Anne Winchell - The Last War

Medane poured him another drink, then put the bottle away. “Last drink. Think about it. I leave in two hours to return to the East. I want you with me.”

Scott sipped his drink this time and nodded, thinking of Lydia and the way her face had glowed when she mentioned asking Bryce to be their second father. The way her eyes had filled with concern and she had sent him away without a second thought when Bryce asked for help. She would do anything for Bryce, and so would he. He put the half-empty drink to one side and stood up. The floor tilted slightly beneath his feet, but it was stable enough. Lydia, he thought as the grey walls blurred in front of him. I’ll do this for Lydia.

Pausing in front of a mirror, Lethe stared at himself and frowned. Ever since the contact with the renegade díamont, he had been feeling strange. Raising a hand tentatively to push back his hair, he stared into his ebony eyes, struggling to find some hint of the conflict that he felt. But there was nothing, only the impassive face he had grown to resent.

Perhaps killing Atheus and Medane earlier would have solved everything. Watching the humans and their distress at the news of NeoLondon’s destruction, he remembered all too well the previous war and its repercussions. At the end of the war, he had met with the two surviving díamonts to kill them. And had failed.

I’m designed to kill the díamonts, he thought angrily. All of them. Why did I let them live?

Atheus had stepped forward to be killed, and Medane waited patiently. Both of them, so willing, so accepting of their fate. They all knew the horror that the díamonts could cause, all knew the consequences of remaining alive. But Lethe had hesitated. Because when he opened his eyes for the first time, Medane and Atheus had been the first faces he saw. Created with almost no human DNA, Lethe had been born full-grown, and hadn’t changed at all in the forty-seven years he had been alive. Awakening as if from a long sleep, their faces had smiled on him. They had been overjoyed, and relieved, to have someone able to end the life of their enemy.

Killing Soren was a gruesome task, and Lethe feared repeating it. The agony and pain as Lethe’s DNA worked through Soren’s body, destroying the non-human elements, had terrified him. But Atheus had smiled, and held out his hand, waiting for the touch that would end his life so horrifically. Lethe refused. Couldn’t kill them, these men he had grown to know. Couldn’t destroy the only two people who understood what it was like.

Maybe he could have stopped this war. Maybe the humans would have shown restraint, and the violent tendencies inherent in being a díamont wouldn’t have taken another city full of souls. Now, Lethe was torn. He longed to kill Medane while he was still here, and then find Atheus. The humans, though, had changed his mind.

Medane was helping them fight against Atheus, and doing his best to stop the war. His self-control would fail in the end, as it had for all of the other díamonts. But in the meantime, perhaps leaving him alive would help. The girl was another problem. He had been designed to kill díamonts, but didn’t have it in his power to kill her. She wouldn’t survive long, he knew, not after his touch had jumpstarted the process already at work within her due to the bracelet, but was he required to kill her as well?

She posed such an interesting problem, and he didn’t know how to treat her. If she survived long enough to have children, then by leaving her alive he was neglecting his responsibilities. Lethe frowned as he remembered the file he had forced out of Atheus when the bodies of the girl’s mother and brother were found. An infant male had died in childbirth along with his mother, his body encased in diamond. No one knew that the girl existed, and Lethe had studied the remaining bodies impassively, searching for some explanation.

From what he could tell, the liquid diamond that had been mixed with the mother’s DNA had fixed on the X-chromosome. The son, having only one X-chromosome, had received too much liquid diamond, and his body had solidified. The other child, Nalia, who no one knew existed at the time, had been born with one normal X-chromosome to balance out the díamont genes, and survived. Her díamont abilities were sex-linked, but would be passed to her offspring.

Females born with the trait would carry it as a recessive, not showing any díamont tendencies but having the possibility of passing it on to their children. If any of Nalia’s descendants intermarried, the genes could rise to dominance and a new díamont might be born. The danger was nearer than her eventual descendants, however. If Nalia had a son, he would turn out a complete díamont, more like Lethe and the others than Nalia was herself.

The estrogen produced by Nalia’s body seemed to repress many of the violent tendencies that plagued the male díamonts, but any sons of hers would have the full range of díamont powers and the potential to start yet another war. The danger of leaving her alive was balanced against the potential good she could accomplish, and Lethe hesitated, unable to decide.

He wandered the halls until he caught a glimpse of her, dark hair curling around her shoulders and falling over her back. She saw him and smiled. He asked her to join him and entered a private conference room with a torn heart. Her eyes were open and innocent, and her smile was pure.

“Thank you for keeping us safe here," she said, and his indecision increased.

“You’re welcome," he said haltingly, and turned his back to her as he shut the door. There was so much energy inside of her, so much of that strange aura he associated with being human. Her touch had awakened distant memories in him, memories of a time of peace. She was only barely a díamont, but still capable of wreaking the same havoc as the true ones.

“Are you going to kill me?" she asked.

He whirled to face her. Still smiling, holding her hand out to him. She had felt his touch, knew what extended contact with him would do to her, and yet she was giving him the chance. Just like Atheus.

“If you do kill me," her voice wavered, “will that help? I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know how the world can possibly go back to normal. If you think this would help, then do it.”

She moved closer to him, and he lowered his eyes. Would it help? She was so young, so innocent. She posed no threat, and it was hard to imagine her ever turning out like Soren, or Atheus. Killing the díamonts wouldn’t stop the violence. She was a leader among her people. If he left her alive, perhaps she could gather everyone together and start a new world order. Maybe this time it would work. If she lived long enough. Already the bracelet’s poison was at work within her, changing and mutating her DNA, slowly destroying her. The effects weren’t visible yet but they would be soon.

“No," he said. “I’m not going to kill you. You’re needed here.”

“For what?" she asked, and he was struck by the pain and bitterness in her tone.

“Because people look up to you. People trust you. You have a chance to start over and heal the world. Are you really going to turn it down?"

His mouth tasted acrid at the lie, but he ignored the feelings of guilt that threatened to choke him. Would she survive long enough to accomplish that? Somehow, he doubted it, but she needed his assurances right now.

Nalia nodded and returned to the others, and Lethe lifted a trembling hand to his forehead. Would he regret this act of mercy, as he regretted sparing the others’ lives? It had been so easy before, when all he had to do was make sure that neither Atheus nor Medane grew too powerful. They balanced each other, both too afraid to kill the other, both aware that Lethe wouldn’t allow only one of them alive. Now, though, it was time for Atheus to die. He had gone too far.