Phoenix Rising (Book Two of The Icarus Trilogy) (12 page)

“Oh, Max, it had just been too long.  I wanted to see you.  How’s Constance?  How about Nathaniel and Christina?  When last you were here they were little tykes.”  Garrison was absolutely surprised by the line of questioning.  He wouldn’t have ever expected the ruler of the known world to remember the names of his wife and children.  Garrison had to think fast in order to come up with a reasonable answer.

“To be honest they don’t particularly like living on Eris, but they make the most of it.  Constance is perfectly healthy.  She busies herself with her gardening.  Christina is about to enter university back on Midgard and Nathan is about to enter secondary school.  I’m very proud of them,” Garrison said, not able to resist smiling at the thought of his family.  Jasper Montgomery just smiled back at him with his eyes hidden behind folds of old skin.

“As well you should be.  I never had time for children, Max.  You should cherish that.  Tell you what,” Montgomery said before leaning back in his chair.  “How about you grab them a few souvenirs and charge them to the company account.  I’ll make sure they’re taken care of.”  Darren couldn’t help but furrow his brow at his mentor.  He wouldn’t have given this man a thing.

“Thank you, Mr. Montgomery, we appreciate that,” Garrison said.  He felt like the luckiest man in the world.

“No problem, Max.  And you should come to Earth more often.  Maybe bring Constance.  I could see to you having quite the night on the town,” Montgomery said with a warm smile.  “You can go now.  I know you’re anxious to get back to your affairs on Eris.  I look forward to this program of yours.”  Garrison nodded and rose to his feet.  He really didn’t know what to say.  He felt like he had avoided certain doom.

“Thank you, Mr. Montgomery.  I’m sure we’ll be in contact soon.  Mr. Christiansen, it was very nice to meet you,” Garrison said before giving a slight bow.  He felt awkward standing there in that massive office and decided it was just best to leave.  Darren watched him go and shook his head once the man vacated the room.  He turned to the CEO and sighed.

“He had a point.  Why did you bring him here?  You can’t care about his kids, can you?”  The older man turned to face the young executive and gave a scornful laugh.

“Of course not.  I had to look up their names from his file.”  Darren looked at the most powerful man in the system and had to feel admiration.  He was so different when he was just being himself.

“Then why?  There was no need to waste the time and fuel for him to get here, let alone let him buy souvenirs,” Darren said before crossing his arms.  The bureaucrat spun in his chair lazily so that he could face his student.

“Fear, Mr. Christiansen.  Fear and power.  At any moment I can summon a man on another world to my office and make him fear for his life and the lives of his loved ones.  When a man holds that kind of power, the little ants will do everything they can to keep their heads down and avoid mistakes.  I just needed to show
Max
that however powerful he thinks he is, he’s nothing to me,” Montgomery added with a note of pride, making sure to say the man’s name in such a way to make it a mockery.  Darren had to smile at the man’s philosophy.  He could see himself carrying it with him when he took power for himself. 

Darren walked away from the desk and over to an oak cabinet graced with a number of high-class spirits.  He poured himself a nice brandy from one of the decanters and looked over to his mentor.  He nodded to another glass in an offer to the CEO but the old man just shook his head.  Christiansen shrugged before grabbing his drink and starting to pace slowly around the room.

“So what do you really think of his Hero program?” Darren asked before turning to face the old man in his chair. 

“It could be interesting.  That’s all that really matters.  As far as the advertising revenues having decreased, well, that’s something I manipulated.  I own heavy shares in each of those companies.  However, I do find the idea of modified soldiers to be appealing.  It could make the games more interesting to watch.”  Darren looked at the old man and could not help but feel that familiar twinge of envy.  Jasper really did have the whole world in his pocket.

“Do you even watch the games anymore, Jasper?”  The old man’s eyes flickered at the dose of familiarity, but he let the transgression slide.  He guessed he could allow his successor such comforts.

“Very rarely, Mr. Christiansen.  They’ve always been terribly dull.  While these men may be in pain there’s no real outcome; it’s just gratuitous violence for the sake of it.  It’s a peasant’s game.  I just make money off of it,” Montgomery said before turning his chair to look out the wall made of glass.

Darren wondered how long it would be before he could sit in that chair, look out that window and know that everything he could imagine was his domain.  He wondered how it would feel to be a living god.

He couldn’t wait.

-

Jenkins was staring at the ceiling in his room.  He had been trying to sleep for three hours now, but his brain just wouldn’t shut off.  He just couldn’t help himself from hearing Goldstein’s words over and over in his head.  Ryan wondered if he could really trust the merchant to tell the truth, but there was something in the back of his mind that made him believe the older man.  There was something there; something that Jenkins couldn’t explain.

Ryan looked up at one of the numerous cracks in his ceiling and huffed.  He didn’t like this new series of events.  The soldier had felt like he had finally come to terms with his existence on the asteroid.  Ryan didn’t feel sad all the time; he was alright with playing the games.  Jenkins actually enjoyed them to an extent.

But that’s what made it so believable.  No one should enjoy war; not anyone normal.  There were only two members of the Crows who looked forward to the mindless killing other than Jenkins.  Warner was a homicidal convict; Norris was a jester with a sniper rifle.  The two of them were built for activities with an aversion to morality.  Jenkins was a thief, of course, but he had never really hurt anyone before he had come to Eris.  It hadn’t been in him.

Now Jenkins could remember past acts of carnage and a smile would come to his face.  Planting bullets in the faces of his enemies brought such an endorphin rush that he didn’t mind dying.  He remembered the Viper that he killed just a day ago.  He had felt such a sense of accomplishment before the rifle round penetrated his own brain.  Before his conversation with Goldstein it was just a nice exchange of bullets on the battlefield, but now as Ryan was laying there on his bed looking at the ceiling the memory brought with it serious implications.  The more he thought about it, the more it made sense that he had been changed.  Jenkins hadn’t come to terms with anything; someone had messed around with his brain and turned him into someone else.

In his frustration Jenkins brought up his right arm and brought it down like a hammer onto his bed, feeling the whole piece of furniture shake.  He did it three more times rapidly.  Jenkins kept striking the bed and felt the reverberations throughout the mattress.  He picked himself up, already breathing hard from the temper tantrum and started to pace around the room.  After a few moments of contemplation he crawled back on the mattress and grabbed his pillow and set it right in front of him.  He started to unleash a flurry of blows with his fists into the soft pillow.  Ryan could feel his hands pushing right through and striking the mattress underneath.  After what seemed like a hundred strikes he couldn’t even throw a decent punch anymore.  He was just throwing his hands down from all directions; he just wanted to hurt something to distract himself.

Ryan threw the pillow away and sobbed into his hands.  He knew Goldstein was right and it meant something terrible.  He wasn’t himself anymore.  His personality had been stolen from him and replaced with whatever it was he had now.  Jenkins tried to remember himself and the memories were all blurry.  Random exchanges floated through his memory, but he couldn’t remember his own role in them.  He was there, but merely as something to fill the recollection.  He had stopped mattering in his own memories.

Now he knew why he had killed himself.  He didn’t remember doing it, but it made so much sense; especially with what Goldstein had been saying.  Ryan could completely empathize with that last clone before the modification.  That Jenkins had felt like he had not existed only two days prior; he did not feel like the original person.  That last Jenkins had lost his own identity.

The young Crow looked at his hands, already glistening with the tears falling from his face.  The artificial soldier could understand what that other Jenkins had felt.  But this Ryan Jenkins crouched on his bed had not lost his identity.  He never had one.  Jenkins was an artificial person.  He was merely a product of a terrible corporate machine.  He didn’t have a personality to lose; he was made to sell products. 

The soldier turned onto his side and curled into the fetal position.  The universe was suddenly a very scary place and he was completely alone.  He wondered how real he could really be.  Ryan was made in a laboratory.  He had been called out of the void by a scientist.  Jenkins wondered if he even had a soul.

It was too much for the young soldier.  He kept sobbing while curled up on his bed for an hour or so, but he fell asleep well before Moonrise.  His face was sticky from the tear tracks that had formed in his misery.  It was a mercy that he was able to fall asleep.

He was going to have to be a hero in just a few short hours.

-

The artificial soldier looked over to his right to see Abrams hurriedly walking a few meters from him.  She had her revolver drawn and held it with both hands pointing at the ground; she was always ready for the next enemy encounter.  Jenkins thought it very admirable, but sighed anyway.  Ryan needed some levity after what Goldstein had told him; he wouldn't be able to overcome it, otherwise.

Jenkins wondered what he could possibly say to the woman.  She had never been the friendliest sort and the few conversations he’d witnessed with the woman were not cordial in the least.  She was all salt and vinegar and spoke like a sailor.  Good in a bar and a battlefield, but Jenkins had difficulty trying to find something that they could actually talk about.

“Hey, Abrams,” Jenkins said without the use of Comms.  They were close enough that they could hear each other clearly, even with the numerous explosions and gunfire echoes that peppered the atmosphere of Eris.  The woman didn’t stop moving over the landscape of the asteroid, but she turned her head slightly to indicate that she’d heard the man.

“Do you know anything about this team?  What we’re up against?” Jenkins asked.  He figured that she would at least talk tactics with him; that was something she wouldn’t see as wasted breath.

The woman looked over at her compatriot and did nothing to suppress the sigh coming from her throat.  She had wanted to just get this game over with and completely ignore the soldier.  The real Jenkins had been a good kid; Carver should have just let the boy die or get himself retired.  She felt a little bitter about all the wasted money, as well.

The boy walking to her left was just a reminder of that wasted potential.  She would have just let Jenkins die and gone back to her sister if she’d been in the same position as Carver.  Jessica tried to remind herself that Carver could do what he wanted with his own money, but it still felt wrong; especially now that they had to deal with this new soldier.

Abrams looked at the artificial Jenkins and tried to think up helpful advice to use against their current opponent.  The Bulls were not that great of a team and likely had a small handicap to match them up against the Crows, but there were still a few things that she could say to the young soldier.

“Well, the Bulls are known for being a little headstrong.  I think the Commission makes them do it.  There are more than a few melee fighters, so if we can keep our distance that might be good.  Your rifle and my revolver should be good enough to take out a soldier with a chainsaw, so don’t get scared by the noise,” she said with a note of derision.  She hoped it would be enough to make the soldier give up on conversation.  Instead she just heard a laugh.

“I think I’ll be ok.  It’s too bad you won’t be able to use your knife; you’ll be outmatched against any one of them,” Jenkins teased with a smile under his helmet.  He could see the woman falter in her step and turn to look at him.  Jenkins wondered if he went too far.

“I don’t like to use the damn thing, Jenkins, but even if I did I’d be just fine.  You wouldn’t be able to stop me if I tried to use it on you,” Abrams said, hoping the hint of violence would cow the young soldier.  Jenkins stopped for a moment but shook his head and laughed before continuing down the path.

“Don’t be so sure about that.  I’ve fought with you for a while, now, Abrams.  I think I can catch on,” Jenkins said while grinning underneath the mask.  When he teased her he could momentarily forget about his troubles.  He was still looking down at the ground littered with trash when Abrams’ knife stabbed through a McCoy’s bag and into the ground at his feet.  It was enough to make the soldier catch his breath.  He turned to see the woman holding onto her revolver with her right arm by her side and her left arm still outstretched from when she threw the blade.

She smiled at the soldier’s reaction.  Maybe the young soldier would reconsider his words before talking down to a veteran officer.  Instead the artificial soldier leaned down and picked up the knife from its mooring.  He walked over to the woman standing on the discarded tire of a construction vehicle and turned the knife around and offered the hilt to her.

“Looks like you dropped this.  You sure you can go toe-to-toe with one of them if this is how you handle a blade?” Jenkins asked, unable to stop the grin from stretching his face.  He wondered if she was going to hit him for the comment.  He was willing to take the hit; he would take responsibility.  The woman just took the blade and laughed.  She set it back in its holster and brought her empty hand up to her helmet.  Her face stretched into a resigned smile which Ryan couldn’t see.