A Just Farewell

by Brian S. Wheeler

  “Perhaps Governor Spencer was wise when he destroyed the rocket facility.”

  General Harrison shook his head. “He acted rashly and foolishly. There are other rocket facilities on the planet, surrounded by other tribes. His actions only wasted resources and stranded more civilized refugees on the world.”

  “You’re telling me that all we can do is wait?”

  General Harrison nodded. “All we can do now, Governor Praxis, is try to conserve as much power as possible to recharge our energy reserves. I recommend that we power down all non-essential systems. That will make life uncomfortable for our castle populations. People will have to cope with chilly living quarters. Everyone will need to consume less and sleep more. But any cutback we can make in our energy usage will bring us that much closer to executing our ultimate answer.”

  “I’ll bring your suggestion before the governors immediately.”

  General Harrison leaned forward. “Governor, I suggest you take the same executive initiative that Governor Spencer took when he unleashed those cannons and immediately limit the consumption of power within your station. I wouldn’t wait to summon all the governors for another round of debate and voting. I’m afraid the situation forces you to take individual action.”

  “I understand,” Governor Praxis nodded.

  Yet General Harrison noticed the panic that flashed in Governor Praxis’ eyes in the second before his face vanished and the communications monitor went dark. Like most all of his peers, Governor Praxis feared making any choice on his own, feared any decision whose repercussions couldn’t be carefully charted, whose impact on the registered, voting public’s regard couldn’t be squeezed into an objective and clear pie chart. He doubted Governor Praxis’ castle would make the simplest of sacrifices in power consumption before the governor had the chance to debate the energy cutting measures with the other governors. He doubted Governor Praxis would ask his constituents to sacrifice a single comfort before the governor knew that the populace of all the other castles were required to do the same. The barbarians and their bombs ascended to their foothold in the stars, and still General Harrison feared that hesitation and fear would stiffen those governors like stone until it was too late to prevent those tribes from pulling that last of civilization into the grave.

  General Harrison wondered if he would act any differently if he occupied a governor’s executive desk. He used to take comfort by thinking that the ribbons pinned to the chest of his uniform promised that he would. Only, a doubt recently entered his estimation of himself. Governor Kelly Chen had followed her heart. She had displayed that rare integrity so often lacking in the other governors when she had voted according to her conviction and stood alone in her dissent against the ultimate answer’s implementation. And as reward for her courage, the weight of the world settled upon her shoulders. General Harrison wasn’t sure if he could withstand the pressures that woman was no doubt currently feeling as she wrestled with the question if what remained of Earth deserved to be preserved, of if it was best to entirely obliterate the ruin so that the planet’s infection never touched the stars.

  General Harrison tapped the mahogany surface of his desk to open a communications channel.

  “This is Engineer Dixon in the power plant. What can we do for you General?”

  “Place our castle on the strictest energy restrictions. I want to divert all the juice we can into our energy reserves.”

  “Yes sir, general.”

  The lights in General Harrison’s office instantly dimmed. It wouldn’t take much time before his office turned cold enough to turn his breath to vapor. But a thick coat would make him warm again, and his eyes would well enough adjust to his dark surroundings. All of those things were very minor discomforts, and General Harrison was thankful he didn’t have to struggle with the dilemma set upon Governor Chen’s desk. He doubted anyone deserved the light and the warmth more than her.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 10 – A Boy Given a Purpose

  Abraham woke as something scratched the back of his hand. Dirt stung in his face as he opened his eyes to see his loyal and orange cockroach friend climbing up his arm to reach his shoulder, where the bug took a perch as its fine antennae sniffed at Abraham’s scratched face, as if checking for hurts the boy may have suffered during the onslaught of the orbiting castle’s guns. A pain in his neck caused Abraham to wince as he turned his face back and forth to scan the chamber in search of Alexis and Cassandra. The twins huddled together and sobbed against the chamber’s opposite wall, on the other side of the pile of earth that had fallen from a segment of collapsed ceiling. Abraham gently set his bug friend upon the ground and coughed as he crawled through the dust to reach the girls. Blood clotted from a cut Cassandra suffered on her forehead, likely from where a falling chunk of ceiling had struck her. But Alexis was worse for ware, for her face had turned pale from the pain she suffered when the ceiling fell upon her leg to pin her uncomfortably against the wall.

  Cassandra’s lips trembled. “Alexis tried to run home. The ceiling collapsed on her.”

  “Can you dig?” Abraham asked. “Can you help me clear away the rubble from her leg?”

  Cassandra gathered enough composure to help Abraham clear the debris, and together they soon revealed enough of Alexis to recognize her broken leg. Cassandra wailed to see her sister’s injury, and she returned to Alexis’ side to grip her sister’s hand. Alexis softly moaned before she closed her eyes to pain, falling into a stupor from which she didn’t return no matter how Abraham massaged her face or shook her shoulders.

  “I have to get help, Cassandra. I have to find a way back to the surface.”

  Rubble slowed Abraham’s progress through the halls and chambers of the butcher shop. But the destruction never stopped his progress, for Abraham managed to clear away enough rubble at every blockage to squeeze into the adjoining chamber. He hated to think of how much time and work would have to be invested to rebuild the shop, and that concern led him to worry about the destruction he would discover once he climbed back onto the surface of his village. He prayed to the Maker that he could still find help for Alexis. He knew nothing about setting broken bones, or how to insure that the fever didn’t settle into wounds. He was hardly ten, and Cassandra was just seven. The two of them would not have the strength to carry Alexis out of the ruin.

  Abraham shook his head. Ishmael would be ashamed if fear paralyzed his young brother in the time of calamity. Abraham focused on clearing whatever debris blocked his progress, and he kept his concentration on the task immediately at hand, that of finding his way out from the earth. His effort rubbed his fingers raw, so that his hands throbbed and bled by the time he reached the hole that opened into the sky. The Maker had not abandoned him, for the fallen ladder had not broken, and it easily supported Abraham’s weight as the child climbed hurriedly onto the surface.

  The giant castle still floated directly overhead to cast Abraham’s village into thick shadow. The fortress of the unbelievers had never felt so close, and the sky itself seemed on the verge of collapse, as if it too felt the menace of those hovering castles that blocked so much sun and wind. The ground felt warm beneath Abraham’s boots, and the smoke rose out of many of the holes that marked the entrances to the village’s homes. Abraham hurried to Josef’s ladder, where he was appalled to find a great crater blasted deep into the ground, obliterating any trace of the home or family that had honored Abraham with twin wives. He darted to the location of his family’s ladder, and he screamed at the dirt that suffocated the entrance and warned that the ground had collapsed completely upon his father and mother. Other men climbed out of surviving holes to shake fists and scream curses at the castle floating over their heads before they searched for tools to employ to clear away rubble and earth, many using their hands to dig at the collapsed shelters of their neighbors and loved ones.

  “Over here, Abraham!” One of the young, bearded clerics, the man with the wide shoulders who had executed the butch
er Paul, waved to catch Abraham’s attention. “The high cleric was just asking about you. I think he has something to say to you, but you must hurry.”

  Abraham caught his breath. “Joseph’s daughters are trapped in the butcher shop. Alexis has a broken leg.”

  The cleric nodded. “I promise we will get to them as quickly as possible. It will be good to find survivors. But hurry to the high cleric’s apartments, Abraham. The high cleric is badly hurt, and he might not have much time.”

  An invitation to the high cleric’s quarters was rarely afforded to anyone within the village, and any visit to the spiritual leader’s home was customarily an occasion marked with great solemnity. Yet Abraham felt none of that formality as he ran towards the high cleric’s home. Bearded clerics, armed with the most formidable rifles ever salvaged from the ruin of the old world, surrounded the ladder that led downward into the high cleric’s quarters, but all of them nodded at Abraham when the boy arrived, all apparently pleased to discover that the guns of the blasphemers had failed to bury Abraham. The subterranean halls of the high cleric appeared in good order, for the tribe spared no expense in fortifying their leader’s underground abode, and no home was dug as deeply into the earth as the one occupied by the high cleric. Abraham looked upon the mosaics of broken glass that told the story of the Maker’s creation, and of the Maker’s heroes who swept away the old and decadent world’s perversion so that one day the Maker might return beauty to an empty canvas. Abraham wondered if any of the small, colorful stones he had returned from the metal garden occupied a small, glimmering place in any of those mosaics. The possibility made him proud. He had so often admired the way his mother worked her loom, and he had so often stared, amazed, at the intricate patterns woven in the capes of the tribe’s heroes to tell of the fallen warriors’ exploits. Had the Maker not blessed him with a butcher’s training, Abraham would have hoped that the Maker might have shown his hands the secrets of creating such masterpieces out of nothing more than colorful bits of broken glass.

  “Hurry here, child,” a raspy whisper attracted Abraham’s attention just as he allowed his thoughts to drift too deeply into a mosaic. “Oh, how I regret not inviting you earlier into my home, Abraham, so that you might’ve had a better opportunity to admire those glass pictures. But I suspected this day was coming, and you had such limited time to prepare for the purpose the Maker has gifted to you.”

  The high cleric lay upon the largest bed Abraham had ever seen, surrounded by luxurious pillows and covered in thick blankets. Though the bedding looked comfortable and warm, Abraham noticed how sweat beaded upon the cleric’s forehead. The cleric’s hands looked thin as they waved Abraham to come closer.

  “Does my visit pain you?”

  The high cleric attempted to laugh at the boy’s concern, but the effort turned into a cough that contorted his face.

  “I feel very little, Abraham,” returned the high cleric. “The Maker gifted you with a great heart. Never let anyone tell you that a warrior’s heart cannot hold such compassion, Abraham. It takes a great heart to understand what we fight for, a great heart to understand what makes the unbelievers so vile.”

  “Are you badly hurt?”

  The high cleric nodded. “The Maker begins to summon me to his side, son. I was too slow in finding my shelter when the castle fired upon our village, and a blast from their guns broke my back. No, don’t look like that, Abraham. I feel nothing below my waist, so my suffering is very minor. Your brother’s attack got their attention. Your brother’s bravery forced the heathens in the sky to roar their guns, something they haven’t done for decades. That means they’re frightened. It means they realize that we’re about to cleanse them from the Maker’s heavens. I needed to see you before I leave for the Maker, Abraham, so that I can ask you if you’re ready to undergo the final ritual of your man-making. I needed to ask if you’re ready to receive your cape and take battle to the unbelievers as did your good brother Ishmael.”

  “I’m ready.” Abraham felt surprised by his own certainty.

  “Forgive me for ever doubting you,” the cleric smiled, “but you are so young, Abraham. Your youth makes you such a formidable weapon. It’s your youth that will gain you access to those unbelievers’ castles. They won’t be able to resist you when you plead with them for a seat on one of those rockets lifting into their fortresses. Their arrogance will trick them into believing that they are saving you from a wasted world. Their naivety will fail to suspect the power held within your body. You will release that power in the heart of one of those towers, Abraham, and you will bring a castle crashing back to earth the very moment the Maker receives you in his heaven. Are you ready for such a thing?”

  “I’m ready.” Abraham didn’t feel the slightest hesitation or doubt.

  “The castle must’ve shattered our village for you to be so certain. Did you lose much in the attack, Abraham?”

  Abraham nodded, feeling more anger than sorrow. “I fear my father and mother are crushed beneath the earth. I’m afraid nothing remains of Josef and his wife.”

  “And what of your young twins?”

  “They’re alive, but Alexis’ leg is terribly broken.”

  The high cleric sighed. “Know that those girls will be stronger for it. I regret you’ll not have more time with them, that you will not have the opportunity to feel the Maker love those girls through your body. I tried to give you what I could of manhood, Abraham. That’s why I encouraged you to begin your year of man-making so early. Why I pushed you so quickly into the butcher’s trade. Why I wanted you to mark those faces of those girls though your hands were so young. I wanted to give you every chance I could to understand what the Maker calls you to kill for. You make me very happy, Abraham.”

  Abraham grinned. “And I hope I please the Maker.”

  The high cleric again coughed, and Abraham noticed the blood that gathered in the corners of the old man’s mouth. “You do. Now go and tell the clerics above that you are ready, and they will prepare you for your next trial. Abraham, I promise to do my best to be here when you recover from that procedure, but if I’m not, know that you make me proud, and that I will greet you with the Maker the next time we meet.”

  Abraham gently squeezed the high cleric’s hand before departing. He owed much to that long-bearded cleric, for the high cleric’s direction had transformed Abraham from a boy into a man. As a child, he had been so afraid of that elderly man, who now appeared so frail, so weak, surrounded by so much bedding, his back broken and his breaths numbering among his last. Thanks to the customs the high cleric oversaw, and protected, Abraham had matured by bounds in the short weeks following the digging of his hole. The high cleric had recognized Abraham’s potential from the start; he had foreseen how Abraham would, with a little encouragement, grow to wear his own warrior’s cape. As a child, Abraham believed the high cleric delivered only the Maker’s punishment; but on the cusp of manhood, Abraham learned how the high cleric in truth administered the Maker’s blessings.

  Another of the bearded clerics offered Abraham a hand to help him mount the last rungs of the ladder that deposited him back upon the surface. “The high cleric told us that you were ready for your final ritual. We’re prepared to administer the procedure whenever you want, Abraham.”

  “Should we wait until we finish searching through all the rubble?”