Connor checked his suit. No signs of rips or bloodstains.
Good, but not worth further risk. He removed the jacket and laid it on the kitchen table. Connor rolled up his sleeves and mentally sorted what remained on his verbal checklist.
He stood over Thomas and relished the moment.
“Filth like you are the reason we have to create a new order.”
He kicked Thomas in the ribs. And again. He thought of stomping on the man’s throat, but the act might end things too quickly.
Instead, Connor bent down on one knee and smiled at the rasping, bludgeoned loser. He reached into the pocket where Thomas stowed his pom and retrieved it.
Connor read the inscription: ‘Leave no dream unfulfilled.’
“A nice sentiment. I have a long list of mantras I say each day. It’s part of my Requiem training. I’ll add this one. Leave no dream unfulfilled. Perfect!”
Connor tucked the pom into a jacket pocket and retrieved a fat red pill. He returned to Thomas and played his final cards for the gurgling ex-tormentor.
“I was five,” he said. “It was three months after the war. Your parents were out. Trevor was off jogging somewhere because that’s how he coped. Me? I was taking a nap.
“When I woke, I felt someone’s hand down my pants. You placed the other hand over my mouth and told me not to say a word. If I did, bad things would happen. I promised to keep my mouth shut. But you didn’t believe me. Two days later, Fritz disappeared and we never saw him again.”
Saying it aloud felt good.
Thomas would have refuted it, of course, but he was too occupied spitting up blood.
“I never told Trevor or anyone. I blocked it out. Recently, I experienced an awakening. You might say my brain was polished. All kinds of memories came rushing back. You’re a sickness. Soon, you’ll be forgotten.”
He leaned in and mimicked the tone Thomas used on the little brat all those years ago.
“No one will ever know. Will they?”
He held up the red pill.
“It’s called CNZ-4. My team stores it in our superflex when we’re on the battlefield. It’s only to be used if we’re captured. We give the enemy nothing. Not even our bodies, bruv. It’s an acid specifically targeted to break down every component of the human body.”
Thomas’s eyes, already locked in a death stare, ballooned. Had he heard of it? Not likely. It wasn’t standard UNF issue.
“I won’t lie. This is going to hurt. It will literally rip you apart. But the pain won’t last long.”
Thomas wriggled, trying to talk through his gasps. Connor sighed.
“The alternative is to arrest, convict, and execute you for treason. Too much trouble! No one will ever know.”
Connor wrenched Thomas’s mouth open and dropped the pill inside. He backed away, pulled up a kitchen chair, and became a spectator. He’d never seen it work on a live body.
Purpose, order, execution. I am whole and true to myself. My purpose cannot be denied. I will show no mercy to my enemies. Leave no dream unfulfilled.
Thomas screamed through his last, desperate gurgles. He flopped like a seal. Then, after a brief stillness, his body spasmed.
The CNZ-4 ravaged the thorax. The chest cavity imploded. Steam rose as blood boiled away. The bodysuit fell limp. The pants flattened. After a minute, the acid attacked the head. Cheeks melted. Eyes sank. Hair charred to a crisp. The bones took longer to dissolve – the skull made a stubborn if futile last stand.
Two minutes later, the acid eliminated the final organic components, even attacking bloodstains on the clothes.
Then it went inert, as designed.
Connor studied what remained and wondered whether he should celebrate. Wasn’t this but a small victory? A personal triumph, long overdue. A wish granted. Yet nothing more.
“You’ll be the first to arrive on Amity,” Adm. Sike Nagano told Connor onboard the Hampton Wave. “There are a handful of enemies who will need to be dispatched. Otherwise, they may cause disruptions. We need to launch without resistance or confusion. Nexus believes you are well-positioned. So do I.”
Connor remembered how he felt in that moment: Honored.
Code Exodus featured ten spears scattered across the stars. Requiem’s leaders trusted Connor to lead the tip of one such spear.
They’d be proud of his team’s quick work. Two of the five on Nagano’s list were gone. The others would be dead within twelve hours. Connor made contact with one of two Nexus agents onboard while eating dinner at the Riyadhi restaurant. The server was a pleasant man who understood the larger vision.
The other – a quiet woman from Euphrates, Nexus’s home world – accosted him outside the boutique where Connor acquired new clothes. She said, “Niles Acasta is home,” and nodded. Then she went on her way.
Wasn’t it grand? They sculpted the future, one enemy at a time. The rot was everywhere, could hide inside anyone. The plan itself would take time, patience, and commitment. All of which Connor had in abundance.
“Can perfection ever be achieved?” Nexus asked the first time Connor met him. “With humans? No. But the attempt is noble. What we can do, my friend, is seek higher purpose.”
Nice.
Connor examined what he accomplished and reached into his jacket. There, he found the necessary tools to eradicate the evidence and prepare the scene. He was a fast learner.
18
Abdelmani Ranch
