by Peter Smith
Yet here he was, dying horribly as his brain sent confused and random electrical impulses to his organs and muscles. His heart was beating irregularly, his lungs were shutting down and his muscles were contracting and expanding with no control. Maria looked back at his mother, at the inappropriate angle that her elbow was bent at as she reached for him.
Maria stood, wiping the tears from her eyes with the cuff of her short-sleeve shirt. She looked around to see this scene repeated again and again. Men and women running from a threat that they couldn’t see. Many of them rolling on the streets, slumped over in door ways. She walked down the street, past a man in mid-fall, his hands gripping his stomach as he was vomiting without control.
As she walked down the road fewer and fewer people were still standing until there were none alive. People in civilian attire and some soldiers and security personnel lay on the streets.
They were all a testament to how she had failed.
She gripped at her chest. Pain was stretching out through her entire body. She reached for a lamppost next to her, only to have her hand pass through it. She recovered and lowered herself to the ground. Sobs pulsed from her body, and her breaths were coming faster now. Tears broke from her eyes, only this time there was no restraining them, they fell freely. She fell backward onto her rear and she pulled her knees up, taking in the devastation that she had allowed to befall these people, the death that she had wrought.
She had been wrong. Trotsky hadn’t deployed nuclear warheads. She had assumed that since he had easy access to them, he would have used them. Instead, the man had wanted to preserve the industrial capacity of the Berlin area and to do that; he had opted for the use of nerve gas over nuclear weaponry.
Every single one of the missiles that she had shot down had crashed to the earth below, spewing the toxic substance into the air. It went everywhere the wind did and spared no one. Thousands of Berlin residents and allied forces had died until the prevailing winds had blown the deadly substance to the East.
The soldiers had suffered the least, many of them were prepared for a chemical weapons attack, at least among the legacy forces. There were casualties among the Berlin and London spire soldiers, those that couldn’t find sufficient cover in time.
Trotsky’s forces had suffered more than Kellen’s alliance had. His soldiers were even worse equipped and many of the cruise missiles came crashing down within his retreating forces. Maria might have believed that Karma, the universe trying to create some balance for this terrible act, but those men and women that served Trotsky didn’t deserve to die any more than the residents of Berlin did. No, the people that deserved to suffer were never the ones that did. Trotsky, Kellen, and even herself. No consequences would befall any of them, they didn’t apply to themselves.
She looked down the road, at the image of the of the boy frozen in pain, his mother still reaching for him. They were farther away and the definition in their features wasn’t as sharp, but she could still see them. She pulled her legs in tightly, burying her face in her knees as she wept.
A hand rested on her shoulder.
“Maria.”
She refused to lift her head, refused to look into the eyes of the person who was touching her.
“Maria, look at me.”
She took a deliberate breath and slowly pulled her face from between her knees. She looked at her husband, Sean, as he knelt next to her. He looked at her and then at the holographic simulation that she was running around them. The entire scene had been recorded by a fleet of reconnaissance drones that had descended on the Berlin area.
Sean looked back at her, “You don’t have to do this to yourself.”
She shook her head, sniffling as she did. She turned her head and wiped at her eyes again, “Yes I do, no one else will punish me for what I did to these people.”
He closed his eyes, shaking his head. The exhaustion on his face was easy to see. He had likely walked those streets only a couple hours earlier, working alongside her drones and alliance forces to save the victims of her mistake, her failure, “You didn’t do this.”
She looked at him, pain and guilt starting to morph into anger, “The hell I didn’t, I let those two mad men act freely. I gave them the opportunity to create the situation that led to this. Had I intervened earlier, had I just killed them both, none of these people would be dead.” Her gaze on him hardened, “So don’t you fucking tell me I didn’t do this, don’t you let me off the hook.”
She stood on trembling legs, her stomach threatening to explode from the mixture of stress and adrenaline she was experiencing, “Someone has to pay for this. I let these people die because I didn’t want to be anything like my father. Well, maybe he wasn’t wrong about everything.”
Sean just sat there, silently absorbing her tirade. When he didn’t respond she walked past him, back to the boy, to stare at him again. She had lost count how many times she had walked up and down this stretch of Berlin street, but that wouldn’t stop her from doing it again and again.
She heard the door to her office slide open. She spared a glance in its direction and saw Sean’s back as he left the room. She stood there, staring at the door as it closed. She didn’t know what she wanted in that moment. She was emotionally exhausted but a part of her was hurt that he hadn’t stayed, tried to protect her from this. Another was relieved that he had left, that he had accepted the part she played in this and that she deserved to be punished for everything she had done to lead to it.
She was why these people were dead. She was why the Kellen and Trotsky alliances could war against one another. She was why the world had been killed by her father. All of it was her fault, and it was time that she and everyone else around her accepted that face.
She sat next to the boy again, her hand reaching for his face, to caress it like she would have Alex’s. Her hand stopped just short of the projection, before it would pass through. Her tears splashed against the floor again.
Never again would she allow for this to happen.
She accessed her virtual vision and summoned Tobor.
Two minutes later the door opened again, this time the perfectly placed steps of her robotic assistant filled the room.
“Yes, Maria?”
She looked into the boy’s eyes, never once breaking contact as she spoke, “Move a surgical bay in here, I want the procedure.”
Tobor was silent for a moment, processing her statement, “Given the data collected from your father, we decided in our last conversation on this topic, that the technology and implantation procedure was too dangerous.”
She turned on him, her eyes boring into it, “I’ve decided differently. Bring it here. Now.”
Toby nodded once, turned and left the room.
Soon now, she’d finally take on the responsibility she should have long ago. Never again would a child like this ever had to endure pain at the hands of those that would be kings.
The couch was hard and musty. She looked down at it; her palms running over its design. She turned her head to look at the wall behind the couch, the faded flag hanging above it. In front of her was the bookshelf full of well-used novels. Then there was the smell. The stench of his unwashed body hung in the air, permeating it as if it were as intrinsic to the atmosphere as Nitrogen.
She knew where she was, and her heart beat faster. A noise in the kitchen caught her attention, and she stood even though she didn’t want to. She knew she would walk over to the doorway that separated the living space from the meal preparation area. She fought against it, screamed at herself to run out the door as fast as she could. Instead, she stood in the doorway, watching as he moved through the kitchen, opening cabinets and searching the pots and pans that were stored in them.
“What are you looking for?” She asked, even though all she wanted to do was scream at him, curse his very existence.
He chuckled and shook his head. He looked at her, “Why are we back here sweet thing?”
She didn’t respond, she only sta
red at him, a bleeding gash along his hairline and sweeping back across his scalp. He smirked, “The last time you and I were alone together it didn’t go well for either of us.”
He abandoned his search in the cabinets and switched to the drawers and then he stopped, his hand landing on something in the drawer he was searching. He looked back at her. This time the blood on his head had coagulated and dried. His skin was pale as he cracked a yellow smile at her. She smelled his breath even though the entire room separated them.
He pulled his belt out of the drawer, it’s heavy buckle dangling from the end, “Could it be that you want to be here.”
“Burn in hell you fucking asshole” She screamed, but those words never left her mouth.
He stood directly in front of her, having transited the distance between them without moving through it. She struggled to get her arms to move; she demanded that her legs act. But no part of her responded. She stood there, as the belt fell from his hands, the buckle clacking against the wooden planks of the floor. The impact reverberating through her thoughts.
His hand was around her neck. His cold flesh sucking the energy from her body. What she saw was disjointed. She was simultaneously looking into his eyes while only the back of his head was facing her, his neck black and blue with intense bruising. Blood was pooling beneath him and behind him, she could see the boy and his mother watching as he strangled the life from her.
“I know why you’re here,” He said, glee in his voice. “The Universe finally decided to balance the scales. Someone has to be punished for what happened to us all.”
She blinked, and the room was full of people, their flesh pale. Her father-in-law’s wife and daughter were there watching as her attacker picked her up and slammed her into the dirt.
She could hear the wind moving through the trees, feel the cold air biting at her skin and see the open sky above. Surrounding them were the rings of people that had died because of her inaction and the choices of her father. It never ended, the circles only growing larger and larger. Each layer touched the shoulders of the ones in front of them and the ones closest to her and her attacker touched his back.
The back of his head moved to her ear, his fingers crushing her throat as he did, “Someone has to pay.”
As they contacted him, his weight increased oppressively, as did the pain in her throat. Her lungs burned, and she felt as if she were being pushed into the sand beneath her. A white hot flare of pain burst to life at the base of her neck. The ground resisted and felt like steel. She was being compressed, pressed between two immovable forces.
She screamed.
She demanded that her body respond, and this time it did. Her hands came up between their two bodies and wrapped around his throat, her thumb nails pressing into the soft flesh with as much pressure as she could manage. Nothing stopped them, though. The futility of it struck her to the core.
“You deserve this” they said. Billions of voices coming from one mouth.
The world shook, and her skull felt as if it would split open. Her scream became weaker, fading with every bit of light that left her world.
“Maria.” Sean called.
She stopped. Her attacker was still over her, the mass of humanity still pressing down atop them. One person broke from the circles of the dead. They knelt beside her as she was being killed.
It was Sean. He cupped the back of her head. She didn’t understand how he could do that with how tightly the ground was against her. She didn’t dare take her eyes off of her attacker, but Sean was right there, just within her peripheral vision.
“Maria, it isn’t your fault, it was never your fault.”
Tears sprang to her eyes, “You don’t understand, it’s all because of me.”
“Look at me.”
“No” She whispered.
“Why won’t you look at me?”
She shook her head, tears breaking free, “Because you should be with them.” She mumbled, looking toward the ring of her victims.
“Maria, I am not a victim, I’m not your victim.” He said, the warmest smile she had ever seen spread across his face.
“You still don’t understand.”
“Then explain it to me.”
Her attacker placed both hands around her throat and she felt the weight against her grow. She felt as if she would collapse in upon herself. She didn’t want to tell him; she didn’t want to experience the pain that she knew would come once she did, but something needed to escape. She needed to express herself before she was crushed under the weight of all of this.
“I’m the reason your parents are dead.” She cried out, looking him directly in the eyes.
His smile never changed. He gently placed a hand on her attacker’s chest and pushed him away, “You are not your father, his sins are his own.”
The pressure was gone. The suffocating pain vanished as if a switch had been flipped. The rings of the dead were walking away as her attacker evaporated before her.
“Maria.”
“Yes?” She asked, different tears now streamed from her eyes.
“I need you to wake up.”
Sean was standing beside her, his eyes full of concern.
She blinked, trying to clear something from her eyes. Her mouth was dry, lips sore from where the ventilation tube had been placed in her mouth. She felt cold as she lay upon the medical bed, even though it was heated and soft. She tried to lift herself into a seated position but a spike of pain ran through her head and she laid back down, her hand gently probing the base of her skull. She could feel the artificial skin that toby had adhered over the wound, to seal it and prevent infection.
“What did you do?” Sean whispered.
She frowned and looked up at her husband, her hand slipping into his, “What I should have done a long time ago.”
“I thought you wanted to be less like your father?”
She looked away, holding back tears, “He wasn’t wrong about everything.”
Sean didn’t respond, but she felt his hand tighten on hers. She hoped that he understood what she meant by that, Sean of all people she knew had suffered uniquely from her father’s decisions.
As the threat of the tears subsided, she could see the holographic projection of the gas attack was still on. The little boy still laying on the ground centimeters from where she lay herself.
She managed to sit up, disorientation consuming her as she looked around the room, “What time is it?”
“Shouldn’t you know that already?” He said, using his chin to motion to the back of her head.
“Toby hasn’t turned on the neural link yet. We need to wait for the damage to heal and the scaring at the connections to fade. He’ll start activating simple functions in a day or so, then more advanced if I respond well.”
Sean nodded, but he wasn’t happy, “Almost five in the morning.” He said, moving away from a topic he knew he had no ability to influence any further.
Her hand went to her sore neck as she sat up straighter and then tried to stand, “Any updates?”
“Gisela Warin and the General have it under control. Dad wanted me to thank you for the medical drones. They’ve helped save a lot of lives, the alliance is kind of short on skilled doctors right now.”
She looked at him, waiting for him to give her the information she wanted. When a minute passed, and he said nothing she pushed the issue, “how many are dead?”
He shook his head and she could tell he was wrestling with whether he should tell her or not, “We aren’t sure, but the last estimate was one thousand, six hundred and thirty-four.”
“And how many wounded?”
“Maria,” he said, exasperated, “It wasn’t your fault.”
The circles of the dead flashed into her mind and she frowned, “Someone has to take responsibility, tell me how many.”
He sighed, “About double that number.”
Her face screwed into a mask of pain as she turned away, her eyes closed tightly. Sean rushed to con
tinue, “But we’ve manufactured enough of the antidote to prevent further harm and the medical drones are creating tailored treatment regimens for each one of the wounded. They should all recover fully.”
“But they’ll never not have felt that pain. They’ll never get back the loved ones who died.”
“And you didn’t kill them.”
She slowly stood, “They died because of my inability to bring about peace. They died because they were in a situation that my father created because he wanted to build a better world for me. If I wasn’t here”
He interrupted her, “Your father’s sins are his Maria, not yours, don’t take on more guilt than is yours.”
She turned to him, “How can I not?”
He stood and placed his hands on her shoulder. She had to fight the urge to flinch as the motion pulled at the tender muscles along her upper back and into her neck. Sean leaned in a little, their height difference forcing him to stoop some to look her in the eye, “I want you to come with me somewhere.”
She shook her head, “I have to manage this.” She said, her hand sweeping the holographic recreation.
“Tobor is handling it and he’s coordinating with the alliance. There isn’t a lot for you to do.”
She looked toward the eastern wall of the room, “I can make sure Trotsky doesn’t try anything else.”
Sean looked pained, “His army is in no shape to restart the campaign.” His hands slipped down to hers, taking them in. “Maria, come with me, I need to show you something and we’re expected.”
“Where are we going?” She asked.
“Some place where you can see the good that you’ve created. You need to understand that without you, things would have gotten much worst for all of humanity. Because of you, people get to keep living their lives and making their own decisions.”
He turned and surveyed the surrounding death, “Even if they’re shitty ones.”