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Unit XV The Butcher of Venus · InkandNeon | Speculative Fiction Stories

• 0:01
  I wanted to tell them to run. I wanted to give
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  them a heads up. Maybe there would have been
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  enough time for them to find a place to hide.
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  Instead, the only word that left my throat was
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  breach. I know most of the men I've killed, most
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  of the ones I've cut down, aren't soldiers. Not
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  trained combatants. Not like my squad and I.
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  the bodies on the deck and barely as much training
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  as a rookie fresh out of basic they fight with
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  the determination of home we are the invaders
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  here on that doorstep but some part of me is
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  forced respect their fight enough the line out
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  of so many the rare days I do get to myself I
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  spend long afternoons staring over the Venusian
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  skies from the garrison platform into the expanded
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  sea of darkness the flex of distant stars faces
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  final flickering instant of life stars those
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  that pick up against the YMA I suffer terrible
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  dreams lapses in time they started care to remember
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  see when I close my eyes The cemeteries. Mass
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  graves. The occuring nightmare. Where the bodies
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  of the men I have served with. Worthless. Stands
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  over the piss -watching meat. No matter how much
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  I try. Charts at him or toward him. Reach him.
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  Stands there in a dark alliance. Keeps my locker.
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  Kill sedatives. In your eyes I just start another
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  war. My mind is like my augments. I'm archaic,
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  brainless, never engineered, but I live 300 years.
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  I feel it folding over itself. Receivers become
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  so routine, terrifies me. I'm nothing more than
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  a memory. It's the word which leaves my mouth.
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  My mind goes dark, and I wake up standing for
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  a room full of corpses. I don't remember every
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  time. You wipe your hands or step out of the
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  shower. It's that same sickening familiarity.
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  Tell myself that. As long as I take on this evil,
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  as long as I get to make the calls, I can only
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  spare my men. Most of the rebels in this space
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  is nothing more than a kid. He stands barricaded
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  behind a security door. We all knew it wouldn't
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  hold for long. So did he. I slammed the bulkhead
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  shot behind me to hold the new blunts back at
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  the junction, only myself and two veterans, Zappa
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  and Flint, thanks to the hatch, didn't want to
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  kill the boy, but he had a rifle and himself
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  a combatant. I've lost too many good friends,
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  good soldiers, for a second of hesitation. Do
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  we want to show mercy? If I could, I would. We
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  all were, each of us knows, a drop at the end
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  of that ledge. And so we blew the frame, and
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  within an instant, I was on him. The only round
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  he managed to get off, bounced off my poultry,
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  barely scratching the paint. I gripped the boy's
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  skull in my hand. His death was through my fingers.
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  I wonder, maybe if there were more soldiers like
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  me, but as his body slumped down onto the ground
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  as their bones split apart between my fingers.
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  I just wondered how many more wars the Alliance
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  would start, how many more excuses to shed blood
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  were there. Harvested with terror as he fired,
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  final words were, you will not take her. So behind
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  the barrier wasn't the barracks as we suspected,
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  was a gestation herb whose smell was repugnant.
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  the second we bridged the frame the nutrient
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  lines the suffocating heat rose of murky greenish
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  brown tanks the rebels suffered constant grit
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  failures and resource shortages were deformed
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  lottery half the glass was coated in necrotic
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  sludge barely anything inside looked human all
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  except for one fat a young girl Suspended and
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  stasis fluid, groaned toward nature, because
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  this rock doesn't spare the time to raise infants.
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  She sat there, asleep, not even aware she was
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  alive. Set the charges, I said, with a voice
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  that sounded like a complete stranger's. I immediately
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  wanted to veto my own command, but Flint was
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  already priming to thermite. Sapa had noted too.
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  He knew. We all knew her was still killing a
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  child, someone who barely, someone who hasn't
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  even gotten a chance to experience life. But
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  we tell ourselves, and point a little light,
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  we say that she has no future. If corporate extraction
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  takes her, she's raw material for an ordered
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  table if we crack the glass. The venue she in
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  atmosphere strips the flesh from her ribs. In
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  less than three minutes, Her lungs would burn
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  to coal before she ever woke up and so we sent
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  the explosives. Just as one of the more curious
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  recruits managed to bypass the security door
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  seeking us to look at what we had found was quelled
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  as I placed my gauntlet over his visor. My fingers
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  gripped into his head as I threw him down the
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  hall to the others with such a force that it
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  nearly cracked his faceplate they looked at me
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  with such fear it was unnecessary violence yes
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  but every scrap of horror i can keep out of their
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  skulls there's one more day they get to keep
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  the humanity as we left the compound wire mate
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  command patched through about 30 seconds after
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  our transport left the danger zone but it made
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  it voice log to commendation There were celebrations
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  to be had at the barracks, and the squad began
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  to drink heavily. Long into the night, even her
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  celebration took them down one by one. It was
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  the first to bed, exhausted and out and cold.
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  It all deserved the R &R, and that is why I stand
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  out here by myself, responding to an anomalous
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  perimeter alert. Every single one of these had
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  been a false alarm. It was good to get some fresh
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  air, and there... I saw him out on the grey sands
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  of Venus, even as the caustic winds washed over
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  my eyes. I saw someone, a frail old man. His
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  ancient cybernetics, draped over weather -beaten
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  skin, smoothed down decades of grit. As he clutched
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  a heavy, ragged clone on me as I approached,
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  he looked at me with sorrowful eyes. He said,
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  I figured it would be you I figured you'd be
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  the one that would meet me here in the end leader
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  of the wildcat remnants cut him down or he said
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  another word but hands froze froze as we stood
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  there locked in silence clicks had washed everyone
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  they loved die for this war didn't be and asked
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  even know why we fight we for know why we shed
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  such blood it was caught martial offence to talk
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  self -willing to be honest. I told him, yes,
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  what my men do about the early days of the Wildcat
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  mines. Our free -range colonists and small companies
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  taking over various sections of Venus before
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  even the megacorporations got their hands on
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  it. And then the YMA was brought in under the
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  false pretense of control and we assumed their
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  bases. And their operations as we killed and
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  slaughtered them was a colonial's taking rights
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  claim that no one can stake a claim where you
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  already have an operation. He looked at me and
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  he smiled, releasing a long, sorrowful scoff.
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  Finally somebody who understands the pointlessness
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  of it all. He turned and looked towards the base
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  as the moons sent in the distance to believe
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  he could have avoided all this bloodshed. Had
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  we simply talked, had greed not consumed our
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  hearts. Before I could speak, he turned and said
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  something else. He looked at me and whispered,
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  I am sorry for what I must do. He pointed towards
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  the base, right at the radio tower standing in
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  the center of the compound, on ourselves. To
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  that, with those words, a red pulse erupted from
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  the center of the base. A massive, silent shockwave.
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  from the communication spire as bright blood
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  -red feints of the data grafted themselves into
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  the air and compound walls as if the very ground
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  turned crimson with hate for a suit and the old
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  man didn't scream the lights simply tore out
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  his eyes leaving behind a jet black shadow a
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  data silhouette of his scorched code burned into
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  the silver sands beneath our feet. I ran, my
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  joints felt sluggish and my processors dragged,
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  but I broke through the compound, to be met with
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  dead silence. Not even the hump of the air recyclers,
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  just my boots scraping on the concrete. In the
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  mess hall the recruits were frozen, smiles still
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  on their faces. Zappos caught mid -pour, a bottle
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  slowly overfilling his glass, liquid. spill over
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  his cold unmoving others slumped across the tables
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  where they had passed out and underneath every
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  single one of them a charred shadow seared and
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  raced down the corridor off the door from fritz
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  bunk he was the greatest soldier i had ever known
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  the kindest man greatest father in his bed his
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  hand in the photo of his daughter and his wife
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  had been taken I've had even a chance to fight
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  back. And I tried to arouse his body to life,
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  tried to invent my power conduits into his core,
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  but nothing responded. Everything internal was
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  fried. Everything was gone. Lindt was a great
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  man. He hailed from the city of Pseudo, and these
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  animalistic cybernetics, kind that the other
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  layers would call a freak. But he took this deployment.
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  Just so his child could afford things outside
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  the curriculum, lessons, opportunities. He would
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  always come and talk whenever she sent him a
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  new video to show me how well she was doing in
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  school. He placed that Digitex in my hands. I
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  have never felt such a tremendous weight. In
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  her smile, Marie is a burden too heavy to bear.
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  No family back home. And I've kept all my ace
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  in the escrow account. But Flint and Zappa, just
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  in case of my death, did die before they did.
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  Now he is gone. In rage, I found the rebel operative
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  down the transmitter core. In passion and sight,
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  we had hoped he was somehow miraculously still
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  alive, still immune to what he had done, to tear
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  his limbs one by one from his body and watch
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  him scream. But the man was already gone, rude
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  and bitter in his hand. The last embers of a
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  red demon flickering on its terminal screen.
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  I grabbed a device without a thought, hoping
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  it would take me to, begging it to take me to.
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  And as I held it, the virus simply dissipated
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  into nothing. Two days to get the communications
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  back. My hands reached for the radio, almost
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  instinctively to report to High Command. I looked
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  at myself in the reflection of the mirror and
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  cognized myself. What is a commander without
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  his squad? What is a man without his friends,
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  his family? Reality hit me that high command
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  would just quarantine and lock down this place,
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  lock down and end an investigation. They'd find
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  some way to chalk this up to accident, deprive
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  the families of the ace that the dead men would
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  give. And so, instead of allowing his base to
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  be tied up in litigation and deny the benefits,
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  I did the only thing I was good at. I destroyed
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  it all. Took the weapons that we had taken from
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  the Jedi Rebels. Prompt bodies up against bulkheads
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  and emptied grounds into them. They used our
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  surface rifles to put holes in walls and stage
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  an unseen breach. Killing myself for that moment,
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  but they're to live. At least for now. I found
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  the fuel reserves and primed them. I wired the
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  septex around the station and then I left. Stored
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  as photos. The decks itself were completely fried,
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  but maybe I could find a way to get it back.
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  I walked out into the sands of Venus, not to
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  the ledge where the rebel leader still stood,
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  his cold eyes tearing. I bought the base beside
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  me, and I triggered the explosion, and added
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  minerals through the sky. The fire took everything.
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  It burned the evidence, melted the base, and
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  destroyed any lingering virus. My friends. Comrades
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  were cleansed. Their bodies. As the fire roared,
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  I took out my knife. Carved out my internal wire
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  made tracker. Wiring the transponder to the dying
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  auxiliary cell I snatched. I left it in ash.
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  I command everyone who died. There is no legal
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  way for me to return to Earth. Visions are old
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  and archaic. The only place left for an unrecyclable
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  monster like me. this coral city a place full
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  of killers and what my father would think of
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  come of his son an outspoken preacher his voice
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  carried along the airwaves siren a son that now
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  walks the venusian sands without purpose teen
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  worlds in this system thousands of moons and
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  asteroids over this shithole of a sulfur pit