Legacy

Earth Year 2502

There was a decent wind. How perfect. Marcus Moore climbed the old wood ladder to the roof, aware of how foolish it might seem to not tie himself to the ridge as the workers had. Looking down 30 feet to the ground gave him a strange sense of calm.

The workers acknowledged him as they repaired the aged roof tile of the ancestral Moore home. It would be Marcus’s home once his father, Grand General Mark Moore, died. Until then, Marcus lived in the heir’s house at the edge of the property. It was a nice enough home, quite large compared to some around town, but not as nice as Marcus wanted.

As a Bishop, Marcus made a good amount of money for relatively little work. He spent a surprising amount of time smoking cigars with the other Bishops, debating the best ways to apply Doctrine.

Mark himself climbed onto the roof. At 49, Mark was still fit. Many men his age were worn down from years of militia service and work, not to mention raising large families. Mark hauled himself onto the roof like a man half his age.

At 32, Marcus felt the effects of age. His knees creaked as he walked toward his father. The roof did not have too much of a pitch, but he made extra sure to keep away from the edge. A fall from this height could be tragic, and he had no intention of leaving his boys fatherless.

“Sir,” Marcus said as he reached the older Moore. They shook hands briefly.

Mark looked around. “Not bad for a 400-year-old roof.”

It could hardly be called a 400-year-old roof, having been replaced at least 10 times. And extensively repaired every 10 years. In addition to being well cared for in between.

“Incredible, for sure,” said Marcus. From their position, they could see clear into town, right to the magnificent stained glass of the church. Growing up, Marcus had spent many nights on the roof, just watching the distant glass sparkle. Of course, it also meant he would see the occasional alien ship passing far off in the sky. They stayed well away from the colony, likely knowing the militia would destroy them.

“You too good to swing a hammer?” asked Mark. “That’s your boy down there hauling tile, isn’t it? Ten, and already more of a man than you.”

Marcus made sure to keep his reaction off his face. Instead, he looked toward the workers. “It’s coming along well. Work should be done by dinner. The women are making something special.”

“Good. At least James has earned it.”

Since James was born, Mark had been enamored with him. He wasn’t even the man’s first grandson, though Marcus didn’t like to think of that. As if it were his fault his first wife had been incapable of producing a suitable heir. But Mark had taken to little James as if all his hopes were pinned to the kid. Marcus couldn’t think of a time his father had given him the same attention.

“Oh,” said Marcus, snapping his fingers, “spoke to Overseer Andrews today. He’s ready for the Border Patrol war games between Jerusalem and Galilee. I think this year will be the best yet.”

“Should be. I hear there’s money changing hands. Good odds on Jerusalem.”

Marcus tried to soften the severe expression he could feel on his face. With workers around, he didn’t need rumors of insubordination.

Lowering his voice, Marcus said, “The Virtue Squads know of this? Gambling? Disgraceful.”

Mark shook his head. “I never did manage to teach you which battles are important. There are worse things than gambling.”

Marcus disagreed. Doctrine was clear on wagering, just as it was on practically everything else. Gambling was forbidden. Letting something like that slide was questionable.

Of course, Marcus questioned many things his father did. The Grand General was supposed to be the bedrock of morality. Mark let a few too many “small” things slip by unchallenged. A woman speaking in church here, a homeless man sleeping near the cemetery there. It all led to the flood of hedonistic sin pervading New Covenant.

Bringing that up to the most powerful man in the colony was a delicate procedure. When Marcus had tried, Mark responded with bizarre questions.

Have you thought by about what we’re doing here?

Do you believe Doctrine is infallible?

Can you explain New Covenant without mentioning aliens?

Utter nonsense, if you asked Marcus.

It was just another strange occurrence when it came to General Mark Moore. Some Bishops had been whispering about the man. No one said anything to Marcus, of course, as the man’s son. But he caught enough snippets.

Some people were questioning the Grand General’s belief in Doctrine. Looking back on everything, Marcus saw their point. It was hard to imagine, let alone admit even to himself, but it was true.

His father was an Unbeliever.

The job wrapped up and the workmen cleared out. Mark stood at the southeast corner of the roof and looked out at the town center. Marcus joined him there, taking in the familiar sight with a sense of peace.

The older man handed him a cigar. “I think we can spare a few moments to enjoy this view,” he said.

Marcus put the cigar in his mouth. He was not fond of them, but didn’t feel the need to bring that up. There were more important matters.

“Are you so certain the aliens won’t come for us?” Marcus asked.

Mark glanced at him for half a second. “What?”

“We spoke last week. You mentioned you think it’s strange it has been so long without an attack.”

Mark made a sound of amusement. “My grandfather had no memory of an attack. That is how long it has been.”

“That does not mean they are not preparing another. These demons are cunning and bloodthirsty. We can never underestimate their desire to see us destroyed.”

Mark tilted his head a little. The sun was nearly set, and everything had a beautiful golden glow. There was a clanging from the ground at the rear of the house, but Marcus ignored that. His eyes were fixed on his father, waiting for his reply.

“I think it would serve us well to worry less about an alien attack and worry more for our people here and now. There are children in our colony starving to death. That’s not the aliens’ doing. That’s us. We can do better.”

“Parents are responsible for ensuring their children are fed. No one else.” Marcus barely held in his disgusted tone. “We are responsible for ensuring those children aren’t eaten alive by the very aliens you claim we should not concern ourselves with.”

There was a long silence. A house down the road was cooking over a fire pit. The smoke drifted over the trees toward the north. Marcus idly noted his own house would probably smell like smoke for the evening. Not that it would be such a big deal.

Mark faced him, turning away from the magnificent image of the twinkling glass. He met Marcus’s eye with a strangely open expression.

“We can no longer define ourselves by our enemies. We must move beyond this fear and rediscover ourselves. It’s time.”

In a swift motion, Marcus shoved his father.

Mark was there, and then he was gone.

For a long moment, Marcus watched the sun dip below the horizon.

Below, Mark lay on the ground with his limbs twisted in several unnatural directions. Just a few feet away, 10-year-old James stared at the body, as still as the corpse itself.

After several beats, the boy seemed to shake himself, then looked up to meet Marcus’s eye. It was impossible to guess what he had seen. For all Marcus knew, the boy walked up moments after the fall.

James could be a problem for him, but something told him things would work out fine. And, it would be easy to deal with if it wasn’t going to work out. For as much as Marcus was preparing James to succeed him, he did have several other sons.

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