My mother clears aside a special spot on the shelf for the little holo unit. "Full honors," she says. "He would have appreciated that. All our old friends were there... now, what do you think?" She steps back to survey her handiwork. "I've fully loaded it."
On the sands of Trikel Beach, the translucent image of my father smiles back at me as a light breeze ruffles his hair. He's so young I barely recognize him.
"It's nice."
"There's more."
We're in the park, just him and me, and I'm five years old, riding on his shoulders as he pretends to be my personal shuttle craft.
"Do you remember this?"
"Yes, of course I do."
It's the day Shino graduated from basic training. We're both arm in arm, trying to fight a case of the giggles. She's stuck her uniform cap on my head, and behind us father rolls his eyes at our antics--he made the holographer retake this one. But this is the version he kept on his desk.
"You two used to get along so nicely."
"Did we? I don't even remember why we thought this was so funny."
Now I'm the graduate, feeling small and nervous in the giant auditorium of the Coruscant Medical Institute until father puts his arm around me, gives my shoulder an affectionate squeeze, and tells me to keep my chin up for the holo.
"Your father was always very proud of you, Dai."
"Was he?"
Mother looks at me, her expression suddenly bitter. "Do you still need to ask?"
"Maybe."
"Well, think about it," she says, and leaves the room.
The problem is that I've already thought about it. Shino was always our parents' favorite, no matter how hard they tried to deny it. She's a selfish, cold-hearted creature with no concern for the value of sentient life, and they couldn't be more proud of her.
It's not that my parents and I don't love each other--very much the opposite--but when it comes to Shino and Haru they can be so damned short-sighted, it's infuriating.
Yesterday, at the funeral service, even father's old comrades wanted to know where Shino was. They thought something horrible must have happened to keep her from her rightful place, dressed up in uniform to give father his final salute. "It'd break his heart if Shino wasn't here, she was just like her old man," one of them said. I could barely believe what I was hearing.
Father was a flawed man, a soldier, and in spite of that he was still as good a person as you could ever hope to find. Shino ignored him, Haru defied him, but I admired him. I was there when he needed me, I was faithful, I was his daughter.
Nobody, not even my own mother, bothers to see that. Everyone here only notices uniforms and insignia. Then they make their own fatuous assumptions and pat themselves on the back, delighted with their own insight.
Someday I'll have to show them the truth. I just wish I'd been brave enough to do it sooner.
Even before I knock on the bedroom door, I know what I'll find. Mother's supposed to be sorting through father's belongings, but there's not the slightest chance she'll discard a single thing. There's ample precedent--witness the other two bedrooms.
The house started small; by the time Haru was born, the term "claustrophobic" was much more apt. He was the last to leave home, almost three years ago, but even though our parents could certainly use the space they kept our rooms just as we left them. Well, almost as we left them--father was more easy-going, but our mother the drill sergeant never did successfully indoctrinate us into military standards of perfectly-made beds and neatly-stowed gear. I did my best, but Shino's mess would inevitably expand from her side of the room into mine, and Haru was simply hopeless. It wasn't until we were all out of the house for good that she could finally come in and get it all shipshape.
She emerges from her bedroom, holding two thin display cases. "Dai?"
"What?"
"You're just standing there. Are you okay?"
"Oh. No, I'm fine. Did you--"
"No. No reason to throw any of it away."
"I didn't think so. What's that?"
"Just something for downstairs," she says, almost reluctantly. "The two of them never let me put these on display--they were never proud enough of what they achieved."
I look down at what be over a dozen citations and awards in total, all carefully arranged and pinned on genuine black silk. I don't know what each one stands for, nor do I care, but for the sake of politeness I point to the larger case. "So this is father's?"
Her voice is tense again. "Shino's."
"Never knew she had this many," I mutter. Although it doesn't come as complete surprise, either; I wonder how many people had to die for those ridiculous pieces of ribbon and metal?
Mother shrugs brusquely and heads downstairs. "There's still one missing. So, what do you want for lunch? It's almost time to eat." Mealtimes are always punctual in this household, regardless of actual hunger.
"Anything's fine."
"There's still soup from last night, I can warm that up."
By the time I come downstairs, both medal cases are already up on the shelf next to the holo. "Mother?"
"Yes?" she calls back, busy with the food prep unit.
"Why put Shino's medals up? She'll be furious if she sees them."
The silence from the kitchen is overwhelming.