by David Beers
The old man chuckled and looked at the floor. He shook his head. "You try to teach your children about the gods, then they go getting superstitious when the first real warrior shows up. I suppose it is my fault, but that is neither here nor there. You asked me a question. Do I know what you're here for? I think I do from all the dead outside, plus what remains of my inventory beginning to stand in rows behind you. You want all of them for yourself, but rather than purchase them, you'd just kill everyone and leave? That about right?"
Prometheus looked at the floor, momentarily forgetting his surroundings in the exasperation he felt. "Your kind are all the same. You cannot think of a universe where someone doesn't want to accumulate more power." He looked back up. "I'm here to free them and make sure no more are created in the way you've done."
The old man smiled. He looked like he could be someone's kindly grandfather. "No such universe exists, my good man. Own them or free them, in the end, you want them to follow you. To do your bidding. To help you achieve whatever war it is that you're fighting. It doesn't concern me, to be honest. Your wants and mine are in opposition. That is all that matters, but it would seem I've been bested in a way I never thought possible. I planned for a lot of things, but an invasion by one warlord?" He waved away the suggestion. "It was so improbable as to be virtually impossible."
"And yet, here I am," Prometheus responded.
The old man's smile widened. "Here you are. I can see when I've been bested. There is no need for any more violence. I find it horrific. If you want control of the empire, come upstairs to my son's office, and I will sign it over to you. I don't know if the document will hold up in the intergalactic courts, given that you've destroyed my capital city. Then again, intergalactic courts don't hold much sway, so I think you should be fine."
"Whatever you say," Prometheus responded. "I'm ready for this to end."
The old man dropped his smile and gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. "Then let's end it." He stepped to the side and gestured at an opening elevator. "Shall we?"
Prometheus didn't look at the old man as he passed. He didn't consider the illogic of issues with knowing the future or whether he could just walk away and change it. His will, harder than steel, controlled this situation. He wanted to free these creatures, and the only way to do it was by getting to that last room.
He stepped into the elevator. Thoreaux got in to his right, Caesar to his left. The old man stepped on last, turning his back to the three of them as if this was just a simple business venture. The doors shut, and the elevator began rising automatically. The old man was silent. Prometheus turned his head to the right and left, finding the other two staring at the man, ready to kill him if need be.
For Thoreaux, perhaps need was not a motivator.
The elevator continued its rise for over a minute, going higher and higher into the building.
It finally came to a slow stop on the top floor, a bell ringing from above. The doors opened, and the old man stepped out onto the floor. Prometheus followed with his Whip unfurled. Thoreaux and Caesar were one step behind him.
Pro scanned from left to right. The floor appeared to be a single office, although there were different rooms throughout it. To the right, an open doorway showed a dining room. The door to the right was closed, and before him was an office-looking office. A desk sat in the middle of the room, with a single chair behind it and none in front. There were holovid screens to the left and right of it.
Prometheus' eyes landed on the only other person in the room, a thin younger man who stood to the right of the desk. Pro recognized the face immediately. It was the man who would hold a weapon on Thoreaux very shortly. There was more to see here, though, and Prometheus reined in his desire to leap across the room and cut the man down.
"My son," the old man said with a gesture as he moved to the desk.
Prometheus dialed back the speaker on his helmet. "That's one of them."
The other two didn't respond.
The old man made his way to the desk and sat down in the chair. He pulled a small pile of papers from the left side of the desk to the center. "My son here will sign as a witness. I will sign as controller of the corporation, and you as the purchaser. Before you leave, I will give you a transit number to put the requested credit in. It is a small sum that you should easily be able to afford, but some number is necessary for the courts. It's for your protection." He looked up from the papers, and his face showed no mirth or grandfatherly friendliness. The man in front of Prometheus was a straight-up killer.
Pro lowered his Whip to the ground and it burnt the marble floor. He started walking, dragging the Whip behind him and creating three deep black trails. He stopped in front of the desk and left the Whip burning through the floor. "Are you ready to stop the charade?"
The old man leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over one another. "Yes. I suppose I am."
Prometheus raised the Whip as quickly as a viper lunges, but it was still too slow.
It must have been the chair leaning back that triggered the explosion.
The walls behind Prometheus burst forward with more force than his suit could handle. It wasn't fire but wind. Pro's mind saw everything even though his body couldn't react. A field of some sort rushed up from the floor, covering both the old man and the son. The glass walls on the exterior of the building exploded outward as the torrent of wind rushed forward. Prometheus rose into the air, hands and Whip forward. The desk went forward too, breaking on the shield that surrounded the old man. Prometheus rushed past him too quickly to even attempt grabbing him.
After that, there was nothing to see but the outside city because Prometheus was thrown from the building's top floor and began his descent.
Chapter Twenty-One
Thoreaux rose off the ground, his mind able to keep up at the same pace as his leader's. All he knew was that he was flying forward, something had exploded behind him, and he was going to die in the next few moments when he flew out of the shattered windows.
He slammed into something unseen, his left arm and armor taking the brunt of the impact. He felt his bones snap all the way up to his shoulder and he remained pinned against the unseen forcefield, the wind behind him continuing to rush.
"Enough."
The old man's voice boomed across the room, and the torrential wind stopped. Thoreaux hit the floor, excruciating pain filling his torso and a burning need to kill filling his mind.
His right arm pushed him up, and he looked forward. The younger man was standing in front of him, holding a weapon that looked similar to a MechPulse in his hands. He took two steps forward, and Thoreaux had no doubt that the piece would kill him even with his armor on.
He looked to his right. Prometheus was gone, and a giant unlike anything Thoreaux had ever seen was kicking Caesar's head and ribs. His friend was on his side, trying to curl up and unable to defend himself. The giant had come from the far-right door. The blows rained down as if a god were delivering them.
The old man stood up. Thoreaux didn't know how the two of them had survived the explosion, but it didn't matter much at that moment.
"I'd sooner destroy the entire universe than give up my company," the old man said. He didn't look at Thoreaux or Caesar as he moved to the unharmed elevator. The doors opened, and he stepped inside. "Finish this," he told his son.
The doors shut behind Thoreaux.
The young man kept the gun leveled at Thoreaux's head. "Take your helmet off."
Thoreaux slowly got up on his knees. Using his right hand, he removed the helmet and let it drop to the floor. The blows to Caesar continued; the giant who was delivering them didn't seem to know anyone else was in the room.
The young man holding the weapon glanced quickly over his shoulder. Had Thoreaux not shattered everything from his pinky to his collarbone, he would have been able to get control of the situation. As it was, the glance behind him was done with far too quickly, and Thoreaux was in the same position as before. "Looks l
ike Dad was right. He wasn't a god. He got the lucky draw here. We're about to make an example out of you two."
Thoreaux needed to hear nothing else. He'd die on this floor before any more torture happened.
He lunged forward, the Fire Starter armor amplifying his speed.
The young man fired.
Prometheus fell.
The world sped past him quicker than even he could keep up with.
His heart rate was still one hundred beats per minute. His mind remained focused, not panicked. He understood two things. He had to stop his fall, and he had to get back up to that top floor.
He was falling with his stomach facing the ground. He knew what he had to do and also that it might rip his body apart when he did it.
There wasn't any choice, and there wasn't any time.
Pro altered his leg position slightly. His body straightened and turned so he was facing the building. The glass whipped past him as he rushed to the ground. He tried to time it right, knowing if he missed, both arms would be ripped off his body.
He stretched his hands forward, fingers out. The glass in front of him shattered, but he'd hit it right. He continued his fall for another second, then his hands were grappling the floor. He wasn't strong enough to stop himself, so the fall continued to another floor, but he'd managed to slow himself enough to stop on that one.
He hung in the air, his Fire Starter suit doing the heavy lifting in keeping him from dying. He glanced below and quickly turned his head back up.
"Yeah, no need to do that again," he whispered to himself.
He had two options now. He could pull himself onto this floor and hope he could fight his way through whatever was waiting for him. Or...
He could leapfrog up the building and attack in the least expected way.
It wasn't a hard choice.
Using every bit of his strength, Pro pulled with his arms and got his legs up to the floor. He pushed off, and to those on the ground, he might have looked like he was flying. His body propelled itself up two floors at a time, where he found purchase again, then rose once more.
Yes, to those on the ground, it must have been a strange and wondrous sight to see, a man taking flight.
Prometheus ascended the building in mere seconds.
He reached the top floor and hopped inside, unfurling his Whip in the same movement.
Things weren't the same as they'd been in his dream, but they were very similar, if worse. Caesar wasn't on his knees but the floor, and a gigante had paused mid-kick to look at Pro.
Thoreaux lay on his stomach, his eyes open, blood leaking from his mouth. The young man from earlier held a weapon to his head and was staring with wide eyes. The color was gone from his face. "He's not dead yet, but he will be if you take another step."
The gigante pulled two blades from his back and put them both against Caesar's head.
Here was the choice. One could live. He would have to choose. Pro didn't hear the quadcopter, but that didn’t matter anymore.
The decision was his.
Thoreaux or Caesar.
"No," he whispered.
"Wh-wh-what?" the man stuttered.
Prometheus wasn't talking to him. He was speaking to the situation. He knew what he was going to do, but he didn't know if it would be possible. The sheer concentration was going to be harder than anything he'd ever attempted, let alone accomplished.
It was the only non-choice because Prometheus knew he couldn't choose. They would both die or neither of them.
He closed his eyes, and that black space returned. Two white shapes formed in it, the gigante over Caesar and the man holding the weapon. His mind moved forward, zooming in on the shapes. The chest. The trigger.
He could barely hold both in his mind because he had to do two different things with them at the same time.
"GET ON THE FUCKING FLOOR!" the man shouted, his voice cracking through the black space in his mind.
"No," Prometheus whispered.
His body stretched forward, his right leg going down in a lunge as his right hand flung the Whip at the gigante's chest. He remained in that position, his arm outstretched in a follow-through, his body rigid in its lunge.
The Whip plunged into the giant's chest, sinking through his arm and bone. The force of the throw shoved the giant toward the door he'd come through. Blood erupted from his mouth. He kept standing, although his hands were shaking, and he’d dropped the blades.
Prometheus didn't open his eyes as he slowly stood, turning to face the young man.
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?" the man screamed, his voice as high as a child's.
Prometheus' focus was total. The man's trigger finger couldn't move. Pro crossed the office in a step and knocked the weapon from his hand. It clattered to the floor, and he grabbed the man by his hair and dragged him over to Caesar. The man cried out, but Pro ignored it. He knelt in front of Caesar, using his other free hand to turn the giant's face up.
Caesar's eyes were open and looking at him.
"Thoreaux needs you, okay? I have more to do."
Caesar nodded. Pro knew the pain the big creature was in, and he knew from the blood leaking out of Thoreaux's mouth that he was dying. He also knew his job wasn't finished.
He pulled Caesar to his feet. The giant groaned and gripped his ribs with both arms.
Pro pointed at Thoreaux. "Hurry."
The nanotech was already pouring out of the gigante’s hands, flooding toward his second in command. It was more than Pro had ever seen come from the giant, and he understood the personal toll it would take on him.
If it didn't save Thoreaux, nothing could.
"Come on," Prometheus growled at the man hanging from his fist by his hair.
The other giant was on his knees, still bleeding from his mouth but still not falling over. Pro grabbed the Whip's hilt and pulled up instead of out, slicing up the gigante's chest and through his collarbone.
Weapon and soon-to-be-dead man in hand, he went to the elevator. The doors opened for him, and he stepped on. "Take me to your father. Say anything other than where to go, and I'll remove a piece of your body. The Whip will cauterize it, so you don't have to worry about bleeding out. Trust me when I say I'm a surgeon with this and can take a lot of pieces off you before I kill you."
"Buh-buh-basement," the man sputtered.
Pro touched the button, and the elevator started descending. He imagined that the elevator was reading the son's biometrics, and that was why it worked. He also imagined that the man in the basement thought his son was coming to tell him it was finished.
Prometheus had learned a very important lesson on this planet. Arrogance kills.
"Why did he keep the other two alive?" Prometheus asked without looking down at his crying captive.
"To make an example out of them."
Pro understood. More arrogance. The old man figured he was too dangerous, so he'd kill him right off the bat, then he would torture his followers to teach any other wannabe heroes what happened to those who messed with the company. The arrogance was thinking he didn't need to ensure that Pro was dead. That he didn't even need to remain in the room until everything was finished. What he said should happen would just happen.
Now the old man would learn a lesson, too.
Finish the fucking job.
The elevator opened, and Prometheus walked into a room that looked nothing like a basement. There was some kind of tube on the left side that was open, wires running in and out of it. The old man was at a desk with a metal cap on, wires coming off it as well. A droid stood at his side, looking like it was taking measurements of the hat.
The old man didn't look up from the DataTrack on his table. "Is it done?"
"Almost." Pro stepped to the table, raised his Whip, and decapitated the old man.
He didn't look at the droid as he cut it half, then brought the Whip down to the man on his knees. He shoved it into his chest, hearing the muffled scream.
Pro released the young
man's head, and he collapsed on the floor. He stepped to the other side of the desk. The head was on the floor, the man's eyes still blinking. The body remained sitting in the chair. Prometheus shoved it to the floor and sat down. He discarded the helmet, dropping it on the floor as well.
He pulled the DataTrack to him. It was still open, all the communication tools available to him. It didn't take long for him to shut down the communication block with the dreadnought.
"Come get us," he said into the DataTrack, sending a tracking position with the message.
He put his head on the table and closed his eyes. The warrior slid back and the man came forth. Exhaustion wasn't even a tenth of what he felt. He was drained down to his soul. How many had he killed today? How many more would he need to kill? Would Thoreaux survive?
Could he keep going? Could he see this through?
It was Luna's face that came to him. Her beauty shone in the blackness of his mind's eye.
I love you, he thought. All of this is for you.
With the dead surrounding him, Alistair wondered if he was selling his soul for her.
He wondered if he'd already done it.
The Written History of The Great Insurrection
We took over a planet. There was a lot left to do after the war was finished. There was the board left to deal with, the laboratories, the scientists, the entire economy created and sustained by the subjugation of a species.
All of that would come in time. We would see to it.
With each great feat Prometheus achieved, more eyes fell on him.
This sacking of a planet was no different.
Distant ears, ones we didn’t know about, were hearing his name now.
Hearing Ave, Prometheus…and wondering if they might be next in this warrior’s quest to find his wife.
Many of the beings now looking at Prometheus wouldn’t wait to find out.
They’d come see about him first.
