Murder of Crows (Book One of The Icarus Trilogy) (20 page)

“Why the fuck did you do that?”  Carver merely stood there and looked back at him.

“I was testing whether or not it was a flesh wound or something deeper,” he said as he started to walk away.  Jenkins growled beneath his helmet at the man and wished that he was in enough shape to hit him.

“And what did you find, you ass?” Jenkins asked, resorting to sarcasm since he couldn’t physically do anything about it.  Carver just sat down at his seat and sighed.

“You’re screwed, kid.  I’m sorry.”  Jenkins’ anger slipped away from him and curiosity took its place.

“Ok, enough!  What is going on?  Why is everyone offering their condolences?  It’s just a shoulder wound,” he said, doing his best to demand answers.  No one answered him at first; they were all hesitant to say anything to the soldier.  Cortes sighed in front of him and looked him in the eye.

“It’s a death sentence, Jenkins,” the Spaniard said before looking back down at the floor.  Jenkins' brow furrowed at that and he turned his head to Carver.  The man wouldn’t shy away from telling him the truth.  The old man just looked back at him from his place at the end of the bench.

“Remember Warner a few games ago?  I told him to basically commit suicide and tapped my arm.  He was shot in the shoulder, do you remember that?”  Jenkins nodded at the man.  Carver shook his head and looked across the aisle.  “You asked me why he was already dead and I just told you to move.  It’s because I didn’t want to talk about it at the time.  But you’re going to know soon enough anyway,” he said before rubbing the bridge of his nose and dropping his hand so that he could look back at the rookie.  He rose from the bench and walked over to his young compatriot.  “And I’m not going to tell you without looking you in the eye.”

“The rough and short of it is that you’re not getting out of this one.  When you get back to headquarters O’Brian is going to take one look at you and then sign your death certificate.  You’re going to die and have to be resurrected,” he said, doing as he said he would and not breaking eye contact.  Jenkins couldn’t really believe it.  He didn’t understand.

“Why would they do that?”  Carver sighed and rubbed his forehead.

“You’ve been structurally damaged.  If it was just a little graze then they’d let you go, but that bullet hit bone and tore through muscle.  They’re not going to wait six weeks for you to heal properly, maybe, when they can just kill you and get a whole, new, perfect soldier.  I’m sorry, kid, but that’s what you have to look forward to,” he said before looking back down to the floor.  Jenkins had a dozen questions about that and they were about to flood out of his mouth before the transport shuddered and started to move towards headquarters.  He realized that it all came back to the Commission; it was all tied up in money and the lack of ethics.  The young soldier realized that talking with Carver wasn’t going to fix any of it.

-

Jenkins was apprehensive about exiting the transport.  He tried to think about what he was going to say to the ones in charge of his demise.  He looked at his right hand, which was lying on his lap.  He tried to curl his fingers and was met with a flash of pain.  It didn’t matter; he had his resolve.

He would work through the pain if he didn’t have to die.

Most of the soldiers had already walked off the transport.  Carver had shaken his head and patted Jenkins’ good shoulder.  Cortes hadn’t looked him in the eye; Jenkins figured that the man had experienced something like this himself.  Jenkins took a deep breath and set his head against the hull of the ship before realizing that he wasn’t going to get anything done by sitting on that bench.  Jenkins mustered his courage and got to his feet.  He could already see O’Brian flanked on each side of the doorway by Earth Orbit Security Forces guards.  The two of them were rather intimidating; their bulky, black armor was built to withstand structural damage and protect the wearer, unlike the armor that each slave soldier was wearing.  Jenkins took another breath and walked off the transport.

The official was too busy jotting down some information on his handheld computer to notice Jenkins’ approach.  He only looked up when Jenkins came to a stop in front of him.  O’Brian looked like quite the bureaucrat.  His hairline was receding with a speed only genetics could claim.  He was dressed in regular, drab fatigues and wore a pair of thick eyeglasses with thin frames.  The man clearly held substance over style.  Jenkins would not have been afraid of him if the man didn’t hold power over his very life.  The official looked over Jenkins briefly and recognized the soldier’s face.

“Ryan Jenkins.  How did the game treat you?” he asked before accessing Jenkins’ data sheet from his computer.  O’Brian didn’t really care about Jenkins’ disposition; he was just being as polite as his bosses asked him to be.  Jenkins shrugged with his good shoulder and looked at the two guards.  They were eyeing him suspiciously.

“Still alive.  More than others can say,” Jenkins said, trying to emulate Cortes’ reaction from earlier.  He figured it would help him escape notice.  O’Brian looked back over his glasses and furrowed his brow.

“Quite right, quite right.  Let me take a good look at you,” he said before running his eyes over Jenkins’ armor.  Jenkins had done his best to scratch off the dried blood from his shoulder plate, but he was worried the official might notice anyway.  The official’s gaze hovered over the spot briefly but then continued down the rest of the soldier.  Soon enough he tapped a few buttons and gestured for Jenkins to move on.

The soldier tried to keep his smile secret and was about to head forward to the locker room when the security guard to the official’s left cleared his throat and brought up his hand to tap the official’s shoulder.  O’Brian turned to look at the man who in turn nodded towards Jenkins and grunted while touching his right shoulder.  The officer was on the tail end of middle-age, but still fit enough to make a respectable guard.  Jenkins wanted to hurl his fist into the man’s jaw, not caring that he would end up the worse for it.

“You sure you’re doing alright, Ryan?  Seems like you got shot in the shoulder,” O’Brian said before further inspecting it and feeling around the warped metal.  Jenkins did his best to take the statement in stride.

“Just a graze, sir.  Don’t expect it to-ghk…” he said before wincing.  When the official pressed down on the shoulder plate a small amount of blood had oozed out of the hole.  Upon Jenkins’ reaction he pulled the soldier’s arm and suddenly Jenkins’ mind was overwhelmed by a maelstrom of pain.  He stood his ground and maintained his consciousness, but the Crow knew he had lost that battle.  The official stood back up and started to enter information into his computer.

“Ryan, faking it doesn’t help anyone.  We can’t help you if you hide it from us.  Albert,” he said before addressing the youthful guard to his right.  “Can you escort Mr. Jenkins here to medical?  I’ve scheduled in an appointment with Dr. Kane to euthanize the man.”  Jenkins heard the man speaking so casually about his death and suddenly felt the injustice of it all.

“Wait a minute!  O’Brian, you don’t have to kill me.  I can keep fighting like this.  It’s just a shoulder!”  The official looked back at him and then motioned to the other guard, as well.  Albert would not be enough to guide the soldier to Medical, it seemed.

“It’s a shoulder that’s not your property.  The Commission needs it fixed for the next game.  Can you do that?” the official asked.  Jenkins started to speak but the man continued speaking over him.  “No, you can’t.  I’m afraid it’s clearly stated in your contract that upon any limiting structural damage you are subject to a forced resurrection.  You signed the papers, didn’t you?” he asked rhetorically. 

“Look, you’ve never died here.  It’s terrible.  I’m sure I can play in the next game!  We can work something out.  I can give you my earnings for the next few games.  Please,” Jenkins begged as the two guards walked towards him.  He put up his left hand to try to ward them off as they approached.  The official just shook his head.

“I make much more than you.  You have nothing I want, Ryan.  And even if I could help you,” he said before removing his glasses and cleaning them, “it’s very much out of my hands.  God, this is a filthy planet.”  The two guards continued towards Jenkins so that they could grab the man and drag him to the clinic.  Jenkins thought briefly about fighting them off just long enough so that he could strangle the life from O’Brian but then he realized it wouldn’t mean a thing.  There would just be another official to take his place.  The soldiers loomed over him and were about to grab his arms before he stood straight and raised his hand.

“It’s fine, it’s fine…  I’ll go easy,” he said before the guard named Albert led him along the pathway to the medical complex.  It was only a short walk from the landing zone.  The other guard stayed behind with the official and looked after Jenkins while they departed.

“They always think they’re special, Laurence.  They can always work something out,” the official said before turning back to the computer in his hands.  The older guard shrugged and looked out to the ruined landscape.

“Can you really blame them?” the guard asked as another soldier walked off the transport in front of them.  The official just sighed and continued to tap away at the display.

“They signed up for it.  I can’t feel sorry for them.”  Laurence looked at the official and disgust flickered in his eyes.  If his friends rescued the planet like they hoped, Laurence would have a hard time trying to justify saving the man’s life.  He looked back at the doomed soldier as he disappeared over a crest in the landscape.  The aging guard wished he could do more for the man.

-

Jenkins felt miserable as he waited for his appointment in the medical complex.  The young guard sat beside him in the adjacent chair and shifted in his seat every once in a while, which Jenkins couldn’t help but notice.  The Crow felt more anxious than when he was on the battlefield.  It was almost worse to be waiting patiently for death in the clinic instead of facing a hail of bullets from his opponents.  He looked at his shoulder.  They hadn’t bothered to take off his armor and he could see a new trickle of blood flowing down the crevice.  He sighed.  Such a little thing was a death sentence on this asteroid.

Albert could sense the young soldier’s anxiety.  He couldn’t help the boy; not at that time.  The best he could do was to try to comfort the soldier, but they never did respond well to the guard’s empathy.  He wished he could tell Jenkins, just like all the other soldiers he had done nothing to save, that there were people out there that wanted to help.  There were people whose plans were in motion to free all these soldiers from their slavery.  Albert wanted to tell the soldier that he was on his side; he wanted to tell Jenkins to wait and everything would be alright.

He just couldn’t.  He had spent years developing the cover necessary to get this position in the EOSF; Laurence much longer.  They had been installed there to help, but they needed to keep quiet until the time was right.  In the meantime they had to watch as these modern slaves were forced to kill each other.  Albert felt the whole thing was unbearable.  He could barely look the soldiers in the eyes.  He had come to save them; he had come to help.

He looked at Jenkins and saw just another boy he was leading to death.

Dr. Kane burst through the entryway distracted.  She was just coming back from a resurrection procedure and checked the display.  She had been cleaning up the mess left from this last game for a few hours; the first casualties had been fairly early on in the game.  Since then the woman had been administering sedatives and gently bringing back the dead to a living hell. 

It was tiring work.

Jenkins saw her as she typed away on the display and could see how weary she looked.  He felt bad for the woman.  She was surrounded by this day after day and Jenkins could tell it was not something she enjoyed.  The young Crow realized that she was probably going to be the one who killed him.  He sighed, figuring that her conscience wouldn’t let her come back from that one easily.

Charlotte continued to tap away at the display as she finished up the check list for the last resurrection.  Feldman had come through normal as always and his vitals were just the same.  It didn’t stop the system from freaking out every time he gained consciousness.  The system considered his heartbeat abnormal because his frame was so different from the rest of the Crows.  She smiled as she remembered the man’s demeanor.  He was always understanding and calm while the alarms went off around him.  She needed more men like that in her life rather than cowards like Hawkins.  She did her best to ignore the scientist, which was a nice coincidence as he avoided her, as well.  She hoped to continue that behavior for the rest of the day.

Then she saw Jenkins’ name flash across the screen for his appointment.  Her heart sank as she turned her head and saw the soldier sitting next to the EOSF guard.  She remembered the last two times that he had been resurrected; she remembered hoping that Jenkins would never have to experience anything like this.  Charlotte tapped a few keys and opened the intercom channel.  Hawkins' voice sounded tinny over the speaker.

“What?”  Charlotte sighed as she looked at the young soldier.  He looked pathetically back at her and waved with his left hand.

“I need you to prep the euthanasia materials.”  She clicked off the intercom and waved back at Jenkins.  There was a knot in her gut and she felt terrible.

“Hah, one of those?  Who’s the unlucky sap?” Hawkins asked over the intercom.  Charlotte could tell the monster of a man was enjoying the idea of killing another person.

“You’ll see soon enough,” Dr. Kane said before walking over to Jenkins.  She had trained herself not to cry in these circumstances, but she gained a small comfort in the fact that the procedure still made her feel like a bad person.  The asteroid hadn’t completely killed her conscience.  As she neared the two men Jenkins made motion to stand.  He was having difficulty with his shoulder, obviously, so the good doctor put out her hand to gesture that he didn’t have to stand yet.  She gave a sad smile and crouched down to look Jenkins in the eye.