TEXT: BattleCorps
  BattleCorps
  Isle of 
  the Blessed
  Book Two
  Chapter 2: Fathers and Sons
   Steven Mohan, Jr.
  
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  HVAC Equipment Room, The Falls, Cormarc Falls 
  New Avalon, Crucis March, Federated Suns 
  2 February 3073
  Geoffrey Zucker had thought he was beyond the ability to feel 
  pain. He had faced his own father in combat—and lost. Thinking to 
  spare the life of the enemy tech Bob Orson, he had instead deliv-
  ered him to his death. Worst of all, in trying to keep to the blessed 
  Blake’s path, he had strayed. 
  No blade cut more deeply than the ragged blade of irony.
  Agony flared in him, crackled along his nerve endings, pulsed 
  through his veins, until it burned itself out. He no longer felt pain.
  Or anything else.
  And now there was nothing left for him to look forward to but 
  a single, bright moment of summary justice delivered at Avitue’s 
  whim. Really, he could see no other end to his story. 
  He had lost the ability to want any other end.
  Until the guards brought in two unconscious men and shackled 
  them to cots. 
  It was hard to see what was happening. As part of his torment, 
  Avitue had ordered the room be left in darkness. Dusk’s feeble 
  light filtered through the room’s small window, gray and weak. 
  Like some creature trapped in a cave, Zucker had learned to see in 
  the darkness.
  So he was blinded when the soldiers flung open the door, flood-
  ing the room with dazzling incandescence. Zucker shielded his 
  eyes, but he still couldn’t see. He strained to hear, but he couldn’t 
  make out their words over the bass thrum of the chill-water pumps 
  and the high-pitched whine of the chiller’s compressor. 
  And then the soldiers were gone.
  Who had they brought? Zucker wondered. More dissidents to 
  join him up against a wall at a time of Avitue’s choosing? 
  He drifted over to the chiller and tapped the little touch screen 
  that served as the machine’s control panel. Automatically, the 
  screen illuminated, bathing the room in a dim, blue glow. Avitue 
  
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  might have condemned him to darkness, but a clever man could 
  always find a little light.
  The closer man laid with his back to him. All Zucker could tell 
  was that he was a MechWarrior and that he was hurt, perhaps 
  badly. The other man, the man in coveralls, was facing him. The 
  blue half-light twisted his features, hiding the hollows of his eyes 
  in shadow. Zucker studied the man’s face expecting to see one of 
  his lance mates. 
  And then his breath caught. This man… This… This was the tech. 
  Bob Orson, or whatever the hell his real name was.
  And suddenly Zucker recognized the man in the other cot, the 
  curve of his back, the shape of his head.
  Father.
  Zucker’s vision blurred and he quickly knelt by the old man’s 
  side, feeling for a pulse. No, Blake no! And then… There. The soft, 
  steady beat of life. He swallowed. Gulped down a mouthful of air.
  His father was alive.
  How could this be? Avitue had told him she would slaughter ev-
  ery last man and woman who served at Corean and he’d believed 
  her more completely than he’d ever believed anything in his life. 
  So how come his father lived?
  Unless the Feds had won.
  Zucker shook his head.
  It was like, like he’d woken up in a different world, full of strange, 
  impossible things. Could Avitue be torturing him right now? Could 
  his mind have snapped under the weight of terror and grief?
  “If it has,” he whispered, “I don’t want to wake up.”
  But if the Feds had won, how had Avitue managed to capture 
  Orson and his father? He shook his head.
  His father’s body was covered with black bruises and his left arm 
  looked like it was badly broken. He had ejected, Zucker realized. 
  He’d ejected and retreating Blakist forces had taken him prisoner.
  But that still didn’t explain the tech.
  Unless Orson knew that father had fallen and—
  
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  Zucker swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. Orson had 
  come for his father. Showing the kind of devotion that—
  Zucker closed his eyes.
  That a son shows his father.
  Zucker had been replaced. Replaced in his father’s heart.
  And that’s when Zucker realized that he’d been wrong. He hadn’t 
  lost the ability to hurt. No, not at all. The proof was in what he felt 
  now. Oh, hell yeah. He could still hurt. Pain was a bottomless pit, 
  a black hole bored into the cold heart of infinity and Zucker was 
  falling.
  Yeah.
  He was falling.
  
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  The Falls, Cormarc Falls
  Avitue stood rooted to the hardwood floor of the hotel dining 
  room she had converted to her command and control center, chin 
  cupped in her left fist, staring at an area map on the large wall 
  screen.
  Like most military commanders, Avitue understood that winning 
  battles was largely about reading maps, and she liked what she 
  saw on this one. Davion’s forces would be funneled into specific 
  kill zones. Good.
  The thing she did not like was not on the map. And no amount 
  of staring at the wall screen would help. She turned and scanned 
  the room for the answer to the one problem she didn’t know how 
  to solve.
  The room was filled with people: Zetas installing screens and 
  holotables, Epsilon staffers loading reports and intel, Iota troop-
  ers standing guard, all of them working hard to look busy so they 
  wouldn’t have to meet their commander’s eyes.
  Avitue drew a deep breath and smelled the fear on them, sharp 
  and acrid. Steadying. Real.
  She rode a terrible, monstrous wave that peaked at euphoria and 
  then crashed into an unbearable black desolation. She closed her 
  eyes and shook her head. She would face the abyss. She had to.
  Because that’s what the Blessed Blake demanded of her.
  She opened her eyes, yanked her attention back to the room, 
  which was filled with people. What it was not full of was furni-
  ture, because an hour before she’d had an infantry squad pile the 
  dining room’s beautiful tables with their white linen tablecloths 
  and matching hand-carved chairs and the polished silver and fine 
  crystal on the back lawn and set it all afire.
  And when the squad leader had hesitated as she knew he would, 
  confusion clouding his features, she’d pulled the slug thrower 
  from her hip and shot him right between the eyes.
  There’d been no fucking hesitation after that.
  It was wasteful, she knew, and psychotic, but that’s why she’d 
  done it. She wanted her troops to think she was crazy.
  Fear was the one instrument of command left to her.
  
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  Because delegation sure as hell was gone. 
  She had the perfect plan, the perfect opportunity, the perfect 
  moment to crush Jackson Davion. What she did not have was an 
  officer to execute that plan. 
  Zucker was under arrest. Armaros was dead. Geist was dead. 
  McQuinn was a subliterate moron. Horell froze under pressure. 
  Bronson was competent—the merc could handle a stand-up bat-
  tle—but he didn’t have the same flare for battlefield innovation of 
  say…
  Zucker.
  Zucker. Now why did she keep coming back to that name? 
  How bad were things if Word of Blake’s greatest hope was a trai-
  tor?
  Of its own accord, her right hand found the butt of her slug 
  thrower and her long, slim fingers wrapped themselves around 
  the weapon.
  And for some unknown reason all her people struggled to work 
  harder.
  
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  HVAC Equipment Room, The Falls, Cormarc Falls 
  New Avalon, Crucis March, Federated Suns 
  3 February 3073
  The familiar man stepped toward Doucette and offered his hand, 
  obviously meaning to help him stand. The dusty light from the 
  window illuminated a kind face with wide brown eyes. Doucette 
  blinked rapidly trying to— It was Jerry… Evans. No. That was a lie. 
  That wasn’t this man’s name. This man was . . 
  Geoffrey Zucker.
  Nausea roiled Doucette’s stomach and his head felt like it was 
  filled with broken glass. The smart thing would’ve been to lie back. 
  Or at least accept Zucker’s help.
  Doucette glanced at the outstretched hand.
  And lunged at Zucker.
  He got in one good roundhouse to the Wobbie’s jaw, but it wasn’t 
  enough. White light exploded in his head, popping, like a light bulb 
  letting go. And then Zucker got in a blow to his ribs and Doucette 
  dropped, his breathing ragged and hard, his face pressed against 
  the cold concrete floor.
  “Sum… Bitch,” Doucette gasped
  “I saved your life,” said Zucker indignantly. “Twice.”
  “Lied to me,” croaked Doucette.
  “Oh, I am so sorry, Mr. Orson.”
  “I—” Doucette took a deep breath, trying to clear his head. 
  “What the hell is your real name anyway?” asked Zucker.
  “Serg— I mean, Leftenant Robert Doucette.”
  Zucker snorted and shook his head. “You still can’t tell the truth, 
  can you?”
  Doucette jabbed a hand at the old man’s cot. “This— This is your 
  father. Should be in hospital, instead of holding us. Down here.”
  Zucker shook his head. “You really have no idea, do you?”
  
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  “No idea. About what?” 
  “I’m a prisoner here, too,” Zucker snapped.
  “I—” Doucette squinted at the other man. “What?”
  “Perhaps you wouldn’t be so fast to denigrate my small acts of 
  mercy if you knew their true cost,” said Zucker coldly.
  Doucette closed his eyes and tried to breathe. His head hurt. 
  Probably light concussion. Hard to think.  
  Could this be a trick?
  “What happened?” he managed.
  Zucker sighed. “It turns out that my commander was suspicious 
  of me from the beginning. Because of who my father was. Because 
  I spared your life. She used me to drive Davion from the Den.”
  Doucette shook his head. “I don’t—”
  “Look, it doesn’t matter,” Zucker snapped. “All that matters to 
  me is that we keep father alive.”
  Doucette glanced down at the old man’s prone form and then 
  back up to Zucker. He slowly nodded.
  That was at least one thing they could agree on.
  v v v
  Zucker gently touched his father’s forehead. Burning up.
  “How is he?” asked Doucette softly. 
  “Fever,” said Zucker dully. “Infection from the compound frac-
  ture, I think. If he doesn’t get medical treatment soon…” Zucker’s 
  voice trailed off.
  “I gave him some antibiotics,” said Doucette. “Before we were 
  captured.”
  “Thank you,” said Zucker stiffly. “I don’t suppose you have any 
  more?”
  Doucette shook his head. “Your friends took my pack.”
  
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  Zucker nodded absently. Of course. His father’s was going to die 
  in this wretched equipment room and he wasn’t even going to get 
  to say— What?
  What would he say to his father if he could?
  v v v
  Zucker’s face looked pale and haggard. Somehow the man had 
  aged twenty years since Doucette saw him in the Acheron Forest, 
  ten in the last hour alone. If he was acting, it was the best damn 
  job Doucette had ever seen. 
  The Wobbie stared down at his father’s face with a swirling mix-
  ture of emotions. Sometimes Doucette thought he saw shame or 
  regret or anger. Now what he saw was much more primal.
  Despair.
  He licked his lips. “Zucker,” he said softly.
  Nothing. The Wobbie was still in a trance.
  “Zucker,” said Doucette a little more loudly.
  Zucker looked up this time. “What?”
  “You said before. You drove Davion from the Den.”
  Zucker scowled, drew a deep breath. “Avitue told us she was go-
  ing to nuke the Mountain.”
  Doucette snorted. “And that just broke you up.”
  “Not at all,” said Zucker icily. “The Den is a legitimate military 
  target. And the Davions are the pimps of the Inner Sphere. If there 
  was a way to kill them all, I’d press the button myself.”
  Doucette suddenly wanted to hit Zucker again. If he thought he 
  could have done it without passing out he would have killed him. 
  He drew a deep breath, trying to keep his anger in check. “So?”
  Zucker looked down. “I couldn’t live with the civilian casualties.” 
  He exhaled slowly. “So I went to the people in the mountains and 
  told them a plague was coming, a newly discovered hemorrhagic 
  fever. I tried to move them out before the Den got hit. You know. 
  Without revealing Avitue’s plans.”
  
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  Doucette blinked. “That was… smart.”
  Zucker laughed bitterly. “No. It wasn’t.” He shook his head. “MIIO 
  saw through my little ruse. As Avitue knew they would. The whole 
  nuke gambit was a bluff from the beginning. Avitue just wanted to 
  sell it to your side so Davion would run. Set up her play for Corean. 
  And I was just the tool to make that happen.”
  “You got played,” breathed Doucette, “by both sides.”
  Zucker winced. “Yes,” he said stiffly, “Real smart.”
  “Doan have to be smart,” croaked Pops. “Have to be good.”
  v v v
  Zucker’s head jerked down. His father was looking up at him with 
  those dark eyes. 
  For a second Zucker couldn’t breathe. He felt a heaviness in his 
  chest and his throat closed up. Suddenly he couldn’t talk.
  “Pops,” said Doucette, “how do you feel?”
  Zucker glanced up, startled. For a second he’d forgotten Doucette 
  was there. And then he was suddenly furious. Who was Doucette 
  to intrude on this moment? You son of a bitch.
  And then somehow his father actually chuckled. “Well, Bob, since 
  you asked, it turns out I actually feel like shit. Thanks for asking.” 
  “Is there anything we can do for you?” asked Doucette. Zucker 
  found he still couldn’t talk.
  “How ‘bout getting the toaster-lovers off my God damn planet,” 
  said father.
  Doucette laughed. “What do you think old Doc Ogutu would say 
  to that?”
  And suddenly Zucker couldn’t take it any more. “Father.” 
  Both man abruptly stopped laughing and turned to look at him. 
  Zucker swallowed painfully in his tight throat. “Father, I—” And 
  all of a sudden he didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to 
  name the welter of emotions that filled him. 
  
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  Father stared up at him, his jaw trembling, not saying anything 
  either, just looking up with those dark eyes.
  Zucker cast about for something to say.
  Was he sorry for the things he had done? Yes. And then an icy 
  voice inside him said, No.
  Did he respect his father? Yes, because his father was a good 
  man and a great MechWarrior. And no, because his father had con-
  tributed to the darkness that had swept across the Inner Sphere.
  Zucker would do anything humanly possible to save his father’s 
  life. And he would work tirelessly to destroy everything his father 
  held dear.
  Zucker looked within himself and found there was only one word 
  that encompassed these raging emotions.
  “I love you, father,” he whispered.
  Father blinked several times and swallowed hard. “Do I have a 
  son again, Geoff?” his father said in a broken voice. “Is that what 
  you’re telling me?”
  Zucker straightened. “You always had a son,” he said coldly.
  “Pops,” said Doucette softly.
  “Shut up, Bob,” father snapped. “This is none of your damn busi-
  ness.” 
  “Go to hell, Pops,” Doucette snarled. “He saved my life.”
  “And that makes everything OK. All the things he did before,” fa-
  ther shot back.
  “I don’t know,” Doucette shouted. The tech shook his head, his 
  mouth working, but no words coming out. “I don’t know where 
  the line is any more, Pops. Do you?”
  Father licked his lips and looked from Zucker to Doucette.
  “He destroyed himself to protect New Avalon’s civilians.” Doucette 
  shook his head. “What more would you ask of a soldier?”
  “Sure,” said father, “if it’s not a trick.”
  Father’s words were like a blow to the solar plexus and they al-
  most broke Zucker. His legs trembled and he almost went down. 
  
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  Somehow, somehow, he did not lose his composure, but it was a 
  close thing.
  “No, it’s not a trick,” said Zucker. “In fact, as soon as Avitue re-
  covers from the defeat you handed her at Corean, I expect to be 
  executed. Perhaps,” he said coldly, “she will let you watch.”
  Father gasped and the blood drained out of his face. Zucker took 
  grim pleasure in it. The old man had never had the strength to face 
  the truth.
  “Don’t you see, Pops,” said Doucette. “You’re almost out of 
  time.”
  Zucker saw the old man’s eyes fill with tears. “You betrayed the 
  Federated Suns.”
  “I betrayed the Davions,” said Zucker. “I never betrayed the peo-
  ple of the Suns.”
  “They are the same,” father said shakily.
  “They are not,” Zucker roared. “Old fool,” he said sadly. “How 
  many worlds did Hanse Davion ‘liberate’ from the Capellans? Who 
  rules St. Ives and Tikonov now? What did all those soldiers die 
  for?” He shook his head. “How many times do the border worlds 
  change hands. And how many of the boys and girls of the inner 
  worlds died to make it all happen? And for what? For the glory of 
  the Davions? By the way, which Davion? Jackson? Yvonne? Victor?” 
  He paused. “Katherine?”
  Father slowly shook his head. “How can you possibly hate ev-
  erything I love?” he whispered.
  “And how can you serve those who would destroy everything we 
  both love?” Zucker shot back.
  “Gentlemen—” began Doucette, but before the tech could get his 
  thought out, the door to the equipment room swung open.
  v v v
  Doucette turned and saw a young woman in a ComStar white 
  form-fitting uniform step into the equipment room, flanked by a 
  pair of Wobbie guards. She was beautiful, the kind of beautiful 
  your best friend’s kid sister might grow into one day. She wore her 
  
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  dark hair long, touching her shoulders. Her eyes were translucent 
  brown. And she had lovely skin the color of cream.
  He guessed she was a doctor, because of the white uniform. He 
  pointed at Pops. “This man needs immediate medical attention.”
  She smiled. “Well, we will certainly take that under advisement—” 
  she glanced at the bar on his coveralls, “—Leftenant, but for the 
  moment we have more pressing matters to attend to.”
  “More pressing matters?” asked Doucette. “This man’s going to 
  die, if he doesn’t get immediate help.”
  “Yes, well, we are engaged in a war,” said the woman. “Sometimes 
  that happens.”
  “Do you know this is—” Doucette began.
  Zucker caught his eyes and slightly shook his head, once. The 
  gesture sent a chill down Doucette’s spine.
  The woman folded her arms across her chest. “No,” she said in 
  a bored voice.
  Doucette looked over at the old man, who, thank God, wasn’t 
  wearing any insignia on his togs. 
  “This is Sergeant Major Carsten Thompkins of the Assault Guards. 
  The best MechWarrior this side of Victor Steiner-Davion. So if you 
  won’t help us, doctor—”
  “She’s not a doctor,” said Zucker. “Gentlemen, may I introduce to 
  you Precentor Avitue, Commander of all Word of Blake Forces in 
  the New Avalon system.”
  Doucette looked back at the young woman.
  “That’s right,” she said. “And I’m afraid I’m not here to attend 
  to your needs, Leftenant, or those of the Sergeant Major.” She 
  looked at Pops’s son. “I’m here for Zucker.”
  v v v
  Doucette thought if he lived to be a thousand he would never 
  forgot the look he saw on Zucker’s face at that precise moment. 
  The man drew himself up, ramrod straight, and a look of unbreak-
  able resolve settled into the lines of his face. Like he was ready to 
  do anything it required to support the things he believed in.
  
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  Even die.
  Doucette had never seen a clearer example of total bravery in 
  his whole life.
  And that was the problem. A weaker man would have given in to 
  his father or to his commander. A weaker man would have pulled 
  back from the brink months before.
  A weaker man wouldn’t have made Avitue kill him just to prove 
  her point.
  Without a word of complaint or a single backward glance, Zucker 
  walked out of the room.
  Fanaticism. With Wobbies it was an occupational hazard.
  The door slammed shut with a terrible, final sound, shutting out 
  all light.
  And somewhere in the darkness Pops began to sob, a small, al-
  most gentle sound of unspeakable grief that for all his strength he 
  couldn’t hold back. So the father was weaker than the son.
  Somehow that gave Doucette a tiny measure of comfort, a tiny 
  sense of relief that even after all he’d been through Pops was still 
  human.
  He reached down and placed his hand on the old man’s shoul-
  der.
  And listened to him cry in the darkness.
  v v v
  Zucker walked alongside Avitue, not speaking, gazing straight 
  ahead, seemingly unconcerned about the two needler rifles lev-
  eled at his back. The man had achieved some strange Zen state of 
  being despite his impending execution.
  Astounding.
  Somehow Zucker never ceased to surprise her.
  “Aren’t you going to beg for your life?” she asked.
  He snorted. “Would it make any difference?”
  She looked at him. “It might.”
  
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  He rolled his eyes.
  “Are you so eager to die that you will not say anything in your 
  own defense?”
  He stopped and turned toward her. The guards automatically 
  tensed, but Avitue warned them off with a look.
  “I will tell you what I told the two prisoners back there,” he said. 
  “I serve the people of New Avalon, the people of the Inner Sphere.
  “If I wear a Word of Blake uniform it’s because I feel Blake’s vi-
  sion offers the best chance for these people. That decision has 
  already cost me my home, and the love of my father. After that—” 
  he looked away from her. “The loss of my life doesn’t seem such 
  a high price to pay.”
  “By the mercy of the Blessed Blake,” said Avitue, “you are the 
  most dangerous of men—an idealist.”
  “Well,” said Zucker dryly, “then it is probably better for all of us 
  that you shoot me now and get it over with.”
  Avitue felt a smile curl across her face. “Oh, how I’ve missed 
  your sense of humor, Geoffrey. It’s almost a pity you have to be 
  executed.”
  She turned away from him and began walking. He followed her.
  The old Zucker would have taken up the gauntlet she’d just 
  thrown down, but not this man. He said nothing. Apparently he’d 
  learned something in confinement. 
  “I am thinking,” said Avitue, “that it would be unfortunate for 
  the Word of Blake to waste the ammunition needed to kill you. I’d 
  much rather have the Feds do it for me.”
  “Turn me over to the Feds and I’m certain Jackson Davion will 
  oblige you.”
  She heard the bitterness in his voice and peered at him. “You 
  really hate the Davions don’t you?”
  He shrugged. “They are the poster children for everything that 
  is wrong with the Inner Sphere.” His voice dropped. “They have 
  brought nothing but terror and destruction to New Avalon. And 
  yet the people still love them.”
  This last sentence was spoken with surprise and awe.
  
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  And a touch of hurt.
  Right then it occurred to Avitue that if she returned Zucker to his 
  Legacy he would fight for Word of Blake. Oh, he didn’t like her and 
  he sure as hell didn’t trust her, but that was nothing compared to 
  the hatred he felt for the Davions.
  Avitue might be a monster, true, but in Zucker’s eyes her crimes 
  paled next to those of the Davions. She was a monster.
  But they had failed him.
  And right then Geoffrey Zucker’s fate rested on a knife edge, 
  delicately balanced between battlefield glory and death before a 
  firing squad. She had come to his little prison with the intention of 
  executing him, but she was no longer sure.
  She turned to look at him, trying to decide. “Zucker,” she said 
  softly.
  He looked at her expectantly.
  “Who are those prisoners? The men in the equipment room?”
  Zucker shrugged. “A couple idiots from the Assault Guards.” 
  She placed her hand on his arm, stopping him again. Met his 
  gaze. “No. Don’t settle into the old games. I need you to tell me 
  the truth.”
  She looked at him and he looked at her, and suddenly Avitue 
  realized that Zucker understood. He understood his answer to this 
  question would determine if he lived or died and he hesitated not 
  because he was trying to decide how to sway her, but because he 
  was trying to decide which he wanted.
  Then he drew in a deep breath and answered her question.
  And she decided.
  v v v
  Twenty minutes later the door to the equipment room opened 
  again and the beautiful woman returned, arms folded casually 
  across her chest, a faint smile stretched across her face. Doucette 
  just couldn’t quite bring himself to believe this beautiful young 
  thing was the author of all New Avalon’s torments.
  
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  In addition to the pair of guards, another officer accompanied 
  her, a tall scarecrow of a man with a shock of iron gray hair. He 
  went immediately to Pops and knelt down by the test pilot, and 
  began to administer drugs.
  “A doctor,” Doucette whispered.
  “Yes,” she said. “As it turned out, after dealing with my problem, 
  I found I had time to deal with yours.”
  “Thank you,” Doucette said stiffly.
  “Oh, don’t thank me yet,” said Avitue happily. “At least not until 
  I’ve had the chance to tell you what is going to happen next.”
  Doucette carefully said nothing.
  “Hmmm, nothing to say? Well, perhaps you are smarter than you 
  look. Would you like the good news or the bad news first?”
  Doucette remained silent.
  “Well, let’s do the good news first, shall we? I’ve always been a 
  good news girl. The good news is I will not have to execute Demi-
  Precentor Zucker, after all.”
  Across the room, Pops gasped.
  “I don’t care,” snapped Doucette. “Why should I care? One less 
  toaster-lover in the world is fine with me.”
  “Toaster-lover?” She made a tsk sound. “Such language.  Oh, you 
  do have a mouth on you, don’t you, Leftenant Orson?”
  Doucette froze. 
  “And that’s the bad news, I’m afraid,” said Avitue. “In order to 
  save himself, Zucker gave you up.” She glanced at Pops. “Both of 
  you.”
  She sketched a little bow in the direction of the old man. “I can-
  not tell you how honored I am to meet Captain Aremas Heuaventas 
  the lead test pilot of the Legion Project and one of its chief techni-
  cians.”
  Pops closed his eyes and his face contorted with pain. And 
  Doucette knew if Pops hadn’t been broken before, he was now.
  She touched Doucette on the shoulder and leaned in, whispered: 
  “We are going to have such fun, we three.”
  
SOURCE: textdata/thevault/BattleTech [multi]/EXTRA/Novels/Battlecorps Novels/Isle Of The Blessed Bk2 Ch2 Fathers & Sons - Stephen Mohan, Jr.pdf