Brigends (The Final War Series Book 1) (28 page)

“Then what are you waiting for? Get it over with.”

“In good time. Your newfound sense of heroism intrigues me.”

“You know what intrigues me? Why you haven’t already killed us? I know why. I think you love hurting people.”

“Pleasure is a human flaw. You are nothing but an insect compared to me and I would not derive delight from crushing you under my heel.”

“Really? You’re nothing but a kid pulling legs off those bugs.”

The remark fascinated Kroll.

“What’s the problem? Daddy didn’t love you enough?”

Max got the reaction he was hoping for. It was slight, but conspicuous.

“Your attempts at provoking me are futile,” Kroll chided, sounding a little defensive.

“Come on, you know you’d love nothing more than to hurt me good. You’re pissed. I’ve been a big pain in your ass. Why don’t you show Daddy you ain’t no
puto
.”

Kroll never had one of his victims exhibit no fear in the face of certain death, and it threw off his bluster. The psionic grip loosened.

“You want nothing more than to hear me beg. Admit it. You know all men break sooner or later. Stick the blade in just right and we cry like little
putos
. But, who are we kidding? You ain’t a man. Your Daddy didn’t teach you to be one. That’s probably why he didn’t love you.”

Kroll squeezed and Max’s synapses burned. He was reluctant to admit the truth; hurting the boy was gratifying. The thought of it was a drug in his veins, dampening his reason. He wanted to give in to the violent desire, but a pressing suspicion stayed his hand.

Why is this human goading me, knowing his demise would be more unimaginable because of it?

“No.” His face widened with the epiphany — Max had played him a fool. “You are a decoy.”

He desperately searched for the trap waiting to be sprung. There, up on the catwalk, he discovered Dinx inching toward Marta with the crimson ora firm in his effeminate grasp. Releasing both mother and son, Kroll formed an energy bolt and reared to unleash it. Just as the blast flew, Max tackled him to the deck. The assassin lost hold of his crystal dagger and it tumbled away.

The errant blast slammed into the catwalk, breaking the suspended plank into dangling sections. As it capsized, Dinx grabbed the mangled extension and held on even as the section’s pendulous swing threatened to fling him loose. With his free hand, he used his feeble muscles to pull himself up. With loud moaning, he crawled back onto the platform.

He wanted to lay there and not move. There were a billion places he would rather be than hanging in midair as a mark for some lunatic. But, he wasn’t somewhere else.

Max is in danger
.
I got to do this
.

Dinx crawled to a spot nearest the stream and stood up. The shambling plank shuddered, scaring away his fragile courage. Swallowing hard, he straddled the railing. When both feet were on the same side and he faced outward, he got a glimpse of how high up he really was, and almost fainted. By this point, he couldn’t distinguish if it was his knees knocking or if the slab was shaking loose from the support struts.

Down below, Kroll countered Max’s untrained strikes with savage blows. An elbow to the nose ended the confrontation and slammed Max to the deck. Blood flowed.

Exhausted, the transhuman swayed to the edge of the pad and retrieved his crystal. Having broken the boy’s body, he sought to end the annoyances brought on by the bothersome humans. But first, there was the urgent matter of the rodent clambering overhead.

He posed for a clear shot, but Dinx had already made the leap toward the energy beam with his arms outstretched, holding the crystal out in front of him. Upon penetrating the atomized field, his momentum slowed.

Transcendence swathed him. Cut off from the mortal trappings, he lost sentience of the actions transpiring outside the stream. He was a single molecule drifting through an infinite void. The sum of his life became a pinpoint in relation to eternity. He relived the stark light and bearing of gravity on his infantile form at the occurrence of his birth.

He remembered the years living on the streets, starving and alone. His friendship with Max zipped by in a clairvoyant haze. Dinx saw the truth; Max had always been there as a friend and guardian.

Am I dead
?
Is this the end
?

He desired understanding. Little by little, the concerns of immaterial anxieties dissolved, taking with it his identity. There were no thoughts. Shortly, there would be no Dinx.

Marta detected his foray into her realm, but did not react to expel his presence. She regarded him insignificant and of little threat. Even as his stifled motion fused with her docile immovability, she showed him no recognition. A single moment expanded to an eon. They danced in an endless twirl until the crystal in his possession met her flesh.

The ora’s latent power fired like a starburst and then permeated her cells, causing her to convulse. Their aerial ballet ended when a bubble of preeminent matter formed. It enlarged, pulsating with the beat of her heart. Then, at critical mass, it imploded.

The shockwave ejected Dinx from the beam. He bounced off the platform and tumbled over the edge. The chamber rocked and cracks rippled along the length of the shaft.

Marta’s independence returned. She looked up to see the same angel as before descending to her. The entity reached out with a colorless hand. She also reached and when their fingertips merged, there was the attainment of love. Tender, protective, and pervasive — it was a mother’s love for her child. An eternal voice sang,
you are my daughter and my spirit
.

Across the world, the crystal shards faded and the tranced fell lifeless. Every hybrid machine became dormant hulks, some with disastrous consequences for innocent lives and property.

The destruction, incalculable on a celebrated scale, would later testify to the utopian folly.

In London, Vanguard fighters burrowed out of the rubble to the scene of dead warships in the smoke-filled skies over the Thames. A few well-aimed rockets brought them crashing down.

The same scenarios played out over Dublin, Oslo, and Madrid. In Rio de Janeiro and Lima, fires burned out of control and the dead numbered in the hundreds of thousands.

In Beijing, a proud army gathered on a scorched expanse to pay deference to the price paid for victory.

On the battlefield of the demolished Lo-5, mounds of comatose bodies blanketed the roads. Fires burned unimpeded and soot blotted the cityscape. Dust clouds ensued as dilapidated buildings collapsed, adding to the nightmare.

Tank patrolled the blackened scene. Many of the brigends paced aimlessly, while some rested wherever they could find seclusion. Many grappled with the outcome; the frenzied rioters had killed many of their brethren.

Colonel Jessup sat on a makeshift seat composed of elitist carcasses, with his chin resting on his hand as if contemplating a frustrating riddle.

“You okay, Colonel?”

The somber man shook his head no, snorted, and spat red tinged saliva. “Got any idea what happened?”

“I think we won.”

Jessup laughed. “Yep — looks that way. No. I meant with these muckers.”

Tank attributed the last-minute save as a sign of his friends’ success. It was the only explanation he cared to have. He pointed at the macabre bench. “Are they —?"

“Nope, they’re alive. Just out cold.”

The Colonel got up and kicked over the slumbering pile of Hi-risers. He may have just fought a war to save their over-indulgent backsides, but no one said he had to be compassionate. Tank wasn’t as bitter, however he couldn’t begrudge the man a little bigotry.

“Okay. What now, Sergeant?”

The battle wasn’t over. Off in the horizon the hail of air combat continued. If Zoe and Max were still alive, they would need backup.

“The Spire,” Tank answered.

The Colonel whistled for his people to rally. There weren’t as many left as he had hoped. Regardless of their beaten appearance, they had an itch needing scratching.

“Now that you kiddies are warmed up, the real fun starts. We get to pay a visit to that pretty needle thing over there. I’m sure they’d be expecting us. Maybe they’ll set out beer and snacks when we arrive.”

The warriors hooted.

“If they don’t, then we ask them to, nicely,” the big guy suggested.

The prospect of violence was the right incentive to keep the fatigued veterans going, and this time they wanted to win — like soldiers.

Stay with me

“Engine room, report,” Emil shouted into the tel-link.

Static was the reply.

He scoped the tactical monitor; the Alliance ships were in range and spooling up for the assault.

Through the view-port, they could see the Pantera turning to aim her missile tubes, only to go silent and drift from the battle.

Minsk scanned the quiescent ship. “She has power and her missiles are primed. There is nothing wrong with it.”

“Something has to be. Keep looking. Maybe she’s damaged.”

Scrolling through several screens of data, he found the reason. “Comm traffic from Net-Sat shows Alliance ships everywhere going dead.”

“Scan the Spire.”

“It is operational, but not broadcasting.”

Emil expelled a long breath. “They did it.”

“Do not be happy yet, General. The Leviathan is coming.”

“Tullia, get those engines up now!”

The Spire’s stream pulsed as a vesicle of raw electroplasma. Its ebb and flow pervaded Marta’s cells, increasing her perceptions beyond any transhuman’s boundaries. The coveted crimson ora had served its purpose. When the last particle of her mother’s verve departed the cold shell, the crystal faded to a dull maroon. Useless, it lay discarded at the bottom of the Spire’s shaft.

Max went to the edge and looked up. Her ascension humbled him. If a god did exist, then she was proof of that divinity.

Distracted, he didn’t perceive a threat until a double blow to his kidneys dropped him. Hands grabbed wads of his hair and bashed his head against the deck. He lost consciousness long before the wounded demon keeled over from fatigue. 

Kroll tripped as he lurched for his ora. He grasped it firmly, fearing it would slip from his tired hand. He wobbled as he stood. The boy had gotten the best of him. That disgraceful offense demanded rectifying.

He raised the blade for the atonement, but a loud clap jolted him and he stumbled. When the bullet tore his body, he felt the intense numbing of his pain receptors. His mind delayed awareness of what had occurred. He touched the bleeding outlet below his sternum.

Weaving, he faced the shooter. Zoe fired another shot, exploding his chest near the heart. She didn’t stop, not even when the pistol’s magazine ran empty and the slide locked in place. Her finger squeezed the trigger several more times before her arm grew tired and she dropped the weapon next to her leg. She sat beside the door of the chamber, waiting for him to die.

Kroll articulated his disbelief with lips that were helpless to speak. His life was slipping and there was not a damn thing he could do to spear his last breath at her, or her infernal whelp. He released the crystal dagger and it hit the deck with a clang.

The darkness came, but before it fully claimed him, a regal woman spoke,
you were not the maestro of this symphony
.
You have been merely an instrument conducted by my hands
.

The voice was Nadiya’s, and her avowal was meant to vanquish the demon that was Kroll. His dumbfounded gasp was all he uttered before plummeting over the edge.

Zoe scooted to her son. Pulling him to her, she wiped the matted hair from his forehead and kissed him.

“Why did you have to go and do that?” he mumbled. “I had him right where... I wanted him.”

She laughed and cried in chorus. “Sure you did.”

Her hug grew tighter.

“Oww, easy.”

He stared up at her proud face. Unable to process his emotions, he reflexively touched her cheek.

Just as confused as he was, she needed a segue to distract from the awkwardness. “Can you stand?”

“What choice do I got?”

They stood up, holding on to each other for support.

“Where’s Dinx?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Dinx!”

A muffled sob came from below.

“Dinx, where are you?”

“Over here.”

They ran to the edge where the kid was barely holding on to the rim. With some effort, they pulled him up. Max grabbed his buddy and hugged him.

“Did we win?”

“Yeah, we did. Thanks to you. You’re a bonafide hero.”

“Sinister. Can we go now?”

“No,” Zoe reminded them. “It’s not over yet.”

They looked to the ethereal images of the air battle.

Max went to the beam. “Marta! Marta!”

She lowered to his height.

“If you can hear me, the General needs your help. He needs you. Marta, you have to help him.”

She couldn’t hear him, but she heard the despondent state of his thoughts.

Are you still one of us
?

Yes, I am
.

Help the General
.
He needs you
.

She floated away. It was no great effort for her to expand her awareness out past the Spire, to anywhere she wished. Her mind found the Pantera’s dormant hybrid and melded with its control systems.

The Leviathan veered starboard to aim her weapons batteries at the Bandit. Fireballs erupted from the tubes and rockets launched forth. The projectiles struck the smaller ship dead on, knocking it into a horizontal spin.

Minsk’s workstation exploded and shrapnel sliced his thick forearm.

“Chief?”

“Da, I am good.” He couldn’t move his hand, but he didn’t nurse the injury.

The Leviathan pivoted to bring her port side batteries to bear. Regardless of the setbacks, the day would be forever Serov’s and no one would take it away from him. So caught up in blinding conceit, he didn’t hear the warning from his tactical officer, reporting the Pantera was taking on an attack posture off their aft quarter.

Its missiles struck the great white ship in random locations proximal to the mid and aft sections. The detonations forced the vessel to break away from the Bandit.

“I have been betrayed!” Serov howled. “Target that ship and destroy it!”

“We can’t,” the officer responded. “Our aft guns are disabled.”

“I will not be robbed! Forward tubes, target the Spire and fire at will!”

On the Bandit’s bridge, the threat board flashed.

“Leviathan has fired on Spire,” the Chief reported.

Emil vaulted to his feet. “Launch counter-measures! Destroy them before they reach —"

“Too late.”

He flopped back in his chair as the missiles struck near the Spire’s base. The explosions rocked the foundation and shot chunks of metal high into the sky.

The chamber rocked and the energy beam dissipated, dropping Marta into Max’s arms. Zoe wrapped her unconscious body with the robe.

The Spire trembled from secondary detonations. Being atop the damaged shaft meant they were in the path of a firestorm.

“We gotta get out of here,” Zoe warned.

“No shit!”

Max carried Marta as they fled the chamber. Dinx sealed the door right before a firestorm blasted against it, buckling the metal with superheated fumes.

Zoe went to the lift and activated the recall button. They waited. Dinx panicked and kicked the panel, hoping that would hurry the car.

When it finally arrived, she shoved the kids inside just as the careening Pantera sliced through the ascension chamber. The lift-car broke free of its monorail and plunged, bouncing the occupants around inside the capsule. The brakes activated and the wild ride came to a dead stop.

No one moved.

“I hate you guys,” Dinx said in a hoarse pitch.

The door chimed open to a smoke-filled corridor. No one waited for her to tell them to get out; they scrambled in a panic.

Emil sat in his chair, senseless. Minsk and Cob, the only members of the bridge crew still alive, were quiet.

“Engines back online,” Tullia reported over the speaker.

He didn’t hear her.

The Chief relayed the update, “Sir, engines are working. Sir? We must go.”

Emil looked at him, then Cob. “Helm, get us under the Leviathan’s belly as close as you can and stay there.”

“Sir?”

“Get us under her keel.”

Cob thought the old man had lost his mind, but did as ordered, piloting the Bandit to point-blank range under the larger ship’s hull.

“Sir, are you crazy?”

“Trust me. At this distance, Serov can’t scan for us.”

Minsk, never one to pray, made a quick crucifix over his chest for good measure. “
Ebat’ kopat’
.”

The two vessels danced as the Bandit drafted the other in a daring stunt to evade detection. To the young helmsman’s credit, they stayed exactly two meters from the opposing ship.

With the fires on the Leviathan’s bridge extinguished, damage control teams labored to shore stress fractures and repair busted electronics. As the dead were dragged off, replacement officers took over.

“Where is the Bandit?” Serov snapped.

“There are no contacts.”

“Impossible. Check again.”

The lidar officer performed another scan. “Confirmed, sir. No contacts.”

He pushed the woman out of the chair and ran another sweep himself. The only bleeps detectable were the fiery wrecks of the Pantera and Akula spread across the waters of the bay.

“Impossible,” he repeated. “There is nowhere for him to hide.”

“Steady as she goes,” Emil whispered — as if speaking a decibel higher would attract Serov’s ears.

The abrupt squeal of an environmental alarm rattled the three men.

Minsk read the data. “Coolant leak in reactor.”

“Engineering, report. Engine room, come in!”

“Sir?” Tullia sounded in bad shape.

“We’re coming to get you out.”

“Don’t. We’re... dead already... ”

The comm channel turned to static.

The Chief ran a bio-scan. “They are gone.”

Emil damned himself. How many more must die?

His fears shifted to Marta.

“Sir, reactor containment failing.”

His attention returned to the situation at hand. “How long?”

“Minutes.”

How many more have to die
?

He surveyed what was left of his crew — his family. Their faces told him the answer.

No one else is going to die today
.

“Chief, on my mark, transfer guidance and command functions to my chair. Then you two get to a lifeboat.”

“Sir?”

“You heard me. Just do it.”

Minsk hesitated, but against his better judgment nodded confirmation of the order and entered the commands into the computer. Emil activated the backup helm control feature on his chair and awaited the switchover.

“Grigori, Anton, it’s been a pleasure.”

“No, the pleasure has been ours, General.”

Cob couldn’t say goodbye. He lost composure and lowered his chin. Emil reached for him, but the young man refused the gesture. He did so not out of hurt, but from lack of courage. The Haiduc didn’t press him. He smiled, letting Cob know everything would be okay.

The Russian didn’t say farewell. There was no need for such sensitivity. To properly honor his comrade, he readied himself to fulfill the final order.

“Chief, transfer controls on my mark. Three — two — one — mark.”

The switchover caused the Bandit to shimmy and she scraped the Leviathan’s hull. With her position compromised, Serov’s ship broke free, leaving her exposed.

Inside the cramped interior of the lifeboat, the only survivors latched themselves into tall shock chairs. Minsk paused to observe the clear number of empty seats. Except for Cob, every man and woman he had served with for the last fifteen years was now dead. To compound the shame, he was also abandoning his commander to the same fate. The impulse to disobey orders and return to his post on the bridge was strong, but he was a good soldier and stayed the course.

Opening the switch cover, he initiated the jettison sequence. There was a series of loud pops, then the sensation of freefall. Seconds later, deployed chutes dampened the steep plunge.

He reclined his head against the cushion and received the silence as the boat coasted on the winds.

The reactor core verged on implosion and there wasn’t time to pilot the ship far enough away from the city.

He thought about Marta, Nadiya, and the life he never shared with them. A dream where the three of them strolled along a worn footpath over green rolling hills became reality in his imagination.