I saw their starv’d lips in the gloam
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here
On the cold hill’s side.
JOHN KEATS
Major Robert Childis opened his eyes to the sun’s bright white light shining down upon him and the street’s gritty, black pavement. Its glare was intolerable and he immediately shut them again. A giant yellow-green globe danced in the orange haze behind his eyelids and he knew he had failed. From the smell, he could tell that the wound in his right leg was festering. His head throbbed from a gash over his right ear that he’d suffered when his helmet shattered. During his brief instances of consciousness since the fight, Robert had done what he could for himself, but he wasn’t a medic, and Raul was dead.
You really got yourself into a fix, Robert thought. A real, goddamned, brilliant fix. Stupid boy, real stupid.
Childis felt about with his hands, not opening his eyes, and trying not to move too much. He found that his rifle was still nearby, grasped it and pulled it in close to his chest. He was finding it harder and harder to swallow now. He thought of his empty canteen with mild regret. It wasn’t something to get too worked up over. He simply hadn’t any water left and no way to get more. Robert’s rifle rested heavily upon his heaving chest. The large bore barrel smelled sweetly pungent, and felt cool as he pressed it to his cheek. You should just end it now, Childis almost said aloud. That’s right. Just do it. You’ve been left behind. No one knows you’re here, alive. And there isn’t going to be anyone coming back for you any time soon. Just the clean-up crews, and you’ll be long gone by that time anyway. Just have done with it. No, it’s no good. You’ve never had respect for anyone who’s gone that way. It’s shameful. If you were going to die, you’d be dead by now. It’s just not your time yet. When it is, you’ll know. And you won’t be the one pulling the trigger. Yeah, but you want to. Not the point. Stop bringing it up. You’re not doing it and that’s that. Scared, huh?
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Robert grasped the barrel with both hands and drove the rifle butt into the ground, using the gun to help him sit up. Dizziness whirled the world about his head. Up side back down forth. He wanted to puke, but there wasn’t anything left in his stomach to retch. Childis sat, chin on chest, eyes half-closed, willing the dirty street to stop its bucking and the blasted buildings to quit their twisted see-sawing. From the corners of his eyes, Robert could see the bodies of the men under his command--men entrusted to him, whom they trusted--lying in heaps, where they fell dead. Raul wasn’t more than a couple meters away, lying on his side, eyes open and staring. He could see the legs of Crup and Wylie sticking out at odd angles from beneath a pile of concrete and steel. And Mitch. Oh God, he thought. He could clearly see the dried stain where Sergeant Glavis Mitchel had last stood. About three meters away, the sergeant’s right arm lay in the street, complete from shoulder to hand, still clutching his pistol.
A sob wracked Robert’s body. Where did you go wrong? Hey buddy, no recriminations. You did what was needed. Things just didn’t work out the way you would have liked. Quit talking to yourself like this, Childis. Who else am I supposed to talk to? Mitch? Raul? No, they’re long gone, and they have you to thank for it. Just stop it! Get a hold of yourself. His eyes closed and he was at peace for awhile.
It’s time to dig deep, Robert.
When he opened his eyes again, Childis couldn’t see the sun anymore. It had disappeared behind the roofline of the buildings along the street. He was partially submerged in shadows, and their cool touch made him shiver. The ground shook beneath him and Robert could hear the rumbling echoes of two distinct explosions somewhere else in the city. Seconds later, the air was split wide by the screaming engines of two black, swept-wing, DX-22 atmo-tac drones as they scudded overhead and almost instantly disappeared from sight, blocked by the surrounding buildings. More of the concussive thudding that accompanied an aerial bombardment sounded in the distance. Childis realized the battle was back on. They hadn’t been repelled after all. That meant that there was at least some chance for rescue, no matter how slim. It also meant that maybe the deaths of his men wouldn’t have been in vain. But it won’t matter at all if you’re dead before they can find you, he said to himself. Need to sit up and take a serious look at that leg.
Clenching his teeth, preparing himself for the wave of nausea that he knew would sweep through him, Childis sat up once again. His vision swimming, he looked down at his legs with curious revulsion. The explosion had sent shards of concrete and rebar ripping through his thigh and calf muscles. And then a lucky shot from a Ferdeletti’s carbine had torn through his hamstring and shattered his femur, a piece of which jutted out of his fatigues about six inches above the knee. The cloth of his leggings was nearly black with blood, but happily, no arteries had been hit. Had one been, he would have died within minutes of his wounding--especially without Raul there to patch him up. Well Robert, that one ain’t going to do you a whole hell of a lot of good anymore. No, no it’s not. The question is what to do with it. Robert poked at the bone sticking out of his thigh. Its end was sharp and snagged the glove on his hand. Shock had worn off, and now, even at the slightest pressure, he could feel a spike in the pain. He couldn’t be sure, but Robert thought there was a good chance that the Ferdeletti was shooting septic slugs. He knew wounds could foul in a hurry, but his went south damned fast. But what to do about it now?
Robert wrenched himself around so that his back was toward Raul’s body. He lied down, holding the rifle to his chest. Then, after drawing up his left leg so that its foot was near his buttocks, he pushed it out, digging down hard with the heel of his boot. Tilting his head back, Robert could see the dead medic’s body next to him, close enough to touch. He repeated his push and then rolled over so he could use Raul’s body as leverage to move himself about. It was hard, painful work. Even in the cold shade, sweat streamed down Robert’s forehead, into his eyes and off the end of his nose. Sitting next to Raul, Robert pushed over the medic’s turgid body and began going through his packs. It’s like looting the dead, Childis thought. Yeah, but there’s useful stuff to be had. Stuff that’s gonna keep you alive. Maybe.
He found Raul’s hypo-gun and three unbroken doses of Ravlix-7. Although it could deaden any pain and keep you going no matter how badly wounded, there could be severe psychotropic side effects. He tucked the hypo and Ravlix-7 doses in a pocket beneath his hauberk. If he wasn’t mistaken in his thinking, he’d have a need for it later on. He rummaged past the titanium alloy splints. A little late for those, he thought. He found two large rolls of bandages, still sealed in their clear, plastic bags. Robert laid one of them in his lap, discarding the other. Then he saw what he was really looking for: a slender black case about eighteen inches long. Painfully, Childis worked the strap of one of Raul’s medic bags over the dead soldier’s head. Into it went the black case, the roll of bandages and a few FLIN patches. He slung the bag’s strap over his head and secured its flap with both plastic buckles.
The pain in his leg was making him sick again. Leaning on Raul’s body, Childis closed his eyes and tried to ride out the wave of nausea. You gotta get out of this street. Yeah, I do. But just a minute, okay? No, now! Robert slapped himself hard in the face. C’mon boy, pull yourself together. This is nothing. You can get through this. His breathing hissed through his clenched teeth. The pain in his leg was nearly unbearable and the stink that wafted from it assailed his nostrils.
Summoning what strength he had left, Childis gathered his good leg beneath him. Using his rifle as a crutch, the butt planted firmly on the pavement, he heaved himself up into a standing position. His right leg straightened and the shattered remnants of his thigh bone ground together like two wet tree branches. Tears seared his eyes and he screamed from the pain despite himself. He could see fresh blood streaming from the ragged tear in his flesh. It was all Robert could do to keep himself from falling back down. The ground trembled beneath him. The deep, sonorous growls of artillery fire grew more constant and gradually, very gradually closer. He couldn’t hear small arms fire yet, and was happy for it.
A cool hand touched his forehead and a slender arm slid beneath his, lending him support. Childis started, opening eyes that he wasn’t aware had closed. Even as he instinctively reached for the pistol that was no longer at his side, Robert Childis looked into the brown-green eyes of a girl with long, pitchy hair and smooth, tanned skin. She looked at him without fear and gently steadied him so that he wouldn’t fall, her slender but strong body pressed next to him, his arm draped across her shoulders. Childis couldn’t make heads or tails of it for a moment, and then he remembered--the mission objective. This was the person that his team was supposed to recover. He had lost track of Miss Coorinward during the battle and assumed that she had been killed or captured.
“Come Major, we must get into that building there,” she said, inclining her head toward an open doorway, dark and inviting.
They took a shaky, painful step together.
“How did . . . ?” he managed to gasp.
“Later.” Her voice was strained, probably from having to support him. “We get inside first.”
They proceeded to the door, meter after excruciating meter. They both collapsed to the floor just on the other side of the doorway. The pain had caused Childis to let go what little he had left in his bladder. He was too tired and hurt to feel embarrassed and the girl didn’t say anything to indicate that she’d noticed. She closed the door and slid a chair and table in front of it.
“It’s not much in the way of security, but it’s better than nothing.”
Childis managed a nod. It was hard to decipher her words from the melodic tone of her voice and the ringing in his ears and the fuzzy rumpled scratching behind his dizzy wandering eyes. But he thought he got the gist. She knelt down beside him, relieving him of his packs and pouches. She started to move his rifle, but Childis put his hand on it and shook his head emphatically. Between the two of them, they got his hauberk off and loosened the bodysuit beneath. It felt to Childis as if the world were a hundred degrees cooler. She looked at his leg and gagged a little.
“Yeah,” Robert said, trying to smile, “don’t get to close or the smell’ll getcha.”
“This is bad, Major. Very bad.” She leaned away and coughed twice, covering her nose and mouth with her hand.
“I know. If something isn’t done soon, I’ll die from it.”
She looked at him doubtfully.
“We don’t have a surgeon here. What do you want to do? Find some rebels?” She arched her left eyebrow.
“No. I’m not so keen on the gentle ministrations that the rebels are known for.” He pointed at the medic bag lying nearby. “Look in that. You’ll find a long black case. Yeah, that’s it. Bring it here.”
With the black case in his hands, Robert noticed that he was shaking perceptibly. Let’s get to this, he thought. The case’s latches yielded to him with two hollow pops. Prying back the lid, Childis saw the instrument he sought, within. It was nearly as long as the case, with just a short four or five-inch glossy, black handle. It had a small switch that could be depressed to turn it on. Protruding out of the handle for little over a foot was a thin, shiny arc of metal. It appeared to his eye that nothing was connected from the end of the metal arc to the handle. That was wrong though, and he knew it. The space that looked like empty air was the danger zone, even when the device was off.
Childis looked over at the girl. She watched him intently, her eyes fixed on the strange implement. Did he detect worry in her glance?
“Do you know how to load that hypo there?” he asked. She nodded. “Well, load it up. You’re gonna give me an injection right in the neck.” Do you trust her to do this right? Where was she after the attack? Why did it take her so long to come get you? She was scared out of her mind for God’s sake! Look at her! I wouldn’t want to run around the streets either. You never know where rebels are hiding. She could have been recaptured and . . . then what?
“Alright, it’s ready.” She knelt down beside him with the hypo in her right hand, awaiting his word.
Robert’s heart thudded hard, painfully in his chest. Don’t lose your nerve now. This is the only way. You know it. He depressed the button in the handle of the instrument in his hand. It vibrated ever so slightly in his hand and whirred quietly. The thinnest of red lines, hard to see at any angle, connected the tip of the metal arc to the handle. The titanium alloy monowire saw was now searing hot. Robert had only seen the saw used, never used it. He never contemplated having to.
“This will cauterize the wound as I cut, so there won’t be a lot of blood. I won’t be able to do this if I’m hopped up on Ravlix first, though. So, as soon as I’m done, you’re gonna inject me. Okay?”
The girl nodded, her lips pressed firmly together.
“Once that’s finished, you’re gonna take the FLINs and place them all over the wound. Don’t worry they’ll adhere on their own.”
“Flynn’s?” She looked at Robert, questioning.
“FLINs—Flesh Like New. There’s a bunch in that bag. Peel’em open and apply’em to the wound. It doesn’t matter which side is down.”
“Okay.” She nodded her head again.
The saw whirred happily in his hand. He spread his legs as wide apart as he could, unwilling to take the chance that he’d jerk the saw and cut into his good leg too.
“There’s not going to be much left when you’re done here,” he muttered under his breath.
Robert grasped the handle of the saw firmly in his one hand and placed the other gently on its metallic bow. He inched it closer to his thigh. There was a whiff of burnt cloth as the blade, just molecules wide, cut through a wrinkle in his leggings. His armpits were wet and sticky. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He wanted to look at the girl for reassurance but didn’t dare take his eyes off of the saw. Then he pushed down. Childis ground his teeth and keened with the anticipation of pain. The saw scored through his flesh with the ease one passes their hand through water. There was only minor resistance when the saw bit into bone. The stink of broiled steak emanated with a small bit of smoke. The saw’s metal arc disappeared into his leg. Beneath his hand he could feel the separation between what was left of his leg and what had once been his leg. Then it was done. The saw came clean through the other side of Robert’s thigh. He let go the saw’s handle and clutched the stump of his leg.
“Now!” he howled, his voice unrecognizable to his own ears. “Now! Give it to me!”
“Hold still!” She grabbed his head with one hand, pushing it up against the wall and drove the tip of the hypo into his exposed neck.
The pain disappeared almost instantly. Euphoria gripped Robert and the room spun away from him. He tried to steady it, but with no success. The concrete floor was soft and yielding beneath him. The wall clutched at his arms, trying to swallow him up in a warm embrace. His vision swam red and yellow, never bleeding to orange, putting everything in stark contrast to everything else. Ravlix-7 had some wicked side effects, but he had never experienced anything like this before. Robert tried to dig himself out of the hazy drug-induced dementia back to the real world, but the chemical was just too strong for him to resist. Kicking to the top was impossible. His mind was too thick to move, drowning in a spinning, hyper-saturated honey-hued world. How was he supposed to fight like this? Where was his rifle? Where was his squad? Sleep, Major. The words leaked down to him from far above, thin, greasy and nearly meaningless. What did you do? His mouth opened but the words were incoherent. Childis tried to thrash but was held fast in an amber prison.
Sleep.
You need to wake up! But I don’t want to. It’s so nice here. It’s warm, except for the chill every now and then. If you don’t, you’re going to lose Miss Coorinward. Her name is Thalia. The mission can still succeed. Can it? She saved you, you know? Robert Childis opened his eyes.
Large eyes, completely devoid of irises or noticeable pupils stared into his.
“He’s awake.”
Childis glanced about and saw that the small room he and the girl, Thalia, had taken refuge in now held nearly a dozen Ferdeletti rebels. The one crouched in front of him was heavily muscled. His head was shaved, although dark stubble was beginning to show. The man smiled at Childis, his dusky features contrasting eerily with both his teeth and expressionless, white eyes. The only illumination in the room was the dying light of day that filtered in through the shattered windows.
The earsplitting howl of attack drones ripped open the air in the street and caused the walls to vibrate. Glass tinkled delicately as triangular shards fell from window casements and broke on the floor. The thuds of artillery and bomb blasts were more constant now, coming nearly one on top of another, creating an almost constant wall of pulsing noise. The rat-tat-tat of automatic weapons could be heard as well. The fighting was getting a lot closer.
“How’s the leg,” breathed the white-eyed Ferdeletti. He nudged Childis’ stump with the muzzle of his rifle. Robert winced from the pain and thought he detected a slight smile on the man’s lips. “Like that, do you?”
“Varrin, that’s enough.” A tall man stepped from out of the shadows. He was easily the tallest man that Robert had ever seen. He was dressed from head to toe in sand-colored fatigues that only partially concealed the body armor beneath. A short, white cape hung loosely from his shoulders. A cigarette clung precariously to the corner of his mouth, as if it were there more for decoration than utility. Unlike Varrin, this man still had the eyes he was born with--penetrating and icy blue even in the dim light. He nudged Varrin in the back with his knee, saying something that Robert couldn’t quite make out. The hulking rebel rose, still smiling, and strode across the room. This tall guy was obviously in charge.
“Do you mind if I sit?” he asked.
Childis snorted air out his nose.
“Be my guest.” He could feel his face stretched into a sarcastic smirk.
As the rebel leader sat down on the floor next to him, Robert caught sight of Thalia. She was standing, hidden behind the tall man. In the twilight, she seemed to Robert a statue of silver and jet rather than a person of flesh and blood. Her steady gaze lingered on his face, and he saw resignation in her eyes.
“Well, Major Childis, it seems that we have a dilemma.” The tall rebel inhaled deeply through his cigarette and, removing it from his mouth, exhaled with a low sigh.
“There doesn’t seem to be any dilemma. Looks like you’ve got your captive again. There are rules to war, whether we acknowledge them or not. You have to do what you have to do.” Childis didn’t see any reason to try to sugar-coat the situation. The rebel wore a short beard. He obviously hadn’t the time to shave, or didn’t care to. He was dirty from battle and showed signs of having been in a number of skirmishes. No coward, this one, he thought. Not too old though. Robert looked back at Thalia, crouching now at his foot.
The thunder of exploding shells became louder. The men gathered in the room shifted about nervously. Four were posted at the windows and doors, keeping a keen eye on the street, while others tended to their wounds or talked lowly to each other. They were all battle hardened. Their weary look was simply that--a look. As soon as the next engagement occurred, these men would be in fighting form, no doubt about it. Marvelous what believing in a cause could do that training couldn’t. Thalia looked so out of place among these ruffians, but she was so at ease with them. She seemed almost familiar with them. Probably knows what I know, he thought. Why fight with the end so near? She’s so similar to them.
Then he knew.
“You were never kidnapped,” he said, some surprise creeping into his voice.
“No. I chose to join them. What the government is doing to the colonies is wrong. All they want--all we want is our freedom. If SecCor would give it to us, we’d make peace.” She looked Robert in the eyes, her expression one of wanting understanding and wanting to be understood.
“Your father knows that you joined them, doesn’t he?” Childis didn’t need her nod to confirm his suspicions. There was more than the chance that the Chancellor could be blackmailed. His daughter could come out against the war. The political ramifications would prove disastrous if it was known that Thalia Coorinward had joined the colonial rebels.
“I’m sorry, Major. I don’t want to go home. You didn’t leave me many choices.” Thalia looked at him with what he thought was genuine regret.
“No, I’m afraid we didn’t.” Memories from the previous days came rushing back to him. He heard Mitch and Wylie joking back and forth during the drop. He remembered the briefing. Orbital reconnaissance had been able to pinpoint Thalia Coorinward’s location just seconds before the rebels had erected a jamming net that blanketed the city and made communications into, out of or through its entire area impossible. It scrambled digital imagery screens and satellites hadn’t used optical lenses for nearly a century. Robert remembered making a crack about it at the briefing and getting raised eyebrows from the senior brass. Mitch liked the joke though.
They dropped them in and it took them two days of searching to finally find their mark. The rebels had been onto them from the beginning, and kept moving Thalia around. No wonder, the Ferdeletti knew that they were coming. Finally though, they were able to surprise the rebels and force them into a fight. But that wasn’t it at all. They hadn’t surprised the Ferdeletti. They had set-up him and his men. Anger swelled in Childis’ belly.
Robert understood her motives. She wanted to get away. The best way to do that was to get her captors killed--lead them into an ambush. His understanding didn’t wash away their blood. She had played the helpless victim. She had lulled all of them into a sense of chauvinistic chivalry. They were the brave knights rescuing the damsel in distress. Thalia Coorinward had played the part of the princess to the hilt too. She had every difficulty, from sand in her shoes to scraped knees and elbows. How he hated to be fooled.
“You were just lucky that you weren’t killed in the process.” Robert couldn’t conceal the bitterness in his voice. Part of him wished she’d been killed. But did she really deserve death? Whose fault was it for going into a street that showed all the signs of a killing zone? She didn’t order it, merely suggested it. You could have chosen another way, buddy. You know it.
“No Major,” said the tall rebel, “you saw to it that she wasn’t.” He put the butt of his cigarette out on the concrete floor.
“My mission was to rescue her,” Childis replied, with some difficulty, “not to let her die.”
“Quite the dedicated soldier, aren’t you?” The tall man’s tone was sarcastic and denigrating.
Childis was starting to recognize the rebels from the ambush in the street. He remembered most of them only in quick glimpses. There were many more than this when they attacked though. There were at least twice as many raining down rockets and pulserifle fire on his head and those of his men. Childis remembered the one called Varrin as the man who all but vaporized his friend, Sergeant Mitchel.
“I know that one over there is Varrin,” Robert said, inclining his head toward the bald Ferdeletti. “I’d like to know the name of the man who’s going to order my execution.”
“That brings us back to our dilemma.” He stared at Robert without blinking.
“His name is Rantz,” Thalia offered.
“Well Rantz, I must say that I don’t understand the dilemma. We’re soldiers. I know what the job is. Don’t leave an enemy at your back.”
Rantz looked a little puzzled. He blinked and then gazed at Thalia.
“I don’t want him to kill you,” she said. “I just saved your life. I don’t want to see it ended so soon.” There was a wavering in her voice. She wasn’t used to combat, to killing. He didn’t know why, but Robert was touched by her sentiment. God knew he didn’t want to be.
“Thalia,” he said, “I knew what the possibilities were when I joined up. I’ve been doing this for a long time. Might as well happen here as some other planet.”
“I’m not, you know,” said Rantz, absently. “I’m not a soldier. I’m an accountant. I worked for Ebenschriebcorp, as an accountant. I never wanted to fight. I don’t even own a gun.” He lifted his rifle and held it out, between him and Childis. “I carry one. But it isn’t mine. It wasn’t issued to me. I didn’t buy it. I have a gun out of necessity, that’s all.”
What the hell was going on? His brain still lethargic from the Ravlix, Childis was having a hard time wrapping his mind around the situation. The sounds of combat were inching ever closer, and the Ferdeletti were beginning to look anxious. It wasn’t safe for them here anymore. It was clear that the rebels wanted him dead. It made sense to kill him. So what were they waiting for? Certainly the sentimentality of a mere girl wasn’t going to stop them from doing what needed to be done? No, that was exactly what was stopping them. Because of Thalia, Robert was still alive.
“Just kill him Rantz,” Varrin said. “He’s seen you. He knows about the Chancellor’s daughter. Let’s just gak him and get moving.”
There were sounds of agreement from the other rebels in the room.
“It’s not that easy, Varrin.” Rantz was obviously in the midst of some inner conflict. What was it?
“It is that easy,” Varrin said, forcefully. The big man moved and stood over Childis, pressing his rifle barrel against Robert’s head. “Like this, see? I kill him. We go.”
Rantz pointed his rifle nonchalantly at Varrin’s groin. “Back away from him. Now.” There was no mistaking deadly intent in the rebel leader’s voice. Varrin snorted and exited through a darkened doorway which led farther into the building.
“Some of us are soldiers, however.” Rantz smiled to himself and ran a hand through his short, topaz-colored hair.
“Look Rantz. I don’t know what you’re playing at.” Sudden pain flared in his stump and Robert’s voice caught in his throat. “I can name you,” he went on with difficulty. “They can find out who your family is, who your friends are. They’ll come at you however they think they can. They’ll put the pressure on you wherever it can be applied.”
“And how is that different from what’s been happening up until right now?” The rebel didn’t look impressed. “I’ve no family left. They are all dead. I’ve no friends who aren’t already here, with me. What more do you want to do to me?”
“Then what are you waiting for? Get it over with!” Robert was fed up. His leg was really starting to hurt and he didn’t want to mess around with these guys anymore. Whatever they were going to do to him they’d better do it and quick. Yeah? Or what? What are you going to do to them?
“Major,” Thalia began, “this isn’t about killing. Everyone here wants peace. Killing is SecCor’s way, not ours. We only do what we’re forced to do.” She stood up and looked down at him. “I’m sorry that you are so thirsty for death, especially when such a short time ago you fought so hard to live.” She turned her back on him and Rantz rose too.
“I want to live,” Childis said through clenched teeth. It felt like he was begging for his life.
“Then you shall,” said Rantz.
Thalia looked over her shoulder and smiled slightly. She looked relieved.
“You know it’s the right thing to do,” she said sweetly to Rantz. “It’s the moral thing.” She scooped up a pack and strode toward the door Varrin had disappeared through.
“Yes,” Rantz said, softly. He raised his gun and shot her in the back of the head. Thalia Coorinward, Chancellor Coorinward’s daughter, crumpled to the floor. Childis opened his mouth in a scream of horror, but nothing would come out. Tears sprang to his eyes and an agonizing sob crushed his chest.
Rantz turned and trained his gun on Childis.
“Tell SecCor that if they want peace, only complete withdrawal of forces from the colonies will be accepted. We’ve tried time and again and were ignored.” He motioned to Thalia’s motionless body. “This should convince them that we’re serious, even though the bodies of your comrades and hundreds of thousands of others scattered across a dozen worlds could not.”
Hot tears sprung from Robert’s eyes. Miss Coorinward’s dark eyes stared at him, wide with the shock of her final moment.
“Do not grieve for her, Major,” the tall rebel said. “She traded her life for yours. I think she suspected this is how it would turn out. Wars don’t end unless they mar the lives of those who cause them.”
The low thrum of a diamagnetic drive suddenly echoed down the street. One-trillion-candlepower spotlights swept up and down the street’s length and poured the buildings full of illumination more powerful than the sun. The Ferdeletti rebels efficiently emptied the room, Rantz being the very last to exit. He tossed Raul’s hypo into Robert’s lap, with a capsule of Ravlix-7.
“For the pain,” he said, pointing at Childis’ stump. “You shouldn’t need it though. A recon team is on its way.”
“It won’t end with this and you know it!” Childis spat, his voice raw and angry. “You’ve just signed yours and every rebel’s death warrant!” He could hear soldiers calling out to one another in the street.
A stentorian voice blared into a loudspeaker: “All Ferdeletti into the street. Any Ferdeletti found in buildings will be branded rebels and executed on sight. This is your only warning.”
Rantz walked through the door and disappeared into the dark beyond, but his words floated back to Childis.
“War is a mistress without mercy, Major. Only with blood can she be appeased.”
