A/N: This story continues on from Prom Night Part 1 and Prom Night Part 2. You can continue reading this from either one of those parts. (It is not necessary to read Prom Night Part 2.)
Chapter 10
"What the hell were you thinking, Anderson?"
Chief Anderson rubbed his temple, sorry he had ever picked up the telephone. But telephones were like that: shrill, loud, and insistent that they be answered.
Just like Thom Cronus.
"I'm not sure what the problem is, Colonel." the Chief replied, in an irritated tone.
"The problem is the half-assed job you're doing, raising my son!" yelled Cronus.
John Anderson didn't understand the man. When Mark had been barely four years old, Cronus had left the boy in his care, because he couldn't be bothered to take care of him, once his wife had died. Oh, officially he had had 'duties' to the Rigan government, and 'work' to be performed on behalf of the Federation… but in Anderson's opinion, Thom Cronus just didn't want to be saddled with a small child. He had left practically all of the child-rearing duties to his wife, and didn't want to take them on himself after she passed away.
The Colonel had never made contact with Mark, and had even requested that Anderson not tell Mark of his true parentage: simply that he was an 'orphan'. The Chief had been only too happy to comply with this request. Why should he tell Mark that his father was a loud-mouthed ass who could barely remember that he did, indeed, have a child?
Mark was a fine boy, and he had grown into an exemplary young man. John Anderson was proud to call him his son, despite the lack of biological relationship. Only, now that Mark was nearly grown, and Commander of G-Force, Thom Cronus had finally remembered that he had a son.
The Colonel had somehow cajoled his way into a faculty position at the Space Academy, purely to examine Mark's capabilities from up close. And from what Anderson had heard, Cronus had gone out of his way to ensure that Mark had as rough a time as possible: forcing him to work twice as hard as any other student, just to keep his head above water.
But despite it all, Mark had excelled. The Chief smiled to himself. He was proud of his son: a young man who could take that kind of abuse, and turn it into something positive, despite the tremendous stress he had been under as the Commander of G-Force.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Anderson said. "From what I understand, Mark just earned the highest score ever recorded on the Space Academy's final flight exam. And you were the one who awarded him that score."
"Actually, the entire faculty agreed that he deserved that score." Was there a hint of pride in the Colonel's gruff voice? Anderson was astonished.
"So, what's the matter, then?"
"He did it without listening to me!" Cronus cried. Almost instantly, he realized how ridiculous that sounded, and he quickly revised his statement.
"I told him what he had to do, and he completely ignored me, going off on his own merry way." the Colonel growled.
Anderson nearly laughed out loud. No wonder Mark had done so well! He had finally learned to ignore Thom, and do what he thought was right. The Commander deserved a medal for such incredible self-restraint.
"But that's not the real issue." Cronus continued.
"What is it now, Thom?" Anderson sighed, rolling his eyes to look at the ceiling.
"It's that little tramp he's been hanging around with."
"Tramp?" The Chief was surprised. "I hadn't heard of Mark being involved with anyone like…"
"I'm talking about that fluff toy you had the nerve to put on his team!" the Colonel ranted. "I told you, years ago, that having a female on a team like this was asking for trouble, and now I'm proven right!"
"Princess?" Anderson asked, astonished. "What's wrong with Princess?"
"I know her type." sneered Cronus. "A few weeks ago, she was all over your Weapons Officer, and now, she's after my son! For all I know, she's entertaining your pilot on the side as well!"
"Now listen here!" Anderson yelled, in a rare moment of anger. "Princess is my daughter, and I will not have you making such baseless accusations about her! She happens to be a lovely girl, and a damn fine Intelligence Officer!"
From where had Cronus gotten his information? Suddenly, the Chief knew. The Colonel must have an informant at the school. Since Mark wasn't really spending any time at the Space Academy any more, his father must have been using someone at Federation High to spy on him.
"She's a bloody distraction!" Cronus insisted.
"A distraction from what?" asked Anderson. "Mark is finished with the Space Academy, and they're both going to graduate from Federation High next week."
"Mark is the Commander of the Federation's elite defense force." the Colonel growled. "He should be thinking about ways to defeat Spectra, not this…. 'prom'…"
The word was uttered with such disgust, that John Anderson nearly laughed out loud. However, he restrained himself, understanding that he would have a much more difficult time reasoning with Cronus if the man felt that he was being mocked.
"I gather, then, that you don't have proms on Riga?" the Chief asked dryly.
"Rigan adolescents have better things to do with their time, than obsess over some puerile mating ritual!"
"So, I gather that Rigans don't mate, then? It's a wonder Mark was ever conceived."
Anderson knew there was no hiding it now. The Colonel had to be aware that the Chief wasn't taking this as seriously as he was.
"That's not amusing, John." It was obvious, from his tone, that Cronus was near the breaking point.
"I don't see any harm in letting the kids go to the prom." Anderson sighed. "After all of the work they've put in over the past few years, they deserve a bit of fun."
"But don't you see how dangerous it is?" cried the Colonel. "They're distracted by all of these adolescent hormones, instead of concentrating on their enemy!"
"I'm sure they'll be available, if a crisis emerges." the Chief reassured him. "They're very responsible young people."
"But how can they respond to a crisis, if they're wearing those damn monkey suits, instead of their uniforms?"
"It will be just fine, Thom." Anderson stressed, before making an excuse and quickly hanging up the phone. He couldn't stand to be part of that conversation one moment longer.
The truth was, Chief Anderson had been somewhat reticent about this prom business himself, but if Cronus was against it… Well, then John Anderson supported the idea one hundred percent.
88888
"How are the plans for the adolescent Earther social gathering proceeding?" Mala asked.
"It's called a 'prom'." Zoltar sighed. "At least get your terminology right, Sister."
"These Earther words are so difficult to remember." Mala shook her head. "I don't know how you retain it all, Brother."
"I remember just enough to get by." Zoltar smiled thinly.
"I can't believe the Great Spirit was so generous with our resources." Mala remarked.
"I know." replied Zoltar. "Odd, isn't it? But I'm hardly going to argue. Obviously this mission is of great importance, to him."
"I have to admit, Brother, at first I wasn't sure that you knew what you were doing, but now, I feel that this plan has merit."
"Thank you, Sister." The Spectran Leader gave Mala a gratified nod.
The Spectran soldier currently manning the Weapons Locker approached, handing his leader a computer pad, listing the current armaments stored there.
"So, which do you think would be better: the gas bombs, or the automatic rifles?" Zoltar asked, perusing the list.
"Well, the automatic rifle is a classic weapon: an old standby. It always fills your needs, and is always appropriate." Mala mused. "The gas bombs are a little more exotic, but they could work too."
"Oh, yes." offered the soldier, "Many squadrons of the Spectran military have placed orders for gas bombs in the last few months!"
"Do you think so?" Zoltar said thoughtfully, "I'm not certain…"
"You never want to try anything new." Mala huffed. "Why did you ask my opinion in the first place, anyway?"
"I really don't know…"
"Fine, then. Go with the rifle. See if I care!"
"I think I'll add a silencer to it."
"What? You've got to be kidding!"
"What's wrong with a silencer?" Zoltar sighed.
"Well, it's not like you want to be silent." Mala pointed out. "Why don't you use a laser sight instead?"
"Why would I prefer a laser sight over a silencer?"
"Silencers are useless." Mala explained patiently, as if speaking to a small child. "But a laser sight… now that could come in handy. It would help your aim."
"Are you saying that my aim needs help?" Zoltar asked indignantly.
"Well, you've never been known as an expert marksman." Mala stated authoritatively.
"Lady Mala is correct." the Weapons Locker soldier added. "A laser sight is much more helpful."
"Whatever." Zoltar scowled at the soldier for agreeing with his sister. "I'll go with the laser sight, then."
"Don't forget to make it black, for better camouflage inside your cape."
"Of course." Zoltar nodded.
"Your mind is a million miles away, Brother." Mala observed.
"Why do you say that?"
"Because you never would have acquiesced so easily unless you were thinking of something else." Mala replied. "Or… someone else."
This comment was met by a stony silence from the Spectran Leader.
"I know!" Mala cried excitedly. "You're thinking about that woman… Shupa…"
"Her name was Sugar." Zoltar replied frostily.
"Sugar. Of course." Mala smirked. "She thought you were so wonderful… until that Earther swept her off her feet."
"You don't need to remind me, Sister." Zoltar remarked sourly.
"And not just any Earther!" Mala continued, warming to her subject. "The son of the Federation President!"
"I recall, Mala." Zoltar growled.
"And even that didn't stop you! She renounced Spectra, and became a Federation citizen, and you still chased after her! I remember how you used to moan for her, in your sleep, at night…"
"That's enough, Mala!" Zoltar snapped. "I don't need you to speak of Sugar Kane any further!"
"Touchy, touchy!"
88888
"How is the monkey suit selection going?" Jason asked.
"It's called a 'tuxedo'." Mark sighed. "At least get your terminology right, Jason."
"These things are so difficult to remember." Jason joked.
"You don't seem to have any trouble remembering racing statistics." Mark smiled thinly.
"That's different." Jason replied loftily.
It wasn't every day that they guys got to wear something other than their usual jeans and numbered t-shirts. Both of them wanted to make a good impression on their dates.
"So, have you picked out your tuxedo, yet?" Mark asked.
"Yes, and it's pretty cool, if I do say so myself." Jason replied. "Armani! I can't believe the Chief was so generous with us! Letting us spend whatever we want?"
"I know." said Mark. "Odd, isn't it? But I'm hardly going to argue. Obviously he knows how important this is, to us."
"I have to admit, at first I wasn't sure about this whole prom thing, but now, I'm warming up to it."
The sales clerk assisting Mark approached, holding out two tuxedoes for the Commander's approval.
"So, which do you think would be better: the jet black, or the midnight blue?"
"Well, jet black is a classic look: an old standby. It always works, even if it's a little dull." Jason answered. "The midnight blue is a little more wild, but it could work too."
"Oh, yes." offered the clerk, "A lot of young men are wearing the blue this year!"
"Do you think so?" Mark said thoughtfully, "I'm not sure…"
"You never want to try anything new." Jason scowled at him. "Why did you ask my opinion in the first place, anyway, Mister Macho?"
"I really don't know…" Mark rolled his eyes at Jason.
"Fine, then. Go with the black. See if I care!"
"Your tuxedo is black, Jason."
"Yes, but it's an Armani. That speaks for itself."
Mark shook his head in disbelief.
"I think I'll take the cummerbund." he told the clerk who had been assisting him.
"What? You've got to be kidding!"
"What's wrong with a cummerbund?" Mark sighed.
"Well, you're already going with the 'uptight politician' Ralph Lauren tux." Jason pointed out. "You need to loosen up. Why don't you get a vest instead?"
"Why would I prefer a vest over a cummerbund?"
"Cummerbunds are so disco." Jason explained patiently, as if speaking to a small child. "But a vest… now that would be cool. It would help your look." He mentally grimaced at the words coming from his mouth. But he had promised Princess…
"Are you saying that my look needs help?" Mark asked indignantly.
"Well, you've never been known as a fashion plate." Jason stated authoritatively.
"Like you're the expert." Mark shot back. "You wear the same thing every day, just like I do!"
"Yeah, but I pay attention to what's in style." Jason rolled his eyes. "You couldn't care less."
"Your companion is correct, Sir." added the clerk. "Vests are much more stylish than cummerbunds."
"Whatever." Mark shrugged. "I'll go with the vest, then."
"Don't forget to make it red, to match Princess' dress."
"Of course." Mark nodded.
Jason grinned. Mission accomplished. It was the least he could do for Prin, after their prom date misunderstanding.
"Your mind is a million miles away, Mark." Jason observed.
"Why do you say that?"
"Because you never would have given in so easily unless you were thinking of something else." Jason replied. "Or… someone else."
This comment was met by a stony silence from the G-Force Commander.
"I know you're thinking about Princess!" Jason smirked. "You two have been practically joined at the hip, ever since you passed your flying thingamajig."
"It's called a flight test." Mark replied frostily.
"Whatever." Jason waved his hand magnanimously. "Princess thinks you are so wonderful… it's just as well that I'm not taking her to prom."
"Why is that?" Mark asked.
"Because then she'd know what it was like to be with a real man." Jason winked.
"You have some real problems with modesty, Jason." Mark rolled his eyes.
"What problems? I call it like I see it." Jason grinned. "Although, it's too bad. It would have been great to have two dates. I can see myself now… entering the prom with Kandi and Princess on my arms. I wonder if Prin would still be interested…"
"Forget about it, Jason!"
"Touchy, touchy!"