Sci-Fi Father-Son Story
I Never Had a Son
In this Sci-Fi Father-Son Story, true feelings can’t be admitted. The struggle to reveal oneself honestly is as hard for aliens as it is for humans.
Planet Lux, courtyard, dominated by a two-story fountain and decorated with generous fauna wafting in a gentle breeze as cloud sprays reflect every color in the spectrum. Cerulean stands before the fountain, silent and alone.
I miss Viridian. Or rather, I miss what I hoped we’d have together—my son, following in my footsteps, or perhaps forging a new path together.
Must all such dreams die? Surely not…
Anne had a second chance with her daughter, and Peter has grown closer to his son. Not all families are doomed to a hideous fate. But me? My father has been long gone, and I’ll never have another son.
“Yes, Judge Sterling. What can I do for you, sir?”
Surprise…. He’s in his human form, with his matching white suit and beard…looking as dashing as any aging Luxonian with delusions of—
“Supreme Judge. Formality, I know, but we must keep up appearances.”
“Yes, Supreme Judge. Sterling.”
“Odd. When you say it— Never mind. I’ve come to inform you that a council has been appointed to discuss the Human Question…again.”
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed your efforts on their behalf.”
“I believe I told you my concerns upfront.”
“Yes, and I was listening. You look doubtful.”
“You never appeared interested.”
“Humanity has proven useful. I’m not ignorant of their worth. I simply needed to understand how involved the Cresta was going to be.”
“Now that Ingots, the Uanyi, and Bhuacs have staked their claims—is it involved enough?”
“Stop scowling, Cerulean. If you’d appear like a proper Luxonian, I’d feel more comfortable.”
“But I wouldn’t.”
“So I’ve noticed. In any case, I have a friend…shall we say a benign enemy who—”
“You mean the reporter—Lang?”
“You know her?”
“Yes, well, we have an understanding. She lies to me… I lie to her… And we understand each other perfectly.”
“What lies has she been telling you now?”
“She was kind enough to inform me that Crestas have outlawed all crossbreed experimentation, that the Ingots have no interest in Newearth, that the Uanyi plan on relocating on the dark side of the Divide, and that the Bhuacs are quite happy being decimated.”
“With enemies like her, who needs friends?”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“So— What’s the next step?”
“We must regain our position on Newearth, but that means we need an alliance everyone can agree with.”
“An impossible challenge.”
“It’s your challenge, Cerulean. Come up with a plan, think of a way to present it to the Supreme Council so that they see how it benefits Luxonian society, in fact, make it seem like their idea. Then return to Newearth and make it happen.”
I can feel sweat trickling down my back. What I wouldn’t do for an ice-cold—anything. “I can’t do this alone.”
“You won’t. Roux will accompany you to Newearth. You’ll make friends—”
Uh, oh, that one-of-a-kind, tormented stare….
“You always do. Find allies; convince them that it is in their best interest if we all work together.
“It will be.”
“See? You’ve convinced me already.”
Odd. I never noticed that his smile has a certain charm. “When is the council meeting?”
“Tomorrow, early. Come ready for battle. Act like it’s the end of life as we know it—”
“I’ve already used that argument. It only works once.”
By the Divide, he’s pacing the walkway, stroking his beard like a human patriarch of old.
“Lang advised me that since Newearth is so poor in natural resources, there isn’t a merchant within a million light-years who’d be interested in it.”
“Merchants? They’re as dangerous as politicians.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Merchants are thieves and liars, but they have honest souls. They know perfectly well that war shrinks the profit margin. The Luxonian Council—”
“Supreme Luxonian Council.”
“Yes, of course, they want happy merchants because happy merchants protect our assets.”
Strange that I never noticed this side of Sterling before. How could I have missed it?
“Thank you, sir. I was nearly out of options.”
“I know. I do have eyes…never mind. I must attend to other Supreme Judge business.”
Deep breath. He’s staring again. “Yes?”
“I never had a son.”
Forget ice cold; my mouth just went as dry as the dark side of the Divide. “If you had, he’d probably have been just like you.”
“Exactly. But you—you’re nothing like me.”
“I never wanted a son, Cerulean…. See you in the council chamber.”
A. K. Frailey is the author of 17 books, a teacher for 35 years, and a homeschooling mother of 8.
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