Ships of My Fathers

by Thompson, Dan

  Michael looked down at the table. “Then that’s it. Malcolm was never even there.”

  “Actually, no, that’s not all of it,” Collins replied, starting the display forward again. The Kaiser’s Folly sped past the Reilly. Ignoring it, the Reilly closed on the dead Corey Tasha. It went on like that for almost twenty minutes according to the timer, and then a new icon appeared: Hh, the Hammerhead. It dropped out of tach about halfway between the Kaiser’s Folly and the Reilly. “As you can see, Malcolm Fletcher got there eventually, just not soon enough.”

  The screen divided to show the status display for the Hammerhead: sail generators unstable but undamaged, thrusters at full, weapons ready. The timer slowed sharply, matching real-time, second for second. The Hammerhead’s display expanded to include a video display. A face appeared there.

  It was Malcolm, except this was a Malcolm that Michael had never known. He was younger, not a wrinkle on his face nor a single gray hair in his beard, but more than that. His eyes were intensely wild, almost feral. “Damn you, Reilly. I knew you were bad. Either turn and present, or run now.”

  Malcolm’s image turned, and he addressed someone else. “Put that on repeat until you get a response.”

  An off-screen voice replied, “Aye, sir. I have a transmission from the Kaiser’s Folly, asking for you specifically.”

  “Kaiser’s Folly, this is Captain Fletcher of the Hammerhead. What is your status?”

  The voice came first.

  “God, Malcolm, is it really you?”

  That voice. Michael thought he had never heard it before, but he knew it immediately.

  Mom.

  It was strained. Clearly she was under stress, but even then, something lyrical rang through. The details of the room faded for a moment as memories of songs rushed through his mind. Soft hands. Lullabies. A kiss on his forehead.

  “Where is your captain?” Malcolm’s voice interrupted, a harsh splash of aged reality.

  “Peter’s dead,” his mother answered. Her image was now on the screen as well. She was as young and beautiful as he had always seen her, but her blue eyes looked out at them in desperation. “They’re all dead. Just starboard engineering left. We only got two pods away.”

  “Sophie, listen to me. Our scopes show you have fires. What is your status?”

  “The pods,” she went on. “My little Michael is in one of them. You have to get him.”

  “I hear you, Sophie. My guys are scanning for them, but you have to stop the fire before it gets to your reactor. Do you have damage control?”

  She shook her head. “You’ve got to get Michael. Promise me you’ll take care of him.”

  “Yeah, of course. Can you vent the intervening sections?

  “That’s not good enough, Malcolm. I need your word on this. Don’t let Hans take him. Promise me you’ll raise him yourself. Promise me you’ll be the father I always said you could be.”

  The image of Malcolm grew still. “I promise, Sophie. I promise. Now, if you can’t vent—”

  “I love you,” his mother said. “I’ve always—”

  And that was it.

  Sophia’s picture faded, her words left hanging in the years between them.

  The Kaiser’s Folly icon disappeared from the display.

  Michael looked down to the table, unable to make himself watch anymore. He felt a hand on his, gentle and loving, and he broke down. The tears came freely. He had never known his mother, or at least he thought he never had. But when he heard that voice, he knew. He did remember her. She had been real, not just a story Malcolm had told.

  And she was gone.

  She was gone almost as soon as he had seen her. And she was never coming back.

  No song, no soft touch, and no sweet kiss.

  He wept, for it had not been seventeen years. It had just happened.

  Now.

  Eventually, the lights came back up, and he saw that the hands that held him belonged to Gabrielle, and the images on the screen had faded to memory. He looked around. Commander Collins was quietly busying himself in the corner. His uncle was no longer in the room. A box of tissues had been placed nearby.

  He reached for one, shedding Gabrielle’s touch in the process. He blew his nose a few times and wiped at his eyes. A small pile of crumpled tissue was all that remained of his grief.

  Collins appeared before them. “If you will excuse us, Miss Schneider, I would like to have a private word with Mr. Fletcher.”

  She gave Michael one last squeeze on the shoulder and left without a word.

  Collins waited a moment after the door closed. “Do you have your answers now, Mr. Fletcher?”

  He met the Commander’s stern eyes. “Mostly, I guess. What happened after…?”

  “After the destruction of the Kaiser’s Folly? The Corey Tasha suffered a similar fate four minutes later, her reactor gutting the rest of the ship. The Reilly got enough distance from the tachyon disturbance to reengage her sails and left the scene.”

  “Didn’t Malcolm go after them?”

  Collins shook his head. “No, Michael. He spent the next three hours tracking down your escape pod. Then he spent another twelve on a search for more. By then, the Vannover Markey had gotten its damage under control and was requesting an escort for the rest of the way into Ballison.”

  “So the Reilly got away,” he said, too drained to be angry. “Whatever happened to her?”

  Collins’ face broke into a brief grin. “Well, it took him almost another year, but Malcolm did finally track them down.”

  “And?”

  “Well, Malcolm’s action report to the privateer board was… significantly less detailed in that incident. But as the stories go, he brought them down with an array of gravity mines so dense that it pulled the Reilly’s sail generators out through the hull before they could even blow. And then when he closed in, he opened fire with plasma cannons and gutted her from stem to stern.”

  Michael looked away. The phrasing was eerily familiar. “Any survivors?”

  “No,” Collins replied. “This is second or third hand, of course, but the rumor goes that he shot the escape pods as well. Seven pods, all told.”

  Michael nodded, remembering Gabrielle taunting him with such a tale. “Merciless Mal.”

  “Ah, I guess you’ve already heard the story.”

  He struggled to put a smile on it. “Sounds different in context. I guess he wanted his revenge, and he got it.”

  “Mostly.”

  Michael turned back to face him. “Mostly?”

  Collins pulled up a chair and sat across the table. “Well, it had been almost a year by then. There had been a few crew changes, even a command change, we believe.”

  “Then he didn’t… but the people he killed on the Reilly…”

  Collins shook his head. “Were no more innocent than the ones who attacked the Kaiser’s Folly. By then, the Reilly was a well-known but elusive pirate vessel.”

  “And the ones who transferred, they got away?”

  “Well, the war ended shortly after that, and with it the privateer program. We hung on to a few of them of course. It took us a while to reassert control over this sector, and men like Malcolm were useful. As part of that, he did some investigating for us, strictly off the books, of course.”

  “What kind of investigation?”

  “Among other things, tracking down what became of the crews of ships like the Reilly.”

  “And did he find them?”

  Collins nodded. “Seven, in fact. Four we had the pleasure of putting on trial.”

  “And the other three?”

  “At least he brought us the bodies.”

  “Was that all of them?”

  Collins shook his head. “No. We believe four others may have remained at large, but I don’t think even Malcolm knew for sure.”

  “Who were they, these four?”

  Collins smiled. “Well, one of them he never looked for, or at least not hard. She had had a very convi
ncing death in the final days of the war, a flyer crash on Cenita, complete with death certificate and a grave.”

  A grave. “Elsa Watkins?”

  He nodded. “Indeed, Mr. Fletcher. Elsa Watkins, or as she’s been known for the last sixteen years, Jana Lewis, and as you’ve informed us, also known as Winged Lady.”

  “And the others?”

  “All dead, though not all as convincingly as Miss Watkins. Johannes Richter supposedly died in a warehouse fire on Nasar, but there is no coroner’s report. Stefan Carrillo supposedly drowned when his single-mast boat went down in a storm on Taschin, but the boat in question was never registered with any of the local ports. And finally, the man we believe was in command of the Reilly, Gunter Farlin, was reportedly on board the star liner Lorista when she went down into Callista’s outer Jovian, but of course, no bodies were ever recovered from that disaster.”

  “The captain, huh? And you think he’s still alive.”

  Collins shrugged. “Malcolm did. In fact, he thought… well, I’m sure you’ll read his own files when you get back to the Sophie’s Grace.”

  “What? He didn’t think he was this Father Chessman, did he?”

  Collins waved his hands dismissively. “We know very little about this Chessman figure. Truth be told, we’re not even sure he exists. If he does, though, he’s either a top strategist for the Yoshido pirate empire or perhaps even the true head of it, merely propping up the old Yoshido family as a shield. But if Gunter Farlin did live on after the Lorista crash, he has disappeared even more effectively than this Father Chessman.”

  “Ok, but what about Elsa Watkins? Lt. Commander Wheaton told me about the stolen Navy missiles. Surely you have her by now, right?”

  Collins frowned. “We have the Blue Jaguar, to be certain, but not her captain.”

  “But I saw her run into the airlock not two minutes before it blew out.”

  “Yes, as did four other witnesses as well as the security footage. But when the marines boarded the Jaguar, she was not on board.”

  “Could she be hiding on it somewhere? I mean, look at the little spaces I found in a three weeks.”

  “It’s possible, but I doubt it. Certainly, we’re going to have some fun dismantling the Jaguar at the Naval yard over the next few weeks, but my gut tells me that someone who evaded Malcolm’s net for this long had an escape plan all set to go for circumstances like this.”

  Michael considered it, nodding. She had certainly sounded like a crafty woman. He could believe she had come up with something far better than Michael’s cargo escape. “Then I guess I’ll have to keep an eye out for her.”

  “Does that mean you’re going to continue Malcolm’s investigations?”

  “I suppose,” he replied. Certainly, if he did not find Elsa Watkins, she was likely to find him. “At the very least I want to get back to the Sophie and look over Malcolm’s files.”

  “And I understand you’re planning to take the captain’s exam.”

  “Yeah, that was the plan.”

  “Well, if you can pass it and put together a crew, come see me. The Sophie’s Grace is… well, she’s a little special. If you’re going to be running around with her, you should know. If not, tell me, and we’ll take her off your hands for a generous price.”

  Michael stiffened. “You don’t think I can do it?”

  “I have no doubt in your abilities, but I’m not sure you’ll want to.” He glanced over to the door. “You have a family out there that loves you. They run good ships, and I’m sure you could do very well with them. Most people would consider that a very nice life.”

  He thought about it. Malcolm’s cagey cooking vs. Maggie Nelson’s pastries. Toilets that did not always seal right vs. a top notch environmental crew finding leaks before they happen. Ship shares earning tens of thousands per run vs. scraping by on marginal cargo. Collins had a point. Life with S&W would be a much nicer life.

  But none of that mattered. Malcolm had been skilled enough to have gotten jobs like those. He could have had that life, but he chose not to. He was after something else, and it was much more important to him than pastries, toilets, or money.

  “No,” he said at last. “Malcolm started this, and I guess I’m going to finish it.”

  Collins stood, extending his hand. Michael took it.

  “Malcolm was a good man,” Collins said. “And from the looks of you, I’d say he kept his promise.”

  “His promise?”

  “To your mother. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Fletcher, and I hope we get to work together in the future.”

  His cousin and uncle were waiting outside, and Hans rose as soon as Michael emerged from the projection room.

  Collins gave a short nod to them all and left them with the steward.

  “Michael,” Hans began. “I don’t know what to say except that I was wrong, and you were right.”

  Michael shook his head. “You couldn’t have known.”

  “No,” he replied, “but I could have believed you about Malcolm. I should have, and I’m sorry that I didn’t.”

  Michael shifted uncomfortably. “It’s okay.” He looked his uncle in the eye and tried to give a reassuring nod. “You never got to know him like I did.”

  “You’re leaving then. Back to Sophie’s Grace?”

  “I think I have to. It’s a long story.”

  Hans shook his head. “You don’t have to explain. It’s your decision, but know that there will always be a place for you at Schneider and Williams. Always.”

  Michael held out his hand. “I appreciate that, and I might take you up on it someday. I think Peter and Sophia would like that.”

  Hans took the offered hand. “Until then, Michael, good luck and safe travels.” With that he walked away.

  Michael watched him go, sensing Gabrielle at his side. “It’s sad. He almost looks broken.”

  She wrapped an arm around for a gentle side hug. “I guess he is, in a way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He promoted Ms. Corazon before we left. She finally made Captain and got the prize jewel of the fleet. Dad says he’s going back to the corporate headquarters on Callista Prime. I hear Old Man Williams is stepping down, so I guess it’s going to be Dad’s turn to fly the desk.”

  “I’m sure he’ll do well.”

  “And you? Have you been studying your navigation between escape attempts?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good.”

  “Look for me when you make ports, okay?”

  “Sure thing, cousin,” she replied, “but if you pass the exam, you’re buying me a steak in the Guild hall.”

  “That’s a date.”

  Chapter 27

  “You know son, there are times when I am quite proud of you. Truly. Not that I’m saying this is one of those times, but they do exist.” — Malcolm Fletcher

  MICHAEL’S TRIP BACK TO TASCHIN was done in decreasing style. He had stayed for another three weeks at Arvin while they tore down the Blue Jaguar. It took some paperwork, but he was able to claim his few possessions, not that they mattered much. Then it was a trip aboard the CFS Hidalgo as she and her squadron of heavy cruisers made a run to Cenita. The Hidalgo was frequently used as a command ship for smaller task forces, and Michael was given the Admiral’s suite, compliments of a grateful but unnamed patron in Naval ordinance.

  The Naval facilities at Cenita were much smaller, but he was given a nice room for another week until the frigate CFS Arroyo departed for Ballison. He had a four-day layover there, and he made it a point to swing by the Hopping Hole at his earliest opportunity. The bouncer at the door took one look at him and waved him in, no questions asked.

  The final leg of his journey was on a little courier, the CFS CP-722, which her crew had nicknamed the Pretty Peg. He celebrated his birthday on the second day of the run, not that it was much of a celebration. He was finishing up on the weight machine when the off-duty navigator came in to use the treadmill. “It’s m
y birthday,” he had said.

  “Oh, congrats,” was the reply. “I don’t think we can muster up much of a party, but I saw a couple of cupcakes in the bottom of the freezer if you want one. Just don’t tell skipper you took it.”

  So that was how he celebrated his long-awaited eighteenth birthday. At least it had sprinkles on the icing.

  His return to Taschin seemed anti-climactic. No one there knew he was coming, and certainly none of them had heard of his adventures. He made it a point not to look up Annie or Josie. He would do so in time, but not quite yet.

  The meetings with Hollings and the other lawyers had been perfunctory. After their first meeting — had it only been nine months ago? — Hollings knew better than to offer any unnecessary advice. This was a simple matter of processing paperwork. Some of it Hollings dealt with for him, but a few matters remained that Michael had to attend to personally.

  So here he was, taking care of one final detail at the port registry, changing the ownership of Sophie’s Grace. The clerk on the other side of the counter moved the papers with all the excitement of a rookie cleaning the sludge tank, but he did keep the forms coming.

  They were almost done before the clerk finally took note of the names. “Say, it looks like the last registered owner was a Malcolm Fletcher. Any relation?”

  “Yes,” Michael replied, thumbing his signature on the last line. “He was my father.”

  For my father...

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  There are so many people to thank for encouraging me to write. These include family, friends, teachers, and other authors. I could try to list them all, but who would read it? Still, I would never have gotten this far without their advice and encouragement.

  For Ships of My Fathers, however, I can narrow it down. Julia and Rose showed tremendous patience and surprising support when I said, “Yep, it’s time to write another novel.” They also made excellent beta readers.