The TALK, Solin is growing up

 The party ended the way all good parties eventually did: slowly.

The lights around the bayou house had been dimmed to a soft amber. Somewhere beyond the porch, frogs had resumed their nightly argument with the mosquitoes. The last of the interstellar guests had departed through shimmering gates, folded space, or, in the case of one particularly tipsy Kethari ambassador, a rather embarrassing teleportation incident involving a decorative palm tree.

Solin sat beside me on the porch steps.

Stage 4.

I kept having to remind myself of that.

He looked older tonight. Not merely taller or more physically developed. There was something in his expression that had changed. A stillness. A sense that he was beginning to understand that the universe was going to expect things from him.

I cleared my throat.

"So."

Solin looked over.

"So?"

"The talk."

He smiled.

"Ah."

"Don't 'ah' me."

"I know what you're going to say."

That stopped me.

"You do?"

"Yes."

I stared at him.

"Son, I'm your father. I'm supposed to be the one giving this speech."

"I know."

"And this is an important speech."

"I know."

"And it's going to be awkward."

"Probably."

I sighed.

"How much do you know?"

Solin considered the question.

"Enough."

I looked toward the bayou.

"That's what I was afraid of."

He laughed.

I leaned back on my hands.

"Then let's talk about something more important."

Solin's smile faded.

"Respect."

He nodded.

"Respect isn't something you demand because you're stronger," I said. "It's something you give because the other person is a person."

"Even if they're different?"

"Especially if they're different."

I looked at him.

"You are going to meet beings who don't think like humans. Some won't communicate the way we do. Some won't even have concepts that map neatly onto ours. Some species have three sexes. Some have none. Some reproduce through memory. Some don't have individual identities at all."

Solin nodded thoughtfully.

"And some species consider eye contact an act of aggression."

"Exactly."

"While others consider not making eye contact insulting."

"Exactly."

"Some communicate through scent."

"Exactly."

"Some through harmonic resonance."

"Yes."

"Some through—"

"Okay, I get the point."

He grinned.

I smiled despite myself.

"But there's something underneath all of that," I said. "Respect means you don't assume the universe was designed around you."

Solin became quiet.

"You're going to have power," I continued. "More than most people will ever have. That's why you have to be careful with it."

"I know."

"No, you don't. Not yet."

He looked at me.

"You'll learn."

I put a hand on his shoulder.

"And being a man isn't about being the strongest person in the room."

Solin nodded.

"It's about knowing when you don't need to prove that you are."

For a moment neither of us spoke.

Then Solin said, "Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I understand."

I smiled.

"Good."

He looked toward the house.

"Mama Bettie is still watching us through the window."

I glanced over.

Sure enough.

Bettie immediately disappeared.

I smiled.

"She thinks she's subtle."

"She's not."

"No."

We sat there another minute.

Then I made the mistake that changed the entire conversation.

"There's one other thing we need to talk about."

Solin looked at me suspiciously.

"What?"

"Your stages."

His expression changed.

I explained what I'd been thinking about for weeks.

Stage 4 wasn't the end.

If anything, it was the beginning.

Solin needed to learn how to cultivate his resonance instead of simply allowing each stage to happen to him. He needed discipline. Control. Meditation. Physical training. Mental training.

And, eventually, teachers.

"That's why I think you should consider the Academy."

Silence.

Solin stared at me.

Then he said the words I had been dreading.

"Yes."

I blinked.

"Yes?"

"I've been thinking about it."

"You've been thinking about it?"

"Yes."

"Since when?"

"Since Verity mentioned it."

I turned toward the house.

"Of course."

Solin laughed.

"She said it would give me access to instructors who understand resonance development."

"I know what she said."

"And facilities."

"I know."

"And other students."

"I know."

"Then why are you against it?"

I looked at him.

"Because you're my son."

He waited.

"Because every institution that promises to teach you who you're supposed to become eventually starts deciding who you're allowed to be."

Solin frowned.

"That's not necessarily true."

"No."

I sighed.

"That's the problem."

The door opened.

Verity stepped onto the porch.

"I heard my name."

"You always hear your name."

"Statistically, yes."

Solin smiled.

Verity looked between us.

"I assume the Academy has become the subject of discussion."

"You're not helping."

"I have not said anything."

"Your face said it."

"I do not believe my face possesses that capability."

Bettie appeared behind her.

She said nothing.

That was worse.

She looked at Solin.

Then at me.

Then back at Solin.

Her smile was there.

But it wasn't reaching her eyes.

I understood immediately.

"You're worried," I said.

Bettie shook her head.

"No."

"You're worried."

She looked down.

"I just don't like the idea of him leaving."

Solin stood.

"Mama—"

"I'm fine."

She smiled.

It was the smile mothers have perfected over thousands of years of pretending not to be afraid.

"I'll be fine."

I looked at Verity.

She was completely composed.

"Verity."

"Yes?"

"You're in favor of this."

"Yes."

"Of course you are."

"Barry."

"What?"

"Your emotional objection is understandable. It does not necessarily constitute a logical objection."

I stared at her.

"Did you just call me emotional?"

"I said your objection was emotional."

"That's worse."

Solin laughed.

Bettie didn't.

I looked at her.

She had turned toward the bayou.

Her eyes were wet.

That settled something inside me.

I stood.

"Okay."

Everyone looked at me.

"I'll consider it."

Solin's face lit up.

"Really?"

"Consider it."

Verity nodded.

Bettie looked at me.

I could see the question in her eyes.

I walked over to her.

"This isn't goodbye."

"I know."

"It's school."

"I know."

"He's coming home."

"I know."

But her voice cracked on the last word.

I lowered my voice.

"Bettie."

She finally looked at me.

"I know."

Then Solin suddenly said, "Dad?"

"What?"

"Can I go tomorrow?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because we're going to investigate the Academy first."

Verity raised an eyebrow.

"Investigate?"

"Yes."

I pointed toward the darkness beyond the porch.

"Because I've learned something in this family."

Solin smiled.

"What?"

I looked at Verity.

Then Bettie.

Then him.

"Whenever somebody says something is for your own good, you check who benefits."

Verity folded her arms.

"Barring evidence, that is an unnecessarily suspicious position."

I nodded.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For proving my point."

Solin laughed.

Bettie finally smiled.

But something still bothered me.

I looked out over the bayou.

The stars above us seemed unusually bright.

Too bright.

And somewhere beneath the sound of the frogs, I thought I heard something else.

A faint harmonic vibration.

I narrowed my eyes.

"It's a ruse."

Solin stopped laughing.

"What is?"

I looked at him.

"To divide us."

Verity's expression changed.

Bettie went still.

"The Academy may be perfectly legitimate," I said. "It may even be exactly what you need."

I looked toward the stars.

"But if somebody—or something—wants Solin away from this family, I'm going to find out why."

Solin stood beside me.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"What if the Academy isn't the enemy?"

I looked at my son.

"Then we'll find that out too."

He smiled.

"Together?"

I put my arm around him.

"Always."

Behind us, Bettie quietly wiped her eyes.

And Verity looked toward the stars.

For just a moment, none of us noticed the tiny pulse of light far beyond the moon.

Something was watching.

And it had been watching Solin since before his birthday.