“You hesitated.”
“I'm sorry, sir. But I can't-”
“You can't what? You can't do this? Is that what you're telling me? You can't save the entire world if it means hurting one little girl?”
“No. It just took me by surprise. I was expecting something else.”
Miguel's mother yelled over her shoulder as the coastline drew near. “Not all your enemies will look like demons. Sometimes the most beautiful angels are the most dangerous.”
Miguel nodded. “Yes, mother.”
His father lifted the device that held the gaseous form out in front of him. “Your hesitation almost cost us the mission.”
Miguel slammed his fist down onto the floor of the helicopter. “That's not fair! You knew she was young. You knew she was a little girl and you didn't tell me. Why wouldn't you warn me ahead of time?”
His father remained silent, staring out the door of the helicopter as the city rushed underneath them. He took his foot off Miguel's back and let him stand up. Miguel awaited his father's answer as he stood, but eventually he came to his own conclusion.
“You were testing me, weren't you? You wanted to see if I would flinch.” When his father refused to answer, Miguel shoved him and screamed, “Am I right? Was this all a test?”
His father grabbed the hand that shoved him. “If it was a test, you just failed.”
Miguel's body sunk into itself, defeated with one sentence. His father's disapproval tore out his heart like it was a piece of trash to discard.
The entire flight home was in silence. When the helicopter settled onto the landing pad, his father jumped out, carrying the stolen device that held the girl's gaseous form and headed for the command center. Miguel waited until the rotors stopped spinning before he climbed out and shuffled his feet toward the door.
“Your father wants you to succeed,” his mother said from behind him. “He wants you to be better than him.”
Miguel turned and shrugged his shoulders. “What if I can't be better than him?”
His mother let out a laugh. “Your father would have never wasted the time if it wasn't possible.”
“Maybe that's true. Maybe he really did believe in me when he started all this. But maybe he's realized he was wrong.”
His mother gave him a warm smile and placed her hand on Miguel's shoulder. “Your father is never wrong. Trust me. And if he were ever to find himself in a situation where he might be wrong, he'd fix the situation so that he was right again.”
Miguel considered his mother's words. “You really trust him. Don't you?”
“I will never trust anyone like I trust that man.”
“And you never question him?”
His mother tilted her head with confusion. “Why would I? He has never given me any reason to. Your father always comes out on top. He always succeeds. I'm lucky to be on his side. You are too. Your father will make sure you always survive, he will make sure you always succeed. All you have to do is trust his ways, his words. Trust him.”
Miguel bit his bottom lip. “Yes, mother.”
His mother ruffled his hair and led him into the laboratory in the secret command center. They found his father, no longer wearing his armored suit, hooking the device up to a containment unit that Miguel's mother designed. He didn't acknowledge when the two of them walked in, consumed by his work. Miguel and his mother stood in the doorway, waiting, until his mother finally cleared her throat a few times.
“What is it, Esmeralda? I'm-”
“Busy,” his mother said. “I know. But our son has something he wants to say to you.”
His father kept tinkering with the device without glancing in their direction. “Tell him I'll talk to him in the morning. That kid needs to learn how to-”
Miguel's mother cleared her throat again. “Miguel is right here.”
His father glanced over his shoulder and paused for a second before returning to his work. “Oh,” is all he said.
Miguel's mother gave him a slight nudge and motioned with her head, silently telling him to start speaking. Miguel took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
“I wanted to say how sorry I am for everything. I should have never hesitated. I should have never risked the mission. I should have never questioned you. You are the greatest teacher I could ever ask for, and I only hope you'll give me the chance to continue trying to be the best student.”
His father continued twisting something with a small pair of pliers. When he finished, he shut the small access door and flipped a switch. The device rumbled and shook until it blew out the thick, green cloud into the containment unit. The cloud blew around for a bit as if it were searching for a crack in the glass or an unsealed corner. When it found none, it settled onto the floor and took the form of the little girl again.
“Perfect!” Miguel's father yelled, throwing his hands into the air. “Your design worked!”
Miguel's mother cleared her throat again and said through her teeth, “Hector! Would you care to reply to our son?”
Miguel's father let out a heavy sigh.
“You were right. Tonight was a test. It was test to see if you were ready for this job. For this war. I needed to see if you could be cruel enough to survive. Because that's what you need to be, son. Cruel. More cruel than your enemies. That's the only way you can win.”
He walked across the room and grasped Miguel's arms as he looked straight into his eyes.
“I overestimated your abilities, but that's my fault. We'll continue your training. Don't worry, son. I'll fix this. I'll fix you.”
Miguel's hands clenched into fists, the frustration he felt with himself threatening to overtake him. He nodded his head in acceptance of his father's ruling and walked out the door to put away his suit.
In the emptiness of the arsenal, surrounded by the walls of weapons, he questioned himself over and over again, replaying the scene in his head. The appearance of the girl. His father yelling at him. He imagined a thousand different scenarios where he always did the right thing, and he always said the right thing, and at the end of the night all of them would revel in their victory together. “I'm proud of you,” his father would say. He could hear the words vividly, resonating in his chest. He wanted it so bad, but he was the only one to blame. He was the only cause of his failure. He was an incompetent disappointment and now his father knew it.
Miguel's hand moved for the knife on the wall as if someone else were controlling it. He didn't look up from the ground when his fingers wrapped around the handle. He lifted the blade off the wall and pressed the edge against the skin on his forearm. His flesh split under the pressure. He slid the blade a little, slicing across his arm as the pain shot into his brain. He wasn't sure if he was punishing himself or distracting himself from the pain of his failure. But he like that the cut was a pain he could control. He could choose when the pain of the cut began, and when it ended. That pain was his pain.
25
AZAKOR
Sasha's screams could be heard echoing down the halls of the citadel. They lasted throughout the day and night, like the wails of a banshee that haunted the castle. The Oshiros huddled around the door of the medical bay, demanding constant updates. When Magda insisted that Azakor meet with them in the morning, it was Dominus Takahiro that broke away from the family to speak with him.
Azakor tilted his head toward the dominus and said, “Greetings, m'dom. I hope that-”
“That is your sister in there.”
Azakor froze before lifting his head and saying, “Half-sister, to be precise, but yes, I am aware of our shared parentage.”
The mechanical creature clicked its spider-like legs against the marble floor, stepping closer to Azakor. “Then why is it that my family are the only ones who appear worried about her? Why is it that the Zharkovs go about their day, eating and sleeping without a care?”
Azakor pulled his lips back into something he hoped looked like a smile. “I can assure you, we all care deeply for Sasha. But
we are also tasked with running an empire. The world does not stop spinning when a Zharkov falls ill. I would also remind you that within Sasha's genetic structure lies my grandfather's super power. Sasha is invulnerable. I'm quite sure there is nothing to worry about.”
As if on cue, Sasha let out a scream of pain that made Azakor shiver with sympathy.
“Those do not sound like the cries of a girl who cannot be harmed. If your grandfather can die, then any of you can die. You would be wise to remember that.”
Azakor found himself fumbling, uncomfortable with the theory. “My grandfather fell to his own old age. I'm sure that Sasha's youth will-”
“But you have no idea, do you? She could be suffering from any number of ailments. And that is my heir in her belly. The same belly she clutches in pain.”
“I'm sure our medical staff will-”
Dominus Takahiro turned away from him as he spoke. “We will transport her back to Neo-Nippon. Not only our staff, but our equipment far exceeds your paltry excuse for a hospital.”
Azakor reached out and clenched his fingers around the back of Dominus Takahiro's mechanical throne, stopping him from walking away. “That's not going to happen. Until we know what's wrong, moving her could do more damage. I'm sure our medical staff is more than capable-”
Dominus Takahiro's throne spun around. For the first time his face showed an expression, his eyes wide with shock. Azakor let go of the throne, holding up his hand as if to silently acknowledge the transgression. Dominus Takahiro took a few steps backward, away from Azakor.
“Tell me, Morningstar, how good do the doctors need to be for a royal family that never gets sick and never gets hurt? How good do they need to be to let an invincible imperator die on their watch?”
Azakor opened his mouth to argue, but realized the question was rhetorical when Dominus Takahiro's throne skittered away without waiting for an answer. Azakor twirled his cape as he left the rest of the Oshiro family and the screams of his half-sister behind him. He lifted his feet off the ground and pushed a fist into the air, thrusting his body down the hallway. He flew past servants that fell to their knees as he passed, and turned down the hallway that led to the throne room.
He could hear his father's voice telling him to turn away from the advice of his mother. His father would tell him to stop playing the subservient pacifist. He would tell Azakor to rip the head of Takahiro from that lifeless body and place it on a pike next to the Zharkovian banner. He would tell him to tear out the heart of Padamir and take the throne for himself. Let the world know who rules it. Let them know what happens to any who would oppose him. Remind them all of the true power of the Zharkovs.
But when the guards opened the door, he pushed those thoughts away. He would do as his mother had taught him since he was little. The breathing exercises. The counting. The imagination of peaceful places. The summoning of his own wife's face into his mind stifled his father's rage and allowed him to focus on the patience his mother gave him.
He flew down the carpet toward the staircase leading up to the throne just as his mother was getting up off her knees. She wiped her lips on the back of her hand as Padamir buckled his belt. They both look startled by his entrance.
“Really, mother?” Azakor asked in disgust. “On the throne? Is that what you're doing in here now? Don't you have private chambers for that kind of activity?”
“Grow up, child,” Magda said, wiping her mouth again.
“Don't blame your mother,” Padamir said with a smile much too large for his thin face. “She was following my command. I am the imperator, you know.”
Azakor landed in front of the steps. “I'm well aware of that.”
“Then why haven't you bowed before me?”
Azakor flashed a look at his mother who was squinting her eyes so tightly, it looked as if she were trying to bend his knees with her mind. Azakor let out a sigh and dropped to one knee, bowing his head to his chest.
“Forgive me, my imperator.”
“That's alright,” Padamir said with a yawn. “We'll have plenty of time to practice. Unlike my father, I have many years left to sit up here.”
He giggled with delight.
“Is there something you wanted?” Magda asked. “Or were you only looking to embarrass us?”
Azakor rose to his feet, straightened his cape behind him, and said, “It's the Oshiros. They want to take Sasha back to Neo-Nippon.”
Magda patted her bound hair, making sure everything was still in place as she said, “I'll have the medical staff prepare her for transport.”
Azakor's face lit up with shock. “What? Just like that? You're going to let them take your daughter when we have no idea what's happening to her?”
Magda folded her hands in front of her, looking regal and stoic once again as she said, “We've threatened our relationship with them more than I'm comfortable with. I won't be blamed if something does go wrong. Sasha is an Oshiro now. They can do whatever they want with her.”
Azakor stepped forward. Magda flinched, as if she foresaw a violent outburst from her son, but Padamir kept smiling as if he wasn't sure what the argument was even about.
“How can you speak about your own daughter like that? Like she's an object to be owned. Can you not hear her screams in the throne room? Or were you too busy fellating the imperator to notice how much pain she's in?”
Magda walked down the stairs, each step was careful and meaningful, until she was standing in front of her son. Her hand slapped across his cheek. Azakor knew it most likely hurt her hand more than his face, but Magda's eyes burned into him.
“You will never, ever, speak to me or your imperator like that again. You will show us both the respect we deserve. Do you understand me?”
Azakor clenched his teeth together, forcing the words from his mouth. “I understand,” he said, but as Magda nodded her head and turned to walk back up the stairs, he continued, “I understand that this family has lost its strength. In your quest for diplomacy, we have shown only weakness, and if we don't do something soon, this citadel will fall from the sky and shatter the empire into a thousand pieces.”
He lifted off the ground and spoke directly to Padamir. “Imperator Konstantin would have never bowed to the wishes of Dominus Takahiro. The Oshiros are allies, not partners. You are the leader of this empire. The only leader. Do not let anyone command you. It is imperative, especially now, that you show the empire who is in control, lest all the domini start thinking a piece of that crown belongs to them as well.”
He did not need to look at his mother to feel her scowl. He twirled his cape as he dashed through the air, out of the throne room and down the halls of the citadel. He was sick of arguing. He was sick of debating. He was sick of defending the most powerful family in the world. He needed to be with the one person he could always count on, the one person who was always on his side.
When he entered his private chambers, Simone was standing in the window, sipping a cup of tea. Her golden skin sparkled as it reflected the sun hanging high in the sky. She turned and smiled at him as he floated toward her and all the worries that filled his veins with ice water turned to a calm warmth.
She stroked his cheek and let him rest his head on her breasts. “My love, you look troubled. Is it your sister? How is she?”
“The same,” he said, closing his eyes and inhaling the sweet perfume she wore. “Her screams are that of a dying woman. But that can't be true, can it?”
“I'm sure you have nothing to worry about. She's invulnerable, like you and your brother.”
He lifted his head and gazed into her, letting her see the worry that lived behind his eyes. “That power did not save my father, nor Konstantin.”
Her words were like gentle waves lapping against his skin. “Then we will put our trust in the doctors who care for her. I'm sure they will do everything in their power to help her.”
Azakor dropped into the seat near the open window, gazing out across the clear blue sky that contrasted
everything he was feeling. “The Oshiros want to take her. They don't trust our staff. They think they have more technology that can help her.”
Simone knelt down and placed her hands on his knees. “Perhaps they are right. Their super intelligence is far beyond our understanding. Dominus Takahiro has kept himself alive with his technology for many more years than nature would have allowed.”
Azakor snarled at the idea. “I won't allow them to hook her up to some mechanical monstrosity and parade her corpse around. That isn't living. That's just prolonging her death.”
Simone tilted her head and said, “Some say that's all life is, a slow death. It is our instinct, our human nature, to want to slow down that death as much as possible.”
Azakor banged his fist on the chair, splintering the wood and causing Simone to jump. “I don't understand why everyone wants to bow their heads to that thing. Why do we let Dominus Takahiro talk to us like that? Why do we let him order us around? Because he armed us in the Second World War? Because he was our ally in the Super Power War?”
“Konstantin and he were not exactly friends,” Simone said. “They certainly had different ideas about how to rule their respective parts of the world, but they realized that the only way to succeed, the only way to achieve victory, was to work together, to make concessions, to make sacrifices. And that's what we're still trying to do.”
“My father always said, 'We don't have to negotiate with those we conquer.' Maybe he was right.”
Simone stood up and Azakor could see the disappointment in her eyes.
“What? What's wrong?”
She touched her forehead and closed her eyes. “You're quoting your father now?”
“I'm only saying he had a point. Maybe if we reminded Dominus Takahiro who was in charge-”
The Super Power Saga (Book 1): Super Powers of Mass Destruction Page 21
