Requiem (13 page)

'The Grand
Canyon.'

'Yeah, the
Grand Canyon. I didn't know it used to have water in it.' He hopped
across to another chunk of concrete. 'It was nice' he added,
looking off towards the city.

The Warlord
recalled those same vids from one of his first lessons. 'What else
did he show you?'

'He showed me
one – he said it was in this place that used to be called New York.
It was of a big storm destroying everything. They showed some
pictures of what everything looked like before the storm. It looked
real nice.'

'Hurricane
Cheney.'

'Yeah. That's
what McCullum called it. But afterward, everything looked just like
Vale does now. That's how I know things are bad now, that it
shouldn't be like this.'

The video was
still imprinted into the Warlord's mind. Some cities, those that
could afford it, managed to protect themselves from the worst of
the storms, the floods, and the hurricanes at least for a time but
the levees could only be built so high before nature found its way
through.

'Where are you
going?' Donny asked.

'I'm going to
see McCullum.'

'Can I come
with you?'

'Not today. I
need to speak to him alone.'

'He's sick,
isn't he?'

'Yes. He
doesn't have long.'

'I'm going to
miss him.'

'You better get
back home, Donny. The sun will set in about an hour. You shouldn't
be caught around here at night time.'

'I slept here
last night and it was alright.'

'Then you were
extremely lucky. Do not make a habit of tempting fate.'

'Bu-'

'Donny.
Now.'

'Yeah... okay.'
Donny knew the Warlord well enough to know when he wanted to be
alone. 'I think I'll go hang out around the old church. There's
some other kids around there. One of the girls smiled at me
yesterday. I might ask her on a date.'

'Whatever you
do, just be careful.'

'Okay. Will I
see you tomorrow?'

'No. I have
things to do,' his voice softened, 'maybe some other time,
Donny.'

'Oh, alright.
I'll see you later then, Sir.' Donny stood next to the Warlord and
held out his arm as if he wanted to shake hands. The Warlord
thought about it then returned the gesture with a firm grip and a
single shake. Donny could feel the dried skin and callouses against
his own. Hands like the ones he hoped to have some day. The Warlord
watched the boy climb up the broken road of one of the old
off-ramps and disappear out of sight.

The Warlord
turned off the beltway, down a small suburban backstreet. He
continued down the road, letting old memories tell his feet which
way to go.

The sun had
long since set. Walking the streets alone, he wondered how long it
had been since he'd slept. Days bled into weeks. Weeks into Months.
Months into years.

He stopped.
Looked up. It was a hideous building. The shadows of night couldn't
hide that fact. It had long since lost its colour – inside and out.
In the day time the residue of the large letters that had once been
glued to its entrance could be seen. He pushed through the heavy
wooden door. He didn't bother to close it, he knew he wouldn't be
long. The layers of dust on the floor whispered abandonment yet
spoke little of the contents that had been emptied from the
shelves. Everything smelt of death. He looked down at his feet and
the plumes of dust reflecting the moonlight coming through the
holes in the ceiling as he started up the staircase.

'So you're
finally here.' The old man's voice broke the silence. Frail and
expired as it was, it still gave the Warlord that cold feeling
somewhere in the pit of his stomach. The Warlord walked to the top
of the stairs without answering. He could hear the old man's
wheezing breath coming from the corner of the loft.

'I need to know
something,' said the Warlord.

'Then ask.'

'I need to know
if you ever thought there was a way back.'

'There i-' the
old man coughed violently, hacking and sputtering from somewhere
within the shadows. He settled back down against the wall, his hand
clenched in a fist around the pendant hanging from his neck. 'There
is only one way back.'

'Tell it to
me.'

'You walked all
the way here to ask a question you already know the answer to? You
know the arguments just as I do. That's why you're in the position
that you're in.'

'You never told
me that you thought there was a way back. I need to know if you
think that it's possible on some level.'

'Why does the
urgency in your voice demand
my
answer?'

'You don't have
long McCullum. I need to know.'

The Warlord
couldn't see it but he could hear the blood being coughed and spat
to the floor. 'Perhaps I've put too much trust in your judgement,
Warlord. Perhaps your moral compass is not as reliable as you'd led
me to believe.'

'I merely seek
an opinion and yours happens to be the most valuable to me.'

'You are
beginning to doubt yourself?'

'No. It is just
that... we are approaching a point of no return.'

'You have
approached many such points before and faced them alone, without my
counsel.'

'Not like
this.'

'What has
changed?'

'I will seek an
answer elsewhere if you aren't willing to provide one.'

'What has
changed?' the old man demanded. 'I have given you the information
you require to complete your task – our task. And as long as you
don't overplay your hand, our success is inevitable, is it
not?'

'It is, Sir. I
simply wish to know-'

The old man
wheezed and coughed until his lungs sounded ready to burst. 'To
know the answer to a question you have always feared to ask?' he
said. 'You seek that final sense of validation. To hear your
beliefs echoed within the mind of another.' His voice softened. 'I
know that feeling all too well. We've placed our sanity in such a
precarious position, you and I. Such is the case when you strive to
change the world; when you endure such a weight by yourself. The
only way back is the same as it's always been. You have to begin by
force-feeding happiness to them. You have to guide them before they
finally understand what they need to do. The realisation must come
from within, you can't do that for them.'

'But this
realisation will never happen.'

'It will not.
They move too slowly – too unpredictably. A hundred years will pass
before they realise that there is even a problem to solve. It is
foolish to speak of 'a way back' now when the bridge has been
burned and we can no longer swim.' He lifted his hand from his
chest and waved it in the air. 'This planet is testament to that. A
collective one track mind on a one way street. It shall not deviate
and because of it, neither should you. Do not falter, boy. Do not
bend.'

'When the time
comes...'

'When the time
comes, you will be merciful.'

'I know what I
must do but...'

'And thus we
approach the real reason for your being here tonight. You thought
they would have stopped struggling by now. You thought it would get
easier with time didn't you?'

'Perhaps I lack
perspective on the matter.'

'Indeed. If you
had been here from the start, Warlord, then you would understand
that it
has
become easier. We have slowly but surely
gathered a following over the years. Those souls that followed me
and who now follow you are signs of our growing success. The
reasons we have for the policies we enact have only become more
convincing; falling into place for all to see. Hope can be a
beautiful thing, or so I've been told. But when it is unjustified,
as it is now, it must be destroyed like the weed that it is. We
cannot wait a hundred more years for them to understand this.'

These were the
words he needed to hear. Their power, the Warlord knew, would hold
him to his course when he needed them most.

'As long as
you
understand this, that is all that matters,' McCullum
continued. 'You are now their shepherd. But know this, Warlord; you
need to have these doubts. Hold on to them. Hold them deep within
you, close to your heart. They will keep you human but at the same
time you mustn’t let them cloud your judgement.'

'Do you still
doubt?' the Warlord asked.

'No. But I am
no longer human now, am I?' There was a trace of sadness in the old
man's voice. 'There is gentleness and kindness within you that I, I
must admit, let slip through my fingers when I was in your
position. For their sake, do not make that same mistake. It makes
things hard, I know, but that is the way it must be.'

The Warlord
stepped to the shattered window that peered down into the nearby
street. He looked out at the stillness below. Upon the horizon a
fire was glowing.

'The Oasis
burns yet again. More interference by NeoCorp no doubt.'

The old man
coughed.

The Warlord
turned to face him. 'One last question. The boy, Donny; he follows
me everywhere. Did you put him up to it?'

'… I gave you
that mask so that you could carry on with the job I started. Don't
be so quick to deny him the same chance. He has a great deal of
will and there is strength in his bones.'

'Was I once
that naïve?'

'We all
were.'

He couldn't
imagine McCullum as ever having been naïve. So he was, so he'd
always been. Not born of a womb to grow from boy to man but rather
carved into this same gnarled, wooden figurine of a man, ancient
and frail yet so fearless and indomitable.

The Warlord
said nothing more. He descended the steps and left McCullum to die
alone, as he had requested. He felt nothing at leaving the old man
to his fate. It wasn't what he deserved but it was as appropriate a
death as could be granted. He would vanish from the Earth the same
way he had come into it, quietly and unceremoniously, as a whisper
on a new year's night. The Warlord left the door open as he
left.

'… I... don't
know,' she said.

'That still
isn't an answer, Seline. They have to be in there somewhere.'

'These things
don't come easily to me, alright? It's not that simple.'

'So you have
issues. Grow up. Deal with them.'

'It's not that
simple.'

'Yes. It is.
This isn't a game, human. There's information on that blackbox that
could prove useful and you're the only one who can access it. What
use are you if you can't accomplish something that simple?'

'I didn't say I
would be useful to you.' Her throat was unbearably dry. She was
swallowing gravel.

'If you don't
want to be left to NeoCorp then you'd better hope that you are.
From what you're telling me, we know more about your mother than
you do.' Therin now stood directly in front of Seline, looking down
at her. 'And I find that very hard to believe.'

All comfort had
been stripped. The corner she was being pressed into was rapidly
closing around her. She couldn't think straight with Therin in the
room. That face and posture, expressive as stone, made her second
guess everything she said, every movement she made. That blue,
glassy skin made her hands cold and nervous. Those black eyes,
never hinting at anything but sheer disapproval, made her cheeks
flush with red. Therin had made her recite the events in
painstaking detail from the moment she arrived on Earth to her
abrupt, ceremonious departure. The last half hour had consisted of
the same three questions repeated over and over again, probing and
scratching at the surface of revenant memories. Seline had never
thought this far ahead.

Therin's voice
rose. No longer indifferent, it clearly separated into two distinct
tones at once both deep and harsh. 'Stop stalling and tell us
what's on the blackbox!'

Seline's head
was consumed with a throbbing pain. She couldn't pull her focus
from the loud roaring noises inside her own skull. Her hands were
cold with sweat and fidgeting restlessly.

'I d-'

'Don't even
think
about saying you don't know.'

Seline raised
her hand to the side of her head to calm the throbbing sensation.
She jumped when the hand was slapped away. Comfort, stripped and
violated. Seline's hand clenched into a fist.

'I'm not ready
for this.'

'For what? To
grow up? To become useful? Something other than trash in that semen
dump of a bar you work at?'

'I'm not ready
for this!' The darkness was failing in its attempts to blunt
reality.

'That's a
quaint expression. I bet it works when the drunks are laying on top
of you, night after night after night.'

Seline's eyes
were closed as tight as possible, trying to block out every trace
of light along with the memories.'

'All you have
to do is plug the damn blackbox in and find, somewhere in that
knotty little head, whatever pathetic little song you might have
sung for that mother of yours. Even for a whore that's not a
difficult task.'

Her head was
forced back against the wall as Therin's hand wrapped around her
neck, pushing hard up against her jaw. Seline was lifted from the
floor until she was balancing on the tips of her toes.

Therin's face
was almost against Seline's. 'We don't have ti-'

Seline's fist
connected with the centre of Therin's face. Her skin was soft,
malleable; it gave way beneath synthetic knuckles. Therin staggered
back, her hand raised to her mouth, blood already dripping down and
through the steel grates on the floor.

'You think I
tried to fucking forget her?!' screamed Seline, her voice cracking
under the pressure she forced into the words. The bleaching light
of memory washed over her.

The water is
warm on her skin. Her feet are slightly distorted by the ripples
and shimmers of light, glinting as tiny freckles upon the crests of
the water. Seline looks up along the pooled water's surface. The
biggest freckle of all is that of the sun; serene and magnanimous,
it hovers in the sky. Not once in its four billion year vigil has
it fallen. Seline is alone but doesn't feel like it. She knows
someone is supposed to be there with her but she has the feeling
they have gone somewhere and will return shortly. Were they coming
back? She thought they would. There is a distant flickering of
cynicism but a child's optimism weighs heavily against it – at
least for as long as it can.