Love, Honor, and Obey by Preator

Published on Kiith Iopia on date Unknown

Huur Sjet finally stepped into the room. “Here, is where I lost her,” the thought echoed through the old man’s soul. Huur focused his eyes and for the first time really saw the room where Karan had spent so much time these last few years.
There wasn’t much left. The lab had been stripped of it’s one of a kind equipment. It’s specialized and crucial nature was desperately needed elsewhere. A few empty tables, scattered boxes, bare input and power sockets appeared at haphazard places on the walls and floor.
“Strange,” The Sjet-SA whispered. For just a second he thought he smelled the Jshawna bloom’s fragrance. Karan had for years kept a Jshawna bloom in her hair. But would only smile if asked about it.
The memory was almost too much. The Sjet-Sa seemed to shudder to Those Who Wait who were close enough to see it. But he immediately straightened and reached for the door to Karan’s office.
No one had been there since Karan had last left. Kiith Soban’s Sa had made it plain that no one except Huur Sjet would be allowed admittance. And he had made it all to clear that if any one told Huur about the orders he would kill them personally. No one doubted it. It was after all, a matter of blood, honor, and grief. All of the Sa’s agreed. Only her father should gather whatever personal effects Karan left behind.
Huur knew Karan had already given away almost everything she owned in the months before,….Before her transformation. But in the final weeks she lived in her office. Surely there was something of her’s still here to pack away. Some small part of his little girl had to be here…He had to find something.
“Please Sajuuk,” his silent prayer was all to plain to Those Who Wait, ”don’t let this end like this!”
Opening the door Huur stepped into the final hours of his daughters life. Karan’s office was large, but every space was somehow filled by Karan. The cases of data tablets on one side filled with her research, the 4 chairs piled with who knows what… The sofa still had a hospital blanket thrown back, rumpled and creased from her nights sleeping there. Not even one piece of clothing though. Karan had taken to only wearing those Sajuuk-damned plastic hospital gowns during that last week. Not even the Jshawna bloom could rest on a head shaved bare. Her wastebasket by the desk was filled with the damned hospital gowns.
Karan’s desk seemed, strange some how. It was covered with documents like always, but the printout’s looked funny. And her terminal was, pushed aside!
Huur closed the door behind him and moved to the desk. Looking at the printouts closer up he suddenly realized, everything on Karan’s desk was written by hand!
As far as he knew Karan hadn’t written anything by hand since her tenth year finals. Which was the last year Kharaki children practiced such skills before moving on to totally computer based learning. She had despised writing! And her grades in it were only passable because she was the daughter of the Sa. This was stranger then the last 3 months had prepared him for.
There were two stacks of the printouts, no letters, Huur corrected himself. One was of slightly yellowed paper. The other appeared to be standard white printout sheets. Yellowed? Didn’t paper have to age a lot to take on a yellowed appearance? Who’d age a print out sheet anyway? Much less have only hand writing on them?!?
For the first time in months Huur’s mind was not swallowed in the grief of his daughters passing. His anger and grief while not giving way, allowed curiosity to peer through Karan’s loss.
He reached for the top page of the aged letters. The writing was elegantly beautiful, but damaged in places. As if they had been exposed to one of the rare southern rains. The writing was hard to make out. It was in an elaborate style, but seemed to be in the modern form.
Huur allowed himself to be distracted by the letter. Not even realizing it was an attempt to put off the inevitable.
Settling in to the desks chair he began to read. With difficulty at first, after all he’d only seen examples of such elaborately written text in terminal screens during his history studies.
His eyes narrowed, then widened as he realized what he was reading was a tribute of sorts to his daughter. Written just 4 years ago! Not some ancient lab report as he first thought.
Karan would have been 22 when it was written. Huur tried but could hardly remember exactly what Karan was doing then. He had been so busy with all the debates and preparations for the Journey. It’s an almost impossible task to be SA and father. One can only do so much. But what Huur had just read reminded him that not only fathers could love their daughters.
Huur reached for the next page but almost immediately became confused. This one was much different. Written 3 weeks after the first it had a sense of despair and panic to it. The very writing while still elegant was slightly off center.
Looking over at the other stack he realized the first page was a reply by Karan to her admirer. Karen was obviously flattered, but she stated in no uncertain terms that she was not going to become involved. Huur’s eyes suddenly narrowed. The page in his other hand was suddenly crumpled without his being aware.
He began reading in earnest, first from one stack then the other. His grief now suddenly replaced. But the anger was still there. And it was growing……

Outside Karan’s office the lab was slowly being filled by Those Who Wait.