Swan Song (Book Three of the Icarus Trilogy) (25 page)

“You kidding?  Not to tip our hand, but we sent you through an EMP scrambler.  Anything technologically-related on your person is fried.  Umm, by the way, sorry about the phone,” Goldstein said, feeling mildly guilty at the act.  He felt crippled whenever he had to switch to a new phone.

“Everything’s fried?” Maxwell asked, causing the revolutionary to nod.  Garrison smiled at that.

“Good.  I’m not sure if they tagged me, honestly.  I expected it, but I didn’t know.  I’m glad you sent me through that.... what did you call it?” Garrison asked, which prompted confusion in the revolutionary in the metal chair.

“EMP scrambler.”

“I’ll have to remember that.  Thanks,” Maxwell said as he interlaced the fingers of his hands and set them above his legs, which he had crossed.

“You wanted us to fry your tech?” Goldstein asked, his voice full of skepticism.

“Oh, yes.  There are multiple layers to this visit, Zachary.”  Goldstein pursed his lips at that.

“Such as?”  This time it was Maxwell’s turn to smile.

“Well, not to tip my hand,” Garrison said before sighing, “but on the surface, I really am here as a representative of Jasper Montgomery and the Trade Union.  Being the one surviving director from Eris and a life-long acquaintance of Jonathon Carver afforded me the opportunity.”

“Beneath the surface,” Garrison said as he leaned forward, uncrossing his legs and setting each hand on its respective knee.  “I am much more inclined to see that the EFI wins this war and Jasper Montgomery is sent to a long-overdue grave.”

Goldstein looked the aging bureaucrat over and wondered how this had come about.  It was not a situation Zachary had anticipated and it deserved a solid look.  In the background of his mind the middle-aged Crow kept analyzing the situation, but he decided to entertain Garrison in the meantime.

“Now, as much as
I
dislike the Trade Union and Jasper Montgomery, it’s quite easy to see why I would want the EFI to win this struggle.  You, on the other hand, have quite a bit to lose.  A fancy title of Ambassador, for instance.  Why on Earth, or any of the asteroids, would you want the Trade Union to lose?” Goldstein asked before leaning back in his metal chair and supporting his chin with his right hand.  The bureaucrat shifted in his chair and the room took on a more somber atmosphere.

“He took my wife and my son.  They were on Eris when it was destroyed and I only have one daughter left.  I will not let Jasper have another chance to hurt me or my family.  Selfish, I know,” Maxwell said as he leaned back and crossed his arms.  “But at least you know I’m not lying about it.”

Goldstein looked the man over and considered the situation.  If it was true it was completely understandable.  For the moment Zachary would allow Maxwell to continue; promise for further conversation and dealings.  It all seemed too perfect, but Goldstein was almost salivating at this turn of events.

“Well, that’s all well and good,” Goldstein said as he leaned forward.  “But how do you propose to deliver the Trade Union to the EFI?  We now have Gaia and will soon own Osmos.  What can you offer?”  The aging bureaucrat stood up and walked towards Goldstein, standing above him with a friendly look.

He couldn’t see it, but Douglas Finnegan could feel his belly starting to fill back out.  After being denied food for so long, he grasped at every morsel with zeal.  The quartermaster had no desire to hold anything back from him; Finnegan had been subjected to so much misery.

Douglas sat at his desk in the studio and waited for the technician to signal that the tapes were rolling, feeling awkward about his body.  He had almost wanted to be able to see himself in his emaciated state, being thin had always been a distant prospect to him, but that body was gone.  Because he had no way to exercise and nowhere to go, the food that he had piled into his stomach had quickly turned to fat, his adipose tissue quickly rebounding back.  He was still thinner than he had been before the revolution, but Douglas still felt disgusted with himself.

The former announcer was interrupted from his thoughts by a distinct, long beep.  It meant that the tape was rolling and that he should play his role as the storyteller.  Douglas had done so many broadcasts since he had come to the EFI.  It felt like it had been a month since Goldstein had introduced him to the world.  It had done wonders for Douglas’ self-esteem and he would be eternally grateful to the revolutionary for this opportunity. 

“Hello, my friends.  I’m sure you know my voice by now, but for those just starting to listen, my name is Homer.  And just like the poet of old, I’m here to tell you stories of heroes and wars.  I hope that I may encourage you; I hope that I may light a fire within your soul.  But most of all, I wish to help you through these dark times.  Without my vision I exist in complete darkness, but I can still see the light at the end of the tunnel.”

“For those who don’t know or those who gave into the lies of the Trade Union, let these issues be clear.  The Earth Freedom Initiative is gaining in power.  No longer are we running along in the shadows, hoping to strike at this evil empire continuing the enslavement of the common people.  No.  Now we are legion.  Gaia has given its support to the Initiative; Osmos is sending resources and rations to Initiative outposts throughout the system.  This war is not over; this insurgency is not against the ropes like Jasper Montgomery would have you believe.”

“It is because of the heroes that we live and breathe, my friends.  The righteous will and vengeance of our leaders gives us the hope and the strength to live on.  Ryan Jenkins still fights among us.  He was there to support the strike at the Babylon EOSF Station, which was a rousing success.  The Eris Freedom Initiative has made solid headway into the very capital of Jasper’s empire.”

“Ryan Jenkins was there to make it happen.  Jonathon Carver was there to make it happen.  So many men and women were there and fought the good fight; so many people have fought and died in order to make it possible.  If I could, I would be out there fighting with them.  I gave my leg and my sight for the cause, but I would still give everything that I am to be out there with these modern day heroes.”

“These men are myths in the making, my friends!” Douglas shouted as he started to fall in love with his own speech.  The words were from the heart; a generous helping of his school-learning filtering throughout the rousing commands.  Douglas spent no time worrying if he was right, he only indulged in the fervor that was making him feel proud to be alive.  He couldn’t see, he couldn’t imagine what the operation had looked like to the casual observer, but he imagined it all the same.  It felt like a modern siege of Troy, but the Greeks had rocket launchers and sniper rifles on their side.

“What is stopping you from joining them?  Every day we are growing in strength.  What is to stop you from becoming one of these legends?  There is nothing stopping you from looking back in ten years and saying: ‘I was there.’  It is my greatest despair that I cannot take part, but I know my role well.  I am the storyteller.  I am here to show you all the potential inside you.”

“Because Ryan Jenkins and Jonathon Carver and all of the other soldiers fighting for your freedom didn’t start out as legends.  They did not start out as heroes.  They became this way.  They forged themselves into the people they needed to be; into the people who would save us and our freedom.  They were just like us.  In fact, they started from something less than us.  They had been forced into the games.  Ryan Jenkins died, he
killed
himself, because he thought he was no longer a real person.  Jonathon Carver was a dishonored soldier because he refused to kill innocent children and civilians.  They were broken; thrown away by society.”

“But that might be the only reason these men could be considered remarkable,” Douglas said, drool collecting at the corners of his mouth, which caused him to swallow his words for a small time.  He then breathed in deeply and continued.  “They had been broken, but they proved themselves to be stronger by this very fact.  They removed the weakness they found in themselves and became living legends.  Heroes of the revolution.”

“So what’s stopping you?  Starting from so much more, what’s stopping you from becoming the next heroes?  What’s stopping you from becoming part of this wonderful story?  Why is it that I’m not saying your name in these broadcasts?  There is so much potential in all of us, and it would be my honor to add your names to this story in the making.”

“Nothing would please me more.”

-

Thomas wore a sad smile on his face.  It seemed the EFI was finally gaining ground, but he would never be able to fully give into the excitement.  He knew just how many sacrifices had been made just to get to this point.  Thomas had taught many students over the years, many were still making Atlas proud, but there were so many lost to time.  Even before the current insurgency, even before the Fall of Eris, Thomas had been at this revolutionary game for years.  He had been a young idealist back in St. Louis.  He had been there along with his friends, protesting the immoral games and the corporations who owned all those poor souls.

Atlas remembered the stench in the streets.  He remembered tasting the blood of other protestors as the EOSF opened fire onto the crowded boulevards.  It was a traumatic scene that Thomas never wanted to forget.  It would forever stay burned into his mind and Atlas made sure to remember it from time to time.  He knew that forgetting or downplaying the incident would only allow him to make mistakes.  He had to honor those people who had died in those terrible days.  Thomas owed them that.

The former leader of the Earth Freedom Initiative was sitting at his desk in his room.  It had walls plastered with maps and a blackboard was sitting in the corner.  It was old technology, but Atlas remembered his teaching days with a certain fondness.  His desk was a rickety, old, oak antique.  It was covered with papers, but Atlas knew where everything was.  Thomas had created a system a long time ago, and it was almost impenetrable to anyone but him.  It made the teacher smile when he thought about his assistants trying to sift through the papers.

Atlas was in the middle of writing a very important letter when he heard a knock at the doorway.  He looked at the thin door and wondered who would be calling for him at this time of day.  Thomas was used to giving advice, and this was usually how people came to get it, but Atlas had thought his role as teacher would come less often now that he had abdicated his leadership.  He set down the pen on the sheet of paper and leaned back in his chair.

“Come in,” he said with a warm tone.  The door slowly opened and Atlas was surprised to see his visitor.  Eric Jones cautiously entered the room and started to walk over to Thomas’ desk with apprehension.   Atlas kept the sad smile on his face and motioned for Eric to sit across from him.

“Mr. Jones.  What brings you here?” he asked, wondering why the celebrity would be wandering into his room in the middle of the day.  The slightly-disheveled man stumbled over to the plastic chair and eased himself into it.  He rubbed his chin with his hand and then looked at the father of the revolution.

“I want to help,” Eric said, sniffing at the end of the statement.  Atlas tilted his head and looked at the youthful man with sympathy.  Thomas was reminded of a certain student back at the university.

“Mr. Jones,” he started, but Eric shook his head at that.

“Eric, please.  I don’t deserve any respect,” Eric insisted.  Atlas pursed his lips at that, but then continued.

“Eric.  We have plenty of ways you can help.  There are always chores and errands that can be done around the base and I’m sure we can find something,” Thomas said as he started to think up busywork for him, but Eric put up his hand and motioned for the teacher to stop.

“No, Atlas.  I don’t want something like that.  That’s for normal people,” he said, which caused Thomas to shake his head. 

“Eric,” he started with disapproval, but the more youthful man interrupted him.

“No, I’m serious.  And you can call me a normal person, but I don’t want to do that.  I want to fight.  I know I can.  I’ve never really fired a gun, but I’m sure I can train for it.  I need to be able to help in a real way.  Douglas has his Homer speeches and the doctors and quartermasters can do what they want, but I’m literally doing nothing down here in this, well, prison,” Eric said as he started to get excited, shifting in his chair.

“Douglas does the chats because that’s what he’s able to do, and hell, he’s damn good at it.  He has so much power behind all those words I’m actually surprised it was hiding in there.  He’s living up to his full potential.  Atlas, I mean, Thomas,” Eric said as he tried to stare into the teacher’s eyes.  “I want to live up my potential.  And in this struggle that means I have to fight.  Sitting in an old gym does nothing for the EFI.  I can at least shoot a gun.  I can at least try to help with some of the operations.  If I go to the surface at all, I’m screwed, Tom.  People will recognize me immediately and in the state I’m in, I can’t do anything to stop it."