Just stop. Leave him alone. He’s gone.
Letho wasn’t sure if he thought the words or said them aloud, for nothing made sense. His eyes felt like they were going to explode from the pressure of the tears flowing from them. They weren’t enough to expel the grief inside him. He moaned a shapeless roar like a feral human who had never heard another person speak. When the medics stood up to talk to him, he pushed them aside, this time conscious enough to not hurt them with his unnatural strength. He knelt, and seized the body of his father, held it in his arms. It was still warm, and the tracks of tears streamed from his lifeless eyes.
Letho’s body shook with seismic sobs, and his own tears were a hot, incessant flow that fell upon Zedock’s face, mingling with the dried tears that he had shed before death.
The onlookers began to disperse, at last realizing that they were intruders on a very intimate moment. Letho held the body for a long time, sobbing, his cheek pressed against Zedock’s. He moaned and sobbed in such a percussive, staccato manner that it sounded like mad laughter. His body began to ache, and at last he lay his father on the floor and collapsed, his own body exhausted from the expulsion of grief. In his stupor he was vaguely aware that Saul was standing over him.
Saul, his false brother. He felt nothing for him at the moment, but he did not protest when Saul knelt beside him and wrapped him in an embrace.
****
They buried Zedock that day in a small cemetery in the green sector, where the vegetables were grown and the pigs were raised. Every citizen of Haven came out and stood shoulder to shoulder as the body of Zedock Wartimer, wrapped in a linen shroud, was lowered into the freshly dug earth.
Saul was the first to speak. “My father was a great man. Through his vision, this place became Haven, a place where Eursans and Tarsi could live free from Abraxas’s cruelty. He laughed with us in good times, and cried with us in bad. Now he is gone, claimed by a failed heart. A heart that was big enough to hold enough love for all of us.” He turned to Letho. “Is there anything you wish to say?”
Letho nodded, stepping forward. “We have lost one of the greatest men I have ever known. But his work, what he dedicated his life to, it will live on even though he is no longer with us. We—”
He was cut off by a roar of support from the crowd. Beneath the Eursan cheers Letho could hear the dulcet tones of Tarsi song-speak.
Zedock Wartimer, Friend of the Tarsi. We will meet again in the halls of our forefathers, they sang.
Letho raised his hand, and the crowd ceased their shouting.
“We will take the fight to Abraxas! We will do what Zedock would have wanted. We will claim the city for Eursan and Tarsi alike. There will be no more living underground, hiding like animals in a burrow. The time has come to strike the heart of Hastrom City, so that it can be reborn as it was meant to be! Will you take arms and fight with me against Abraxas and his Mendraga?”
Rousing shouts in the affirmative filled the air.
FIFTEEN - The Storm
“Letho, you do realize that the chances of survival are relatively close to nil, correct?” Saladin asked.
“I know,” Letho said. He had slept very little the night before. He had cried through the night, with what seemed only momentary respites of sleep. In his dreams, Zedock had appeared to him, pleading him not to go forward with his mission. But there was no stopping now. The machine had been set in motion, and he would play his part.
“No pithy comeback? No insult regarding my tendency to speak ad nauseam?”
“Not today, Saladin.”
“Yes, sir,” Saladin replied. For once the sword fell blissfully silent.
Deacon clapped Letho on the shoulder, startling him. Letho raised his arm by instinct and almost made a fist-sized impression in Deacon’s face.
“Whoa, sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you,” Deacon said, looking his friend up and down. He didn’t like the look that he saw in his friend’s eyes. Deep concern? Or was it fear?
“How do I look?” Letho asked. Tried to smile. Couldn’t quite do it.
“You look like a double-stuffed turd sandwich,” Deacon said. “Rough night?”
“Yeah. I can’t believe he’s gone, Deacon. When we got here, it was so wonderful to find out that he was alive. I—” Letho stammered, “I just wasn’t ready to lose him again.”
Letho felt tears coming on. Held them back. A few got by anyway, and Deacon shed a few sympathetic tears himself.
“He was a great man. The best,” Deacon said, sniffling. “But are you gonna be okay? I mean, with everything that’s happened, I’m worried about you, man.”
“I’m fine. Operating at one hundred and one percent efficiency,” Letho said, trying to smile again, and failing. “I’m a little scared, but I bet everyone is.”
“Come on, you’re Letho Ferron. The Letho Ferron. The bad guys probably have nightmares about you.”
“Good one,” Letho said.
“Hey, I’ll be here all week. Don’t forget to tip your waitresses,” Deacon said, and then his face grew solemn. “Listen, if I don’t see you…”
“Deacon, don’t do that. Just keep your head screwed on right, and don’t do anything stupid. You don’t have to prove yourself to me or anyone else.”
“No sweat, buddy, and you watch your back as well. We’ll see each other again.”
“Yeah, but we might be dressed in white robes and playing harps,” Letho said. He tried to chuckle, but it came out hollow, the coughing of a sputtering engine.
The two men encircled one another in a firm, momentary embrace, clapping each other on the back. It was the ageless embrace of comrades-in-arms, affirming a bond that went deeper than bone.
Saul cleared his throat, and the two broke the embrace. Saul raised his left eyebrow in a sardonic curve. “I wonder about you two, sometimes,” he said as he loaded an enormous box of ordnance into the back of the razorback.
“Just a brotherly hug is all. What, are you some kind of religious zealot or something?” Deacon said, shifting from one foot to another, hands on his hips.
“Yeah, yeah. Hey man, good luck out there. Don’t wreck our ship. And don’t cause the others to wreck their ships. They aren’t making too many of those anymore.”
“Don’t worry. I’m pretty much the best pilot on the planet,” Deacon replied, with perfect sincerity.
“Well, that ain’t saying much. Half the planet is full of brain-dead muties.”
“I’ll do what I can to get her back in one piece,” Deacon said, extending his arm to Saul.
“Seriously, brother. Be careful out there,” Saul replied, clutching Deacon’s forearm. The two men locked eyes for a moment, and then Saul nodded and released Deacon’s forearm.
Johnny Zip arrived just after Saul, and began to load a couple more crates of ordnance into the razorback. The men exchanged handshakes and idle talk, no one moving too fast to complete their pre-launch checklists. There was an air of finality settling over the day. No one wanted to face it head on, yet the inevitable conflict was pulling them forward no matter how slowly they carried their crates.
“Saul, did you get the right crates? The ones I set aside special?” Johnny asked.
“Yeah, I got ’em. Quit your worrying,” Saul spat.
“Easy there, boss. I ain’t ridin’ your ass for no reason. Just want to make sure we have exactly what we need. Shit’s gonna get hairy today, and I don’t want to be reachin’ for a fresh mag that ain’t there.”
Saul threw his hands up in the air, smiling, waving off Johnny’s response.
“We ready to go, boys?” Letho asked.
“Razorback is loaded, everyone’s here,” Saul said, casting a firm gaze at Letho. “I’ll take it from here if you don’t mind.”