Brian M. Thomsen - Descent- FreeSpace - A Veteran of the Great War

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2024-11-24 0 0 48.34KB 13 页 5.9玖币
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A VETERAN OF THE GREAT WAR
by Brian M. Thomsen
A Descent: FreeSpace Story
Archer had stopped wondering what his father, the hero of the Great War, would
have done in a given situation while he was still back in boot camp.
The answer had always been simple, his duty.
Somehow doubt not, delay not had lost it's luster as a battle- hymn mantra after the
treaty with the Vasudans had been announced. He always had a problem with
unquestioningly following orders from those who now supported alliance with the
inhuman bastards who had killed his father, even if every fiber of his conditioned body
and implant-enhanced reflexes reminded him that such doubts and delays were in direct
contradiction to his duty.
"Yo, Archer!" Athans hailed from the cockpit of his fighter that was subspacially
moored on Archer's flank. "You awake?"
"That's an affirmative," Archer mentally v-mailed back to his comrade-in-arms of
three months via the subspace communication implants, adding, "not that it's any of your
business, lard-ass."
"Oooh, I love it when you v-mail dirty to me."
V-mail was one of the great blessings and curses of the life of subspace fighters.
Talking interrupted breathing thus wasting mils of nano-liters of oxygen. Cerebral
implants with senders and receivers made intra-thought communication at close
proximity as easy as e-mail. It wasn't really practical in populated areas, but out here in
an isolated outpost, stuck guarding a subspace node where vacuum and silence were
understatements, everything worked just fine.
"How's it hanging with the friggin' new guys?"
"Pretty quiet, a bit v-shy if you know what I mean, but you know how it is being a
FNG."
Archer and Athans were old friends and comrades-in-arms having served together
for over two weeks now, though they had never met face-to-face to shake hands. All of
the other members of the squadron had only logged in within the past forty-eight hours,
having converged on this spot from all directions.
"Any idea when this party is supposed to start?"
"Whenever they get here," Archer replied, and in the back of his mind out of v-mail
range, privately added, and they shall not pass.
Archer closed his eyes and retreated back into internal solitude and amused himself
with the revelation that he was actually wondering what his father would be thinking
about in this situation...what did he think about as he prepared himself to meet death ...
did he know it was coming the way Archer knew now?
Archer had just arrived home from school for his yearly three week academic-free
period and was greeted by the sounds of his normally stoic mother's uncontrollable
sobs. He rushed to her room in barely enough time to see the holo-gram from his father
fade into the ether.
"He's not coming back," she cried. "He's dead! They send a stinking hologram of him
to me to say that he is dead, with details to follow later."
Archer had heard rumors that some of his classmates knew about the holo-grams
from first-hand experience since the Galactic Terran Alliance had decided that bad news
was best conveyed to loved ones by a loved one and had thus adopted the absurd
policy of having all warriors holographically record messages to their families concerning
their own demise, dismemberment, or incapacitation, ... but he didn't really believe that
their great leaders could be that stupid and inhuman.
They were and they were.
Archer put his arm around his mother and rocked her gently until she escaped into a
catatonic ball on the bed that she had formerly shared with the love of her life. He drew a
blanket over her and went downstairs to await the red-tape team who followed such
announcements once the initial shock had been administered. There would be a
Galactic Terran Alliance bureaucrat, a doctor, and supposedly someone who had
actually known his dad to spend an allotted period with the "surviving kin."
"I don't know which I hate more - the waiting or the carnage," Archer v-mailed to no
one in particular.
"What?" Athans answered back in incredulity.
"Maybe I've been out here too long."
"Yeah," Athans agreed with a sigh that suggested a hint of reassurance on Archer's
own sanity, "all of us who survive are."
And the survivors shall inherit the red tape.
The red-tape team was late, and didn't arrive until after Archer had already called
EMS for help with his mother. They said they would get back to him. That was two days
ago.
The red-tape team arrived on the next day, five days after the holo-gram had brought
the grim reaper to their family. They apologized for their tardiness but confessed that
they were greatly overworked, an admission that no doubt would be denied if any of the
media decided to make it public.
Archer was reassured by the three men that his mother was going to be alright. They
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分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：13 页 大小：48.34KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-11-24

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