“Do you remember the Unrest skirmishes of ‘38?” I rocked forward in my chair, my one government sanctioned luxury in Astran leather. Hard to get in outer ring planets, but no one could say I hadn’t earned it, least of all the prisoner across from me.
The older man’s eyes drifted to the ceiling beams. His slow nod and fleeting grimace in the silence said he remembered it all.
He’d worn that same expression on the bridge of the Insatiable, after the negotiations in ‘38 turned to riots. I’d memorized every line of his face as the leadership fell over themselves to surrender to him. No one rushed to him anymore, the homeless drunk I found in the streets of New Alliance. No one would recognize him.
“I worshiped you, you know that?”
His chuckle was just as I remembered. “You sure did. Near pissed yourself just to be in the same squad.”
As a cadet Natian Shipstrong had been everything to me. It was a patriot’s dream to serve a hero of the Insurgence. I still admired him, though he had little resemblance to the man I’d served under during the Unrest.
“Your mother would be so proud of you, son. You accomplished things she never could have.” Son. As if he knew anything about fatherhood.
My fingers traced the lines of the pistol next to my glass. “You don’t get to talk about my mother, Natian.”
“Range Commander Lyns Runia was a hard leader.” He grimaced again, shifting the restraints that bit into his wrists. “Hard to serve under. Helluva woman.”
“Don’t.” The word caught in my throat.
“Never let us call her ‘sir’. With us in the Annex, took the Alliance’s mortars just like us. I loved her. We all did.”
The archive device flickered as I slid it to the middle of the table. His briefing document floated in bright plasma between us. The authorization code glowed underneath the brief orders, dated for twenty years ago to the day. He stared through it back to me, wordless.
My service weapon had never felt heavier as I picked it up with a clammy palm.
“I was eight years old.” I’d never known my father. Never known I’d served him like a simpering puppy, in blind adoration of the man responsible for taking my mother from me.
“The time for violence passed. The new leadership wanted peace. Runia didn’t.” He shook his head. “She never did. It was the right thing to do.”
Natian sat unmoving as my hands trembled, pistol leveled, finger curled over the trigger. He could at least have the decency to show remorse, but those blue eyes never wavered.
Hot moisture clouded my vision. “Was it like this? Or did you shoot her in the back?”
“Son.” Just one word. So quiet I almost didn’t hear.
No. It was too late for that.
“I worshiped you.” I squeezed the trigger. He recoiled as the shot rang out.
I never knew my father.