The General's Bride

by M F Sullivan

  As the martyrs made withering eye contact over the dentist’s head, the latch clicked free and the collar swung open. At the liberation of her throat for the first time in six days, Dominia enjoyed an inhalation so pure, so sudden, it elicited a head rush that bled the room of color. The General laughed at herself and touched her neck while the dentist said approvingly, “Isn’t that much better! If you are willing to be a reasonable woman, I am willing to be a reasonable man.”

  “Does it require a lot of cognitive dissonance to believe the reasonable thing was killing René?” Dominia rubbed the impression left by the metal, wincing at the bruising that could now begin to fade.

  “It is always reasonable to kill a traitor. Even Judas Iscariot agreed with that point, my friend; that is why he hanged himself in shame. René Ichigawa did not possess that level of self-insight, but you came around to it, yes?”

  “I suppose that’s one way to put it.”

  “Hunger was a motive, too, I’m sure.” Tobias chuckled as he sat near the stereo. “My man outside the tent tells me you made short work of your ration. Are you still hungry? Shall I fetch the other Ichigawa cousin for you?”

  “Why are you so eager to see me kill them? I thought Tenchi was one of you.”

  “Tenchi is one of those Hunters who is only a Hunter in the loose sense of the word. Think of him like Kahlil—that young man could have turned a toaster into a cell phone, and in fact I believe he did, to contact us with information about the Cairo ceremony! But that skill made him dangerous, as did his so-called moral stance. Tenchi is much the same. He is useful insofar as his sailing connections are concerned…that means he provides us with transport to the Front, and, for refugees funded by our cause, transport out of it; but there are many other men who are just as useful as he, for the same or similar reasons. And, of course, men of his use will grow defunct as we are able to establish teleporters. I am not eager to see you kill him, or anyone else. But I am eager to remind you that I, who need not kill to eat at all if I do not wish, am superior to you.”

  At the narrowing of the General’s eyes, Lazarus said, “Tobias, please. We’ve discussed this.”

  “It is true we have made progress,” the dentist agreed, “and more progress will yet be made. But I can see in your General’s eyes, my brother, that she has not accepted my authority. And she will need to, if we are to defeat her Father.”

  “What about me?” She glanced at the entrance of the tent, then focused on the dentist. “I mean, Lazarus is integral to your plan and has uses even after the Hierophant is overthrown. But what’s supposed to happen to me after this is over?”

  “A wise woman, thinking long-term. You will be allowed to live.” How gracious! “But you will need agree to live elsewhere, if you understand what I mean.”

  “I’m not entirely sure I do.”

  “There are options. Perhaps you would like to retire to your magician’s sacrilegious Kingdom, eh? I do not think it will be a good idea come Judgment Day, but that is between you and God. Or, if you would continue this life, doing penance for what you have done, I suppose I could see to your deportation to the Mars colony. It is only Earth that belongs to mankind; we are to be her custodians, not those of Mars. Martyrs may do with it what you like. Indeed, it seems even suited to your names!” He was pleased with that, and missed the second withering glance Lazarus and Dominia exchanged while he chuckled to himself. “Martyrs from Mars. Better than ‘Martians,’ don’t you suppose!”

  “So my choices are ‘get out,’ or ‘get out.’”

  “Or die.”

  “Reassuring.”

  Brow furrowed, Tobias leaned forward. His body, pressing into the arm of his chair, outlined the gun hidden beneath his clothes. “Have I told you the full story, Miss Mephitoli, of how I, mere dentist, came to be leader of these violent men?”

  Bracing herself for a windbag monologue, Dominia offered a tight, polite smile not unlike the one Lazarus presented. “No, in fact, you did not ever tell me that. You said you were going to be a…‘slave.’” Rather a harsh notion, though not inaccurate if the martyr in her could admit it. All the same, Akachi continued without note of her reticence, pulling from beneath his shirt that hidden chain she had been shown in the warehouse. The stained vial glittered in the low light.

  “We both keep something valuable around our necks.” The dentist chuckled. “That is why I did not allow my men to take your wife from you. Did she keep you company in the cellar?”

  In that cellar, Dominia had thought of Cassandra less than ever, perhaps because all hope of her return was dead and gone. Now, the General waited, stone-faced, and the dentist sensed his overstep but did not acknowledge it as he continued, “When I first came to the Hunters, I was barely more than a boy—barely better than your fat friend, Tenchi, eh? A bit thinner, but just as wide-eyed. I plied my services as best as I could among the men, but how hard it was to get respect! How hard it was to get them to see my ideas. They had so many resources, and what were they trying to build? More drones! More rockets! Stupid.” Akachi waved his hand in disgust. “That is what your Father wanted from them, wasting time and energy on toys. The better plan was to create a more effective weapon. One that put mankind on the physical level of the martyrs, or higher.

  “No one would listen to me. I was just some grunt, some child fresh from dental school who had never seen a battle and could hardly handle the sight of blood when it wasn’t in a mouth. But then I was deployed to another unit, because, well!” He grinned. “A dentist always seems useless until the abscess, eh?

  “The man on whom I had been brought to work was an important fellow. I did not realize how important until, under gas, he began talking before his procedure. Talking and talking, about how he had long ago acquired the blood of Lazarus from a man greater than him; he was not sure he deserved it anymore, which was why he rambled at the lightest touch of my drugs. When he was out enough for me to get to work, I noticed this.” He lifted the red ampule. “I had heard the stories. I could not resist the promises of power. While my patient was unconscious, I stole a drop. Soon after, he was killed, and, because I was, at the time, learning how to navigate that unholy place, I went to the site of his battle by a shortcut through the Ergosphere and claimed the vial. But it was not the symbol they cherished on my return: it was the man. Why? Because the Hunters are a superstitious and changeable people, and all superstitious and changeable people are especially so when in the presence of the divine. By the grace of God, I appeared before them out of thin air, as had their prior leader. Their following me was more a question of my divine selection by the Lord than of respect for the blood of Lazarus. A question of my power, and their hatred for martyrs.”

  “And you expect them to listen to what I have to say, if I serve you?”

  “If you serve me, yes. If you serve God. They will not listen to you if you are not a servant of God, Miss Mephitoli, but I see in your heart you possess the ability to turn your life around. All you need do is give me information.”

  “About?”

  “About your sister, Lavinia.” The request was so bizarre, so sudden, the General only laughed in bafflement, and Tobias did the same, though in a tone more mocking. “Now, General, do not think you can play games with me. I know Lavinia is invaluable to the Hierophant. I know he keeps her locked in his castle as though she were the most precious of gems. I would like to know why.”

  “She’s an incredibly powerful woman with the temperament of a girl,” responded the confused General. “He infantilizes her and keeps her helpless, because she’s his favorite, and he’s creepy.”

  “Please, Miss Mephitoli.” The humor faded from his face. “Do not hide behind the charade of sibling rivalry. Your Father keeps no one closer than those who are most powerful.”

  “I told you, she is powerful. It’s just—”

  “If her memetic abilities were the only issue, would she not be ever by your side, provoking enemy forces to dance, or inspiring th
e women of besieged villages to drown their children? Had I a weapon powerful as your little sister, I would see her used. Instead, he keeps her on a shelf.”

  He had a point. Still, heels dug in, the General insisted, “Aside from what you’re describing being a war crime, I don’t know anything about that. He spoils her and keeps her isolated from the world for what he claims to be religious reasons. That’s all I can say.”

  “You know something.” Accusation, not speculation. He was an idiot if he thought she’d reveal anything she did or didn’t know after three hundred years of intense practice at closely guarding Family secrets.

  “All I knew was the black sun business. His promise that martyrs would walk in the day. I didn’t know anything about Lavinia. Are you sure you’re not jumping to conclusions?”

  Fury twisted the dentist’s face as he snapped, “Do not patronize me, General. I know when something is wrong and will not be persuaded otherwise. You know more than you are telling me.”

  Dominia was growing concerned this plan would take her down a longer route than anticipated—she might have to play the long con, until there cracked an opening by which she could escape into the Void or the desert. But, almost early as predicted, a terrible scream rose in the distance. Two more; a peal of bullets; silence, beneath the rising cries of “Dies Irae.” As if from nowhere, the gun appeared in Akachi’s hand, and he strode for the door with it aimed at the General while demanding, “Stay there.”

  “It’s no use,” said Lazarus. “René has been martyred. If he gets a gun he’ll shoot up half the camp, eyes or no.”

  “Sounds like he’s already got one.” Dominia studied the untrained length of the next burst of gunfire. “You might want to tell your men to hurry.”

  “Lying, traitorous bitch.” The snarling dentist looked as if he considered shooting the General but decided against it—wisely, from the way Lazarus was poised. Instead, baring his teeth and shouting in Arabic, Akachi dashed into the chaos of his rushing men to deliver orders and make them of one mind.

  “We have little time.” Lazarus hurried to bash open Akachi’s weak desk and reclaim the flask containing the Ergosphere’s waters. “Book it back to the medical tent and get a weapon before it’s too late.”

  “Too late for what?” asked the General, distracted by another rush of footsteps outside the tent. No answer. Dominia, frowning, turned back, and said Lazarus’s name only to discover she was completely alone. Again, she said his name, and again it only emphasized the point that there was no one to respond. These useless holy men!

  She emerged from the tent in which Mozart’s tubas blasted to find the camp had, in the space of seconds, been deserted. The astonished General hurried back along the route by which the Hunters had led her, finding the medical tent not by its size or her memory, but the body outside and the aroma of fresh death within. Her stomach snarled; she stepped inside to see René, assault rifle forgotten on the floor as he crammed hunks of meat from some soldier’s torso into his blood-covered mouth.

  His head lifted as she stepped inside. “Dominia?”

  “Yeah, René, I’m here.”

  “My God, Dominia! I feel so good! I feel—” He laughed through his full mouth and swallowed its contents with a belch. “Would you believe I smelled you coming? I didn’t even know I knew what you smelled like!”

  “I’ll try not to be haunted by that sentence.” Dominia snatched the rifle. “Stay here. If things get hot and you hear it getting bad outside—just hide under a bed, or something.”

  “Roger, General,” chirped the feasting martyr, who pulled out a slippery chunk of pancreas. “Oh, Dominia, this is great! All this time I thought it would be such a horrible thing, but…human really is delicious.”

  “We wouldn’t eat it if it tasted like shit,” she said, half laughing on her way from the tent before she fell into the camp’s fog of silence. The tents themselves held their breaths, braced against the rising wind as Dominia was braced against whatever these humans could throw her way. They were, after all, just humans: but they did have tools.

  The answer to Dominia’s first question—where had everyone gone—came when she experimentally cleared, gun first, the square tent beside that of Tobias. Not unlike the tent covering the prison where she and René had spent the last week of his human life, this sheltered the entrance of a tunnel. Now the General understood, not only why her Father never bothered bombing Hunter encampments or otherwise engaging them militarily on their own turf, but how appropriate it was that her instincts likened them to ants. Beneath the ground rested an elaborate network of bunkers the Hunters had dug and outfitted as suited their needs—perhaps centuries old, at that. Small wonder the bricks had been so quick to turn to dust in that cellar. Perhaps it had once had four brick walls, and prisoners had, over time, destroyed the other three.

  How many such Hunter colonies were hidden across the Middle States? There had to be enough to keep the various cells cycling between them, plus a few extra, “just in case.” It was an astonishing thought on which she had no time to dwell. While gazing into the black pit of the tunnel, the ground pulsed in echo of her heartbeat. This was no fancy. This was something that moved. Something rattling the earth so violently that the General sprang into the open to put space between her and the four-armed, drill-outfitted ALIF-8 that spewed from the dirt like metallic pus out of an earthy wound. The two empty metal hands with which it pushed away clots loosed by its drills now lifted in fists to protect Tobias’s fury-narrowed face.

  “I cannot begin to express how disappointed I am to know it has come to this, Miss Mephitoli!”

  An experimental squeeze of her trigger elicited no reaction in the suit, with a few projectiles of the spray coming close to its pilot but springing off a fist. When the thing crouched, as it now did, mere shards of flesh were revealed to an assailant; and when it moved, so, too, needed move its target. At the slightest hint of movement in that steel haunch, the martyr ran, arms pumping and gun bruising her chest. Cassandra’s diamond crushed her skin, emphasizing the pounding of her pulse as the thing sprinted even faster than had the warehouse model. Above the impossible symphony of noise, Akachi’s voice proved the most grating addition.

  “You have made the choice to throw your life away when you could have been invaluable to the cause of the one true God. You could have saved your soul! But the Lord has seen fit to end your life. Others may think you are valuable—the Hierophant, the magician—but that is all the more reason why you should be killed. I only wish I had killed you a week ago, when first you fell into my hands! What a fool I am, trusting a martyr.”

  Between its broad strides—leaps—and the General’s unfamiliarity with the area, the suit gained more ground with every step. As a drill impaled uncomfortably close to her back and was used by the thing to vault over her head, Dominia lifted the rifle, squeezed the trigger, and released a hail of gunfire that necessitated Tobias waste precious seconds protecting his face. In those seconds, the General skidded around a sharp right turn and made an immediate left around the next tent. Behind her thundered the suit.

  “It is too late for me to spare your life, Miss Mephitoli, but it is not too late for you to enjoy a painless death. You have a gun—why not be like Judas Iscariot, eh? But, I suppose you are not capable of that degree of dignity—only of pretending you are.”

  With a tearing clamor, the suit charged through the tents around which the General was forced to navigate. In so doing, the ALIF-8 cleared a path like a goring bull flattening a fence for which it had never had respect from the start. It got so close behind her that her only choice was wheel around, drop, roll, and shoot blindly, then scramble back in the direction of the desolation to take advantage of the machine’s one apparent weakness—the time it took to turn its unwieldy frame. What she did not account for, though, was the mobility of its arms, and one of those snatched the gun from her grip before she outpaced its reach. In the wreckage, she searched for something to replace it, a
nd found, unsurprisingly, no weapons kept in the tents. The best she could find was one of the steel poles, which might serve as some semblance of spear.

  “This is a tragic and humiliating death for a general such as you.” One drill impaled the dirt near enough to Dominia’s foot that she felt its oscillations. “Do you not wish to die with honor? Or can honor even matter to an animal?”

  Something was wrong, amid all the whirring of drills. One ground at a louder, more rattling pitch, and as a steel hand caught her in an open-palmed slap that knocked her on her ass, she realized a tarp was tangled in the left drill. As her vision cleared of its black and red to reveal the mechanical man standing over her, the General showed her teeth.

  “I don’t know”—she slipped the pole beneath the collapsed cerulean tarp of the nearest tent—“why don’t you tell me?”

  Jerking the staff up didn’t flip the tarp over the head of the dentist as she’d hoped, but it did drape the right drill, which had been so close to penetrating her guts that if she thought about the closeness of her call, it would ruin her ability to fight. Luckily, she survived. Even more luckily, Tobias required delay to wrench, with a metal hand, the ever-more-tangled pieces of fabric from a drill that only mucked itself up worse with each attempt to shred the tarp. By the time he’d extricated the piece giving him the biggest problem, the General was behind him with another, this tarp falling over his head and provoking a snarl of agitation. As, in the distance, Rex tremendae cried its opening chords like the heralding of an earthquake, the General used the pole: first to vault upon the covered back of the thrashing metal beast, then to impale it many times through the fabric of its prison. Now and then, the pole bounced off the plates of armor, but there were those sweet moments when it slipped between two metal joints to plunge through the oil-soft tangles of hydraulics that responded in hisses and pops too satisfying to believe. One last stab elicited a violent seizure in the left arms of the machine, which, frozen, proved so unbalanced that the blinded thing lost all equilibrium. It careened to the dark, dusty ground while the General sprang from its shoulders to land upon perfectly balanced feet.