after many technical difficulties and some etcetera, a new title is finally posted. isn't it adorable? apologies for the delay. we'd offer a refund, but we haven't received any of your checks yet, so...
It wasn't time yet. Jack tried to hide his frustration as the men - really boys, most of them - surged down the hill. Short sighted. He'd stalled for as long as he could, but orders were orders. Their orders were to gain access to the squat, unassuming concrete building and destroy the contents.
The contents. Bullshit. Arrogance. Of course they couldn't see it, were hopped up on visions of glory and solidarity and the ideals of old men. But Jack saw. He slipped into the mindless crowd and ran on.
"Tell it again, Gran-pere! Then what did you do?" Jack smiled at the bright-eyed little boy, aware that he was sanitizing his memories for the youngster. Things were different now.
Jack pushed the button with a clench of his teeth and hummed, "We're coming." He hoped it was enough. Just another few minutes and nobody on either side would have had to die.
They wouldn't see it that way, the men who sent him and the rest of the force on this mission. They didn't believe, refused to believe, that the Greybloods were really alive. None of them knew one.
"Who heard you?"
Jack laughed softly. "Shall I let you tell the story then, Abraham?" Abraham. A comfortingly old name, traditional, ancestral. Human.
"No! I'm just... helping." The child bowed his head. Then he giggled, ruining the effect.
The man running next to him, a 19 year old red-head (from Nebraska, was it?) eyed him. "You say something?"
"Huh? No."
"You hummed." Even as Jack started to protest, the boy (Franklin? Shit, he still couldn't remember) sounded the alarm. "He was humming! I heard him! He's a sympathizer!"
"Oh, no, Gran-pere! What did you do?"
Jack came to a dead halt, forcing his accusers to do the same. The mission was temporarily forgotten in favor of a bigger cause. Betrayal in their midst. They understood that even less than the possibility that the Greybloods were sentient, emotional. Even if they were, they were still the enemy. In their eyes he'd turned against his own kind. Unforgivable.
Several dozen armed men converged on him, disgust in their eyes. Jack started to talk fast about how he was saving them, how it was better if there wasn't a conflict, better if no lives were lost on either side. Still they came. They were beyond hearing.
At least he'd bought Jill more time. As the whistle blower (Faustus? No, that couldn't be it) held him, the first of the others reached him. He hardly felt the blows though he could taste blood. He thought of her. She'd reach the rendezvous and he would be late, then very late, then it would be obvious he'd never arrive. She would grieve, but she would make it. She would move on, be okay. He had still done what he meant to do.
There was a flash of white, and the first man screamed. Jack closed his eyes. He had tried to avoid this. Tried to tell them. He couldn't watch. When he was the only man left, they carried him away.
"...And when we got to the bunker, they were all gone," Jack heard himself saying to Abraham, just like a hundred times before. "No trace of Greybloods at all. They still thought I was crazy, but that was fine with me. They court-martialed me but Grand-mere had her chance to get away."
"That's how you lost your eye!" Abraham crowed triumphantly.
"That's how I lost it."
"That's how come I have grey blood."
"Yes, child, that's why you have grey blood." Jack tried to say it like the kid did, with no rancor, no bitterness.
The contents. Bullshit. Arrogance. Of course they couldn't see it, were hopped up on visions of glory and solidarity and the ideals of old men. But Jack saw. He slipped into the mindless crowd and ran on.
"Tell it again, Gran-pere! Then what did you do?" Jack smiled at the bright-eyed little boy, aware that he was sanitizing his memories for the youngster. Things were different now.
Jack pushed the button with a clench of his teeth and hummed, "We're coming." He hoped it was enough. Just another few minutes and nobody on either side would have had to die.
They wouldn't see it that way, the men who sent him and the rest of the force on this mission. They didn't believe, refused to believe, that the Greybloods were really alive. None of them knew one.
"Who heard you?"
Jack laughed softly. "Shall I let you tell the story then, Abraham?" Abraham. A comfortingly old name, traditional, ancestral. Human.
"No! I'm just... helping." The child bowed his head. Then he giggled, ruining the effect.
The man running next to him, a 19 year old red-head (from Nebraska, was it?) eyed him. "You say something?"
"Huh? No."
"You hummed." Even as Jack started to protest, the boy (Franklin? Shit, he still couldn't remember) sounded the alarm. "He was humming! I heard him! He's a sympathizer!"
"Oh, no, Gran-pere! What did you do?"
Jack came to a dead halt, forcing his accusers to do the same. The mission was temporarily forgotten in favor of a bigger cause. Betrayal in their midst. They understood that even less than the possibility that the Greybloods were sentient, emotional. Even if they were, they were still the enemy. In their eyes he'd turned against his own kind. Unforgivable.
Several dozen armed men converged on him, disgust in their eyes. Jack started to talk fast about how he was saving them, how it was better if there wasn't a conflict, better if no lives were lost on either side. Still they came. They were beyond hearing.
At least he'd bought Jill more time. As the whistle blower (Faustus? No, that couldn't be it) held him, the first of the others reached him. He hardly felt the blows though he could taste blood. He thought of her. She'd reach the rendezvous and he would be late, then very late, then it would be obvious he'd never arrive. She would grieve, but she would make it. She would move on, be okay. He had still done what he meant to do.
There was a flash of white, and the first man screamed. Jack closed his eyes. He had tried to avoid this. Tried to tell them. He couldn't watch. When he was the only man left, they carried him away.
"...And when we got to the bunker, they were all gone," Jack heard himself saying to Abraham, just like a hundred times before. "No trace of Greybloods at all. They still thought I was crazy, but that was fine with me. They court-martialed me but Grand-mere had her chance to get away."
"That's how you lost your eye!" Abraham crowed triumphantly.
"That's how I lost it."
"That's how come I have grey blood."
"Yes, child, that's why you have grey blood." Jack tried to say it like the kid did, with no rancor, no bitterness.
Things were different now.
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