Tethers: Glory and Sadness

Tethers: Glory and Sadness
In Memoriam
For my Grandfathers, Rocco Stellatano and Herman Niehaus

It had only been a year since the war ended. To say that the galaxy had restored its tranquility would be a far cry from the truth, as humans had never been presented with the daunting task of reviving dozens of war-torn planets. But the lives of the surviving soldiers that had been bred to fight were slowly, carefully being put back together and placed appropriately in the galaxy. Like a well-oiled machine, soldiers were evaluated and shipped off to perform specifically-designed tasks and rebuilding human society.

Elisebeth Shepard pushed hard on the government-issued hoverchair as she ascended a tall hill with her brother. Bruce Shepard kept his eyes shut as gravity pulled on him, his abdomen the lowest part of his body that was able to detect the pressure. They reached the top of the hill and Elisebeth turned her brother to the left, following a paved sidewalk to a tall, synthesized Bradford Pear tree that had taken up residence after botanists on the government payroll planted it. Though vast, the tree was most likely no more than six weeks old.

An artificially-created breeze blew past the brother and sister as they looked down at the almost too-green grass. A marble tombstone lay flat on the ground, man-made as much as the plants around it.

On Bruce's lap sat a bouquet of yellow daffodils. They were fragrant and soft to the touch, brilliant and comparable to the artificial flowers planted at the bottom of the hill. But they were real. Bruce had spent the past several weeks gathering seeds and planting them, watering them carefully and allowing only just enough sunlight. He'd never created life before, and he took this task as seriously as any mission he had ever conducted in between his daily therapy sessions. He grasped the stalks in his hand and used the other to push himself up from the hoverchair, his sister at his side but not to chide him into sitting back down so she could do it. Elisebeth grabbed Bruce and helped lower him enough to place the flowers in the small vase behind the tombstone, adorning the departed with the respect of the living.

As Bruce settled back in his chair, Elisebeth placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, neither of them speaking or looking at each other. At length, Bruce's hand lifted and settled upon his sister's, a soft sigh escaping his lips. Their minds were everywhere but the cemetery, yet in the same places--they traveled to the training grounds of their youth, the nights together in Sarge's office, the bar on Apollo, places where they were alive and working. Their missions were over and lived on in the past--in the memories, even the repressed ones--but in the presence, this peaceful hill with the swaying tree, the only memory was riddled with sorrow.

Elisebeth swallowed the lump in her throat and gave her brother's shoulder a squeeze. There was only so much time they could spend at the tombstone before the gesture became too difficult to bear. Turning the hoverchair, Elisebeth began pushing Bruce back down the hill, now having to pull to keep him from sliding out of control all the way to the bottom. Bruce turned his head and watched the tree, the little, yellow petals of the daffodils swaying serenely in the breeze and growing smaller and smaller as they left until the hill covered them completely.