Phoenix Rising (Book Two of The Icarus Trilogy) (2 page)

“Seriously, how do they get away with serving us this shite?”  Carver stared a moment at the soldier and then shook his head.  He figured he knew what Norris wanted to talk about, but the old Crow wasn’t going to assume anything.

“You don’t have to eat it.  And it’s better than what they give to people in the prisons.”  Carver stuck his knife into the margarine on his tray and then started to spread it on the bland roll in his left hand.  He wondered what would happen if he ignored the jester for long.  Maybe Norris would just get up and leave.  Instead the Englishman laughed.

“I’d venture it’s the same or worse, old man, and a good half of the people here probably have first-hand experience,” he said before spearing a french fry with his fork and shoving it into his mouth.  He didn’t even bother to swallow before continuing.  “Lousy chips, at least.  So,” he said before gulping down the tasteless starch and busying himself with cutting up a piece of twice-reheated turkey, “what did they do to him?”

Carver’s right eye immediately snapped to his periphery to watch the red-haired soldier.  However much of a moral vacuum the man might be, Norris was smart.  Though it wasn’t exactly like Jenkins was playing it low-profile; this new version of the soldier was definitely vying for the mantle of “class clown.”  Carver suppressed the sigh coming from his chest and grunted instead.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, thinking that he might be able to play at ignorance. Norris set down his plastic utensils, sat back and gave Carver the most disappointed look he could muster.  After sufficiently displaying his disdain the Englishman resumed cutting the turkey, which wasn’t going too well with the low-quality knife in his hand. 

“Come now, John, you and I both know that’s just a deflection.  Our pride and joy Jenkins turned into quite the homicidal little bastard after that suicide attempt.  One could make the case that the ole gray matter got a bit of a, let’s say, retooling…”  Norris said before finally bringing a piece of the overcooked poultry into his mouth.  He chewed it a little longer than usual so it wouldn’t choke him and then looked off at the object of their discussion.  Jenkins was laughing and clapping Cortes on the back; the Spaniard didn’t seem to appreciate the contact. 

“See, it’s my thing to make Cortes uncomfortable.  It’s
my
thing,” Norris said before propping up his head with his right hand.  Carver looked at the young Crow and did nothing to suppress the sigh.  It wasn’t right.  Carver had made the choice for the boy.  The old man was the one who convinced Garrison to use the young Crow for the behavior modification.  And unlike the whispers and rumors about Norris and why he had changed into this manic jester, the soldiers were right to think something was wrong with Jenkins.  Norris had merely been shy at first; Jenkins had literally become a new person. 

Carver tried to push away his feelings and view it rationally.  Jenkins hadn’t wanted to live anymore; he didn’t want to be resurrected eternally for the enjoyment of a bloodthirsty populace.  Jenkins didn’t want to live with the pain or the injustice, so he had shoved his gun under his mouth and pulled the trigger.  Ryan Jenkins had wanted to die.  Without Carver’s influence with the regional director, Jenkins would have been resurrected like always; he would still be alive.  Jonathon Carver had made the call and had allowed the boy to be as dead as possible.

“He didn’t want to live, Norris,” Carver said while staring at the food on his tray.  He continued to place food in his mouth, but it was all automatic.  He didn’t try to taste anything; he just wanted to go through the motions instead of really focusing on the boy.  Norris looked at the salty veteran and laughed.

“Well, that explains the bullet through the head, but from what I see of our bouncing boy he’s still very much alive,” he said before drawing closer to Carver’s face; still looking at Jenkins’ antics.  “I assume you had something to do with it.  It’s not often that you go visit Garrison in his little capital.”  Carver looked at the Englishman with suspicion.  He shook his head and let it go; Goldstein had probably let Norris in on that little piece of information and it didn’t much matter anyway.  Norris took care of his secrets; he understood the need for them.

“You know what people always say about you?”  Norris looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

“From what I see, old man, Jenkins has neither the rugged good looks nor the piss-poor teeth of yours truly,” Norris said with a wry smile.

“Funny.  I meant the other thing.”

“You mean the part about how they opened up my brain and played doctor?  Because honestly, Carver, it’s pretty easy to see where this is going.  I wanted more than that,” Norris said before stabbing a couple of fries with his fork and popping them in his mouth.

“Don’t jump ahead, Edward.  You have a nasty habit with that,” Carver said before taking a bite out of his roll.  The Englishman shrugged and waited for the veteran’s next revelation.

“I paid for it.  Couldn’t let the kid keep dying like that.  Too much like Washington.  Now Jenkins gets to be the next hero.”  Carver set down the roll in his hand and put his hands on the table.  He had suddenly lost his appetite when his memories of Washington came flooding back.  It had been almost the same with that man four years ago.

Norris coughed as he choked on the starch in his mouth.  The old man merely watched as the Englishman fought the food down his throat.  The jester grabbed his glass of water and gulped it down to help with the process.  After a few moments the soldier was sitting there panting, staring at the veteran.  Carver had expected that kind of reaction.  The jester had been there during the Washington incident.  He also knew what it meant for the old man to shell out that kind of money.

“You
paid
for it?”  Carver nodded at the still-astonished soldier next to him.  “You’re serious?”  Carver nodded again.  Norris pushed his tray away and rubbed his forehead trying to cope with this new information.  After a few moments of letting the truth sink in, the Englishman turned to Carver and made sure not to talk loudly.

“Carver, I know you’re still feeling guilty about Washington, I get it.  And I know you and Jenkins were getting along well and all, but that kind of thing….”

“It’s expensive.”  Norris’ eyes widened and his brow furrowed.

“Oh, I can guess.  I can guess that it’s way more than it should be.”

“Everything is on this planet.”  Norris gave him a look of slight disgust and then shook his head again.

“Oh, it sure is.  But Carver, you were able to retire.  I don’t know why you kept up with us, but you could have left at any time.  We all
knew
that.  Most of us still
think
that,” Norris said before sitting back and bringing up his right hand so that he could bite the skin around the knuckle on his index finger.  Carver just looked at him coolly and tried to remind himself that it didn’t matter.

“You’re stuck here, now, aren’t you?”  Carver closed his eyes and breathed in deep.  He was still coming to terms with it, but he knew it didn’t matter.  He had spent the majority of his life on the battlefield, for the EOSF and then for the Crows.  It didn’t matter that he would continue fighting until the day the Commission decided he didn’t have any value left and forcibly retired him.  It didn’t matter that on that day they would not resurrect him.  It didn’t matter that he was going to be a slave for war until the end of his days.  He breathed out and opened his eyes to see his compatriot still staring at him. 

It doesn’t matter
, he thought.

“I’ll never get off this planet, no,” he said before running his hand through his salt-and-pepper-hair and holding it against the back of his neck.  It felt different when he said the words aloud.  He had only discussed it with Garrison on that fateful day and only thought about it since.  Letting the words pass his lips now really made it sink in.  He remembered Garrison’s last words on the subject. 

Try not to regret this
.

He looked at Jenkins and saw a void where there used to be a person of merit.  Jenkins had wanted to die, but Carver knew now that it was just the actions of a coward.  Jenkins was afraid of who he could become and how he would be able to deal with this existence.  That didn’t merit Carver’s deal with the devil.  Jenkins was supposed to exist and Carver had helped destroy him.

The old man realized that he had never known true regret until now.

-

Feldman swung the plasma sword in a murderous arc and felt the resistance as it burned through his enemy.  The whole process disturbed the gentle giant, but the smell was the worst part.  He could deal with the fact that he was taking a life and he could deal with the screams of the soldiers as he cut their life away, but the smell of their flesh cooking was enough to make the soldier regret his entire life.  It didn’t even smell bad; it just smelt like one of the better days in the mess hall.

He turned back to the soldier and found the woman’s legs still kicking below her torso.  It was just a nervous twitch, since it wasn’t connected to her brain anymore.  Feldman looked at the woman and sighed.  He had cut her through the middle of her chest, splitting her lungs into two.  She gasped for air out of sheer reaction and Feldman imagined the woman’s mouth filling with blood.  The gentle giant hated that he had to act like a reaper on the battlefield.  If he had a choice, he never would have come to this planet.  Unfortunately his life on the farm had been over; his life had been over.  Eris was the only place that would take him.

Gregory Feldman brought his boot down onto the woman’s throat and pushed.  It was enough force to break the woman’s neck and soon she stopped gasping for air.  The man decked out in power armor weighed just over two hundred kilos while carrying his massive sword, so he could always use his weight like that when he needed to. 

The reticent monster walked back over to his partner.  The two Crows had just destroyed three of the enemy team without very much effort.  The Vipers were a good team, but not many were prepared to deal with the behemoth that was Feldman.  The lesser gravity on his farming asteroid of Osmos had been enough to let him grow to over two and a half meters tall.  The training facilities on Eris built upon that framework and turned Feldman into quite the Goliath.

“That was easy,” the other soldier said.  The Crow was checking his rifle to make sure it was clean; he didn’t want it to jam in their next encounter with the Vipers.  Feldman shrugged and continued to walk over to the other man.  The titan was usually not the talkative type, especially with people he didn’t trust, and this man was not someone he could trust.

“C’mon, Feldman, you need to lighten up.  It’s not exactly like it would hurt you.”  Feldman stared at the youth and sighed.  The last month for the titan had not been a good one.  His balance sheet was always terrible, just like everyone else, but he had died quite a few times in the last few games.  It was already a pipe-dream, but if things continued like this he would never escape from his debts.  Gregory wondered as he so often did whether or not it was worth it. 

Unlike most of the people who had come to Eris, Feldman was neither a debtor nor a criminal.  He was from a family of farmers and good ones at that.  They rented the land from the Trade Union and produced extra large crops on Osmos.  When the Trade Union had created their agricultural asteroids, Osmos and Demeter, they had correctly assumed that the lesser gravity would allow their crops to grow larger and more bountiful.  It was necessary; the two of them had to help feed all of the asteroids in orbit around Earth.  Feldman’s size and the size of his family were by-products of that same gravity.

Gregory Feldman always did his best to help out.  On Osmos he was happy with his family and he carried his own weight.  That was until a drone went haywire and took away the use of his legs and his lower torso.  After a few years of dealing with that malady, Feldman had decided to make a deal with War World Entertainment.  He would play their war games if they would give him a new body.  On Eris his legs worked and he was stronger than ever, but as Feldman looked at his compatriot he wondered if he would have been better off staying on Osmos.  The giant had never considered it before what had happened with Jenkins.

As Feldman walked north through the steel wreckage and trash scattered around the battlefield he thought about his friend.  The giant had really tried to help the boy, but Jenkins had pushed the older soldier away.  Jenkins had given into despair.  Feldman had tried to convince him that there was so much good in the world and that people had the potential to be better than they are.  Jenkins’ response was to kill himself and come back as a monster. 

“Wait up, Feldman, you’re gonna get yourself killed if you lumber off on your own like that,” the Crow said behind him.  The giant turned his head to see the featureless soldier rushing up behind him.  In their power armor, it was almost impossible to tell soldiers apart from each other.  Feldman’s size was enough for any of the Crows to know that it was him, but the sword also helped with the distinction.  Norris had his sniper rifle and Abrams had her knife and revolver, but most of the Crows were riflemen or held automatic weapons.  It was helpful that each had their own ID tags on the digital overlay on their visors, but otherwise it would be difficult to tell which soldier was which.

“Then you better come along,” Feldman said before turning back and walking.  No matter how hard the other soldier tried, Feldman wasn’t going to open up.  He had learned his lesson after Jenkins.  The people he cared about, the soldiers that had so much potential were most likely going to fail him.  There was really no point in extending himself like that again so soon.  Jenkins’ effective death was weighing on him heavily.  Feldman had once told Jenkins that he lived his life trying to be a better man; that if just one man took something away from his example that it would be enough.  Secretly, Feldman had hoped Jenkins would be that man.

 He had killed himself instead.  Feldman couldn’t help but think that he had failed the boy.