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Disclaimer: The names of all 'Space: Above and Beyond' characters contained
herein are the property of Glen Morgan and James Wong, Hard Eight
Productions and the Fox Broadcasting Network. These names have been used
without their permission. All else is my own creation
Rating: PG Comments to C.Bower
AWAKENED PASTby
McQueen glanced up from his office desk when someone knocked at his door.
"Who's at my hatch?"
"Lt. West, sir."
"Come."
West entered, holding a envelope. "Sir, you didn't come to mail call."
"No one sends me mail."
"You did this time, sir." West held out the envelope. "It's from a doctor in
Phoenix, sir." When McQueen glanced at him sharply, he added, "I just read
the return address."
Nodding once, McQueen rose to take the envelope. "Thank you."
"You're welcome, sir. You know, it's been kinda weird getting three mail
calls in a week. When is that documentary supposed to be shown, sir?"
"The broadcast is in a couple of days. I'll inform you of the date and
time."
"Thank you, sir. I'll go now, sir."
The door shut behind West and McQueen took his first look at the envelope.
Dr. D. Patterson. He didn't know any Dr. Patterson... The memory rose up of
a man in his forties, in bloodied clothes, fighting desperately for a
miner's life. How the hell could he have ever forgotten David? Giving the
envelope a good look, he saw that indeed the letter had been mailed from
Phoenix, Arizona.
Carefully he tore open the envelope, making sure not to tear the return
address as his hand trembled. He pulled out the crisp paper and slowly
unfolded it.
'Hello Tyrus,' read the first line. He sank down onto his bed, closing his
eyes briefly. It was David. No one else ever called him by his full first
name. Only once had David shortened his name to Ty and that was when he
prepared to board the transport out of that mining hell hole. He resumed
reading.
'Hello Tyrus,
I hope this letter finds you well. Given that you are fighting the war, I
know the odds of injury are pretty high. I'm proud of you, Tyrus. You've
done well for yourself. Out of all the Invitroes I've helped over the years,
you've gone the furthest. Everyone knows you're a good man, out there
fighting for us.
Your history is public record and I am quite happy with everything overall.
An Angry Angel, what an accomplishment for any one, but especially for you.
You always dreamed of flying. Only one thing disappoints me. The Port Riskin
affair. Had the scars and memory faded so quickly?'
A shudder coursed through McQueen at the memory that last sentence brought
to mind. His back ached in remembrance of the beating he had endured when
he'd protested his team working a third eight hour shift. It had been a week
before he could walk upright. David's tongue lashing had been almost as
brutal as the beating. He sighed softly, running his hand through his hair.
'I thought I taught you better than to act rashly. Didn't Sun Tzu teach you
anything?
No, that was wrong of me to say. I am sure that you had your reasons, most
likely lives were at stake. You were never one to rush in where angels fear
to tread. But it did disappointment me to read the account, though it was
rather brief and did not give all the facts, I'm sure.
You're still the one I remember out of the hundreds I tried to help on
Draconis. There are others, but none had your spirit, your drive. I remember
the hours you spent bent over the paper, laboriously struggling to master
the skill of writing, to make it your very own. The memory of the waste
basket overflowing with your discarded attempts still makes me smile.
Seventy two hours to succeed, to be satisfied with your writing style, hours
spent after working up to two shifts in the mines.
One of my favorite memories, Tyrus, is when you realized you could read. The
look on your face as you worked out the words and realized you knew what
they meant. I'll cherish that joy to my dying day. I'm happy I could show
you and others how to dream, to know that the mines weren't the way of life
everywhere. That you could dare to dream of a better life. Do you still have
those copies of Sun Tzu and the Illyiad?'
Giving his bookcase a fond look, McQueen quickly found the two books, well
worn and dog-eared from years of re-reading, even though he knew them by
heart now.
'As you can see from the return address, I've finally returned to Earth from
that abomination where we met. You asked me once why I was there. I couldn't
tell you then. I can now. There's nothing they can do to me now.
I worked for AeroTech and I didn't like a bunch of their working ethics.
Let's be realistic, what ethics? Any way, I got a choice, either I left
Earth for one of the outposts to practice my medicine or they would ruin my
son's life. And I couldn't tell anyone why I left Earth. Donald had just
married a wonderful girl, Lily, and they were expecting a child. How could I
ruin his life before it had started. So I left, but not until I told him to
stay away from AeroTech. He kept up a correspondence with me, including
everything about his daughter, Cynthia. She wrote to me every week, even
though she had never seen me in her life.
God, how it hurts to write about her, even now. She was part of the Vesta
Colony, Tyrus. No survivors, they say. Not that I totally believe it, but
it's better to face the fact that she's gone, just like Donald and Lily are
now. They just withered away, devastated by the news.
Tyrus, avenge them for me, please. You're all I have left. I always
considered you as a son. Maybe that's why I pushed you so hard, made you
work so hard to survive.
Just so you know, I've included you in my will. I wrote it on my return to
Earth, three months ago. There's not much, but it's yours. If by some
miracle, Cynthia is alive, I know you'll be fair.
God, I've missed you, Tyrus. The sight of your sapphire eyes lit up with the
joy of learning something new, the way you drank in all I had to teach you,
I miss it all. I even have a picture of you in your Marine dress uniform. I
clipped it from a newspaper and it sits on the dresser with Donald, Lily,
and Cynthia.
Looking back over this letter, I can see an old man's ramblings. I'm sorry,
Tyrus. I'll sign off now.
Beloved of me, beloved of the earth,
David'
Wiping the tear that threatened to fall, McQueen closed his eyes for a
moment. Something was wrong, he knew it from the way David said he was sorry
and the way he said that they couldn't touch him now. Hurriedly, he rose and
pulled back the chair at his desk, carefully pushing aside the half-started
calligraphy. A clean sheet of paper and he grabbed a pen from the other
desk. The words flowed from him.
'Hello David,
It's good to hear from you. I've missed you as well. You were the first good
man I ever met. You taught me well, David, and I've used your teachings
throughout my career. I am trying to pass on your lessons to the young men
and women assigned to me.
About Port Riskin, yes, lives were at stake, but my actions didn't save
anyone. It wasn't until my 'almost' court-martial that the rules where
changed. I stood before the tribunal and stated that the way things were,
they were wasting valuable resources. I said a few more things, but I'm not
allowed to talk about those. I'm sure you can imagine them though.
Yes, I still have the Art of War and the Illyiad. I've taken them everywhere
with me. I have newer copies as well since they've gotten somewhat beaten up
from my travels and all the times I've read them.
I'm sorry about your family. I knew that your son meant a great deal to you
at the mines, and now I know just how much he meant for you to choose exile
from him in order to save him. Not many can take that option. But I can't
help being grateful that you did. Otherwise, I might never have made it out
of Draconis alive. You shaped me as no one else has. You gave me dreams and
hopes for a real life. Thank you, David, for everything you did for me.
If I hear anything about survivors, I'll let you know.
When you wrote about being disappointed, I could see your face with that
look, the look that you used on me and the others whenever you gravely
announced how we had disappointed you and expected better of us in the
future. From what some of the young men and women under me say, I think I
use it on them, too.
David, you gave me a reason to live and I can never repay you for that. All
I can say, again, is thank you for caring enough to try.
I better wrap this up if I'm going to get this sent back on the next mail
ship.
Thank you. You were the father I never had, David.
Tyrus'
He quickly addressed an envelope and tucked the letter inside. His quick
strides brought him to the mail room where he slapped down his debit card to
pay for the shipping. Then he made his way to the Tun Tavern to drink a
health to the man who had shaped him, who had given him the will to live, to
survive and to dream.
Two weeks later, he waited while the lieutenant called out names. He
seriously doubted that he would get a response so quickly, but he couldn't
help wanting to find out.
"Col. McQueen."
Hiding his eagerness, McQueen took the offered letter, surprised by its
heaviness. In the corridor, he glanced at the return address. P. Jackson,
Attorney at Law. His steps slowed as he approached his quarters, afraid to
open the letter. He dropped it on his desk and sat staring at it for nearly
five minutes before resolutely opening the envelope. Several pages were
inside. He took the single sheet by itself first.
'Col. T. C. McQueen,
I regret to inform you that Dr. D. Patterson,
Hell, I've spent the last three months with David and I know how he felt
about you so I'm going to write this letter person to person, to hell with
company policy.
I am truly sorry that I must tell you that David died the night after your
letter arrived. But he was overjoyed that you had written back so quickly.
You should have seen the way his face lit up. He must have read it at least
four times. He talked for hours afterward, telling me stories about you and
the time he spent with you on Omicron Draconis. It was the first night since
I'd met him that he went to sleep peacefully, without pain of any sort. He
had me move your picture to beside the bed where he could see it easily.
No doubt you are wondering who I am. My name is Patrick Jackson. David hired
me after discarding several other choices by my firm. He wanted a new will
written up and was quite particular about who wrote it. We quickly became
friends and he had me move in as part of his staff. I miss him already.
As you may have gathered from the way I've written, David was quite sick.
Twenty-two years at Draconis left him extremely sick and he was already
dying when he returned to Earth just over three months ago. I've been his
companion since he hired me and I'm glad you were not here to see him waste
away. It was hard enough on me, I wouldn't wish it on anyone else.
I have included a copy of his will. He left everything to you, with the
provision that if his granddaughter did survive, that you provide for her. I
can give you a quick run down on it though.
Three houses - I would suggest selling all but the one in Phoenix, it is a
good residence with a sizable yard
Four antique cars - highly prized collector's items, your choice as to
whether to sell
A large library - there are over three thousand books in the library, housed
in Phoenix, they are all yours, unconditionally.
A residual income from various investments - it more than pays for the taxes
involved in the inheritance and it will pay for upkeep of the Phoenix house
with a small staff
That's the gist of it. You can read all the rest of it yourself.
I would like to make a request. I would like to remain as part of the staff
of the Phoenix house, so I guess I'm asking if I can become your lawyer. It
has become my home in these three months and I am loath to leave it. David
said that you enjoy reading. I would be happy to send you books that you
request. I have sent a Power-of-Attorney for you to sign if you decide to
sell any of the property. I will promptly send you all notifications of
such sales.
In any case, let me know what you want done.
It does grieve me to have write this letter, but I felt it better coming
from someone who at least got to know him in his final days than from a
complete impersonal stranger. I don't feel like a stranger, though, perhaps
I am to you. I've come to know the person you were many years ago and I'd be
honored to know the man you are now. If for no other reason, than to honor
the memory of a great man now gone.
The letters and envelope slipped from McQueen's hands. Tears ran down his
cheeks and he paid them no heed. After a long moment, he slowly rose and
opened the desk drawer. From it he pulled a full bottle of Scotch.
Setting the bottle on the desk, he keyed in Commodore Ross' quarters. "Yes?
Who is it?" came the rich baritone voice.
"McQueen."
"Man, you sound awful. What's wrong?"
"I will be unavailable for the next several hours." He fought to keep his
voice controlled.
"McQueen, what is it?"
"I have a memory to honor."
There was a long pause, then Ross said, "I'll make sure no one bothers you."
"Thank you... Glen."
The connection broken, McQueen stared at the bottle before opening it. He
raised it to the stars out his window and proceeded to drink deeply. Tears
flowed faster and he set the bottle down before curling up on his bed to
mourn the man who fathered his soul.
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