Phoenix Rising (Book Two of The Icarus Trilogy) (21 page)

Now, as he watched Jenkins flit about the screen, Roth knew him as a hero.

He continued to watch the highlights on the
War World
special but as the producers ran out of material the anchors had to resort to talking about what made Jenkins so special to them.  It was difficult as Jenkins had only played for a month and a half of games.  Roth didn’t care.  He couldn’t help but feel honored that he had been on the same team as this living legend; he couldn’t help but feel that he could aspire to greatness as well.  It wouldn’t be that much of a stretch; Jenkins’ background wasn’t anything special.  And now that he was watching his former teammate on the screen, Roth wanted to be a better soldier.  He had someone to look up to; he had someone to replace his father after all these years.

As the program ended, Roth looked back down to find that those teammates that had sat with him during the program had vacated the sitting room.  The new soldier was alone again.  It hurt his feelings a bit.  These Hammerheads hadn’t accepted him in the slightest.  They just knew Roth as the kind of soldier that would die every match; he was just a liability.  There wasn’t a reason for any of them to get close to the middle-class man from Gaia.

Roth looked down at the floor and shivered.  He was cold and felt like the world was just a little too unforgiving.  He was trying.  He was trying so
hard
to be dependable; to be liked.  His teammates didn’t respect him.  His owners didn’t respect him enough to keep him on the Crows.  All he had gotten was an RPG launcher and a death sentence.  He buried his head in his hands as he realized he was friendless and would most likely stay that way.

He remembered Jenkins eating his breakfast lazily in the Crows’ mess hall.  He remembered the sullen look of the man’s face as he chewed on his home fries.  He remembered how Ryan was just a man.

Roth pushed his hands away from his face.  His gaze was hard and he gritted his teeth.  He didn’t want to stay in that chair all hunched over.  His muscles were tense and screaming for use.  The failure of a man stood up quickly and huffed out.  He knew what he had to do.  His life and his predicament were not going to change if he gave into his depression and accepted his uselessness.  Roth finally had something to achieve.  He could try to be liked all his life and live the dreams of others or he could actually take his own steps.  He could continue on this path of warfare and become a man he would be proud of.  It didn’t matter if his father might not approve.  Tobias Roth didn’t matter at all.  It only mattered what Percival Roth thought of Percival Roth.

He remembered the program.  He remembered Patrick McEwen’s words while Jenkins performed behind him.  Jenkins didn’t have to be Roth’s hero.  He was just a guideline.  One day Jenkins was going to see a program on Roth and wonder what had changed.  Roth smiled at the fantasy.  He suddenly knew he could do it.  And the best part was that he wasn’t going to do it for the fame.  He was just going to do it so that he would be proud of himself for the first time.  Roth shook off his old skin and walked over to the training hall with purpose.

They are going to wonder, all right
, Roth thought as he clenched his fist. 

-

Feldman was sitting in his favorite leather arm-chair in the library.  It was a ratty old thing with holes in the material and it was missing a few studs in the leather, but it was incredibly comfortable.  That was really just a result of Feldman sitting in the thing every hour when he wasn’t training or sleeping.  The library was his domain.  None of the Crows came to the dusty wing of the barracks unless they wanted to use the three computer terminals.  Some did in their first few weeks, but most of the soldiers lost interest in the outside world once they realized it had abandoned them.

The library was small but packed with a large selection of ancient texts and over-produced commercialized fiction.  When technology progressed far enough, some physical books became antiques, but most ended up being classified as trash.  Instead of throwing them into landfills, the Commission gathered them up and stocked their barracks with entertainment for their slave soldiers.  Most disregarded the effort, but Feldman appreciated the act of charity.  Like most other people his age he had grown up on digital copies, but upon feeling the old paper in his hand he realized he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Feldman was turning a page in
Two Upbuilding Discourses
when he noticed a shadow by the doorway.  Feldman didn’t bother addressing the new arrival; he was much more involved with the musings of the Danish philosopher.  It was more than likely one of his teammates wishing to use one of the computer terminals anyway; there were few soldiers who would bother to talk to the giant.

“What is that?  Kierkegaard?  That would explain a lot about you.”  Feldman suddenly felt on edge as he heard the voice.  The timbre and pitch might have been familiar, but the words were those of a stranger.  Feldman was not in the presence of something he knew.  The titan looked up from the book in his hands to find Templeton sitting across from him in a dilapidated recliner.  The cloth was torn off the side of the armrest but it didn’t bother the new soldier.  The thin man mindlessly twirled the material around one of his fingers while he waited for Feldman’s response.  The titan dog-eared the page he was reading, closed the book and set it on top of the stack to his right.  He had already read all of them, but had been too lazy to place them back on the shelves. 

“Who are you?” Feldman asked as he placed his right leg over his left knee and interlaced his fingers above his lap.  His supposed teammate had his full attention.

“Really, Feldman?  We’ve played together for almost a month now,” the other soldier said in mock amazement.  The resistance agent had not expected Feldman to act like this, but then again he had never been in the library with the man.  He didn’t know the titan except for the psych profile they had given Templeton before sending him to this rock.  The giant continued to look at Templeton with half-closed eyes.

“I know your name, or at least the one you’ve given.  You can’t tell me that’s everything, Templeton.  A mere slave soldier is not going to know about a philosopher from seven hundred years ago,” Feldman said, not once breaking his gaze.  Templeton wondered if the giant was ever going to blink.  The thin soldier scratched the top of his head as he realized that Feldman was right.

“You know about him, big guy,” he said, trying to deflect the accusation.  He needed some time to think about how he was going to talk to the man.

“I read a bit.  You don’t.  This is the first time I’ve seen you here.  This is the first time I’ve seen you not playing the idiot,” Feldman said as he finally blinked slowly.  Templeton breathed a little easier at the small concession.  The giant continued while switching the position of his legs.  “Logic dictates from your actions that you didn’t come here for the books.  You came here for me.  I ask again,” he said before sitting himself up in his favorite chair.  “Who are you?”

Templeton sighed as he realized that he had underestimated the giant in the armchair.  He had known the man to be quite intelligent, but he thought he would be able to ease into this conversation.  As he looked at the swordsman, Templeton realized that he could speak plainly.  The titan would respect it.

“You know what the EFI is?”  Feldman nodded slowly.  Templeton figured that the giant wouldn’t speak until the agent had revealed everything.  “Say hello to your local representative.  That’s who I am.” Templeton waited for the shocked reaction from the soldier but nothing came.  The large soldier just continued to stare from beneath half-closed eyelids.  Templeton hadn’t expected that and scratched at the five day scruff on his cheek.

“We’re going to rise up, Feldman.  It’s about time we take our lives back from the Commission and the Trade Union and fight.  We have a little over a week to get the rest of the Crows on our side.  Guys like me are in all the barracks trying to recruit men just like you.  And just so you know, we’re not alone.  We have a massive support network on Earth, the eight asteroids and even in the EOSF.  We can really win this one,” Templeton said, pleading his case to the man sitting in the disheveled arm chair.  The giant man sighed and closed his eyes once more.  When he opened them his expression hadn’t changed.

“Pass.  Fight your war without me,” he said before reclaiming his book from the pile next to him and searching for the dog-eared page.  Templeton was taken aback by the response.  He had counted on this being an easy sell to the behemoth.  Feldman was known for being an idealist and always did the right thing.  It absolutely baffled the resistance agent that he would have to fight for the man’s support.

“Gregory,” Templeton started, hoping that using the man’s first name would have more power behind it, “this is the right thing to do.  The Commission may have given you back your body but they turned you into a slave for it.  There’s no use in defending the corporations like this, you don’t owe them anything.  We need to fight,” Templeton finished while the giant was still looking through the text in front of him.

“And you’re going to die.  And you’re going to make a lot of other people die, Templeton,” Feldman said before finding the dog-eared page and sticking his finger in between the pieces of paper.  He looked back up to the false soldier and narrowed his eyes.  “The Trade Union owns the EOSF.  They own all kinds of weapons specifically designed to destroy uprisings and insurgents.  There’s no fighting that,” Feldman said before straightening his back.  Templeton shook his head and held his hands together.

“We can do this, Gregory.  If enough of us stand up,” he started, but Feldman wasn’t going to let him finish his idealist statement.

“Then you will let loose a river of blood.  This kind of uprising is doomed from the start, Templeton.  Even if you were to gain popular support then all that would happen is that everyone would die.  The Trade Union is not going to care even if half a billion people are killed.  In order to create the kind of world that would stand up to that kind of firepower, the casualties would have to be beyond massive.  It would have to be enough to test the conscience of military men; men who have been conditioned to follow orders and
ignore
their conscience.  Your revolution would die before that would happen.  Your support would fade away as the casualties rise and your people give in to fear.  A few million soldiers on this planet freed from their chains would not be enough to change a thing.  This is a
fool’s
game,” Feldman said before turning his attention back to the book in his hands.  Templeton couldn’t fault the man’s logic.  It was the biggest flaw in the EFI’s plan.  It was the only thing they had to overcome.  Templeton realized that he had little else to offer the giant and let the naïve mask slip and his real, deeper voice emerge.

“You’re right, Feldman.  There is so much riding on everything going perfectly.  There’s so much riding on whether or not we have the support of the people.  We need them to follow us into the depths of Hell.  We have to boost morale and rely on propaganda to get the world incensed and willing to fight for the rights of their fellow men.  That’s why we have Jenkins,” Templeton said, hoping to evoke a reaction from the giant squeezed into the armchair.  The revolutionary didn’t need to play at idealism anymore.  Feldman held the book for a moment before looking up at the revolutionary in front of him.  His eyes held annoyance and anger.

“What use is a sociopathic idiot going to be for your little resistance?” Feldman asked.  He didn’t like it when people brought up the boy in conversation.

“I’m not talking about Hawkins’ little experiment, Gregory.  I’m talking about Ryan Jenkins. 
Your
Ryan Jenkins.  The one you befriended.  The one who you hoped for.  The one who killed himself.  The failure,” Templeton said, hoping to light a fire in the giant’s soul.  He had never seen it in the swordsman, but he knew anger to be a powerful motivator.  Maybe he could twist it to his advantage.  Feldman didn’t bother to mark his place as he set the philosophy book on the stack nearby.

“What in the seven hells are you talking about?” Feldman said with a slightly lower tone than usual.  Templeton was suddenly nervous as he realized that Feldman could easily rip him apart.

“We’re bringing him back, Gregory.  We’re going to replace that mockery of a man with the original.  We’re going to make him our poster child,” Templeton said, and with every word he could feel the ire of the giant in front of him.  Templeton was certainly getting a reaction.

“Why would you bring back a suicidal man and why would you try to sway over the people with him?  As you said,” Feldman said with annoyance in his voice, “he was a failure.”  Templeton couldn’t help himself from swallowing.  The giant was intimidating him, but the resistance agent remembered all of the things he had already faced.  A large intellectual was nothing scary.

“He killed himself because he lived in a world too cruel for him.  We’re going to bring him back to show how corrupt and evil the Commission and the Trade Union can really be.  They ruined a hopeful man and turned him into a killer.  He will be resurrected and bring hope and change for the world.  He’s going to be a,” Templeton said before Feldman dropped his hands, closed his eyes and muttered a single word.

“Messiah.”  Templeton swallowed his words and looked at the giant.  He waited for the soldier’s reaction as he sat back in his own chair.  The titan opened his eyes slowly and rubbed his right temple.  He looked back up at Templeton and sighed.

“You’re laying on the Christ allegory pretty thick, don’t you think?”  Templeton laced his fingers together and shrugged.

“Hey, if it works I’m fine with it.”  Feldman sighed again as he sat back up and tilted his head back over the edge of the armchair.

“Jenkins wasn’t exactly a Christ figure.  He was just a kid,” he said before lifting his head back to look at his comrade.  Templeton wondered if he had convinced the man to join their mission.