Phoenix Rising (Book Two of The Icarus Trilogy) (35 page)

Dear Percival,

It seems you have proven us all wrong.  I had been prepared to write you off completely, not content but certain that you would not return.  Don’t misunderstand me; I had no wish to cut my ties with you, but I have known far too many sons disappear into the games, never to return.  I was filled with great sadness when you departed from our world.  I felt like I had lost you.

I have tried over the last two months to ignore your existence.  You were never cut out for war, Percy, and I mean that with no disrespect.  You were born to a family of accountants and middle-managers.  There is no pride in that, but we cannot deny what we are.  You were the first of our family to rebel like this.  At times I wish I had your stubbornness, but when you chose to throw your life away in the games I felt no envy.  Only sorrow that I would have to grieve for my perpetually-dying son.

It seems with this last week that you have turned your life around.  You have devoted yourself fully to the martial art and it has paid off.  Your stats in the games, I’ve been told by your sister Harriet, have become some of the best.  People are calling you a hero, Percy, and shouting your name in bars and crowded city streets.  I cannot help but feel proud of you, even if this is a path I would not have chosen for you.

You have become your own man, and for that I feel great admiration.  It is something that I was never able to do, myself.  I only became the man I am today because of my father.  I see myself in you, Percy, but only as a possibility of what might have been.  There is only one piece of advice that I can impart on you with any certainty.  You may disregard it if you wish, you seem to be doing well on your own, but I feel as a father I can give one last piece of wisdom.

I have seen tapes of your fights, Percy, and it shows a malice and disregard for life I find disturbing.  And no, I am not talking about your enemies.  On the battlefield you cannot give quarter to your opponents.  I am talking about your comrades.  You do not seem to care if they fall by the wayside or survive until the end of the round.  I find this attitude chilling and uncharacteristic of you, Percy.  I have always felt that you were a moral and just person, and this does not sit well.  I leave you with something my grandfather told me once when I, myself, was being stubborn.

The best of us can stand alone.  The worst of us choose to do so.

It took me some time to understand his words, but I do not think there is any statement that has ever had such an impact on my life.  We can harden ourselves and turn inwards, Percy, but this is a lack of faith in humanity.  We must always give our brothers the chance to prove themselves, and in their time of need we should rise above our petty differences.

When you fight, you make it clear that you are alone on the battlefield.  I only wish to impart this to you, Percy.  To be alone means you have nothing to fight for. 

With love and pride,

Tobias A. Roth

Percival could not stop the tears streaming down from his eyes.  He had always wanted his father’s approval in some fashion, but as an equal.  He wanted to be seen as a man in his father’s eyes.

But not like this.

-

The air was different.  It was hot, almost thick and tasted like sweat and dirt had mingled together and forced their way into Douglas’ open mouth.  He couldn’t help but feel nervous as he looked around the studio.  To half of the people working today there was nothing different at all.  It was just another day on the set and just another day devoted to their bi-weekly paychecks.

But Douglas knew better.

He had been briefed by Jamie last night and knew what he had to do.  He was just supposed to introduce Eric’s speech, Eric would make the plea for the EFI and then all of Hell would burst through the studio doors.  The broadcast would be carried for days, bouncing along from satellite to satellite and the governments and Trade Union would not be able to stop it.  The EFI’s group of hackers and technocrats would finally prove themselves useful.

Douglas felt there was a timer ticking away the last of his life.  He looked around the studio as cold sweat threatened to pour down his face.  He noticed Cody, the intern that was apparently on their side.  The blond-haired boy and his friend Hakim, one of the copy boys, would help out by barring the doors so that the EOSF couldn’t break in prematurely.  Jamie had a number of stooges in place and had gone to great lengths to ensure the broadcast would be completed as planned.  The overweight announcer looked at the svelte producer, his slicked-back hair shining in the light of the overhead lamps.

Douglas envied the man with the slicked-back hair.  Jamie’s life work, his very purpose for living was about to be fulfilled.  Most of them would be dead in a few weeks, but the producer’s vision would be shown to the world.  Douglas looked down at his desk and felt the shiver course its way through his body.  There were only a few minutes to go; just a few minutes until he would have to gather his courage and read the words in front of him.  It seemed like such a simple job, but he realized that the revolution would start with his voice.

The announcer had difficulty breathing and looked at the television anchors in front of him.  Samantha and Franklyn were all smiles, but when the announcer was able to make eye contact with the black man, Douglas could see a degree of fear.  Douglas had been reckless with the man, that was for certain, but thankfully Franklyn was a coward.  The television anchor quickly broke eye contact and started to mindlessly flirt with Samantha, who was still quite oblivious that Franklyn was very much homosexual.

Eric was a rock.  He had more to lose than anyone here, but when Douglas looked at the man he didn’t see a nervous revolutionary.  The brown hair was perfectly coiffed; the smile as straight as ever.  Douglas would introduce the always-handsome man and then Eric would speak the words that would condemn them to pain and suffering; speak the words that would bring a world out of its social coma.  Douglas shuddered and his breath came out with quite the effort.  It was only a few heartbeats away, now, he realized.  The makeup artists were departing from the set and the lights were starting to focus on the three beautiful people and the old man sitting just a few meters away.

And then Douglas was suddenly hit with a great calm.  He saw those pale blue eyes looking back at him from beneath folds of skin.  Douglas couldn’t understand why, the two had only exchanged words on a few occasions, but the old veteran was looking straight into the announcer’s face.  Patrick McEwen seemed to recognize Douglas’ nervousness and straightened up in his chair.  He seemed to be peering right into Douglas Finnegan’s soul and after an unbearable moment Patrick merely smiled.  The former Crow nodded, and with that slight motion Douglas knew that he had all the strength he needed.  He wondered what McEwen thought of him at that moment; he wondered if the Crow knew what was about to happen.

Douglas realized it didn’t matter anymore.  The only judge that mattered at this moment was Douglas, and he knew he would not allow himself to fail.  Douglas looked to his left to find his producer.  Jamie looked back at him and nodded as the quiet calm fell over the studio.  The announcer looked down at his screen and saw the words starting to crawl.

There was no turning back, now.

“Welcome to War World, Ladies and Gentleman.  You know me as Sean Murphy, but that has never been true,” Douglas said, taking a breath to steady his famous voice.  His eyes flicked over to Jamie and saw the silent revolutionary nodding once more.  “My name is Douglas Finnegan and I have been announcing this program for the better part of a decade.  You have heard me every day for these eight years and I had nothing important to say.  All that came from my voice were advertisements and teases for programs to come.  Well, now, there is something to say.  Today we are not glorifying war; we are not selling you the senseless death you have come to expect from us,” Douglas said, taking a deep breath.  He could stop right now and the worst that would happen would be his termination as War
World’s
announcer.  He could stop right now and live out the rest of his days in peace.

  “My name is Douglas Finnegan and I belong to the Eris Freedom Initiative.  This is our statement of intent,” the announcer said, feeling the world crashing around him.  He rose on weak legs and walked over to a nearby support beam.  He could feel a hundred stares from all of the unimportant people in the room, but he could especially feel the burning eyes of his producer.  Douglas looked at Jamie and saw a look of confidence, support, but most importantly respect.  It made his impending doom seem bearable.

The announcer looked at the stage and saw two faces filled with horror.  Samantha was awe-struck and couldn’t focus her eyes on anything.  Franklyn’s lip quivered, unable to muster the resolve to don his stereotypical persona.  Douglas looked to the right of Eric and noticed that Patrick McEwen was giving a soft smile.  He nodded once more at the overweight announcer before turning to Eric, who had cleared his throat and set down his notes in front of him.  Nine billion people were about to hear him committing treason.  The thought made the television anchor almost giddy.

“Thank you, Douglas.  I’ll take over from here,” Eric said, just as he always began the
War World
broadcasts.  He had to maintain his composure for now; he had to ignore the twisted faces of his coworkers beside him; he had to ignore the crew gawking at him beyond the overhead lights which blinded him.  Eric Jones just had to do what was right.

“The Eris Freedom Initiative has been working in the shadows for many years.  Following the riots in St. Louis ten years ago we had to start anew.  We had to become a phoenix rising from the ashes.  It is difficult to bring yourself back from the dead, but we have overcome these petty hardships, for our mission is to help mankind.  One cannot accept a world and accept a life of failure.  We do not have an option to fail.”

“We seek only to free mankind from the shackles that have been present for more than a century.  The games of Eris are a mindless cruelty; a terrible joke played on every life in our system.  For more than fifty years,” Eric shouted, placing emphasis on the time spent glorifying death and destruction.  “For more than fifty years we have advertised and created entertainment out of pain and death.  These men do not feel worth standing on that twisted asteroid.  They are slaves!  They are given insurmountable debt and endless pain until the Commission decides they have become worthless.  Then they are killed,” Eric said, letting his voice dip towards a somber tone with that last morose statement.

“One might argue that these are criminals and debtors, men and women unfit for normal society.  One might argue that their pain is allowable and there is simply cruelty in the world,” Eric said, his eyes looking down at the paper, but not bothering to read the words.  He looked back into the camera filming the spectacle and let the tears well up in his eyes.  The emotional appeals were always the most effective.

“I had a brother once.  His name was Phillip Sanderson.  We shared a father.  Some might recognize his name and claim that he still plays for the Grizzlies.  This is false.  Phillip Sanderson was murdered by the Commission; murdered by the Games of Eris.  Murdered,” he shouted, a single tear falling down his left cheek, “by the Trade Union and Jasper Montgomery.  His performance was not up to par, his skills with weapons poor by any standard.  But worst of all, the transgression deemed irresponsible and not… lucrative…enough,” Eric said, choking out the word in his disgust, “was that my brother killed himself.  He killed himself because his life was pain, death, debt and with pure honesty…” he said doing what he could to draw his audience in.

“His life was a pure example of slavery.  He and so many others on Eris would never walk on Earth ever again; their only view of the other asteroids would be from the surface of that war-torn planet.  My brother tried to break the cycle; he tried to destroy himself so that he would not suffer ever again.  He wanted the Commission to retire him,” he said looking from side to side at his fellow anchors.  Samantha was vapid as always; Franklyn was doing everything he could to back away from the revolutionary.  He looked to Patrick and saw those sad blue eyes.  With that, Eric felt he could do anything.

“The Commission did something much worse.  They killed Phillip Sanderson; they rewired and rewrote his brain and memories to the point where he became a completely different man.  They turned him into a competent soldier.  I visited him once, after I heard about the suicide.  It was under the guise of a
War World
special, of course,” he said, his voice starting to shake.  He knew that it didn’t matter; that he just had to get the words out, so he continued.

“He did not recognize me.  My own brother, my own FLESH … and blood,” Eric said, placing emphasis on his relationship, “did not know me anymore.  I had lost my brother; I had lost my family.  This is something that can never be forgiven.  I will never be able to say that the Commission or the Trade Union are fair or balanced.  I can never look upon these social structures and believe that a righteous world would let them exist.”

“One might argue,” Eric said, not bothering to look at the notes in front of him.  He had memorized every word and the revolutionary spirit had galvanized him.  “One might argue that I am biased.  That my brother is an unfortunate story.  This is not the case.  He was merely the first in a so-called “Hero” program, a program signed off by Maxwell Garrison, and more importantly, Jasper Montgomery, the head of War World Entertainment and our very own Trade Union,” Eric said, emphasizing the old executive’s role in this cruelty.  “Mr. Montgomery signed off on a program which would literally destroy a man and replace him with another.  Free will would be obliterated and only mindless slaves would remain.  Just a week ago we let the world know about Ryan Jenkins, a man corrupted by this program.  A man who had been twisted into a killer.  The Initiative is bringing back the original man as I speak.”