Perhaps the next time we talk, you will have grown a little wiser.”
The conversation had ended like that, with the elder’s condescending remarks, his expressed hope that Hari would eventually fit the mold that he wanted. Privately, Hari called it the “stupidity mold,” and he vowed never to pour himself into it.
The two of them had not seen one another since the podship crisis, though that did not cut off contact. They had been talking over the new (though staticky) nehrcom system several times a week, and could visit one another by taking a solar-sailer journey of a little over a month. They were in adjacent solar systems, not that far apart, or Hari would have been completely isolated from him. That might have been preferable in some regards, though he did not want to run from Mutati society; he wanted to influence it and improve it, especially the moral underpinnings.
The bird lifted off from the tree branch and approached him, drifting tentatively. Hari smiled at her, and saw the return sparkle in her eyes, and the softness of her features, a different version of her original countenance. Parais d’Olor was his beloved, the one Mutati he cared more about than any other. She landed near him on a patch of grass and tucked her wings.
He looked away. Now Hari was doing something that was certain to rouse the royal ire of his father if he ever discovered it. The young Emir had a secret life. He was not a traitor, or anything like that. Rather, he was a patriot and only wanted the best for his people. That included the welfare of all three factions of Mutati society—the terramutatis, the aeromutatis, and the hydromutatis. Too often his father favored his own racial subtype over the others, but Hari believed in equality of the three groups.
In the past, both aeromutatis and hydromutatis had ruled Mutati society from the Citadel of Paradij. The legendary palace had been built by an aeromutati zultan, Vancillo the Great. For two centuries, that flying shapeshifter had ruled a peaceful Mutati realm, a period known as the Pax Vancillo … until the Terramutati Rebellion. The terramutatis had always been the most aggressive of the three groups, and had favored going back to war against the Humans. Abal Meshdi’s great grandfather, Iano Meshdi, had led the revolt, citing infractions committed by Human society against Mutati worlds and the shapeshifter race … especially military and economic incursions against Mutati planets. The old zealot had drawn a line in space, saying he would not permit Human civilization to encroach any farther into Mutati society.
How ironic that Abal Meshdi had drawn no such line with the Adurians, who were obviously an inferior race, with poor military forces and a decadent social structure. Hari didn’t understand what his father saw in them. They should be taking advice from Mutatis, not the other way around!
As he continued on the meadow path with flowers all around him sparkling in the sunlight, he hardly noticed the natural beauty. The aeromutati flew beside him again, this shapeshifter that had taken the form of a large white bird. In her way of infinite patience and understanding, Parais d’Olor had tried to converse with him earlier, but she had given up for a time, saying she would wait until his mood lifted.
Parais was the most lovely shapeshifter he had ever seen, though his father would certainly not concur, since the Holy Writ required a highborn Mutati to marry within his own racial subtype. (He could have mistresses of the other types, but any resultant pregnancies had to be aborted.) Despite the expectations, Hari had never been attracted to terramutati girls. From the first moment he laid eyes on an airborne female, he’d been fascinated. And when he met Parais, he stopped looking at other girls at all.
In her natural form Parais had the folds of fat, tiny head, and oversized eyes of any Mutati, but instead of arms and legs she had functional wings. She could also
The conversation had ended like that, with the elder’s condescending remarks, his expressed hope that Hari would eventually fit the mold that he wanted. Privately, Hari called it the “stupidity mold,” and he vowed never to pour himself into it.
The two of them had not seen one another since the podship crisis, though that did not cut off contact. They had been talking over the new (though staticky) nehrcom system several times a week, and could visit one another by taking a solar-sailer journey of a little over a month. They were in adjacent solar systems, not that far apart, or Hari would have been completely isolated from him. That might have been preferable in some regards, though he did not want to run from Mutati society; he wanted to influence it and improve it, especially the moral underpinnings.
The bird lifted off from the tree branch and approached him, drifting tentatively. Hari smiled at her, and saw the return sparkle in her eyes, and the softness of her features, a different version of her original countenance. Parais d’Olor was his beloved, the one Mutati he cared more about than any other. She landed near him on a patch of grass and tucked her wings.
He looked away. Now Hari was doing something that was certain to rouse the royal ire of his father if he ever discovered it. The young Emir had a secret life. He was not a traitor, or anything like that. Rather, he was a patriot and only wanted the best for his people. That included the welfare of all three factions of Mutati society—the terramutatis, the aeromutatis, and the hydromutatis. Too often his father favored his own racial subtype over the others, but Hari believed in equality of the three groups.
In the past, both aeromutatis and hydromutatis had ruled Mutati society from the Citadel of Paradij. The legendary palace had been built by an aeromutati zultan, Vancillo the Great. For two centuries, that flying shapeshifter had ruled a peaceful Mutati realm, a period known as the Pax Vancillo … until the Terramutati Rebellion. The terramutatis had always been the most aggressive of the three groups, and had favored going back to war against the Humans. Abal Meshdi’s great grandfather, Iano Meshdi, had led the revolt, citing infractions committed by Human society against Mutati worlds and the shapeshifter race … especially military and economic incursions against Mutati planets. The old zealot had drawn a line in space, saying he would not permit Human civilization to encroach any farther into Mutati society.
How ironic that Abal Meshdi had drawn no such line with the Adurians, who were obviously an inferior race, with poor military forces and a decadent social structure. Hari didn’t understand what his father saw in them. They should be taking advice from Mutatis, not the other way around!
As he continued on the meadow path with flowers all around him sparkling in the sunlight, he hardly noticed the natural beauty. The aeromutati flew beside him again, this shapeshifter that had taken the form of a large white bird. In her way of infinite patience and understanding, Parais d’Olor had tried to converse with him earlier, but she had given up for a time, saying she would wait until his mood lifted.
Parais was the most lovely shapeshifter he had ever seen, though his father would certainly not concur, since the Holy Writ required a highborn Mutati to marry within his own racial subtype. (He could have mistresses of the other types, but any resultant pregnancies had to be aborted.) Despite the expectations, Hari had never been attracted to terramutati girls. From the first moment he laid eyes on an airborne female, he’d been fascinated. And when he met Parais, he stopped looking at other girls at all.
In her natural form Parais had the folds of fat, tiny head, and oversized eyes of any Mutati, but instead of arms and legs she had functional wings. She could also
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