by Richard Ford
‘You’re probably wondering why I sent for you.’ This was not the start Vance had expected. When he didn’t answer, Major Cleaver continued. ‘This is a little awkward for me, but I have a communiqué from Colonel Vance, and he’s asked me to give you a message, James. It’s very important that you meet him on Babylon 5 immediately.’
Colonel Vance? His father? Vance’s head began to spin; this whole situation was totally unexpected. Not only was the Major acting as a go between for Vance and his father, but he’d just used his first name!
‘I know you and your father aren’t exactly on speaking terms, but he wants to see you nonetheless. I know you have leave coming up, so I’d see it as a personal favour to me if you could use that time to visit him.’
Vance couldn’t believe his ears. Major Cleaver, the most feared man on the base, was acting like a kindly old uncle trying to reconcile a father and son. It made no sense.
‘Did the Colonel tell you what this was about, sir?’ asked Vance.
‘Well son, I know you two have never seen eye to eye. I can only think that he wants to get to know you again.’
‘I never really knew him to begin with, sir. I don’t see any real reason to start now.’
‘The Colonel and I have known each other for a long time. I fought under him in the Minbari War, and I owe him. Again, I’d see it as a personal favour to me if you’d go and see your father.’ Major Cleaver suddenly transformed back into the stern leader Vance knew so well.
‘I understand, sir, but I’m under no obligation to the Colonel. I’ve never relied on the Colonel’s reputation to further my own career, and I don’t feel I owe him anything.’
‘I respect you wanting to make your own way, son. I can even understand why you refused to join the Officer’s Academy and enlisted as a grunt. What I don’t get is why you wouldn’t want to get to know your father. He’s a fine soldier and a great man.’
‘With all due respect, Major, my father might have been a great soldier, but he was a lousy father and a worse husband to my mother. The last time I saw him was at my mother’s funeral, and I don’t care to see him again.’
‘Understood.’ The Major glanced down, a frown crossing his already wrinkled forehead. ‘I didn’t want to have to take this route, but you’ve left me no choice. As of tomorrow morning, your leave is cancelled. You are ordered to board the next available transport to the Babylon 5 Diplomatic Station, where you will meet Colonel Vance. You will be given further orders at that meeting.’
Vance sat motionless as Major Cleaver recited his orders. There was a pause, as though Cleaver was allowing him the chance to speak. ‘Will that be all, Major Cleaver?’ asked Vance.
‘Yes, Corporal Vance. Dismissed.’ Cleaver sounded disappointed, not with Vance, but with himself and what he’d been forced to do. Vance didn’t resent the old man. He knew he acted out of loyalty to the Colonel. Vance knew from experience that his father always got what he wanted.
Vance stood, saluted, turned on his heel and marched towards the door. ‘Oh, and Vance,’ said the Major suddenly. Vance turned as he reached the door. ‘Congratulations on your promotion. I’m sure you’ll do well.’
‘Thank you, Major,’ replied Vance. ‘I’ll try not to let you down.’ With that he opened the door and marched back to his quarters.
A hundred questions ran through his mind on the long walk from Major Cleaver’s office. Surely his father wasn’t simply interested in a reunion after all this time. Vance had made his feelings clear to his father years before. As far as he was concerned, his parental relationships died with his mother. He would neither ask nor expect anything from his father. So why the sudden interest?
Randell was waiting when Vance got back. As Vance entered, Randell’s face brightened. ‘Look,’ he said, standing suddenly and shrugging his large shoulders, ‘I’ve been thinking. Maybe Mars isn’t such a bad idea. We could go together, just the two of us. The more I think about it, the more I think you’re right. We’ll have a--’
‘We won’t be going at all,’ said Vance. Quashing Randell’s enthusiasm angered him more than the cancelled leave and heavy-handed tactics of his father. ‘The only place I’m heading to is Babylon 5. I’m under orders to meet Colonel Vance there.’
‘Your old man?’ asked Randell. ‘Boy, that sucks!’
‘I have no choice. Orders from Major Cleaver.’
‘Well, at least we can have one last night in the mess. Jeany will be there.’ Randell raised an eyebrow suggestively, and Vance smiled at his persistence.
‘I don’t think so. I’ve got to be on the early transport, and a night out with you guys never ends the same night.’
‘Fair enough, but if you change your mind...’ Randell patted Vance on the shoulder and left the room. Vance was quite surprised at how easily Randell had conceded, but he put it down to an uncharacteristic burst of sympathy. Still wondering what his father wanted with him, he packed for his journey to Babylon 5.
That evening Vance decided to skip dinner. He didn’t think he could handle all the questions from his comrades, especially when he didn’t have the answers himself.
He stood on the viewing platform of Hangar Bay 07, watching the supply shuttles leaving for their various destinations. Seeing the beauty of the steel birds taking off as the sun set on the desolate horizon never failed to cheer him. The ships criss-crossed the galaxy, linking with a hundred different platoons, stationed on an uncountable number of worlds. The sight made him feel part of something huge. Acknowledging this link to men he would never meet, but whom he knew had received the same training and followed the same ideals, made Vance proud. Proud to be part of EarthForce and proud to be human. On the landing platform, technicians busied themselves with refuelling, checking landing gear, stabilisers, cockpits, life support and a host of other things Vance didn’t understand. He only knew how to fight, but his lack of knowledge made him feel neither inadequate nor superior. EarthForce was a living, breathing entity to him, and he was its strong right hand.
The first transport to Babylon 5 didn’t leave until 0730, so he had plenty of time. Time he didn’t want. Departure couldn’t come soon enough. The thing he hated most was the waiting.
Growling turbines shook the viewing platform as one of the transports fired its engines. A group of technicians scuttled to safety as the thrusters began to wind up. Steadily the transport lifted off, its hull engines blackening the plascrete landing pad. It hovered for a few seconds, steadying itself, then the landing gear flipped up into the main bulk of the craft. Banking slightly, the transport lurched forward as its rear thrusters engaged, and it finally sailed off into the sky. At a safe distance, the auxiliary thrusters kicked in, and the ship was propelled skyward toward its destination.
Vance never took his eyes from the craft until it disappeared into the pale red sky. The digital readout told him it was 1847 hours. Best thing would be to get some shuteye before the difficult day ahead. One of the most important lessons EarthForce training taught was to take every opportunity for sleep, especially if your mission was uncertain; you never knew when you’d next get the chance to rest.
The deserted, spartan corridors echoed as Vance made his way back to his quarters. Rounding a corner near the gymnasium, he found a familiar figure blocking his way. There stood Randell, fully decked out in the red, padded bodysuit he’d worn that morning. Vance could barely stop himself from laughing. ‘You must be kidding,’ he said.
Randell bore a stern look. ‘You can’t leave without giving me one last chance to give you the hiding you deserve.’
‘OK. You asked for it.’
He marched past Randell, straight toward the gym. As he flung the doors wide, a sudden cheer erupted. Vance’s jaw dropped as what looked like his entire platoon applauded and hooted in the brightly lit gymnasium. Jeany stood front and centre, holding a bottle of champagne. Vance had no idea how she got her hands on genuine Dom Perignon so far from civilisation, but she always acquired things othe
rs could only dream of. Weekes and Chavez were also there, both holding paper cups which, by their wide-eyed expressions, surely contained substances of a dubious and highly alcoholic nature.
As the crowd surrounded him, clapping and patting him on the back, he turned to see Randell’s beaming face. He smiled back, hiding his sadness, as he wondered if he would ever see this bunch of comrades again.
Randell slept heavily as Vance sneaked out of their shared quarters. It was 0712 and he’d slept for less than two hours. His mouth felt like he’d been chewing on a pair of Randall’s sweaty socks all night, and his head was filled with a thick, wiry soup.
He gently closed the door as he left, shutting out the sound of Randell’s snoring. The big man would probably be disappointed he hadn’t had the opportunity to say goodbye, but Vance wasn’t one for drawn-out farewells.
The docking bay was deserted, his transport designed for supplies rather than passengers. Vance presented his orders to the shuttle’s captain and was told to board. He didn’t look back as he entered the ship that would take him to Babylon 5, to the meeting he’d been avoiding for all these years.
An Unreasonable Request
Although he would never admit it to anyone, Vance hated space travel. He could pilot a Starfury well enough, but whenever he was a passenger on a transport, he grew uneasy. The pit of his stomach churned whenever he knew he had to fly. A man in his position could not avoid the inevitable long space journey, but nobody said he had to like it. The journey itself was never that bad--just tedious--but the taking off and docking were unpleasant. Vance long ago came to terms with the certain “control-freakiness” of his personality. If he wasn’t piloting, riding, driving or otherwise physically controlling his entire situation, he became unnerved. Of course, he showed no outward symptoms of this: he didn’t sweat, wring his hands or mumble fearfully. To an observer, Vance seemed his usual calm and steady self, even in turbulence. Only Vance knew of these feelings, and that was the way he wanted it to stay.
The sight of the magnificent station did little to allay his fears. Beyond the massive, spinning construction, the sun was shining, a bright semicircle peering over the top of the station. Vance knew only ten inches of reinforced plexiglass separated him from total irradiation. This unbidden thought sawed at his rapidly fraying nerves.
‘Docking sequence initiated,’ sang a recorded voice. ‘Docking will be complete in two minutes.’ Vance always did his research, meticulously planning every eventuality. More ships crashed during docking than take-off and flight put together. Statistically, you were 6.4 times more likely to die during a docking sequence than at any other time in the journey.
With a shudder, the ship’s rear thrusters cut. Vance heard the reverse thrusters kick in--one sharp hiss, then another, as the pilot began stabilising the vessel for entry. This relatively smooth approach reminded Vance that a military pilot was transporting him. Had this been a civilian transport, he would have felt much less secure.
The seating area suddenly darkened as the ship slid into the docking bay. A sharp clang echoed as magnetic stabilising arms grasped the shuttle. Neon lights winked on in the bay area, bathing the cabin in a weird infrared glow. Vance sighed; the worst part was over. Within seconds, the shuttle came to rest and the bustle began, the crew busying themselves with unloading supplies.
Vance wasted no time unbuckling himself, and then he grabbed his bag from a secured locker behind his seat. All he received was a curt nod of acknowledgment from the captain, who was busy directing his crew, and Vance made his way down the shuttle’s gantryway.
Two grey-suited security guards waited by the exit, and Vance produced his orders and identicard, emblazoned with the EarthForce insignia. One of the security guards scanned it with a handheld reader. After a brief wait, he handed the card back and dismissed Vance with a satisfied wave. ‘Enjoy your visit, Corporal Vance. Quarters have been made ready for you, courtesy of the Colonel. If you make your way to Green 3, a security officer will show you to your room.’
Vance nodded in acknowledgment and hustled past the guards. His position as an EarthForce corporal did come with its privileges, but being given such preferential treatment made him uncomfortable.
He made his way along a corridor and followed a sign reading “All Sectors”. After finding the main transport tube, he climbed aboard and read the coloured map on the wall. Green Sector was two stops away, and it couldn’t come soon enough.
The shuttle slowed to a halt after one stop, and a large figure boarded. Vance recognised him as a Narn, although he had never encountered one in the flesh before. The mottle-skinned alien smiled at Vance as it entered, and he smiled back. He learned in basic training how the Narn could go from a state of quiet contemplation to open hostility at the slightest rebuff. Vance wasn’t worried about the imminent and unpredictable danger; he had been taught how to deal with them when they got aggressive. Trying to match a Narn blow-for-blow would be futile, as their dense bone structure and thick skins made it almost impossible for a human to do much damage with fists or feet. A piercing weapon or chokehold was the only way to bring a Narn down effectively. Vance’s standard issue combat knife was tucked away in the duffle bag under his seat. As he began to reflect on the variety of chokeholds he knew, mostly from ju-jitsu, the shuttle slowed to a stop once more. With another smile the Narn exited. Again, Vance smiled back, feeling slightly foolish for his over-cautious attitude.
One stop later, the shuttle arrived at his stop in Green Sector. The girl from security waiting to greet him chatted politely as she guided him through Green 3 to his quarters. She smiled all the way, recommending a few eateries in the Zocalo, and then she handed him a passkey for his room. Vance returned the smile, having neither the opportunity nor the inclination to answer her in anything other than a polite grunt.
His quarters were small but functional, with what looked like a comfortable bed and even a shower, a luxury he hadn’t expected on a ship where fresh running water must be a scarce commodity. The air, on the other hand, was thick and stale, and Vance could almost taste the recycled bodily odours of a thousand fellow passengers. Nevertheless, he had far more space than in his EarthForce bunk--and best of all, Randell wasn’t here to keep him up all night with his snoring.
Vance dumped his bag on the bed. The winking of the BabCom unit in the corner of the room caught his eye, and ‘Saved Message’ flashed at him with an annoying persistence. ‘Play message,’ ordered Vance, already knowing whose face would appear on the screen.
Sure enough, the pinched cheeks and high forehead of his father stared at him severely from the screen. There was a pause, as though the Colonel waited for someone to tell him to begin. Then he spoke. ‘Jimmy, it’s your father.’
I know that, thought Vance. I can see you on screen.
‘I’d like to thank you for coming at such short notice.’ Like he had a choice. ‘We’ll meet later to talk. I’ve booked us for dinner at the Fresh Air Restaurant in the hydroponics area of Green Sector. Be there at 1900. In the meantime, I have some business to attend, but I’m sure you can busy yourself productively. Colonel Vance out.’
The Colonel’s face disappeared, replaced by the Babylon 5 insignia. Vance’s ears rang from his father’s grating tone, a voice that had commanded hundreds, maybe thousands, of men in its time. Now it commanded him. Again. Vance wasn’t averse to taking orders, but he spent years trying to disassociate himself from the Colonel. Unfortunately, just like his journey here, he had no control over this. The Colonel piloted the ship this time.
His unpacking took very little time, as he’d only brought one change of clothes: casual civilian trousers and a shirt. Vance hoped the Fresh Air Restaurant wasn’t a jacket and tie affair or he would be turned away at the door. He could imagine the look on his father’s face if that happened.
It was only 1630, plenty of time to look around and take in the station. He had heard a lot about it: the cautionary tales about it being a den of iniquity, the
superstitious stories of the jinx hanging over it, the undeniable fact that its four predecessors had all come to untimely ends. Despite all this, Vance was never one to believe rumours; he always liked to experience things before forming an opinion. Donning his civilian clothing, he headed for the door but then paused. His combat knife was still tucked in his duffle bag. If the station was half as bad as some of the stories suggested, he might need it. He almost turned around, almost opened the bag and took out his only real weapon, when he remembered the Narn in the shuttle, how he offered a friendly smile and completely surprised Vance with his affable nature. Smiling to himself, Vance left the knife and headed toward Red Sector.
True to its reputation, the Zocalo was a hive of activity. Along with the stories of the station’s tragedy and woe, Vance had also heard about the Zocalo. Apparently you could find anything here, as long as you were willing to pay the right price. Vance guessed that was most likely an exaggeration, but as long as he could get a strong drink, all was well. His hangover had faded on the shuttle from Earth, and he usually did not drink two days in a row unless he was forced--Chavez and Weekes could be very persuasive. But if he was going to meet his father, some chemically induced courage might be necessary.
Like any bar on any planet, the Zocalo had an eclectic mix of patrons, with many more aliens than Vance was used to. He had travelled his share of alien planets, had taken leave on many more, but rarely had he seen a Brakiri standing shoulder to shoulder with a Drazi and a Llort.
It didn’t take the barman long to serve him, and Vance handed over his credit chip, asking for a Rubbles. Vance had grown accustomed to the Martian beer when he was last posted there. The barman handed him the red bottle, and Vance took a long draught. Happy memories accompanied the bitter-tasting brew as it washed down his throat. Not quite as cold as he , liked, but you couldn’t have everything. The last time he sank a bottle of Rubbles, he’d been surrounded by his mates. Now he was stuck on a station in the back of beyond, waiting to dine with the great Colonel Vance. It made him feel like a condemned man.
