Story © by Brent 1998.
All Rights Reserved.
Page by Haddock_of_Borg / Jilli

LIKE FATHER,   LIKE SON?

©   By: B. Budny, aka Brent

The battle raged for hours throughout the ship, coming closer and then moving away. The shouts of men, and things that defied description, echoed through the walls along with the sound of small arms fire. An occasional explosion rocked the ship and caused his ears to plug with the increase in pressure.

For Marcus Macoy it had all happened so fast. The first hour of battle seemed to blur into a single grotesque smear across his memory; a barrage of sights, smells and sounds that had overwhelmed him with their intensity. He was pummeled from all sides by sudden death and the furious rage of his shipmates retaliating against the assault of their ship. In the smoke after the first explosion, Marcus found himself lying on the floor next to a ragged hole in the inner bulkhead. A hunchbacked, four armed shape loomed over him. Obscured by smoke and with blood in his eyes, he could not see the thing clearly, but it looked to be made of fist sized pieces of granite thrown together in a vaguely humanoid form. The upper set of arms held a blunt weapon over its head, in mid-swing, attempting to end the life of Marcus Macoy.

*         *       *

"Boston flight maintain formation. I say again, do not engage enemy fighters."

Irvig Macoy thought to himself that this was the most desperate mission ever conceived. It was his first mission and he was scared. A frontal assault on a mother ship! How could the brass be so stupid? And with only six dragonflies to complete the mission. It was hopeless. With that thought the old anxiety flared up again. Sudden memories chased one another behind his eyes, breaking his concentration.

His father, Marcus Macoy, who had been a marine during the early years of the war, could not abide a son with no gut's. Early in the war Marcus's ship, the SFN Equinox, had been boarded by the 'leggers. After a long and hard fought battle only he and four other marines, out of three hundred assigned to the ship, had survived the slaughter. Everybody knew the Equinox story. It had been on all the holovids. They had been far behind the lines in a crippled ship and brought it home with information vital to the war effort. Five men became heroes to almost everyone in the Solar Federation. Irvig was also in complete awe of this hero who was his father. During the years of his youth Irvig's awe turned to fear that if he was ever in the same situation he would not be able to live up to his father's courageous actions.

The men on that ship had learned to be tough. Who knew what it took to be a hero? Irvig wasn't tough, or a hero, and he knew it. He suspected his father knew it as well. As a child he was prone to invent stories to make himself look better in Marcus eyes. His father had seen through his fabrications, of course, and so sent him to the Solar Federation Academy. Marcus, who was a large man and loud of voice, intimidated him into going with only a look. "To give you some backbone son", he had said later. His mother, who was a strong willed woman, usually had no problem moderating her stubborn husband's sometimes headstrong ways. This time, though, he would not be pacified and allowed her no say in the matter.

Upon arriving at the academy Irvig had been overwhelmed by it all. After a short time he learned that if he studied, did well in class and listened to orders no one bothered him. He signed up for pilot training and set himself on a course that he thought would land him a job as a transport pilot. Hopefully, far away from the action and any confrontation with his fear of failing. He settled into the routine of academics and flight school. His anxiety, which Irvig knew his father understood to be cowardice, slowly disappeared from his mind and rarely bothered him.

Then things changed. The war took a turn for the worse and, due to heavy losses, the brass started moving more pilots to the front line for combat duty. After training Irvig was sent to a front line. squadron.

The anxiety was back again and building up; cranking up his guts until he could think of nothing. but getting back to his mother ship, the SFN Sprint. That ship with all its people and activity was the last bastion of security for him; a place where he could blend in, disappear. Out here in the void with all the emptiness surrounding him, and the merciless 'leggers patiently waiting, there was nothing to hold him together, nowhere to hide. The muscles across his chest fluttered in reaction to the thought causing him to jerk the controls and fall out of formation in the process.

"Boston three maintain formation." He was sliding back into place when his threat board clicked a warning indicating three bogies at two o'clock low and five thousand clicks. His gaze became fixed on the three red dots and he froze on the controls. Communication radios began blaring at him from a far away place. A part of him knew he should acknowledge his flight leader but he couldn't look away from the three red dots that had just become nine. Thirty-nine hundred clicks. The damn 'leggers were getting too close. Why wasn't anybody firing? He could feel sweat running down his ribs inside his suit. His threat board indicated a 'legger missile launch. All he could do was watch as the yellow dot approached at what seemed to be a snail's pace. Suddenly a strobing flash, reflected by his plex-armor screens, broke his hypnosis. He looked up and saw another quick burst from the top magnetic rail gun of his wing leader's ship. A moment later the MRG rounds connected with the incoming missile causing it to detonate at close range. The explosion pushed his craft toward the other ships in his flight.

Shaking uncontrollably, and blinking sweat out of his eyes, Irvig fought to gain control of his ship. Boston flight started breaking up to prevent a collision due to Irvig's erratic flying. "Boston three, what's the problem? Get your sorry butt back in formation!" The flight commander sounded ready to blow him to atoms. He glanced at his threat board and saw fifteen red dots along with a pulsing amber dot. The telltale sign of a mother ship. Their intended target. He fell back on the lies he had used for such a long time to cover up his cowardice. "C-Commander," his voice cracked, "my controls are malfunctioning. M-must be E-M radiation from the mother ship." Two more explosions rocked his ship, worsening his situation.

The flight commander made his decision. "Boston flight engage enemy fighters briefly and then break for the Sprint. Wingmen stick to your wing leader." The ships of Boston flight broke formation and engaged the now twenty or more enemy fighters that surrounded them.

Irvig saw his wing leader break down and left to engage an incoming fighter. He could see the MRG on top stuttering away at some invisible target in the distance. As he sat watching the two ships approach each other head-on to his left, a trio of 'legger ships strafed him from the right. Chards of plex-armor blew into the cockpit, slicing into his suit and exposing him to vacuum. The pressure dropped far enough that he grayed out momentarily before his suit's liquid sealant plugged the slashes. As the pressure returned to normal, he looked left and saw the three that had strafed him had continued on to attack his wing leader from the rear. His wing leader never had a chance. A bright flare, marking the destruction of his wing leader's ship expanded quickly along with a sympathetic wave of animal fear inside Irvig. With his teeth clenched together and his jaws creaking, Irvig felt a rising scream push through his lips. At the same moment a missile exploded beneath him. He lost consciousness momentarily from the excessive gee forces. When he came to Irvig realized, with a shock that raced over him like icewater, that he had never made his automatic MRG active. It was hopeless. Looking back and forth, left and right, blinking the sweat out of his eyes and feeling the tightness across his chest that wouldn't let him breath, he realized he couldn't see any of his flight. They were all dead and he was next. A crashing wave of panic swept through the shell of a person known as Irvig Macoy. In it's wake it left nothing but the most basic of animal instincts that could react in only one way. Flight. Run. Get away.

His hand went to the bright orange cover of the panic button at the top of the throttle quadrant that would fire all engines at war emergency power. At forty gees of acceleration, he would later regret pushing that button. If he lived. The cover flipped open and he punched the flashing button without thought for his direction of flight. It didn't matter. He had to get away. His dragonfly accelerated into a cascade of stars.

*         *         *

"Lieutenant Macoy, present yourself immediately to commander Monath's ward room." The echoing message reverberated throughout the huge hanger of the SFN Sprint. All eyes turned to watch a man slowly emerging from a firefly medium fighter sitting unevenly on the deck. The upper half of his suit was covered with slashes filled with dried sealant. As the pilot stepped to the hanger deck a squad of marines appeared at his ship and surrounded him. He glanced briefly at the group of capable looking men then turned to inspect the damage his craft had sustained.

"Sir, the Commander is expecting you."

"In a moment sergeant." The gathering crowd of techs and off duty pilots whispered to each other, awed by the extent of damage to Irvig's ship. The hull of the dragonfly was pock marked and grooved from magnetic rail gun rounds. More than anyone had ever seen. Both the left and right screens in the cockpit were missing except for a few chards of plex-armor in the corners. The left engine was tilted sharply downward at an angle that left no doubts as to its future use. The right engine was riddled with holes and dripping fluids. No ordinance was left on the wing and fuselage pylons and the barrels of the MRG autoguns were melted to the hull from heavy use.

Irvig reached up and lightly ran his fingers over a hole from an MRG round. He stood there for a moment seeing it all again. He turned abruptly and marched out the way the marines had entered, leaving them to catch up.

*         *         *

Three hours later, a tribunal of three officers sat in the reality chamber watching the replay of Lt. Macoys combat footage. Irvig sat to the side at stiff, but calm, attention. The replay was not long and soon ended. The lights came up and the five officers, one of who was Commander Monath, turned to face him. The Commander looked long and steady at Irvig. Irvig did not flinch or look away.

"Mr. Macoy, you have refused council. Do you wish to change your mind?"

"No, Sir."

"Very well. You have been accused of murder due to cowardice in the face of the enemy on five counts. If convicted the sentence is death. Do you understand this?"

"I do, Sir."

"The Tribunal has some questions for you then. First, why did you lie about the condition of your flight controls?"

"I was scared."

"That's all? Would you like to elaborate?"

"No, sir. It was as simple as that."

"Do you realize that everyone in Boston flight was scared?"

"With all due respect to them sir, at the time I didn't care."

"You didn't care. What did you care about?"

"Getting away."

"That's obvious, Mr. Macoy. Unfortunately the rest of the flight recorders from the dragonflies in your flight were destroyed in the battle and the last record we have from your on-board recorder is your activation of the panic device. So, it seems we must rely completely on your testimony in this matter.

"You arrived back here three hours ago, shot to hell and with no ordinance left. Your recorder shows that you never fired a shot before activation of the panic button. What happened to all of your ordinance Mr. Macoy?"

"In my panic I dumped it."

"Mr. Macoy, you are not painting a very flattering picture of events. If you persist we will have no other recourse but to render judgment."

"Sir," Irvig said with barely a flicker of an eye. "I have no intention of painting a flattering picture for you. What I did, I did because of who I am. It is a flaw in myself I have regretfully come to accept. I have also accepted the fact that I must answer for my actions. I won't run away from my responsibilities this time. Those people died because I couldn't face my fears. I cannot, in all of my new found conscience, fabricate a story for myself. I am fully prepared to accept the full judgment of the tribunal in this situation."

Monath watched Irvig for a moment with a deeply curious, almost suspicious stare. "Well Mr. Macoy, though it pains me to do this, it seems you leave us no choice. Your father served under me in my first command. I valued his judgment and solidity in any situation. I can see a glimmer of that in you.

In the face of the evidence presented here, this Tribunal finds you guilty on all counts. Because this is a wartime situation, we do not have the luxury of waiting until tomorrow for your execution. You will be terminated in two hours. Do you have anything to say?"

"Thank you for the compliment sir. My father would have been proud to hear that. Please send my regards to my parents."

"Very well. This Tribunal is adjourned." Even the crack of the gavel didn't cause Irvig to flinch. Nothing ever would again. Irvig stood and marched out of the room with his chin high. He seemed, if not proud, at least resolute. He had made peace with his demons. He would face death again and not waver. His father would be proud.

*         *         *

Lissa Macoy stood alone at the site of his grave. She watched as the casket containing her son slowly descended into the earth. Marcus would not come to the funeral, would have nothing to do with it. No one had come. Only Lissa. She couldn't understand why Marcus was so adamant in his shame for his son. Of course, he had never said so out loud, but she knew what he thought. A coward deserved no better. The argument that had ensued when she asked him again to come to the funeral had worn them both out mentally and physically. Marcus did not say anything or try to stop her when she left for the funeral that morning.

As the casket reached the bottom the priest, provided by the military, finished his short, memorized oratory. He turned away without another word and started back down the hill.

The rain had stopped a few minutes before and so she stayed to say good-bye to her son for a while longer. As Lissa stood grieving, she heard footsteps coming up the hill. Thinking to see the priest she turned and found a man in a long dark rain jacket striding toward her. Lissa had never seen him before. He stopped in front of Lissa and looked into her eyes for a long moment. Then reached into his pocket and handed her a standard reality cube with a strange emblem on it that she did not recognize. Nothing that would indicate what it contained. Somehow she sensed gratitude in his look.

"For Marcus. His son went well." After a moment longer he turned and walked back down the hill the way he had come. Puzzled by the strangeness of the act she watched the stranger leave.

*         *         *

Besides the argument about the funeral, Marcus had been sullen and silent since the news of their son's execution. He had shown no emotion when he read the black edged letter delivered by two stone faced officers from the base. Even now, sitting in front of the holovid watching the latest war news from the front, nothing but a slight tremble in his hands showed that Marcus Macoy was filled with a flood of emotion. Quickly flashed images of a dead 'legger on the holovid brought back deeply buried, decades old memories.

The seemingly endless hours spent waiting to see if the 'legger was going to move, to reach its pincered claws toward him. That was one of their tricks. They played opossum. A thin sheen of sweat tickled his brow. He had to concentrate on not wiping it away.

Lissa opened the front door and Marcus jumped, pulled out of his memories. She looked worriedly at him as he wiped the sweat from his pale, drawn face.

"Marcus, a man came to me after the funeral."

He did not look at her. "Someone showed?" His tone was bitter, hollow. He sat watching a news flash about a new development in the war. Something about a computer core salvaged from a destroyed 'legger mother ship that would change the tide of the war. The first real break the Solar Federation had seen since the beginning of the war.

Surpressing the urge to scream at him she handed Marcus the cube and told him about the cryptic message the man had given her.

Marcus looked distractedly at the cube and then took a quick breath. His eyes widened and, impossibly, he blanched further. He stood quickly and rushed into the kitchen. She heard the disintegrator power up and shut down. When he came back he no longer had the cube.

"Why did you do that? What was on it Marcus? You know what it was. Tell me," she pleaded, " was it about our son? Tell me!" Her eyes begged him to comfort her, to help her feel better about their son. He couldn't do it, couldn't tell her.

"It was nothing, he said, staring into the holovid screen.

She looked at him for a moment longer, a tear welling up and then running down her cheek. He reached up to wipe it away but she pushed his hand away and walked slowly to their room. She turned to look at him, silent tears falling to the floor, and said quietly, "I still love him."

*         *         *

Four years later Marcus Macoy stood on the same hill at Lissa's grave watching her casket descend into the earth beside her son's. She had been a strong woman, but after Irvig death had slowly withered away. "Because," she had said with biting sarcasm and bitterness just a few weeks before, "I have no one left to live for. My son is dead and I lost my husband, the hero, to the people of the Solar Federation years ago. I just refused to see it." It was the first time he had been to the site since his son was buried. The war had been won since and much had changed in his world.

His throat constricted around a sob but it wouldn't come. He couldn't cry. Not even for his wife whom he had loved more than anything. He turned and walked down the hill oblivious to everything. He was alone and scared as he never thought he would be again. This is as bad as being aboard that ruined hunk of metal that everyone had seen him bring back on a wing and a prayer so many years ago, he thought to himself.

That evening, lying in bed staring at his wife's picture on the wall, he felt more hollow than ever.

The cube.

He had thought about that cube every day since Lissa had brought it home from the funeral and given it to him. What was on it? The Fraternity, a secret society within the military, didn't send out messages like that frivolously.

He stood and walked to the picture of his wife. With a complex series of movements and a deft twist he removed it from the wall and slowly, methodically opened the safe concealed behind. Inside were a few papers, a ring and the cube with the strange emblem that Lissa had brought back from Irvig's funeral. The emblem of the Fraternity. The Fraternity had been his family when there had been no one for so long. It had taken care of him and he had taken care of it when he could; Pledged his life to every member of the Fraternity. At the thought, all the old memories welled up again and lodged in his throat.

The Fraternity had always worked in his best interests, so why was he scared of this cube? Why had he refused to watch it all this time?

He was a member of the Fraternity but hadn't worn the ring in years. It still fit. The emblem on the ring matched the one on the cube. He touched the emblems together to activate the security circuitry, inserted the cube into the player and sat on the edge of the bed.

The solidity of the room quickly dissolved into a textureless gray static and then a man formed standing in front of him. He was also wearing a ring that identified him as a member of the Fraternity.

Commander Monath stood before him a moment before speaking. It had been a long time since Marcus had seen him. Monath looked badly worn. And this cube was four years old. Marcus could see Monath hadn't forgotten the secret they shared that even the Fraternity didn't know. It surprised Marcus that it had been twenty-five years since he and Monath, along with three others, had survived the attack. "This cube contains information for your eyes only. Destroy it after you have viewed it.

It has been forty-eight hours since the execution of Irvig. It pained me greatly to sentence him. I don't need to tell you the reason for that type of discipline on this kind of mission." Monaths eyes narrowed slightly and Marcus felt the pressure of the past pushing on his mind.

The commander went on to recount the happenings of the tribunal starting with a review of Irvig's ship recorder. "Everything I have related to you up to this point is all the information we had at the time of the tribunal and Irvig's execution.

What you are about to see is extremely classified material. It was recovered twelve hours ago. Much too late to change the facts, but I thought you should know. No one knows about the information on this cube except the highest of command. My guess is that no one will ever see this cube or the material contained within. I was lucky to get a copy. The original data has been destroyed. I will elaborate later." The Commander faded from view.

The scene that appeared next was that of a starscape viewed above the hull of an enormous space ship. Woven in with the stars were the drive plumes from what seemed hundreds of spacecraft. They were holding formation with the ship the viewpoint was taken from. A battle could be seen just above the horizon of the ship's surface. Small explosions and the telltale sparkle of a ship disintegrating could be seen. After a short time two of the fighters holding position with the camera ship suddenly veered downward, over the horizon, out of the line of sight.

A few moments passed before a dragonfly screamed past the camera pursued by a missile and two 'legger fighters. The camera swiveled to keep the dragonfly in frame. Lances of light could be seen flashing from the defensive turrets of the ship Marcus now took to be a 'legger mother ship.

The viewpoint changed when the dragonfly disappeared from view. It showed the dragonfly settling quickly to the surface of the mother ship, landing hard and bending one of the main landing gear. Two fighters appeared suddenly over the horizon and strafed the dragonfly squarely across the mid-section. The battered dragonfly skidded along the surface until the pilot engaged the magnetic brakes, clamping it firmly to the hull of the mother ship. The 'leggers were coming back for another pass when the dragonfly's top MRG came alive. It elevated, rotated smoothly, and immediately fired a long burst. One 'legger blew immediately. The other passed by without firing a shot. A missile detached from the undersurface of the dragonfly's wing and chased the 'legger over the horizon. A moment later there appeared a short lived glow.

Marcus could see movement in the cockpit through the shot out port-side plex-armor screens. A door in the belly of the dragonfly opened and a cylindrical object started to drop from inside and then stopped. After a moment the bottom MRG came alive. It pointed straight down at the hull of the mother ship and fired until the barrels were glowing red hot. A hole three feet in diameter was blown open in the deck plating. The top MRG fired periodically and another missile chased away a 'legger' that came too close.

Marcus was astonished to see the cockpit open and the crew ladder extend from the fuselage of the dragonfly. The pilot was getting out! As the pilot climbed down the ladder Marcus' critical eye could pick out the drips of sealant all over the upper torso of the pilot's suit. The pilot set foot on the mother ship and went directly for the cylinder. He wrapped both arms around it and pulled. It didn't seem to budge.

The dragonfly's automated top MRG fired and a half destroyed 'legger missile landed nearby detonating on impact. The pilot was thrown down on his face. The concussion must have jarred the cylinder loose because it slid the rest of the way out and bounced off the surface. The pilot turned and saw it floating away and lunged for it. He managed to get it under control and walk with it in both arms back underneath his ship and set it down beside the ragged hole in the deck. He twisted a handle that popped up with the punch of a button, then picked the cylinder up by the handle, placed it over the hole and pushed. The pilot bent over to watch its descent for a moment and then headed back for the ladder and the relative safety of the cockpit.

Marcus became suddenly numb with realization. He flashed back four years to a news quick about a destroyed 'legger mother ship that he had barely heard in his pre-occupation with events. He came back to the present expecting to see the dragonfly take off immediately but it sat there with its MRG firing and missiles launching every few seconds. Guarding the hole until the last possible second. When all ordinance was used the dragonfly rose up and accelerated away from the surface. The camera followed to watch it run an impossible gauntlet. Seemingly hundreds of 'legger fighters swarmed around the lone dragonfly.

The view changed back to the surface. It was bucking and twisting violently, racked with explosions. This went on for a moment and then ended abruptly in static.

Commander Monath appeared again. "What you have surely guessed is that the viewpoint ship was a 'legger mother ship. The dragonfly breached the protective ring of 'legger fighters by firing its panic device and taking them by surprise. It seems that the panic device operated only long enough to get it in close to the mother ship. The cylinder the pilot removed from his ship was a thermonuclear self-destruct mechanism. A device quite powerful enough to render the little dragonfly into atoms. It was a stroke of genius to land on the surface and detonate the cylinder inside the mother ship.

Twelve hours after your son's execution we received reports from a scout that they had found the wreckage of a 'legger mother ship from which we recovered the completely intact computer core. It is a find of incalculable worth. That pilot is a hero. He single handedly destroyed a 'legger mother ship. The information in that computer core will probably allow us to win the war. No one will know about the heroics of that pilot because High Command can't live up to its responsibility as well as your son did. They feel they can't, at this critical juncture, let the people of the Solar Federation know that their probable savior was executed six hours after the heroic deed.

Irvig never mentioned the destruction of the mother ship during the tribunal. It would have made a difference, but I respect Irvig's personal decision to take responsibility for the lives his initial action cost. He went well."

The image winked out and the colorless old room reappeared. A single, cold tear welled up in the old hero's eye and rolled down his cheek as he sat in his silent house reliving the memories that he'd kept hidden for so long.

After bringing the beaten and torn Equinox into port the five survivors stood on a raised platform covered in banners and surrounded by thousands of cheering civilians and saluting military people. Standing there with the others in front of the press and the cheering crowds Marcus silently relived the last unforgettable minutes of the battle.

The 'legger hadn't moved for hours, and neither had Marcus. The whole battle had passed him by, curled up in a hole in the bulkhead shivering with fear. Never taking his eyes off the pincers locked on the ragged edges of his little sanctuary. The most humiliating had been the scream that ripped from his throat when the pincers suddenly disappeared and a pair of human hands reached for him. Monath had held him until the shaking subsided enough for him to stand. They never told anyone. The Fraternity looked out for its own.

Any constructive criticism would be appreciated.

Send comments to: bbudny@earthlink.net

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