Anne Winchell - The Last War

Moscow was bombed, and in retaliation he heard that the Eastern World was preparing a strike on a major city. So far the East had only attacked half-abandoned cities like Los Angeles with minimal casualties, but nearly thirty million people had been killed in the strike on Moscow, which was completely unprepared for a nuclear strike. Even Lethe understood that the humans would want significant payback for such a tragedy.

Atheus returned to Seattle on the second day after killing Kaela as if drawn to the location, and Lethe shadowed him. Lethe considered his options. He needed to deal with Atheus now, before any more damage was done. There was no more time to wait and see what would happen; real lives were being lost and the planet was spiraling into unstoppable war just as it had fifty years ago. Lethe had been created to stop that war, and he would stop this war as well. But he was afraid, because once Atheus and Medane were dead, he was programmed to take his own life and he had grown fond of living.

Lethe took a deep breath and stepped forward. Atheus turned and saw him, and lifted his hand as if to ward him away. A wall of white light flashed past Atheus and Lethe, knocking both of them to the ground. The buildings around them trembled and one collapsed into the crater where they stood. Lethe gasped.

His entire life, he had been able to feel Medane and Atheus. It was built into him so that he could always locate and destroy them if necessary. But suddenly, half of his awareness was gone. Medane was gone. There was only Atheus. He had fallen to his knees and he remained there for a long minute, dreading what he knew had happened. Medane had taken the bracelet. Medane was dead. It was just him and Atheus now. He looked up at Atheus and saw his shock and horror reflected there.

“I feel again, Lethe,” Atheus said in a voice of wonder mixed with sorrow. “My brother is gone, and I feel his loss. What good are feelings when they hurt so much?”

“You feel his loss because you loved him,” Lethe said, realizing with surprise that he had loved Medane too. “Don’t you remember the love? Or is it just the pain that you feel?”

“Love is weakness,” Atheus said. “Soren was right. We were meant to be gods, but our love crippled us. And now, without Medane—what good is being a god if you’re alone?”

Lethe saw his chance. “You won’t have to worry about being a god or being alone, Atheus. Give me your hand as you offered decades ago, and let me take away your pain.”

Atheus hesitated and looked around the bombed out city as if searching for escape. They both knew there was none. Lethe was designed to be lighter and faster than the other díamonts and the slightest touch was all that was needed to start the process. With Atheus firmly in his sights, there was no escape. But still, he wanted this to be a decision that Atheus made for himself, as Medane had done. He didn’t want to murder his friends, the only two people he now realized he had ever loved.

“That’s it, isn’t it,” Atheus whispered. “All the planning, all the games, and it’s over. I could have been immortal.”

“I never would have allowed it.”

“You would have, if Medane had gone along with it, if he had become immortal as well. The three of us, living forever with the humans serving and amusing us.”

“Is that all you think of the humans?”

“That’s all they think of us. They wanted toys and when they saw how dangerous we were, they tried to destroy us. Us, the very gods they had created!”

“You sound like Soren,” Lethe said, remembering the tapes of Soren’s speeches he had heard. He shook his head. “I should have known from the way you refer to the Last War. When Medane says it, he means the final war, but when you say it, you mean the previous war. You always planned on this happening, didn’t you? Another war, another chance to wipe out the humans and turn the díamonts into gods.”

“What else could happen?” Atheus asked. “The humans will never be happy with peace. Look how eagerly they jump at the chance to bomb each other. They just need a leader. Medane wouldn’t be a leader for his people, and now his people are dying.”

“They will have a leader, and that leader will make sure that this war ends without any more bloodshed,” Lethe said. “But that is for the humans to decide. We’ve interfered in their lives enough. Come here, Atheus. Don’t make me come to you.”

Atheus’s eyes narrowed and for a moment he looked like he was going to run. Lethe tensed, preparing to chase. Then Atheus sagged, and it looked like the fight went out of him.

“He’s really gone, isn’t he? Medane is never coming back. My brother. I planned for this day, thought I would be happy to rid the world of him, but now I find that I don’t want to live without him.”

Lethe stretched out his hand without a word. Atheus approached, and placed his palm in Lethe’s. Instantly Atheus tried to retrieve his hand as the burning began, but Lethe clamped down on him. Atheus started screaming as his arm burned to ashes in Lethe’s grip and Lethe took a few steps backwards. Atheus fell to the ground, writhing in agony, his screams gruesome in the night air as his entire body began to disintegrate, but not his consciousness, not until the very end. Then the world went silent and all that remained was a pile of ashes.

Lethe stared at what was once his friend, then stared at his hand. He had dreaded this moment his entire life, and had never really thought about what would happen next. But he was programmed and couldn’t fight as his body moved of its own accord to take the pendant that always hung around his neck and place it on his tongue. It took several minutes for the sweet coating on the poison to wear away and Lethe took those last precious moments to remember Medane and Atheus in their youth, before the world corrupted them, when Atheus had willingly held out his hand, when the two of them had taught him basketball in the snow, when they had shared beers and secrets over an open flame, when the weight of the world didn’t seem to matter as much because Soren was defeated and peace had returned.

Then the poison began to burn and he shut his eyes and screamed.

The lights in the plane flickered and Scott woke up. He was finally returning to the British islands after a whirlwind tour of the major Eastern cities, earning support for Bryce’s presidency among the political elite. Most were eager to have him, since they had worked with him in the past, and the few who weren’t eager at least respected him, since they had likely been at the other end of his gun before. He had booked this flight last minute and been disappointed to learn that it was an older model and the flight time to Windsor was nearly twice as long. Still, he estimated they were nearly there and he tried to relax his grip on the seat.

It seemed like he spent more time up in the air than on the ground ever since NeoLondon, and flying was a terrifying experience for him ever since Lydia’s shuttle was caught in limbo. There was no news yet, although now at least he knew that the shuttle had made it out of orbit and would land on the moon soon. He thought of Lydia, trapped on a shuttle with barely any food and water for a week, waiting to crash into the moon and hope to survive long enough to be rescued. It was better than thinking of her already dead. He shuddered. So did the plane.

The plane dropped several feet and the passenger next to Scott came awake with a shriek. Scott grasped the arms of his seat with a death grip and looked around for some explanation. The flight attendants raced to the front of the plane and told everyone to buckle up. The plane trembled in the air, losing and gaining altitude abruptly. Scott kept his mouth firmly closed and stared fixedly at the front of the plane. Had Lydia felt this gut-wrenching helplessness?