"How's the kid doing?"
"Not bad. They like him."
"And he? Does he like them?"
Krev snorts. "Is that a crime?"
"It can be a problem."
"I'd rather it wasn't."
"Oh, I'm with you on this one. What's the Rodian up to? Any updates?"
"Not since the last time."
"Been a week."
"I guess it must be pretty uneventful up there."
"You know, I still don't believe she actually got into ConCare."
"Come on, man. Tuu wouldn't lie to me."
Alnam squints. "I don't get why you trust her."
"She didn't have to tell me at all."
"I guess she didn't." Or it's just a way she tries to raise the crew's spirits. "We're on some very thin ice if her Rodian is really there."
"How come? She doesn't know about my existence, let alone yours."
"She knows about Bnagen's — and that's all it's going to take. Or you think Bnagen won't rat you out?"
"Her boys didn't."
Alnam has to agree.
This visit to a parking lot together with Krev doesn't leave him reinvigorated like the last one — getting shot at does wonders for your burnout.
He's got about an hour spare after he leaves the lot. An hour and nothing to do. He could stop at a diner and grab himself something — but as it always is before meeting with Senator M'Nnun, any thought of food falls flat. The senator has a migraine-inducing voice and prefers going on long tangents about how he's the youngest Sakiyan senator to have ever served to answering questions.
Well, if Doriana keeps his promise, you'll get to see a more pleasant senator soon.
Doriana didn't bat an eye at Alnam's request — as if he's expected it from the day Alnam settled the Kram Midduk business. Made Alnam think what other people who work for Doriana usually ask.
Just keep in mind Senator Amidala doesn't know about my involvement in her personal affairs, Doriana said. Or about yours. So keep it that way.
Alnam doesn't believe Krev's idea about Amidala for one second — but as Detective Vitsem told the young Detective Alnam once, leave your common sense behind these doors when you come to work. If crimes were solved by common sense, droids would've left us unemployed long ago.
He actually picks a can of soda on his way to M'Nnun's apartment. Something to wash down a pill, he thinks as he does.
There's already Fete illumination lit up in the store — half a month in advance. Alnam's guess it's to celebrate the Republic's victorious movement through the Outer Rim. He pays for his soda and leaves.
The day is grey. Makes going to the senator all the less pleasant.
Krev's — Bnagen's — Rodian has been on Rothana for nearly a standard month. Two weeks in ConCare — not exactly herself, but she found a boyfriend who works there. Maybe he can sneak her in on occasion.
And then what? She'll stumble upon the files that explain everything in the store room they use to fuck? A bad theory is better than no theory — but a bad plan may not be better than no plan. "No plan" sounds more fixable.
Even if she finds something useful, who can tell if Bnagen will share it? She sure avoids the topic of money with Krev. Not that it's too important if Fozatta used all he laundered as he pleased or had to okay it with the CIS or sent it all to the CIS — if Bnagen is even on it — but she doesn't trust Krev completely. All the worse, he trusts her. Says it's all because she doesn't want to parade how much money she's got left.
He's called Lawrie a week ago. No headway there, either. Lawrie seemed fine with it. Lawrie seemed fine, period. It made Alnam hate him even more.
What are the Separatists doing now that Fozatta's dead? he thinks, flying to the senator's building. They have to run something in his place. Or maybe they don't — which accounts for how bad they have it now.
The headache starts creeping up as soon as he gets out of the aircar. Mtoro is already here, waiting for him.
"Ready for another round?" she asks.
.
.
.
Lawrie's too fat to strangle him properly. Instead, Alnam has to drag him to the open window. Their feet slide on the urine-covered floor.
Alnam forces him onto the windowsill and starts pushing. Disturbing — how easily the RI man gets past the window. His legs salute Alnam one last time, and then he's gone.
Alnam sticks his head outside. He needs to see the corpse. Needs to know the deed is done.
There's nothing outside — just this thick white fog. Surely, Lawrie is somewhere beneath it.
"It's not enough," Fozatta tells him. Alnam listens to every word. "You need to do it with a weapon, or it doesn't count."
"Where do I get one?"
"I'll introduce you to a nice gal. She's my daughter, you see."
Alnam does see.
He's in a classroom. Sitting at a desk. It's Alderaan — no other star in the universe can shine so gently.
A woman sits in front of him. She is loading a blaster.
He didn't know Sly Moore was Fozatta's daughter.
"Small world," he says.
She doesn't react. Why is she so slow? The class is over — the bell's ringing.
"Fuck," Alnam mutters as he wakes up. The fucking bell doesn't stay in his dream, but keeps going.
"Fuck," Alnam repeats. Then he gets out of bed and picks up the comlink.
My fucking day off, he thinks.
"Listening."
"Sleeping late, Agent?"
Perceptive fuck!
"How do you do, Mr. Doriana?"
"The thing you've asked me about. It is arranged."
"Th... thank you—"
"I'd hurry up if I were you. The senator is leaving for her home planet at 12."
.
.
.
The Senate Apartment Complex is no Star of Onderon: it's got its own air traffic control.
"RDS vehicle, please proceed to the parking platform on the level 718."
Alnam expected nothing less. Still, he tries:
"I thought embassies had their own landing pads."
"Please proceed to the parking platform on the level 718."
Oh well. 718 isn't just 18, at least.
The white fog has somehow crept out of his dream and flooded the planet. Even here, at this altitude — Alnam spends an embarrassingly long time trying to land his airspeeder.
You don't get more luxurious than this — well, save maybe for 500 Republica. Check out these turbolifts that don't make a single sound. Check out the view — even with all the fog, it's gorgeous. Still, there's something in these corridors it's hard to put a finger on that makes the SAC feel like the world's most expensive dorm.
The senator meets him by the elevator — on her own. Alnam recoils — he was expecting an aide or a droid.
"My lady." He makes a formal bow. "Thank you for accepting my request. My name," he produces his ID, "is Agent Vad Alnam, Domestic Security."
"I am pleased to meet you, Agent."
"Likewise."
"I hope you don't mind the chaos." She waves her hand at the apartment, though Alnam sees little chaotic in it. "With the smog forecasted to hold for at least a month..." She throws her arms up and smiles almost nervously. "I'm preparing to leave Coruscant."
"I've been told you are. I will not take a lot of your time."
"Please," she gestures towards the large open balcony. "Do you care for some tea?"
"Thank you."
She walks him to a set of couches on the balcony. Her wide robe rustles as she sits down.
"I am here as a member of the Joint Commission," Alnam says. "The Joint Commission for the Grand Army—"
Senator Amidala nods. "I know what it is."
"And I know you have been questioned by other people on it, but the thing about the Commission is that there's very little coherence due to it being made up of multiple, often rivaling, agencies. So if you don't mind..."
"I do not, Agent Alnam. As long as it helps the investigation."
She really believes it, Alnam realizes. He's not shocked, but... it's weird. Maybe you don't have to be Father to be patriotic.
A protocol droid brings them tea.
"Had you had any prior knowledge of an army being made for the Republic before the battle of Geonosis?" Alnam starts.
"No. I couldn't imagine it was already functional as I was trying to postpone its creation."
"Postpone, my lady? Not prevent?"
"The attitude in the Senate was such at the time that it was only a question of time when the military creation act would be passed. I hoped to delay it until there was a bilateral agreement with the Separatists that could stay the war, so that this army would not be used immediately, at the least. I had to... use stronger language to rally more senators to the cause."
Alnam shrugs. "'Prevent' does sound better than 'delay,' I suppose. So the clone army wasn't the army you were... protesting against?"
"I was protesting against a Republic army as a concept."
"But clones... this is messed up, isn't it? They are grown just to fight our wars. Indoctrinated, if you will."
Senator Amidala blinks and averts her eyes. "Isn't that how the Jedi are, too?"
"Maybe. You're probably right. But the Jedi, you see, it's... it's like a tradition at this point. It's what they've been doing for thousands of years. We don't really look twice at their practices — well, unless it's our kid that happens to attract their attention. It's... like a separate state within our state. But to okay the creation of this army — it would take no less than a sociopath. You know, we — the people — generally don't think about the Jedi business too hard. But the person or persons who decided to go with the clone army — they thought about it hard enough and went, 'Yeah, it works.' Gets the job done, you know."
"I am not sure what you are trying to say, Agent."
"Maybe a name comes to mind. Someone sociopathic enough to do that."
"None in particular, I'm afraid." She really does sound afraid. Alnam can't tell why — and it's getting on his nerves.
"Really?" he asks with more intensity than he intended to.
"No. Do you think I would sit on this knowledge if I had it?"
"Knowledge isn't the same thing as suspicion."
"No, Agent Alnam, I do not suspect anyone of commissioning the army."
"Does the name Sifo-Dyas mean anything to you?"
"Sifo-Dyas? Sifo-Dyas... I know he was a Jedi Master. Why?"
"And Hego Damask?"
"He was a banker. I'm sorry, Agent, but I do not know what relevance these names have."
He nods. "While you were imprisoned on Geonosis, did you see anything unusual?"
"I... Excuse me, but was is the significance of the persons you mentioned?"
"It's still an ongoing investigation, my lady."
"But maybe I can help! Maybe I would be able to tell you something if you just elaborated!"
"Let's focus on Geonosis for now," Vad smiles. The smiles is so fake it hurts.
The senator shuffles on her couch. "What do you mean by anything unusual?"
"Anything. Anything that drew your attention."
"It was a planet I knew little about. Everything seemed unusual to me. Besides, I was a captive there — they did not show me around."
"Okay. Do you know what's going on on Geonosis now?"
"What's going on on Geonosis now?"
Alnam shrugs. "Who knows. Maybe you've heard any... talks while you were held there about any projects? Maybe something in some remote regions of the planet? Or underground? Somewhere where the Separatists can still have a presence? Anything like that?"
"No, Agent, the Separatists did not discuss their plans with me — or next to me."
Almost as if they planned on you escaping.
He shoves this thought aside. Best not to mention it to Devin — or he'll get more ideas.
"Would you say you were shocked when the clone troops appeared during your, uh, attempted execution?"
"There was little time for shock. I assumed — maybe subconsciously — it was a part of the Jedi effort to rescue us."
"But as it later turned out, it wasn't."
"It turned out, it was. Master Yoda brought help."
"How did the other Jedi — the ones in the, uh, arena — react?"
"I assume they knew about his plan."
"You assume? You never discussed it... with anyone?"
"The Jedi are very busy people, Agent. And so am I."
"Of course." He gets up. Places his cup on the wide armrest of the couch. "One more thing, my lady."
"Yes?" she says impatiently.
"Could you help with something?"
"What would it be?"
"An autograph of Anakin Skywalker."
She looks as if he just blasphemed.
"How... how do you think I can help you with that?"
"I thought you were friends. It's for my son, you see. He's a fan..."
"I have not seen Jedi Knight Skywalker in several months. He is not on Coruscant, as far as I am aware."
Alnam bows, and it's a shitty bow. "Well, thank you."
.
.
.
"She doesn't know shit," he tells Krev two hours later.
"You sure?"
"I am. She's clueless."
"Or she's a good actress."
"She's not, believe you me. As soon as I mentioned Skywalker, she got flustered. Couldn't fool a Gamorrean. We're lucky to have that Rodian girl taking care in that department."
"You asked her about Damask, right?"
"I did."
"And the Geonosis project?"
"I did."
"And Forakk? Did you ask her what the Republic officials asked her after the battle?"
"How about you stop telling me how to do my job?"
"Man, I don't mean it like that—"
"Well, I do. I mean it: stop fucking telling me how to do my job, okay?"
"What's with you today?"
"Nothing. Must be the holiday season kicking in. You know: reports, higher-ups looking for scapegoats..."
"Well... Okay, so how was it?"
"How was what?"
"You know. The senator."
"Ah. I've seen better. Not as impressive as on Holovision. And to live with her? Let me tell you, I don't envy Skywalker anymore."
.
.
.
There's no Fete party this year. Director Bohm sends everybody a hologram with congratulations, but that's it if you don't count the holiday bonus.
Alnam's on duty on the Eve. It demoralizes him a week in advance. Things don't look bad at home — maybe he'll even have a home this time next year.
Two days before Fete's Eve, Ven calls him into his office. "His" is all but a memory at this point — everything Ven in the office is gone: no holopics of the family, no medals for marksmanship competitions. Only Ven remains.
"It's sad to see you going," Alnam says. He's not sad at the slightest.
Ven extorts a smile out of himself. "Everything changes, I suppose. Sooner or later. I tried too hard — and look where it got me."
He looks out of the window. Without the regalia, his figure isn't supported by anything. He looks a guest in his own — still — office.
"There's some good news," he says, "and I won't let Javirr's cronies deliver them to you. No, if there's a good deed left for me to do on this post, it's this."
His wordiness is exhausting. Talking to him lately feels like talking to a childhood friend you haven't met in decades — and who hasn't made any new friends in the meantime.
"So they are dropping your case," he turns to Alnam.
"Really?"
"Really. Ms. Wermano told me yesterday."
"Why would they do that?" Alnam asks, battling the relief rising in him. "Did they agree to settle out of court?"
"No, they just dropped it. Well, they will as soon as the next year starts — I can't imagine the nightmare of getting the Courts' documents so close to the Fete Day. But they'll do it, it's been 'discussed and confirmed,' as Ms. Wermano put it."
Alnam shrugs. "That's good, what can I say. Just strange that they would do it after more than a year of getting under my skin."
"If you get a chance to get in the universe's good graces, don't reject it. That's my philosophy."
"Well, thank you, sir. It's good news indeed."
So I'm absolved, but not of the crime that matters.
Not that anyone knows about that one, though.
"What are you going to do now?" he asks Ven.
"Once I'm out, I'll spend a week on Coruscant to finish what unfinished business I have left — my bank accounts, club memberships... pension. I'm lucky I've served for as long as I did. And then, it's back to Targala. I haven't seen snow in the longest while, Vad. Do you like snow?"
"I don't know. I suppose I never thought about it in such categories."
"It will be nice to see it again, even though I'm sure I'll grow tired of it in two cycles or sooner. To visit all the places from my childhood that still stand..."
"So you can rent out your Coruscant apartment," Alnam nods. "Not bad."
"Afraid not. It's not mine, you see. The RDS provided it to me, and now... Well."
"Sorry to hear that."
"I'll be fine. I have almost twenty-five years of experience here in the DS. Any security consulting firm on Targala will be happy to take me — and stupid not to."
Alnam offers him his hand. "With that said, if you need anything—"
Ven shakes it. "All I need from you is to not let Javirr screw you over like he did with me."
.
.
.
Rettil Ruad is a tiny man with a comb-over and a distractingly large upper lip. He moves into Ven's office the next day.
"To the victor, the spoils," Mtoro says, watching him struggle with the caf machine.
"I've heard he was the top super-agent on Corellia," Tchadashi Muren says. He's an alright guy in Alnam's book — all who came undaunted to stare at the new boss through his office's glass walls are.
"It's not terribly hard being a top super-agent on a planet that practically doesn't require any spy work," says Leland Howoren. "You try running a network in a craphole like Tatooine or Nal Hutta, then I'll pay you respect."
"Now Javirr's going to have his way with us," Alnam says. "Duty change-offs? Forget about it. Uh, maybe it's not too bad. If we have Javirr's creature as our supervisor when Javirr becomes the director, I can see all sorts of benefits."
"Sure thing," Howoren says. "My backside starts hurting already."
Ruad finally closes the blinds.
"Well, folks," Agent Divgan says; Alnam doesn't remember his first name, "the show's over."
.
.
.
He pays for presents with his own money. His own — he doesn't consider Doriana's account as such.
He can only get home by midday of the first day of the new year. Ormi and Yalgi are up already. Already have opened the presents — try keeping a twelve-year-old from it. Alnam's portable gliz keyboard is already discarded and forgotten by the time he's home. It pisses him off more than he cares to admit.
Almost tells to his son: "What, you liked Uncle Kinman's gift more?"
Doesn't stay at Ormi's. Going home, he fights the notion that it's because of the present. It's beyond fucking retarded, he tells himself. You bought the computer last year, not fucking Doriana.
The notion stays.
He calls Mother. Half an hour later, he's finally able to hang up.
Now Father.
Alnam's too tired to explain what's been going on with their thing since the last time he updated Father. Nothing much — makes it way harder to come up with a briefing. But it's a fucking holiday, so he has to call.
"How do you do?" he asks the tube of the comlink.
"I could have been worse. How's the family?"
"Good."
"You saw them?"
"Yeah, just got back."
Father pauses.
"Did they get my presents?" he then asks.
"Yeah. Almost a week ago. The postal services must be on fire this season."
"Good."
"Wait, so Yalgi didn't call you?"
"I'm still waiting on that one."
"What the f— This kid, I swear. He's got some major entitlement issues, let me tell you that."
"Don't be too hard on him. Remember yourself when you were his age — and well above."
"I never forgot to thank my grandpa! You taught me to be respectful to my elders."
"True. Not that you didn't have a myriad of other cases of troubled behavior."
"Troubled behavior! What's that from? Some book on rearing kids you read back in your own childhood?"
"Are you calling me to vent your frustration with something?"
"No. I'm calling to wish you a happy Fete Day, Dad."
"Thank you. Happy Fete Day, son."
"Thanks. So, uh... is there a party on Sanner?"
"Just RT and I."
"Uh-huh. Well... Let's not talk business today."
"Should we talk business?"
"No, I just said we shouldn't! This family..."
"So nothing of importance has happened, I assume."
"No. Not really."
"Not really?"
"Oh, for fuck's sake! No, nothing happened. Therefore, no reason to discuss business."
"Okay. So be it — we both deserve some rest."
They talk about nothing in particular for a couple more minutes.
Alnam contemplates calling Yalgi and telling him to stop acting like a cunt towards his own, but decides it's going to be too much for today.
.
.
.
"I view it as my duty to run this department as closely to Onoile's style as possible," Ruad says.
The office is painfully small for three people: Ruad, Alnam, and Mtoro. Ruad is hiding behind his desk, but Alnam and Mtoro have to squeeze up.
"I know about your assignment to Skados VI," Ruad continues, "and I know that it was what elevated you guys in Onoile's eyes — and reports — so much. Now, I don't want to put pressure on you, but your current clearance rate is... not as good as I feel it could be."
"Not every case can be solved by doing acrobatics," Alnam says. "Sir."
"I understand it perfectly, Agent. Vad — can I call you Vad? — I prefer to be on the first-name basis with my agents. I'm not trying to point any fingers or assign any blame or even express my displeasure. What I'm saying is I don't want you resting on your laurels — not that I'm saying you are—"
"With all due respect, sir," Mtoro says, "the scope of the cases Vad and I are on at this moment is not, strictly speaking, up to our proficiencies. To compensate for that, we have been given a lot of cases that can each be dealt with by a less experienced team."
"That's what I'm talking about," Ruad says, searching for something in his datapad. "Agent Alnam has only been on the force for a year."
Alnam corrects him. "A year and three months, sir."
"Prior to that, my partner has served in the CSF for—"
"Yes, yes," Ruad cuts her off. "I see your concern, Agents. And I can see the reason for it. I'll try to do something about it. You are dismissed."
"Like hell he will," Mtoro says when they exit the office.
"No shit. Expect more crap coming our way now."
"Who could tell he wouldn't cave in? He looked like such a darling."
"Well, maybe we did scare him — he couldn't finish his thought. Oh, your clearance rate is low — fuck that noise! Don't give us banthashit assignments, and it's gonna skyrocket."
"Exactly. How many more senators need felinx saved from trees? More importantly, why are we the ones who have to save them?"
"It all comes to one thing: pussy."
"I bet you thought it was going to be a good joke."
"I bet you thought it actually was good, but being your usual stuck-up self, you just can't admit it."
"Oh, I'm stuck up? Screw you, Vad!"
"You know, I'm gonna sue the RDS."
"On what grounds?"
"False advertisement."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. I was led to believe every assignment would be cool and interesting and let me flex my muscles metaphorical and literal. I mean, the first one was. And look what we're doing now! Felinx from trees, man, felinx from trees."
.
.
.
He knows something is wrong as soon as he sees a missed call from Father.
Maybe Yalgi finally called him, he thinks as he listens to dial tones — but he knows it can't be that. Father wouldn't go out of his way to tell him that. Father doesn't believe in easy positive reinforcement.
"Yes?"
"Hey, you called me?"
Maybe just a mistake. Maybe my number is the most-called one — next to his mistress'...
"Can you talk now?"
"Yeah, that's I'm calling you."
"Are you alone?"
"Come on, Dad, of course I'm alone. What is it?"
Maybe he fell and broke a hip.
"We're in deep shit, son."
And Alnam immediately knows the shit is indeed deep.
"What gives?" he asks.
"That fucking cunt Rell! They got her!"
"Who got who?"
"Fadrina fucking Rell! From Telos!"
Each curse from Father's mouth hits like a slap across the face.
"Whoa, wait, who? That woman from the embassy?"
"Yes! They got her, the ISB!"
It can't be real.
"Do they know?" Alnam says in a voice so perfectly even that only someone who just dropped off a rail two hundred meters above ground can produce.
"She's talking. They got her on charges of corruption, but you bet she's talking all kinds of talks!"
"Wait, wait a minute." Alnam views his body from within and from without in turns. "It doesn't mean she's talking about... you know. That would only make her an accomplice in another case. There's no reason for her—"
"Oh, there is reason enough, and she is going to use it, make no mistake."
"How do you know that?"
"I have people in the ISB. Today, one of them sends me a message that Rell is going to make a deal with them to get off the hook. Take a guess what kind of deal she can offer them."
"Okay — she's going to make a deal."
"I don't know long it will take them to okay it. It's a big case — corruption; involves two dozen representatives from the allied worlds, I'm told."
"Okay. It may not be so bad—"
"It's only a matter of time when they take her offer. This is bigger than any corruption, for hell's sake!"
"Okay. How much does she know?"
"A lot. About the clone trooper, Devin, the embassy attack. My hit on Devin."
"Oh shit."
"Yes, oh shit. And she'll spin it, do not you doubt. Spin it so that I'll be behind that clone's desertion, and death, and disappearance from the morgue — even though it was her own stupid fucking idea to hide his body there!"
"Okay, Dad, calm down. What can we do?"
Father sighs, and Alnam starts seeing something other than dark floating circles.
The old man has a plan. He has it alright — he just needed to get anger off his chest.
"Come on," Alnam prods him, "what are you thinking about?"
"When was the last time you saw that Uerre character?"
"Sorval? I don't know, a few days before the Fete. We had a couple beers together with Krev and him. Why?"
"Why? That bitch is going to name him as one of her — and mine — accomplices. And he very conveniently lives on Coruscant under his real name and rents an apartment and goes to some school or whatever."
"It's courses, some kind of..."
"Can you tell me now he is not in custody now? Can you tell me for sure?"
"I mean, I guess... Krev talks to him every day. He would've told me if he went missing."
"Makes sense. She's not going to talk until she's absolutely sure they'll give her immunity. We might have some time."
"Okay, so... I think you gotta pay Sorval. Stuff his yap with credits."
"Would that it were so simple, Vad. He's infatuated with the bitch!"
Oh fuuuuuck.
"He will go willingly if he thinks it'll help her."
"So are they fucking? I mean, if she's arrested, he'll probably figure—"
"No, it's much worse. He wants to fuck her. As a result — you can imagine. She's got him wrapped around her finger."
"You sure? You sure no amount of money will silence him?"
"Put yourself into his place. If it was Ormi, would you take money?"
Alnam only now notices how cold his hands are.
"If they get him — and they will get him the day the bitch starts talking — it won't be just my word against hers. It will be mine against their two. And then they'll get Devin — and you."
"Devin will keep silent—"
"Maybe he will, maybe he won't. But the fucking ISB will have plenty even if he takes a vow of silence. They get Uerre — they'll know about your involvement. How you let Devin go. They'll learn about everything — the campaign, the Rodian you sent to Rothana, everything. And it will be the end of it. Of everything."
It will. More arguments on the Commission. No leads. Not even the shitty ones we have.
"How often do they... you know, come in contact? Uerre and Rell?"
"How should I know? Not very often, I suppose. I can't imagine her being too fond of his affection. A poor youth, a non-Human to boot? Get out of here."
Father falls silent. Father waits.
Alnam hates him for that. Hates him for expecting this of Alnam. He hates himself, too — for knowing he'll say what Father is waiting for.
"Then he needs to go," he says it.
"Vad—"
"Ah, don't get cute with me. You called me to hear this, you hear this. That's it."
"Listen. I can't impose on you—"
"What do you wanna hear? That you're not imposing? You wanna hear, 'Sure, Dad, I'll do it, and don't you think — don't you allow yourself to think — for a second it was your idea?' You know what — fuck you. I'm doing your dirty work, so please, find someone else to help you feel better about yourself."
"Vad—"
"There's nothing more to say."
He disconnects, but Father calls back the next moment. Alnam watches the pulsating comlink as if it were his heart.
He picks up the third time Father calls.
"I told you, there's nothing more to discuss."
"There is. I have to tell you something."
"What now?"
"You are the man I always wanted to be. Was always afraid of being, but always wanted to be."
"Ah, don't give me this shit."
"I... I cannot judge you. I won't tell you any big word about the good of many and the scope of the Galaxy, but I want you to know one thing: you are my son. I fear you, I respect you. And I love you. No matter what."
Alnam combats rage. Alnam combats tears. Alnam combats Alnam.
"I love you too, Dad."