by Craig Gaydas
He was out of ammo.
It was over. The sound of gravel crunching underneath their heavy metal boots was nothing more than Taps playing for our funeral. The slow rhythmic drumming of their metallic legs rubbing against one another provided the melodic conclusion to our battle. We would not go out in a blaze of glory, but an anticlimactic whimper. Athew's cries of pain only served to stress the pinnacle of our defeat. Hiro whispered and gestured animatedly at Cantrell, who answered by shaking his head in dismay. He dropped his useless rifle between his legs with dejection and stared at the ground.
Before Janero's forces could reach us, a loud, crackling sound came from the tree line. It was like a static shock had been magnified a thousand times. I looked up at the sky assuming a thunderstorm was coming, but no clouds could be seen. Cantrell and I exchanged confused glances while cries of alarm rang out around us.
An explosion resonated from the street right before a flaming robot carcass flew past our hiding spot. Bofor peered around the corner in an attempt to see what was going on.
“Do you see anything?” I asked.
“I can't see a damn thing,” he growled. “I see a few robot heads bobbing up and down, but there are too many vehicles in the way. It appears something has them spooked.”
“What spooks a robot?” I craned my head to get a better look. Another robot exploded in a tornado of sparks and flaming wires.
Cantrell jammed his helmet onto his head. “It seems someone has our back out there,” he roared through the radio. “We need to take advantage of our good fortune.” Hiro checked his ammunition before handing him a knife. Cantrell switched his gaze to Bofor. “Wait here. There's no sense in you going out there armed with nothing more than your ugly mug.”
Bofor scowled, but remained silent. A guy armed with a guitar (an actual guitar, not the sonic type) would be as useless as a fart in a blizzard. I clutched my handgun with both hands and held the side of the barrel to the top of my helmet and started breathing deeply and methodically. Although it appeared like I was praying, I was actually practicing a mind-cleansing technique Vanth had taught me. I closed my eyes and drowned out the sound of the radio and the images on my view screen. It was as if Vanth stood before me with his face, devoid of emotion, clutching his staff and barking at me.
Before any battle, take long deep breaths and clear your mind. An addled mind will soon turn into a defeated mind. Think clearly and aim precisely, otherwise you will quickly learn the meaning of regret.
I didn't come all this way for regret and defeat. We will win this battle because there is too much at stake. I owe it to all those who had fallen in battle as well as those who still willing to fight for our cause.
“Ready?” Cantrell asked. He crouched behind the vehicle with the knife clutched in his hand. Hiro lingered behind him, one hand on the small of Cantrell's back. They were prepared to spring into battle as one cohesive unit, a sign of years of combat training.
“Let's do this,” I replied.
They sprang into action and I followed. I stumbled over a robot corpse, but regained my footing. It didn't matter, though, because I ran face first into Hiro and Cantrell, who had stopped their advance. A man with his back toward us, roughly seven feet tall, was locked in battle with one of Janero's robots. He held a staff by the middle with both hands, using it to parry the robot's attacks. On each side of the weapon was an oblong orb that crackled with blue tendrils of energy. The man struck the robot with a vicious blow. The robot shattered as lighting met steel where it fell to pieces at the stranger's feet. Slowly, he turned toward us and my blood froze.
He was an Orgellian, or rather, he used to be. The skin on his face hung in loose ribbons around his cheek. His beard, which I assumed was once a golden brown, was chalky gray and was clumped in places with dried blood and chunks of grime. An angry red scar caressed what was left of his left cheek. Two clear tubes ran from the top of his back, underneath his body armor, and ended at his nostrils. The tubes pumped a smoky substance into his lungs, as if he inhaled cigarette smoke instead of air. His eyes were nothing more than two red spheres, like blood-filled sockets. The creature's lips curled into a feral snarl, revealing dark-brown teeth which had rotted long ago.
“What the hell?” Cantrell exclaimed. For the first time since I had met him, he seemed unsure of himself. He held the knife in front of him and spread his legs in a combat stance. Hiro trained his rifle on the creature who uttered a guttural growl of indifference.
“Settle down, we are on the same side,” a voice called from the street. The dust of the battle settled and a shadowy figure entered the parking lot.
“Mortem!” I exclaimed.
A smile broke through the shadows underneath his cowl. “Surprised to see me?” He clutched the head of one of Janero's robots, turning it over in his hands, as if he were studying it. “Hmmm, interesting bit of technology,” he mused before tossing the head aside like a piece of trash. He placed his hand on the Orgellian-creature's shoulder. “I was never a big fan of modern technology. I prefer old school.” He laughed menacingly.
“Get your filthy hands off me,” a voice screamed from the tree line. Janero was being led (actually dragged) across the street by another monstrosity. This person was in much better shape than the Orgellian who stood before us, however, he had the same tubular system hooked up to his nose and bore a hole in his temple that looked like a gunshot wound. Dried blood caked the right side of his face and one eye socket was empty. The other socket contained a scarlet orb just like the Orgellian's. Judging by the dark skin and powdery hair, I assumed this person was once a Drith-Nar. The creature threw Janero to the ground at Mortem's feet.
“What do we have here?” Mortem asked. “It seems to be one of the troublesome tools of the Consortium.” Janero struggled to get up, but Mortem kicked him down to the ground and placed the heel of his dark, leathery boot over his throat. “You just stay right there, otherwise I might be forced to feed you to my minion here.”
Janero's aviator goggles hung awkwardly at an angle. He reached up and tore them from his face. “What are you people?” he choked out the question as Mortem used his boot to squeeze his neck harder.
“What indeed,” Cantrell added, still clutching the knife defensively.
Mortem removed his foot from Janero's neck. Several more creatures approached us from the tree line. Most carried weapons similar to the Orgellian, but others carried limbs and other body parts from Janero's robots. Through the beast's scars and stench of death, I recognized some of the races. I observed humans, Caelumites, Kamilians, and even a Hydrophant among them. It was as if I was thrust into a bad horror movie.
“These are my soldiers,” Mortem explained. “Some call them minions; others call them The Mindless Ones, however, I call them the next stage in evolution.” He circled Janero before moving toward the corpse of Bella. “The cycle of life has only one ending…death,” he continued. “I spent centuries researching death. She embraced me with open arms and guided me through the perils of my investigations.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved a syringe. The vial contained a sickly, pale-green substance. He crouched over the corpse of Bella and stroked her forehead gently. The touch was not malicious, but rather resembled one a father would give a daughter. “This one's soul was filled with a fire I have not seen in some time.” He stuck the needle into her arm and depressed the plunger. “She will make an excellent addition to my collection.”
“What the hell are you doing?” Cantrell demanded.
Mortem stood and his faded amber eyes narrowed into mere slits. “I am bringing her back, of course.”
As if on cue, her eyes opened and she stared toward the sky. When she turned her gaze toward us, her eye sockets were replaced by red orbs. The mortal wound located on her chest stopped bleeding, but when she stood up, some of the pooled blood fell from it and trickled to the ground in droplets. She looked down at the rifle in her hand before letting it fall to the ground. She acted as if sh
e had never seen it before.
“What the hell did you do to her?” Cantrell demanded.
Her mouth opened and closed slowly, like a fish out of water. Mortem turned to the Orgellian zombie. “Take her back to the ship.” The Orgellian grabbed her and flipped her over his shoulder before shambling into the woods. “To answer your question,” Mortem said as he returned his attention to us, “I did nothing. The only thing I did was improve the natural order of things.”
“What do you mean?” I lowered my weapon and stepped forward. As much as I was mortified at what just happened, I was equally curious.
Mortem shook his head. “There is no time to explain, there are other more important matters that need tending to.” He cupped my elbow in his hand and an icy chill ran all the way up to my shoulder. “You will come to learn that sometimes the natural order of the universe needs to be…enhanced.” He gestured toward the Drith-Nar creature. “Let's go, we have more work to do here.”
I shouted at him before he could vanish into the woods. “Wait! Are these soldiers of yours actually zombies?”
Mortem uttered a gravelly chuckle. It sounded like rocks spinning in a blender. “You humans are always thinking in such abstract terms. If something does not conform to your preconceived notions than it must be demonized as a monster or written off as some sort of work of divine intervention.” Mortem shook his head slowly. “No, my friend, they are not zombies nor are they demons.” He cupped his hands in front of him. “Think of the entire planet of Gliese as representing the infinite universe. Within my cupped hands is everything you currently understand.” He swept his arm across the countryside. “You have yet to discover all of this.” He disappeared among the trees.
“Well, that solved nothing,” grumbled Hiro. He pointed the barrel of his rifle toward Janero. “What should we do with this guy?”
Janero propped himself up on his elbows and glared at me through wide eyes. “Is this what you stand for?” He pointed towards the woods where Mortem vanished. “Are these the people you ally with?” He started to get up, but thought better when Hiro's rifle barrel stood inches from his face. He resigned himself to a kneeling position.
“They are no worse than you or your allies,” I countered. “You murdered Kedge. Your allies started a war for power and profit. We are here to end your tyranny.”
“My tyranny?” he scoffed. He bowed his head and spoke softly. “No, my friend, there is no tyranny here…only desire. I desire to prevent what happened on my planet from happening to others.” When he looked up at me, his eyes were filled with intense rage. “Remember the stories I told you regarding Gorganna's past? Look at what happened to your own planet. Power in the hands of the few overcomes the needs of the many. Don't you want to stop this vicious cycle? Every person has the right to live within a peaceful society.”
“Calypso is evil,” I argued. “He betrayed the Consortium with his blatant power grab. He murdered several people in the process so he can assume the leadership of the Consortium. If that's who you want to hitch your trailer to than you will pay for the consequences of those decisions.”
In a blind rage, I placed the barrel of the gun to his forehead. Janero stopped talking and went stiff. All I could see was the image of Kedge's battered corpse buried underneath a mountain of steel.
“WAIT!” Janero begged. “Is this what you want? Do you remember my invitation to you on Gorganna?” His eyes pleaded with me. “Join us, Nathan. Together, we can work with Calypso to fix the Consortium and transform it into the organization it was meant to be. Together, we can end this conflict and spare the universe from further bloodshed. We can prevent another catastrophe like Gorganna…like Earth!”
I removed the barrel of the gun from his forehead and backed up a step. An angry, red circle remained where the barrel touched his skin, a stark reminder to how hard I had been pressing down. Janero closed his eyes, breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. Cantrell studied me intently, trying to anticipate my next move. Bofor stood with his arms crossed with a fierce scowl plastered on his face. Hiro walked away to attend to Athew, who had been propped against another vehicle closer to the road, his cries of pain subsided long ago, which caused me to question whether he survived the battle at all.
I dropped my arm to my side and tapped the gun against my leg. Bolts of pain stabbed the base of my skull, an early indicator that a tropical storm of a headache was in the process of brewing into a full blow hurricane. Janero's smile could have been innocent or it could have been a sign there was more sinister work afoot. Frankly, I grew tired of the whole chess game. While The Timeless danced around with Calypso, innocent lives were being lost. It was time to take matters into my own hands.
I brought the gun up and placed it against his forehead again. The smile melted off his face. “What are you doing?” he demanded. He scowled. If it was his intention to scare me off with his look, than he failed miserably. I was no longer in the mood to play chess.
“I'm doing what needs to be done,” I replied.
Janero reached up and touched the radiation scars that marred the side of his face. He caressed it softly. “I have already been to hell. You will not hear me beg for I do not regret my actions.”
I pulled the trigger. His head exploded like a watermelon underneath a sledgehammer. He slumped to the ground, the remains of his face unrecognizable under the newly created canyon that made up a large portion of his forehead. I straddled his corpse and let the gun drop to my side once again. “I do not regret my actions either,” I acknowledged with a sigh. “Regret died within me long ago.”
Hiro half-carried, half-dragged Athew over to where we stood. Athew heavily favored his wounded knee, which oozed blood under the makeshift bandage Hiro created. The wound looked grisly, but he would survive. The other mercenaries were not so lucky.
“That's how you kill someone,” Athew roared. “Maybe you will make a good mercenary after all.” He roared laughter, but had to stop when he coughed up a bloody wad of phlegm. “Bah, I think I cracked a rib,” he mused.
“He's no mercenary,” Cantrell interrupted and stepped toward me. “No, I think this one is destined to be something more than just a lowly grunt.”
“I don't know whether to take that as a compliment or a warning,” I replied.
Cantrell shrugged, but commented no further on the subject. Instead, he patrolled the area of battle and inspected the bodies of the fallen. He stopped at the body of one of his mercenaries and crouched down. Taking the person's head in his hands, he gently removed the helmet to reveal Shrade, the overly quiet Erudite female. Her large, bulbous eyes stared at the sky. The black film covering them had already begun the decaying process, becoming a smoky gray. Cantrell reached down and plucked a necklace that hung loosely at her neck. I peered over his shoulder to sneak a peek. A gold locket with a symbol, painted in red, dangled from a silver chain. The symbol resembled a 4, except the bottom curved to the right, like a fish hook.
“What is that?” I craned my neck to get a closer look.
He shoved the object in his pocket and stood upright. “It is the symbol of her house. She had been cast out long ago by the Erudites and it was the last thing item she possessed to remember her family.”
“Cast out?” I questioned. “How is someone cast from the Erudites?” From what I remembered, they were a peaceful species who sought knowledge and enlightenment and were nothing more than neutral messengers. I recalled Bree N'Dadi and the day we met. Satou had explained the Erudites were the only species in the known universe to develop the ability to teleport over short distances.
“She preferred action over words,” Cantrell explained as sadness crept into his eyes. It was from that moment that I understood he had cared about her more than he let on. “Her family rejected her as soon as she joined us.” He walked away and said no more on the subject.
“He was fond of her,” Athew said. “He never admitted as much, of course, but no one knows that grouchy bastard better than I
do.”
“It's hard to care for someone when you are constantly surrounded by fighting and death.” I evaded any further discussion on the matter by scampering off to Bofor's location. He stood over the corpse of Barrel-Chest.
“He was stubborn, but he was a good man,” Bofor stated without looking at me. “The rebellion has been going on for years, but I was a spectator more than a participant. I preferred passing messages over drinks rather than involving myself directly.” He turned to me, his face filled with sadness.
“This is your chance to make a difference,” I offered. “You can either stand up to the Order of the Sun or continue to skulk in the shadows, like a wounded puppy.”
“Strong words, but fair,” he grumbled. He threw the guitar over his shoulder and disappeared inside the bar.
“Come on, we need to move,” Cantrell said. He had Janero's weapon slung over his shoulder and Bella's discarded rifle in his hands. “I'm sure reinforcements will be here soon. Let's recover Kedge and get back to the shuttle before we become cannon fodder.”
I led the group past Bofor's tavern and along the trail Vigil and I walked earlier. We followed the path until we arrived at the hill, which overlooked the area where Kedge had been killed. When we crossed the hill, I spotted his corpse about twenty yards away from where the bottom of the hill met the open field. I ran to him despite Cantrell's attempts to stop me. He may have been afraid of snipers lurking in the shadows, but I didn't care. I just wanted to get Kedge back home.
I crouched over his corpse, returned my weapon to its holster, and slipped my hand under his neck. His bionic eye had been ripped from the socket and his face was caked with dried blood. His other eye stared blankly at the sky above. Despite all of the blood and bruises, the thing I found the most disturbing was his mouth. His lips were curled into a smile.
