True Heroes (68 page)

              “Would you rather have pain?”

              “I might need my full range of motion at some point.”

              “If you stayed in bed to heal for another month, you’d have it. Regardless, you will be able to re-enroll in yoga classes in no time.”

              “Tae-Bo’s my sport, Doc.” Another jolt brought Stephen’s attention back to his body in the mirror. Every front muscle was flexed, but the measurements all remained the same. “I thought this stuff was to make me stronger?”

              “We didn’t make this machine to pump you full of more hot air. The power is there in a small dosage now. We have to slowly allow your body to integrate the new cells through the blood stream, or the apparatus will be rejected and you’ll be dead.”

              “Cheery as always. How long will this integration take?”

              “Depends on your body. If your will to succeed is any ruler, you’ll be integrated completely around spring.”

              Stephen looked hard towards him. “We both know it won’t take that long.”

              There was a long silence between the two as they stared. “The Major warned me about this earlier, as it turns out. He knew you’d want to push beyond the envelope and be ready ahead of what even I considered ahead of schedule.”

              “And we’re going to be.”

              Doctor Ancel set down the small control in his hand and removed his glasses. “I ran into the General today as well, before you woke up. He told me the story of how your file came to his desk.”

              Stephen averted most of his attention to the mirror. “Because I was connected to Caleb.”

              “The General’s department heading…placement of injured soldiers. Strange coincidence that your name came across the same time as this Whitmor came around.”

              He clenched his fists. ‘Son of a bitch did completely rat me out.’

              “I don’t plan on revealing anything to the Major. It actually re-enforces what I said about you to him during your surgery. You won’t be stopped here. Not now. You’re the only one that’s going to destroy you, and you won’t face that until the end. Still,” he picked the small switch back up, “a baggy heart is probably too obvious for the military to be fooled forever. How did you do it?”

              Stephen felt a second and third jolt, and could see everything with a little sharper clarity. “I drank until I was an idiopathic Cardiomyopathy patient. I worked out a deal with the first military doctor. Luckily they make crap nowadays. He injects me with steroids a few times a week to keep it in check,” a fourth jolt buckled his knees, “he was as desperate as I was. The damn nurse sent off the file by accident. General Fink picked me out before making me an official injury cast-off. Such a shame. I had my revolver polished. Even carved my name into the single bullet in the chamber.” A fifth jolt sent him to his knees. “I sold the General off with my word in cooperation. The last doctor took me for everything I had. I’ve got nothing but this.” The last jolt collapsed his hands against the sides of his head. There went minutes off the clock with the internal pressure of his brain and heart not giving time an easy pass. He didn’t scream or moan or fall, but he did bow his head to the matted ground, his mouth surrounding an imagined voice as it blew intolerance in a hot breath until his mental faculties were hoarse and battered. By then, the pain reduced.

              “And you’re left here with the shirt on your back and pain. A tearing, scolding heap of it in your spine that will never leave you and that you will never see coming. That was half of them at once. Was it worth it?”

              Stephen took several deep breaths before rising to one knee and opening his eyes, seeing every color in newly separated shades. “Not yet it isn’t.”

---

              “I’m angry that’s why. I’m livid.”

              “I can tell. You’re burning bright this morning Prince.”

              “I’m sorry.”

              “You really are.”

              “I really am….”

Chapter 17

“Sing to me, oh Muses of soft voice,

and speak of a story

with life and lift.

Bring out the man that digs within us all,

that has touched the world from beneath,

and above.

Sing to us of Kaneis.

Sing to us of a true hero.

“The Trojan beach:

littered with wooden vessel and barnacled bellies

lay the sand of moving time,

and above the deck,

upon the mast,

did Kaneis, son of a mortal, cling with mighty arms.

His face was clean and his chin square,

a noble face without a noble birthright.

With one hand, he blotted the sun from his eyes.

From below, a warrior stood tiny and shouted:

“‘Dear Kaneis, whose feet dangle beneath the clouds,

can our advance be seen?’

“The high ill-keeper responded:

“‘Our army, led by the harbinger Achilles,

will find victory soon. Hektor’s

slaying is no longer our mortal fear.

Stagnant warrior,

find a soft bed before your leg ails again.’

“Belittled and forlorn against the crashing waves,

the hobbled warrior spoke:

“‘Though my leg would have the battle racing off without me,

my heart does long for the chase!’

“Kaneis lowered swiftly from the high perch,

his powerful legs and bare feet finding the sandy beach,

and spoke against a soft wind:

“‘The bloody victory against late Hektor and ignoble Paris

will come without the need of your strong heart.

Cast away your valor until health fills your blood with fire

and strength.’

“Though his words were soft with truth, the injured warrior,

whose leg was held with more wood than flesh,

looked to the shoreline.

Upon a rolling wave that did not curl,

a small vessel rode.

Without waver,

the froth of the landing drove the parcel between port and starboard,

and stayed, with small tendrils of smoke flying against the breeze.

“Kaneis stood strong against a sudden wind and asked:

“‘Should we retrieve such an enchanted voyager?’

“The injured soldier did hop forward with exuberance

and spoke loudly:

“‘Hail Poseidon yes!

Would we risk the Earthmover,

whose blue vein will run with our salted ships,

laying waste to our return quest?’

“Kaneis, with quick steps and watchful, blue eyes,

walked to the smoldering vessel,

retrieving the parchment while saying aloud:

“‘The smell of a ceremonial fire surrounds the parchment

within a dense black ash along the borders.

Words written with a red ink jump at me,

as if their bloody color entreats to my own.’

“The man above the shore spoke with impatience:

“‘Fill the air with the content, so we may know

the bidding of Poseidon.’

“Kaneis of the unknown did speak the contents:

“‘Among the soldiers there

is an imposter, whose steel and shield have more salt than blood.

To the name of soldier he gives no honor,

only cowardice.

This man, a husk of man, will bring to me his soul,

for my name does command it done,

or the deceived wife of his home,

will find the Styx her boundary,

and my chamber her dwelling.’

“The man with a wooden leg wailed against the sky:

“‘Curses to the deceptive host of Poseidon!

A deliverance of such a cursed letter deserves curse in return!

It is Hades, whose bed would be souls if he slept,

who slips this promise unto our beach. My wife is owed my soul,

but do I fly to make a sacrifice? Does my life save her?’

“Kaneis held up the letter with retort:

“‘That is the business of the letter.’

“Sand caught the wailing man as he fell and spoke with battle-suited defense:

“‘He knows the soul of a coward better than any.

He knows such a soul and body will never detach

until the cowardly skin has dusted the wind,

and his bones have made green the grass.

The Lord of the Underworld, I fear,

will not find cause for such patience.’

“The Keeper of the Ill pondered aloud:

“‘Perhaps it is better for a coward to be the coward,

and for the protectors of the cowardly to be left to protect.

To Mount Olympus will I go in search of Hades’ doorway,

and to the wife which you cannot prove worthy to.

Upon my return, she will know of the fool she has married.’

“The wind finally overtook the wails as the hurting man,

through heart and body,

stood again and whispered:

“‘You would traverse such a path?

I have not even given you her name.’

“Kaneis took the sword from the man’s waist,

a loaf of bread from the stocks,

and weathered, brown armor that nearly wrapped his broad shoulders.

He returned to the beating sun and spoke again:

“Hades will not wait for your strength to emerge,

and all others brave enough have found war a higher calling.

She will not rot away in the dark depths

as I am still able to trek.’

“The wounded man hobbled with his hand against the wide ship

and spoke with force as Kaneis walked away:

“‘Let us hope your legs take strength from a heart that is not mine!’

“Far above, the golden sun was no match for the shine of the King of Gods,

his approach refracting the rays with his golden armor

as all of Olympus was made known to his presence.