by G. R. Carter
He clicked the squadron radio, finally breaking radio silence. “Raptors, take the southern camps. One at a time, remember. Don’t run into each other. Alpha and Baker will take the city. Delta, northern camps. Wait for our pass over the city before you begin your attacks. Good luck and Godspeed.”
He’d run the sand table simulations with all the pilots until they hated him for the repetition. Then he’d run it a few more times. Alex gave him plenty of prep time as he waited to give the order he’d been so adamant about getting agreement for. Ultimately Alex was going to do it, with or without him; he’d realized that long ago. Somehow, his brother would find another person to fly these crates if he wouldn’t, to push through what he thought needed doing. No sense in someone else having to live with the consequences of the action. That the decision was out of his hands made him feel no less dirty for being a part; Sam would have to live with the consequences of this flight forever.
He spoke into the radio again. “All crews, prepare for delivery.”
He couldn’t feel it, but he knew his own aircrew would be moving pallets into place in the cargo area. Each pallet would be slid out the back door on his mark. Then a thousand small glass containers would scatter into the night sky, pulled apart by tiny parachutes, the airstream and gravity itself.
One last prayer for a way out of delivering this devilish weapon went up to the Creator…no immediate reply came from up above. He steeled himself and put his C–130’s path directly over the White City’s heart.
*****
Maxwell heard engines roaring from outside. The windows were open slightly trying to keep air circulating through RenOne’s server room, which also let him hear screams of panic from the streets below. Then came a sound like hail hitting the side of the building, followed by the thud and clink of breaking bottles. More screams rose up to his ears as another set of engines roared over and more hail struck. Swirling winds burst through the open window, a cool sensation brushed across his face. He watched a few little snowflakes settle on his hands as they rested over the top of his keyboard.
Confusion gripped him as he began to cry; he wiped his eyes…maybe he should check out what the commotion was below. Clearly, his work here was more important, so he began to type again.
A little stream of drool leaked out of the corner of his mouth and dropped on the keyboard. Irritated, he wiped it off with his shirtsleeve, then he wiped his eyes again. He thought about closing the window; clearly the cold air was getting to him. But he was almost done with his commands, and soon his permanent place on Grapevine would be assured. He kept working.
His eyes felt like there was soap in them, his back soaked with sweat like an August afternoon. He took a deep breath but there was little air to be had. Again, he wiped his blurring eyes, but sweat beaded on his forearm and simply made it worse. He gasped, wheezed…his hands went from the keyboard to the edge of the desk. He had to complete…
Was he having a heart attack? Was it a trick of some kind? Poisoned by his own men? He had to keep typing, his task was almost complete. What would happen to his Profile if the upload wasn’t complete? He wheezed again, straining against the desk to straighten his back, desperately trying to pull air in.
His legs and arms moved without his command. Each went a separate way. He fell towards the window; maybe fresh air would help. Lying on the floor he looked up through the opening. He was sure he saw blinking lights. He thought about the sounds, finally putting the two things together.
Red Hawks. Somehow, some way, they’ve managed to make a mess of things again. The pain was excruciating. He just wanted it to go away. Oozing eyes finally shut, but the pain wouldn’t leave. Every part of his body felt like burning lava, especially his lungs. He realized he hadn’t breathed for a while, so he tried to open his mouth and pull air in. it was no good, his lips wouldn’t separate.
Reality dawned on him. I’m dying. The horror faded to relief. Scenes from his life began to flash, brief episodes like the TV he’d watched as a child. The first time he read a post about Continuity. The first proposal of the Luna station. The night of the Reset, when he’d thought he was going to die. He saw his mother, oh, he missed her. Where had she gone? He couldn’t remember now, but he was pretty sure she was smiling at him. The one person who had always loved him. She was gone, replaced by Kathy and Demetrius, standing looking at him with disgust. Why? What did I do wrong now? So tired of letting everyone down. Why couldn’t you all just appreciate me? I tried. I really did.
All manner of noises reverberated in his head. He couldn’t tell if they were real or imagined. I better try to breathe again, he thought, but it was no good. Maybe I’ll try in a little while.
Maxwell heard his heartbeat pound in his head. A little slower now, then a little slower still. At least the pain had gone. He was too tired to thrash around, so he decided to rest awhile. His mind reached up and turned the TV off.
*****
“Okay, that’s it. That’s the entire payload. Raptors, head for Beardstown. See if Lori can make use of you. Piasa, return to Springfield. Good flying.”
Sam didn’t need acknowledgement of his orders. He knew they’d be followed. But he wanted to say something else…these men and women were family to him. He feared he’d never see them again.
Maybe just a simple recitation of the slogan of the Republic’s airmen – the ones who Sam called his Piasa; the Thunderbirds. Somehow “May we all get to Heaven before the devil knows we’re dead,” didn’t seem appropriate right now.
The black sky was filled with multicolored aurorae as he turned the C–130 away from the brightening horizon. He gave the plane some altitude as he considered what to say. A few seconds, then a minute, then a few minutes of flight time passed. He was still thinking about the words even after he realized too much distance had passed for their spotty plane-to-plane communication system to connect.
He cursed himself for not giving some sort of speech to people who had risked their lives for him. How could he not of at least said thanks? Would they be haunted by what they had just unleashed?
He realized he probably should be paralyzed with regret. He could count himself as one of the few – maybe the only – person to ever use poison gas against other humans in recent history. For all the terror and strife of the previous century, few had stooped to the level of barbarity he and his brother had with Project Lancer.
Yet somehow, he wasn’t nearly as sickened as he feared. Likely if he had seen the results of his handiwork, the images would have stuck in his head forever. But he’d never see the dreadful results of his payload. His subconscious might try to fill in the blanks; as bad as a nightmare was, though, he knew after years of war nothing imaginary could match witnessing the real thing.
He laughed at himself. His only regret seemed to be not having any regrets. Perhaps that might change over time, but for now, he could live with the bargain he’d made.
The drone of the big engines sang a lullaby, albeit a little off-key and out of tune. The hour of airtime until they reached the Kansas City area would be a good chance to think. He’d memorized the old maps of Independence and he thought he had a pretty good idea where to land. He just hoped he’d timed it right so there was plenty of daylight to find a good landing spot.
*****
“I’m sorry, Sam, but she’s gone,” Nicole Diamante told him as she put her hand on his arm.
Sam felt his heart sink, tears welled up in his eyes, his hands clenched in rage.
Nicole immediately realized how Sam took what she had said. “Oh no, I’m so sorry. I don’t mean it that way. I just mean she’s missing. In a fight with the Nuevos. One of her squadron watched her land safely.”
“Why didn’t anyone go back for her?” Sam said as rage began to take the place of despair.
Nicole took her hand from Sam’s arm and stood straight, her face dropping the motherly compassion she’d displayed just moments before. “You think we wouldn’t try to get her back? Besides the
fact that we never leave anyone behind, she’s the best pilot we’ve got. And I need everyone to win this war we’re fighting out here.” She paused, to emphasize her next words. “Not that you’ve made much attempt to help us.”
Sam ignored the slight. “But you failed?”
“Look, Sam, we’re stretched to the breaking point here. A couple of weeks ago I was making evacuation plans to head north. The Thirteens guaranteed us a place to shelter up in the northern plains if we get overrun. Fortunately, the tide has turned for us. The Nuevos haven’t launched an attack for quite a while – in fact, they seem to be giving up some of our territory they’ve taken.” Sam thought Nicole suppressed a little grin with her next words. “Or we’ve killed enough of them they can’t replace their losses.”
Sam thought it over for a few seconds, trying to figure out the best course of action. When he landed his C–130 and almost immediately encountered ARK personnel, he’d hoped to have his sister and be heading back to the Okaw as soon as they could refuel. Instead she was missing somewhere out in the vast wilderness of scrub and prairie.
“Do you have any Raptors left?” he asked.
Nicole didn’t answer. Sam and Essie were certainly cut from the same cloth: single-minded and maddening in their drive to succeed. She wanted to tell him to get out, but ARK still needed real help. The Hamiltons were the only one who could turn the tide in their favor. If she had to play along with Sam’s futile quest to make that deal, she’d do it.
Sam continued. “I’m willing to trade you the C–130 for a couple of Raptors. That big bird could be really useful to you.”
Nicole remained silent, waiting to see how far Sam would go.
“And the rest of my crew will help you learn how to use it while my copilot and I are out looking for Essie.”
Nicole finally agreed. “I’ve only got a few serviceable Raptors left. But you’re welcome to three of them. You can use the third as a spare if one of the others needs service.”
“Thank you,” Sam said sincerely. It was a more than fair trade for Nicole to make. The Raptors would be a lot more useful here than the C–130. “And I promise you something else.”
Nicole cocked her head and smiled. “What’s that, Mr. Hamilton?”
“We’ll kill any Nuevos we find.”
Nicole’s smile faded a bit. Sam Hamilton had a reputation as the perfect warrior. Vicious in a fight, but not one to seek death for the sport of it. This man in front of her seemed different, harder somehow. That was troubling, but it was encouraging as well; she could use this kind of person on her side.
“Are you saying that the Red Hawk Republic is now officially here to help us?” she asked hopefully.
Sam’s face remained stony. “I can’t speak for the Republic. Only my brother can. But I can speak for myself. If anyone has harmed my sister, I’ll never rest until every single one of them pays.”
Nicole wondered if that threat was meant for her. Did Sam think she’d done something to Essie? What could she do to convince him otherwise?
“Sam, you have my word. You can ask anyone here. They’ll tell you the same thing. Essie was no fan of ours, but she realized we were the lesser of two evils out here.”
“But that’s just it. She did think you were evil. You killed her fiancé and burned Mt. Horab to the ground.”
Nicole shook her head. “Tony caused that. Independence didn’t have anything to do with…I didn’t have anything to do with the Mt. Horab attack. Tony was sorry it happened. He regretted it up to his last moments.” She felt outnumbered and threatened, even though she was surrounded by thousands of her own people and Sam only had a few. Still, the shadow of the Hamiltons loomed large.
An ARK Peacekeeper broke into the conversation. “Mrs. Diamante, we have a cable from Columbia, they say it’s urgent. Your eyes only.”
Nicole was still looking at Sam as she took the paper. His tan skin offset the blue eyes that bored into her. The look was of someone who knew what the urgent surprise would be, anxiousness to share the unveiling.
She finally broke his gaze and stared at the paper. There were only two sentences, but she read them over and over again. Finally, she folded the paper in her hand.
“I’m assuming that was you?” she asked coolly.
His lips upturned slightly at the ends and he gave one deep nod.
“You destroyed my city,” she said, her voice trembling. “You killed my people.”
“Your people were already dead. You know that. Anybody left behind was a traitor. Spare me your judgment,” Sam said with cold precision. “And we actually saved your city. If Alex would have attacked it with conventional forces, only rubble would remain.”
Nicole wanted to argue, but the shock was too great. Part of the surprise was the act itself, the other a realization the Hamiltons would do anything to win. A little fear seeped through her hardened shell. Would the Red Hawks really allow her and ARK to remain? Or did they have bigger plans?
Sam continued. “With the Caliphate gone from the White City, you can pull every Peacekeeper and reclaim your western territories from the Nuevos,” Sam said.
Nicole didn’t agree just yet. “That’s assuming I know the intentions of the Republic. Alex wouldn’t throw the jijis out just to hand the city back to us.”
“That’s between you and Alex,” Sam said. “I’m sure he’d be willing to work something out with you.”
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s right. Kind of like a lamb negotiating with a wolf about what’s for dinner.”
Sam let his face relax a little. “For all my brother’s faults – and there are many, I assure you – I don’t think he wants to fight ARK. I think he just wants to get rid of the Caliphate. Try to bring some peace and stability to the Midwest.”
“What if we don’t agree? Do we get the same result as this?” she waved the paper with the report of the White City’s demise towards him. “We get to exist, just as long as we obey? As long as we’re under your rule?”
Sam shook his head again. “Not my rule. I’ll never be Founder. Never. As for my brother, well, he never asked for the job. But I guess if someone has to do it, might as well be him.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Renaissance Place
The White City (Formerly St. Louis)
The White City was dark. Alex picked his way over rubble and bodies in various stages of decomposition. He knew he couldn’t really smell them through his respirator mask, but he’d experienced the situation enough to know what the stench was, and his brain filled in the blanks from there.
He wore the mask as a precaution. The danger of infection from the Super VX was gone; the persistence of the new formula appeared to only last a couple of days, and it had been two weeks since Sam – no, Alex, it was you who did it, you gave the order, you own the results – had soaked the city and the surrounding camps with enough of the toxin to kill a hundred thousand. Likely it had been close to that number in the end. No one on this earth would ever know for sure. Many victims ended up in the river, or staggered into the deep woods, or became food for scavenging animals.
He feared he would learn the number of dead when he himself reached the other side of life.
“Mr. Culper is ready for you, Founder Hamilton,” one of his Silver Shields said in a muffled voice. She looked for all the world like an alien bug with her mask on. He knew he looked the same.
He followed her into the lobby of Renaissance Place. The scene was that of chaos. If there had been bodies in here, there were none now. But the furniture was tumbled and broken. The wall was scorched above what had once been a reception desk. The beautiful wall decorations were torn and shattered, or missing. He forced himself to remember what the place had looked like when he visited before, determined to return as much as possible to its original state whenever possible. They made their way to the door below a broken EXIT sign and a sign for stairs. Even though the Wizards already had the river turbines working and producing all the electricity they
needed, there was no way he was setting foot in the building’s elevators. No one had a chance to inspect those for damage yet, and the motion always made him queasy, anyway. His knees would hate him for it, but the peace of mind was worth the complaints of battered cartilage.
The Silver Shield stayed close beside him during the climb; he’d stumbled a couple of times in the last few days. The cold and constant pounding his Valkyrie delivered to his body had taken a toll. Perhaps now, with the Caliphate on the run and the White City almost secured, he could rest a little while. Still a couple of things left to do.
As they exited the stairwell and through the door of the third-floor hallway, the difference shocked him. Here the lights were bright and the floor spotless. He heard a steady hum unfamiliar in the post-Reset world: the sound of electricity pulsating through processors.
The Republic’s Chief of Intelligence appeared in the door of a room just a few steps down the hallway. He smiled and said, “You can unmask now, Founder Hamilton. This whole floor is cleaned and secured.”
Alex hesitated, then nodded to his Silver Shield. The mask needed to go over his head, and his one good shoulder couldn’t quite get the angle right. She helped him pull it off and the whole world opened up again. Cool air kissed his skin, the sweat in his hair caught a breeze coming down the hall. “Ventilation?” he asked Culper.
The intelligence man nodded. “This floor has its own big unit. We’ve cleaned it and we’re putting in fresh filters every few hours. Pretty apparent what the priority of this place was.”
Alex nodded. There hadn’t been much food stored anywhere in the city. Most of the bodies they’d found showed signs of malnutrition. Clearly the electricity hadn’t been working in most of the city for a while. But here, despite this new world of living off the land and nature, sat a state-of-the-art computer room consuming enough resources to take care of thousands. The whole situation seemed absurd, but the arguments of his sister-in-law echoed in his head. Perhaps he was a hypocrite for criticizing anyone else’s priorities. Was he himself using resources for a war that may not need to be fought?
