Asim
1. Departure
The scent of his mother's favourite incense lingered in the air, filling the whole house with the warm smell of ylang-ylang. Asim looked down at his bed, at the items strewn across it, and felt a familiar anguish turning his stomach to knots. Each cadet may bring with them one small bag of personal effects, his confirmation letter had said, but how could he possibly choose between them? Every item was as important to him as the next, from the small portable album holo-projector which held many images of his family, to the hand-written copy of the Quran gifted to him by his uncle Munir on his tenth birthday, to the painted clay angel figurine his little sister had made for him—she claimed it was special, and that through it, God, still known to the few million present-day worshippers as Allah, was watching over him. And who was he, to argue that point with his little sister?
His 'one small bag' already held his prayer mat, which his mother had woven for him when he'd still been a baby, a bag of essential toiletries, plus a box of treats she insisted that he take with him; dates, stuffed with chopped pistachios. His favourite sweet.
He sighed. He'd always imagined that his day of leaving home would be a time of joy and happiness, that he would move into an apartment just across the road from his family. He'd dreamt of seeing his parents every day, of being here to watch his little brother and sister grow up, of possibly working with his father at Karachi's main desalination plant, or perhaps with his uncle at the shipping port. But here he was, eighteen years old, and about to leave for the military. And he still didn't know why.
The memory of how it all began was so clear in his mind, and he lived it again as he stood in his room.
The July sun was scorching, the white paved streets reflecting the heat like mirrors, but Asim didn't care. He and his friends strolled down the road feeling as free as the birds which cartwheeled through the air overhead. Their college graduation ceremony was only only three hours behind them, but already they could feel the whole wide world opening up before them.
"I'm going to miss you all, when I go to America," Sufiya said. Her long dark blue graduation gown swamped her delicate frame, but it could do nothing to diminish her wide smile. And she had every right to be happy; she'd won herself a prestigious scholarship at MIT, and in less than three months would be off studying mechanical engineering.
Umair let out a laugh. "I'm sure you'll forget all about us the second you walk through the front door. We know what you engineering types are like; one look at a torque-wrench or a ratchet and the rest of the world ceases to exist."
Sufiya's brown cheeks darkened with a blush, and she quickly linked arms with Asim to cover up her discomfort.
"You'll come and visit me in America, won't you, Asim?" she asked.
"Yes, of course." He replied without thinking, but inside, he felt uneasy. All of his friends knew where they were going to be three months from now. Sufiya was off to her new life in an American university; Umair was working with his father on restoring old ocean-based cruise ships, Zainab was moving to Bangladesh to go into business with her soon-to-be husband, and Hanif had secured an internship at Hahne-Kedar.
Asim was the only one who had no idea about what to do with his life. He'd come out of college with good grades in History, Geography and Language Studies, but despite nearly a dozen or so careers advice sessions, he still didn't know what he wanted to be. If only somebody would tell him what to do, it would have been easy. But his parents were very understanding, and placed no pressure on him to follow in their footsteps; they were content to let him decide his future for himself. So far, he'd only managed to come to the conclusion that he wasn't very good at making decisions.
"Say, why don't we go and watch a new vid at the cinema, then get something to eat?" Zainab suggested. "It's been months since we had time to visit the cinema. What better way to celebrate no more exams?"
"Now that sounds like a good idea," Hanif replied, with a happy grin. "I think there's a new action vid out this week. 'A Call to Arms', if I remember right. It's based on Shanxi."
Zainab pulled her face. She didn't care much for action flicks, preferred romantic comedies. Fortunately, she was the only one who did.
"Aw, c'mon, Zai," Sufiya said, countering her friend's expression with a playful pout. "It'll be fun. I've been wanting to see the Shanxi film ever since they announced it two years ago. It's got actual aliens in it!"
"Oh, alright," Zainab relented with a sigh. "But I'm sure it'll just be an excuse for large explosions, ridiculous gunfights and military machismo."
The film, it turned out, wasn't as bad as Zainab had predicted. There were a couple of explosions, but the firefights weren't too ridiculous, and the machismo was kept to a minimum. In fact, Asim even found himself enjoying it. From what he could remember of his studies of the First Contact War, the producers had got most of the details right. The names of the soldiers and the ships were all true to the books, and as he watched the human soldiers hiding out amongst the settlements of Shanxi, he surprised himself with a thought.
I wish my life was that simple.
Attack, defend, evade, retreat… everything the soldier did, was based on one simple premise; you follow your orders. You didn't have to think about what you had to do next, or worry that you might not be meeting your family's expectations of you. All you had to do was obey, and then come home a hero.
Unless you were General Williams, of course. In which case you came home to disgrace. But that only happened to those who led.
After the film, as the burning sun began to slowly sink towards the horizon, Asim and his friends left the cinema and set off to their favourite restaurant. The group's discussions were animated as they debated whether or not General Williams had done the right thing, surrendering the garrison on Shanxi. Asim only half followed the conversation. His thoughts were elsewhere. Specifically, they were back in the movie. Perhaps, he mused, he might find a way to become an actor. He didn't know if he could act, but he was willing to try. It sounded easy enough; take necessary direction and smile for the camera. How hard could it be?
He was about to open his mouth, to tell his friends of his potential new career, when his eyes caught sight of some advertisement flashing in a nearby window. As the ad played out over the emitter, crisp white letters announced, 'See new worlds. Protect human interests. Explore the farthest reaches of space. Join the Alliance Military today!' A scrolling footnote quickly followed. 'Now recruiting for; engineers, medics, soldiers, communications, pilots, logistics personnel, and many more! To learn about military careers, visit ea. military. org on the public extranet, or visit our information booth in the Karachi Embassy on Wednesday 26th July!'
He opened his eyes to his half-packed bag. That day had changed his life. He'd gone down to the Embassy and been given the talk by the very official looking man from the military, and decided to enlist immediately. That way, his mother couldn't try to talk him out of it by crying and predicting his early death. Not that it hadn't stopped her from trying. But his signature on that dotted line had been the point of no return. He was now committed to two years of military service whether his mother liked it or not.
Glancing at the clock on his chest of drawers, he realised the bullet-train for the airport would be leaving Karachi's station in less than an hour. He decided against taking his hand-written Quran to the cadet training facility. The risk of it being damaged in transit was too great, and the book too precious to him. Besides, he had an e-copy on an OSD that he could read on his omni-tool. Instead, he packed his bag with the family album and the figurine his sister had made for him, nestling both beside his sajjada prayer mat.
He hoisted the small carry-all onto his shoulder and made his way out of his bedroom, conscientiously closing the door behind him so that his mother wouldn't start weeping again if she passed his empty room.
His family were gathered for breakfast in the kitchen, but only Adnan, Asim's four year old brother, was eating. The boy's bowl of cereal was half empty, and Asim smiled when he saw a few of the grain-coloured loops spilled out on the table mat. His little sister, Khadijah, meanwhile, was half-heartedly pushing milk-soaked loops around her own bowl, a glum expression on her face. Asim knew she would miss him terribly, and he wished he could stay to help keep an eye on her. At thirteen, she was starting to attract the attention of boys, and he'd always imagined playing the part of protective older brother at this stage in her life.
His mother was by the toaster, waiting for the bread to cook, and judging by how puffed-up her eyes were, she'd been crying all night. The headscarf which covered her long dark hair was the same dark blue and black one she'd worn to her father's burial. But then, nobody had ever accused Taahira Shepard of being subtle.
Asim's father was sitting beside the younger children, reading the latest news on his portable extranet projector. His blue eyes, slightly enlarged by the old-fashioned glasses he insisted on wearing because he didn't trust the doctors with their lasers, glanced up briefly as Asim entered the room. It was from Daniel Shepard that Asim had inherited his blue eyes. He'd been told more than once that they were his best feature, striking in his tanned brown face. Neither Adnan nor Khadijah had inherited those eyes; they both had the same dark brown eyes as their mother.
"Morning, son," his father said.
"Good morning," he replied.
Khadijah glared at the bag over his shoulder as if it had personally offended her. "I can't believe you're really going," she complained. Asim smiled. Up until now, she'd been convinced that he would change his mind. She didn't understand that once you're signed the dotted line, you couldn't back out. She didn't understand her mother's tears.
"Where are you going, Asim?" Adnan asked. He'd stopped spooning the cereal loops into his mouth, apparently picking up on the mood of his elders.
Asim took the seat beside his little brother. "Remember what I told you the other day? That I'm going to go and learn how to be a soldier?"
"Fighting and killing," his mother said, with a sad sigh. "It isn't right."
"Leave him be, Taahira," father said. "He's made up his mind. It's down to us to support Asim, even if we don't agree with his choice."
"I probably won't have to do any fighting," Asim spoke up quickly. "The recruiter said that only soldiers who're assigned to colonies in the Attican Traverse really see any combat. I'll probably just be attached to a ship or something."
"Of course they'd say that. Otherwise nobody would ever enlist, would they?" his mother countered.
"You'll be careful, won't you, Asim?" Khadijah asked. She, too, looked close to tears now.
"I promise." He unzipped his bag and showed her its contents. "See, I'm even taking along the angel you made for me. It will be like you're right there with me."
She gave him her warmest smile, and he felt his heart lurch, twisting his stomach along with it. He would miss her fourteenth birthday; it was just eight weeks away, and he wouldn't be getting leave time until twelve weeks into his training. He realised he would also miss Ramadan, and the Eid al-Fitr celebrations after the period of fasting. He would miss his little brother's first day of junior school, and his parents' twentieth wedding anniversary.
He suddenly understood how his mother felt. He wasn't just leaving for two years to undertake a potentially dangerous career, but he was going to be missing out on a large portion of his family's lives. His mother wasn't just worried that he might not come back, but that he might not want to come back.
"Here," she said, interrupting his thoughts by depositing a plate of toast and a pot of jam on the table in front of him. "I made you your last breakfast at home. Eat it quick, because Munir will be here soon to take you to the train station."
Asim nodded, and gratefully reached for a butter knife. He'd asked his family not to come to the train station to see him off. Khadijah would be in school at that time anyway, and he knew his mother would only make a scene. And that would start his brother off. He'd already envisaged the whole thing; he and his father standing awkwardly on the platform whilst his mother bawled her eyes out, and Adnan crying because his mother was upset. It wasn't the parting memory of his family that he wanted. But as the family home wasn't near Karachi's train station, his mother had enlisted the help of her brother, Munir, in getting Asim to where he needed to be. And to be fair, uncle Munir's rackety old skim-car was better than the shuttle-bus, which frequently ran late.
"It says here construction is beginning on another dreadnought-class ship," father remarked as his fingers slid over the extranet projector's holographic GUI. "They're holding a contest for people to name it. Maybe I'll enter."
Taahira Shepard's incoming response was cut short by the ringing of the door bell.
"Go and let your uncle Munir in," she instead instructed Khadijah.
As his sister obeyed, Asim quickly finished his half-eaten slice of toast and washed it down with a few gulps of fresh orange juice. By the time Khadijah returned with uncle Munir in tow, he was standing ready as if expecting his uncle to inspect him like an army drill sergeant.
"All packed and ready to go?" Munir asked him, dark eyes casually taking in his nephew's appearance.
"I think so."
"Well, let's not keep destiny waiting. I'll stash your bag in the trunk of my car and wait for you there."
Asim handed his bag over, grateful that his uncle wouldn't be present for this goodbye. As soon as he'd gone from the room, Asim turned for a final look at his family. Then he chastised himself. This wasn't a final look at them. He would be back for a week of leave in three months' time. This wasn't goodbye.
"You take care of yourself, son," his father said, taking a step forward to clap him on the shoulder. "I know you'll do us all proud. And remember, we're your family; we'll love you no matter what."
"Thank you, father."
"Will you email me on the extranet?" Khadijah asked. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth; he knew she was trying to stop herself from crying.
"Every single night that I'm able to," he promised.
She flung herself forward, wrapping her arms around him, and a moment later Adnan was thrust into his arms for a chubby four-year-old's cuddle.
"Bye bye, Asim," Adnan said. "Please bring me presents."
Asim laughed, and handed his little brother over to his father, before prying his sister from him. He noticed a damp patch on his shirt, where her tears had clung to the material, but she quickly turned to hug her father instead, so as not to show him how sad she was. Which left only one more farewell.
"I can't say that I approve of your choice," his mother said, her face looking pale and washed-out. Perhaps she'd finally run out of tears, "but if you're going to do something, then you do it right. I want you to put as much effort into this as you have done into your school work. And if, after your two-year service period, you want to come home, we will welcome you with open arms and glad hearts. But if you decide instead to stay on with the military… well, I will still be proud to welcome you home for your holidays."
"Thank you, mother," he said, and stepped forward to embrace her. Again, he felt the familiar knots in his stomach. He'd never been without his family before, other than the times he'd gone on school trips to different countries a couple of times, or gone on holiday with one of his friends and their families. But that wasn't the same.
Never before had he felt so alone. He was leaving not only his family, but his friends, and the house he had grown up in. His town, his city, his entire life… all of it was being kept here, as if he was leaving the old Asim Shepard behind, and going to find a new one. A new Asim Shepard who didn't know anything about guns or ships or fighting. The thought was enough to make him feel sick, but he was committed. And he would manage to muddle through. After all, he would have people to give him orders, and make the complicated decisions for him. He couldn't go too wrong, as long as he followed his orders.
He released his mother, noted yet another patch of damp on his shirt, and stepped back. It was a photo-moment, his whole family standing there, united in their sadness, trying to be strong for him. As best he could, he burned that image into his mind, into the very lenses of his eyes, so that he could recall it again whenever he felt lonely. Then he turned and walked out the front door, finally ready to start his new life.
Author's Note: Thanks for checking this story out. My established readers will probably know by now that I update my fics to a strict schedule. I must say, however, that this is the one and only story I will not be updating on a regularly scheduled basis. It is my pet project, my story of experimentation, uncertainty and self-discovery. I will write for it, and publish my chapters, as and when the mood strikes me. This means I could update it for months, or go silent for months. But I won't abandon it until it's complete. Review if you please. If you have questions or concerns, please hit the PM button. This fic is definitely not being used as a platform to preach. Other religious characters are going to be introduced over time, and plenty of familiar faces. I hope that some of the twists will be surprising. We'll see.