Even the madmen would have thought it odd; bodies sitting on top of graves rather than below. But the madmen were no longer alive, so they paid it no mind. Carrion birds did not dwell on Erebus, and even if they had, they would not have gone near the slaughter. In fact, every animal within fifty miles was busy running in the opposite direction. Carnage on a biblical scale, to be sure, but on Erebus it amounted to little more than a punctuation mark at the end of a twisted story. And so as the mass graves drank the blood of nearly one hundred thousand madmen with dark satisfaction, nobody took notice of the slaying—nobody except the slayer. Even that was only for a moment, for there was more work to be done. Twenty miles to the east the city of Parnassus was full of life, life that needed to end. Death was coming, and although dawn was only a few hours away, the sun would rise on sightless eyes, and its light would be wasted on the dead.
It was after midnight and darkness still enveloped Parnassus like a black shroud; trapping the man-made light in a dim halo over the city. But it did little to dispel the blackness, and so it was in shadow that the crowds of loud, intoxicated soldiers danced in the streets, filling the air with smoke as they fired their guns in celebration. After all, celebration was in order: the Clowns, their most feared and deadly enemy, were finally dead. First had come the news that Lexicus had been blown to pieces by a bomb—and then it got even better. Moments earlier they had watched Chuckles stumble through the streets in wonderful humiliation, as the entire city cursed, cheered and mocked. Walking slowly with jerky, uneven movements and continually sliding one foot sideways on the ground, the Spartan-turned-madman looked like a drunk, a cripple, a clown—and the rebels loved it.
Turpolev loved it too. While Chuckles was bumbling his way out of the city, the rebel leader was tucked safely in his fortified home just north of the military installation. Sitting alone in his office he stared wistfully at two framed pictures that sat on his desk. Already half drunk, he lifted a glass of vodka in clumsy, unsure hands and gestured forward in a silent toast.
"Iosif and Anatoly, you may finally rest." Tears filled his eyes as he lowered the glass and sat it on the table beside the still, silent photos. Turpolev had always imagined that he would feel joy and relief once he had avenged his sons. Yet, as he sat in his large, luxurious office drinking to his victory, he felt no joy. Although he grieved deeply over the loss of his sons, the promise of future vengeance had driven him forward and given him purpose; making life bearable. But no more. Now without even revenge to shield him from his grief, the rebel leader was utterly alone, stripped of everything that connected him to his boys—stripped of everything that numbed his guilt-laden sorrow. While Turpolev toasted pictures, his two sons rotted in graves on a far distant planet.
Thank God for the vodka.
Wearily, he wiped tears from his face, grabbed his glass and dumped the contents down his throat. As he poured himself another cup of the clear, strong drink he suddenly found himself wishing that the Clowns were still alive—that it wasn't over. At that very moment about four miles south, Turpolev's alcohol-induced wish was about to come true: in fact, it had just entered the city.
Lexicus leapt over the wall unnoticed, landing in darkness on the other side. Standing just inside Parnassus, he saw thousands of soldiers dancing in the streets, loudly celebrating the death of his closest friend. Blood ran cold in his veins as the last of his humanity was pushed aside, replaced by the cold steel of his will. Almost involuntarily Lexicus raised his pistol, palmed a grenade and considered killing them—every worthless one of them—while they celebrated. But he had not come for mere soldiers, not yet anyway. One man was responsible for this entire mess and that man was going to die. Summoning all of his rage, Lexicus opened his mouth and let out a challenge that exploded into the night.
"Turpolev! Turpolev!"
Fueled by bottomless anger he stepped out of the darkness and into the crowds, daring the drunken rabble to get in his way. Cheering stopped as heads turned towards the cry and all eyes fell upon the large Spartan with the Clown symbol above his visor. At that moment, as the terrified rebels tried to reconcile what they were seeing with what they thought they knew, confusion spread through the streets like wildfire. Some thought it was Chuckles, others thought it was a third, unknown Clown, and there were even a few who believed the Clowns had returned from the dead. None dared move. If Thanatos' madness and a powerful bomb could not kill them, what could?
"Turpolev!" Lexicus lifted his challenge again and moved forward, steadily increasing his pace, eager to fight. But as he advanced the throng of heavily armed soldiers merely parted, giving him space to walk. The thought of such complete cowards mocking and jeering Chuckles was almost more than Lex could take without forgetting his goal and taking on the entire city. As he walked, he remembered something that CPO Mendez had drilled into his mind as a child: Although emotion is the enemy of planning, it can be the friend of execution.
Perfect. Execution was just what Lexicus had in mind.
"Cerberus, this is Rhinox. Repeat, Cerberus, this is Rhinox." Trying to contact the cruiser as the Pelican sped it's way upward, the Spartan suddenly wondered if anybody up there knew who he was.
"Rhinox, this is the Cerberus. Where are you?"
"I am inbound, piloting a Pelican. Be advised, I have Lieutenant Sagus aboard. I need to speak to the Captain."
"Rhinox, this is Lieutenant Sandie Gordon, and I am acting Captain of the Cerberus. Glad to hear about the Lieutenant. Did you also retrieve his cargo?"
Acting Captain? What happened to Addy? Rhinox hesitated. Was there a mutiny? Quickly deciding that, mutiny or not, there was nowhere else to land the dropship, he finally responded. "No, we were not able to retrieve the container."
Gordon's voice was grave. "Very well. What is your ETA?"
"Klank!"
Something bounced off the back of the Spartan's helmet. Rhinox turned around and saw Sagus on the floor, evidently searching for another object to throw. "Lieutenant, is something wrong?" Abruptly stopping his search, Sagus gestured for Rhinox to come closer. As the Spartan lowered his head, an urgent voice crackled in his helmet.
"I repeat: what is your ETA?"
"Just a moment, Captain." Sagus pulled his mouth close to the Spartan's helmet and whispered.
"Be careful . . . they will destroy it."
"Destroy what?"
"The city . . . protocol for BeSSI if anything is lost." Rhinox shook his head in confusion.
"Bessy?" Before he could ask Sagus what a "bessy" was, an irate female voice again filled his helmet.
"Soldier, tell me your ETA now!"
"Our ETA is . . . " Sagus mouthed the word "no" while waving his arms emphatically. Again, Rhinox lowered his head and listened to the faint whisper.
"Since we do not have the container, they will destroy the city and your friend. Do not talk to them. Once I am aboard they will launch a nuclear attack on Parnassus. Trust me." Rhinox stood, and walked quickly to the front of the Pelican.
"Rhinox, respond!" The Spartan was silent for a moment, and then spoke in a firm voice.
"Captain, we'll get there when we get there. Out."
Sandie Gordon was livid. ONI had given her clear orders, and she had been moments from carrying them out when the Spartan contacted her. Now she would be delayed, and every moment she waited brought her closer to possible loss of command, and thus her ability to launch a nuclear strike. Sandie was nobody's fool—she could read the looks she was getting from the crew. Captain Addy was renowned throughout the UNSC for taking care of those under his command, so it was no surprise that he was also very popular. What was more, they knew—they all knew—that Addy was no murderer. ONI backing or not, what she had done was mutiny, plain and simple; and once the rest of the crew caught on to that fact she would be lucky to escape with her life.
No matter. A BeSSI discovery was lost on that planet—a rebel planet no less—and that meant the population had to be reduced to zero: operation POTLUCK was extremely clear on that point. But while there was even a chance of recovering Lieutenant Sagus she could not risk a launch. Sandie punched her COM and raised the shuttle bay.
"This is the Captain. We have a Pelican inbound. Let me know the instant it arrives." The tone of the response made her mouth go dry.
"Aye, aye, Captain."
For the first time in his life Thanatos had felt fear. Not the fear a child feels in the dark, or afflicts teenagers before a first date. No, this was the sort of fear Stephen had always reserved for others, the kind that comes from knowing—not thinking but knowing—that you are going to be tortured to death; that you are going to die while screaming. He discovered that those little hairs on the back of your neck really do stand up and muscles really do refuse to move. He had learned something about pain too: it hurt a lot.
As he lay on the operating table awaiting emergency surgery, Thanatos could not help but feel lucky. Almost all of his teeth had been broken or knocked out, his right eye had been torn from its socket, one of his lungs had been punctured and his right ear had been bitten off the day before; but he was still alive and in his right mind. Looking down at him, the surgeon smiled politely.
"Dr. Thanatos, are you certain that you want to be awake for this?"
Trying to speak without front teeth made Stephen feel like an idiot. "Yeth, I am thertain." Make me talk again and I'll kill you.
"Very well, I'll be ready to start soon, however, there is a problem," the surgeon frowned slightly. "Most of the building has emptied out, and I can't do this alone. I have to go find someone to assist, which means that you will be alone for several minutes. Do you understand?"
Thanatos tried to nod, but the surgical drugs had now taken full effect, and he could not even move his neck. Silently vowing to kill this idiot at his earliest convenience, he spoke with great difficulty. "Yeth."
The doctor nodded and then walked quickly towards the doorway, "I'll try to be quick." With that he left, shutting the door behind him.
"AHHHHHHHH!"
A terrible scream suddenly erupted from the other side of the doorway, followed by the sick snapping and cracking of bones. Thanatos instinctively tried to sit up, but nothing moved except those little hairs on the back of his neck—they were standing straight up. A body thudded to the floor outside the room, and an instant later the lights went out. Powerless to move anything but his eyes, Stephen tried to control himself and think. From deep inside an awful, twisted, nightmarish fear began to blow like a hurricane. A glow filled the room as the steel door melted and a great and terrible shadow moved silently to his side. It had no eyes that Thanatos could see, but he knew that it was looking at him—looking into him.
Then, as if a movie had started inside his head, he saw it. Stephen's greatest fear was to be left at the mercy of someone who would torture without pity; someone who actually enjoyed it—someone like himself. And now as he lay paralyzed and alone the Demon's thoughts flowed through his mind and he saw his death. But more than that, Stephen saw how much he was going to suffer. For what seemed like days Thanatos watched every inhuman act he had ever done gleefully performed on him as he lay paralyzed and unable to even flinch. As adrenaline poured into his veins, Stephen's heart rate soared and sweat streamed off his skin, soaking the table. Finally the hideous vision faded.
It was time to begin.
Only bare white walls witnessed the torment and killing of Thanatos, but had they possessed eyes the walls would have shut them tight. For who can look intently upon the full measure of punishment, even when it is justly visited upon the evil. No, even the strong would shrink back in horror for suffering alone pays no debt and rights no wrongs; therefore the full weight of justice is as insatiable as a black hole.
Before it was over Thanatos actually prayed for death, which was the cruelest of ironies; for if anyone was listening to his plea and cared enough to help, then death would certainly bring no end to his pain.
"Turpolev!"
Already within half a mile of the compound, Lexicus moved through the streets unchallenged, both amazed and angered at the cowardice of the rebels. Fear hung upon the city like thick fog, paralyzing the crowds; but that would not last forever. To his left was the squat, two mile long installation that he had attacked the day before, and to his right the buildings were tall and getting taller as he moved deeper into the city—each one presenting a possible threat. A lone sniper could drop him easily, and Lexicus knew it. What he did not know was that the best sniper on Erebus was just getting into place a quarter mile ahead.
Although the sniper had never been on top of this particular building, it was the tallest structure in the area and he had guessed that there would be a nest on top. When the presence of two sniper rifles and a pile of ammunition confirmed his suspicion, he smiled. Quickly getting into position, he gazed through the scope, searching the street. There you are. The massive, armored Spartan moved through the city at a brisk pace while thousands of armed soldiers lined the streets, merely watching. "Cowards," the sniper muttered under his breath. As the Spartan passed directly beneath him, the soldier noticed movement near the compound—meaningful movement.
Turpolev had finally heard the challenge and his elite troops were getting into place. An eight-foot solid metal wall topped with barbed wire surrounded his compound; which amounted to little more than a fortified mansion. From atop the building the soldier watched as four snipers peaked their rifles under the wire, and several others armed with everything from shotguns to rocket launchers, began moving slowly up the street. Well, its about time.
It was too much, and the sniper knew it. Unlike the regular rebels, the elite soldiers were quite willing to use their weapons, and once the first shot was fired the trance would be broken and every soldier in the city would attack the lone Spartan. Yeah, assaulting this compound alone was suicide. As Helljumper sighted in on his first target, his lips curled into dark smile. Good thing he's not alone.
Now only a few hundred meters from the wall of the compound, Lexicus heard the crack of a rifle and saw a head explode just behind the wall. In the span of a second three more heads took a round through the brain, and the entire city came to life.
Finally.
Lexicus shot forward with incredible speed just as thousands of soldiers poured into the street to block him—but he didn't slow down. With Chuckles' eighteen-inch knife in one hand and a pistol in the other Lex slammed into the rebels like a cannonball. Soldiers loomed deep as a sea before him, but his rage was deeper still and it flowed now unchecked. Moving quicker than the human eye could follow he ducked, slashed and shot his way through the rebels like an angel of death, instantly killing all in his path.
On top of the building Helljumper was firing just as quickly as he could reload, dropping one elite soldier after another. Suddenly seeing Lexicus in his scope, he froze. Oh my . . . Although he had heard stories of Lex's exploits during the Bishkek Rebellion, this was the first time he had seen the Spartan fight—and it took his breath away.
Continuing up the street with surprising speed, Lexicus cut through the crush of humanity with cruel vengeance, his eyes burning beneath his visor. Soldier after soldier fired at the lethal blur, each hitting either a fellow rebel or nothing at all. Suddenly, with one great leap, the Spartan somersaulted through the air, landing inside the wall of the compound. Thousands began to scale the wall, trying to follow, but Lex was not looking back—he was too near his goal.
Warrant Officer Jimmy Doyle took guilty pleasure in his inactivity as the Pelican entered the shuttle bay and cycled through the air-lock. Sure, the mutinous Lieutenant Gordon had wanted to know the moment this Pelican arrived, but Doyle did not work for her, he worked for Captain Addy. The soldier watched as a huge figure emerged from the ship carrying what looked like an emaciated white corpse. But as the Spartan neared Jimmy was shocked to see the wasted figure moving.
My God, he's alive. Doyle was still staring at Sagus when Rhinox began to speak.
"Soldier, I have to see the Captain now!"
"He's not in charge any—"
"I'm aware of that! Where is he?" Rhinox was in a hurry.
"He's locked in the brig." Quickly putting Sagus into the soldier's arms, Rhinox spoke in a tone that made Jimmy's knees go week.
"Do NOT tell Lieutenant Gordon that we're here." Before the frightened soldier could respond, Rhinox had disappeared into the ship's interior.
Like all Spartans, Rhinox memorized the layout of any ship that he had to be on for more than an hour. Running with desperation, he reached the brig in just over a minute. Two guards stood in front of the door, staring uneasily at the huge figure.
There was no time for negotiation. Without hesitating, Rhinox struck both of them with a sweeping backhand, knocking them out. Taking one step back, he charged into the door; sending it flying from its hinges and scaring Captain Addy half to death. Looking up at the huge Spartan from his cell, Addy remembered Lexicus' threat—that he would kill him if he ever returned to the ship.
"Lexicus?"
"No, Captain, Lexicus is still on Erebus." Working quickly, Rhinox tore the cell door open. Addy shrank back into the wall, still unsure of the Spartan's intentions.
"Soldier," the Captain said with sincerity, "I never wanted to cut you loose. That order came from way over my head." A look flashed across Addy's face that reminded Rhinox of Lexicus—it was a look of rage. "Dealing with Turpolev turned my stomach, but I had no choice."
"We'll have to talk about that later, sir." Grabbing Addy's arm, Rhinox yanked him out of the cell and handed him a pistol. "I have reason to believe that Lieutenant Gordon is about to launch a nuclear strike on Parnassus while our men are still on the ground."
"How many men?"
"Two. Helljumper and Lexicus."
Addy thought for a moment and then shook his head slowly. "Well then, that's two too many—we're not leaving anyone behind. Where are the rest of them?"
Rhinox heard himself answer, but it still didn't seem real. "They're dead, sir."
The Captain froze. What have I done? Then, pushing everything aside except the anger, he walked through the door and began stripping ammunition from the unconscious guards. "Gordon is no fool. We'll need more men to take back the bridge."
"With all due respect, sir," Rhinox said, feeding that last few cartridges into his shotgun and chambering a round, "I'm all the men you're going to need."
Lexicus shot across the lush green lawn towards the door as bullets whistled past his head and slammed into the ground by his feet. At first hundreds had tried to follow, but Helljumper was splattering the brains of anyone who got near the wall and the rebels soon lost all taste for climbing.
Slamming into the steel doors like a battering ram, Lexicus sent them flying from their hinges. Four soldiers had been waiting on the other side, but they had been too close. Three had died instantly, bludgeoned by the large, metal doors. The fourth, suddenly alone and laying eyes on the vengeful Spartan for the very first time, was paralyzed with fear. Before the rebel could make his body move, Lexicus grabbed him by the neck and yanked him up to his visor.
"Where is he?" It was the voice of certain death.
"H-h-he is s-straight up the s-s-stairs."
"Right there?" Lexicus said, pointing.
"Y-yes." Eyes as wide as saucers, the trembling wretch waited, hoping for mercy. But the monster that held him was no longer a man, but a machine made of armor, muscle and bone. Less than an hour earlier he had fired a bullet into the ruined brain of his dearest friend. Mercy was a dead option.
Lex hurled the rebel up the steps and into the wooden doors, breaking them with a loud Crack! Pausing only to grab a discarded shotgun, the massive Spartan cleared the stairs with a single leap; stepping over the dead soldier and into the ornate office.
Bingo!
Turpolev sat at his desk, armed only with an empty bottle of vodka. Tossing the huge desk aside as if it weighed nothing, Lexicus smashed the shotgun stock into the rebel leader's chest, shattering his breastbone like cheap glass and slamming him backwards into the wall. Rushing forward like a spirit, a reaper—a Clown—he grabbed Chuckles' combat knife and plunged it into Turpolev's gut with the force of a jackhammer, shoving it up under his ribcage and stabbing his blackened heart. Quickly yanking off his MJOLNIR helmet, Lexicus lifted Turpolev upon the huge blade until they were face to face, and glared into his dying eyes with cold, unforgiving silence.
As he policed the compound wall with his rifle, Helljumper suddenly felt something that he had not experienced in more than twenty years—he started to feel fear. Not the useful sort of fear that springs from common sense and keeps soldiers alive. No, this fear went from his head to his stomach, nearly paralyzing him. As he lay on his belly trying to figure out what was happening, he saw someone leaving Turpolev's mansion, and the ODST did not need his scope to figure out who it was.
Emerging from the doorway dragging Turpolev's body behind him by a leg, Lexicus headed towards the wall with imaptience. On the other side tens of thousands of soldiers filled the streets, waiting to see what had happened in the compound. Slowly, like a poison cloud carried on a soft wind, an eerie, horrifying fear began to take hold of the rebels. Some of them had felt it before, but most had no idea.
With a powerful leap, Lexicus landed on top of the wall and lifted Turpolev's corpse like a grim trophy. As the crowds saw their slain leader illuminated in the dim lights near the compound, silence fell over the city. Looking down upon the rebels, Lexicus did not even try to control his rage. They too were to blame what had happened and he was going to kill them—every last one of them. Taking a firm hold on Turpolev's leg, he spun him once over his head and hurled the corpse towards the crowd—but it flew only three meters before it stopped, seemingly suspended in space. Cries of horror replaced the silence as the body was ripped in two and then dumped into the crowd.
The creature had returned.
A powerful, violent blow suddenly knocked Lexicus off of his feet and into a street light sixty meters away; killing power to the lights around the wall. Looking up he saw a huge, inky black shadow moving towards him in the darkness as the rebels either ran away or lay paralyzed in fear. But Lexicus was not afraid, he was angry. Leaping to his feet he ran straight for the creature, but as he was about to run into it, something reached out, stopping Lex and holding him still.
The Demon's most powerful weapon was the fear it found waiting in each of its victims. Manipulating those inner terrors allowed it to immobilize and kill on a large or small scale. It searched the Spartan's mind for any trace of fear—but Lexicus had none to give.
A feeling, a thought invaded Lexicus' brain, crawling through his mind, and he could feel it's confusion, and even hear it speak. Why is it not afraid? Why does it not fear? Can it die?
Moving so suddenly that the creature was actually taken by surprise, Lexicus exploded out of its hold and screamed in a voice devoid of fear, but full of rage.
"I'M ALREADY DEAD! CAN YOU DIE!
Bringing up his weapon, he fired the shotgun into the creature so rapidly that the barrel began to glow. A shadowy appendage thrust into the dark to grab him, but Lexicus jumped to the side, grabbed Chuckles' huge knife and using both hands he brought it down on the dark arm, burying it deep. Like a sudden wind, the intruder in his brain rushed away, and the shadow jerked backwards, taking the knife with it. To the Demon this made no sense: kills were supposed to be easy, performed on victims paralyzed by fear.
But it had never faced an opponent like Lexicus.
Watching the horrible scene from the building, Helljumper knew that this was the creature Sagus had saved him from. Unbelievably, Lexicus seemed to be putting up a fight—but the hardened ODST did not expect that to last. Tearing his eyes away from the battle with great difficulty, he searched the area with his scope.
There!
A Pelican was sitting just behind Turpolev's mansion—and Helljumper had never seen a more beautiful sight. Standing to leave, he took a final look at the battle between Lex and the creature—and took off so fast that he nearly left his boots behind.
Sandie Gordon was too nervous to sit, so when the com next to the Captain's chair beeped, she had to lean over.
"Captain here."
"Addy is heading toward the bridge with a Spartan!" She recognized the voice—it was one of the guards she had placed outside the brigg.
A Spartan? That meant Sagus was already aboard. With a gesture she sent two guards out into the hall, and then began to bark orders.
"Lieutenant Sisson, arm a Shiva missile, and remove all safeties."
"Captain?"
"Just do it! Use the same coordinates as before." Gunfire erupted outside in the hallway, followed immediately by a painful scream.
"Shiva is armed, Captain." A shotgun blast impacted the door. "Safeties are removed."
Crack!
Sandie turned around and saw a powerful arm tear the door to pieces. A moment later Addy and Rhinox entered the doorway. Gordon's eyes met Addy's as she gave the order.
"Fire!"
Exploding from the entrance, Rhinox crossed the room in a single stride, knocked Gordon to the floor and leveled the shotgun at her head.
"Call off that missile, Lieutenant!" Addy screamed, his pistol pointed at the frightened officer. But the show of force was unneccessary—they were all glad to have their Captain back.
Staring at the monster standing over her, Sandie barely found the courage to speak. "He can't. Nothing can stop the missile, the—"
A huge boot came down on Gordon's neck and the barrel of a freshly fired shotgun pressed into her forehead, burning her skin. "You had better pray for a miracle, Lieutenant, because if Helljumper and Lexicus don't make it," he lifted the shotgun, cocking it loudly, "then neither do you—I promise."
The Demon sprung backwards, surprised by Lexicus' attack. Thinking that he had wounded the creature, Lex was about to attack again when he saw the knife he had stuck into it flash bright red and then melt; rolling off the shadowy arm onto the pavement below. In that moment Lexicus knew that he could not win. As he stared at the shiny puddle that used to be Chuckles' blade, he knew that he would die. He knew—
But he didn't care.
Abandoning all caution, Lexicus ran towards the black shadow and smashing his fist into it with all of his rage. The sound of the impact echoed through the city like thunder as the monster staggered and fell. But before Lexicus could attack again, he was yanked off of his feet and slammed violently to the pavement. Thoughts invaded his mind as he lay stunned. You will die slowly. You will scream in pain. Grabbing him again, the powerful black arm hurled him into the metal wall, nearly knocking him out. A voice spoke to him inside his helmet, but it was not the creature.
"Lexicus, can you hear me! Lexicus?"
The creature moved toward him slowly. I will burn you. I will watch you die.
"Helljumper?"
"Run towards the mansion NOW!"
Pain shot through his body as Lex stood. He could see the demon coming quickly towards him just before he leapt over the wall and began to run. With a roar, the Pelican rose up behind the house, and then swept down and across the lawn towards the Spartan.
Helljumper turned the ship sideways as he brought it within a meter of the ground. With the Demon so close that he could feel its heat on his back, Lexicus jumped into the Pelican, and slammed the door shut.
"Punch it!"
As the ship sped away, a hideous voice filled his brain. I will find you again. I will watch you die. And then, like a chilled breeze, the thoughts left.
Turning upward as he gathered speed, Helljumper saw something exiting the atmosphere far above.
Oh my God!
"Strap in Lex!" The Spartan did just that, and not a moment too soon. Pushing the Pelican right to the edge of its endurance, Helljumper threw the engines wide open and began gobbling altitude. It was going to be close. Shooting straight up they passed within a kilometer of the descending missile—causing the ODST to shudder. Come on baby, move!
Silence filled the bridge as Addy stared helplessly at the console. Three, two, one . . . and it was all over. A bright flash filled the display screen, and Parnassus was no more. The rookie Weapons Officer broke the silence.
"Detonation successful, sir."
Addy looked down at Sisson with derision. "Thank you, Lieutenant, I noticed." Turning to his Communications Officer, he spoke calmly. "Okay Connie, see if anyone made it out."
"Yes, Captain."
As the officer tried to hail survivors, Rhinox stood over a very frightened Lieutenant Gordon. She glanced over at Addy, hoping that he would do something to end this madness. Certainly he would not allow the Spartan to blow her head off right there on the bridge? But he did nothing. As Lieutenant Connie Kuchner repeatedly called out in vain, the Captain's face darkened and Sandie lost all hope. Finally, Kuchner looked at Addy and shook her head slowly.
"I'm sorry, sir."
Rhinox leveled the shotgun at Gordon's forehead with grim finality. Tears formed in her eyes as Sandie squeezed them shut in fear, but the Spartan was unmoved. "Goodbye, Lieutenant."
Her miracle came, without a moment to spare.
"Cerberus this is Helljumper, do you read?"
The Captain smiled. "Helljumper, this is Addy. Thank God, we didn't think you made it." Fortunately, nobody on the bridge could see the look on the ODST's face.
"Yeah, right. Our ETA is ten minutes. Out."
Rhinox lifted the shotgun, and Sandie jumped to her feet, crying hysterically. It was finally over, and for the first time it really hit him—his brother Xraf was dead. The entire bridge watched in silence as the massive Spartan fell to one knee, pulled off his helmet and wept like a child.
Admiral Thomas Kraft sucked on the cigarette with sad desperation as the vehicle pulled up to the door. Admiral Bobby Denning, his superior, had left a terse message at his office. Something was very wrong, and that made Kraft nervous—and when he was nervous he smoked. A soldier opened his door, and Thomas stepped out, dropping the cigarette into the snow. It was a cold morning—in more ways than one.
Walking briskly into the building, Kraft hung his coat in the hallway and walked into the large office. Looking up from her desk, Denning's secretary regarded him with caution.
"You can go right in, Admiral."
Here goes. Kraft entered, trying to look at ease. "You wanted to see me, sir?" Lifting his head from his desk, Denning stared at him with disgust.
"Do you remember why you were allowed to coordinate the Sagus rescue, Kraft?"
Oh no. "Yes sir."
"Because you said you were friends, because he had looked up to you, because you felt an obligation, right!"
Kraft managed only a nod. Admiral Denning tossed a thick folder across the desk.
"Can you explain then why you two haven't even been on the same planet together since Sagus was five?" Denning's eyes were burning with something worse than anger. Kraft started to protest, but the words died in his throat as he paged through the damning file.
"Where did you get—"
"That file? From your grossly misappropriated AI, Loxias. Tell me, Admiral what was an experimental AI which was assigned to you doing in an ONI office!" Too upset to stay in his seat, Denning stood as he continued. "Loxias sent me that entire file the moment before you decommissioned him. Among other things, the AI said that you had Ackerson killed!"
"Sir, that is—"
"Shut up and listen! I haven't even got started with you!" Yanking the file from Kraft's hands, he pulled out a page and dangled it before Thomas's eyes like a poison snake. "Says here that you had over twenty conversations with Viktor Turpolev in the month preceding his surprise attack on the UN. Twenty!"
"Sir, I can—"
"And look at this!" Denning pulled out the transcript of one of their conversations, and Kraft's face lost all color.
"How did you—"
"What does it matter?" Looking down at Thomas, face red with fury, he spoke with hatred. "I lost two kids and a brother in that attack, Kraft! Over a million UN soldiers were killed during a training exercise!" Trying vainly to calm himself down, Denning returned to his chair.
"You will be formally brought up on charges before the day is out, so don't even consider leaving the base. If it were up to me, you wouldn't leave this office alive." Denning pointed at the door. "Now get out!"
Hurrying out of the door and into the hallway, Kraft grabbed his coat. Numb with shock he went to the cafeteria—it was the only place he could think of going, since his office was not even on this base. Sitting down at a table alone he tried to sort out his emotions, and came up with only one thing—he needed a cigarette. He checked the pocket where they should have been, but they were gone. What else could go wrong today?
"Hey, mind if I sit with you, sir?"
Kraft turned to see a soldier carrying a tray jam-packed with breakfast food. "Sure, why not."
"Thank you, sir."
"Please, call me Thomas."
"Thank you sir, uh, Thomas."
I'm not a knight, you imbecile. He had just decided to ignore the young—was he young?—soldier, when he saw him pull out a cigarette. Gesturing towards the pack, he said, "Do you mind if I—"
"No, no," the soldier said with glee, "go right ahead."
"Thank you." Kraft snatched one of them from the pack as if it were pure gold, and quickly lit it. He'd be needing another cigarette shortly, so he decided to talk to the moron after all.
"So, what is your name, son?"
The soldier beamed with delight. "Tony, sir. Tony Meyers."
Kraft reached out and shook his hand, "Please, Tony, call me Thomas."
"Oh, sorry."
For some reason the admiral suddenly had the urge to poor his heart out to this soldier. Why not? "So, Tony, do you think life is fair?
"Sir?"
"Thomas, please."
"Sorry." Smiling weakly, he continued. "Well, yes, I guess I do."
Kraft chuckled. "Boy, you're in for a big letdown, because life is not fair. You can work your tail off doing what is right, sacrifice everything to a cause that you believe in, and for what? So that someone can come along and destroy it and you." He turned towards Tony. "And that is what they are going to do—destroy me. But not until they've had their fun."
"Gosh, I'm sorry Thomas. Wow." Tony was quiet for a moment, and then spoke softly. "I guess all you can do is laugh."
"What?"
"Something that my dad, God rest his soul, used to say. When I was a kid he told me that if I was ever being tortured by an enemy that I should laugh as hard as I could. Mind you, this was back when we were fighting other men, and not heartless aliens, but—"
"Heck of a thing to tell a kid." Kraft said, cutting the soldier off. "Why in the world would he tell you to laugh during torture?"
Tony answered, smiling like a fool. "Well, because one of two things is going to happen. If you are lucky it will make them mad and cause them to kill you quicker. I mean, that's a lot better than dying slow."
"And?"
"And even if it doesn't make them kill you faster, it always feels good to laugh." Tony looked at him, smiling ear to ear.
Almost against his will, Kraft found himself smiling too. There might really be something to this. Why should I let these losers get me down? I shouldn't! No, I'll go down laughing!
"Thanks Tony, that really helped. Your father must have been very wise."
"Oh, thank you sir! I mean, Thomas. Glad to help." Glancing down at his watch, the soldier nearly jumped. "Holy cow, I gotta go!" As he stood, he shook Kraft's hand. "It has been an honor to meet you, Thomas. Good luck!"
"Thank you, son." What a nice fellow Kraft thought as Tony walked away.
Once he had left the cafeteria, Tony, whose real name was Wiley, smiled with satisfaction. Within the hour the poison from the cigarette would do its work and Kraft would be dead. Heck, for all intents and purposes, he was already dead. By the time anyone figured out why, Wiley would be gone, swallowed whole by blissful anonymity. Doing a job for a dead client was a first for him, and he found it quite amusing. Fact was, the money Ackerson had promised him to eliminate Kraft had appeared in his account the day after Ackerson's death. Someone with a weird name had apparently authorized the transaction in the good Colonels stead. The name was so strange that Wiley did not think that he would ever forget it. Seriously, what kind of parents would name a kid Loxias?
C.T. Clown