07-13-2018, 04:42 PM
Planet Malta. In one of the larger cities, a young man is sitting, on his own, at a bar. He is visibly distraught and hasn't slept well for some time. He is reading a letter.
The envelope contained two old, discoloured pictures. One of his mother, one of his father. The young Zahid Al-Basra's gaze lingered on those pictures, as tears ran down his cheeks.
Son, your mother is dead.
I'm sorry. I don't have the courage to tell you in person.
She left us early this morning ; her heart finally stopped fighting.
We will grieve for her, but not now.
As you know, the bulk of our wealth was on her side of the family. Since we never married, her brothers will inherit the farm, our assets... And our money.
I don't expect they will simply hand out a portion of it to us, considering the circumstances of your birth...
As you also know, we have a few outstanding debts to settle and, consequently, nothing with which to settle them.
This is where I need your help, son.
I will remain behind in our home, in the village of Tal-Patrin. A guarantee of our good will towards our creditors.
You, on the other hand, will take to space. I am giving you the access codes to the Harat Al-Qadi, a modest ship bought under my name that served our family well, long ago.
It is all we have left. Use it well : you and the Al-Qadi are all that stand between us and the name of Al-Basra disappearing from history.
You know what must be done. You know of our ways. It pains me to place you on such a dark path, my son, but no other options are left to us.
Now go. Set things right. Free us from this burden, and then... We might just be able to rebuild an empire of our own.
Your loving father,
Khalid Al-Basra
I'm sorry. I don't have the courage to tell you in person.
She left us early this morning ; her heart finally stopped fighting.
We will grieve for her, but not now.
As you know, the bulk of our wealth was on her side of the family. Since we never married, her brothers will inherit the farm, our assets... And our money.
I don't expect they will simply hand out a portion of it to us, considering the circumstances of your birth...
As you also know, we have a few outstanding debts to settle and, consequently, nothing with which to settle them.
This is where I need your help, son.
I will remain behind in our home, in the village of Tal-Patrin. A guarantee of our good will towards our creditors.
You, on the other hand, will take to space. I am giving you the access codes to the Harat Al-Qadi, a modest ship bought under my name that served our family well, long ago.
It is all we have left. Use it well : you and the Al-Qadi are all that stand between us and the name of Al-Basra disappearing from history.
You know what must be done. You know of our ways. It pains me to place you on such a dark path, my son, but no other options are left to us.
Now go. Set things right. Free us from this burden, and then... We might just be able to rebuild an empire of our own.
Your loving father,
Khalid Al-Basra
The envelope contained two old, discoloured pictures. One of his mother, one of his father. The young Zahid Al-Basra's gaze lingered on those pictures, as tears ran down his cheeks.