“Yes, I can see that. I secured a seat for you on the last transport.” S.A. Dehring’s voice shook with fear, frustration, and fury.
“Yeah, guess I missed it,” Wil excused his presence with a shrug.
“I guess,” S.A. Dehring changed the subject with the clearing of his throat. “Is Lieutenant Pierce there?”
“Yes, he is.”
S.A. Dehring shifted anxiously, his eyes darting around his environment and avoiding Wil’s stare. “Put him on.”
“Can’t; he’s dead.”
A look of shocked terror crossed the senior Dehring’s expression, his words stuttering and disjointed: “What? How?”
“Took his own life.”
“He did. Well, that’s,” SA Dehring straightened his posture, a renewed mask of haughty civility on his face, “unfortunate.”
“Yeah, I see how tore up you are,” sarcasm tainted Wil’s sugar-soaked speech.
“Is his second-in-command there; any Senior Admins?”
“They’re all dead; Lieutenant Pierce killed them to field test a prototype weapon.”
“Is that so? And, this weapon the Lieutenant used, is it there?” The excitement in his father’s eyes visibly solidified the ice around Wil’s heart. Sawyer knew Wil held no misconception of Fischer Dehring’s true purpose: the pulse weapon offered technology beyond any power held through the universe. The addition of the pulse technology to the Administration’s current power would give them a power no human should hold. Incorporating the tech into a weapon the size of the TSS’s cannon would destroy a planet through to the core; a true world killer.
Sawyer expected Wil’s answer – “It was destroyed” – as his friend effectively signed their death orders.
“Oh, well, are the pieces still there?” An eerie stillness filled the room, settling over the dead weapon.
“Nope, burned up. Lots of fires down here right now.” Artificial light flared against the prototype’s metal body.
S.A. Dehring repeated his earlier statement: “Well, that’s unfortunate.”
“Yeah, it is,” Wil shook his head, his lips quirking at the first sincerity from the man in the monitor. “I’m sure you can replicate it, right? I mean, you invented it, didn’t you? Not like you just signed your name on someone else’s work and let Lieutenant Pierce kill everyone down here to cover it up.”
“Right, of course,” SA Dehring’s mask of superiority cracked; a fissure he couldn’t repair. “Son.”
“Don’t, don’t ever,” Wil flipped off the monitor without farewell, staring at the black screen for several, silent seconds.
“Wil?”
“We came here for a purpose,” Wil cleared his throat, cutting the emotion from his voice as effectively as he’d cut his father from the communication screen and his life. “We should gather the supplies and get back.”
“Wil, you know what’s going to happen at dawn. It doesn’t matter if we fix the cannon on that wreck or not. It’s no match for what they’re hitting us with.”
“I know there are going to be a lot of Beta Sect assholes coming through that fence come daylight looking for a pulse weapon; a weapon the TSS believes is destroyed.”
“When the TSS fires that cannon, nobody will survive.”
“The TSS canon will wipe out all life from here to Beta Sect, but it won’t destroy that gun,” Wil pointed toward the weapon to make his point. “Someone will find it, someone will fix it, someone will find a place to use it, and the Administration will be powerless to stop it.”
“You don’t want to give it to them,” Sawyer’s tone was doubtful, his own view on the matter clear.
“Hellfire, no! Can you imagine what could be done with that tech in the wrong hands?” Wil shuddered at the thought. “The only way to make sure that doesn’t happen is to destroy it – turn it to ash – and the only force we have strong enough to destroy it…”
“Is that old cannon.”
“You go grab the fuel cells Crazy Carl wanted; we may as well let the kook feel he’s making a difference. It’s his last night on Flamouria, too.”
Sawyer placed two fuel cells on the communication table as Wil dropped a pile of ammunitions and firearms beside them with a clatter. Looking at the supplies, Sawyer questioned his choices; “What are you taking those for? The only weapons we need are the prototype and the cannon.”
“You never know,” Wil shrugged, a childish glee in his slight smile as he ran a hand over the hard steel of the rifles and pistols in front of him. With a cough and a shake, the man added a box of MREs before he noticed Sawyer’s raised brow. “What?”
“And those; the MREs?”
“I’m hungry,” Wil shrugged.
Sawyer shook his head and turned to retrieve the final item they needed: the abandoned pulse weapon. The weapon gave Sawyer an uneasy sense of power; as light as plastic, only her cool, metallic sheen told of her deadly capabilities. A wave of depression descended onto Sawyer’s shoulders, unable to meet Wil’s eyes as he added the prototype to the pile of weapons.
“What is it?”
“Nothing, let’s get out of here.”
“Sawyer,” guilt flared in Wil’s anxious gaze. “I’m sorry. I had no right to choose for you.”
“Shut up, man,” Sawyer placed a forgiving hand on Wil’s shoulder. “You did the right thing. There is no positive solution for this mess; either way we’re dead. And, well, if I’m going to die – if you and Mav are going to die – then it’s damn well going to mean something. Now, let’s get out of here.”
“Yeah, I guess we should get back to the turd,” Wil loaded his two duffels on his shoulders as Sawyer hoisted each fuel cell on a hip. “What are you going to tell him?”
Sawyer stopped midstride, tormented by indecision; “I’ll figure it out on the way back.”
Sawyer spared a momentary glance to ensure their safety before exiting the building, anxious to leave the stale, suffocating odor of copper and decay. Clouds wept over the remains of humanity’s settlement, creating a maze of puddles.
