Phoenix Rising (Book Two of The Icarus Trilogy) (38 page)

Why am I here
?

Jenkins had meant to end it all.  He had put the gun up to his chin and pulled the trigger, eradicating himself and freeing his spirit from this doomed little world.  He had not wanted to live a day longer than necessary; he had not wanted to prolong his painful life and suffer anymore.

That’s when Ryan Jenkins realized that person was no longer suffering; he was not that man, that consciousness in his memory.  He remembered the way of thinking that had led that particular clone of Ryan Jenkins to kill himself.  The logic was still sound, but this version of Ryan Jenkins had to deal with the consequences.  He remembered another person’s death; he had to remember that.  He, the man floating in darkness, had just been birthed into slavery and would face the same decisions of that previous clone.  Ryan Jenkins would inherit that man’s debts and all the debts of the men before them.  He had to remember he was just a clone.

But he still felt that bullet passing through the skin under his jaw, he felt it crashing through the roof of his mouth and entering his brain in a split-second.  He remembered all of their deaths, even though he had just come into existence.

At that moment an image flashed before his eyes.  He could see himself from outside his body and was confused by what he saw.  An alien landscape sprawled out behind him and strange sky reached above him.  Before him was a cliff and a vast, dark ocean.  And while he did not recognize any part of this alien world, what bothered him most were the wings attached to his back.  Pieces of metal, plastic and barbed wire formed a rigid frame which was covered in black feathers.  Jenkins was curious as to what it meant, but the image was gone just as soon as it came.  He tried to push it from his mind, hoping that he wasn’t going insane.

The poor soldier tried to flex his muscles and felt the pain of the new body.  He remembered this part; he remembered what Carver, or the clone of Carver, had told him all those days ago.  The body would be more useful if he used his muscles in the darkness like this.  He had plenty of time to practice, as the soldier remembered that he was a medical phenomenon.  He was always resurrected early, left to the pitch-black emptiness of the storage area.

He sighed and felt the re-breather in his throat.  He remembered one of the other clones trying to kill himself by yanking out the plastic tube.  The newborn soldier wouldn’t go through that just to be saved like the other one.  He would just have to commit suicide once he got out into the world.  There was no point in prolonging the pain any longer than necessary.  Ryan Jenkins would die and stop existing.  He wouldn’t have to think of cliffs and wings anymore.

It was just a clone that would inherit his memories.

-

“But Jenkins is still alive,” Cortes said in his confusion.  He had followed Charlotte into the Control Room and stood with the soldiers while Dr. Kane tapped away at the main terminal.  This talk about resurrecting Jenkins was more than just a little confusing.

“Not the real one, Cortes,” Carver said, disappointed that he would have to tell the Spaniard every detail of their little mission.  He had thought it was obvious at this point, but Cortes just continued to shake his head, naked if not for the training briefs that he had thrown on upon the soldiers’ entrance to the facility.

“What is happening out there?  I don’t understand any of this,” Cortes said, desperate for answers.  He had only the faintest clue about a revolution and that was it.  This business about resurrecting Jenkins, who was still alive, was complete nonsense to the Spaniard.

“Look, the revolution started, Cortes,” Roberts said from the other side of the room.  “Now we’re bringing back the old Jenkins as a kind of messiah figure.  Didn’t this black bastard over here tell you?” the boy soldier asked, still bitter about being one of the last to know.  Cortes just looked around the room at his fellow soldiers.

“Pretend I don’t know anything,” Cortes started, a resentment starting to build in his voice.  “And then realize it’s true.”

The room was silent for a moment as each soldier contemplated the Spaniard’s words.  They looked at each other and almost simultaneously realized the mistake that had been made.

“I didn’t tell you,” Templeton said, shocked that he had forgotten the smaller man standing naked in the Control Room.  The revolutionary reached back through his memories and tried to remember a conversation with the Spaniard, but nothing seemed to be within his grasp.  He looked at his fellow insurgents and almost couldn’t bring himself to speak.  “Did no one….”

“Are you serious, Templeton?  What kind of fucking resistance agent are you?” Roberts said in disbelief, the breath pushed out of his lungs in a short laugh.  “I thought I had it bad.”

“I…. can’t believe this,” Carver said, bringing his left hand up to his face and trying to support the weight of his head.  He looked at the revolutionary from the corner of his eye.  “Why couldn’t you just… I don’t know, arrange a meeting.  Get this shit done.  How….”

“Look, guys, just tell me.  You fucked up, granted, but I just want to know.  What’s going on?” Cortes said, his arms at his side with his palms outward in a sign of surrender.  He couldn’t stay ignorant like this.  Albert cleared his throat from the other entrance and scratched his nose.

“Umm, well,” he started, but Templeton lifted his hand and motioned for the agent to stop talking.  Albert obeyed and sank against the wall.  Templeton walked over to Cortes and put his hands on the smaller man’s shoulders.

“We…. Just started a war, Hector,” Templeton said, doing his best to look into the Spaniard’s eyes.  Cortes sighed and looked back, determined to find out information he didn’t already know.

“I… gathered,” he said, remembering Dr. Kane’s sobs and the failure to resurrect Haywick.

“Well,” Templeton continued, “the idea is that the Eris Freedom Initiative is finally taking action, freeing all the soldiers on Eris and then bringing them back to Earth so that we can take over the Trade Union.  It’s time for us to stop being slaves to money,” the revolutionary said as bluntly as possible.  He understood that it might come as a shock to the newly-resurrected man, but they really didn’t have the time for this.  Templeton cursed inwardly for his oversight; this was entirely his fault.  Cortes backed away from the resistance agent and leaned against the computer terminal.

“Oh…. OK,” he said, doing what he could to process the information.  It would have been too much if he hadn’t already known that something major was happening around him.  He could see Sam standing on the other side of the room but tried to ignore it.  He couldn’t focus on hallucinations right now.  It did stand as a reminder of his duty to Jenkins, but he kept it in the back of his mind.

“The other thing, the reason that we’re here in the clinic instead of fortifying the barracks with the others is that we’re trying to bring back Jenkins.  Not the monst…. the man we’ve come to know,” Templeton said, realizing that he shouldn’t call the artificial soldier by such a name.  It was indecent.  “We’re going to turn him into a messiah figure for the movement; we’re trying to bring faith into it.”

At these words Cortes snapped to attention.  It was too perfect.  He looked over to where he had seen Sam last and the youth was just looking back at him with a sad smile; the red bloom missing from his chest.  He gave a short nod and when Hector Cortes blinked the apparition was gone.

This was it; this is what Sam had been preparing him for.  Sam had told him that
he
was going to need his help; his brother had given Cortes that duty.  Templeton might not realize it, but he was just acting as a pawn.  God had created this mission for the Spaniard, and now he knew his purpose.  Jenkins would come back, fire and glory, and lead them to Earth.  He would bring God’s wrath upon the wicked.

Cortes could finally atone.

But then the doubt crept into his mind.  The Jenkins that Cortes had decided to follow was still very much alive.  His savior, his hero, his St. George was back at the barracks at that very moment.  This Jenkins they were about to bring back couldn’t be the messiah.  He couldn’t be God’s chosen if Cortes’ hero was still alive.  He looked back up at Templeton, filled with a rage and betrayal he couldn’t properly express.

“But… what about Jenkins?  He’s still alive,” Cortes said, weakly, unable to fully grab a hold of the emotions that were starting to threaten his peace of mind.

“That’s not… that’s not our Jenkins,” Carver interrupted, tired of this little game that Templeton was playing.  He walked over to the two men and stood half a meter away from the Spaniard.  “You know how different he is.  You know what he’s capable of.”

So much more than you think,
Cortes thought.  He was confused and felt a headache starting to form in his brain.  He brought his hand up to his bald head and massaged his temples in a circular motion.

“But how can they exist at the same time?” Cortes asked, looking up into Carver’s eyes, desperate for an answer.

“Well, why couldn’t they?  They’re different people.  We’ll just have two of them,” Carver said, somewhat uneasy at the question.  Out of all the things that Templeton had just said to the man, Carver had assumed that this would be the easiest to grasp.  The Spaniard shook his head and looked at his bare feet.

“His soul, though.  What will happen to that if they both exist?” Cortes asked, thinking out loud.  It just didn’t make sense.  Sam had told him to follow
him
, and it was obvious that Jenkins was the one.  But which one?  If there were two identical men, who was the real messiah?  The one performing the miracles or the one that Templeton was holding up as the messiah?  For them to exist at the same time…

“What the hell are you talking about?  Souls?  They’re just men, Cortes.  I know Templeton threw around the word ‘messiah,’ but you know these guys.  They’re not… special,” Carver said, crossing his arms.  He never did understand religion and now he was seeing just another reason why it was useless.

“No!” Cortes shouted.  He couldn’t tolerate this.  The Jenkins they were trying to hold up as a hero and a messiah had killed himself.  He had committed a mortal sin.  They couldn’t hold him up like that, not when there was another, living Jenkins just a few minutes away.  Jenkins’ soul had to be there; the man that would be resurrected now would be an empty person.  A twisted replication.

“How can you stand for this?  What we’re about to bring back isn’t Jenkins.  Jenkins’ soul is already in that man in the barracks.  He’s the messiah figure.  The man coming out of that resurrection chamber will just be a fake person.  He’ll be a monster,” Cortes said, waving his arms around wildly and pointing outside of the clinic.  He needed to convince them now, before it was too late.

“Look, kid,” Carver said, his eyes narrowing at the foolish notions of the man in front of him.  “They need Jenkins back for their propaganda and I’m not going to stop them.  If you want to call someone a monster just say it to me.  I’m the reason that Jenkins was changed in the first place.  I corrupted him and I’m bringing him back.  I owe him that much.  Don’t talk to me about souls,” Carver said looking away briefly, feeling shame about what he had done.  “The Jenkins you’re talking about,” he said, remembering his conversation with the artificial soldier out in the Earthlight.  “He’s a good man, too, but they both deserve to live.  They’re not the same person.  Don’t talk to me about souls and how Jenkins will be a monster when we pull him out of that resurrection chamber.  He’ll be the same kid from a month ago.  There’s enough space for both men.”

“I’m telling you, it’s not right.  God can’t have two men, two messiahs,” Cortes started, determined to convince Carver of his folly, but the old man suddenly flew into a rage at the mention of the creator.

“Do NOT talk to me about God, Cortes!  I have never said a fucking word about your little superstitions, but it ends now.  Believe what you want, but I will not let you stop Ryan from coming back!  Your ideas about souls and God and guilt and Hell and your fucking eternal atonement don’t mean a damn to me,” he shouted, pointing at the shocked Spaniard and almost spitting from his anger.

“How can you believe in any of that shit, Cortes?  I have been on this planet for decades now and have seen atrocities you, yourself, have seen.  At least different versions of it.  I have seen men torn apart, I have seen them bleed out, I have seen them burst into flames and melt inside their armor.  I have seen artillery shells land on corpses and create a fog of blood and gore.  I have seen a kid die just because an explosion sent a
door
through his hip.”

“And that’s just what I’ve seen on Eris, Cortes!” he shouted unable to hold back his resentment any longer.  He had called himself an atheist for so long, now, but as he shouted the words at the smaller man he was starting to realize the truth.  “When I was in the Earth Orbit Security Forces I saw my fellow soldiers ordered to kill innocent civilians and children.  Those who did got promotions.  That is the status quo; that is why I left and that’s why I’m finally ready to fight the broken system that's in place.  I have nothing left to lose and you know what, Cortes?  That’s not because of a kind and loving god!”  Carver paced the room, dealing with the turmoil in his brain.  It was a maelstrom of terrible and vivid memories.

“But enough about me, Hector,” Carver said in a soft voice, facing away from the man he had stopped trying to convince.  He was well within his own mind, now, even if he was about to use the Spaniard as an example in his argument.  “Let’s talk about you,” he said as he started to pace the room.

“You’re here because of a murder rap sheet.  Everybody knows that.  Some even know that one of those murders was your own brother.  Did you intend to kill your brother, Cortes?” Carver asked, looking straight into the Spaniard’s face.  Cortes couldn’t help but look at the floor, remembering the subject of his guilt.  Carver swiftly walked up to the man and forced the man’s head upwards with his gloved hand.

“Did you mean to kill your brother, Cortes?!” he shouted, demanding an answer from the perpetually-atoning soldier.  Cortes could not stop the tears falling from his eyes.