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Dark Crimson By Nick P.
Chapter XVII

Over the road, I had thought that the minute I looked at him, I’d know what to do. But it just didn’t happen. I was in there with him for days, not under guard. I was free, and he knew I wasn’t going anywhere. He knew more about what I was going to do than I did. If the generals back at the Outlands saw what I was seeing, would they still have wanted me to kill him? He was the sanest crazy man feasible. The craziest sound man. And they would’ve wanted him dead more than ever. And what about his friends, his family? What would they think if they knew how far from them he had really gone? He broke from them, broke from the world, and he had broke from himself. I had never seen a man so broken up and ripped apart…

            My feet had carried me back to the buggy, half-aware of what I was to do. It was empty, no sign of Lance. I wondered as to just what had happened to him. Had he been caught? Killed? I surely would’ve known if it were so. Kurt wasn’t the type of person who would hide something of the sort.

            The radio was on, hazy dialogue filling the silence.

            “PBR, we heard you, Black Star, over. Are you there? Standing by, over. This is ComSec HQ subdivision two-o’-four, over. Do you copy, over?”

            I ran through the buggy, searching.

            All of our weapons had been taken. The crate and bunker below were all emptied. My blaster had been taken from me. I reached under my armour and found my knife, my trusty knife. It was all I had left. And I stood there, looking at it. I had to kill Kurt, and with a knife. The thought was unsettling. It would’ve been much quicker, much faster, much easier had there been weapons left. But Kurt wanted it this way. He didn’t want an execution-styled death. He wanted a fight, he wanted a struggle. He wanted to die on his feet, the last piece to the puzzle of his personality.

            Without thinking, I pushed the knife back under my armour and jumped off of the buggy, running back towards the temple.

*          *          *

They were going to make me a major for this and I wasn’t even in their fucking army any more. Everyone wanted me to do it, and it was him that wanted it most of all. It was the only way he would allow himself to escape from his self-made hell. I felt like he was up there, waiting for me to take the pain away. He just wanted to go down like a soldier, standing up, not like some poor, wasted asshole. Even the planet Stroggos wanted him dead, and that was the only place from where he took his orders. Stroggos had failed in its sickness. But I had to succeed because if I failed, I wouldn’t simply let my superiors down. It just had to be this way and Kurt knew it. It was him who I would disappoint were I to fail.

            I went through the gaping doors, which were oddly left ajar, and down the dark hall, taking the usual left. He was there, sitting in his room. A personal database was at his feet and he was dictating while the computer recorded his message. He went on for a while, ignoring me.

            “It isn’t the Stroggs that deserve it. Or perhaps it is, but they are below us on the priority list. Who would be that brave soul, that one person who has the courage to wipe out humanity for the benefit of the universe? And then the Stroggs too. That is the one and easiest solution to it all. Bomb them or bomb ourselves. They have failed to see it because here they have platinum and here they have the rest of humanity. But sometimes, sacrifices need to be made. Sacrifices for the benefit of others. And that is the one universal solution: drop the bomb, exterminate them all! Blow them all to hell! The Stroggs actually saw this first, that is why they built the Big Gun. In the race for survival, we stopped them, and now it’s our turn to do the same. Why not? What dictates us not to do it? A clean conscience? What good is a conscience in war? If humanity really had a good conscience, they would’ve ended this conflict the day after it began. If humanity had a good conscience, there wouldn’t be war raging. Consciences do not allow for war. And so that is the solution: all must be killed!” His eyes looked away from the computer and looked at me wearily and somewhat fearfully. I hadn’t seen such a look in his eyes. He suddenly stood up and backed away from me.

            “All…” he murmured.

            I pulled out the knife and ran towards him.

            And then, suddenly, my mind went blank. As I slashed at his throat, I felt as if I weren’t really there. As if it was some other being killing him. I couldn’t bear to do it myself, but someone else was, someone hiding inside of me. My mind was empty, my mind was pure. It was murder without judgement, without conscience. It was what Kurt had described as the perfect entity. Kurt had wanted his death and I was doing him a favour. I was fulfilling his one solution. He backed away, not screaming, not yelling, not crying. A sick expression stretched across his broad, bloodied face. He didn’t resist, didn’t fight, but refused to go easily. My hands flashed and blood spilled, but it was all a distant collage of images. But even with this, I could take no more.

            I realised I was sobbing. I propped myself against the wall and sunk to the floor.

            Kurt lay in front of me, a bloody mess. His face now feeble looked at me, his lips moving with tremendous effort. His leg twitched and he closed his eyes. I could hear his raspy breath hastening.

            And he whispered:

            “The horror… the horror…”

            He stopped moving and all was still.

            The knife dropped from my heads and landed heavily on the stone floor. The little light coming from the tiny window started reddening and faded into black.

            I simply sat there, staring at the tiny crop of stars visible through the window. My mind didn’t ramble, but rather, remained clear. It was as if it was all a dream, a horrible dream. And perhaps Kurt had woken from it. But I was still there and I knew that I had to move, I had to escape as well. But Kurt’s body drew my gaze and my mind fell to him again. I hadn’t killed Kurt. I had freed him. It was his will, his only will. But was he worth the effort? Was Chef right? ‘That’s military thinking for you!’ I heard him say in my mind. ‘Typical, fucking typical!’

            And suddenly, a rush of hatred rose, directed at those who had sent me. It was their fault, all their fault! None of this would’ve ever happened if it hadn’t been for their greed. So Stroggos had platinum in vast quantities at rather shallow depths! It was a war fought over material things, but then again, aren’t all wars fought over material things? It was all insane! At home they teach you that material values are of no worth. And then they slap armour on you and ship you across space to die for damn metal deposits! It was a paradox, everything was backwards. The essence of death was contradicted by ourselves, it was us that caused death, not the Stroggs. The Stroggs killed humans, but at least they didn’t kill themselves.

            Stroggs lived for the basic goals set down by nature. Survive, reproduce. Their planet had nothing. Or, it had platinum, but it was of little value to the aliens. They needed basic things: food. They turned to us. But we, being humans, we have all that we need to survive, but instead, looked to things that we didn’t need: that rare metal under Stroggos’ fine, red dust. And because of this unnecessary, trivial element, thousands of soldiers were sent to their death. All that honour, bravery, all those things that were played over and over in young soldiers’ heads were just a mask that covered the truth. They weren’t fighting for Earth. They were fighting in a political game where the unattainable prize was platinum. It was all a lie!

            Drop the bomb, exterminate them all!

            My views still didn’t quite agree with Kurt’s, but I could now see what he saw. I saw from where he got his ideas, his plans. I could see his attempts that swept him away and rushed ahead of him. And I could understand why he wanted to end it all, why he had accepted his death. I could see why he wanted me kept alive. I was his tool, his way of escape. I had freed him.

            My hand reached over and I felt the handle of my knife back safely in the palm of my hand. I didn’t replace it under my armour; now that I had killed, Kurt’s supporters surely wouldn’t rest.

            I stood up. With much effort, I exited, limped down the hall, and out the front doors. But when I got to the terrace, I came upon a shocking sight.

            Over the courtyard that stretched ahead of the terrace on which I stood, below me, were thousands of troops, Kurt’s troops. They were a sea of flesh, skin, bone, muscle, and machine. There were some human and many Strogg. Facemasks ran into odd devices, organic arms flowed into metallic weapons. Metallic legs led to fleshy torsos. Armoured shoulders above which lay thick necks and monstrous heads. Thousands of eyes stared at me, while mouths lined with sharp teeth flexed. Claws extended and skin stretched. And they all continued to gaze at me. Many shifted, others glanced to the sides, only to draw their gaze back to me. I could smell them, thousands of processed human and alien remains mixed with metal. Metal plates fell across chests as armour and ghastly human faces ran into tubes and wires that attached them to a mechanical neck.

            Other fully-human faces looked at me without expression.

            I was outnumbered, without question. All I had was a knife.

            So I held it out at my side slowly and dropped it to the ground. It landed with a clatter that pierced through the silence.

            What did they see?  I was a mess, a tangle of clothes, armour, and skin, all of which was bloodied. It was fresh blood that wasn’t mine.

            A second passed before the thousands of entities before me held out their weapons. But then I felt a jolt of surprise when the muzzles of those rail guns, machine guns, and rocket launchers did not point at me. They held them out to their sides in the same manner as I had done and dropped them to the floor. The night was broken by the sound of thousands of falling weapons. Those that had weapons attached to their hands kneeled down and rested their guns on the ground. And soon, the others dropped too and the ocean before me grew shallower. Stroggs and humans alike stood facing me, kneeling deeply in respect.

            It was an amazing feeling, one of power. I felt as if I could accomplish so much. But that was Kurt’s mistake. It was this feeling of power that had led to his mental downfall. And mental downfall usually calls for physical as well. He could take no more. I knew I couldn’t stay.

            I had to get back to my transport.

            My eyes gazed over this ocean and beyond I saw the tiny spec that was the buggy. The only way was through Kurt’s army, so I descended the stairs. And slowly, the Stroggs and humans moved aside, forming a path. I moved along, passing through thousands of gazes. The only sound in the night was the raspy breaths of these soldiers and my own footsteps. Soon, I had made it across. And at the back, fairly close to the buggy, I saw Lance, staring at me somewhat absent-mindedly.

            I grabbed his arm and dragged him along, and soon we were safely in the buggy.

            Meanwhile, the ocean of flesh, skin, bone, and metal shifted and tiny eyes continued to gaze at us, faces sad in their lack of expression. Lance started the buggy and wheels spun against rock. And as we moved away, dodging the same boulders and rocks that we had avoided on our way in, these faces followed us, trained on our dissipating silhouette. The army, now left leaderless and empty, simply gathered on the road where we had stood, and remained planted there, uncertain, what was once a great force now left without a direction to head, without a goal.

            But I did have a goal, and I had successfully fulfilled it.

            Kurt was dead.

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