Phoenix Rising (Book Two of The Icarus Trilogy) (30 page)

When they finished their roll along the ground Feldman quickly realized that the Jackal was already dead.  Gregory pushed off the corpse and looked around.  He could see where the trail he was following had ended.  The Jackal had killed Haywick’s partner, most likely Markham, and had dragged the corpse into a little ditch, where he had thrown in the corpse of his own partner.  It was quite the setup; Feldman had to admire the indecency of the tactic.  He would never have done it himself, but this world and its rules were not made for him in the first place.

Suddenly the giant remembered his partner.  He wondered what had happened to the child soldier and panicked.  The giant picked himself up, grabbed the handle of his weapon and then ran back to the clearing.

What he saw did nothing to ease his worries.  Roberts was rolling on the ground and seemed to be in great pain.  Christopher was alive, but Feldman knew that it was not a good version of life.  The giant continued on and then knelt down at the boy’s side, inspecting the boy for wounds.  If things were bad enough, Feldman would grant the child mercy and commit the deed himself.  The child did not deserve to suffer more than he already had.

It confused the giant to see no markings, no bullet holes.  There was no blood or broken limbs; no gaps in the armor.  He could see nothing wrong with Roberts except for the fact that he was rolling around on the ground.

“Christopher, what happened?” he asked, not bothering to raise his voice.  Whatever Roberts was experiencing, the giant knew that he would hear soft words just as well as loud ones.  The boy had not gone deaf.  It was a tense moment before Roberts was able to stop his movements long enough for him to turn to the giant above him and say a few words.

“Shot …. glanced off the leg.  Not wounded, but, oh god…. The pain.  It set off so much pain.  Feels…. Feels like it’s broken, but I know it’s not!  I know it’s not, Feldman!  Oh…. oh, God,” Roberts said, unable to describe the pain that he was feeling.  These kinds of spasms had happened before, he knew, but every time it was a brand new pain with each brand new body.  He gasped as a new echo was set off through his shell.

“God.. Feldman….. it’s like…. one shock.. and then it’s all over,” Roberts said, feeling the reverberations from the glancing bullet throughout his chest and his arms.  It was bouncing around inside his head and it was becoming too much to even think.

Then the thoughts stopped and the pain remained.

Feldman was unable to stop what happened in front of him.  He didn’t even think about holding the boy down until it was too late.  Christopher convulsed into a gruesome contortion as an invisible puppeteer pulled the strings in all directions.  His arms and legs slammed against the ground and curled through the air.  The giant reached out with his hands, but before he was able to grab a hold of the twisted child, Roberts’ legs rose into the air and slammed back down.

In normal circumstances it would have done nothing but hurt the boy’s feet, but since Roberts was wearing the standard power armor the kinetic motivators kicked in and drove the soldier’s legs down with three times as much force.  The padding around Roberts’ knees did not have a chance and the downward motion of his uncontrollable legs was enough to force Roberts’ legs back the opposite way.

The sounds bothered Feldman the most.  He watched as the limbs bent back unnaturally and were accompanied by a soft pop and loud crack.  Then Roberts wailed as the pain swallowed him whole.  Feldman’s eyes were wide in horror as he watched the child on the ground continue to thrash his broken limbs against the ground as he felt inconceivable pain.  The giant forced himself into action and held down each set of limbs with the massive tree trunks that were his arms, just waiting for the boy to suffer through the last of this spasm.

It was interminable and Feldman considered very seriously whether he should just kill the boy now.  It would be the best kind of mercy; done for a friend.  But as Roberts’ movements started to ease and the boy moaned out in his misery, the giant could not bring himself to do it.  He had never granted that kind of mercy, and he didn’t think he could start now.

When Roberts laid relatively still, Feldman brought his arms up and sat back on his legs.  He couldn’t believe what had just happened.  He was still in shock when Roberts regained his senses and turned his head to the side.

“What did I ever do to them, Greg?” the boy asked, needing an answer to this terrible thing he had just experienced.  Feldman looked back at his friend and could not help but feel overwhelmed.  The only other time he had felt like this had been after Jenkins committed suicide.  It was as if everything in the world was wrong and everything that had led up to these circumstances was unforgiveable.

“Who, Christopher?” Feldman asked, not knowing what to expect.  He had only asked the question out of obedience; this was just a way for Roberts to speak through his pain.

“The Commission.  Those fucking bastards.  All I did was look into their files.  Now….” Roberts said, tears streaming down the sides of his face encased in metal and plastic, “all I get is this pain.  It’s not natural, Greg.  It’s not just me.  It’s them.  They’re …fucking doing this to me.  So why?   Why?” Roberts asked, sobbing out the question.

“Why do they do this to me?”

The question hung in the air without a response.  There was none to give.  Feldman thought about how petty a vengeance it would be if it were true.  The giant had assumed that the boy was merely of weak constitution, but after seeing the boy’s legs bent backwards he knew that this was something sinister.  It was not a question.  Hearing that the Commission was responsible for this, Feldman felt something that he had not felt in a long time.

The titan was angry.

He was furious.  This kind of behavior, this kind of action was not something that he would ever allow to stand.  Feldman had made it his mission to be the best kind of man he could possibly be, but as he thought about it, as he thought about the coming revolution and all the reasons why it was happening, Feldman finally understood.  If he were to be this best kind of man, there really was no option.

That kind of man would not live or die in this world.  He would live or die doing everything he could to change it.  Feldman breathed in deeply as he finally understood. 

“Hey… Feldman?” Roberts asked by his side.  Feldman looked back at his compatriot and placed his hand on the boy’s own.

“Yes, Christopher?”  He would not deny the man anything, even if he wished to die.  It was not his place to deny that mercy anymore.

“The satchel on my leg.  There are some pills in there.  I just need three or four to get through this,” he said, pointing weakly at his left leg.  Feldman looked down at the pouch and then back to Roberts’ helmet.

“It won’t be much use, Christopher.  If you want, I can…. end this,” Feldman said, feeling the weight of the words as he said them.  It just did not make sense to delay the boy’s death any sooner.  He looked back at the boy’s helmet and saw the soldier shaking his head.

“Plenty of time for that later.  I want…. I want O’Brian to see this," he said, referring to the official that would greet them after the game.  "I want him to see what they do to me.  Maybe… maybe they’ll stop it after this time,” Roberts said, a whine creeping into his voice with that last, sorrowful statement.  Feldman didn’t want to stop his eyes watering or the pain enveloping his throat.  It had been some time since he felt this kind of emotion.

Feldman gingerly placed his hand inside the satchel and extracted a small package of pills.  He undid the clasps around Christopher’s helmet and let the metal façade roll away.  Feldman could see the pain and despair painted on the young boy’s face.  Again, Feldman could see how young this child really was; just past adolescence.  The giant brought the pills up to the boy’s mouth and placed them inside.  The warrior swallowed the painkillers down and looked up at his massive friend.

“That should be enough to make me pass out.  I hope you don’t mind carrying me the rest of the way.  I just…. I just can’t have this happen again,” Roberts said as his eyes started to droop and one last stream of tears fell from his eyes.  Feldman shook his head and held the boy’s left hand between his two massive gloves.

“You don’t need to ask anything from me, Christopher.   Go to sleep, my friend.  I pray that you will not wake again in this lifetime,” Feldman said, unable to keep speaking further.  They sat there for a time, Feldman holding the child’s hands while he drifted towards unconsciousness.  Then Roberts gave his friend one last sad smile and closed his eyes.

The giant set his sword beside the boy’s helmet and placed one arm underneath the boy’s broken knees, the other underneath his upper back.  As Feldman rose to his feet, Christopher’s body lay limp in his arms.  The giant set off to the north, towards the beacons of other Crows; only one thought in his mind.

A great man would not stand for this.

-

Norris smiled as he lined up the Jackal’s head in his scope.  The Englishman took care to adjust for wind and distance and tracked the soldier’s bobbing head.  The poor soul was a quarter of a kilometer away and had only a vague idea of what was about to happen to him.  Norris had done what he could to disorient the man.  After all, it’s quite difficult to regain one’s senses after a comrade’s head bursts open from a sniper round.

Templeton sat nearby and watched the slave soldier enjoying his work.  He could see the Englishman grinning as he looked through the scope, as Norris was not currently wearing his helmet.  If asked about it, the red-haired marksman would only smile and say that it ruined his aim, but Templeton knew better.  After reading the psych profile on the man, Darius knew that Norris just enjoyed having his fellow soldiers see his facial expressions.  He was a vain sort of killer.

The recoil from his shot jolted the Englishman but his aim was true.  He lifted his rifle and then sat back against his cover, giving a slight smile to the resistance agent by his side.

“I feel bad for them sometimes, you know.  Poor bastard never had a chance,” Norris said as he laid his rifle down by his side.  It was getting close to the end of the match and the Englishman had done his fair share of damage to the other team.  Templeton had been present for six of his kills and didn’t have to fire a single shot.  Norris had taken three of the Jackals out without even trying, though his smile disappeared as he undertook the effort.  Templeton wondered if he really needed to recruit the sociopath by his side.

“You’re a quiet one, Templeton.  Why is it we’ve never had a chat?” Norris asked as he crossed his arms and smiled warmly towards the thin man.  Darius looked back and shrugged.  He was thankful for the visor that hid his expression; the Englishman probably wouldn’t have taken too well to the plain show of disdain on the revolutionary’s face.

“You’re a little intimidating, you know that?” Templeton asked rhetorically.  He didn’t know how he was going to approach this.

“Me?  Why I never.  What makes me so bloody intimidating?” Norris asked with a gleeful look in his eyes.  Templeton was still thinking up an answer when the marksman laughed and shook his head.  “Oh, the killing and the happiness and whatnot.  It’s always so difficult to get you people past that.”  Templeton shrugged again and wondered what the best way to respond would be.  He decided just to let the conversation flow naturally.

“It’s a little off-putting, I have to admit,” the revolutionary said.  “Not too many people enjoy this line of work.”  Norris scoffed at the remark and rolled his eyes before looking back at the resistance agent.

“Not too many are as good as me, mate,” Norris said before looking back over his shoulder at the horizon.  There were only corpses, no enemies, so he turned back to his partner.

“So when were you going to tell me about this little coup, Templeton?  Had to find out from my lady,” Norris said while tilting his head and giving a disappointed look.

Darius looked at the sniper and that disarming smile of his.  He narrowed his eyes and sighed, realizing far too late that not only was this conversation superfluous, but that the Englishman was clearly insane.  Templeton looked around for a sign of the remote cameras and felt the stress building into a strong headache.

“Relax, mate, relax.  No cameras around.  They don’t follow me unless I’m about to die and, well, they aren’t gonna follow you.  Your record is not exactly sterling, is it?” Norris asked with a hint of malice in his eyes.  Templeton shifted against his cover and grunted at the man.

“Well, I guess I’m spared having to explain it to you.  Why even bring it up, Norris?” the revolutionary asked, dropping any pretense at friendliness or ineptitude.  He couldn’t help but feel cold towards the flame-haired murderer.

“Because, you tosser, I’m a little bit offended.  What makes you think you can have a successful uprising if you don’t recruit the best killer on the team?” Norris asked, his expression suddenly twisting into scorn and annoyance.  Templeton had never seen it, had never known it to happen and now wanted it to disappear from the sociopath’s face.  He crossed his arms and looked at the sniper with disgust.

“Because when it came down to it, you would fight either way.  You know you would,” Templeton said, waiting for the sniper to acknowledge it, but moved on when he saw the Englishman had not averted his stare, “and I find the whole idea distasteful.  There are a lot of good people here, Norris, but I don’t count you among them.”

“Now, Templeton, that’s a little cruel.  I’m fairly certain I have a little good in me,” Norris said with a grin on his face but anger in his eyes.  “What makes you so much better than me?”

“Really?  You’re going to ask that?” Templeton asked in surprise.  He scoffed at the very notion.  “I’m undercover working for the freedom of every person in the known system.  You kill people and laugh when their heads explode.  Explain to me how it’s even a question,” the thin, black man commanded with a heavy breath.  Norris rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“You pretentious little fuck.  You think that just because you sacrificed yourself for a cause that it makes you better?  Lives are not just one action; people are not just one quality.  When it comes down to morality and character you can only judge people as a whole.  I’m a killer now, Templeton, but who knows what will happen?  I’m just playing a game, here,” Norris said before craning his neck to look at his victims, “but when the rules change, do you think I’ll act the same?”  The Englishman looked across the field of death for a moment and then turned back to the resistance agent.