The Sins Of The Father
(aka Paternal Instincts)
A Star Eagle Adventures Short Story
(aka Paternal Instincts)
A Star Eagle Adventures Short Story
“Jon,” said Vice Admiral Glover, surprised to see his colleague enter the room. “You don’t usually attend these meetings. What brings you down here from your dark and mysterious layer on the forty-second floor?”
Glover was right. Jonathan Owens was a rare sight at Starfleet Command. There was in fact, little knowledge as to his exact role or position with the organization. His division, whatever it did, occupied most of the forty-second floor and only a privileged few appeared to have access.
Owens took the comment with a smirk as he sat down at the conference table next to Glover. “It got a little bit too dark and mysterious up there.”
“Even a vampire needs to get out sometimes,” said Admiral Paris who had opened the shades to the large panorama windows to allow for a stunning view of Golden Gate Park, flooding the room with sunlight in the process.
“Too bright,” said Owens and held up his hand to mockingly shield his eyes.
Paris took his seat. “I bet it is.”
Moments later Alynna Nechayev and Admiral Leyton entered the room and quickly took their chairs but not before taking a quick note of Jonathan Owens’ presence.
Nechayev had taken the head of the table.
“I hope you are all well this fine morning,” she said and pulled out a padd. “Let’s get through this quickly, shall we? This is just a quick review meeting and I have about three dozen much more urgent conferences to attend today, including one with the Tellarite ambassador who hates being kept waiting.”
“I’m sure a couple of well placed insults will easily appease him,” said Glover. “The lower you aim the better his disposition.”
This elicited some chuckles around the room but Nechayev wasn’t in the mood. “If that’s the case maybe I should bring you along, Sam,” she said humorlessly.
Glover decided not to make another remark.
“Alright, gentlemen, this is about the latest ship assignments. Let’s run through the list quickly. Ticonderoga to Matthews, Mumbai to Trellx, Shenandoah to Gibson, Sutherland to Quinn -”
“Actually, J.P. might have somebody else in mind for the Sutherland,” Leyton interrupted.
“Fine,” said Nechayev, “you can have another discussion on the Sutherland nearer the time she’s going to be ready. Moving on: Chenta to Woo, Eagle to Riker, Paragon to Richardson -“
“If I may, Alynna,” said Jonathan Owens.
The admiral stopped reading and glanced up from her padd to look at Owens. Her glare making it quite obvious that she didn’t appreciate being called by her given name.
Owens took no notice. “I don’t understand why we are going through this every year. It should be obvious by now that Riker has no intention of taking a command. The new Enterprise will launch next year and he has made it clear he wants to be back at Picard’s side. So why go through these motions? Let him come to us if he’s really committed to taking that center seat.”
Glover nodded. “I agree, we are wasting our time with Riker. Let’s give Eagle to somebody who really wants her.”
“Very well,” said Nechayev, not willing to spend more time on this issue than was absolutely necessary. “Do we have any other candidates?”
There was a momentary silence as the flag officers present mulled over worthy officers who were in line for promotions or a new command.
“I’d like to put Michael Owens forward,” said Jonathan Owens.
“There’s a surprise,” Paris said, rolling his eyes.
“He has proven himself as a starship captain while filling in some mighty big shoes, taking over the Columbia from Mendez. He is in line to get another command.”
“Leaving aside for a moment that he’s your son, Jon,” said Leyton. “You don’t want us to consider Riker because he’s been hesitant to take his own command and now you’re suggesting a man who has almost gone out of his way to declare that he has no interest in sitting in that chair again.”
“He’s interested,” said Owens sharply.
“That’s not what he sounded like at the Columbia inquiry,” said Paris.
“Trust me, I’m his father, I know he wants another ship.”
Glover had picked up a padd and quickly brought up Michael’s file. “He’s got a great track record, I have no objections of giving him Eagle,” he said and then looked at Owens. “If he really wants her.”
“May I remind everyone of the fateful decisions he made leading up to Columbia’s destruction. If he had followed orders the ship would never have been lost in the first place,” Paris said.
“You mean your orders,” said Owens.
“Orders are orders,” countered the other admiral. “Differently to you, I don’t have any personal feelings in the matter.”
“Really?” said Owens. “Because I distinctly remember your rather detailed objections at the inquiry. You sounded positively vicious. Michael, blew up his ship to save a populated world. He received a medal and commendations for his actions. How would it look if we were to refuse him another command now?”
“We gave him that medal for appearances sake and you know it. We’re not in the business to reward insubordination and that’s exactly the message we will be sending.”
Nechayev rubbed her temples, clearly not having expected such a heated conversation. “Gentlemen, I don’t have time for this. Make your recommendations by next week and we take it from there,” she said, stood and briskly left the room.
* * *
He pressed down hard on the clutch and then smoothly shifted the stick into fourth and final gear.
The engine roared with the power of 400 horses unleashed.
He smirked with satisfaction when the needle on the old fashioned display finally reached 120 mph. It had taken him all afternoon to find a suitable spot to open her up. It hadn’t been for a lack of long and open roads in the Wisconsin countryside. But it turned out, bothersome traffic, on foot and in leisurely cruising skimmers persisted even in the 24th century.
He noticed with annoyance that the vintage muscle car was dragging slightly to the right but he was not inclined to slowing her down. Not yet. Instead he compensated by slightly turning the large steering wheel and continued to push her faster.
Michael Owens had travelled at speeds many multiple times faster than this but somehow the thrill of racing a combustion powered car down a road, the vibrations of the engine and the suspension and even the smell of oil and gasoline were all part of an experience even a starship couldn’t quite offer.
The adrenaline rush didn’t last nearly long enough.
His house appeared down the road and the gasoline indicator had almost reached empty. It was time to bring her in.
He cut a sharp corner, causing the tires to squeak loudly on the dura-asphalt pavement and steered the car up the dirt road leading to the yellow, three story antebellum-style family home.
Somebody was waiting for him at the end of the driveway and he knew exactly who it was before he was close enough to make out a face.
Her bright blond hair was not the only thing that gave her away. The woman, a girl really, practically glowed under the bright summer sun.
Owens smirked wickedly, accelerated then whipped around the wheel and hit the brakes hard.
The car skittered across the driveway causing the tail end to break out dangerously.
The young woman’s eyes grew wide like saucers and she took a few quick steps backwards when it appeared the driver had lost control.
The car came to a stop long before it had any chance of hitting her.
“Hey,” he said casually through the open window of the vehicle.
She appeared too shaken to speak right away.
He jumped out of the bright orange muscle car. “What'd you think?”
“I think,” she said slowly, “that this is an incredibly dangerous, not to mention environmentally damaging mode of transportation.”
He nodded as he walked up to the large hood and popped it easily. “Yeah. Also, a hell of a lot of fun to ride. 1969 Pontiac GTO, Judge edition. Ram Air IV engine, 400 hp at 5700 rpm. 0-60 in less than 5.1 seconds. As far as I know only two of these babies still exist and I’ve got one.”
DeMara Deen shrugged her shoulders and she joined Owens by the engine. “None of that means anything to me. What I do know is that more people have been killed by automobile accidents in Earth history than by all other means of transportation combined.”
Michael looked up with annoyance. “You are a regular buzz kill, did you know that? Tell you what, I take you on a spin and I bet you’ll be singing another tune real fast.”
She considered him as if he had lost his mind, then looked at the car and back at him. “In that thing? I don’t think so.”
“I thought you liked a challenge,” he said and reached into the engine to try and move aside a few wires. He failed to realize that the motor was still smoldering hot and painfully withdrew his hand.
“Might want to let that cool down first,” she said with a self-satisfying smile.
“Thanks for the advice, grease monkey,” he said and reached for a piece of cloth which was stuck in the back pocket of his denim pants to assist him in the task. “What brings you out here anyway?”
When she didn’t answer he looked up at her youthful face. “I’ve heard they offered you a post as operations officer on the Farragut. That’s a good ship.”
“I’m holding out to get a chief science post.”
“You have to be realistic, Dee. They’re not going to just hand you an entire science department on an explorer. You’re twenty-one years old, five years out of the Academy. Even your first rate Tenarian education isn’t going to help you on this one. Give it a few more years.”
“Well, maybe if I had a captain who’d request my services …”
Owens noticed somebody watching him from an upstairs window. The man withdrew before he could get a good look but he didn’t need to see his face to know who he was. He angrily dropped the hood with a loud bang. “That’s why you are here, isn’t it? You are wasting your time, Dee. Take the Farragut posting.”
“I can’t. She left two days ago.”
“Let me guess, this was his idea, wasn’t it? Soften me up with those big purple eyes of yours and then convince me to take another ship? Well, you can lay off the charm because it’s not going to work on me,” he said and turned away to head towards the garage.
Deen followed him, with anger now rising in her own voice. “That is not fair, Michael. You make it sound as if I have some sort of on and off switch. Well, I don’t. And even if I did I wouldn’t try to charm you into anything. The truth is, I honestly believe that you should have another command. You deserve it. Also … I want to serve with you again.”
“Some things are just not meant to be, Dee.”
“Why not? Because you lost a ship, a crewmember? Michael those things happen. Besides there was nothing you could have done differently. It doesn’t mean you have to give up on your dreams.”
Owens turned to face her. “I didn’t just lose any ship. I lost the old man’s ship. His ship and so much more.“
Deen knew that he had always reserved that particular epithet for a man he had looked up. More than that. Loved and respected. And that person was not his father.
“I destroyed his entire legacy in one single move,” he said and then looked directly into her eyes. “I could have avoided it, Dee, I could have followed my goddamn orders like I was supposed to. How can I trust myself with another ship and another crew after what I’ve done?”
She apparently had no immediate answer for that.
Owens looked up at the window where he had seen the person watching him earlier. “I’m going to put an end to this for once and for all,” he said and walked into the house.
* * *
He found him in his own study, standing at Michael’s desk and looking at a case which contained his Christopher Pike Medal he had received shortly after the Columbia incident.
Michael frowned. It had been hidden away at the bottom of a drawer.
“Does she still pull to her right at high speeds,” Jonathan Owens said while he kept his back towards his son.
“Yeah,” he said and stuffed the dirty cloth back into the back of his jeans. “I think it’s the front axle.”
Owens Senior nodded. “I never found the time to look at that.”
Michael wanted to laugh. His father had never found time to do anything besides his job. “Well, looks like I’ve got plenty of that on my hands now.”
Jonathan turned around and threw his son a very small black case.
Michael caught it easily.
“No you don’t,” said the admiral. “Starfleet will be giving you another ship.”
He opened the box to find a solid, round pip inside.
Michael Owens wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it. He had wanted to be a captain, a proper captain, since his second year in Starfleet Academy. He had occupied the center seat on the Columbia for nearly ten months but he had never felt like it had been his ship. It was and always had been the old man’s. Until he destroyed it.
He found himself staring at the piece of insignia which by itself meant nothing. The truth was, he wanted it. He had always wanted it.
He looked up to find his father’s probing eyes. “A new command, huh? I doubt that very much. They might give me a promotion but they’re not giving me another ship. Paris was quite clear on that subject.”
“Don’t worry about Paris.”
This made Michael angry again. “Dad, I’ve told you I don’t want you meddling with my career. It is none of your business so stay out of it. Whatever I’m going to achieve, I’ll do on my own.”
“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic, son.”
“Tell me you are not interfering.”
“Listen, all I’ve ever done -“
“Tell me, dad or this conversation ends now.”
“Fine, fine,” he said, throwing his hands up into the air. “I’m not interfering with your career. Happy?”
“Than how do you know about Starfleet giving me another ship?”
“Because, son, I am an admiral. I work in the building. I hear things.”
Michael didn’t look convinced. “I don’t care. It’s just not going to happen. I’m not going to accept another command.”
Jonathan Owens moved closer. “All I ask is that you think about it. Go and have a look at her. A look won’t hurt. See her for your own eyes and if you still decide that you don’t want her, I promise I’ll never bring it up again.”
Michael Owens gave him a short nod.
* * *
