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Send to Friend"You do realize that I could turn you over to Lieutenant Henderson, and you'd be put to death for cowardice and dissention," Phearson said as the shadows of the yellow leaves from the tree he stood under darkened his grim countenance. His sobering eyes remained prominent even in dawn's early shadow, continually scrutinizing the man who had been his best friend all his life, who had always been there for him and vice versa. Within those eyes was a sense of betrayal, but through that betrayal remained lingering doubts as well. Phearson sighed, a man caught between two crossroads, both leading not to prosperity but to utter ruination. "If I don't report you this instant, I would also be implicated. You'll get me killed as well."
Cole shook his head and sighed. "After all we've been through, could you really bring yourself to turn me in, especially when you know in your heart that I'm right. This war, expanding the Pervalidus Empire, it's all bullshit. I know it, and deep down so do you."
"It's all I know. I can't leave now, I can't turn my back."
Cole scoffed as he slapped his palm against his brow. "So you'd rather live a death sentence than have at least some hope, however small, of survival."
"Either way, we're dead," Phearson retorted, barely able to keep himself from shouting. He clenched both hands into fists so tight that his nails were digging sharp grooves in his palms. "At least this way we die with honor, instead of being executed as traitors, disgraced before the entire fucking planet!" Phearson's face grew dark red with anger. Cole wanted to believe that the fury had stemmed from the seeds of doubt he had hoped to plant within Phearson's mind, that somewhere Phearson knew Cole had been right and this fact enraged him. Perhaps it was a foolish hope born of the desire to save his friend, to break through the trance of suicidal patriotism before his apparent desire for martyrdom became reality.
"I don't see how it could possibly matter what the world thinks of us after we're dead," Cole replied matter-of-factly. "The legacy you leave behind is only an issue to you while you're still alive. After you're dead, it won't matter to you whether you're remembered as a hero or the lowliest of subhuman scum. Honorable and dishonorable are meaningless in the void."
Phearson stood silently for a long time, considering his next reply. When finally he had opened his mouth, he had disregarded Cole's arguments completely and instead said: "We've got it pretty good here, when you think about it. So many other planets, so many other societies are so much worse than ours. We should be thankful we weren't born in Mortalitus, where we could be randomly chosen to be raped and tortured for hours before succumbing to a horrible death, all for the entertainment of the elites. And then there's Tiberson, which exists in a perpetual police state, where you can be arrested and executed without trial, even when everyone knows you're innocent of wrongdoing, all to try to deter people from committing crimes against the empire."
"Ever wonder why the only societies they taught us about in school were the ones that were a hundred times worse off than we are?" Cole paused, giving Phearson a few minutes to respond. When Phearson said nothing, Cole went on: "It keeps us feeling blessed, keeps us thinking that this is the best there is and the best there ever could be. It instills in us a love and blind devotion to the growing Empire. Not that they need to do that, since we have no choice in anything and they can send us off to our deaths on a whim; but it still keeps the morale high, keeps us docile and makes us easier to control."
"I've read of a lot of other societies throughout the universe, and while things aren't perfect here, I'll take Pervalidus to any of those other hellholes any day."
"What about Ingenuitas?" Cole said with a triumphant grim.
Phearson merely stood with a puzzled gaze.
"You'll only read about Ingenuitas in the Forbidden Text, which is pretty easy to get your hands on if you know where to look. Just don't get caught reading it," Cole said with a wink, his grin widening as he chuckled mischievously. "That's two things to turn me in for."
Phearson opened his tremulous mouth, but said nothing, just stood there, blinking, his jaw quivering, appearing to be both scared and in disbelief that this whole debate could even be taking place.
"In Ingenuitas, the government doesn't try to control the citizens; they don't care what you do as long as you don't violate the rights of someone else. They even let you choose your own career."
"Is that so?" Phearson murmured, intrigued.
"Not like here, where the emperor chooses your job for you whether you like it or not. I mean, did either of us want to be part of the military?"
Phearson shook his head reluctantly.
"Of course not. They put us in here, just like they put everyone else in shitty jobs whether they want to do that job for a living or not. They control every aspect of our life, even our thoughts...well, in your case, anyway."
Phearson bowed his head and bit his lip.
"What do you care about the Feralites anyway? Not like they're hurting anybody. Leave them alone, I say. This whole war is about getting more land that we don't even need. We got plenty of room to live and thrive as a society anyway. Why not just stay in our spot, the Feralites stay in there's, everyone leaves everyone else alone, and everyone is happy and no one has die? Works for me. Not like I'm really the soldier type anyway. I've always been more of a philosopher."
Phearson opened his mouth, trembling and considered his next rebuttal. Finally, he said simply: The Emperor wants this war and wants us to fight in it, so we have no choice but to do as he commands."
Cole shook his head in vehement disagreement. "There's always a choice."
"If you're planning to run off now, forget it. They'll track you down...they'll track us down, and that'll be the end of it."
Cole sighed dismally. "I suppose you're right about that."
Phearson lunged forward and lay his hand upon Cole's shoulder as he closed his eyes. "I don't know what you're planning, but whatever it is, please" he let out a soft sob as tears filled his eyes "please leave me out of it."
Aboard the plane, a large platoon of battle-hungry grunts sat, transported to the site of the upcoming battle, waiting anxiously for the event that would most likely lead to their demise.
Phearson and Cole sat together, and throughout the ride, not a word had been spoken between the two friends. Phearson spared Cole an awkward glance from time to time, but mostly gazed through the window, toward a blinding sun hovering over the orange sky, as well as the desert sand below that swept into a windstorm. He closed his eyes, sighing grimly as his tremulous fingers caressed the coarse stubs of dark hair over his scalp as his cheek pressed firmly against the window.
Everything Cole had said was tantamount to treason and cowardice, and Phearson was sickened by the man's words, almost ashamed to have ever been friends with the heretic. The Feralites had to fall at any and all cost, and everyone from the highest official short of the Emperor to the lowest degenerate was required to graciously lay down his life for the cause should the need arise. The preservation of human life had to remain a trivial concern when it came to the expansion of the empire.
But what if Cole had been right? Those who sacrificed for the emperor were remembered as heroes, yet what did fame and notoriety matter if one wasn't alive to reap the benefits of glory? For that matter, hadn't the empire been big enough to house the humans who dwelled on Pervalidus without invading native villages? Perhaps Cole was right, and this war was simply a means for the Emperor to gain more power and to see who truly had bought into the propaganda that dying for the "greater good of Pervalidus" was the only honorable path. Phearson wasn't sure if he had believed this, yet the seeds of doubt had already been planted, leaving him ambivalent in his impending demise.
To even question the will of the Emperor was an act of treason.
Phearson looked around; if any of the other scores of grunts aboard this plane experienced the same doubts, they hid them all too well in a veil of bloodlust and excitement. Even Cole himself joined in the cheers and shouts, shaking his fist as he sang of the war song with every other soldier and rabid spittle flew from his lips. His facade had been so convincing that Phearson now wondered if perhaps the conversation he had held with Cole had been a ruse and if he had merely been a spy whose assignment was to weed out dissent within their ranks and to report any cowards who had been unwilling to die in the name of the empire.
The plane landed toward the edge of the Feralite Village and nearly sixty grunts dismounted, with Lieutenant Henderson leading the march. Lieutenant Henderson threw his hand out, ordering the troops to halt and each one stood straight with a salute, awaiting their Lieutenant's orders.
"I am sorry for what we must do, and for the lives it will cost within our ranks, but what we have to do absolutely must be done for the good of humanity," Henderson spoke solemnly, his voice rising, laced with heated passion with every word he spoke. "These people must be annihilated at all costs! Think not of your own lives, but for the very survival of our species, for that is what is at stake if these people were to be allowed to prosper."
Phearson glanced to his left, where Cole stood, and expected the man to scoff with contempt at the Lieutenant's speech. Before it had been for the expansion and prosperity of the Empire, and now it was about saving the Empire itself. Yet Cole kept a straight face, his countenance free from even a hint of derision. He listened, ingesting all the words of their leader, his features never once betraying even the subtlest hint of dissention.
"There are some back at home who vehemently oppose what we are about to do. They say that it is a needless waste of human lives and an unnecessary genocide to the people who inhabited Pervalidus before us. Make no mistake; such heretics will be dealt with swiftly, for they have dissented against the Emperor's word, a crime punishable by death.
"The Feralites are nothing more than a gigantic tribe of savages. They have no technology, no weapons that can match ours. But their advantage lays in their brute strength, their durability, and their shear numbers, which are in the thousands. They will swarm around us like bugs and overwhelm our forces in every direction if we allow them to.
"They may not have attacked our towns and cities yet, but the Emperor cannot be certain that they are not simply waiting for just the right strike. Better to deal with them now, destroy them in their own villages than risk an attack against us. For if they ever do attack, the results will be truly devastating, with hundreds, perhaps thousands, of human lives lost. Better to take the fight straight to these subhuman vermin and destroy them at the source!
"And we will do it in the name of the Emperor!"
"In the name of the Emperor!" each grunt shouted in unison as they raised their plasma rifles to the sky.
"For the sake of humanity itself!" screamed Henderson.
"For the sake of humanity!" the grunts shouted and cheered even louder.
"You're goddamn right, maggots, now let's go in there and kick some Feralite ass! Forward march!"
Each grunt marched, clustered together, plasma rifles drawn, with their fingers poised on the trigger as they closed into the Feralite village.
Primitive city would have better described what they entered, for it seemed to span thousands of miles, an endless array of stone huts with which the aliens resided, along with what appeared to be a few shops, a larger castle, and a theatre where plays had been performed. Cole had explained what little he knew of the Feralite culture before (most likely from reading the Forbidden Text, for one could not gain such knowledge through legal sources). Indeed they had been primitive compared to humans, yet they had a sense of culture, a political hierarchy, and they were well versed in the arts, music, and theatre, as humans had been since the dawn of civilization.
Phearson banished such thoughts from his mind, not just because they could implicate him as a heretic should anyone find out of his doubts, but because they served as nothing more than a distraction. It was as Sergeant Murphy had once explained when they had been recruited just a month ago: It was better not to know of the barbaric "culture" of the enemy. Knowledge of their perspective only served a distraction and put one at risk of doubt, of dissention. The less you knew of the enemy (aside from their strengths and weaknesses), the less human they seemed and the easier it became to kill those savage beasts.
Phearson looked to his side and noticed that Cole no longer guarded his flank. "Cole," Phearson whispered as his eyes veered to the right, then to the left, in frantic search of his friend, startled by his sudden absence. But Cole could be found nowhere within the ranks of the grunts, who now spread farther apart, gripping their plasma rifles even tighter in anticipation of the enemy's approach.
Phearson slapped his head, chuckling softly. Of course he would be gone, you didn't think that his newfound patriotism was genuine, Phearson goaded himself, almost unable to keep himself from bursting out with laughter at his own expense. It was all an act, and a damn good one at that. He was merely waiting for just the right opportunity to slip out of their grasp, right when the battle had begun before anyone could notice his absence. He would have taken me as well, but I told him I wanted nothing to do with his insane plan.
Phearson sighed dismally as he felt an ache in the pit of his stomach. A part of him was grateful that Cole had respected his decision instead of forcing him into the man's own plan of desertion. Yet had Phearson made the right decision?
For a second, Phearson considered informing Lieutenant Henderson, yet as his eyes searched for the Lieutenant, he realized that Henderson, too, had vanished without a trace.
Up ahead, the Feralites approached. Their numbers were thin at first, but growing, thickening as new ones vacated their homes and joined in the thickening green wave that would sweep and crush their opposition. This had been the first time Phearson had encountered these creatures, yet he read military reports on previous battles, of how the tribe had surrounded and overwhelmed the human opposition and thus a new plan needed to be forged to defeat the creatures.
The Feralites each stood at roughly two meters, and although they appeared scrawny, their limbs willowy, like the rustling branches of a baby tree in a strong wind, they could easily lift up to three times their body weight. Their bodies were more reptilian, but their faces were birdlike, with sharp beaks that were of a dull golden tint and could chip and dent granite and easily cleave through human flesh and bone. They had oblong foreheads with black horns coiling around their temples and a thick cluster of black hair along the vertex of their scalp. Above their beaks was a circle of eyes, eight in all and each one blinking as it homed in on their enemies, the threat to their own survival. They had an olive green hue and four arms, two on each flank, with hands possessing six digits a piece. They were naked, yet appeared to have no sex organs, which left Phearson to wonder how they could possibly reproduce, let alone multiply to the growing numbers he laid witness to now. Perhaps they lay eggs, he considered absently as perspiration dripped from his brow and he clutched his weapon even tighter against his chest. Even from a distance, Phearson could see the rows of teeth, black on the bottom while a dull ivory toward the tip, as the creatures roared and squawked with their rapid approach. Their tails coiled from behind, like a thin whip, complete with a sharp thorn at the very tip, good for impaling their prey or a potential threat, or perhaps for gouging out eyes as well.
Phearson adjusted the power on his plasma rifle to twenty-five units per bolt of plasma. Each clip contained a hundred units total, which meant he'd have to reload every four shots; however, while ten units would be enough to kill a human being, nothing less than twenty-five would be enough to bring down a Feralite.
By now, the dirt roads were completely obscured by the shear numbers of Feralites clustered together as the creatures drew closer, surrounding the grunts on all sides about to sweep the platoon of sixty grunt in a green ocean as they tore into the helpless soldiers.
As the Feralites drew closer, until Phearson could see nothing but the olive hue of their flesh, he heard the deafening roars of battle, as well as the death throes of both human and Feralite, mingled together in onslaught, and leaving him deaf to anything else save for the loud bursts of plasma from each rifle. From his side, Ripley fired off another bolt of plasma and Phearson saw the mint colored cylinder of light launch from the muzzle and toss an oncoming Feralite back a few feet. The Feralite's four arms flailed as the plasma burned through its solar plexus. From the small of its back, the bolt of plasma burst through, diminished now into a dimming green mist, as shards of sallow bone, bits of green flesh, and black oily blood vomited from the exit wound.
"C'mon, you cock-sucking motherfuckers!" Ripley shouted righteously as he fired another shot.
One of the whip-like tails protruded from Ripley's chest, spraying a few droplets of blood. Ripley's eyes widened in shock as his plasma rifle slipped from his fingers and hit the ground, with yet another discharge of plasma that rose harmlessly into the sky. "Oh fucking shit!" Ripley croaked as four hands gripped his flanks tight enough to draw beads of blood that reddened his uniform and lifted him in the air. "Put me down, you fucking bastard!" he shouted, his voice more laced in terror now than righteous fury, as he kicked his legs frantically. "You son of a bitch!"
The Feralite folded Ripley's back, and even from twenty feet away, Phearson, with all the other screams of Feralites and humans being slaughtered, Phearson could hear, albeit dimly, the loud snap of the poor man's breaking spine. Even then, Ripley's legs continued to twitch and kick, unable to stop. The man was torn in half; the swift and sudden motion splashed blood in Phearson's face as he gazed up in disbelief.
Phearson had known that men (perhaps even himself) would be killed in this battle, but finally witnessing it taking place still left him both stunned and appalled by such an atrocity. Perhaps on some level, he hadn't come to accept such a fact as reality.
Even torn in half, Ripley still cried out shrilly, in agony, as blood dripped from the corner's of his lips. His arms dangled limply as his head lolled over his neck. From where he had been torn in half, blood spilled in what appeared to be a crimson torrential downpour upon the Feralite's head, and intestines coiled and slivered like snakes from the wound.
"You son of a motherfucking bitch!" Phearson shouted in anger, his previous doubts now completely forgotten. He raised his plasma rifle and squeezed off a shot, feeling tremors surge throughout his entire arm, up to his aching shoulder, from the recoil of the shot. As the plasma hit the Feralite, the creature's head exploded in a shower of skull fragments, black blood, and brains as the alien dropped both pieces of the dying Ripley and fell to the ground.
Phearson felt something snap tightly shut, like a vice over his left hip. He turned and saw that a Feralite had bitten him, and felt sharp fragments of bone scraping against his flesh as his left thigh moistened from the profuse blood that spilled from the wound. Phearson screamed as he hobbled on his right leg, feeling his knee buckle from the sudden attack as his left leg clung loosely from flesh and severed muscles that stretched and tore painfully like elastic stretched to its very limits.
Phearson toppled forward, seeing the ground rush rapidly before his eyes, before his brow grazed against the hardened desert soil. His field of vision quivered, rippled, and grayed before coming into focus. The impact of the fall had severed what was left of his wounded leg, and blood continued to spurt freely from the open stump. He felt lightheaded as he rolled onto his back and gazed up at the sky, his vision dimming then brightening as the afternoon sun scorched his eyes.
A small plane with a single cannon mounted at the bottom blotted out the sun, its roar growing louder as the giant plasma cannon began to charge. Hot sparks sizzled and radiated along the muzzle of the cannon, thickening into a pink sphere of light, before the globe of deadly light finally dropped, hit the ground, and diffused, engulfing everything before Phearson's eyes in white luminescence.
Phearson screamed as his entire body felt as though it were on fire. Through the oppressing light, as he raised his arm instinctively into the air, he could see his flesh begin to melt, becoming a peach liquid that washed away, revealing bones, with fissures spiraling along the surface. Phearson had just enough time to regret his decision to stay, and to wish desperately that he had agreed to participate in Cole's plan, before he perished along with the grunts and Feralites alike.
Three miles away from the battle site, Cole materialized as a bluish white flame, first become translucent, as though he were a spirit, before finally solidifying. He fell to his hands and knees and vomited a thick, stringy yellow liquid that spattered against the desert sand and splashed against his face and neck. Christ, he hated teleportation, but it was the only way. He coughed and his gut lurched forward as he wiped the cooling residue of vomit from his lips with the back of his hand and groaned miserably. He held the teleportation device tightly in his hand; it was a small remote control with a small four-inch by one-inch black and white screen and numerical buttons for typing in the coordinates one wished to be teleported to. A much larger teleportation device could have transported him through a greater distance with less severe physical effects, yet these micro-teleportation devices could only bring a person safely to a spot up to three miles away (and even that was pushing it). As nauseous as it made him feel now, he kissed the device, for while it made him ill, it had also saved his life. Thank God they had this baby in easy grasp at the base, he thought with a wary grin, as he coughed some more. Had they caught him stealing the device, he would have surely been executed on the spot. This thought made Cole chuckle softly as he wheezed. Yeah, like those sons of bitches can do any worse than they already had. He groaned bitterly. Fucking bastards! Cole rose shakily to his feet, his knees buckling as his vision blurred momentarily and then regained focus. His nausea had now dwindled, yet still lingered nevertheless.
Cole watched as a mushroom cloud of blinding white light from three miles away had engulfed what had been the Feralite village, devouring both his "comrades" and "enemies" in one fell swoop. It had all been part of the plan; up to sixty grunts would be sacrificed, killed by their own superiors. Even without weapons, the Feralites were a threat because of their shear numbers, wiping out entire platoons of soldiers by simply surrounding the troops and overpowering them by brute force. Kill a Feralite, and a dozen more pop up in its place. Bombing the entire site would be difficult because the Feralites stone huts were durable, like bomb shelters, and so a scorched earth policy might not destroy them either if they were protected by their shelter. Thus, a type of plasma energy was developed that would leave inanimate objects without a scratch, but would break down organic molecules, killing everyone within a mile radius so long as at least part of their body wasn't shielded by inorganic compounds. And so Cole and the rest of the expendable grunts were to be sacrificed for the "greater good" that was the extinction of the Feralites. Fuck that shit, those bastards can kiss my ass, Cole thought with bitter, yet smug resentment. They could execute him if they wanted, but he'd be damned if he was going to willingly lay down his life for the Emperor, when the Emperor obviously cared nothing for him.
Cole had to get away, and quickly, for they surely would execute him if they were to catch up to him. The plan was simple enough. Abram Sully, the man whom Cole had purchased the Forbidden Text had the connections to easily hide and protect him from the authorities. Prove to me of your hatred for the Pervalidian Emperior, Sully had said once, display your complete devotion to our cause, and I will provide the means for you and anyone you wish to bring into our inner circle and away from the Emperor's iron fist. With a wry grin, Cole wondered if his desertion, which put him at risk for disgrace and execution, would be the kind of proof that Sully was looking for.
A tear fell from his eyes as he sobbed softly, thinking of Phearson. He had wished Phearson would have agreed to his plan of escape, but Phearson had vehemently told him that he wanted nothing to do with whatever Cole had been planning. Phearson had made his own decision, had sealed his own fate despite the seeds of doubt that had been planted into his mind. Regardless, Cole felt as though he had abandoned his lifelong friend. In his head, he knew that he had merely conceded to Phearson's wishes, yet that did not ease the pangs of guilt and self-loathing that gripped firmly to his heart.
"Put your weapons down and put your hands in the air now, you son of a bitch!" someone ordered from behind, and Cole heard the loud crack of a fresh clip being pumped into a plasma rifle that was poised at his back from three feet away. Cole turned his head slightly, just enough to catch the image of Lieutenant Henderson from the corner of his eyes. Spittle flew from the Lieutenant's tightly clenched teeth as his eyes narrowed fiercely and darkened in the evening shadows. "Put down your weapons nice and slowly, maggot!"
Cole spread both hands into the air before his bosom as he bit his lip hard, feeling fear grip his entire frame. In one hand, he gripped the micro-teleportation device—what had saved his life from the suicide-battle with the Feralites, only to bring him right to the Lietenant's grasp. In the other had been his plasma rifle. Cole's knees bent slightly before he crouched into a sitting position, slowly placing both his rifle and the micro-teleportation device by his feet before slowly rising into the air once more, sweat stinging his eyes. He now stood straight, his hands high in the air, yet despite his growing tension, he managed to keep himself from trembling and retained a poker face. His sergeant's sage advice had rung true: Never show even the slightest trace of fear to the enemy.
"You were supposed to die with the rest of the grunts," the Lieutenant charged as he slowly circled around Cole, the muzzle of his plasma rifle planted firmly against Cole's torso. "You've disobeyed a direct order and deserted your squad. For that, you will be executed for cowardice and insubordination."
Cole scoffed: "You act as though I would have survived regardless."
Henderson bent over and quickly scooped up the micro-teleportation device by Cole's feet, grinning. "And now you've stolen military property. Had you been caught, you would've been shot on sight. As it is, that's yet another charge put on your already tarnished record. What do you have to say for yourself, soldier?"
To prevent himself from begging for mercy had been easy, for the urge to plead for forgiveness had barely crossed Cole's mind. Indeed, it had been fighting the urge to laugh that had been nearly impossible. As it was, he couldn't suppress a contemptuous grin, chuckling softly at the absurdity of the Lieutenant's words. "You act as though I just made things worse for myself, as if I had anything to lose to begin with. I didn't. You killed everyone else in my squad and they didn't even commit a crime. I would've died with them, regardless of my innocence or guilt as well. So go ahead and kill me now if it'll make you happy, you servile piece of shit, for if I die now, it'll at least be on my terms. I'll die with the satisfaction of knowing that I spat in the face of your meaningless war."
"The others died with honor. You will die a traitorous coward."
Cole's grin widened. "What's honorable in one society could be disgraceful in another."
Confusion mingled with hate filled the Lieutenant's smoldering eyes.
Cole laughed softly. "I've been reading the Forbidden Text. Looks like you got one more reason to execute me."
The Lieutenant's eyes moved to the side, away from Cole for one second as he reached over to his hip pocket to retrieve his walkie-talkie and call for reinforcements.
It was at that moment of distraction that Cole lunched forward and threw his hands in the air. Henderson's eyes widened in alarm; his walkie-talkie flew from his fingers before he had even activated it, yet his grip around his plasma rifle tightened further as he had fired a single shot into the air. The sudden tremors of the recoil rattled the side of Cole's rib cage and he could feel the sudden heat as the bolt of plasma narrowly missed his flank. One arm scooped around the elbow of the Lieutenant's arm that held the plasma rifle, holding it place as Cole thrust his wrist directly into Henderson's throat. Henderson backed away as he threw his hand to his throat, coughing, gagging, and wheezing as his hand squeezed and lightly massaged his throat. Cole pounced upon Henderson, and Henderson's feet staggered backward a few steps as the Lieutenant struggled to shake his assailant off from him, before he had finally lost his footing.
Cole lay, pinning the Lieutenant to the ground, flailing his fists against the Lieutenant's face. His knuckles split open and his shoulders ached, yet he continued to pummel his fists against the Lieutenant's face. He stopped only when he could go on no longer, breathing heavily as he peered down upon Henderson's battered, bloody face. His broken jaw hung lopsided, with most of his teeth loosened from the blows, and his crushed nose gushed blood with each exhale. The man was now semiconscious, his eyes swaying through swelling lids as his body wriggled and squirmed drunkenly. Cole breathed heavily, gasping and panting, feeling spasms course throughout his aching shoulders as his knuckled throbbed and continued to bleed. He felt fatigued, but it was a satisfying exhausting, almost akin to the sense of gratification he felt after making love to his girlfriend.
Cole's fingered grasped the barrel of the Lieutenant's plasma rifle, smearing handprints of blood all along the shiny chrome as he lifted the weapon and hugged it close to his bosom. As he rose slowly and carefully to his feet he stepped gradually away, his eyes remaining pinned to the Lieutenant, Cole wondered if perhaps the murder of his commanding officer might be enough to prove his loyalty to the rebellion.
The Lieutenant groaned and lifted his head slightly with a harsh cough that sprayed droplets of blood and a couple of teeth against his chest. He groaned as his leering eyes met Cole's.
Cole squeezed the trigger of the plasma rifle, feeling the sudden tremors grip his already trembling, aching arms as the mint-green bolt of plasma shot out from the pit of the gun. Lieutenant Henderson had time for one final shriek as the plasma hit the side of his neck and decapitated him. His head flew into the air, his face remaining completely obscured in crimson as droplets of blood rained down from his mouth and broken nose. His headless body continued to twitch, his arms and legs wiggling loosely as blood oozed from the charred remains of his neck.
Cole couldn't return to his home, for along with his other myriad of crimes, he had killed his commanding officer, and it was only a matter of time before they had caught up to that fact. Instead, he kept a low profile, returned to the secret spot where he had for years purchased each monthly volume of the Forbidden Text from Abram Sully. It had been blind luck that Cole had run into Sully now; perhaps Sully had been waiting for a meeting with someone else, another soul he wished to save, to reveal to that person the true character of the Emperor in all his vileness. Sully had been impressed with Cole's narrative of the events that had taken place and with Cole's escape, even more so when presented with the proof that Cole truly had murdered Lieutenant Henderson: the Lieutenant's medals and military ID, which had been smeared with drying blood, yet still recognizable.
And so it was on that day that Cole had been recruited into The Rebellion and taken to the Rebel's secret base. The others had admired Cole's exploits, though a few had suspected that this was nothing more than a ploy of the Pervalidian Emperor for a spy to gain information on the rebellion so the Empire can eventually flush it out completely. Cole hadn't blamed them for their suspicious nature, for he knew that the Empire surely would sacrifice even the highest ranking officials to make such a ruse that much more convincing. He only hoped that in time, he could earn the trust of his new comrades.
Cole had wanted to see his girlfriend. It would not be an easy task, for because her home would most likely be guarded because of her connection to Cole, Cole was unable to retrieve her himself. Instead, an escort was sent to retrieve his girlfriend and bring her to the secret base—blindfolded, of course—and lose anyone who might have been following them.
That night, Cole lay on his bed in his new quarters, reading an older issue of The Forbidden Text, which he felt it prudent to review. A lamp resting upon his nightstand cast an orange, almost copper glow across the steel walls of the small room, which couldn't have been much more than thirty square feet. As Cole turned to the next page, the deep, guttural voice of Abram Sully announced on the intercom: "You have a visitor, Cole. Would you like us to send her in?"
Cole sprang into a sitting position as he grabbed the intercom remote from the nightstand, next to the lamp. His fingers were trembling as he held it in his hand, for he was both eager and nervous at the same time. She was here at last, yet how would she respond to his presence? Would she be elated that he had survived after all, or sickened by his heresy? Cole remembered how distraught Gabrielle had been, how tears filled her eyes as the sobs distorted her speech when he had informed her of the job he had been drafted for. But in the end, would patriotism and devotion for the Pervalidian Empire win her over? He couldn't bear the thought of her hating him, and if she had been revolted by what he had done, then he would have been better off not requesting for her to begin with, for at least then he would be blissfully ignorant.
"You have a visitor," Sully repeated. "Shall I send her in?"
Cole hesitated for another moment, then pressed his tremulous thumb against the SPEAK button and said: "Y-yes please. Send her in. Thank you, sir."
The metallic doors slid open with a hiss, and standing by the doorway, emerging from the shadows had been Gabrielle; Cole saw the dark hand of Sully remove the blue blindfold from her eyes. She blinked and gazed at him in disbelief as tears filled her emerald-green eyes. "Oh my God...baby! You're alive!" she exclaimed as she ran toward him, nearly tackling Cole to the ground as she wrapped her arms around his torso, hugging him tightly as her lips locked against his and her tongue plunged deep into his throat. Cole's breath had been robbed by this sudden display of fierce affection, yet his body tingled with ecstasy at her touch, the feel of her sumptuous lips against his as her breasts pressed tightly against his chest. It was a sensation that he'd previously feared that he would never again be allowed to experience.
"Oh God," Gabrielle murmured, weeping joyfully, "I was so sure I'd never see you again."
"You're not appalled by what I did?" Cole asked, with little doubt in his mind that she supported his actions fully, yet still needing that final confirmation.
Gabrielle shook her head vehemently. "No, of course not!" she said without hesitation. "I could never say this to anyone else; couldn't risk being turned in for dissent and executed as a heretic, but goddamn it, I hated them for what they did to you, for taking you away from me."
Cole wiped the tears from her eyes and caressed her dark hair tenderly. "I know," he said, as a single tear fell from his eyes. "But I'm alive. I spat in the face of the Emperor's regime and his shitty, pointless war. And I swear to God, Gabrielle, I'm never gonna let ‘em take me again."
The End
June 23, 2005
July 27, 2005
I guess you can read whatever you want into this story. Honestly, though, I got the whole idea from playing the Warhammer 40K: Dawn of War PC game, where my strategy was to have one group getting slaughtered by the enemy while another squad shot and bombed the enemy troops while at a nice safe distance. I wondered what it might be like to be in the first group getting tortured and slaughtered, and this story came about.