Free Independence Day: Crucible (The Official Prequel) by Greg Keyes Page A

“Figured you’ve had a long day and might appreciate the evening off.”
    “You’ve got that right,” she said. “My thoughtful man.”
    “And how about you, young lady?” he asked. “Do you have homework?”
    “Actually, I do,” she said. “Anatomy and physiology.”
    “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Hiller said. “I’ve got an advanced degree in that. I can think of several topics to assign you right off the top of my head.”
    “Really?” she said. “You think you can just bust in here, givin’ out assignments—you best go stir that spaghetti sauce, or it’s gonna burn.”
    “I’m gonna stir somthin’,” he said, but then he smelled the char in the air. “Shoot,” he said, and he hurried back to the stove.
    “It’s all good,” he said, stirring. “That’s how mama did it. Brings the flavor.”
    He turned off the burner.
    * * *
    After homework, they had supper. The sauce was a little burnt, but no one complained. Dylan claimed to like it better that way. When they finished eating, he and the boy did the dishes, while Jasmine did her reading.
    “I can’t get over it,” Steve said, rinsing a plate and handing it to Dylan to dry. “You’re shooting up like a weed. Can you dunk yet?”
    “Not really,” Dylan said.
    “Well it won’t be long,” Hiller told him. “Then watch out. So how do you like third grade?”
    “It’s okay,” he said.
    “Okay? How bad can it be? You know, back in my day, if you couldn’t answer a question you got blasted by a fire hose.”
    Dylan grinned. “I don’t believe that,” he said.
    “Well, it was way harder back then,” Hiller said. “Let’s just leave it at that. You have a girlfriend?”
    “Dad!” he said. “No, man! Girls are nasty.”
    “Really?” Hiller said. “Nasty, huh? Does that include Patricia?”
    “That’s different,” Dylan said. “She’s my best friend, not my girlfriend.”
    “Yeah, you two get along, don’t you,” he said. “That’s good. Have you worked out what you wanna be when you grow up?”
    “Well, sure,” Dylan said. “I want to be a pilot, like you.”
    Hiller felt a swell of pride, but he tamped it down.
    “That’s one choice,” he said, “but I want you to know that you can be anything you want to be, son. You don’t have to follow in my footsteps, or anybody’s. And as long as you do what you choose with passion, and conviction—I will always be proud of you.”
    “Thanks, Dad,” Dylan said.
    Hiller smiled. Back when he and Jasmine were dating, Dylan always called him “Steve,” and that was okay. They got along, and it would have been weird if the kid had called him anything else. Even after they got married, the boy kept calling him Steve, and he didn’t give it any thought. Neither did Jasmine.
    Then one day, a few months ago, they had been on a playground, and Dylan introduced him to another kid as “my dad.” Afterward, on the way home, he said,
“Thanks, Dad. I had a good day.”
    It had almost taken his breath away, shaken him up in a good way. It wasn’t that he loved Dylan any more after—he already loved him. He couldn’t explain how it had changed him, even to Jasmine, but it had, and even though he had been in outer space, his world now seemed infinitely bigger.
    He let Jasmine do the good-night stuff—he was gone a lot, and Dylan liked the routine he was used to. Afterward, Jasmine joined him at the kitchen table.
    “Okay,” she said. “Let’s have it. What’s going on?”
    “What makes you think anything is going on?” he asked.
    “Because I know you,” she said. “You’ve got something on your mind, and you’re being shy about it.”
    “Yeah,” he said.
    “So let’s hear it.”
    He cleared his throat. “Okay, well, see—there’s this new thing they’re starting. The Earth Space Defense—”
    “I watch the news,” she said.
    “Well, see, one part of the program involves developing aircraft with new… capabilities.”
    “Like