You'll Thank Me

"Sir?”

“Yes, Private?” The Commander said, his automaton voice droning. What could possibly be worth pestering him about in the wee hours of his circadian rhythm, while he was still charging no less?

“A Gamman ship has broken into our docking station. Sir.”

Commander Ruckus shot to attention immediately. The war between the imperial Gamman militia and rough-and-tumble rebels had been warring on for eons, now. By this point, Commander Ruckus shouldn’t have been surprised when imperialists began to break into his armada, forced a landing in his docking stations, and attempted to lay siege on his ship; to snip the rebellion in the bud once and for all. In fact, he hadn’t been surprised in the slightest. Security needed time to arrive, so the Commander was ready with his battle axe to defend his ship on his own. He blocked the doorway with his massive metal body, his gears whirring in his ears. What he wasn’t ready for was who would come out of the scout ship’s door.

The commander stared in horror, and as he laid eyes on the enemy, time fell still. Machine stared directly into machine. He knew that face, those eyes, his hands, his hair. He had assembled them himself. He crafted and coded him, cradled him as a baby, watched him grow from a distance as the years flew by. His own son stood before him with a look of hatred in his eye. The Commander swallowed hard and lowered his weapon.

“What are you doing here?” he said, and his tall and mighty persona did nothing to quell the quiver in his voice. The other figure flicked a large scimitar into his hand. It zipped and crackled with electricity. The voltage was surely enough to fry either of their processors. He stalked forward.

“Me?” he said, his voice darkened and dripping with malice. “I’m protecting my empire. What are you doing on this side of the galaxy? Why show your face after so long? Why now?” The enemy lifted his weapon and slammed it down to attack, the electricity whipping around it and making a thundering sound. Ruckus rose the side of his blade to block it. The swords smashed together with a gnarly, wicked clang. His son was much stronger than the last time they met, his force making the Commander’s arms start to buckle. With a pained grunt, he pushed his blade forward with all of his might and shoved his son away.

The young man stumbled back and fell against the metal grate. The noise shattered the elder’s ears. Ruckus took a step back, panting, as his son rose with a grunt.

“Your empire? What the hell did they do to you?” He didn’t get the chance to explain himself – the enemy scout was rushing forward again, pushing his blade forward and down to snare his stomach. Ruckus parried it. Again and again, Joel took his rage out on his father.

“Enough!” And he poured his body into another block, sending his son flying again. The younger robot hit the grate another time, sliding until the cold draft of the fans below lapped at his back. And, as his son lay still, shocked into silence, Ruckus was sure that adrenaline existed in their kin. His internal structures were creaking and whipping in his chest, and he stood still, trying not to overheat. “What’s your problem with me?”

“My problem?” Joel said, his voice cracked under the pressure of his anger. “You’ve fucked off to who knows where for my entire life.” He crawled to his weapon, then stumbled to his feet. The raw edge of his voice upgraded in intensity until he was screaming. “I needed you, and I find out you’ve been playing footsies with some – some rebel numbskulls!”

“Footsies!? I was trying to fight for you!” he said, and the Commander’s voice grew heavy with the same turmoil that Joel’s voice portrayed. Joel inched forward and the Commander inched back. Ruckus held his weapon in front of him. Both men could see it shiver in his grip. “When all this shit started. When the fleet took everything from us. I couldn’t just sit and let you grow up into that! I had to do something!”

“You failed! Horribly!” The young man rose his hands in anger, letting them fall numbly at his sides. Metal smacked against metal and the noise sang in the massive room. “Fucking look at me!” The commander winced. Both machines stilled, watching each other. The Army’s insignia was displayed on the younger robot’s chest plate, on his gloves, along his weapon. Joel spoke again, spitting ire at his father’s feet. “What the hell did you think was gonna happen? You left me and Dad for no reason.”

“I chose to protect you. Your rights. Your dignity. He chose to let you live like this,” he said, “you should know what becomes of those who do the right thing in ‘your’ empire. It would have made you a target if I stayed.”

“You didn’t choose me, though.” And as he spoke, the younger android marched forward, until they were inches apart. The Commander walked back cautiously, until his back was against the closed door to his armada. Joel pointed aggressively at him. “You didn’t choose to be with me. You chose to gallop across the stars and blow shit up over your family!”

Ruckus rose his axe just a little more.

“When this shit is all done, you’ll thank me,” he said, his voice cautious. Joel scoffed. Snarled. And charged again.

Newfound strength clashed and collided with Ruckus’ weapon. He stumbled in his grip and his knees buckled, making him kneel on the floor. The other robot towered over him and pressed down, threatening electrocution with every inch his blade gained. Ruckus stared into the eyes of his only son. He couldn’t struggle anymore. The Commander threw the enemy off him, rose his axe, and slammed it into his foot.

Oil burst from the cracks in his son’s metal. The metal he welded. A shrill shriek echoed in the cavernous room. Joel hit the ground hard. He dropped his scimitar in favor of grabbing at his foot and snarling in pain. Ruckus stared at the scene he had just created. He had made a terrible mistake. He heard the thundering of footsteps vaguely behind him. With a shuddering breath, the Commander dropped to his knees and grabbed his son’s foot, too. He fumbled at finding the limb’s eject button. Finally, when it was pressed, his damaged foot was abandoned, his oil supply cut off, and his foot was replaced by a stump.

Joel tried to scurry away, but Ruckus scooped him up in his arms. With the guards banging on the door, yelling for their Commander to open it, he carried his son back to his scout ship. Joel stared at him with a look of uncertainty as he was sat in his seat. Ruckus looked at the creaking door, filled with the bodyweight of his militia, then back to his son. His face softened.

“Go,” he said. He stepped away, and the ship’s door closed in front of him.

When the doors to the docking station finally opened, Commander Ruckus was alone. He looked to his armada, standing with his oil-slicked battle axe as a cane. The guard scanned the area, uncertain.

“What happened, sir?”

The android glanced around. He noticed the abandoned scimitar. He pushed it off the ledge, letting it fall into the fans below.

“False alarm, Private.” He announced, straightening his posture and making the guards stand at attention in response. “It was just a trade ship. Everyone, return to your stations.”

A groan resounded among the group, but they followed instruction. As the Commander walked through the entrance, he lingered, and looked back on the scene. A heavy sigh bubbled from inside him. He closed the door.