by Matt Forbeck
The Capitol Spire stood burning on the other side of the river, a torch that displayed the destructive powers of the mutant armies to the world. He had watched from his chambers on the floor below last night as a transport had careened into it and set it ablaze.
“Twenty days,” Constantine said softly. “The entire planet fallen within a month. How can we hope to stand?”
“You always said that hope was not a plan.”
A smile curled Constantine’s lips as he turned to see Victoria standing there. She rarely came up to the boardroom, preferring to work her influence in private, far from the spotlight. But with the place empty now, there was nothing to keep her away.
Constantine folded his wife into his arms and held her close to him against the chill wind. He kissed her tenderly and stroked her gray hair.
“When all our plans fail, what else is left?”
She moved to the railing with him. “Truly, there is no hope? None at all?”
“Not for us.” Constantine kept his eyes focused on the Capitol Spire. The blaze had exposed the framework of the upper girders, the skeleton beneath the facade.
“Not for me, you mean.” Victoria stepped away from her husband and took him in with her eyes. “There’s still time for you.”
Constantine shook his head, still not looking at her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small tin. He opened it and took out a pair of tiny pills that he put under his tongue, where he let them dissolve like bitter candy.
“My health is no better than yours,” he said.
“Bullshit. We both know the truth.” She reached out and touched his arm. He looked down at her fingers, still unable to meet her gaze.
“You could survive the trip into space,” she whispered. A rocket shell exploded at the base of the Mishima Building then, rocking the distant skyscraper to its pagoda-styled peak.
“Not without you,” he said. He finally looked into her deep brown eyes and saw the tears she held back there. “I won’t leave you here to die alone.”
Victoria gestured at the plumes of smoke trailing up into the gray sky from all over the city. A wry, mirthless smile played across her lips. “Darling,” she said, “I’ll hardly be alone.”
Constantine held her tight then and let her bury her face in his chest. She wept openly, not just for them but for the whole of the world, and he joined her unashamedly.
As they let their tears flow, the sounds of war raged all about them. The height of the Cartel’s tower muffled much of the gunfire on the ground, but the roar of the fighters and bombers zooming past overhead seemed never-ending.
When they were done, Victoria pulled back and raised her lips for one last kiss. As their lips parted, Constantine held his wife close to him once more and spoke into her ear, making sure she could hear him over the screaming engines all around.
“There’s one last thing I have to do,” he said.
She nodded. “I’ll wait for you.”
With that, she strode off for the spiral staircase that would take her to their chambers. It had long been their home. Soon, he knew, it would be their grave.
16
Brother Samuel entered the Cartel’s boardroom one last time. He barely knew why he was there, but he had no place else left to go. He had considered trying to get to the local cathedral and offer his support, but the streets were closed, blocked with either battles or bodies.
On the thirtieth floor, the Cartel had opened the bar for one last party. Drinks were free to all, and they were flowing like water, he’d heard.
The Imperial ambassador had asked Samuel to join him there. With the Serenity Center closed off, he had no place to go.
“Why don’t you ask one of the other ambassadors for transport?” Samuel had asked.
The man had chuckled. “They won’t give it. To make room for me, they’d have to cut loose one of their own, and none of them are willing to contemplate that sort of sacrifice.”
The man shrugged. “And let’s be honest. We’re rivals, not friends. We may know each other better than our wives, but there is no love lost between us. Never has been.”
“You don’t seem bitter about that, being left behind.”
The man grunted. “I’d do the same for them.”
Despite the man’s affability, Samuel refused to spend his last moments seeking oblivion. He’d spent all his days involved in the Cardinal’s struggle for life.
With all hope lost, though, he did the only thing he could think of: He returned to the scene of his greatest failure to fall on his knees and beg forgiveness.
Nothing remained in the boardroom but the table and chairs. Even these had been looted, though, as someone had torn the corporate logos off the head of each of them. Undeterred, the monk went to the foot of the table and opened the Book of Law on it.
He turned to the pages of the First Chronicle, the words of which had been carved into the stone foundations of the Luna Cathedral by Lord Scribe Alexander Horatio at the bidding of Cardinal Nathaniel Durand I. They told of the arrival of the Darkness and the calling of the Cardinal to illuminate the path to enlightenment and safety.
Normally, reading aloud from the Chronicles was a crime, but desperate times called for dispensations. The Cardinal knew what he had to do, and if anyone else in the Brotherhood objected, that would only happen if Samuel failed, and they couldn’t make him any more dead.
Samuel knew that the words he read should have inspired him. Instead, he only felt his frustration grow. How had he failed? How had Constantine and his circle of ambassadors been so blind?
He closed the book, the slump of his shoulders telling the story of his defeat. He was a humble man, as all good servants of the Cardinal had to be, but he’d been unbroken. The strength of his faith had carried him through even the darkest times—until now.
Samuel looked over his shoulder at Severian. Sworn to silence, she could not summon any words to comfort him. Despite the fact that his tongue was free, he found that he could not find anything to say to her either.
Samuel glanced at the door at the sounds of gunshots. The battle was getting closer, the mutants working their way up the building, destroying everything story by story. He wondered if the patrons of the bar on the thirtieth floor were already dead. How could they not be?
“Who would believe in such things?” Brother Samuel said, more to himself than Severian. No matter what, she would not answer. “Who could imagine we should see days like these?”
A voice spoke from the shadows in the rear of the room. Samuel had walked right past them as they’d entered and never even glanced in that direction.
“You should not be here,” Constantine said from where he sat at the table.
To her credit, Severian’s hand never went to her sword. Whether that was because she’d always known that Constantine was there or because her nerves of steel never let her show surprise, Samuel did not know.
“The barricades are crumbling.” Constantine thumbed through a thick stack of envelopes as he spoke. “They’ll be here soon.”
Samuel nodded. By his estimation, they had only minutes before the entire building was overrun, perhaps more if they bothered to fight.
“When do you leave?” Samuel asked. He failed to keep the bitterness from his voice. His own impending doom did not make him jealous of the fact that this man would live. He would have traded his life a dozen times over to just give the world one last chance.
A mysterious smile crossed Constantine’s face. He put his hand over his heart. “The absence of gravity interferes with my digestion. I shall stay.”
Samuel raised his eyebrows. He would not have guessed that the man would remain behind and share the world’s fate, no matter how responsible he might be for it.
For his part, Constantine seemed to enjoy playing with the monk’s expectations. “Perhaps man will get a fresh start on the New Worlds. They don’t need this old serpent making the same mistakes.”
Samuel nodded. If the m
an needed to believe that as some consolation as the mutants dragged him off into the long night, why should Samuel argue? Constantine already knew what Samuel believed.
The mutant threat wouldn’t stop here. The foul creatures of the Dark Apostles of which the Chronicles spoke would find a way to get off the planet and bring their curse to every planet in the system, every last chunk of dirt on which humanity stood. They’d done it before. They would do it again.
“Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam, Constantine.”
Samuel wondered if the man would understand the blessing he’d just bestowed upon him: “May your soul walk on God’s right hand.”
He turned to go. Severian fell in behind him. As Samuel reached the door, which he’d left open behind him, Constantine spoke.
“Where will you go?”
Was the man truly concerned about this? At the moment, the only destination that seemed clear for any of them was their final reward. Still, the monk chose to play along.
“I shall return to my brothers and sisters and wait for the end.”
Constantine nodded. Samuel wished to leave, to put the man behind him, but he sensed that Constantine had more to say. The monk opted to grant the self-condemned man his last wish.
“And how will you get there? The city is besieged on all sides.”
Constantine’s manner bespoke concern, but Samuel knew it wasn’t genuine. He did not understand this man’s game, but as he had no better choices, he played along.
Samuel shrugged. “It shall be as God wills.”
He hoped that would be a twist of a knife in the man’s belly. In the end, Constantine’s worldliness had not triumphed. They might all be doomed, but Samuel and Severian would remain faithful to the Cardinal’s ideals to the end.
The man nodded as if considering something that had not occurred to him before. Samuel stood ready to debate with the man should he begin to mock his faith—or switch to more persuasive tactics if necessary.
“As God wills, yes, perhaps it will be.”
Constantine let the next moment hang in the air between them. Samuel watched the man, not saying a word. He could see that Constantine was savoring this, but he could not say why. Did the man actually enjoy the idea that soon the world would come to an end, and they along with it? Was he really that nuts?
“I have a ship.”
Samuel stared at the man. Was this part of some twisted game? To raise false hopes and then dash them again? He’d thought Constantine a fool—at least when it came to dealing with the Enemy—but not so cruel.
Constantine continued, staring out the window as if imagining his ship taking off into the air.
“It won’t hold twenty, though. You’ll have to make do with less.”
For the first time, Samuel allowed hope back into his heart once again. He’d never lost faith—or so he told himself—but he and hope had been strangers for far too long.
The monk’s mind began whirring, tackling the many obstacles to his plan. The first trick, of course, would be finding soldiers crazy or suicidal enough to take on such a mission.
He could not depend on finding any of the Brotherhood’s elite forces here on Earth. What he wouldn’t have given for an Inquisitor, a Keeper of the Art, or—best of all—a Mortificator. He wondered where his old friend Crenshaw was. Undoubtedly scouring the streets of Luna’s Ancient Quarters on the Cardinal’s behalf.
He would have to rely on soldiers from the megacorporations instead, but he couldn’t depend on being able to appeal to their humanity. He’d seen far too little of that outside the monastery. No, he needed something to barter with, but a poor monk like himself carried few coins.
Constantine handed Samuel his thick stack of envelopes. “Take these.”
“And what are they?”
“Offworld tickets. They should help you recruit some men for your mission.”
Samuel grabbed one of the envelopes and eased it open, careful not to damage the contents. It felt lighter than he had thought it would be. He reached into the envelope and pulled out the contents.
Inside, he found two pieces of paper. They bore the logo of Imperial Skyways and the words ONE WAY.
“Two tickets offworld,” Constantine said, his voice low and serious. “Two lives for the price of one. It’s a bargain.”
Samuel put the tickets back into the envelope as if they were lost pages from the Book of Law. He gathered the envelopes in his hands and placed them atop the Book of Law.
He looked up at Constantine again but did not know what to say. The man’s generosity had done more than surprise him. It had humbled him.
He knew better than to question such fortune, but he had to ask. He couldn’t help himself.
“Why are you doing this?”
Constantine allowed himself a flash of a smile.
“Most men think they are going to die, Brother. A few of us know it. As I draw closer to my end, I find hope the only investment worth my attention.”
Before Samuel could say a word of thanks, a guard burst into the room.
“Sir!” the guard said, terror dancing in his eyes. “The perimeter has fallen. They’re hard upon us.”
Constantine hesitated. Samuel’s heart froze for a moment as he wondered if the man was about to change his mind. Instead, Constantine favored the guard with a weak smile.
“I’ll be staying a little while longer. This is Brother Samuel. He’ll be going with you. Take him wherever he wants to go.”
The guard reached out to take Samuel by the arm, eager to leave immediately. Severian moved between them, and the guard backed away.
“We have very little time.”
Samuel gathered the Book of Law and the envelopes, then stopped and turned to face Constantine.
“God bless you.”
The monk had never meant those three words more in his life.
The worldly Constantine responded with a wan smile. “I sincerely hope so, Brother.”
Trying to move his passengers along, the guard hustled toward the door. Samuel and Severian followed in his wake. As they reached the door, Constantine’s voice pulled Samuel up short.
“Brother Samuel,” the man said. “Are you the one? Will you deliver us?”
Samuel’s faith had only one answer for that.
“Pray to God that I am.”
17
Alone, Constantine went to the table and reached into a drawer that hung close to his seat. He pulled out a single glass and an amber bottle and filled the glass to the very top. Then he strolled out to the balcony to look down at the city.
He thought of going down to be with Victoria, but he suspected that she was already dead. He wanted to remember her as she was, not as a corpse torn to pieces and tossed about their chambers. And if she wasn’t dead, he had to confess, he wanted her to remember him whole too.
That assumed, of course, that there would be memories to be had after today. Constantine wasn’t sure what lay after the veil of death. He only knew that today he would finally find out.
Below him, the city burned. The entire financial district had gone up in flames, he saw, and the damaged Mishima Building had toppled over, destroying the entire neighborhood to its east. The Serenity Center still stood, as did the Bauhaus Building, but the Capitol Spire had burned down to half its height like a candle lit for too long.
Gunfire echoed from so many different directions that Constantine couldn’t hope to spot its source. Screams punctuated the shots from time to time, but these were always cut far too short.
From the far side of the roof, opposite the balcony on which Constantine stood, his skyship roared into the air. He watched it jump into the sky on vertical gouts of flame, then jet off toward the horizon at breathtaking speed. He kept his eyes focused on it until it rocketed up through the dark, roiling clouds and disappeared.
Here and there, other transports escaped into the sky. It struck Constantine that they would have needed a hundred times as many—perhaps a thousand—to have h
ad a hope of properly evacuating the place. People had been leaving Earth behind for countless generations, but there were still too many of them here. Soon that issue would be solved permanently.
On the streets below, mutants stormed through the streets, charging from building to building with impunity. They left nothing but destruction in their wake. The pale, blade-armed beasts seemed to be the most common, but Constantine could see other, larger creatures too.
One of the biggest monsters stood as tall as two or three men stacked atop each other. It was covered with muscles, and its skin was a dark crimson, the color of old blood. A vicious footlong spike ran from the top of its head, and identical spikes shot out from its temples.
The creature carried a rocket launcher that seemed like it must have once been the main armament of a tank. As Constantine gazed down at it, the beast seemed to sense him. It leaned back, took aim with its weapon, and let a rocket fly.
The top of the building was far out of the rocket’s range. The missile made it several stories up the side of the building before smacking into the side of it instead of reaching Constantine’s balcony.
Despite this, the man did not feel safe. He could hear the mutants fighting their way up the building, taking it floor by floor. The place shook with their efforts every few moments, and for a long while Constantine considered climbing onto the balcony’s railing and leaping off.
He wondered if he would pass out before he hit the bottom or stay awake for the whole terrifying ride down.
No, he told himself. He’d spent his whole life facing up to the hard facts of reality. That was how he’d managed to be named the Cartel’s chief officer on Earth. He wasn’t about to abandon that now. If he was going to die either way, he preferred to be true to himself.
He heard them coming up the stairs. Whether they didn’t know how to use elevators or didn’t trust them, he couldn’t say. Either way, it did not matter. They had all the time in the world.
