Chapter 2

MARK

*Beep … beep … beep … beep…*

He woke to the sound of his alarm clock. He stirred and saw it was well into the morning. One more day, he thought. He got up and into the shower to avoid falling back asleep. He had a long day ahead of him; the sendoff party. Being the lead pilot of his class and the son of a war hero required him to fulfill certain social protocols, such as attending parties like the sort planned for later in the evening. None of it interested him in the slightest. There would be a gathering of nobles and notables from around the globe the night before launch. Mark wasn’t part of the Mothership crew; his sole purpose for boarding was to test the new fighters’ systems.

His small house was like all the others outside the Walls, made from sandstone and clay. His furniture was minimal. A dresser for clothes, dishes enough for two only because his girlfriend would stop by on occasion, a desk for the rest of his things on which stood a picture of himself with his old pilot friend Jay and others in his flight academy graduating class. He grabbed his necklace from the desk and put it on. He wouldn’t be back for days and decided he needed all the luck he could get having never been off-world.

The phone rang as he was heading to the door. “Hi, it’s just me calling before you head out.” It was Valerie. She was away in the South visiting family for the past week.

“Just caught me on my way out, how’s the trip going?” he asked.

“Not bad, I could do without the smell, though. I wish I could see you before you go.”

“I’ll see you when I get back. We’ll have dinner somewhere fancy. I’m sure some place would be glad to have us,” he said. He wasn’t the type to flaunter his fame and she was embarrassed when he got recognized in public. He would much prefer dinner at home in his small mud-hut, but he treated them every now and then.

“Well, I won’t hold you up. Love you!”

“Love you too, bye.”

His eyes took time to adjust to the sunlight once outside. He put on shades and glanced at the time. He had to be in Tiir within the hour for preparations. He hopped on his motorbike and took off down the dirt road towards the shining speck in the distance.

***

Tiir. The capital of Kharak. The pinnacle of technological advancement and the home of the Daiamid council, the governing body that has kept the clans in relative peace since the end of those centuries' old wars whose aftermath is still felt with the Gaalsien extremists. It was a monument to the perseverance of the Kushan people, refusing to allow their dying world to drag them to extinction, a walled city like only a handful of others allowed for climate control enough to keep life flourishing while keeping the desert out.

Crossing the city walls was like entering a different world. He left the dusty sandscape that was in abundance on this world and entered a fortified oasis. He removed his shades and took a deep breath of the fresh, filtered air. Structures towered above ahead of him, but there were parks of all kinds in between. A river flowed through the city maintained by a dam on the farthest wall from him connecting to the northern sea to the other side.

His bike, being the filthy dirt driver that it was, got put in vehicle storage by the outer wall. He paid for the week and took the next bus into town ten minutes after. The spaceport stood off to the east, downtown was ahead of him. To the west he saw a flock of gulls land on the river where gardeners kept up a decorative shoreline. Poppies were in bloom and cast a red over most of the far shore.

Once within the skyline, he took notice of the tallest structures above him, bridges connecting them. He had a hotel booked on an overhang and was trying to imagine the view. Whichever Naabal had thought up the architecture of these must have been either genius or insane. Most often, though, both end up being the case.

He hoped the ride would not be much longer. He had a few important meetings to attend and afterward would be forced to make appearance at a dinner of some sort. He didn't make the plans. He only kept himself a public figure for his father's sake. He had very little interest in the aristocratic lifestyle.

***

He sat alone at a table after the dinner party had ended. He grew tired of repeating himself every half hour to whichever new group of people happened to strike up a conversation. He saw his father, but the man was far too occupied being bombarded with guests to talk. The man was a legend, after all. Best fighter pilot to ever live, they said. His greying beard was a signal to the rest that the next generation of heroes would come, and who did they lay eyes on other than he himself, Mark Soban, the seventeen-year-old son of Commander Markus, blood heir to Soban the Red as it were. The Sobani place little importance on lineage, but other kiith did, and naturally fame came along with it.

As he downed another glass of probably expensive wine, a girl dressed in a silver getup approached him. “The shadow of the legend drinks alone at the edge of the gathering,” she said taking a seat across him at the small rounded table.

“Well, you obviously know who I am, what’s your name?”

“Isabella Manaan, also partaking in testing the new space fighters up there,” she said pointing through the glass roof.

She twirled her dark brown hair as she recounted her own tales of danger in the cockpit. He listened intently. He wondered how old she was, probably no more than twenty if he were to guess. They talked about how uneventful these parties were, how neither of the two wished to be there despite her appearing to be in her element at the event.

“Personally, my favourite of your tales is crossing the desert alone at age twelve—should those rumours be true, that is.” Her stare was more of a question than a statement, and having recounted the tale so many times before, it came naturally to him, as if rehearsed.

“True enough, yes. Honestly, I have no way of knowing how long I was out there. One day I was escaping rail robbers and the next I’m hopping from oasis to oasis unsure if I’ll see another sunset.” The experience wasn’t a memory he enjoyed revisiting, but she was enjoying his recounting. There was something else to it, however. The culprits so vile that none had heard him speak the word: Khaaneph.

“As a nomad of the Manaan, you have my respect as a sand rat of highest endurance,” she joked. He laughed with her to that. They kept conversation going for enough time that the few remaining guests were reduced to half.

“Wanna know a secret?" he said after another sip from his glass, “I really hate feeling special.”

“Well Mark, don’t think I’ll shower you in glory. I’d have to see you in action first.” She got up and walked away, but turned and winked.

“I have a girlfriend!” he half-shouted back to her. He could tell she was laughing. He was refilling his glass at another table, having finished off the bottle at the last. His tolerance was as legendary as his father’s. A group approached, he smiled back. “And who might you fine gentlemen be?” he asked.

“Son, please meet Huur Sjet,” his father said. He barely noticed he was among them.

“It’s not everyday I get to meet one of the Sas,” he said with a handshake.

“Oh, the pleasure is mine son, I have heard a great deal about you and your heroic survival a couple years ago alone on that island.” He also remembered that one all too well.

“Your daughter, is she already onboard?” he asked.

“Oh, yes, they have been doing calibrations for months. Everything must be perfect, after all.”

“I knew her, I believe. Before my trek up north, I mean. You had a summer home in the South.”

“Why, yes! Small world we live in, eh?”

“It’s about to get a whole lot bigger,” his father cut in. He put his arm around Mark’s shoulders and they walked away pretending to get caught up with each other. “Phew!” he said as the door closed behind them. “I’m getting way too old for this shit,” he laughed.

“Yeah, no kidding, it shows in your beard.”

“Hey, watch it boy, this beard has a grey hair for every stressed out moment I’ve survived.”

“Then you’re one hell of a trooper.” He enjoyed the time he got to spend with his father. They didn’t talk nearly as much as he’d like.

“Saw you with a caravan leader’s daughter earlier, she’s a hell of a pilot too! I looked over profiles for all the testers going up.”

“Yeah, glad to know someone won’t treat me as if my blood had gold in it up there.” They laughed to that.

“She’s cute, too!”

“She’s young, maybe too young. Valerie is still my girl, you know.”

“Oh, she’s not bad either! Good job, my boy!”

“You’re wasted, old man.” They drank in a comfortable silence walking the streets headed to the hotel they were booked in. “Dad?” he said.

“Yeah?”

He pulled out his necklace to show him, “Still got it.”

“That thing’s so old,” he said smiling. “She picked it out, you know.” He knew. A somber thought; silence returned between them. They never talked about his mother. Her death was something his father never truly recovered from.

Mark walked with him up to his room after a couple elevator rides to the overhang hotel. His father grabbed him and pulled him in an embrace. “You have no idea how proud of you I am, son.” He couldn’t tell how drunk he was at that point, but it scarcely mattered. “Don’t let yourself believe my shadow is too far cast to overcome. You’ll eclipse me, and I’ll be happy to see it happen.”

“Go to bed, dad.” He couldn’t think of how else to reply. He sent him on his way. Mark's room was a level above his, and so he continued to walk through the halls peering out the long window overlooking the city lights below, and could faintly see the outline of Scaffold in low-orbit.

He thought back to his trip into the city and wondered how long it would be until Kharak could no longer sustain itself, how long before even the Majiirian would dry up and the southern farms produced no crops. Wherever this Hiigara was, he hoped the colonists could find it. He was not ready yet to leave behind the life he had, but someday all would have to abandon this world.

He noticed he had been standing in front of his room's door. Once he hit the mattress, he didn’t move until morning.