me. Even my parents.
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This is part one of two, so the story isn't finished yet.
I don't really have specific comments on this, except that I'm a bit worried that the narrator's voice comes across as too mature for a child his age. He is a very erudite and intelligent boy for his age, which I hope I conveyed, but he might sound a little too old. And yes, I am aware of the actual physical impossibility of a human-alien hybrid, but here I was caring less about scientific accuracy than setting up a space opera style universe in which I'd explore the personal story of one character. Doing the Star Trek thing, essentially...
Critiques are always welcome.
On Dialogue alternation: Your dialogue itself is wonderful, and it helps to contribute to this real world that you are building. Your characters have been given distinctive voices, and each one is developed further with every sentence they speak. You do, however, have a habit of narrating dialogue without telling us who is speaking. It's not always necessary, but it certainly helps to remind us who's speaking occasionally in the conversation. I understand your reluctance to add dialogue tags as they often add an element of clumsiness to the dialogue, but utilizing the simple word “says”, would suffice in most cases, and is usually simple enough to go unnoticed by your readers.
Gender:
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