Father's Burden

Outside he is wrought iron but his soul shakes with anxiety. Once his clearance was verified they told him her flight number. Now it had arrived and the shuttle to the dirtside transit system is on the tarmac. Soon Meara would come through the g-transit gateway and down the long hall. If not she would already know about Oscar from having gone to meet him, and Ronan would have lost a daughter as well as a son. He wonders if he’ll make it back home in that case.

The arrival gate is a long silver wall paralleling the grav shuttle pathway. The shuttles come from the military starport, bearing soldiers just arrived from theatre. Father knows from his own experience that Meara comes in on a starship, probably one too large to land at the ground-side port; she must have transferred to a smaller boat. That is all academic now, since the time for her shuttle is almost at hand. Still it keeps his mind off of a few possibilities.

He now knows the exact time of the shuttle's arrival; earlier he had a more general idea. Father came three hours before the estimate. He is both eager and anxious. He wishes more than anything to see her; he wishes almost that much to avoid her pain. Like his own hurt it is assured.

The moment has arrived. The light at the gate goes from red to green. The shuttle has come to its destination. Ronan looks at the board above this, Gate 15. Fifteen is a significant number, if only for today. Meara was fifteen the last time Ronan saw her. This is the gate she will come through, if she is still alive. Ronan served twenty-four years active duty in the Fornast war zone. He cannot help but go over in his mind everything that can go wrong. His discipline gets the better of his anxiety and he averts his gaze from the numbers-board to the gate. Four years have passed. He’ll recognize her in an instant.

The shuttle is right on time, to the minute. Soon the large gate opens, its tinted diamond-glass doors sliding smoothly to the left and right. Soldiers begin to come through the gate. These warriors are a collection of navy crew and Marines. They have come to Trinity for respite and recuperation. They have earned this rest. Father fears his daughter will have precious little of either once she knows what has happened. He prefers that fear to the other one; perhaps he will wait as the lines trickle out and the shuttle departs, and Meara will not come through with them.

Father has seen over five hundred combat missions in twenty years of waging war. He has four Purple Hearts, dozens of medals and commendations, as well as the Cross of Honor, the highest non-posthumous award in the Armed Forces of the Nation of Antares. As he waits for his daughter to emerge through the gate he feels a nervousness that he has not known since his first tour. It is not the combat or ever-present death that gnawed at him and gnaws at him still. It is the waiting.

Father waits. More soldiers pass through, some Solomani Human, some Vargr, a trio of Menozyne. One of the crowd, near the end of this particular group, is a red-haired girl whose beauty is all too familiar to father's weary eyes. She is here. She is alive.

He wants to rush forward and embrace her. He wants to touch her face, to quell any irrational fear that she might be a phantom. He does not. She has always been exceptionally perceptive. She will know. He waits for her to see him. He does not have to wait long.

She looks at him for a moment. She is stunned that he has come. He cannot hear her above the cries of joy and relief and the general ebullience of reunion. She says only one word, which he reads on her lips. "Father." She stares into his eyes. The briefest second of joy, accompanied by an ephemeral smile, vanishes almost as quickly and involuntarily as it began. The surprise and joy of seeing father is washed away by his severe stare. She knows.

She wants to run to him. Instead she walks. Her weary mind wishes to resist but her soul drives her forward. She must hear his revelation. She must share his pain.

“Father,” she pauses for a moment. A brief wounded look flashes across her face. It is gone as quickly as it came. “Who did we lose?”

“We lost the twins.” Father does not hesitate. This is too important and she deserves to know immediately.

She knows immediately. Oscar, her idol and protector from childhood, her guide and teacher from fleeting summer days, is gone.

“Did he…” She chokes up and looks away from father. She clears her throat and breathes deeply, regaining a tenuous composure. Her voice returns; it is lower than usual from her efforts not to break down. “Was there a box?”

“Yes, Meara.” Father calls her Meara when there is gravity. “Oscar’s come home. We laid him to rest at St. Cronan Hill.”

Her eyes fill with tears. She does not openly weep. She is too hurt for that. She wishes to speak. She does not. She cannot. More soldiers on leave rush by to greet relieved loved ones, but they are phantoms. Only father exists now, father and St. Cronan Hill.

“They’re awarding him the Posthumous Cross of Honor.”

She’s not surprised. The Posthumous Cross of Honor is Antares’ highest honor. It still hurts the same. She looks into father’s face. His stoicism cannot completely mask his agony. She is afraid to open her mouth. She will lose her composure. The look is already on her face, but she does not wish to fall down and weep. That will come later in East 5025. She has never wanted to be that which she is not; her battle against emotion is not one of denial. She sees father’s own struggle and does not wish to erode his resistance by falling apart in front of him. It is her duty not to cut him down.

Father is not unwise. “I wish to see you, Meara. Can we meet tomorrow?”

“Yes.” Her voice is a whisper. “Yes, please.” It grows thought it wavers.

The two stand silent. Father knows it is a risk to continue; still he must.

“I am proud of you Meara. Never forget that we love you.” Again he calls her by her name.

Through the tears she rallies. Her voice is clear once more.

“I love you too, father. Thank you for coming.”

Father manages a smile. His blue eyes, light in shade yet darker than Meara’s, are not lost in some remembrance. He stands silent for a moment. Father wishes to ride with her to her apartment. He will not. She needs that time to comprehend what has occurred. Father steps forward and puts his hand on her shoulder. She looks up. The emotions are apparent. She closes her pale blue eyes and embraces him.

He takes a step back and touches her cheek. For a moment she looks at him as a child looks to her father after something dreadful has happened. It is the look what wonders why and begs a comforting answer. There will be no solace and the war will not allow any return to those innocent days. They both know this in their hearts. Father turns to leave. She watches his black coat flutter slightly at the bottom and then fall back to place. He walks, quite slowly at first and then at a normal pace, toward Visitor's Gate Six and the grav shuttle that will take him to his quarters for the night. Meara stands for a little while. The universe is returning. Father merges into a small crowd that becomes real again.

It is time for her to go to East 5025. The apartment is home in name only. It is even less now. She picks up her small travel bag and heads off to the right, toward the general soldier's egress and the awaiting grav carriers.

The flight to East 5025 is low-level, following clear lanes between the structures of Newhaven Barrack and the picturesque sandstone cliffs of Mount Keating. Meara normally watches the scenery through the syn-diamond window. It takes her to a time and place light years away from pain and death. Today she does not. Today pain and death are sitting at her side. She holds up through the trip, though it takes all of her might, and still it is a very narrow victory. She is thankful that she is alone in the passenger section.

Meara departs from the grav carrier and walks to the entrance of East 5025. She uses DNA, brain wave and retina recognition to gain access to her assigned apartment. It is all a routine. The port promptly opens and she goes inside. She lays her bag on the table in the central room and without pause walks into the bedroom. There, her routine is interrupted. Instead of shedding her sidearm and uniform and taking a reinvigorating shower, she stops at the foot of her bed. For a moment she hesitates, staring at the bottom of the bathroom entry port. Then she sits down on the bed. She looks up through the ceiling that she occasionally sets to transparent. It is currently in that mode. She can see the long leaves of a willow dancing on through the fingers of a strong breeze. Still looking at them she lies back on her bed. She makes not a sound except for her steady, deep breathing. There is nary a whimper or grimace as the tears flow down the sides of her face.

Father comes by the next morning. He does not come very early. He knows she won't have slept well. He's still up early, as he always is. He partakes of a simple breakfast and takes a walk. It is close to noon mid-day local when he arrives. The two do not have lunch, opting instead for a late dinner. When Meara meets him at the door she smiles a little. There are no words; there are too many.

They speak for some time. It is news from home rather than the front, deliberately lacking in gravity. Meara shows him some holographs, those she is permitted to possess out of theatre; almost all of them are from the last visit to Trinity. She shows father her hunting trophy from the last visit.

The two grow hungry as the hours march on like minutes. Father continues the small talk that is meandering, slowly yet irresistibly, toward its necessary destination.

"I imagine you can't wait to have a good meal."

She smiles. It's true. Compared to their martial ancestors, the Antarean warriors table fare is a great improvement. There are still many times when supplements and lukewarm water are all to be had. Her days on Trinity will distance her mind from that unpleasantness. She talks the matter over with father, who defers to her decision; after all, it is Meara who hasn't decided in months what she'll be eating for dinner. She calls the Newhaven Barracks catering service and places her order. She thinks of father, even though he would not name his preference. She is sure to request six bottles of Guinness to go with the meal.

The g-raft arrives precisely when desired. The two eat at the small nanoplastic table near the open kitchen portalway. She is pleased when she sees father's reaction to the caramelized duck breast and salmon pâté. The dinner is quite good, even better than expected, and those expectations were high.

Meara lets herself think of Oscar as the two finish their meal. “He fit his name in many ways." She doesn't need to tell father who she's talking about. "We always knew he’d be a great warrior and he has proven us right. He loved deer hunting. They were a gift to him, it was a joy to hunt but he always told me never to abuse the gift, to love and cherish it.”

Father nods. Meara looks at her cup of tea while she speaks.

“He taught me to hunt, you know. Remember my first deer? He was even happier than I was.”

Meara goes silent for a moment. Her eyes look at a forest and a hunted deer. It will look even better that night, that innocent night from their childhood. Surrounded by penny buns it will be a meal to savor for years to come.

Dinner is over and father is ready to speak. It was a very good meal, just not venison and penny buns.

“I thought about telling you not to do this. After we lost Eithne. I thought that one of you might stay home, tend the animals and the earth; be safe with your mother. God knows Rory wouldn’t have listened. But I know you were born for this. Your gifts and your fire. Your love. Who was I to deny this life to you? I remember how much you wish to marry, to have children. I pray that will happen when your work is done. In my heart I know you couldn’t do one without the other.”

Meara looks into his eyes. “I will always desire that, father. It won’t change. I don’t just reach from the thorns, I reach into them.” They both look at the thorny vines tattooed around both of her wrists. “If God willing I am to live through my term, I will give life back to our people, our family. I fight for them and I swear to God that I will renew them. It’s not just a desire, it’s my duty, such a beautiful duty. I wish that more than anything else. I am blessed to be able to do both.”

They both think of Oscar.

“Each of you, my daughter, has eclipsed me.”

She opens her mouth to speak, to tell him no, to tell him what a mighty man he is. After all, he won the Cross of Honor. Father preempts her. He reaches over and touches her lips.

“Please, no words.” He then touches her cheek. “I love all of you and I am proud of all of you. But Meara, I do miss you the most.”

She cannot speak now. The longing to see her siblings, those among the living and those departed, is too strong.

“When you were born you brought us such joy. Oscar was so excited he couldn’t sleep for two days. Even at seven I think he was already a man. He was your protector.” Meara nods. “He loved you mightily, Meara. He’ll always be watching over you.”

“I wanted to go hunting with him again. He loved that. I wanted him to teach my children the signs of deer and the berries and leaves. I wanted him to have all of these things for himself. He deserved more, father. We keep paying for our enemies’ sins.”

“I know, Red. I know. Every breath of air we have bought with blood.”

“No more. Oscar…” Her voice trembles with his name. She recovers. “He didn’t die for some wicked empire. He died for us, his people and his nation.” Meara looks down at her cup. She breathes heavily.

Father speaks again, “We won’t let our enemies forget that. Ever.”

“No we won’t.” Her voice is low and severe.

Father takes the silver beverage cylinder and pours Meara another cup of blackberry tea. Blackberries grow wild on Sidhe. They came with the Solomani exiles. Like the other members of the Flanagan family Meara loves them. Father has brought several homemade packets of blackberry tea. They’ll remind her of home.

Meara watches him fill her cup. She takes a sip when he is done.

“How are the farm and the hills?”

“Waiting for you, as they have been.”

The tea brings a little calm.

“Have you seen Thorn King?”

“Yes, only at twilight of course. I saw him a few days before I left. Watched him in the moonlight off the snow, out by the wheat field. I remember when you could have shot him.”

“He’s too much a part of us. Oscar smiled when he found out.”

“Old age will have him. There are endless deer to choose from, we don’t need him in our oven.”

“Oscar loved tracking him. Said he was no ordinary deer. I believe that. I’ve hoped…” She drinks tea, swallows hard and clears her throat. “I hoped Oscar would show him to my firstborn.”

“I pray you’ll return home with a strong man who loves you as much as you love him. I can’t ask you to come home, neither of us knows if you’ll be able to honor the promise.” Father pauses for a moment. More is on his mind than he’ll reveal. “Who knows? I may not be there to greet you. We have these precious moments, Red. I think I’ll hold on to them.”

She looks at father and blinks to clear her eyes. He continues, “I haven’t seen you in almost four years. You’ve become a beautiful young woman and quite obviously an excellent soldier. I know in my heart that Oscar is very proud of you. He’s not the only one.”

“Thank you father.” She feels all the longing for home and family that she has felt the past four years. “Thank you so much.”

“I brought you a few holographs from home. Most from last fall.” He removes a small box from his handbag and lays it on the table. She looks at the box for a moment.

“I miss the hickory smoke. Wood in theatre doesn’t smell like ours. It usually smells pretty bad. Sometimes the smoke is plain horrible.”

Her words fade as they come to an end. The two sit silently for a short while. Meara thinks about how far father has traveled.

“Thank you for coming, father.”

“Of course, Red. I only wish my reasons were different.”

Again there is silence. The steam from the blackberry tea rises into the air, dancing in ribbons as it disappears above the opened steam cylinder.

Father speaks. “I know you cannot tell me what you do. I wouldn’t want you to. There is so much I would request from you but I have no right, and you can’t make the promises I would ask of you, no more than I could in my youth. I know you are capable and diligent, wary of our enemies. It is comforting.”

“I want to have a family of my own. God knows, more than anything. I won’t ever know that joy if I’m careless. It keeps me focused on the war. I can’t promise I’ll come home in the end, you know, I wish I could, father. I’ll do my duty, I’ll always do that.”

“I know you can’t promise, Red. What you said is more than enough. Thank you for giving that to me. It eases our loss as much as anything can.”

Father is older. The lines on his face hold the shadows longer than they used to. Even at seventy he could still pass any Marine physical examination. Four years later and he’s showing his age. Perhaps he won’t be there to greet her.

Father pours a small cup for himself.

“I had to come tell you about Oscar. I wouldn’t want you to find out from an e-mail or info release.”

“I know this has been terrible for you, father. I am grateful that you came. It means so much to me.”

Father touches her cheek again and smiles. “Your husband will be a blessed man, Red.”

She smiles back. “And I’ll be a blessed wife. I’m already a blessed daughter.”

He’s not wearing his old uniform or his medals. She wishes he would have. He always looks younger and stronger when he wears the blue Marine dress uniform. She was a Marine sniper for her first tour of duty; after thirty-three missions her confirmed number of kills stood at twenty-one. Two years ago she left that service for the Special Forces. Once a Marine, always a Marine; her right bicep sports the anchor tattoo that is a tradition of Solomani Marines since the old days on Earth. Above that anchor are the three triangles of Antares. Those triangles are also on the lower back of her neck. Her people have embraced their coreward home and have proven time and again that they will fight to the death for it.

The tea has its intended effect. Meara thinks of the blackberry brambles beneath Knockanulty Hill. Old Kirby, tail wagging in excitement, never ceased to stir up trouble among those brambles, usually in the form of angry hornets. Grandfather Luke often spent the whole day up on Knockanulty Hill. Kirby was always at his side.

Meara sips and swirls the cup of tea. “Grandfather put whiskey in his tea.”

“He put whiskey in everything. Probably shared it with old Kirby; no wonder that dog lived so long.” Father knows where she’s been.

“Remember when he bought me my first rifle, that five-point-five millimeter Teleorman? Rory wouldn’t touch it after I put the mushrooms on the stock."

“That’s why you did it.”

She smiles and nods. “I miss Rory.”

“So do I,” says father.

“Have you heard anything? Is he alright?”

“Still in Lishun. I couldn’t go and tell him about Oscar. I made him an h-card. I wish I could have seen him though. Last they’d heard he was fine. I pray that still holds true.”

“So do I, father, every day.”

They hear the soft ticking of the kitchen clock. Many clocks still tick, over four thousand years after Hooke and Huygens, though now it's just for the effect.

“He’s still in the J-troops. I’d have fewer lines on my face if one of you became a mechanic or quartermaster.”

“Rory a quartermaster?” Meara’s face has a wry smile.

“Alright, it was a fool’s hope.”

They laugh a little. Then there is silence. The soft ticking fades in again.

Father hesitates. This is rare. Then he speaks.

“I’m a grandfather again.” Father knows of Meara’s hopes and dreams, and the agony she is feeling over the loss of her beloved brother. He knows that her life could be cut brutally short; she may never live those dreams. He thought about not mentioning this. He originally considered sending her a message, after he left, to await her return to Trinity for the next training and recuperation period. He knows Meara would want to know. He knows it is right to tell her.

“Father! That’s wonderful! Who? Aonghus?” Meara lets the joy flow through the pain of recent loss.

“Yes. His second daughter. Named her Dubheasa from her dark red hair.”

“How beautiful! How are Aonghus and his family?”

“Very well, thank God. He’s still training recruits in artillery. The whole family helps us out on the farm. You can imagine how much his son loves the place.”

Meara nods slowly. She remembers the farm and the deep forests around Shillelagh; lazy Sundays spent fishing along the River Boy or walking the pebble beach at Drumgranagh. Father does not disturb her journey. Se comes back on her own time.

Meara blinks and looks at father. “You still like Guinness?”

It is a foolish question. It is meant to be. Father raises an eyebrow. The message received, Meara hops to her feet and hastens to the little kitchen, returning with two cold bottles of Guinness stout.

He looks at the label. “Over four thousand years our own.”

“Hard to believe sometimes, but yet it’s not, is it? We kept our ways, our names and our faces. Few Imperials have red hair but every one of your children does. Well, Rory’s is a little more brown, but still it’s rusty colored. And we all have blue eyes.”

“No hair redder than yours, Red. And no eyes bluer,” says father.

She smiles in humility. Beneath the uniforms and martial prowess and farm girl resilience she is actually quite shy and introspective.

He looks upon this beautiful young warrior before him, his flesh and blood, the living legacy of his people. That legacy flows in her blood and shines in her eyes. Earlier he noticed the tattoo on her left upper arm, the black eagle of Connacht. Marines always get tattoos on their arms; father has three of his own. It is what they get, and why, that matters. He feels the pride and deep appreciation that only a father can feel when his child exceeds all possible expectations.

Meara looks at father. Gradually she ceases to smile; her thoughts are too serious to be diminished by levity. "I promise to God, my children will know in their souls who we are, who our forefathers were. I won't allow any of our enemies, not the Imperials or Virus or the Vilani make them ashamed of their identity. We will keep our names and our faces, father. Oscar did not die in vain."

Father leans back a little. He smiles. "I see that, Red. I see everything that matters alive in you."

His words touch her deeply and stoke a mighty fire that warms her soul. It is a fire of ancient strength. "Thank you, father."

He continues, "Of all the battles and victories, watching each of you become who you are, strong Solomani men and women, from Colin to the twins to you, Red, that's been the greatest pride and joy of my life."

She thinks of his awards. She thinks of the Cross of Honor, the highest non-posthumous award granted by the Nation of Antares. His heroism on Antarctica - then Victor Fornast 0606 - earned him that great honor. His quick decisions and willingness to completely disregard the enormous risk turned what should have been a stinging defeat into a stunning triumph; a triumph that would prove critical to winning the world for Antares. The conquest of Antarctica made the other systems of the Antarctica Cluster untenable and forced Virus to make its greatest territorial concession in almost one hundred years.*

For a moment Meara is silent. She is honored beyond measure by his words. She looks into father's eyes. They are blazing and clear. He is still a lion. Perhaps he'll be there to greet her.

After a few moments she speaks, "All of this is for our homes and our people, and our brothers-in-arms who do the same. Still, I miss you terribly. I miss the farm and the woods, the night sky back home, the apples and the berries up on Knockanulty and Knockmoy."

"They'll be there, Red. They'll remember you."

She wants to tell him to be there too. She does not. She'd like to avoid the pain right now.

Father must sense this. "I'm glad to see that the food is good here." He picks up the beer. "And they have Guinness. It should be as nice as possible for the soldiers. I'm very pleased with Trinity."

She eagerly follows his lead. "It's beautiful, father. There are woodlands and mountains. Ava - she's a pilot in close support - we're going to visit the mountains this Friday. I want to go hunting if there's time."

"I don't imagine you'll take a service issue." Father wonders out loud.

"No, I leave that here. I'll check out a rifle at the recreational armory in Garrane. They have a nice selection, even a few retro ETC's if that's your fancy."

Father knows her well. She'll choose one of the gauss coil guns. He asks about the target.

"What are you going after?"

"Hillcutters. Look like a cross between a pony, a hyena and a lion. They say they're along the lines of a pig but other than the hooves and the sweet meat I don't see it. They're all over the mountains here, north and south."

Father asks a father-question. "Are they dangerous?"

"They can be." She gets a wry little smile. "Don't worry, father."

"I won't. It's just easy sometimes to let your guard down when you're on R&R."

"I won't even tangle with them unless I'm absolutely sure it's one of them that gets it and not me. Really I just want to get out, breathe the clean mountain air. It's humid and miserable in theatre. Some days it's like trying to breathe through water. When we're not in dress of course."

"Is it winter where you're going?"

"No, it's almost fall, just like here."

Father nods. "Perfect. The meat will be sweeter."

She pauses for a reflection. Father continues, "Fall is my favorite time of year." He is looking at some distant memory.

"Mine too," Meara says. "I always loved when you'd slaughter the winter hogs and we'd have too much to store. All day runnin' around the woods and then come home to Limerick ham and colcannon."

Father listens, but is still watching his memory. "Colin loved the fall, just like we do. You don't remember him, he left when you were a baby and he never came home. You remember hearing that he'd been killed."

Meara nods.

"I had gone home for a year leave, training and accumulated time. I met and married your mother in that time. Colin was born while I was back in theatre. Your mother brought him to Deerslayer and I'd see them on standard leave. Two years later we went home for good. You probably remember me telling you this, over and over."

She does, but father is not informing her of some revelation. He's reliving the moments.

"It's always nice to hear about our family, father, whether I've heard it before or not."

He nods with a half smile on his face. "Colin looked the most like your mother."

She complements his observation. "Aonghus looks the most like you, father."

He nods. "You look just like him in your old marine holos", she says.

Father moves on to Aonghus, his second and eldest living son. "Aonghus always loved the artillery. His best chance for that was the army, and he was fortunate to get his wish. He's always been level-headed and will take good care of the land when I am gone."

She doesn't dwell. "Do you think Ronan will ever come home?"

"He'll visit, that's about all. He won't' leave the Marines until he has to, one way or the other. He'll go coreward and hunt Gashikaners before he'll take a training position."

They fall into silence. In a couple of years, when she's just shy of 22, her combat obligation will end and she will elect to go home. An equally important, perhaps more important, and certainly more fulfilling obligation awaits her there. She thinks about her brothers and remaining sister. She thinks about father. Who will be there when she arrives? How will she come home? Joyous, in the embrace of a loving husband, or will she also come home in a box? Will she come home at all? Colin didn't, neither did Eithne. Will father be there, after all they have been through and all she has yet to endure? Will Rory come home? She takes a long drink from her bottle of Guinness. Time is slipping through the fingers of the day.

Father seems to read her thoughts, and brings her back from her longings and doubts. "I took a walk just before I came by this morning. It's warm but not too hot outside. Does it snow often in the winter?"

"Yes, father," she says. "It doesn't time with Christmas like on Sidhe but it's still nice."

"You're on Trinity for Christmas, right?"

"Yes. I'm still here. I leave on the first of the new year." She knows that is sheer luck.

Father is happy for her. "You're very fortunate to have your leave at that time of year. In my first twelve years of service all my Christmases were in the field."

"I'm very happy for it." She looks a little to the side, toward a vision of Christmas years past. Oscar is there. She watches a moment and then returns to now. "Sometimes, though, the longing is sharper."

"I can understand." Father is expert at such things. He was forty-two when he came home for good.

"I imagined you would, father." She knows of course. Before Aonghus came home the Christmas table must have been a lean shadow of its former glory. Now, at least, there will be more little ones to fill empty chairs. Perhaps someday hers will be there. Meara smiles a little. It's one of joy, with a small arc of sorrow.

"I still watch the movie," she says. "Thank you for sending it to me."

"Of course, Red. It wouldn't seem like Christmas without Alastair Sim."

It is a dangerous subject right now, in face of what has happened and who they have lost.

"Would you like another Guinness, father?" Meara asks.

"No thanks, Red." Father almost never waves off a second Guinness.

Her sister crosses her mind. "How are Sinéad and Michael?"

"Good, last I heard. I expect they'll be starting a family soon."

"You and mom are gonna be grandparents over and over." Meara allows herself a brief image of what may come to be.

Father is distant for a moment. He looks at the table. "I hope so, Red." He lifts his head and comes back. He looks deeply into her eyes and continues. "For years to come, I hope so."

She smiles at father. She spins the base of her nearly empty bottle before picking it up and finishing its last offering. The two sit silent for a little while. It really has been a long time.

Meara breaks the pause. "Michael's a pilot, right?"

"On the Chancellorsville, a strike cruiser. He met our Sinéad on leave at Fomhórach**.

"Yeah, she sent me a e-message about Fomhórach. Sounds a lot like Trinity. I'm so happy for them, I know she wants a family too." As individuals, Meara and Sinéad are quite different; together they share the same powerful desire.

"If they'd been on the same ship they'd probably have transferred her after the two wed." Father knows the rules. He lived them for twenty-seven years.

"Was he rotated back to the Green Zone?" Meara asks without deliberation.

"He qualified for training duty at NSS Diarmuid," says father. "I imagine they'll make their futures there."

"Oh yes, I remember now. He had over ten years combat duty." Meara speaks and then frowns a little. "Things slip your mind, important little things."

Father sympathizes. He's been in combat many times before. He knows what it's like to face Virus. He looks at Meara as a father at a beloved daughter; she at him as a loving daughter to her honored father. Both share a deep admiration that further strengthens their already unbreakable bond.

There is a little more time for small talk and remembrance. The two converse for a while, occasionally silenced by a particularly powerful memory. Father finally accepts a second beer.

The evening wanes. Soon father will leave for his room. The next morning he'll be off. Neither knows when, or if, they will see each other again. The hour is late, perhaps in more ways than one. It is time for Oscar.

Meara speaks, broaching a question that will necessarily lead to Oscar. Father is both wise and considerate to allow her to choose the moment.

"Is the corn dolly still on my dresser?" The last word is distorted by her sudden emotion.

"Yes, Red." Father almost whispers. It is agony to see her suffer, but he must let her make this journey.

She chokes back her tears. "He made that for me. I didn't want to bring it here, I was afraid I'd lose it. Now I'm so glad it's safe at home."

Father speaks, this time in his normal tone. "It's like it was yesterday. I see the whole thing, Rory running from Oscar. Rory never destroyed another of your dollies after Oscar was through with him."

Meara keeps walking the road. "He took me fishing and hunting, picked berries with me. He loved the natural world just like you and grandfather." She stops for a moment and then continues. "He would howl at dusk and get the wolves started. They'll mourn his loss, I know they will."

Father nods. He sees Oscar howling into the snowy night. "They're not alone in that," he thinks.

"It will get worse before it gets better," she says. "It's already so bad." For a moment she loses her composure, then it returns.

Father speaks. "I've lost two sons and a daughter. Time dulls the pain but never the loss. Meara, I know enough not to worry excessively about you. Still, I'm no father if I don't implore you to take care. Don't allow this to cloud your judgment back in theatre.

She looks down. She can no longer hide the hurt on her face.

Father continues, "How many have you got, Red?"

"Eighty-one confirmed." Her voice is low. Father is impressed but does not hesitate with his words. She doesn't even mention that one of her kills is a Ripper.

"Passion might raise your average but not your total. When you return home, that total will be your vengeance. It is already heavy."

"I won't let things change, father. I promised never to jeopardize my brothers-in-arms. I'll go on as before. This won't cloud my mind, it's a burden for my soul."

"We share that burden, Meara. We always will."

There is a necessary silence. It is nearing twenty-two hundred local time. A grav carrier shuttle will be arriving shortly.

He wishes to stay. He would stay until she has to return to theatre. He knows that he cannot; it will be a constant reminder of the loss at a time when she needs to escape from such things, such as it is possible. It is time for father to depart. Meara feels this too. She takes a brief respite from her thoughts and emotions to see him off.

"Take care, Red," Father turns back to say as he steps to the exit.

"I love you father."

Father comes back and kisses her on the head. Then he backs up to the exit. He stops a moment but can add nothing more. The door closes behind him. Meara does not run out to see the g-carrier shuttle speed off. He wouldn't want that.

Meara rises from the table and goes to her bedroom. There she gets out her clothes for the night. A long shower and a little music later and it's time for rest.

Trinity's moon is not unlike Earth's, save it is darker and somewhat less scarred. Its landward face is marked with a significantly darker patch, the remnants of an ancient magmatic cataclysm. There is a single ceiling toward the heavens above her bed and Meara usually leaves it one-way transparent. She looks at the moon and at the stars beyond before drifting off to sleep.

Somewhere just over the threshold of slumber a wolf is calling.


________________________________________________
*The conquest of Victor Fornast 0606 - Antarctica - forced Virus to abandon six solar systems to the triumphant Antareans. The cost in lives and materiel that would have been lost securing those systems independently would have been very high. The assault and commitment to high-intensity warfare in what Virus believed to be a relatively secure system was a huge risk, but one that paid off enormously.

**Formerly spelled "Formore" by the Imperials, its inhabitants - and the Nation of Antares - never called it by that incorrect name. To them it is Fomhórach.

Jack-o'-lanterns


Destroying Angel