The two rebels knelt with their hands tied behind their backs. They were young, more boys than men. Their stern faces were covered in welts. One was dark-haired, the other blond.
“Sir,” said an Agent, “they set fire to the new Reeducation Reform Center. And they were armed. Two revolvers.”
Another Agent chuckled, then said, “Only one kind of animal those guns were meant to hunt.”
“The Reform Center!” Mallery shrieked. “Did they - is it – did it - !”
“Poof,” said the lead Agent, waving a hand. “Ashes, sir. Total fuckjob.”
“Damn you,” Mallery hissed. He stomped up to the prisoners. “Names.”
“Perseverance,” said the blond youth.
“Simon the Maccabee,” said the dark-haired youth.
“Oh, bullshit!” shouted Mallery. “Those aren’t names! Those are stupid gang names! What’s the meaning of this!?”
Simon the Maccabee cleared his throat, then spat a line of blood between himself and the Temporary President. “It’s the name of a rebel from long ago.”
“And Perseverance,” said the other, “just means not giving up.”
“I fucking know what it means,” said Mallery. “That’s not what I meant. And you know that. I want your real names.”
The two boys remained silent. One of the dogmen wrapped a hairy hand on Perseverance’s throat, then said, “Your names, boys.”
“Don’t do that,” said Mallery. “We won’t go so far as to torture these young men.” Mallery adjusted his posture, attempting to adopt an easygoing yet fatherly manner. “Now, will you listen to me for a moment? Why, you boys are so deep into your cult of contrarianism that you can’t even think straight. Listen, you’ll be given a fair trial. I wouldn’t have it any other way. But for now, why don’t you tell me why you burned down the Reeducation Reform Center.”
“Because it was a prison,” said Perseverance. “We don’t need prisons here.”
“It’s not a... a prison,” said Mallery. “It’s a housing center-slash-school that a lot of very intelligent specialists think is necessary in order to reeducate certain... forms of thought that are not conducive to...”
“Shut your mouth!” shouted Simon the Maccabee. His voice was so loud and commanding that everyone jerked with alarm, including the heavily armed Agents. “It is a prison for political dissidents and you know it! You lie to yourself but you can’t-”
An Agent slammed the butt of his rifle against Simon. His face hit the ground with a terrific thunk.
“Don’t do that!” said Mallery, pointing a finger at the Agent. The Agent backed away, nodding and grinning to his comrades. Mallery glared at the rebels, but he was forced to look away in disgust because Perseverance was leaned over, shielding his friend.
These dumbasses really think they’re the good guys, thought Mallery. Unbelievable.
The Agents dragged the two rebels back into kneeling position.
“Alright boys,” said Mallery. “I’m gonna level with you. I understand that you’re just kids. Hell, I remember what it’s like to get all fired-up over big ideals. I know you’re not big players in this... in this reb... this movement or whatever you want to call it. This world’s a whole sight rougher than either of you know. I know there’s other people that have put you up to this.”
“You think we’re incapable of making up our own minds,” said Perseverance.
Mallery had the composure to ignore the jab. “Listen,” he said. “Listen, listen. I’ve got my boys on the situation and we know. Hell, we already know who the ringleaders are.” Mallery let that sink in, then said, “It’s that little woman Fortunata who’s putting you and all the others up to this sort of thing. Right? Right. So I’m willing to-”
“If you already know everything,” said Simon, “then why bother wasting your time on us?”
“Well, now, it’s not so easy. We take the moral high-road, you see. We do things legally, strictly by the book. Evidence must be gathered. I mean, we’ve got stakeouts going on at the House of Ishtar twenty-four-seven, believe me.”
Mallery became angry, thinking of how difficult it was to find morally courageous, untouchable agents who were willing to go into the House of Ishtar, find out the truth about the rebellion, and not allow themselves to get roped into some kind of weird sex thing.
At that moment both of the boys laughed.
“Oh, alright, alright,” said Mallery, speaking over their childish display. “Ha ha, yes, it’s very funny, I get it. Aren’t you two just so-o-o cynical. But you’ll see. You’ll see. The human spirit will prevail.”
The rebels fell silent. “Gods,” one of them muttered.
“What I’m getting at,” Mallery said through clenched teeth, “is that I’m willing to let you boys off, if you help us out. See? Things aren’t so bad. I know things look scary right now. But believe me, things aren’t so bad.”
The rebels glared at him.
“What I want from you,” said Mallery, “is the hideout of the rebel called Skinny. Now this guy, he’s not small-fry like you all. He’s a killer, a former war criminal who’s already murdered several of our good-hearted Temporary Peace Agents. And Skinny’s no idealist, either. Oh, no. Fortunata pays him. And once he’s got money in hand, he goes out and commits murder - no questions asked.”
“Chris Kenny, a war criminal?” said Simon. “Last I heard he was a war hero. Isn’t he a friend of the King?”
“Maybe they can rewrite history in here,” said Perseverance.
Several of the Agents snickered. Infuriated, Mallery felt a wave of humiliation threaten to drown him. He felt like a child. He stopped, unable to move. Then he felt a sort of darkness come over him, a freezing thing beyond rage. He understood that he was in the presence of evil, and he could not back down. He finally felt certain that he could do anything for the sake of his vision.
“So that’s how it is?” said Mallery.
“How what is?” said Simon. “You’re the President, you don’t need us to tell you-”
“Alright, here’s the new deal. One of you dies, the other one lives. You want my authority for yourselves? Well, if you want it so bad, here’s some authority for you: You two get to decide which one of you dies.”
Strangely enough, the boys did not seem shocked. In horror Mallery realized that these boys were already aware that they were living in a state of war. The cruelty of what he’d just done became apparent to him, and he understood that he was the one who was only now beginning to realize this.
“King Wodan would never make two prisoners decide something like that,” said Simon. “So we won’t.”
A part of Mallery agreed that he had gone too far. And yet it was so unfair; Wodan could have people beaten in public like animals, and everyone was so stupid they could do nothing but pat him on the back and talk about how wonderful he was. But when Mallery tried to help people, tried to educate them and show them that there was a better way of life, everyone turned against him. It was insane, a monstrous joke in which everything noble and good was the punchline. And no one would help him, no one at all. Even now, Mallery wished he could go back a few minutes. He truly wished he hadn’t said that the boys would have to decide who lives and who dies. That was a bit much. And yet… the way they looked at him, it was obvious that they believed they were superior to him. They believed that barbarism and lawlessness was superior to a kind, honest, and orderly nation. They were the monsters, not him, not Mallery.
“You must decide,” Mallery heard himself say. “That’s the reality of the situation.”
Heavy silence laid on them. The boys turned and looked at one another for a long time. The seconds ticked by until Mallery thought that his heart was going to explode. He felt the back of his head burning, and he knew that Almus was staring at him. He wanted so badly to turn around and strike Almus, right in front of everyone. Mallery grasped his jacket, then released his grip because he knew he might tear the material. His hand returned to the
jacket, shaking, shaking.
“Well,” said Perseverance, “I’m the better shooter.”
Shooter? thought Mallery. Just how far do they mean to go with this?
Simon nodded slowly, lowering his head. “We both knew,” he said quietly, then his voice caught.
Mallery watched the two for a while, then he realized that the boys were tapping their elbows against one another. First one would move, then the other. It was not a code, only a simple, repetitive show of friendship. The best they could do with their hands tied.
Simon lifted his head suddenly. “Well,” he said loudly, “guess we’ve made our decision. Let’s get this over with.”
Mallery rubbed his forehead and paced. “Gods, you boys. Listen, forget about it. I’m letting you both off. No one’s going to die. Okay?” He laughed unexpectedly. “I’m not some kind of evil tyrant.”
Simon’s mouth dropped, and he looked away. Perseverance curled his lip, seemingly disgusted. Mallery had expected the boys to weep with joy. Why shouldn’t they? Did they really want to die that badly?
Mallery became aware that the Agents were shifting their weight uneasily. They were used to clear orders, not vacillation.
They’re going to be talking about me later, he thought. What kinds of rumors are they going to spread? Mallery glared at them all in disgust. “None of you understands what it’s like,” he said. “Keeping this place from falling apart. None of you has any idea what we’re trying to do, the good things we’re trying to make. None of you gets it. If you’d just... just fucking go along with me for one goddamn minute...” Mallery was horrified at the way he was going on, but was unable to stop himself. “Then you’d see what kind of place this could be! A nation where the citizens can be proud of what they are! Don’t you understand that I’ve got all your best interests at heart? And then you kids, you just... you just…”
A terrible silence settled in the room. Mallery knew that he’d already said too much, that he’d made a mess of things, that the situation was beyond saving. He’d let children dictate terms to him, let them lead him around. Only his exhaustion could be blamed for that. If he wasn’t so tired, he would have been on his feet, and could have talked circles around the two kids and made them spill the whole truth to him. As it was...
“Get rid of them,” said Mallery.
“Sir?” said an Agent.
“Get rid of them.”
Mallery turned his back to them. He heard an incredible scuffle behind him, shouting, cursing, feet squeaking against the floor, howls of pain, the impact of flesh against flesh. The fight dragged on for more than a minute. Finally the Agents led the two boys away but unfortunately they crossed Mallery’s peripheral vision, so he had to turn about again in order to not see them.
Once they were gone Mallery strode up to Almus, still drinking at the table.
“A lot of good you were!” spat Mallery. “I had to take care of that mess myself!”
“Sorry, Mister President,” said Almus. Mallery winced. He decided he’d liked Almus better before he’d started drinking, when he’d been too shy to say anything unless it was in the newspapers. “Anyway, I feel like we’re being watched.”
Temporary President Mallery poured himself another drink. From the courtyard below he heard a voice cry out, “Ready! Aim!” and his hands shot up to cover his ears. It was not enough - he could still hear the indecent thunderclap.
“What a bunch of louts!” said Mallery, shaking his head in exasperation. “Did they really have to do that?!”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Brothers
With a jolt of surprise Wodan found himself standing before a shrieking flesh demon in a pool of water. He turned and saw Marlon and Saul gripped with terror. When he saw how small the boys were, he remembered that he was inside the Mirror program. Once again he was facing the first flesh demon he’d ever encountered, a hideous thing with a head like a skull and a belly of exposed, glowing intestines.
I’m not who I used to be, he thought, rising above the memory of the fear.
He turned to his friends. “Don’t be afraid,” he said.
He stepped toward the demon, then stopped. The thing howled, flexing its massive hands, rolling its shoulders strangely. Wodan flexed his own hands. He felt the power in them. He knew he was stronger than he’d ever been, far stronger than when the demon had killed him in the last simulation.
But what is strength? Wodan thought.
As the demon stepped forward, Wodan knelt and picked up a stone from the ground. He hefted its weight, took aim, then threw it. The demon’s head exploded like a melon. The boys laughed, now covered in gross goo as the monster slowly fell back and disappeared under the surface of the water. Wodan patted Marlon on the back, then took a step toward the water.
He found himself in the tent with Barkus, gunmen all around. They gazed up at his face in awe and terror. With some difficulty Wodan remembered that he was in another simulation. The Master had said there were three, plus a fourth and final one that he hadn’t unlocked last time. Wodan looked around, noticing that the men kept their hands near their guns, nervous about the large, powerful being who stood in their midst. Barkus leaned against the table and glared at him, unwilling to back down, even against a god.
“Please listen,” said Wodan. “I have something really important to tell you.”
He could almost see their primitive minds working with painful slowness. Time stretched by as their brains translated the words, then slowly booted up whatever habitual program they would follow, whether it be tough posturing or making crude jokes at their prisoner’s expense. As the goons processed his words, Wodan turned and ran.
He considered leaving the area, perhaps snatching a rifle on his way out and harassing his captors from a distance, but he had another idea. He was out of the tent before anyone could move, so he ran alongside the large tent, grabbed one the support beams, and jerked it as hard as he could. He had anticipated that the heavy material would give him some trouble, but instead the entire structure exhaled and fell in an awkward dance of toppling beams and heaving cloth. Men cried out as they were pushed to the floor. Wodan pulled the beam out further, snapped it in half like a dry twig, then set to work beating the canvas as men struggled underneath it. He was reminded of seeing a tanner beating a hide in Pontius years ago. He could not help but laugh when the canvas would move from a limb pushing against it, only to be beaten flat as he made his rounds.
Within moments the entire thing was like a flat pancake. He did not envy the Ugly who would eventually wander up and look beneath the surface. He tossed the beam aside and considered how he would save the rest of his friends.
Turning, he found himself on the deck of a ship. He was on the Hero of Old, and the Ugly steamship drew near. As Wodan’s friends ran about in a panic, Wodan grabbed one of them. “Hey,” he said. “I already passed this test. Remember? I baked the Ugly in their own ship and got all my friends out of here alive.”
Strangely enough, the short, painted primitive spoke with Setsassanar’s voice. “Are you sure you passed?”
“Yes. It’s good enough for me.”
“Are you really so sure?”
Wodan considered the matter. “Yes, I’m really, really sure.”
The primitive nodded. “I agree. I booted up this simulation again just to see if you would become confused about the conditions for victory. You’re right, though. You did as well as could be expected.” All of the primitives stopped and stared at him, their faces blank and devoid of useful programming. “Let’s move on, then,” said the primitive. “I think you’ve earned the right to participate in the fourth and final simulation. Now – brace yourself.”
Wodan felt cold wind against his back. He stood in a snowy wood. A cabin was in flames before him, and in a moment he realized that he was back in Haven and the cabin was full of the murderers who had taken the lives of his friends. Wodan heard the faint whisper of padded boots against fresh-fallen snow. He
turned and saw armored men creeping through the woods.
It was difficult to remember, but he knew they were coming to arrest him. In the real world, he had attacked the Reavers and been thrown down, then tossed in a dungeon. He had gone on trial and been given a death sentence. He could see that the men creeping toward him were armed, and he could be killed… but could he really? He could move so fast among the thick trees that the special forces soldiers might not be able to hit him. Their hard, lightweight, bulletproof armor would be like cardboard to him now. Even their extensive training could not have prepared them to take on a transhuman superbeing.
He smiled and flexed his muscles. What would it be like to be the ruler of Haven? What would It be like to prepare the people for a war against the demons?
He saw the soldiers leaning out of cover and aiming their guns at him. He thought of running, diving for cover. Instead he dropped down to his knees in the cold snow and raised his hands.
“I surrender,” he called out. “I’m unarmed!”
The Reavers stalked forward slowly. Their leader, Yarek Clash, lifted the visor of his helm. “You pull anything, try any tricks, and we’ll kill you.”
“I know.” Wodan smiled once again. “There’s things that have to happen. I don’t want to change the past. The way things happened, all the suffering and turmoil and strife… all of it brought me exactly where I’m supposed to be.” Wodan laughed. “I get it now. I… I get it.”
“Whatever,” said Yarek. “Cuff him.”
A Reaver went behind him and pulled his wrists down. “We might kill you all the same,” he said, sounding eerily like Setsassanar trying to fake a Havender accent. “You sure you don’t want to put up a fight?”
“You taught me that the weak have to fight every day just to survive,” said Wodan. “The strong win because they use force skillfully. But a true master wins without moving, before the fight has even begun.”
[Demonworld #6] The Love of Tyrants Page 54
