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Authors: Kage Baker
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isn’t it?” His eyes went wide suddenly.
“And you’re—My God. You’re the Hangar Twelve Man, too, aren’t you?” The laughter died out of his face, to be replaced with a sort of stern and holy joy, far more terrible to see. He rose slowly from his crouch, gripping the box tight.
“At last,” he said. “Oh, God of Battles,
at last
! You know what I was created for, little brother? To punish the wicked. To bring justice to the slaughterers of innocents. That was my work. They took away my work and set me here, carving parts off these poor things that never did any real evil in their lives, compared to the likes of you! The only mistake this one ever made was to save your life, so you could take the bomb to Mars Two. And she suffered for it, while you got away. But here you are, now. Delivered into my hands.”
He advanced on Edward through the darkness, his eyes glowing. Alec whimpered; Edward backed away unsteadily. Marco’s voice had dropped to a croon, soft and hypnotic.
“You can’t live with it, can you? That’s really why you came here. You know you deserve to lie on one of these shelves beside her. Think of the families who died in Mars Two, the colonists, their little children, think of what went through their heads when they looked up, and saw the mountain opening in a gout of fire, and knew there was nowhere they could possibly run. Three thousand mortal souls. Oh, little brother, how that must eat at your heart. You were made with a conscience, you’re a
good
man. You’re so very sorry, but you can never be sorry enough, can you?”
No,
gasped Alec,
No, he’s right—I should have died—
“I know how it hurts. You need me, little brother. I’m the only one who can set it right. Come and be punished, boy. I’ll keep you alive, you can’t imagine how long, long enough to know what they felt, every one of them. We’ll see they get justice, you and I. Come now. Come to my arms.”
Alec lurched toward him convulsively. Edward and Nicholas felt their retreat arrested by his forward movement.
COMMANDER BELL-FAIRFAX! YOU DAMNABLE COWARD, FIRE ON THE ENEMY! roared a voice like a cannon blast in Edward’s ear. The blowpipe was in his hand. The dart flew straight at Marco’s throat, unprotected above his left arm that still clutched Mendoza’s coffin.
It never got there. Too fast to be seen, Marco’s right hand intercepted it. He opened his fist and stared down at the little dart, driven into his palm by the force of his grab.
“What the hell was this supposed to be?” he said, chuckling. “What did you imagine would take me down? Curare? Boomslang venom? Cyanide?No, no.” He flicked it to the floor. “I’m an immortal, you fool.” He held up his palm, displaying the bright drop of blood that welled there. As Edward’s gaze was pulled to it the hand shot forward, faster than a cobra striking, and caught Edward’s right wrist. Marco twisted it. There was the sound of bone snapping. He did not let go but barreled forward, dragging Edward writhing and struggling behind him, out through the shelves, battering him semiconscious against them as they went. Alec and Nicholas were pulled after Edward like insubstantial shadows, though each felt the pain like a spike driven through his own wrist.
“Move over, Grigorii Efimovitch,” Marco said, shoving the table’s occupant to one side. “I’ve got bigger fish to fry than you now!” He swung Edward up on the table and Nicholas was helpless there beside him, cursing and fighting without effect, and Alec lay panting on the other side. He looked up into a ghastly parody of his own face, into his own cold pale eyes.
Edward, rallying, drew back his boot for a savage kick. Marco caught his foot easily and gripped, and there was another snapping sound. Edward threw his head back in a snarl of agony. A knife appeared in his left hand and sped toward Marco’s left eye. Marco deflected it, lifting Mendoza’s coffin like a shield.
“We can
“And you’re—My God. You’re the Hangar Twelve Man, too, aren’t you?” The laughter died out of his face, to be replaced with a sort of stern and holy joy, far more terrible to see. He rose slowly from his crouch, gripping the box tight.
“At last,” he said. “Oh, God of Battles,
at last
! You know what I was created for, little brother? To punish the wicked. To bring justice to the slaughterers of innocents. That was my work. They took away my work and set me here, carving parts off these poor things that never did any real evil in their lives, compared to the likes of you! The only mistake this one ever made was to save your life, so you could take the bomb to Mars Two. And she suffered for it, while you got away. But here you are, now. Delivered into my hands.”
He advanced on Edward through the darkness, his eyes glowing. Alec whimpered; Edward backed away unsteadily. Marco’s voice had dropped to a croon, soft and hypnotic.
“You can’t live with it, can you? That’s really why you came here. You know you deserve to lie on one of these shelves beside her. Think of the families who died in Mars Two, the colonists, their little children, think of what went through their heads when they looked up, and saw the mountain opening in a gout of fire, and knew there was nowhere they could possibly run. Three thousand mortal souls. Oh, little brother, how that must eat at your heart. You were made with a conscience, you’re a
good
man. You’re so very sorry, but you can never be sorry enough, can you?”
No,
gasped Alec,
No, he’s right—I should have died—
“I know how it hurts. You need me, little brother. I’m the only one who can set it right. Come and be punished, boy. I’ll keep you alive, you can’t imagine how long, long enough to know what they felt, every one of them. We’ll see they get justice, you and I. Come now. Come to my arms.”
Alec lurched toward him convulsively. Edward and Nicholas felt their retreat arrested by his forward movement.
COMMANDER BELL-FAIRFAX! YOU DAMNABLE COWARD, FIRE ON THE ENEMY! roared a voice like a cannon blast in Edward’s ear. The blowpipe was in his hand. The dart flew straight at Marco’s throat, unprotected above his left arm that still clutched Mendoza’s coffin.
It never got there. Too fast to be seen, Marco’s right hand intercepted it. He opened his fist and stared down at the little dart, driven into his palm by the force of his grab.
“What the hell was this supposed to be?” he said, chuckling. “What did you imagine would take me down? Curare? Boomslang venom? Cyanide?No, no.” He flicked it to the floor. “I’m an immortal, you fool.” He held up his palm, displaying the bright drop of blood that welled there. As Edward’s gaze was pulled to it the hand shot forward, faster than a cobra striking, and caught Edward’s right wrist. Marco twisted it. There was the sound of bone snapping. He did not let go but barreled forward, dragging Edward writhing and struggling behind him, out through the shelves, battering him semiconscious against them as they went. Alec and Nicholas were pulled after Edward like insubstantial shadows, though each felt the pain like a spike driven through his own wrist.
“Move over, Grigorii Efimovitch,” Marco said, shoving the table’s occupant to one side. “I’ve got bigger fish to fry than you now!” He swung Edward up on the table and Nicholas was helpless there beside him, cursing and fighting without effect, and Alec lay panting on the other side. He looked up into a ghastly parody of his own face, into his own cold pale eyes.
Edward, rallying, drew back his boot for a savage kick. Marco caught his foot easily and gripped, and there was another snapping sound. Edward threw his head back in a snarl of agony. A knife appeared in his left hand and sped toward Marco’s left eye. Marco deflected it, lifting Mendoza’s coffin like a shield.
“We can
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