Brigends (The Final War Series Book 1) (18 page)

Another bad memory

Patti rested on the lounger beside the heat of the fireplace, twirling a glass of whiskey in her hand. She wasn’t conscious of spilling drops here and there. When the cool liquid touched her fingers, she broke her contemplation and licked away the bitter sweetness.

Of all the human weaknesses a person could have, she enjoyed insobriety the most. Over the many decades of her life, she had sampled various addictions. Smoking was her least favorite. It served no purpose and the filthy vapors fouled everything they touched. If it wasn’t for the era in which she was born, she would never have taken up the habit in her youth. Thankfully, like most human addictions, it was easy to quit. Admittedly, there were occasions like this one when she desired a cigarette and would have indulged the craving if one was available. 

During the anarchical 1960s and 70s, she tried every mind altering contaminant offered, but never enjoyed the effects they produced. The highs were dirty. Maybe it was because of her Zolarian blood, but she never saw a need to indulge in such activities. Using an ora worked better and left no lingering traces of intemperance.

Alcohol, on the other hand, she relished and had no issues with. Its effects were mild, and the act of ingesting spirits made her appear refined, or at least someone born to a higher class. She loved the perception of sophistication.

Scar’s oversized foot squeaked the floorboards, disturbing her medicinal meditation. She looked at him standing in the doorway, neither moving nor diverting his focus from his appointed duty. He cradled an automatic rifle with a finger flicking the trigger guard.

She worried for his safety. His strength and training was no match against the evil coming their way. She considered dismissing him, but fear overpowered reason. Somehow, the muscular human made her feel a little at ease.

A door opened downstairs.

“Stay here,” he ordered, raising the weapon’s butt to his shoulder.

He disappeared into the blackness of the hallway. She waited for him to return. She knew this was it. An eternity elapsed.

“Scar?”

Another eternity passed before he reappeared without his weapon, and out of sorts. He seemed neither alive nor dead.

She trembled. “Scar?”

His eyes rolled white and he collapsed lifeless on the floor. Kroll came into the light of the study, wiping blood from the ora dagger. She swallowed her panicking heart and turned her back to him, gulping the whiskey to regain courage.

“And, another bad memory comes walking through my door. I swear I should charge admission.”

He stepped over the corpse. “Our recent reunion was regrettably short and discourteous. Allow me a second opportunity for civility. It is good to see you again. I admit though, the years have not been kind to you.”

“You were always a charmer. I suppose that’s why you’ve been my favorite.” She raised her empty glass and wiggled it. “Drink?”

He ignored the offer and went straight to the curio cabinet. Opening the door, he removed her ora from its hiding place. “You kept it after all these years? What a curious action for someone who wishes to be human.”

“I am human, and so are you, Alex.”

He slammed the crystal down, cracking the glass shelf. “Alex has not been my name for many years,” he snarled before calming his manner. “What a pity. You were one of the greatest among us. Now look at what you have become. You are a withering shell of your former greatness.”

“Be careful, darling,” she smiled. “With flattery like that, I might get the wrong idea and think you’ve come to say sorry.”

He beamed as he strolled around the room. “Humor was never one of your strong suits.”

“I agree, but my strong suits were always considerably more fun.”

Kroll pretended her vulgar reference did not bother him. He stopped at the mantle to warm himself by the heat of the fire. “Did you honestly think I could be easily lured here? The girl’s emergence is a spotlight, shining on their whereabouts. As we speak, a squad of bounty hunters is closing in on her and your precious ward.”

She poured another glass of whiskey to the brim and laughed. “One step behind as always. You see,
as we speak
, my son is being whisked to safety, and the man you’re really after is far away from here.”

“Or so you believe. My plans have changed. Acquiring what Pavel possesses is no longer my sole purpose.”

“Come, come. What are you going on about?”

“The girl.”

Patti faked a chortle. “She’s nothing.”

“Even without reading your thoughts, I can tell when you are lying. You know of her power.”

She fingered the rim of the glass. Fear was overtaking her again. “If you let me, I’ll find what you’re looking for and give it to you myself.”

“Why would you help me?”

“If I hand the crystal over, you will leave Max and me alone?” she offered.

“You know of what I seek?”

“Of course.”

“Is it here?”

“No. But, I will find it.”

“You cannot bargain without leverage.”

“Silly boy, you know Nadiya’s ora is useless to you.”

“You might be surprised by what I know.”

“What are you planning?”

“Whatever I have planned, it will not matter to you soon.”

“You don’t scare me. You never have.”

He looked over the row of holo-pictures on the mantelpiece. Every image was of Max. One in particular caught his eye. The details were vague. In it, Patti was hugging the boy with the love only a mother could show. The familiar bliss, unmistakable between the two, inflamed Kroll’s reticent emotions.

“And why should you ever be scared of me — Mother?” He removed the holo-picture from the mantel and confronted her with biting anger.

Feeling his suffering, she went to him and offered her tears as contrition. She wanted to bond with him and draw out her son she hoped still lived within his soul. She held his marked face in her palms, letting her pleas of hope flow through him. “I’m not. Oh, Alex, I love you.”

Her caress dampened his fire.

“It’s not too late. Come back to me... please?”

“And what of your
pets
? Will you share with me the same passion you have for those strays?”

“You are my son. You’re the one I carried inside me. That is shared with no one.”

He wanted to believe her. “You swore that same vow to me once before, but you lied.”

She was losing him. “Alex, you know that’s not true. I have always loved you. Even your father still loves you.”

She lost him.

The inferno in Kroll never diffused, not in the slightest by her long sought after and unwavering touch. It only pretended to fade. The declaration of his reviled father fanned the flames.

She had clung to hope, but watching Alex now choose hate over what she offered, she finally heeded the truth — her son was dead. There was only Kroll.

He removed her soft hands from his flesh. “Do you sense the change in the air tonight?”

“Yes,” she responded. She could feel the Spire’s growing bloom.

“It is the harbinger of mankind’s fate.”

Patti reclaimed Max’s picture from his ghost white hands. “Your master believes it’s their salvation.”

“He believes many things, none of which are true. On the other hand, when one door closes, another opens.”

As she went to replace the frame, Kroll seized her by the hair and yanked her to him. She couldn’t resist his strength. Struggling, she dropped the holo-picture. It shattered on impact with the floor.

“There was a time when I would have spared your life, but no longer.” He swung her to the lounger. “Do not be bothered, for I will have both the ora and the girl. Nothing will stand in my way. As for your new son, I will be gracious and allow him to live, so long as he does not oppose me.”

She screamed out of helplessness, “Don’t you touch him!”

He smiled. “Now, Mother, let us reminisce of bygones, you and I.”

Shoving her supine on the chair, his ora pierced the base of her skull. She flailed in silence and then fell passive. Spectral images appeared around the room, replaying her last memories. Dying tears swelled as her mind remembered the stern conversation she had with Max at the Luma Lounge. The apparition faded, replaced by one of her long sought after embrace with Zoe. Kroll felt her hot tears. Her last agonizing bits of life were now his to digest and experience. He discovered her darkest secrets.

The lifeless mouth unleashed a laugh to shock even the fallen of Hell. He removed the blade and the carcass crumbled. He collapsed exhausted on the lounger beside it. Through the mind quickening, he was forced to endure her love for Zoe and Max.

As for her love for him — her child — it had been replaced by shameful disappointment. She dared to love others more than him; and for that crime, he would make all her darlings pay dearly.

The assassin crawled like a wounded beast, howling and weak. His cheek met the chill of the floorboards. There he collapsed, taking fully to heart every regret and sorrow his mother harbored. It was one last cruel joke delivered by a remorseful old woman.

The end begins

Malus had an implied wisdom that was not a truthful reflection of the man he was. Over the years of his lengthy existence, he had been merely an opportunist, exploiting minds keener and hearts more intrepid than his own.

He was nothing more than a charlatan, stealing visions from more worthy individuals — albeit ones whom lacked his Machiavellian aspirations.

He stood center stage, overseeing the final preparations of his six lobotomized clones. Their bodies were restrained to tables arranged in a geometrically cross-shaped pattern along the inner circle.

The large spherical ascension chamber sat apex of the Spire’s towering shaft. Outlined with thousands of stibnite shaped ora crystals, the median perimeter opened to a two hundred meter vertical drop straight to the fusion emitter on the ground.

The Six would serve as his link to the Spire. Without their shared psionic capabilities, he would be incapable of controlling the substantial energy output upon activation.

He walked among the tables, caressing the bare flesh of each clone, cherishing this day of days. Generations of genetic and societal manipulations had finally brought his dream to fruition. History might remember Francis Galton — Margaret Sanger — or even Linus Pauling as the future’s architects, but it would soon recognize Malus as the cabalistic intellect behind their progressive aspirations.

He turned to the tech supervisor. “Have you finished the preparations?”

“Yes, sir. All systems are checked and ready.”

“When the sequence begins, how long before the crystals reach full capacity?”

“Approximately four hours.”

Malus’s impatience flared. “Begin the sequence immediately.”

“Yes, your eminence.”

The technicians evacuated the chamber, leaving him alone with his biological duplicates. The door sealed. Not long after, the crystals began pulsating as power from the reactor coursed through the shaft. A field of bright light radiated, forming an aura around the Six. It grew to a blinding intensity.

Malus disrobed and moved into the arc. Raising his arms to the heavens, the unadulterated energy penetrated his body, bonded with his cells, and then discharged back to the ambient synergy of the chamber. His age reversed course and his infirmities repaired to a youthful luster. He was one with the Six and they were one with him.

Angelita danced to live music as her favorite band Leap Year entertained the adoring throngs gathered on the Spire’s tarmac. She had waited an entire year for this event and wasn’t going to let anything stop her from enjoying the party. She had gotten over Max’s hurtful gift. Surprisingly, the coin turned out to be valuable. With it, she was able to purchase an 8-ball of prime oppie. As she inhaled the opiate and swooned from the high, she said goodbye to Max in her own twisted way.

She also wasn’t upset at him for not being able to take her to the Hi-8 for the World First party. She was a big girl and could take care of her own needs. Sneaking into the bash at the Spire was just as good, if not better than what he could’ve done for her.

Being with these people was the best thing that had ever happened to her. It didn’t matter if she wasn’t a Hi-riser, no one could tell the difference with how she adorned herself with expensive ornaments of gold and platinum. Her airbrushed body garnered all the right attention, leaving no doubt in their minds she was one of them.

Not too shabby for a club dancer and occasional whore, she flattered herself.

When the Spire came alive, the crowd cheered. The night became day and the crystal marks on their foreheads glowed brilliantly. This was it. This was the unity the utopians had promised.

The roar of the crowd pacified to an eerie silence. Angelita looked around, confused.
Who turned off the music
?
What’s going on
?
What’s wrong with these people
?

Around her was an ocean of soulless eyes, looking off into a shared void. Soon, loud claps erupted.

She knew that sound. It was gunfire.

The Zolarian vulture, Isoles, reigned from an observation deck with her personal Vityaz close to her side. She showed no remorse for the lives ending on the ground as the troopers moved through the crowd, shooting those not under the Spire’s trance. Such mortal affairs never factored with her analytical mind. The non-tranced humans posed a security risk to her master’s designs, and thus served no purpose.

She looked over to the officer beside her and pitied the poor creature. Encased within the exoskeleton armor, it was more machine than a man. An ora sliver embedded deep inside its cerebellum controlled its central nervous system. The technology wasn’t elaborate, but it was adequate to provide the officer with a link to the rest of its squad. Despite the combat efficiency of their hive mentality, she still pitied them. Their abominable reality deprived them of any appreciation for the historical event unfolding.

She sensed a ripple in the Collective’s consciousness. The emanation was full of negative force, but meager and difficult to identify. As it intensified, it became analogous to Kroll’s pattern. The killer was showing himself. However, he wasn’t alone; there was another emanation. It was also familiar to her, yet one not felt for many years. Wherever Kroll was hiding, there was a Zolarian traitor with him.

What were they scheming?

To ascertain the spirit of their plotting, she adjourned to the complex along with her armed contingent. On the ground, the slaughter did not stop in her absence.

For the first time that night, Angelita felt naked. The gunshots grew louder and she jumped with each clap. She tried to run, but the thickness of the crowd slowed her escape. She cried.

She never heard the blast ending her life.

Thus began the Zolarian dream for utopia... the promise of peace and unity... the rejection of violence... the attainment of enlightenment through compassion and love.