thoughts.
In contrast, Hari’Adab was a shapeshifter who moved along the ground, a terramutati like his father the Zultan. As a boy growing up on Paradij, he had always intended to do what was expected of him. Since Zultan Abal Meshdi and Hari’s late mother, Queen Essina, had little time for him, the boy had been raised by tutors, always taught the proper way of doing things. In particular, he was taught to show respect for his elders and for the rules of Mutati society that had been laid down by the wise zultans and emirs of countless generations.
In Mutati society, a man kept his word, and that imperative started at an early age, as soon as he could speak and understand the rule of law, and the unwritten code of honor that was passed on from generation to generation by word of mouth. By those standards he had pledged to uphold important traditions, the threads that held together the powerful social fabric of his people.
Throughout his young but eventful life, though, Hari had expressed more than his share of defiance, bordering on rebelliousness. He had steadfastly refused to use an Adurian gyro that his father gave to him, a foreign-made mechanical device that was supposed to help him make better decisions. In the past couple of years it had become very popular in Mutati society, particularly among the young, but Hari didn’t trust the Adurians or their inventions. That race, from far across the galaxy and supposedly allied with the Mutatis, had insinuated themselves on Mutati society in a short period of time, bringing in their loud music, garish clothing, noisy groundjets, and a whole host of other products.
It didn’t make sense. Hari had been brought up to respect Mutati traditions, but his father had permitted an alien culture to change what it meant to be a shapeshifter, causing Mutati citizens to neglect their own civilization and pay homage to another. It was a terrible shame, in Hari’s opinion, and he hoped to reverse it when he became Zultan himself one day. He had no idea when that might occur, or if it would ever occur. His father often expressed his displeasure and his disappointment in him.
It wasn’t just a disagreement between the two men over cultural matters. It went much deeper, as Hari had frequently expressed his opposition to the war against the Merchant Prince Alliance. During one argument over this the month before, the Zultan had called him a traitor. A traitor! Hari had been in complete and utter disbelief.
“If that’s what you think I am, have me executed,” the young Emir had said. “Obviously, I’m not fit to be your successor.”
Pausing by a gold-leaf lily pond, Hari saw the white bird soar to the other side of the water and perch in a tree. In his preoccupation, Hari had not noticed that he was being watched. And that he was in great danger.
“Now, now,” Abal Meshdi had said. “At least you’ve expressed your opinions only to me, and have not gone public with them. You have shown respect for your elders, following the time-honored rules in this regard. Contrary to your belief, I do not want you to agree with everything I say or do. That is only in public. I warn you, do not dishonor me in front of others, or it will be the last thing you ever do.”
“I understand, Father. But I must be honest with you. I must tell you what I think is best for you and for our great race. Our culture is being watered down by the Adurians, and they constantly urge us to war. Why do we need to listen to them?”
“We were at war with the Humans long before we ever formed an association with the Adurians, and long before we ever brought them in as advisers.”
“But without their influence, we might reach a peace accord with the merchant princes. I do not trust that VV Uncel. He is more concerned with his own Adurian people than with ours. I fear he will be our downfall.”
“You worry too much, my son.”
“You don’t worry enough.”
“That is all we will discuss of this.
In contrast, Hari’Adab was a shapeshifter who moved along the ground, a terramutati like his father the Zultan. As a boy growing up on Paradij, he had always intended to do what was expected of him. Since Zultan Abal Meshdi and Hari’s late mother, Queen Essina, had little time for him, the boy had been raised by tutors, always taught the proper way of doing things. In particular, he was taught to show respect for his elders and for the rules of Mutati society that had been laid down by the wise zultans and emirs of countless generations.
In Mutati society, a man kept his word, and that imperative started at an early age, as soon as he could speak and understand the rule of law, and the unwritten code of honor that was passed on from generation to generation by word of mouth. By those standards he had pledged to uphold important traditions, the threads that held together the powerful social fabric of his people.
Throughout his young but eventful life, though, Hari had expressed more than his share of defiance, bordering on rebelliousness. He had steadfastly refused to use an Adurian gyro that his father gave to him, a foreign-made mechanical device that was supposed to help him make better decisions. In the past couple of years it had become very popular in Mutati society, particularly among the young, but Hari didn’t trust the Adurians or their inventions. That race, from far across the galaxy and supposedly allied with the Mutatis, had insinuated themselves on Mutati society in a short period of time, bringing in their loud music, garish clothing, noisy groundjets, and a whole host of other products.
It didn’t make sense. Hari had been brought up to respect Mutati traditions, but his father had permitted an alien culture to change what it meant to be a shapeshifter, causing Mutati citizens to neglect their own civilization and pay homage to another. It was a terrible shame, in Hari’s opinion, and he hoped to reverse it when he became Zultan himself one day. He had no idea when that might occur, or if it would ever occur. His father often expressed his displeasure and his disappointment in him.
It wasn’t just a disagreement between the two men over cultural matters. It went much deeper, as Hari had frequently expressed his opposition to the war against the Merchant Prince Alliance. During one argument over this the month before, the Zultan had called him a traitor. A traitor! Hari had been in complete and utter disbelief.
“If that’s what you think I am, have me executed,” the young Emir had said. “Obviously, I’m not fit to be your successor.”
Pausing by a gold-leaf lily pond, Hari saw the white bird soar to the other side of the water and perch in a tree. In his preoccupation, Hari had not noticed that he was being watched. And that he was in great danger.
“Now, now,” Abal Meshdi had said. “At least you’ve expressed your opinions only to me, and have not gone public with them. You have shown respect for your elders, following the time-honored rules in this regard. Contrary to your belief, I do not want you to agree with everything I say or do. That is only in public. I warn you, do not dishonor me in front of others, or it will be the last thing you ever do.”
“I understand, Father. But I must be honest with you. I must tell you what I think is best for you and for our great race. Our culture is being watered down by the Adurians, and they constantly urge us to war. Why do we need to listen to them?”
“We were at war with the Humans long before we ever formed an association with the Adurians, and long before we ever brought them in as advisers.”
“But without their influence, we might reach a peace accord with the merchant princes. I do not trust that VV Uncel. He is more concerned with his own Adurian people than with ours. I fear he will be our downfall.”
“You worry too much, my son.”
“You don’t worry enough.”
“That is all we will discuss of this.
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