There were very few left to pull back when the transport landed at the doorstep of his trailer, the jets below it kicking up the dust and sand. He sat on the step by the door waiting for what came next.
The whine of the engines ceased and a bay door slid open softly from the base of the aircraft. Moments later, the first of the fully armored Embracers stepped out, an average sized man with streaks of bright blue running through his long hair and beard. At his side a gladius was sheathed and ready. Edgar could almost feel the Power radiate from him. Other equally odd and dangerous looking Embracers stepped into view. Twenty that he could count. Men and women, each pulling out their weapons. As they all looked around, Edgar saw the last of the transports in the distance pass behind him and out of sight.
The ethereal blue man came forward with hands open as if to show he came unarmed. Edgar wasn’t born yesterday. He knew the sword was more for show than use in the possession of an Embracer. Edgar Taft knew the real Power was in the body.
“You are commander of these forces?” the man asked, almost casually, as if simply passing the time with idle chitchat.
“I am. Edgar Taft, Field Commander for the United Peoples Military. To whom do I have the honor?”
“You have the honor of me. That’s all you need to know.”
“Well, should I bow or curtsey?” There were no false premonitions now. All Edgar could hope for was to slow these heathens as long as possible, if it would make any difference at all.
The blue man smirked at the guts of the man in front of him. “You should run,” was all he said.
Edgar rolled up his pant leg, revealing the wound and the bandaging. “Don’t feel much like runnin’, truth be told.”
“Ha, so you’d run like the others if you were able to?”
Edgar stood and approached the man cautiously. “Maybe. Seeing as how I had no choice in the matter, I hadn’t given it much thought.”
“I doubt you would, Edgar Taft. You don’t look like a runner.”
“Then, my blue friend, just what do I look like?”
“You look like a man of honor. You also look like a man who has tossed his life aside recklessly for the vain hope of saving the lives of those you command. A man who would meet death with a sharp tongue.”
“Other than the recklessly part, I’d say you have me pegged, Bluey.”
“Do you know who I am, Edgar Taft?”
“I know what you are. That’s enough for me.”
“Good. Then you know what you’re trying to do now is hopeless?”
“Likely, but not as hopeless as runnin’.”
“And you know why we’re here?”
“I do, though the reasoning behind it kinda escapes me at the moment. I thought we were fighting robots, not heathens.”
“And do you think you or your people will win against us 'heathens’?”
“Maybe. You’re not indestructible. There’s always hope.”
The blue man smiled, drawing the sword out. Edgar hesitated when he saw the same blue shade glow through the blade. Echoes raced through his brain as he looked at it, but the sensation was muted once he tore his eyes away.
“In this world, we are indestructible, Edgar Taft. There is no one powerful enough to stop us left on the Earth.”
Edgar got up, grunting as he did so. He stepped over to the man and met him face to face. “You were human once. You have to remember that we don’t give up hope easily.”
The blue man lifted the blade, pointing it past Edgar to his trailer. Instantly the trailer was in the air. When it was high overhead, a large blue spark rocketed from the blade of the weapon. The trailer was obliterated into pieces that rained down behind Edgar. Many Embracers laughed.
“That’s where I kept my belongings, sir. I’d thank you to pick it up.” The sharpness in his voice was still strong, but his gut knew that this simply wasn’t natural. The truth of who he was facing was that much more apparent. Embracers? Siding with the mechanical Army of the Old? What did it mean?
The blue man was amused by Edgar’s wit, but it was obvious that his patience with him was done. “You are a credit to your family and peers, Edgar Taft. It’s a shame to kill you.”
“It’s a shame to die at the hands of one like yourself.”
With a nod of recognition to a true statement, the blue man flicked his wrist, tossing Edgar into the air as if he were made of feathers. At the apogee of the throw, he was frozen and floating just as the trailer had. He knew what would come next. He prayed he would feel nothing but doubted it was going to be so.
“Goodbye, Edgar Taft. Your death is meaningless. Your friends and family will still suffer just as quickly. You have accomplished nothing here. I fear you have died a failure. For one such as yourself, I’d call that a terrible shame.”
Before he had a chance to even consider the truth in the words the blue man had spoken, Edgar Taft was effortlessly wiped from the Earth in a burst of fleeting-but-intense pain, followed by death’s embrace.
Edgar Taft deserved much better.
Coming Soon
Catching Hell
Part 2:
Destination
Other Books by
Marc Watson
Death Dresses Poorly
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