Phoenix Rising (Book Two of The Icarus Trilogy) (46 page)

“I can’t…” the former producer said, staying in character.  The pain forced him out of the memory and into another.  It was third-person this time; he could see himself watching Jen as the machines beeped behind her.  She looked so weak; so thin in that bed.  He recalled how he had cried that night and without noticing a real tear formed in his ruined eye.  It only helped sell his character.

“Well, now I’m fucking interested, Mr. Producer,” the interrogator said as he lit a match and held it underneath Jamie’s right ear.  The resistance agent hadn’t prepared for that one and he almost slipped out of character in his confusion, but after a split-second he remembered himself and screamed his heart out.

“Stop!  Stop! Oh my God, stop!  Please,” he shouted, wondering how much longer this would take.  He could tell that Edwards was smiling. 

At least he enjoys his work
.

“Well, Jamie, you’re gonna have to tell me what I want to know.  I want to hear,” Edwards said before blowing out the match and turning around his chair so he could prop his arms and chin up on the back.  “All about this little leader of yours.  I want to know who finally convinced you to think, ‘hey, this resistance might not be a bad idea!’  I mean, he’s gotta have a way with words!”  Jamie looked at him with desperation and hated himself for what he was about to do.  It felt like the ultimate betrayal.

“Finnegan.  Douglas Finnegan,” he said, dropping off in volume as he said it.  As he “confessed” he hung his head down and sobbed in defeat.  He had practiced this so many times.

I am so sorry, Doug.  I couldn’t tell you, but it’s for a purpose.  They can’t know what I know
.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me.  You’re expecting me to believe that the overweight waste of humanity in the other room is the ring-leader of this little act of rebellion?  You got some
brass
balls on you, Jamie.  I will admit that,” Edwards said before sighing and standing up.  He brought out a straight razor and inspected the edge for a bit.

“Seems like we’re not done with you, yet,” the man said before taking the blade to Jamie’s chest. He slashed horizontally, shaving off the top layers of skin and drawing blood, doing everything he could to bring pain to the producer’s mind.  Jamie played his part well, screaming and sobbing, but in his mind he retreated to his memories.

As Edwards sliced away Jamie’s skin, the producer remembered the last time he had seen her.  He was holding Jen’s hand again and it seemed so weak.  She had tried to curl her fingers around his, but the strength was already starting to leave her.  He remembered how he had spent all of his trust fund on the ring in his pocket.  He remembered all the words he had said to her; all the nothings that were supposed to mean something.

You’ll get through this.

You’ll beat this.

I believe in you.

You’re not gonna die today.

He remembered the kindness in her eyes.  He let the tears fall as he recalled that warmth that stayed with her until the very end.  Jamie remembered how it had been so unfair.  It was just a failure in her genetic code.  She hadn’t had a chance.  Such a warm person, so full of life, had been confined to that bed for the rest of her days.

“Oh, God!  Stop!  Please!  I told you!  I told you everything!”

Jamie’s mind returned to that day he spent standing by her grave.  It was too much to handle.  He had loved her so desperately and she had been taken from him.  She had made so many plans.  She had been so bright and determined.  She was going to change the world.  Then her body had given out on her.  Jamie remembered how he had rolled around in anguish, how he had torn at the dirt and grass around her grave which didn’t even hold her body.  It was just a headstone.

“IT WAS DOUGLAS!  HE DID EVERYTHING!  HE GOT ME AND ERIC!  OH MY GOD!”

“You CAN’T expect me to believe that, JAMIE!”

It had been the thing she was always passionate about.  She knew from such an early age the atrocities of the games.  She had been so kind and so smart; Jen could not stand
War World
.  It had been her crusade.  She had gone to school in order to fight it in any way possible.  Men and women shouldn’t be treated like that.

“I SWEAR!  Please….. please stop…. I told you…. he knows everything.  I just…. I just thought it would be nice…. to mean something…..”  Jamie didn’t bother to open his eyes.  It was difficult enough to stay in character, but even then it was so nice to retreat to these memories.  This was why he was doing this.  It was always the reason why.  That resolution by that gravestone; that promise to the love of his life.

Soon, Jen
. 
Soon.

“Hmph,” Edwards grunted as he looked over his work.  Jamie was bleeding heavily from the flensed areas and would need blood transfusion just to stay alive.  The interrogator thought about what the man had said.  It would make some sense for the leader the least likely subject.  He rolled the idea around in his head and looked at Jamie.

“You’re really telling me that it’s Finnegan?” he asked as he brought out another cigarette and lit a match.  He watched the flame for a moment before bringing it to the roll of tobacco.  Jamie lifted his head slightly and opened his good eye.

“please….just stop…. I can’t….” he said, driving the character home.  He needed to seem as pathetic as possible.  He needed Edwards to think that he had broken.  Jamie needed the sadist to think that the
toy
was broken.

I am so sorry, Doug.  I never told you this would happen.  I hope…. I hope you forgive me
.

“Finnegan?” Edwards asked again, half-believing the story but still skeptical.  He sighed and shrugged as he walked around the interrogation room.  He looked at his victim and grunted.  Any man would have broken against that.  There was an art to this, Edwards knew, and what sat in front of him was a masterpiece.  He walked over to his jacket and brought out his pistol, cocked it and then briskly walked over to his victim.  He shoved the gun against Jamie’s temple and spit at the man while he shouted.

“You lying to me, Jamie?  Huh?!  I’m gonna kill you if you don’t tell me the truth!” he shouted, watching for Jamie’s reaction.  The producer wanted to laugh, but instead he shook his head wildly, opening his good eye with fear and breathing rapidly.

“No!  No!  I want to live!  Please!  I didn’t know this would happen!  Oh, god!  Oh, god!  Douglas!  He’s the one!  He’s the one!”

“YOU LYING TO ME, JAMIE?!  YOU TELLING ME LIES!?”

“No!  NO!  I’m not lying!  I’m not…. I’m telling…. the truth,” Jamie shouted, sobbing out the words and descending into unintelligible speech.  It was almost over.  He felt the barrel of the gun leave his temple and he indulged himself by opening his eye.  Edwards had walked away and looked at his weapon before looking at the ceiling and putting the cigarette to his lips.  He drew in a deep breath and exhaled a plume of smoke.

“Fuck it.  We’re done here,” Edwards said before turning and extending his arm to aim at his victim.  Jamie lowered his head and thought of that sunny day.   He thought of those green eyes; that perfect smile.

It’s finally over, Jen.  It’s fina-

-

Templeton looked over the mess hall and wondered if it would be good enough.  This was supposed to be the last holdout and if the agent was honest, it didn’t look like much.  He hoped against hope that the other hallways would hold, even though he had told everyone else that this was going to be easy.  The revolutionary just wanted it to be five hours from now and have them all safe aboard the shuttle.

He looked over at Albert and Laurence.  He recalled his university days and the emphasis they had put on literature.  Templeton had never cared for it, thinking it ancient history that was never going to be useful in any sort of real world application, but looking back now he really did appreciate it.  He never would have understood Atlas’ sense of humor, otherwise.  The two EOSF guards had Rosencrantz and Guildenstern written all over them.

Things were going much better than Templeton had expected.  With how high tensions were running, he would have thought a fight would break out.  But as the agent had prepared their defenses, each soldier had taken well to the siege mentality.  Warner had retreated into himself and was stationed in the west hallway with Corrigan, not bothering to get into any kind of fights.  Norris and the three drones were hiding out on the roof; Abrams and Feldman were covering the north hallway with two of the other forgettable men.  Even the two Jenkins were getting along.  Templeton made sure the real Jenkins stayed put in the mess hall, but the other was at the Main Entrance with Cortes, Goldstein and Roberts.  It didn’t seem wise to separate the two men after Cortes’ little confession of faith in the clinic.

All in all, Templeton thought that they might make it out alright.  Carver had decided to stay in the mess hall with the rest of them and would float to whichever hallway needed it most.  The revolutionary couldn’t fault the man for that.  As the minutes passed, Templeton thought about making a makeshift bed and resting his eyes for a bit.

“Othello!”  Templeton snapped to attention at that.  The receiver at his side was shouting all kinds of words, now, and he scrambled to bring it to his ear.  As he brought the machine up to his head, he did what he could to pick out the frantic words.

“Othello!  Do you read me?  Do you hear me?” the voice desperately asked.  Templeton’s heart sank as he realized it was Atlas himself.  The leader of the revolution didn’t bother to make a call unless it was absolutely necessary.

“Atlas, this is Othello, over!  What’s going on?” Templeton asked, already forgetting protocol.  The adrenaline coursing through his veins was flooding his senses and making him impatient.

“Thank god.  Othello, we have a problem.”  Templeton wondered what could be so urgent.

“What, Atlas?  Calm down.”

“I can’t, Othello.  There’s no time,” the voice said before taking a deep breath.  Templeton felt despair start to sink into his very being at that.  “They’re on their way.”

“Who?” Templeton shouted, not realizing that everyone in the room was looking at him.  The tension was filling the room and flooding everyone with fear.

“The Hammerheads.  Jasper is sending the loyal teams against us.  The Hammerheads are coming to the Crows,” the voice said, his spirit dropping at the end of the statement.  Templeton cursed and kicked at one of the barricades nearby.

“Seven hells.  Ok, we can deal with this.  What’s the ETA?”

“That’s the problem.  You have ten minutes.”

“WHAT?” Templeton asked in disbelief.  They were supposed to have much more warning for
any
possible hostilities.

“Our intelligence went to shit as soon as the broadcast hit.  Way too much static, interference, chatter, you name it.  You have to get everyone ready.  They’re coming and they’re trying to make a show out of it,” Atlas said over the receiver, but Templeton was already beckoning the other revolutionaries to come closer.  There was no way he could give into shock.  Not now; not with so much at stake.

“Handling it.  We’ll just have to deal,” Templeton said as he lowered the communicator from his ear.

“Good luck, Othello.  I’m sorry,” Atlas said over the communicator at Templeton’s hip, but the revolutionary wasn’t paying attention anymore.

“What’s going on?” Albert asked as the men gathered around each other.

“We have ten minutes,” Templeton said in a curt fashion, already starting to think up orders for tactics.

“Until what?” Albert asked, acting slow as always.  Templeton glared at the agent and sighed.  The man had no real way to change being an idiot.

“Until we fight a group of highly-trained killers who don’t know they can die.”

“Shit. The Hammerheads?”

“Yeah,” Templeton replied as he was surveyed the assortment of revolutionaries in front of him.  He kept the Comms channel open for the others already in position, but the artificial Jenkins was the man he was looking over.  The clone wasn’t wearing his helmet and Templeton could see the man’s every reaction.  At first the man was given over to despair, but as he pondered the new development he quickly snapped his gaze back up to the thin, black man.

“Templeton, please tell me the doc’s back from the clinic and I just missed her,” the artificial Jenkins said, hoping that this wasn’t really happening.  Templeton looked back at his compatriot and felt a knot in his stomach.  In the rush to prepare for their last stand he had completely forgotten about the civilian in their midst.

The defenseless woman was completely alone with the enemy about to surround her.

“Goddamnit,” the newborn messiah said from the other side of the huddle.  He hadn’t considered that the Commission would send anybody so quickly; he had thought Charlotte had plenty of time to try again with Haywick.  By convincing her to stay behind, he had unwittingly left her to die at the hands of the Hammerheads.  The new soldier broke from the circle and headed towards the main entrance of the barracks.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Templeton asked, unaware of Jenkins’ involvement in Dr. Kane’s absence.  The newborn soldier didn’t even bother to turn.

“I have to get her.  It’s my fault,” he said with resolve.  He wasn’t going to mess up again; not in this lifetime.  He was halfway to the entrance when he heard rapidly-nearing steps and felt a hand grab hold of his shoulder.

“Um, no the fuck you’re not,” a gruff voice said behind him.  Jenkins turned to face Laurence; he had never really noticed the EOSF guard during his time on the asteroid.  The old face had blended right in.

“Look, man, this is my fault.  I’m just going to get her and come back,” Jenkins started, but Laurence pulled hard on the young soldier’s shoulder plate and threw him back towards the huddle.

“No, you’re not, Ryan.  Do you even know what we’re doing here?” the older man asked, worry and age evident in the lines on his face.