Broken Hero (48 page)

Kurt Russell never had to work this hard to sell saving the world to people…

“The little blue-green planet,” Clyde puts in. “The terribly modest people living upon it.”

“Fuck those people.” Tabitha rather succinctly sums up the feelings of the group.

I spread my hands. “Look, I’m open to suggestions. But the future echoes… This stuff is pretty much predestined.”

“Wait!” The urgency in Hermann’s voice brings us up short. “The paradoxes. The echoes.” There is an edge of excitement to his voice. “Describe them to me.”

He’s insistent enough that I go ahead and comply. I tell them everything. The appearance. The agonizing pain in my head. The blood.

“The bomb hurts you,” Hermann says. “It may even kill you. But the detonation—that is not part of it, correct? Not explicitly?” He leans down to put his head close to mine. I feel small in the shadow of his mass.

“I… I guess not explicitly,” I say. “But it’s a bomb. How else is it going to kill me?”

Hermann’s mouth twists as much as it is able. An ugly approximation of a smile. “That,” he says, “is exactly what we need to figure out.”

“Wait, what?”

Maybe it’s the imminent death thing, but I’m really not tracking.

“Oh, I get it,” says Clyde.

It’s an uncharitable thought, but I think I might have preferred if Clyde didn’t. The explanation would likely have been quicker.

“See the future echoes aren’t paradoxes
yet
,” he continues. “That’s what Hermann’s getting at with this whole specificity issue. The echoes set up a certain set of conditions. But they don’t dictate the situation fully. And so we are left with a certain set of parameters that have to be fulfilled. But the detonation of the bomb isn’t the only potential way to fulfill them. If we can provide an alternate explanation, a sort of logical path of least resistance, then we can avoid both the detonation and the paradox.”

“You know,” says Hermann, “you are not so stupid as you often appear.”

“Why thank you.” Clyde bows slightly.

A logical path of least resistance
. At least it doesn’t sound stupid to someone. Still, I like the bit where the bomb doesn’t go off and reality isn’t destroyed.

“The echoes,” I say, applying my gray matter’s pedal to the topic’s metal, “they always happened around the bomb. Around either injury to me or to it.”

“Yes,” Clyde nods.

“Anything else?” I ask.

“Well,” Clyde hums, “I mean there are a lot of variables to consider—

“Nope,” Tabitha supplies the answer. “You getting fucked. By a bomb. Pretty much it.”

“Your nose bleeds a feck of a lot,” Kayla points out.

“Head trauma,” Tabitha says, apparently eager to be helpful all of a sudden.

I nod. “OK then.” I bite my lip, stare at the massive structure of the Uhrwerkgerät. “How the hell do we bring that down?”

An Uhrwerkmänn standing a few paces away stumbles forward, nudges Hermann. He looks down at the Uhrwerkgerät, nods.

“A structural weak point,” he says. “Near Volk. The intersection of those beams.” He points.

I see it. Just left of the center of the thing. Two beams crossing each other. They don’t seem special though. Just… two beams. “You’re sure?” I ask.

“Mechanical being,” says the Uhrwerkmänn in a low, almost embarrassed voice. “You get to know stress points pretty well.” He ducks back into the crowd before I can question him further.

I shoot a quizzical look at Hermann. He nods. Fair enough then.

“So,” I say. “Clyde, you send some great big spell, hit the stress point. The structure collapses. Destroy the bomb before it goes off. And I get in the way so I get my head injured.”

And in the back of my skull, a small golden-winged bird called hope starts to flutter.

There is a very palpable pause.

“Well,” Clyde hedges, then seems to want to go no further.

Oh crap.

“You see,” Clyde starts, then stalls again.

“Injury,” Tabitha says, like a blow from a blunt object, “may not exactly cut it.”

Clyde won’t meet my eye. And at the last even Tabitha looks away. Only Kayla will meet my gaze head on.

Actually if Kayla turned out to be the grim reaper then I wouldn’t be too shocked…

I guess I’ll get to find out in a minute.

Jesus.

“We will die alongside one another,” Hermann intones. “We will share in each other’s glory.” He is rapidly becoming a little too enthusiastic about the certain death thing for my personal taste.

“So,” I say. My voice sounds flat to me.
Dead
might be another way to describe it, but I’m not capable of really going there yet. “So we destroy the bomb and it falls on me, and it crushes me, and kills me. That’s about it, right?”

Another pause.

“Right?” I ask, my voice rising. And it’s not fair to be impatient, but goddamn it. The world suddenly seems full of things I haven’t done.

“Well…” It’s Hannah. The little golden-winged bird of hope takes one look at her face and decides to hibernate until everything blows over. “I mean, what if it doesn’t?”

I can’t work out what she’s talking about. I need plain talk. Or no talk. Or silence. Or another fucking plan where I don’t die. Jesus. Shit.

“What if it doesn’t kill you?” Hannah continues. She at least has the decency to look unhappy as she talks. “I mean what if… I’m sorry, but what if you just shatter your pelvis or something. I mean you could end up pretty fucked up but also nominally alive. Human vegetable or something.”

God, we’re trying to make sure I don’t end up drooling on myself and pissing into a catheter but for all the wrong reasons.

“I mean,” Hannah says, staring at her hands, “it’s not that I want you to die. You just saved my life, like, five minutes back, and to be honest that goes a pretty long way, even if we did have some disagreements. But there’s this whole predestined by the universe thing.”

“Yeah,” I say. It feels like the out of body experience is coming on a little early. “Yeah, we totally need to figure out a way to guarantee my death.”

Laughter is bubbling at the back of my throat. The mad dog of fear is starting to bark in the back of my skull.

“Oh God,” says Clyde and he suddenly wraps me in a tight hug. “This is awful.”

“Yeah.” I push the laughter down, try to keep my voice flat.

“She’s got a point,” says Tabitha, still not looking directly at me.

“So someone needs to be killing me at the same time the collapsing bomb is killing me?” I check.

“I’ll feckin’ stab you,” says Kayla with a shrug. “Done it before. It weren’t that hard.”

I think I’m going to be sick.

“No,” Hannah shakes her head. “You’d get crushed too. There’s no need for you to die as well.”

Oh, so it’s fine for
Kayla
to survive…

Which of course it is. I mean the whole point of the noble sacrifice move is to save people’s lives. If I wasn’t saving anyone then why the hell would I be sacrificing myself?

The noble sacrifice move
…

Jesus. That’s meant to be something you decide in the heat of the moment. The flush of adrenaline sweeping you up into a moment of glory. This cold dispassionate discussion of how best to ensure my death… I think the only reason I’m holding it together right now is because nausea, hysterics, and madness can’t decide who gets to go first.

“So how we going to feckin’ do it?” Kayla asks.

“I can’t. I can’t. I just can’t.” Clyde is shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I really just can’t do it. I’m not that person.”

And that’s a little more like it. I reach out, touch his arm. Try to reassure him.

“You don’t have to,” I say. “You’ll be hitting the weak point so the bomb drops on my head.”

Clyde sobs harder. And who am I kidding? Nothing is going to make this OK.

And so, even as I pat his arm, I look over at Hannah.

“You do it,” I say.

Her eyebrows make for the ceiling.

“You’re the best shot here,” I say. “You won’t have to be close. Just close enough to hit me. We take out the bomb, and as it all comes down you plug me right between the eyes.” I tap the spot. “Head trauma. Do it right.”

Hannah’s eyes flick left then right. Looking for an escape? This morning I think she might have leapt at this chance.

Or is that unfair? I guess I’ll never have time to find out now.

Finally Hannah looks back. Looks me right in the eye. “All right then,” she says. “That’s the plan. Let’s do it.”

I take another look over the lip of the stairs. Another look at my fate. Below me, Friedrich’s Uhrwerkmänner still scurry industriously, piecing together their personal doomsday device.

Shit.

“I wish Felicity were here,” I say, mostly to myself.

“She’s going to be so pissed at us.” Tabitha peers over the ledge to my left.

Clyde appears to my right. “I don’t know what to say.” He seems on the edge of tears. “I wish somehow, that maybe… Well, can’t be totally dishonest and say that I wish it was me. I don’t wish it was me. But I wish it wasn’t you either. Not sure if I’d wish it upon anyone really. I guess that’s what I’m trying to say. Terribly sorry that anyone has to die. And even more so that the person in particular has to be you. Don’t want it to seem like this is some general regret that doesn’t really affect me personally.” He sniffs loudly. “Obviously it is. Very keen on you actually, Arthur. Totally platonic of course. Wouldn’t care for any, ‘Kiss me, Hardy,’ confusion here at what is ostensibly presenting itself as the end.” Another sniff. “Just, you know, very good friends, and…” He descends into further sniffles and snuffs.

“Bit fucked,” says Tabitha, nodding at Clyde with what might be significantly more affection than she has given him in a while. “What he’s trying to say.”

“Yes,” I manage. “Yeah, that had occurred to me.”

“So,” says Kayla from behind the three of us. “Any bright ideas on how to get to that feckin’ weak point then? Once more into the feckin’ breach and all that shite?”

Is there something like emotion in her voice? It’s very hard to tell.

I look down again, try to see the space as a tactical problem rather than a meat grinder I am about to throw myself into.

“Erm,” I say. This has never been my strong point, despite the fact that it’s at least fifty percent of my job description. Cat-herding, that’s really what I can do.

And now I’m going to leave them all behind. MI37. The dysfunctional bastards. Some MI6 wanker will be in charge of them next, I suppose. Jesus.

Unfinished business…

I really do wish Felicity were here. Then I could apologize. I could try and set things right.

I look over at Hermann. There is a man at peace with his future. At least that is how he appears, readying his troops, going through the ranks, talking to them one-by-one, making sure that they too are ready for the sacrifice.

I’m bloody not. Not at all.

I should have said something to Felicity. Explained myself. I could have done so much differently.

That’s a sad thought to have just before… this.

God, I really fucked up the past few days. Trapped in my own head instead of thinking about all the things going on outside of it.

This was always coming. That’s the sad little revelation I have at the end. This moment was always inevitable. I didn’t perhaps expect it to be as startlingly apparent as it is now, but there may be some good in that too. A moment of clarity before it’s all over.

I got too caught up in the dying. Not in all the bits that happened on the way, that’s the problem.

And now… Felicity. She’s never going to have… I don’t know… what I could have offered. Who knows if that really would have been that good, but for a while she seemed to enjoy my particular brand of boyfriend-ing.

God, I fucked it all up at the end.

I look down at the stairs. Feel the eyes on me, waiting expectantly. The plan…

What goddamn plan? We’ll get down the stairs and the Uhrwerkmänner will meet us like a metal fist connecting with a soft fleshy jaw.

I glance to Hannah. “You’re meant to be good at this, right?” I say. “You got any ideas?”

She looks at me for a moment, suspicious.

“No,” she says. “Honestly. I’ve got nothing right now.”

And that’s something else I’ve screwed up, I see now. Felicity was right all along. Hannah is a resource I could have used, rather than someone for me to butt my head against.

Ah well, better late than never.

Hannah waits until it’s clear that really no one is about to make a sarcastic comment, and then creeps forward to the ledge.

“Well,” she says, “point of ingress is obviously the stairs. Don’t have any rappeling gear. Bit under-prepared, but I think we can manage. But it means we’re going to need a pretty hardcore tip of the spear and then some fairly withering support fire from up here.”

Support fire. I look around. “Clyde,” I say, “that’s you.”

“Yeah,” Hannah agrees. “I’d say me too, but you and I need to leg it down there and get in position.”

I nod, and try to avoid dealing with the reality of that statement. “So we’re helping lead the charge.”

“What? No! Are you bloody mental?” Her eyebrows pop up.

Maybe there was a reason why I didn’t consult Hannah on this stuff more frequently.

“It’s
vital
,” Hannah points out, “that you stay alive right up until the point where, well, you know, you need to…” She whistles, looks upward, closes her eyes, and crosses her hands over her heart. I think that might be meant to pass for sensitive. “Any premature rigor mortis on your part,” she continues, “and that bomb’s going to be as pissed as any girl who’s been cheated of the main event. She’s going to blow up all over the place.”

I probably could have gone to my grave without having seen the poetry that lurks in Hannah’s soul.

“Nah,” Hannah continues. “I think, actually, we send the Uhrwerkmänner down first. Hermann and his boys. They’re outnumbered like crazy, but their goal is pretty specific—open a path. You and me, we let them pile down there. Help Tabitha and Clyde out a bit. Then, once the path is open, we head down and see how much shit we can fuck up.”