World War IV: Empires (2 page)

Steel sliced Dean’s arm, as he was too slow to dodge a thrust from an attack, and blood trickled down the fabric of his sleeve and further dampened the already wet shirt. With the dawn of defeat upon them, the guards abandoned any and all strategy and technique and slashed their swords wildly.

Dean fended off both guards, the steel whirling in a gleaming blur as the sunlight caught the sides of each blade. The dance only lasted as long as it took for Gabriela to open the gates, and once the rest of Dean’s men flooded inside, they washed away what remained of Ruiz’s soldiers. When the last body dropped, Dean made sure to find Jason in the crowd.

“I want two teams of twelve on either side of the canal,” Dean barked. “You walk and clear out anybody that might be hiding.” The officers handled the due diligence, and Dean wiped his blade on the shoulder of one of the dead guards. “And bring out the shovels; we’ll need to bury these bodies before the stink sets in.” Gabriela walked over, and he noticed a limp in her gait. “You all right?”

“I’ll station my men along the levees to make sure all of your ships make it through.” Gabriela tossed a dismissive look to Jason and then returned her attention to Dean. “I don’t like the fact that you’re taking the engineers with you.”

It’d been a sore spot for the past week. Ruiz had been kidnapping and threatening the families of some of the most accomplished engineers Brazil had to offer. They built weapons for him that hadn’t been seen since before the Great War, and any army that possessed them would have no trouble conquering whatever land and people they desired.

“If you want some of my ships and men to stay behind to help stabilize your country, then that’s what it’s going to cost.” Although if Dean told the truth, he would have taken the engineers with him regardless. Gabriela and her ragtag team of rebels wouldn’t have had the manpower to stop him.

“You’ll have your ships returned to you soon enough, Governor.” Gabriela limped away, two soldiers walking with her to the main operational deck for the levees, brushing past Jason on the way. The two looked at each other but said nothing.

Jason kept his rifle over his shoulder, and Dean noticed that his hands were stained with black smudges. “What happened?”

“One of our men moved too close to the gate during the diversion, and Ruiz’s soldiers dumped tar over the side.” Jason looked at his hand, which tremored. “We tried getting it off him, but he would have died from infection with the burns.”

Dean clapped his brother on the shoulder. “You did the right thing.” The doctors wouldn’t have been able to save him, and the pain and agony of what life he had would’ve only lasted another few days at the most. Mercy killing was harder on the shooter than the victim. “It would have been wrong to handle it any other way.”

Jason nodded absentmindedly then squeezed his hand a few times, trying to shrug it off. “The engineers are getting restless. They want to know what’s going on.”

“Right.” He knew what he was going to ask of them would make him sound just like Ruiz. Dean and his soldiers needed weapons, the kind that could end this war before the number of deaths grew too high. “I suppose now is the time.”

The engineers had come with them from Rio. When Gabriela had found them, they were ragged and beaten. He wasn’t sure how long Ruiz had kept them prisoners, but from the pensive look in their eyes and their thin bodies and gaunt faces, he suspected it was for quite some time.

None of them had spoken since they were rescued, and Dean added that to the list of reasons he put off trying to convince them to help him win this war. They needed time to find their own words as well.

Alvy Hughes sat with his knees to his chest and both arms wrapped around his legs. His limbs still felt bony and thin despite the increase of meals and calories over the past week. He imagined it’d be some time before he was back to his former health, though he wasn’t sure if he would live long enough to see it.

The quiet hadn’t changed. And despite being freed, it seemed that one cell had just been traded for another, although the new accommodations were much nicer than their previous ones. Here there were three meals a day, a straw bed, and windows. They had space too, and nearly free rein of the ship, so long as their escort went with them. The only time they were allowed to leave the cells where Ruiz had put them was to be transitioned into another cell while their previous one was washed down to dispense of their own waste that rotted on the floor. Ruiz didn’t want his precious minds to contract any diseases, so he kept the cells sterile.

The people that took him, he had no idea of what to expect from them. He knew they would eventually come and ask something of him. Generals and presidents always did. They wanted to know how to control something or how to kill something. And once they knew how to do both, they wanted ways in which they could control more and kill quicker. It was a never-ending cycle, a loop that he’d found himself trapped in ever since his first days as an apprentice.

Even at an early age, Alvy found himself able to build things that even his father, an accomplished blacksmith, didn’t understand. When he was twelve, he built an engine. It was crude, leaked oil everywhere, and couldn’t even churn the small wheel he’d attached to it, but it started, and it caught the attention of the guild of engineers in Brazil who scoured the country and the world for talent.

There wasn’t a teacher Alvy came into contact with that wasn’t amazed by his mind. It was a question he always had trouble explaining growing up, of how he managed to see things and connect dots in his mind that others couldn’t. But the older he became, he found that saying he was “blessed” proved answer enough to his divine gifts.

Gifts.
A sour pit bubbled in Alvy’s stomach, and he pulled his legs tighter then fell to his side on the packed straw, the sunlight from the window shining down on his hands, while the rest of him was cast into darkness.

While Alvy’s nutritional intake had improved, his sleeping had not. Most nights he lay awake, and the nights when he did drift off to sleep were tormented with the creations of death he’d designed for Ruiz. All of the lives he helped destroy, killed by the instruments of his mind, played over and over in his nightmares.

Ruiz.
The name still made him shudder. The man was nothing more than a dictator in a castle, surrounded by money and guns, both of which he used to get whatever he wanted. Ruiz dangled Alvy’s life, his parents’ lives, his siblings’ lives in front of him, threatening him to do whatever he wanted. All he wanted to do was see them again, to know they were okay. But these governors and these rebels, they took him, threw him on a boat, and hadn’t said a word. For all he knew, Ruiz had killed his family, and these people would soon send him to join them.

The door to his cabin swung open, and two men stepped inside, neither of whom Alvy recognized. However, they shared the same face, and he found his eyes drifting to their waists to check for what weapons they brought, but they entered unarmed.

“Mr. Hughes,” the shorter man said, taking a seat on a crate across from the bed where Alvy lay. “My name is Dean Mars, and this is my brother Jason. We’re the governors from North America.”

Mars.
He’d heard that name before when he was younger. The name was whispered down dark alleys and in rooms where men spoke in secret. Whenever the name was muttered, it was as if people were talking about ghosts.

“Mr. Hughes, do you speak English?” Dean asked.

Alvy searched for his voice, but it had been so long since he’d said anything that on the first try, nothing but gasped air escaped his lips. He cleared his throat then tried again. “Yes. I do.” The words were cracked and dry, like a riverbed that had seen drought for years and finally felt the first few drops of rain seep into its hard, dead earth.

“Mr. Hughes, do—”

“You don’t have to call me that.” No one had ever called him that. He was Alvy. He had graduated from three separate apprenticeships from the best physicists, blacksmiths, and chemists in the world. He’d built wonderful things, monstrous things, to help better the lives of the people around him. He never did it for fame or fortune, just simply because he enjoyed the challenge.

“Alvy.” Dean Mars’s words were soft as he spoke. They lacked the harsh sting like that of Ruiz’s guards, but that didn’t mean the man was without violence. Those whispers Alvy had heard as a boy spoke of these men as monsters, with fangs and claws. Although so far, the rumors seemed to be false. “I need your help.”

There it is.
The desperate plea for weapons was to follow. They wanted to kill, they wanted to control, they wanted more than what their eyes and minds could comprehend. “Everyone needs my help. But not in the way you think it needs to be done.”

“I know what Ruiz made you build,” Dean answered. “And I know what those weapons will do. You of all people know that we can’t let him win.”

“We?” Alvy sat up from the straw, his joints and bones popping and creaking from the sudden movement. “In all my time as a prisoner, I never considered myself a
we
. I was asked to work, and then when I refused, I was tortured, and then when I refused once more, my family was tortured. Is that what you will do, Governor? Is my family in the next room in chains? A blade to their throats, beaten and bloody? There is no we. There is you, and there is me.” Alvy hadn’t expected the defiance in his voice, and it wasn’t until the second governor’s hand rested on his shoulder that he realized he’d stood and was towering over Dean, who remained seated on the crate. Alvy backed to his bed and sat on the edge.

“I am not Ruiz, Alvy,” Dean replied. “But I am a master of war. I have fought many battles, and I have killed many men. More blood has been spilt by my family than could breathe life into an entire generation. It will never be something I am proud of, but it will also never be something I am ashamed of. All men give their reasons for war, and mine have always been to protect my people, provide a better life for them and my family. Brazil is a powerful ally of trade, and diplomacy should always be, and will be, my first attempt and resolution. But not all men share that belief, as you well know.”

“All you give is words, Governor,” Alvy said. “Ruiz gave me words as well.” Alvy lifted his shirt, exposing the bruising on his stomach and chest. “He also gave me these.” He rolled up his pant legs and revealed the welts and cuts along his thighs and calves. “And these.” He turned his back to them and lifted his shirt once more, showing them the mix of old scars and fresh lashes still healing on his back. He lowered his shirt then turned to face them again. “I wonder what else
you
will give me?”

Dean remained silent and motionless for quite some time then finally nodded to his brother, who left.
Perhaps he’s going to kill me?
No, that would be too quick, easy. He knew men like these would try other methods to get what they wanted. It was just as the governor said himself: when diplomacy fails, other actions must be taken, for the good of
his
people.

“Alvy?”

Alvy’s heart leapt from his chest, and his arms and legs went tingly and numb. The voice was frightened and tired, but he would have recognized it in whatever form it came. “Mother.” He jumped from the hay on the bed and rushed to her, embracing her in his arms. He buried his face in her shoulder, feeling the outline of her skeleton. She felt thin, but she was alive.

His mother pulled back and cupped his face in her hands, taking a good look, tears collecting in the corners of her eyes. “My boy. My sweet boy.” She brought his forehead down to her lips and kissed him just as she did when he was a child.

Alvy looked her over, it all seemed too unreal. “Did they hurt you? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” She offered a shaky smile. “Your sisters are here as well. These people have taken good care of us, although they hadn’t told us much other than you were alive.”

Hot tears burst from Alvy’s eyes, and he felt his body shake as they rolled down his cheeks. He shook his head, and his mother held him in her arms. She rocked him back and forth, rubbing his back, telling him that it was going to be all right.

“Mrs. Hughes?” Dean asked, stepping Alvy aside. “I know how important this is, but I need to continue a conversation with your son. I’ll only be a minute, and he’ll be back with you shortly.”

His mother nodded, and Jason led her out of the room, her fingers intertwined with Alvy’s until the very last moment. The door closed behind her as she left, and Alvy collapsed back on the bed, wiping the tears from his cheeks. “So now what?” He sniffled, clearing his nose, which had forced him to breathe through his mouth. “Now you threaten me? Threaten them? Do what you want to me, but please, let them go.”

“I’ll let all of you go,” Dean replied.

Alvy lifted his head at the words, unsure of what angle the governor was playing at. “And what will that cost?”

“It will cost nothing.” Dean took a seat next to Alvy on the edge of the bed. The governor shifted slightly back and forth. “It’s funny how burdensome gifts can be. My family has birthed more killers than any should. And just as I have been burdened with my hands, you have been burdened with your mind.”

“It’s only a burden when someone turns your gifts against you.”

“And it’s a burden that spreads to your family.” Dean sighed, looking around for some answer that seemed to elude him. “No matter what you try and do, that weight always falls on shoulders other than your own.” Dean got up, walked to the door, then stopped and turned back before he left. “I’m not here to threaten you or your family. If you choose to leave, then one of my ships will take you back to your home in Rio. You are a free man, Alvy, and your family is now safe. But I will tell you this: there is more evil than just Ruiz, and it will come to your doorstep again unless I can stop it. And it would be much easier to stop it if you chose to help me. I’ve given the same option to your colleagues. Take some time to think it over. I think we would both benefit from your meditating.”

Alvy sat there on the bed, just as Dean had found him down in the cells where Ruiz kept him, alone. There was a large portion of him that wanted to take his family, return to Rio, and leave all of this war behind. They could move to the countryside; his mother still had uncles in the farmlands. It would be peaceful there, quiet, and give him time to think, his family a chance to rebuild.

But the nagging voice crawling from the depths of his consciousness came in the form of the governor’s words. He knew the man was right. Given the chance, evil would always spread, and while Alvy had never been the one to fight, he understood that his gifts could help defeat the evil trying to kill him.