As a Family

The attempted assassination of Prime Minister Haidara on my seventh birthday, a bright Thursday morning, stunned the Federation and brought the city to a grinding halt. School was disrupted by the news, and the instructor left the holo on all day as we waited to see if she would survive. By the end of the school day it was obvious she would, and we went home.

Throughout the block adults were crying, wandering around in shock, or silently drinking with nothing more than a sad nod between them. As children, we understood that it was an important event, but we didn’t fully understand it. I returned to an empty flat to do my school work and wait for my mother to return. Except, that day I had no school work to do, and she never came home.

On a normal day, I’d do my school work until my mother returned from her shift as a firefighter. She’d make a light dinner and then argue with the holo. I never understood it. They weren’t listening; it was a show, not a call. She’d get agitated and keep arguing until I turned off the holo. She’d say “thank you, sweetie” and kiss me goodnight. This wasn’t a normal day.

A police officer woke me in the middle of the night. She said my mother had an accident and wasn’t coming home; she was dead. I was angry. “How come the Prime Minister gets to be okay but not my mother? You’re police, help her! Why didn’t you help her? She wasn’t here for my birthday!”

Instead of answering the rage and fear of a child, she held me as I wept, and she wept with me. She smelled like flowers and held me until I cried myself to sleep. She carried me, asleep, to the main police station on the zeroth floor and held me through the night.

The next day I went into foster care, with Ms Elma, an older woman who had a two-room flat on the 50^th floor of the block. It was like the one I’d lived in with my mother, but covered in kitschy nicknacks and floral prints, with an obscene amount of potpourri in little jars on every surface. It was like suffocating under a fluffy blanket.

When she first came to visit, I didn’t recognize her. A tall, ebon-skinned woman with deep brown eyes, a halo of black curls, and sharp cheekbones, standing outside the flat. “Is it okay if I visit with you, Markus?” Her accent was lilting, like some of the instructors, especially the ones that taught Bambara and French.

I nodded and she came in, her lavender dress floating with every step. She greeted the old lady then sat on the floor in front of me. When she got close I smelled the flowers. I fell into her lap and let her rock me.

“Do you remember my name?”

I shook my head. Everything from the past the few days was a blur, except that the Prime Minister lived, and my mother died.

“My name is Violet Samassa. I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“I want to go home.”

“I know, little one.” She smoothed my tousled blonde curls and I wondered at how pale I was against her rich skin. “You’ll be here for a little while, until we can find a forever home for you.”

I whispered in her ear, “I don’t like it here. Can I go with you?”

She hugged me close. “I have a son. He’s your age exactly. You were both born on the same day. Tomorrow, I’ll bring him and we’ll go for ice cream. How does that sound?”

I nodded, afraid that if I said anything more she would leave. Instead, I clung on, hoping for the moment to last. It didn’t.

“I need to get to work,” she said. “I’m on the night shift now, but I’ll see you tomorrow after school, yes?”

“I don’t want to go back to school.”

“Oh but you must,” she said. She leaned close and whispered, “it will get you out of here for a few hours.”

When I returned to the classroom the next day, the other students avoided me. They looked away when I turned toward them. I’d become invisible. Only one student paid any attention to me. I didn’t know him, but I recognized him from the class. He came over without saying a word and gave me a hug. It was all I could do not to cry.

“I’m sad your mom died,” he said.

“Me too,” was all I could get out.

After that, he sat with me for the whole class and did his best to cheer me up. I think he got me to laugh a little when he made fart noises behind the instructor’s back. After a day that passed mostly in a fog, we walked to the lifts together and rode up. As I got off on the 50^th floor he said, “See you tomorrow.”

When Violet showed up at the flat an hour later, she introduced her son, who laughed and made the fart noise again. He hugged me, and she looked at him with eyes wide. “You didn’t tell me you knew Markus.”

“I didn’t know his name,” he said, “but we’re friends now. Right?”

“Right,” I answered.

“Well, Markus, this is my son, Ash.” She rubbed the close-cropped black curls on his head. “Did you know you both have the same birthday?”

“Twins!” Ash put his arm around me. “Come on, twin, let’s get ice cream!”

Ms Elma didn’t look away from the holo the entire time this was going on. It was just as well, as the few times she’d tried talking to me were annoying and awkward. After ice cream, I ended up spending the night with them. And begged her to let me stay.

A month later, Violet and Ash surprised me with a late birthday party at their flat. My present was the adoption papers she’d started. While it wouldn’t be complete for a while, Ms Elma was fine with me moving into their place right away. I stopped calling myself Markus Plesh and started calling myself Markus Samassa.

Within a year Violet became “mom,” both officially and in my heart and mind, while Ash and I became twins for anyone who asked. I still missed my biological mother, but I remembered her less well as the time passed. The more my new mom tried to find out about my mother’s death, the more walls she ran into. My mother was one of eight people from Block 17 whose death on that date was sealed under injunction from the Defense Force Intelligence service.

Although she wouldn't talk about it, it became apparent to Ash and me that mom had some demon related to that day. Our birthdays were often frantic affairs, full with as many activities as possible. We thought at one time she was doing it to help make the day joyful, rather than a day of mourning. As we grew older though, we noticed the haunted look in her eyes.

At eighteen I tried finding out what could about my biological mother’s death. I figured it had something to do with her work as a fire fighter. Why would the Defense Force hide the “non-work-related accident” of a member? Still, all the records were sealed, even for next-of-kin. I put a notice in public records to ping my comms whenever any information about her death became public and set it aside. 

Ash and I chose police for our mandatory service. Mom talked to us before we left. "I'm not going to say this more than once. If you need to pull your weapon to protect someone else, don't hesitate. If it's to protect yourself, you need to make that decision then." The haunted look returned. "I don't think I could live with myself if I hadn't been protecting others. I just hope neither of you have to do such a thing." That was the only time we’d heard she had ever had to fire her weapon.

With that bit of information I checked the public police records around the assassination attempt. Mom was on duty that day, in the protection detail as the Prime Minister toured the outside of Blocks 17 and 19. She was one of four officers who fired back. She was off the following day, then moved to night shift, at her request.

When we finished our mandatory service, Ash and I followed in mom's footsteps, staying on with the police. Ash moved around every few years, while I just stuck with the place I was first assigned out of mandies, Erinle, the second planet in the Dem system.

“Where were you when the Prime Minister was shot?” Major Karter was leaning back in her chair. She always seemed to be on the verge of tipping over — but never did that I saw.

"What brought that up?"

"Just realized it's almost 25 years ago, now, but it's the first big thing I remember as a kid,” she said. "Makes me feel old. I was in third grade then, skipping classes and hanging around the block when all the holos started showing it. You?"

“First grade classroom, Block 17, Bamako,” I answered. “But that’s also my birthday, and the day my mother died.”

“Your mother’s a police officer on Sol 3,” she said, letting her long, silky blue hair dangle to the floor behind her. She picked a pretzel out of the bowl on her desk and threw it at me.

“My biological mother died. Commodore Samassa is my adopted mom.” I walked over and looked down in her eyes, the same blue as her hair, in a pale face dotted with freckles. “Don’t forget, I’m going back to Earth for Ash’s and my birthday this evening. I’ll be back in two weeks.”

She sat up in a flash, nearly bumping my head, the front of the chair slamming down on the floor. “That’s today?”

“No, four days from now,” I said. “The commercial liner from here to the Sol 3 gate is over sixty hours.”

“Right, I knew that,” she said, fishing out another pretzel, “I was talking about the leaving part. Thought you were leaving tomorrow. Your brother going to be there too?”

“Every year. He’s got it easier, though,” I said. “He’s stationed on Luna now, so it’s a short hop for him.”

“So how did you end up out here?”

“Luck of the draw straight out of mandies, then the place kind of grew on me.”

“It does that,” she said. “You know, they say that the forests around here are what Earth used to look like a long time ago.”

“Maybe,” I said, “but it’s the ocean that I love. The clean, salt air when I’m outside the block, the gulls — just pulls me.”

“You’re weird. You could get the same lots of places on Earth – like Maude, Antarctica. Hey,” she raised her comm, “do me a favor and get some good coffee while you’re there? A couple kilos of the Ethiopian beans.” She flicked her comm, sending authorization for purchase on her behalf to my comm.

“Sure thing, Major.”

“Sorry I didn’t get your present yet, It’ll be at your desk when you get back. And don’t argue with your mother when she starts talking about a promotion.” She smiled. “Mother knows best, right, Master Sergeant?”

“I just got this.” I pointed to the rank on my collar tab. “You trying to get rid of me to battalion?”

“Not trying to get rid of you. They’re moving me to battalion next month. I’m trying to get you there so that when I go I’ll have at least one person I can put up with.” She laughed.

“Right, but I doubt it.” As I gathered my things to leave she was leaning back in her chair again. “And don’t fall and bust your ass, sir. I need to know I’m coming back to a commander without a stick up their butt.”

“Don’t doubt my word, Markus! Or my balance!” She threw another pretzel at me and I dodged it and slipped out the door.

The trip was a long stretch of boredom bookended with frantic changeovers. Train to shuttle to station to liner; sixty long, slow hours of super-C; then liner to station to shuttle to train and, finally, to Block 17.

Accustomed to making the long trip annually, I used the sixty hours of boredom to shift my sleep schedule over to match Federation standard time. When I arrived at the block I was wide awake and ready for the day. Mom had taken time off from her new command role, so we spent lunch reminiscing.

Ash showed up in time for dinner, and handed me a small, wrapped present. I handed him his, also wrapped, and we agreed to hold off on opening them until morning. I was sure mine was my favorite — habanero sauce from a little farm on Sol 2. I was equally sure he knew that his was his favorite — hard candies flavored with licorice root and pine bark. It was bitter, sour, sweet, and rich; all at the same time. Mom usually shipped presents to us, to arrive when we returned from our annual vacation.

“I don’t understand you boys,” she said, as we sat around the table. “You both have degrees, you could be officers, but you’re both NCOs. Why?”

“I like the work as an NCO better,” I said. “I see how much time the Major spends with reports, and budgets, and requisitions, and — no, I’d rather just keep solving crimes.”

“I’m with Markus on this one.” Ash slapped my shoulder. He’d grown half a head taller than I, with mom’s complexion, but his hair was beginning to thin at the temples and crown. “Besides, officers have all those functions they’re expected to attend.”

I looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “You’re an E-7, Senior Sergeant now. When your next promotion comes and you’re an E-8 like me you’ll be eating those words.”

Ash made an exaggerated expression of shock. “You what?”

“You’ll be expected to go to all those functions too,” I said. “Boring conversation, decent food.”

Mom got the look. The one that said we’d just annoyed her a little too much. “If it’s that way, no surprise this year. We’re getting up early tomorrow to go to the Capitol building.”

“Is that meant to be a punishment?” Ash asked.

“We should swing by the museum,” I said. “We haven’t been in ages.”

“We’re not going sight-seeing.” She picked up her comm and sent us both a packet. “I didn’t send your presents to meet you at home this year, you’re getting them there, tomorrow.”

We looked at our comms. It was promotion orders to Warrant Officers. I was being promoted to W-3, Master Technical Officer, while Ash was being promoted to W-2, Senior Technical Officer.

Mom smirked. “It wasn’t easy to get your commanders to stay quiet about it. They both put in requests earlier this year, about a week apart. I thought they were collaborating, but they weren’t.” Her face softened and pride radiated from her smile. “The Federation likes their Detectives to be Officers, or at least Warrant Officers.”

“Wow, I… don’t know how to respond to that,” I said.

“You what?” Ash’s repeat of his earlier exaggeration made mom laugh.

“This way, you’re officers, but you don’t have to deal with the budgets and requisitions.” She leaned back. “Then again, I haven’t had to deal with a budget or requisition for years now.”

“Because you give it to a Colonel, who gives it to a Major, who passes it on…”

“All right, all right, sorry I started it.” Mom shooed us into the main room and turned on the holo. “No more talking about work tonight.”

“Come on, mom, we’re just —” Ash started.

She cut him off with a curt “I’m pulling rank.”

We watched a football match, then got ready to turn in for the night. The holo was still on low volume when the newscaster broke in with, “The high court has just announced that the sealed records of the attack on Prime Minister Haidara will be released tomorrow, on the twenty-fifth anniversary of the attempted…” I clicked the holo off and went to bed.

My comm woke me up shortly after midnight. Thinking there was trouble with the Major I checked it. Instead it said “ALERT: Records for Kara Plesh found.” My mother — the alert I’d set years ago. Hands trembling I read it, and collapsed, dropping my comm to clatter on the floor.

Mom and Ash must’ve heard it, because they both came. Ash picked up my comm and read it out. “Kara Plesh, 32, firefighter, Bamako, attempted assassination of Prime Minister Haidara, died when police returned fire…. Oh gods, your mother.”

“Did you…?” I tried to ask. I felt seven again; small, vulnerable, and afraid.

“I didn’t know, baby, I didn’t know.” Mom fell into a heap. “I stayed with the Prime Minister, and the Captain did the paperwork. They never told me who — they never….”

I had a brief flash of anger which was immediately squashed by the overwhelming memories of security, love, acceptance, everything she’d ever done for me. Now it was my turn. I held her close and let her cry into my chest. “I’m here, mom, I’m here.”

“I’m so sorry, baby, I didn’t know.” She forced the words out between sobs.

“It’s not your fault.” I began to rock her, and wept with her. We relived the night I first met her, except our roles were reversed. Ash sat on the floor and wrapped his arms around us both, and together we cried, assured each other, and shared our pain — as a family.