Phoenix Rising (Book Two of The Icarus Trilogy) (28 page)

“A man can do an awful lot of bad,” Oscar said as he remembered his addictions, his wife that had left him for his brother.  He remembered that there was a child, but his ex had never told him who the father was.  “But he can always start to do some good,” he said as he broke his eyes away from the steering wheel and looked into the mirror.  Jamie was looking back with tears threatening to fall down his handsome face and Oscar knew that he couldn’t stop now. 

“If you feel like you’ve been a bad person, if you feel like you’ve done an awful lot of bad, well, you can make up for it.  You can try to do an awful lot of good.  I think if you try,” Oscar said, choking on the words.  “I think if you try, at least try, well, that means you’re a good person, even if your mistakes weigh more than the good.  Trying’s the hard part,” Oscar said as he looked away from the mirror, unbuckled his restraints and opened the door.  He knew he would have to start looking for work.

“Oscar,” the driver heard the words behind him and turned his head, not willing to put the mirror in between them anymore.  Oscar could see streaks of tears marking the producer’s face.  “Thank you, really,” Jamie said, sniffing at the end of his statement.

“Anytime, sir,” Oscar said, not noticing that he had his own tears falling down his round face.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?  Maybe we can both try, huh?” Jamie asked with a forced smile.  Oscar gave one back, not comprehending how he had just kept his job.

“It’s the important part, I think,” he said before nodding and getting out of the car.  Oscar walked towards his own run-down economy car in the servant’s parking lot.  He wondered where that conversation came from, but he felt better about things.  He didn’t really know why.

Jamie sat in his luxury sedan for another five minutes.  He would go inside eventually, but he hadn’t worked up the nerve yet.  He sat back against the too-expensive cushions of the car and sighed.  Jamie closed his eyes and tried to think of better days.  A vision of olive green eyes came to his mind and that slightly crooked smile came soon after.  The sandy blonde hair fell around the woman’s features and Jamie remembered the last time she had lain on those plain white sheets.  Jamie couldn’t bear to open his eyes when he replayed that memory.

“Soon, Jen.  I’ll be there soon.”

-

The flames danced among the steel wreckage of the aerial transport.  It reminded Roth of a bonfire he had seen in his youth.  Harriet had scolded him for trying to get close, which was appropriate.  The young Percival had stumbled while running around the flames and had given himself a somewhat nasty scar along his right shin, but that scar was gone now.  Percival’s new body had known none of those recollections of his life on Gaia.

Roth watched as the last Grizzly cried out, still standing while the incendiary grenade worked its magic.  The man’s skin was melting to the polymers and metal frame of his power armor and Roth knew the man was in quite a bit of pain, but he refused to care.  Roth had suffered his own fair share of pain; much more than necessary.  He only felt slightly guilty as the man collapsed in agony and died surrounded by the wreckage of the transport.

That Grizzly had been quite unfortunate.  The explosion from Roth’s RPG had taken out the other two soldiers upon impact, leaving the last soldier to die suffocating on the fumes of his own burning body.  Roth did not smile at the action, but he could tell from the tone of his teammate’s voice that the soldier was quite relieved at the event.

“Goddamn, Roth!  You took all of them out without even trying!”  Roth looked at Paulsen, his fellow Hammerhead, and scoffed at the remark.  He had definitely tried and just so happened to succeed.  In this game, just like the last two, Roth had taken his time with his RPG, saving it for the right situation.  In each game he had removed at least two or three opponents with each explosion, catapulting his stats to the best on the team.  His teammates had never seen it coming.  Roth looked away from Paulsen and back to the fire, which was just starting to calm down.  The smoke from his still-burning opponents was starting to drift towards the two Hammerheads, and Roth made sure not to shy away from it.

He was not going to shy away from his actions.  He had caused these deaths; he would accept them.  If he was going to be a hero, if he was going to be like Jenkins, Percival had to understand death and embrace it.  There was no use for cowardice.

Roth knew that the
War World
message boards were already starting to sing his praises; an email from Harriet told him so.  Roth had not died in the last three games and had taken out fifteen soldiers.  There were not many hall-of-famers who could boast that kind of killing streak.  Even the
War World
commentators had started to remember the raw potential that Roth really had, forgetting their previous scorn for his numerous deaths.  They claimed that Percival just had to find his rhythm.

Roth shook his head as the announcement flashed over his display.

“Results of Annihilation Round.  Grizzlies: 0, Hammerheads: 7.  Congratulations, Hammerheads.  Head to your Rendezvous point,” the metallic voice of the AI said over Comms.  Roth sniffed and noticed the beacon for their airlift three kilometers away.  He started to walk towards the beacon without turning back to Paulsen.

“Fuck, Roth, what has come over you?  You trying to be a hero or something?” Paulsen said, laughing at his own genius.  Roth didn’t turn to his teammate; he didn’t even raise his voice in response.

“I’m not trying to be anything,” he said, lost in thought.  Since Jenkins’ program on
War World,
Roth had done nothing but improve himself.  He spent all of his free time in the shooting gallery and neglected the training yard almost completely, only bothering to exercise for the mandatory session.  He was fit enough, but his aim with the pistol was unpracticed.

After just a few days, that was no longer an issue.  Roth had become one of the best shots on the entire team, only edged out by the accuracy of the team’s sniper, Collins.  Even with the potential of his rocket-propelled grenades, Roth claimed more victims with his pistol.  He was becoming known for it.

He had not thought of Tobias Roth for quite some time now and the only reminder of his sister’s existence was the constant emails that she had sent him.  Percival had only skimmed them after the first message proclaiming that she had always known he would be a great success.  Percival did not need fans; he performed and killed for the sake of it.  He wished only to be better than he was; he wished only to surpass himself.

When he needed motivation, all he needed was to think of a name.  Even then, it was not a thought of admiration or need to emulate.  It was only a reminder that there was always another step forward.  There was always something more to achieve, there was always a standard which could be pushed further.

Jenkins was just another example of the very fire that burned within Roth himself.  They were kindred.  And when they met, Roth could not say if he would prefer living or dying after the encounter.  It was enough that they would meet on the battlefield, and know each other for that fire.  He did not need an equal or a rival.  Roth just wanted to know, and wanted Jenkins to know, that they were not alone.  There were men of worth on this world. 

They did not have to stand alone.  That is what mattered to Percival Roth.

His teammates held him in reverence and asked about his latest exploits on the ride back from the battlefield, but Roth did what he could to just smile and shrug off the comments.  He did not need their approval.  Their comments only served to affirm what he already knew; that he was on the right path.

Roth was walking through one of the off-white hallways of the Hammerheads’ barracks when he heard a commotion behind him.  He turned to see one of the Commission officials commanding his two EOSF bodyguards to seize one of Roth’s fellow soldiers.  Percival halted his return and watched as Derringer, the slave soldier, yelled and struggled against the two guards.  Before they hauled the man away from the doorway Roth could only hear a few words, but it was enough for Percival to realize what was happening.

“Get off me!  Don’t you fucking get it?!  We’re doing this for you,” the Hammerhead shouted at the three men surrounding him, the guards each holding one of his arms and rendering him helpless.

“I don’t need the
Initiative’s
help, you baseborn scoundrel,” the official said while grabbing at the man’s helmet.  “I appreciate the status quo.  Get him out of here.  I’m sure they’ll want to interrogate him.”  With that comment the guards left and the official stood alone by the doorway.  He tapped at the display in his hand and then sighed before turning back down the hallway.  The official readjusted his glasses and smiled as he noticed Roth staring back down the hallway at him.

“Run along, Roth.  No need for you to worry about some foolish little idiot,” the bureaucrat said before turning back to inspect the other soldiers coming back from the transport.  Roth stared for just a moment longer and wondered what kind of man would even consider rising up against a monolithic empire like the Commission or the Trade Union.  The would-be hero wondered what kind of desperation would make such a gamble seem appealing.  He sighed, shrugged and then turned his back to the entrance of the barracks.

The official was right about one thing.  There was no need to worry about such a man.

-

Dr. Kane was having a tough time completing the procedure that Hawkins had left to her.  It was something that she wouldn’t have considered difficult at all in other circumstances, but as the soldier was still very much alive and very much in pain, Dr. Kane was spending half of her energy trying to hold back the tears which would give her away.

Haywick had always been a rather terrible soldier, but that wasn’t his fault.  He had only been given a few weeks’ training before the Commission had decided that he was not fit for waging war.  He was slow, inaccurate and a bit of a coward.  It did not take much goading and prodding from Hawkins to have the Commission grant multiple resurrections for the soldier, to see how a man would cope with the memory of two concurrent existences.

In order to best give an impression of a dual existence, Haywick was resurrected once for the games themselves and operated normally, but Hawkins made sure to keep a second clone in his research laboratory.  Hawkins took great pains to euthanize the poor soldier when his real-world counterpart was killed in action.  The weasel-faced, pudgy scientist wanted to see what would happen to the “real” soldier when he also held the memories of a man under great duress.

Charlotte looked down at the poor soldier once more.  He was a blond, frail looking thing; emaciated to the point where his sallow skin could only just contain the bones within his body.  The good doctor could only think of images of the morgue or anatomical displays of starvation victims.  His eyes were half-closed and Charlotte could tell that the man was in great pain.  In this current incarnation, Hawkins had decided to break the man’s bones and restrain him to a gurney so that he couldn’t move.  The scientist hoped that it would prove disorienting for the real-world Haywick.

In her mind she cursed Albert and Laurence for giving her this assignment.  She had just wanted to help in some way that wouldn’t bring misery for anyone; she had just wanted things to work out.  But as she looked down from her stool at the tortured soldier, she realized that it was just another cost of this terrible war that had yet to start.  Charlotte would just have to wait until the signal went off and then she would administer the lethal drugs into Haywick’s system.

Hawkins was sure that the Crow would die in this game.  It had been almost a week and a half and the scientist had assumed that the last incarnation’s disorientating experiences would have been enough to induce PTSD.  She remembered the small man pacing about and grumbling that this clone was throwing off his results; Hawkins would have to rework his findings if he were to acquire more funding.

Dr. Kane sighed and sat back in her chair.  Hawkins had left her with the living corpse while he worked on a clone of Markham.  She shuddered when she thought about what the scientist was possibly doing to the man.  Markham had been a rapist and a terrible man, but even then Hawkins’ actions were unjustified.  Hawkins was not a warden of Hell; he should be one of the esteemed guests.

“Why….”  The words shocked Charlotte out of her daydream and she looked down at the Crow beside her.  The man had moved his head slightly, but his eyelids drooped all the same.  At first the raven-haired woman told herself that she was imagining things, but soon enough she noticed a trembling in the man’s lips and a slight movement from his jaw.

“Why is he doing this?  What did I ever do to…him?” the poor soldier asked, unable to keep his voice from wavering.  Charlotte watched as the man struggled and used all of his energy in order to open his eyes all the way.  The man’s pupils were unfocused and the irises shook from the effort.  She knew for certain that she had never seen a more miserable soul.  She had thought Roberts was a boy tortured beyond endurance and that Jenkins was a man destined for misery.

When she looked at Haywick, she only saw a man born to Hell.

“I….. I don’t know, William.  He…” Charlotte started, trying to find some possible way to justify Hawkins’ terrible experiment.  She tried to think of any medical or commercial benefit that could be gained from such a terrible practice, but her mind could only draw a blank.  Charlotte could only see Hawkins for the monster he was.  Haywick furrowed his brow and coughed.  His voice cracked as he continued.

“Is it…. for money?  Or does he just like to hurt me?” the living corpse asked, desperate for any reason.  Charlotte could tell that Hawkins had never stooped low enough to actually talk to the man.  He only watched and learned from the videos and brain waves.  Dr. Kane tried to speak to the soldier on the gurney, but no words came out.  Only empty sounds came from her throat; testament to the horror she felt.