Fathers honor, p.1
Fathers' Honor, page 1
Fathers’ Honor
Copyright © 2020 by M.C.A. Hogarth
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Studio MCAH
PMB 109
4522 West Village Dr.
Tampa, FL 33624
mcahogarth.org
Cover art by M.C.A. Hogarth
Contents
Author’s Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Appendices
Brief Glossary
The Species of the Peltedverse
Acknowledgments
About the Author
For Papí, who was andando en dos patas and joking about all the way to the end. I hope the birds in Heaven are as colorful as the ones you loved in Cuba.
It is not the mountain that we conquer but ourselves.
Edmund Hillary
Author’s Note
This book takes place after Heartskein and the events of Jubilee Summer and Princes’ Game, during the period known as the “Fallowtide”, the ten years between the ending of the Chatcaavan War and the beginning of… whatever comes next.
1
“You know, when you said ‘let’s move to the Eldritch homeworld,’ this wasn’t at all what I was expecting,” Caramia said to her husband. She was seated beside the window, peering at the magnified station they were approaching with her ears tilted at an angle that suggested puzzlement. But she sat erect, leaning forward just enough to make her Four Sisters medallion swing free of her chest, and the sight of her interest relieved Armin Palland. He hadn’t been sure she would be glad to come. He wasn’t sure he was glad to come, because Speaker-Singer knew what he was coming to…or, for that matter, why.
“What exactly is it you’re surprised by?” he asked, because he thought it might help crystallize his own feelings.
His wife—still beautiful after three decades, no, more beautiful—frowned into the view. “Part of it is the bustle, definitely… I wasn’t anticipating quite so much activity. It almost looks like a real system, not an underdeveloped world. The other part of it is the feeling that… things are being done for us. Us particularly.”
Armin looked over his shoulder at the remainder of the (empty) compartment. When he’d finally used the code Vasiht’h had given him to arrange his family’s move, he’d been resigned to a week or two on a passenger liner; not his favorite way to travel, but he’d used it often enough for speaking engagements on university coin. Instead, he, his wife, and his mother-in-law had been greeted at the docks by a professional-looking Tam-illee in uniform and escorted onto what looked like a ship used for diplomatic correspondence: sleek, fast, and armed. He hadn’t asked at the time whether they were the only passengers because he’d assumed there would be more people. It was only after they’d gotten underway that he realized they were alone.
“I mean, look at that,” Caramia continued, nodding at the station. “I’ve seen smaller stations on long-established colony worlds!”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Armin said. “Except possibly that we should expect our expectations to be wrong.”
“You know, I’m actually looking forward to it?” She resettled herself against his side and he wrapped an arm around her, an act so practiced that his hand found the dimple at her waist as if it had been designed for it. “I wasn’t too sure about this when you pitched it to me, but now…”
“I hope you’re not basing this all on a single station,” Armin said, amused. “Because if we go down there and discover it’s all cows and crop-rotating by hand…”
She laughed and rested her head on his shoulder. “Then I can be entertained by the contrast?”
“Mmm. Well, I guess we’ll be seeing shortly.”
“I don’t know about cows,” came the voice of Helena Berrysdown, “but I could get behind crops.” The elderly Seersa hobbled down the aisle to sit across from them, folding her hands on the top of her cane. “A nice big garden, now that sounds like a pleasant way to spend the days.”
Caramia laughed. “Dami-mami, if you knelt down to pull a weed you wouldn’t get up again until we hauled you up.”
“Then you can just leave me there,” her mother said, grinning. “I can soak up the sun until some young thing comes by to fetch me.” She looked at Armin. “Do you suppose they’ll have gardens?”
“I’m sure they’ll have gardens,” Armin said. “In fact, I think they need them to eat.”
“Four Sisters bless!” Helena shook her head. “I’m not sure whether to pity them or approve. You should profit by your labors, and the more directly, the better you are for it. But I wouldn’t like to rely on gardening for all my food.”
“If they do, they certainly won’t object to another pair of hands,” Caramia said. “And the gravity’s lighter so for all we know you’ll be able to get up without waiting for someone to help….”
“Make me no promises, kitto. I won’t have to be disappointed if they’re not true.”
Caramia reached out and smoothed a hand down her mother’s arm, and Helena patted it gently.
“I think we’re about to make our discoveries,” Armin said. “We’ve stopped.”
The one thing Armin hadn’t expected of the Eldritch orbital station was that it should be so much like an Alliance one—up to and including the multicultural population—that he couldn’t tell it from the dock he’d left a week ago. Even the people awaiting him were Pelted: two Glaseah, a gray-pelted woman his age and a teen, all gangly limbs and energy. The latter was holding up a handmade sign that read ‘Palland and Family’, bobbing on his toes.
“I guess that’s us,” Caramia said, grinning.
“Where are all the Eldritch?” Helena said, peering at the crowds. “There must be some…?”
“I’m sure we’ll see a few eventually,” Palland replied while wondering the same thing. He was supporting his mother-in-law on one arm, so Caramia was the one who waved to the two Glaseah.
“Over here!”
The female jogged to them. “Professor Palland? And your wife and mother-in-law? Welcome to Escutcheon! I’m Marevhe, Vasiht’h’s mother, and I’m the unofficial welcoming committee. Kis’eh’t was going to join me, but she got called away.” She offered her palm, which Caramia and Armin took turns covering. “I hope the trip was fine?”
“Very,” Caramia assured her. “Though we’re a little tired of being in space! It’ll be nice to breathe fresh air again.”
“We’ve got plenty of that!” Marevhe replied. “If you want to take a load off your feet, I can order a skimmer?”
“That would be helpful, thank you,” Armin said.
“It’ll keep your luggage together too,” the boy said earnestly. “We haven’t figured out the perfect system for that yet.”
“Why don’t you hail one for us?” Marevhe nudged him, and he perked.
“I’m on it, Grandmi.”
As the boy sped away, Marevhe said, “We thought you’d want to relax for a day before you get the official tour from Kis’eh’t—that’s our minister of science, and she’s in charge of basically everything that looks like a modern institution for now. I selfishly claimed you in order to give Vasiht’h first dibs on your time, and what does he do but get so head-over-tail busy with politics that I can’t disentangle him.”
“Oh?” Armin asked.
Marevhe nodded. “He just got back from picking up his children from the temple on Anseahla, and I think I’ve seen less of him lately than I did when he was living offworld…!”
“Oh, but he’s a new father! It’s no wonder he’s so busy,” Caramia exclaimed. “Congratulations! You must be over the moon.”
“I am! Grandchildren are the best. Have you any?”
“Just one so far,” Caramia said. “But our son and daughter-in-law aren’t done yet. You know, they’re young. They have time.”
Someone else might have missed Marevhe’s flinch, but Armin had not studied psychology his entire adult life for nothing. He didn’t need hand-painted signs to tell him what that pause was about, either. Recent events had made it clear that no one could count on having enough time… and yet, how else could they act? The business of life went on.
Nothing in the Glaseah’s voice hinted at her distress, and she went on comfortably. “So they do. Anyway, I’ve told Vasiht’h that you’ve arrived. He was very excited, and said as soon as he could get free he’d come by to greet you personally. He’s very fond of you, Professor Palland.”
“Armin is fine, please. I get ‘Professor Palland’ too often as it is, and from people who expect me to have all the answers.”
“He does have all the answers,” Helena said, grinning. “A very cheeky boy, my daughter’s man.”
The young Glaseah chose that moment to return, with the skimmer in tow. “Here it is! I’ll put your luggage on it for you… no, let me do that, honest. You all just hop on and relax! It’s a short ride to the Pad and then we’ll be downstairs! You’re gonna love it!”
“I m sure we will,” Caramia said. As the boy gathered their luggage, she leaned toward Armin and murmured, “What are you thinking, Armin Palland….”
Armin scanned the crowd and answered, low, “Nothing, love. Yet.”
She snorted, and hopped up onto the skimmer.
2
Armin’s impressions were not changed when they stepped off the Pad on the orbital station and into a vestibule in a modern community center. Their charmingly rustic destination boasted an enormous hearth, stone walls and conspicuously exposed wooden beams, but plenty of Pelted resorts put old-fashioned facades on technological foundations to evoke exactly this kind of backwater nostalgia. It hardly mattered that it looked like an inn from a fantasy story; Armin had only to walk into it to feel the heated floor tiles, spot the artificial lighting cleverly disguised as flickering lamps. And the double handful of people visible in it, lounging by the fire or working behind the counter in the kitchen, were all Glaseah.
“Vasiht’h was hoping you’d stay with us until you decided where you wanted to live,” Marevhe said. “We have rooms here in the community center, or we can set you up with a cottage, if you like?”
“I think here would be fine until we get our bearings,” Caramia said. “It’ll be easier for my mother not to have to walk long distances.”
“Nice springy planet, though,” Helena said cheerfully, tapping the floor with one of her feet. “And a fire! So cozy. I think I might shuffle over there while you all figure out the particulars.”
“I’ll help you, alet,” the Glaseahn teen said, offering her an arm. “Maybe I can get you something to drink too? Coffee? Hot chocolate? Beer?”
Armin stifled a laugh and turned back to Marevhe. “So, where are we? I wouldn’t mind a walk. Cara, love? Coming or staying with your mother?”
“I think Dami-mami’s fine,” Caramia said. “I’d love to see the planet.”
“Then out we go!” Marevhe pushed open the door for them, and Armin glanced at it as they passed through because he hadn’t seen an un-ironic swinging door in some time. And then all those thoughts fell out of his head because the actual world was the genuine article despite every sense telling him it should be fake. He halted abruptly alongside his wife, who was also staring at it with a delight he could sense quivering in her from tail to ear-tip.
“It’s real, yes,” Marevhe said, rueful. “The Eldritch picked a gorgeous place to maroon themselves and then almost die out.”
“That forest,” Caramia breathed. “And the tree!”
“The tree is of our favorite parts of the place. It has a bunch of names right now,” Marevhe said, smiling. “No doubt we’ll all settle on something eventually, the way we did the center, though admittedly we tried with the center. It’s Ingleside, because we wanted a name that sounded old-fashioned, but not too high-minded… something cozy rather than heroic, while still being Eldritch-y. That tree though.. is still ‘The Tree’ and ‘The Elder Willow’ and ‘Her Majesty’ and any number of other things.”
“Her Majesty seems apt!” Caramia exclaimed, pressing a hand to her chest. “It’s glorious.”
“It is,” Marevhe agreed, pleased. “But yes, this is the patch Lady Jeasa gave us—that’s Jahir’s mother—and we’ve decided to turn it into a hostelry. A bigger one than it already is, anyway. It’ll take time… everything here does.”
Armin twisted to look back at the community center—‘Ingleside’ certainly felt apropos—which reprised its rustic interior on the facade despite its modern bones. It and its cluster of adjacent buildings stood in a broad field studded with copses, those copses connected by fanciful paths bordered in low shrubs or brown and gray stones. The tree that had arrested his wife’s attention oversaw the entirety of it like the reigning monarch some wanted to name it for, a tree so large its limbs had slumped to the ground before rising again into thinner branches. Its long leaves had no doubt inspired the reference to willows, but Armin doubted any willow’s leaves turned such astonishing colors: wine red on their tops and gold on the bottoms, so that when the wind rustled them they flashed like gems.
The surrounding trees sported autumn foliage, but in brighter colors than Armin could remember seeing: coppers and poppy reds and gourd-bright oranges, standing amid the evergreens with their emerald boughs. Even the air tasted like an expensive and luxurious vintage, cool and intoxicating.
“Does it stay this picturesque?” Caramia asked, ears sagging.
Marevhe laughed. “It has its dull, grim moments, but it’s surprising how often it’s this pretty. One of my brothers keeps joking about stills and 3deo walkthroughs as a major export.” She panned one of her hands across the horizon. “’Need a new background for your athletic viseo? Jog through the pristine elven wilderness of the galaxy’s most secluded planet!’”
“It won’t stay secluded long if you bill it that way,” Caramia said, laughing.
“Goddess help the people in charge of tourism and immigration, then. I’m glad I’m not one of them.”
Which was, Armin thought, a very interesting comment. But learning came faster to listening ears, and he had a lot to learn, so he kept his mouth shut and strolled along after the women. Caramia and Marevhe had hit it off, which didn’t surprise him; his wife had spent most of her life teaching adolescents and had the gregarious personality to succeed at it, and Marevhe’s middle-aged confidence gave their interaction a seed of camaraderie… it probably wouldn’t be long before Caramia was talking about their son and asking about Marevhe’s children and the two of them would forget him entirely. That was fine with him. There were some who insisted on butting into other people’s shared experiences as if they had the right to entrée in their circle without the requisite credentials; Armin wasn’t one of them. In fact, not having to be part of everything or know everything struck him as relaxing. There were only so many hours in the day, and he preferred not to waste any attempting to palliate an ego intent on securing all possible attention. Even—or especially—if that ego was his own.
Freed of his responsibilities to the conversation, Armin had the leisure to study everything else. There was both a greenhouse—locked—and a community garden, being prepared for winter; while his wife chatted with their guide Armin studied a few of the labels set beside a dug-up row of soil. They were in both Universal and a language he didn’t recognize, spelled phonetically in Universal orthography: the Eldritch tongue, presumably, so did some of them come by to work in the garden? Or was this an attempt to learn the language? Passing around the back of the community center brought them to a landing pad… and a stable. Armin used the women’s distraction to peer through the door, expecting… Speaker-Singer knew what. Livestock? Empty stalls? There were plenty of the latter, but two horses were in residence. Who was keeping horses? And why? And how bizarre was it to have Glaseah tending them? Glaseah, who would never ride them?
Everywhere Marevhe led them, he witnessed the Glaseah’s attempts to respect the local culture—or what they thought of as the local culture—and the overwhelming Alliance-ness of it. He slipped his hands in his jacket pockets, watching a handful of Glaseahn kits gambol past, kicking a ball. ‘Come help me start a university!’ his student had said. Hells! What this world needed wasn’t an out-of-work professor. It needed a therapist… or a cultural psychologist. Or both. Several of each. How big was his budget anyway? Would they care if he pivoted to start a cultural sensitivity team?
That was when the conversation dropped a name, tugging him out of his reverie. “Did I hear something about Lafayette?”
“You did, yes.” Caramia grinned over her shoulder at him. “Marevhe was just mentioning he’s staying over by their hospital. You should go visit.”
