Swan Song (Book Three of the Icarus Trilogy) (33 page)

And just like that the tables were turned on Edward Norris.  Now he knew what it was like to be abandoned.

-

“You’re not going!”

“Like Hell I’m not, kid,” Carver shouted at the young man in front of him.  Jenkins was walking away in a rush, busy with the beehive that their headquarters had become, but Carver grabbed his shoulder and turned him around.

“I’m old, Ryan.  If you all lose me it’s not that huge of a loss.  And like people are so fond of telling me, I’m a celebrity.  I can help with the public show of it,” Jonathon growled.  He had no use for the spectacular, but he was tired of sitting on the sidelines.  Only a month ago he had been content with retiring, but he wanted to go with Thomas and the rest.  Jenkins hit away Carver’s armored hand and huffed before softening his gaze.

“Huge of a loss....?  John, stop.  You’re not worthless,” he said before turning and walking away, but Carver kept step with him, clunking along in his power armor.

“I know.  That’s why I’m going,” he said, but this time Ryan reached out and grabbed the veteran’s shoulder.

“No, you’re not, Carver.  That’s final.  All our eggs are not going in one goddamned basket,” he said with a slight nod for emphasis before walking towards the briefing room.  Anxious revolutionaries watched them as they passed, but the two soldiers ignored them all.

“They need protection,” Carver started, but as Jenkins opened the doors to the briefing room he turned and sighed loudly.

“They
have
it.  The Lions and Mastodons are going along with them and Goldstein is just as good a shot as we are.  We have plenty of plain-clothes civilians that will guard for an ambush.  They’re fine.  Honestly, the only one I’m worried about it is the pretty boy,” Jenkins said as he walked towards one of the grey tables and sat on it, facing his mentor.  Carver rolled his eyes and grunted before crossing his arms.

“Why the hell is he going, anyway?  Jones doesn’t belong there,” Carver said before Ryan shrugged and looked at his feet.

“Atlas insisted.  Said that the revolution started with his declaration.  You know how Thomas gets with his real-life poetry,” Jenkins said as he traced an amorphous shape with his foot.  He didn’t much care about making anything in particular; his mind was filled with far too much to bother trying to draw anything worthwhile.

“Fuckin’ intellectual,” Carver said as he paced around the center of the room.  The briefing room was empty if not for them.  Most of their troops were in the field, supporting the hopeful peace negotiations.  The civilians in the headquarters were mostly given busy work.  They needed something to do other than worry about what was going to happen at the negotiating table.

“Yeah, well, they tend to be the socially-conscious ones.  If he says Eric should be there, I’m not going to really argue.  Who knows?  We might be grateful for it later,” Jenkins said as he looked at the ceiling.  Some of the tiles had fallen off and Ryan could see the dirt above him.  It felt like he was in a massive, communal grave already.  He sighed as he looked back at the aging warrior in front of him.

“Goddamnit, kid,” Carver said as he walked over to the nearest grey table and looked at his young friend.  “I hate this.  I’ve fought for decades and now I can’t do a goddamned thing.  I can’t even go to negotiations which are probably going to turn into a bloodbath.”

“John,” Ryan started, but the old Crow shook his head and slapped the table with both of his hands.

“No, it’s fucking true.  I want to be there, get something useful out of this old, living corpse of mine.  I don’t have many years left in me, Ryan,” he said as he turned to the young messiah figure.  Jenkins had to laugh and shook his head at that.

“I don’t think any of us do, Carver.  And you shouldn’t be trying to run
to
a bloodbath, if that’s what you think it is.”

“Look, I can help,” Carver said in his desperation, knowing he could catch up with the negotiators, but Jenkins interrupted him by striking his own table.

“Enough, John.  This is starting to get stupid.  Stop being so suicidal.  I’m telling you from experience, it doesn’t help,” he said, trying to be light-hearted but ending up depressing himself.  He tried not to think about the suicide; tried not to think of his terrible moment of weakness.

“Not funny, Ryan,” Carver said as he brought his hands together and started to twiddle his thumbs.  Jenkins sniffed at the remark and brushed the back of his hand across his nose.

“Yeah, figured that out as soon as I said it,” Ryan said as he leaned back and looked at the old man.  Jenkins remembered what it had been like to resurrect from that suicide.  A month had passed since his death and Ryan had come out of the resurrection chamber only to ask for a gun so he could do it again.  He hadn’t realized a revolution had started and that he was going to be center stage.  But what struck him the most from that memory were the visions.  That was the first time he had seen the black, twisted wings and the endless ocean in front of him.  His suicide had started it all.

Ryan looked at his mentor and considered telling the man everything.  The dreams were starting to wear on him; the sun was climbing higher in the sky and in the dreams Ryan was becoming more and more tired.  He didn’t know if there was significance to it or if his subconscious was merely playing on his mental fatigue, but it still bothered the young revolutionary.  He hadn’t told anyone, but as he looked at Carver in his discontent, Ryan thought that this might be his opportunity.

“John,” he said, trying to get the old Crow’s attention.  Carver shifted in his power armor and Ryan was struck by the brilliance of those blue eyes.  Jenkins was never prepared for the Carver’s stare, but instead of fear it brought admiration.  Ryan could always trust the old man to do the right thing; to offer advice when he could.

“Yeah, kid?  What’s on your mind?” he asked, setting his hands by his sides.  Ryan sighed and bit his lip before continuing.

“I was thinking, I kinda.... well, I forgot what your code name was at the time, but is that why you knew about that myth?  Is that why you knew about Icarus and Daedalus?” Ryan asked as he brought up his legs and crossed them on the desk.  The veteran across the room chuckled and scratched the back of his neck.

“Because Goldstein named me Daedalus?  No, Ryan, I’ve actually known that story for a long time.  Not big into mythology, but when you become a celebrity in
War World
people send you all kinds of information.  One asshole told me to not get so self-obsessed and brought it up.  Didn’t bother responding but I looked up the story afterwards.  I could identify with it a little, though I thought I mighta been Icarus at the time,” Carver said as he recalled the memory.  He looked down at his feet before turning back to his young companion.

“Then why did Goldstein choose the name?” Jenkins asked, curious as to why Zachary would think it was appropriate for the old Crow.  Carver grunted before shaking his head.

“He’s a dick.  We’ve never really seen .... eye-to-eye.  I’m guessing the name has to do with my age and ....” Carver said before staring off into the middle distance.  He sighed and then turned his gaze towards the ground.  “Anybody ever tell you about Washington?”

“I’ve .... heard the name.  That’s about it,” Ryan said as he held his left elbow with his other hand.  It wasn’t often that Carver would be so willing to share information about his past.  Carver sniffed and Ryan was surprised to see that the old man was holding back tears.

“He was like us.  Early riser, so to speak.  And though I tried to teach him, well, he....” Carver said before sniffing again and turning to Ryan.  The tears were welling up in his eyes but he wouldn’t let them fall.  “He killed himself, kid.  Kinda like you.  That’s why you hurt me so much.  It was a reminder, I guess,” Carver said before staring back at the floor.

“Oh, God, John, I didn’t know,” Ryan said as he tried to imagine what he had really done to the old Crow.  Carver just laughed and brought a finger to his eye, letting the tear roll away from him.

“Ryan, you couldn’t have,” he said before looking at his compatriot again.  “I don’t blame you for that, though.... well, I used to,” he said before turning and looking off into the middle distance again.

“Goldstein’s clever and this was his revenge on me.  Coward can’t just come out with things, he has to poke and prod,” Carver said as his voice started to shake.  “To him, it was like I lost a son.  The kid I had tried to teach, tried to father, he flew too close to that damn sun,” Carver said as the sadness poured out of him.  He brought the heel of his palm to his eye and tried to wipe away another tear.

“He was wrong, though.  He wasn’t too clever, after all,” Carver said with a sorrowful chuckle.  He turned to Ryan, who was aching for the father figure across the room.

“How?” Jenkins asked, curious as to what Carver was going to say next.

“I didn’t lose a son, Ryan.  I lost three,” he said while twiddling his thumbs again, focusing on the slow movement of his hands.

“Three?” Ryan asked, wondering where the Carver had gotten that number.  The messiah tried to add it up, but even including his own suicide, that was only two people.  He briefly considered that Carver might have had some sordid love affair or some tryst in his youth.

“Yeah, kid.  Washington, obviously, you, if you couldn’t figure it out, and.... your clone,” he said before planting his hands on the grey table and looking at Ryan.  “I know we never talk about him, I know that nobody mentions him in any broadcasts or casualty reports, but goddamnit, kid,” he said before sniffing.  “Every day.  Every day I hurt for him.”

Ryan looked at his mentor and could feel the tear tracks forming on his own face.  It had been so long since the other Jenkins had come to mind, Ryan was so busy mourning all of the new casualties.

“Hell, kid,” Carver continued before looking at the ground, “he’s more my son than you two.  I made him.  And then we just threw him away,” Carver said, but Ryan wouldn’t let that stand.

“We didn’t throw him away, John,” he said, but Carver jumped off his table and walked over to his compatriot.

“Yes, we did, Ryan.  He gave himself over completely to our war effort, he fought against Hawkins’ programming and he died before he could ever have a real life.  I made a man, threw him into Hell and then left him there!” Carver shouted, desperate to have someone recognize his pain and guilt.  Ryan had never heard him talk about it, but it made sense that Carver would keep it to himself.  He would never burden someone with thoughts like these.

“Stop it, John!  You’re not alone in this,” Jenkins said as he rose to his feet, determined to take some of this burden.  His thoughts fell back to Jessica’s statement, but he knew that this one didn’t count.  This burden was already his.  “He died because of my stupid decisions.  And maybe you don’t realize this, but by the time it happened, by the time it was coming down around us,” Ryan said as he recalled the artificial man’s easy smile.  “He was my brother, Carver.  He was my brother just like he was your son.  Never tell me that we don’t grieve for him or that he died and no one remembers.  We remember,” Ryan said, putting his hands on the veteran’s armored shoulders.

“John,” he continued, watching the old Crow lift his gaze and look at him fully.  “You don’t need to run into a bloodbath to remember him.  You don’t need to die in a blaze of glory.  Hopefully there won’t be any more chances at that,” Ryan said, but Carver shook his head.

“Kid,” he said, but Jenkins shook the warrior by the shoulders.

“But there might be.  And if it comes to that there’s no way I’m not going to be by your side.  We’ll go out together,” Jenkins said with a bitter smile.  Carver breathed out deeply and patted the young man’s shoulder.

“You don’t....” he said, but Ryan shook his head again.

“I do.  Because I wasn’t lying.  You’re not worthless.  I don’t want to lose you, Carver,” Jenkins said, tears welling up his eyes.  “I don’t want to lose you the way you lost them, the way you lost me,” he said, emotion starting to affect his voice.

“John.  Don’t do that to me.  Don’t run out there and get yourself killed just because you can.  Promise me that, old man.  You promise me that, Carver,” he said before sniffing and looking into the old man’s eyes, “and I’ll try to be a better son.”  Carver looked over his young friend and felt too much emotion, too many things that had been repressed and ignored.  He grabbed Ryan and brought him into an embrace, squeezing his surrogate son with all the strength he could muster.

“You fucking idiot,” Carver said, his voice faltering from all the emotion.  He felt Ryan fighting against it but didn’t care.

“C....rver, pow- armor,” Jenkins said, which caused the old Crow to release him immediately.  He looked the messiah figure over, but Ryan quickly recovered.