Our footsteps resounded through the great marble halls. I struggled to keep up with Omar, taking three paces for each of his long graceful strides. I was six years old.

“Did you enjoy your outing today Ghen?” He was the only one I knew that did not call me by my full name.

“Yes, very much Mr. Omar Sir,” after months I could still not simply refer to him as Omar, despite his urging. My father’s hard lessons on politeness had cut deeply.

“My favorite was the big bird. It was so scary. I’m going to fly one day, my father told me.”

“Indeed,” he slowed his pace and smiled warmly at me, “will you be as deadly as the Aukrom?”

I frowned, “No, I could never be that scary.”

Omar smiled and resumed his usual pace.

“Why do they fight? The people I mean, not the animals. Are they angry?” it was an innocent question.

He stopped walking and looked away from me. After a few moments I heard him take a deep breath and he turned and crouched down to my height. He pushed my hair back out of my face.

“The Matari fight because they are told to Ghen. They must do what they are told. Your way of life, all of this,” he waved his hands about the marble halls, “depend upon that.”

“I wouldn’t fight those animals,” I said, “even if you told me to.”

He smiled a troubled smile, “Of course not dear, and no one would ask you to. You are a child of Amarr, you have the light inside you. As long as you keep the light only God is your master.”

“God and Empire,” I recited.

“No!,” his voice was strained, almost angry, “Only God.” Omar stood up to his full height. I looked up at him.

“Can the Matari have the light. I don’t even think about mine except on Sundays, I could share.”

His face brightened and he smiled, “That is very nice of you, but I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way. They have to find their own light.” He turned and began to walk, “Come dear, your Father wants you home for dinner. I hear you’ll be having guests from the empire,” he glanced at me playfully, “there might even be a pilot or two there.”

We raced the rest of the way home.

An hour later, at dinner I offered a prayer to the Matari, that they might find the light and be released from their bonds.

My clone no longer bears the scar left by my father’s belt, but the sting is still there.

I never saw Omar again.