Generations (The Nimbus Collection Book 3)

by Clemens, D. C.

  The transport eventually reached the Sol system, and through a stripe of window, he saw Thean looking upon the blue and green capital world of the Coalition, and mother planet to all of humanity. The transport flew its two hundred passengers into Earth’s atmosphere, getting closer to the North American continent. They had come when this side of the world was facing away from Sol, however, even after light pollution was cut drastically over two hundred years ago, the glowing signs of civilization still clearly outlined the major cities and towns dotting the continent. His transport headed for one of the brightest in the northern Midwest. The last message he received from Eamon instructed him that they would meet at Vincent’s old apartment, which he had kept up in his absence. This heartened Vincent a bit.

  The transport docked in a section of Lake Michigan’s shores, and after renting an auto-cab, Vincent and his son landed on the eighty-five story personal garage of his old high-rise apartment just outside the main downtown area. He carried Thean into a home three times as large as the previous, placing the drowsy child onto a spare bed. Thean did not seem too thrilled by the spaceflight and wasted a lot of energy quivering in his father’s arms. As Vincent began laying out the few belongings he brought with him, his cerebral inbox received a missive from Eamon, telling him he would arrive in a few minutes. Knowing what his brother liked, he took out some old scotch and poured the single-malt into two glasses. Vincent preferred the blended kinds, but none were around.

  The unlocked door soon permitted his brother to enter. As per usual, the trim build of Eamon was wearing an expensive black business suit, though he walked in it as though it were the most casual thing in the world. In another standard example, his demeanor and expression were unreadable as he walked up to his little brother. The only sign of geniality came from an extended hand, which Vincent took.

  With a voice that was both deep and suave as polished quartz, Eamon said, “There is nothing I can say that will make your suffering any less, so let me just say I’m pleased you returned to your rightful place.”

  As they sat on the end of the dining room table where the scotch and some water was located, Vincent replied, “Hearing you say that does make me feel better. To be honest, I thought you might still carry a grudge.”

  Eamon swirled his drink. “I’ll admit that I did, for a while. But I know I can be controlling, and if she really could make you happy, then I suppose I had to accept that. I simply didn’t think she could. If she hadn’t been a soldier it might have been a different story, but I know you, Vincent. You need to feel wanted, and someone who made an oath to dedicate their life to another’s cause is not the type of person I saw as providing that feeling for you. Not in a reliable basis, at least. I am sorry this is the way you had to learn it for yourself.”

  “You don’t know anything about the attack, do you? I know none of your people were involved, but you must have known something.”

  “Something, yes. We were contacted by someone about a year ago concerning a largescale partnership of syndicate parties, but the more I looked into it, the more I didn’t see the investment as worth it. I especially didn’t like the rumors about a possible connection to a Depraved cult. I’m extra pleased now that I didn’t support the partnership. I doubt you would have returned if my people were involved.”

  “I know this is a lot to ask, but do you think there’s a possibility you could aid the authorities in capturing those responsible?”

  “That would benefit the both of us, I think. You would get some reprisal and I could weaken my competition. Still, I would have to be delicate. I would gain many irate enemies if they realized I was the one providing the authorities with information, but this is not the way to move on with your own life. You know this, however, or you wouldn’t be here.”

  “Yes. I would like your blessing to return to the only job I know I can do. I would have one condition, though. Thean must be shielded from this life as much as possible.”

  “I will leave that up to you.”

  “I request this because I would still like for him to learn from his uncle. I know you don’t care much for children, but you’re the smartest person I know. He’s quite well behaved for a two year old, you know.”

  “I’m sure he is. We’ll see what the future holds on that front.”

  Over the next few months, Vincent gradually reinserted himself back into the life. To aid in the readjustment, Eamon recommend he take on simpler jobs for the time being, an idea that appealed to him. If more of his old friends were still around, then he might have been more inclined to prove himself at a faster pace, but with many of them graduating to higher positions or sent to other planets, Vincent was content with taking it easy for a year or so.

  Thean also forced a slower pace of life, as he worked to integrate his son to the bustling lifestyle of Earth and temperament of his uncle. The latter actually went well. Little Thean appeared to feel the domineering presence his uncle brought into every room he entered, and instead of reeling from it, Thean was intrigued. His uncle, while never delving into the sugary act that many adults phased into when around a toddler, appeared to approve of the child’s tamed conduct when around him.

  Seven months after his reintroduction to the life, Vincent was sent to the docks with the simple mission of making sure that some smuggled cargo made it from point A to point B. He joined up with a couple of others in that frosty night. He was wearing some brand new red armor Eamon had bought for him a few weeks before, but only now got the chance to wear. His official job, if anyone asked, was a security guard, the same explanation he had in the old days.

  As he led his two compatriots down the middle of a stack of cargo crates on either side of him, all suddenly went dark. If he had still been alive, he would have noticed how his shield did not activate to stop the sniper’s bullet.

  Eamon

  January 15th, 3522 S.E.

  “You were correct, sir,” said Eamon’s most trusted lawyer. “No one seems to be all that concerned with your brother’s death. They’re chalking it up to another senseless syndicate on syndicate killing. However, his child might bring some eyes on us. Do you wish to leave him with some grandparent?”

  “Nonsense,” answered a nonchalant Eamon. “My brother wanted his nephew to learn from me. I think I shall oblige him.”