Swan Song (Book Three of the Icarus Trilogy) (24 page)

“Goldstein,” Maxwell said in a defeated tone.  The revolutionary had to laugh at that.

“I was hoping you’d figure it out.  Good job, Mr. Director,” Zachary said as he swiveled back around in his chair.

“I had to do a risk assessment of your little black market every quarter, Zachary.  It was a bit of an inconvenience,” Garrison said, sinking into the statements.  Goldstein mockingly gasped at that.

“Oh, Max.  It was part of the game!  I did what I could to remove the hazards of my business, I think,” Goldstein said as he stood up from his chair and started to pace around the room.

“You did, Zachary.  That’s why you were allowed to continue.  But now that we have had our .... pleasantries, could you get Jonathon on the line?  I need to talk to him,” Garrison said, but Goldstein grunted at that.

“Well, on that I’m going to say sorry, Max.  He’s out of the building, so to speak.  What was it that you wanted to talk about on behalf of the Trade Union?” Zachary asked as he settled his hands onto the back of his chair.  This conversation was so immensely entertaining to him.

“I think I have a better rapport with-”

“Mr. Garrison, with all due respect, whatever you say to me can at least be repeated.  And I have a feeling you would be better off speaking to me about this issue,” he said as he rapped his fingers against the hard plastic.

“Why would you say that?”

“I’m more.... amenable to outsiders.  Say your piece, and I’ll give you what assistance I can.”  There was a fair amount of silence after that statement, but Goldstein soon heard a breath of resignation from the other end.

“You win, Zachary.  I have been tasked by Mr. Montgomery and the Trade Union for negotiations for the cease-fire and a possible peace agreement between our two warring bodies.  We could possibly end this bloody conflict and reach a settlement,” Garrison said, clearly operating as a puppet for the massive organization.  Goldstein had to smile at the statement.  This day seemed to be getting better and better.

“Now, Maxwell.  I am the
perfect
person to talk to for negotiations.”

-

Edward was happy for the first time in a long time.  The sniper had done what he could to maintain a pleasant and joking demeanor around his friends and allies, but on the inside it had become hollow.  Since he had returned to Earth, it had been one crisis after another and an inward depression built from grief, obligation and war.

Cassandra had changed all that.  In the course of a week, the Mastodon had given him a new lease on life, so to speak, and had allowed him a greater sense of freedom.  He didn’t just have to follow orders; he didn’t have to return home to a woman he didn’t necessarily want.

It felt like Norris was becoming his former self again.

The jester opened the door to his apartment and threw his satchel on the sofa.  He wasn’t going to be here for long.  The streets were in chaos after the strike against the EOSF so it was the perfect time to go after an unsanctioned hit.  This time it was going to be a War World Entertainment lawyer.  This particular mark had devised the clauses that had set the wages for soldiers so far below the costs of resurrections.  It was a legislative coup for War World Entertainment, but also the very reason that so many soldiers were never able to leave Eris.

As far as Norris was concerned, this lawyer had a healthy dose of responsibility for all the people who died with Eris.

“Where have you been?”

The jester’s smile disappeared as he heard the familiar voice.  Edward turned away from the bedroom and towards the kitchen, where a fairly-pregnant woman was looking at him with a scowl.  Jessica had a habit of scowling even when she wasn’t upset, but Norris could tell that this one was genuine.

“I was in the operation,” the Englishman started, but Abrams narrowed her gaze and sniffed loudly.

“You know what I mean, Ed.  You haven’t been staying here and none of the other soldiers have been helping you out.  I would have known,” she said, crossing her arms and leaning against the door frame leading into the kitchen.  The red-headed killer bit his lip and shoved his thumbs in between his hips and the fabric of his fatigues.

“What does it matter, Jess?  What does it matter what I do with my free time or where I lay my head?” he asked as he sidled up against the back of the sofa and sighed.  The woman with the short, curly hair looked shocked at the question.

“What does it matter?  Why wouldn’t it?  Ed, we’ve been in the same apartment for the last three months.  We fought and died together for years on Eris.  We slept in the same bed for a lot of the time.  Why wouldn’t it matter?” she asked, her tone full of frustration and confusion.

“Look, Jess, just because you’re pregnant doesn’t mean you can force this lifesty-”

“What the
fuck
are you talking about, you English bastard?  What am I forcing on you?”

“I never asked to be a father, Abrams!” he shouted, standing up from the couch and bringing his hands in front of him.  The use of her last name shocked the warrior woman and caused her to glare at her former lover.

“I never asked you to be one, Ed!  This kid’s mine and I’m not forcing it on anyone.  Just because you’re not the father doesn’t mean you have to be an asshole about it!  What is going on with you?” she shouted back at him, tears welling in her eyes but sadness absent from her words.

“I can’t be the man you want me to be, Abrams!”

“Stop calling me that!  Since when did you decide to use my last name?”

“Since I started seeing someone else!” Norris shouted, his breath heavy as he yelled at the pregnant woman.  The statement echoed throughout the apartment and was followed by silence.

“What?” Abrams asked, hurt at the revelation.

“I....” Norris started, shame starting to filter through the anger and frustration.  “I haven’t been back to the flat because I had someone else to go to, girlie.”  The Englishman looked down at his feet and realized he could have handled this better.  Jessica didn’t deserve this.

“Who?” Jessica asked, her gaze firmly on the floor beneath her, the tears starting to fall in earnest.

“Does it matter?” Edward asked, thinking that this was a necessary conversation.  This was how it had to be.

“I guess it doesn’t,” Abrams said as she brought her hands around her torso and clutched at her shoulders.  She felt cold and alone; rejected by the one person who had always accepted her completely.  “Why?”

Norris shifted his feet and wondered the same question.  Everything Cassandra had said was convincing at the time, but now it seemed so silly.  Abrams had always been there for him.  She wasn’t the perfect companion, but in times of desperation and hopelessness they had been there to support each other.

“I just.... I think it’s time we go our separate ways.  We needed each other on Eris.  I think we can both admit to that.  But.... shit, I’m not walking away from this without being the bad guy.  It’s over, girlie.  We were never meant to be parents, at least not of the same kid.  And slavery and debts were what brought us together.  Not exactly the best foundation for a relationship.  Bloody hell, I mean, are you even attracted to me?  Not to be more of a bastard, but ....” he said before trailing off.  He couldn’t look her in the eye as he backed away towards the bedroom.

“I’ll grab my things, Jess.  I’ll be out of your hair.  You’ll be.... you’ll be better off without me.  I was always meant to breeze into town and pass on through.  I stayed too long,” Norris said as he went into the bedroom and set about throwing his extra clothes into a duffel bag.  He could hear sniffling from the other room and hated himself, but he knew this was for the best.  He wouldn’t be able to live here anymore; not with the woman pregnant with a mystery man’s child.  He turned and exited the bedroom, expecting to see the woman breaking down in tears, but Abrams was standing by the open door and glaring at him.

“Well, get the fuck out, then.”  The Englishman gulped before walking towards the warrior woman.  She was crippled and pregnant, but Norris knew that she could have killed him in a second if she wanted to.  The jester halted next to the woman, considering saying a thousand apologies, but then realized it wasn’t right.  It was best this way; Abrams would be able to move on if she hated him.

When the red-headed killer left the apartment, Jessica slammed the door behind him using her foot.  She looked at the knife in her hand and wondered if it would have been satisfying to kill her former lover.  Abrams hadn’t used her knife since the Fall of Eris, but it would have been so easy.  She placed the blade on the table nearby and abandoned her past along with her companion.

The woman sank to the floor and fell into sobs.  She hadn’t expected it to hurt this much.  Abrams had anticipated that Norris would leave some day.  He was right; he was never supposed to be a father.  But a small part of Abrams had hoped he would try; that the dream could be a reality.  It scared her to death that she would have to raise this child alone.  She didn’t know if she could do it.

Abrams wanted to be strong, she knew that she could, but in that moment she sank into weakness and sorrow.  The tears came with the sobs and the woman curled up into the fetal position with her back against the apartment door.  She didn’t want to be strong right now; she didn’t want to stare down all of her opponents and prove that she belonged next to them or that she was better.

Jessica Abrams gave into her weakness in that moment, and she was glad there was no one there to see it.

-

Maxwell Garrison was becoming extremely frustrated.  He had never directly dealt with Goldstein while the two of them lived on Eris and he was now glad for it.  The former merchant was more than just difficult.

Goldstein had made a point of it that he needed control over the situation.  He had designated Maxwell to a café in the tenth district, which Maxwell had thought was very out in the open, but it was merely so that a passerby could give Garrison a communicator with an encrypted line.  From there Goldstein had been giving the Trade Union ambassador instructions through the city, often by heading down through subway lines and busy buildings.

Garrison was getting angry at the constant run-around, but he knew that the revolutionary was doing it for a reason.  Maxwell would have been just as cautious if he was meeting with someone who could easily be followed.  The only reason that Garrison was willing to continue with Zachary’s games was that he really wanted the face-to-face chat.

He still fully planned on betraying Montgomery and his Trade Union.

The bureaucrat had almost squealed in delight as Jasper had outlined his purpose as the ambassador of the Trade Union.  Garrison’s plan had worked very well after the strike on the EOSF base.  It had been the perfect catalyst and now Maxwell had a real chance at making a difference.

“Turn the corner,” Goldstein said over the communicator, which Garrison promptly obeyed.  He was just past the yellow tile of the subway’s corner when a huge man ambushed him with a black bag and covered his face.  Very soon afterwards, Garrison felt the man’s massive arms curl around his throat and press together like a vice.  He was still able to breathe, but after a few seconds his head felt extremely warm and he passed out.

He woke when he felt his nostrils burning.  The man in front of him chuckled a bit and removed the substance from underneath Maxwell’s nose before backing up into the chair across the room.  It was an unremarkable room with one light overhead.  It was just Maxwell and the man sitting in the metallic chair.

“Just smelling salts, Max.  You’ll get used to it,” the mystery man said before grunting and smiling.  Garrison looked over his tormentor and saw black hair and a slight air of age to the revolutionary, but that’s not what mattered.  He recognized the voice.

“Quite a bit of theatrics, Zachary,” Garrison said before bringing his hands in front of him.  He wasn’t restrained or handcuffed, which was surprising to the bureaucrat.

“Well, you understand, Max.  Can’t really risk having you followed and leading a batch of EOSF to this little meeting.  Nowhere near headquarters, I’m sure you could guess, but I still have no intention of being thrown into one of Jasper’s little internment camps,” Goldstein said before crossing his arms.

“Internment?  No,” Maxwell started, but Goldstein merely raised an eyebrow.

“Do you
really
think that they won’t stoop that low?  Trade Union isn’t exactly holding the high ground, Garrison,” Zachary said, shaking his head.  Maxwell considered the statement for a while, feeling more guilt than anything, but then soon turned his gaze to Goldstein.

“Well, I’ll look into that.  So not to belittle your plans, but did you think that maybe I had been tagged with a GPS transmitter or something, Zachary?” Garrison asked, but the former merchant just laughed at that.