Looking back on his life and accomplishments, one cannot help but wonder how inconsequential Marius O'Reilly's reign actually was in the grand scheme of things. As far as Periphery despots in general, and Marian heads of state in particular go, I suppose the most complimentary thing one could say is that he staid in his lane? His policies? Mostly in line with general public and elite sentiment of his nation. He always strode to emulate the image of the 'reliable Patrician nobleman', aloof but ultimately boring, and in doing so, a facsimile of the sort of ancient Terran Roman nobility the Hegemony so blatantly copies. No great reforms. The colonization of four new planets early on in his reign, which admittedly was very competently done, especially for a small Periphery nation. A public building spree that dotted his planets with lavish representative – many would say pretentious – buildings like theaters, arenas, temples, and admittedly additional infrastructure. No strategic industrial expansion of note. No military accomplishments either. A ridiculously fumbled punitive expedition to Astrokaszy, and the Marian legions were... well, one legion strong when he ascended to the throne, and still one legion strong when he was buried forty years later. His wife? Boring, docile, of 'good' patrician stock. No individual accomplishments to her name. Not one public statement of substance from her on file, so you won't even get marked down if her name doesn't appear in your final papers. So, Marius O'Reilly? At the end of the day his contribution to history isn't what he did – precious little of consequence as we've discussed – but who he sired. It's with Sean O'Reilly that Marian history becomes interesting... – Professor Minerva Crenshaw, Introductory Lecture on Contemporary Periphery Politics, Princeton University, Terra. 3122
P r o l o g u e: Coup d'État
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Alphard
Capital of the Marian Hegemony
June 16th 3048"Alright lads, places to be!"
Sean O'Reilly's voice echoed like thunder through the domed halls and passageways of the place. He clapped his bear-paw like hands, adding whip-crack lighting to the thunder as he hurried down a wide set of stairs, a spring in his step from adrenaline. All around him people dashed to and fro, some in uniform, some in plain fatigues, but all of them armed. It wasn't the sort of chaotic bustle associated with panic, but one of concerted activity following a plan. His plan.
Halfway down the wide marble stairs that had a pair on the other side of he mosaic-floored and painted-glass domed entry hall he came face to face with his father's larger than life portray, and even though he had every intention to hurry on he stopped.
He didn't look a lot like his father.
The thought came unbidden to him, but not unexpected. It was a real painting, oil of canvas, life-sized. The artist had taken great pains to do it in the sort of subdued-yet-pompous neo-realist Lyran style of the late 28th century that people with more money than taste liked to spend money on. His father hadn't cared. He'd only cared that it was something the patricians in the senate could relate to and make him look good in the never-ending squabble for political support from one faction or another.
Which it did, Sean conceded sourly. Where Caesar Marius O'Reilly, third ruler of the Marian Hegemony, was polished marble, Sean was rough-hewn granite. His face was broader, his jaws square, his nose flatter, his hair darker. Only his eyes, and the part of his skull surrounding them, came after his father. That, and his smile.
Maybe the lack of similarity had played whatever tiny part in their alienation. Maybe it was because he came more after his mother. Maybe they could have both walked a different path, not opposite but side by side. He exhaled deeply and his shoulders sagged. Maybe pigs could fly, too. One way or another, when the day was over none of that would matter any longer.
Leading his steps back down the towards the grand mosaic of the hall he spotted one soldier ascending the stairwell towards him, his laser carbine shouldered, going against the flow of the majority. He recognized the man's face and quickly put a name to it: Optio Tibbins. The soldier, his senior by maybe two decades and a grizzled veteran of plenty of missions and raids, some of which the heir to Caesar himself had commanded, stopped at a respectful distance and came to attention. If the twenty plus kilograms of gear slowed him down or burdened him he hid it well.
"What is it?"
"The palash groundsh are shecured, sir. Leaving behind the 4th to keep it that way. VTOLs are ready," Tibbins pointed towards the brass-plated fifteen feet high doors leadings outside.
"Resistance?" Unwanted his eyes flashed back to his father's painting. In his mind he had played through this whole day hundreds, thousands of times. And still, to him his voice sounded almost too casual for the occasion.
Tibbins glanced a look back down the hallways leading perpendicular to the entry hall and gave Sean a slight shrug. "Had to shubdue some overzhealous membersh of the Praétorian Guard, but mosht have fallen in line. Minimal cash-ualties. A few wounded on our shide, a few deaid on theirs." The Pompey-born man's native drawl was as close as humanly possible as talking with your mouth full of soggy oatmeal.
Nigh a quarter of the troops Sean had gathered today hailed from that core world of the Hegemony, and he had commanded them personally after his father had replaced him as head of the colonization efforts in lieu of his uncovered embezzlement and corruption. He understood Tibbins perfectly well.
"Before the day's over, they'll all be on our side, Optio," he gently corrected the man. "Some of them just don't know it yet. Some may need a bit more convincing then others," he flashed a sharkish smile.
Much of the 1st Legion had his back, and the Praetorian Guard had always been more for show than for actual combat. That some of them had actually tried to resist? Credit where credit was due. Noticing Tibbins still stood at his side he raised an eyebrow. "Anything else?"
"Aye sir. Tribune Calestes is on line two," the veteran produced a rugged black rubber coated radio from on of his uniform's many pockets and handed it to Sean who grabbed it eagerly.
"Talk to me, Jeannie!"
"Whenever I do that you try to hit on me," came the sardonic answer in a voice that spoke of too many cigarettes and a decent helping of Bourbon. Janina 'Jeannie' Calestes commanded three armored regiments and had secured him the loyalties of the Patrician voting block her father headed. That in turn had given him access to House levies and mercenaries, both which came in extremely useful right now. She was also one of only a handful of women who had never fallen to his charms – or the temptations of a man with his influence – despite his repeated efforts. For that he respected her even more than for her combat expertise and political connections. She was one of his very few true friends, and as such she got a certain degree of leeway in how she could address him.
"I'm not much for flirting on the radio. Believe it or not, but right now I'd be completely satisfied with a short SitRep on your side," he chuckled.
"Can do, boss. CentCom's secure, communications to and from the orbitals as well as every major broadcast system is under our control. The stage's set for the main event. You're good to go."
Sean closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling tension falling off his shoulders that he hadn't even known to be there. "Thanks, Jeannie. I owe you one," he said quietly.
"Oh, don't worry, I'll remind you of that," there was a chuckle on the other end of the line. "Now go and make history. We've got your back. Callestes out."
For a moment he just stared at the now silent radio before handing it back to Tibbins.
"The VTOLs are waiting, shir. Are you ready?"
Sean O'Reilly gave one parting glance to his father's portrait. Alea iacta est. The dice had fallen. A small voice in the back of his head wondered how his father really thought about him. If there was still the love of a father for a son. He'd never know now. Not after today.
Tearing his eyes loose he motioned Tibbins to lead the way.
"Yeah, I'm ready. Get the troops airborne. Time to show the Senate their new Caesar." And that for them, fealty would not be optional.
Herculaneum
Marian Hegemony
June 16th 3048
It was a world of stark and savage beauty, with sheer cliffs and jagged peaks that rose towards the sky like jagged teeth, forming a jawline that ran half a thousand miles from start to end. One of them stuck out into the wilderness below, a grey wedge nearly ten thousand feet high topped in snow that had never molten and crevasses of blue ice that sunlight had never touched.
It was here that two men dared to climb.
One was older, but still in great shape, with a body honed by years of hard training and nigh ascetic exercise, his hair grey but still full, his face eagle-like and patrician. Dark rings under his eyes, sweat beading his chiseled face he nonetheless kept his fully concentrated gaze on the task at hand. Which, by now, was trying to keep up with his younger companion.
Stout and unflinching in both, tackling the seemingly infinite cliff face of Mount Callisto as well as in his duty as a bodyguard, the younger man's limbs bulged with muscles under the UV-protected skintight climbing suit. A shock of sandy blonde hair dangled in the cold mountain breeze, sticking out from his rock-climber's helmet. With trained ease his hands and feet found the cracks and ledges to hold onto. Every twenty feet or so he stopped, grabbed a tiny hammer that was fastened to his utility belt, and drove a hook into the solid rock, creating an anchor point for the climbing rope that connected him and his charge.
A blue sun, too large and too bright for comfort, beat down upon them, casting sharp shadows upon the rocky face of the mountain. Down below the atmosphere was thick enough to filter down much of the UV radiation to acceptable levels. But up here the air was thick with the scent of ozone, and the sparse plants that clung to the mountainside were like nothing they had ever seen before.
Far below them, a forest of bioluminescent mushrooms stretched as far as the eye could see, their tops a sea of pastel colors, of pink and white and purple that would erupt into an eerie glow casting an otherworldly light upon the landscape once the sun did set.
Strange, otherworldly creatures flitted through the air below, their calls echoing across the rugged terrain. The two climbers paid them no mind. They moved with a fluid grace born of long practice and hard-won skill, their muscles straining as they made their way up the unforgiving slope.
Marius arms burned like fire, and he risked a jealous look up to Cobb Sextus. The younger man hung on one arm, his fingers dug into a tiny indentation in the increasingly smooth rock face, all while carrying all the climbing gear. The rock was dark here, almost obsidian black, and staring too long at it made his vision swim…
He was slammed into his shock harness, his head ringing momentarily. IMPERATOR buckled under the impact of the enemy's fire as the flagship of his fleet burned towards their formation at just above two gees.
"That's the last one. Enemy now too close for effective engagement with capital missiles," TAC reported. "Kill on three droppers confirmed. Reliability is high for hits on seven additional bogeys."
Marius watched the two flotillas slowly converge on the bridge's central holoplot. Sitting on an elevated dais behind the captain's chair he was nominally in charge of Marian forces. In truth, Captain Hannah Ishawa ran the battle, and he was glad for it.
"Switch to laser batteries. Concentrated firing clusters. I see too many enemy droppers in that plot. Weapons, I want them gone!"
The young officer's hands at TAC darted over their console, plotting firing solutions. Even with the distant rumble of the massive ship's engines Marius could hear the massive servos of gun turrets carrying subcapital mounts moving to face the enemy.
"TAC?"
"Tracing is good. Scopes showing solid hits on forward inbound bogeys." The blurry image of a Union class dropship trailing atmosphere and debris briefly appeared in the main plot, curtesy of IMPERATOR's bow sensor grid.
"Maintain firing pattern. Scopes, where are their escorts?"
"Unknown. Sensors lost tracking when they threw up the ECM. We've been unable to regain lock since, Captain. Our CI3 has its hands full trying to burn away the fog around enemy capitals."
Ishawa turned in her harness. "Sire, your orders?"
Taking in the tactical plot, Marius hesitated only for a second. "Order our ASF to engage. We have to punch through their naval screen to stop the main force."
"Understood. Comms, order Alpha to Gamma to attack the enemy. Delta is to engage any vampires they may find."
With a delay, Marius saw their own ASF squadrons surge ahead, accelerating to torturous five gees or more to quickly bridge the slowly closing gap between the two forces. Two more enemy dropship symbols faded from red to black as IMPERATOR's guns continued their deadly sonata. Marian ASF raced ever closer to their own engagement range while the calm before the storm soothed the flagship's bridge crew.
"Vampire! Vampire! Vampire!" Three red globes appeared right in front of their position as Scopes' hoarse voice yelled in alarm. "Massive enemy ASF, bearing down two-two-zero to alpha three!" His head snapped to the captain. "LRMs inbound!"
"Helm, evasive maneuvers!" Ishawa barked. "Weapons free on all secondaries! Continuous fire from all our PD! Where the hell did they come from?"
"Must've run cold once their ECM went up," Scopes responded through gritted teeth, fighting the ship's sudden acceleration. "Vampires are concentrating fire on CLAUDIUS!"
"All ships, close the formation! TAC, slave their fire control into ours, overlap—"
"Radiological alert! They've got nukes!"
"Concentrate fire to—"
"We've got inbound! Three vampires on direct approach!"
"Put all our point defense on them!"
"They're too fast. Breaking through. Impact in—"
"Sire! Get out! Get out!! Sire?!"
"…sire? Sire?!"
Marius' eyes snapped open, trying to shake off the mental haze. What the hell had that been? He'd never had a dream, a day-dream as vivid as that! It was as if he could still feel the strain the high-G space maneuvers had put on his body. The sounds, the images. The stale air of his vacsuit, it's lingering aftertaste in his mouth. He'd been about to die. In a battle in space. A shiver ran down his spine. What was going on?
Instinctively he thought to push himself away from the looming black wall of the cliff face before a voice finally caught his attention.
"Sire, is everything alright!?"
Cobb Sextus had stopped his climb and was worriedly calling out to him from a few meters higher up.
"Yes. Yes," Marius tried to sound calm and nonchalant and still immediately realized he was everything but. "Just lost my thought there for a second." He balled his fists one after the other, hoping the feeling would somehow anchor himself in reality again. "I'm coming up. Still got a long way to go, eh?"
The words sounded hollow, but he let actions follow.
With a strained grunt Marius pulled one leg upwards, parallel to the rock and reached out for a tiny ledge to use as a handle to pull himself a few feet further up the mountain. A gust of wind beat at him, pushing beads of sweat from his face into his eyes. The salty excretion burned, forcing him to blink and to relinquish his other hand's hold. He realized too late that the change in balance pushed him too far away from the rock face. Strained fingers futily tried to hold on the small ledge and found it far too smooth for comfort. Unable to compensate with his legs he lost his grip, and his footing.
Before he knew it he was falling. A toneless curse was cut short as he slammed into the safety provided by the climbing rope tied to his companion and fastened to a number of hooks above. Pain stabbed at him as the sudden drop clashed his jaws shut with force while trying to push all air from his lungs at the same time. His arm and fingers scraped across the rock, bringing with it a burning sensation immediately doused by the a generous helping of adrenalin his body saw fit to release.
Above, Cobb Sextus grunted, more in surprise than in hurt as the rope suddenly and harshly pulled him against the mountain and two feet down. Pebbles and small rocks came loose and joined the brash of debris Marius' accident had caused to tumble down. Momentarily dazed and hurting, Marius slowly turned on his rope.
Down below a massive shadow flung itself into the air, bellowing hoarse cries of disapproval. Leathery yellow wings twenty feet across shielded a pair of arm-like chitinous claws. Two pairs of milky eyes stared from a triangular skull ending in a two feet long hooked beak lined with blackish teeth that looked as if they could bite a grown man in half. Rows of bioluminiscent tendrils sprouted from the creatures back, floating in the wind like reeds.
A voice called his name through the haze of his agony. His mouth tasted of copper. Shaking himself he spat out a fine red mist. Again he heard his name.
"Sir?! Are you hurt, sir?" If Cobb had been injured from his charge's sudden mishap his voice gave no indication of it. But the concern he had shown before was back on full display.
„Mostly in my pride, Cobb," he winced, his tongue not quite following his commands as readily as usual. „I could use a little rest, I guess." Grabbing the rope with his good hand to steady himself he stared into the wide open air beneath him. "As long as that big fellow doesn't chose me for his next lunch I'll be fine." He eyed the creature circling a hundred feet below warily, suddenly all too aware that he hung freely in the air with nothing to defend him but an ice pick.
Tearing his eyes off the beast he met Cobb's look. His bodyguard already had his short-barreled needlegun out, tracing the creature's path, and the handle of the almost machete-like monofilamen-bladed knife he carried on his left leg was within his reach, if need be.
But Cobb just shrugged. "That thing's called an anglerbird. The brief said they are nocturnal hunters, mostly in the mushroom forests below. And they're picky eaters, supposedly."
"Are you going to shoot it?"
Cobb looked past him and followed the beast. "Eh, not unless I have to, sire. Chances are it's just grumpy we disturbed its sleep. Unless we've really hurt it we should be safe. Besides," he warily eyed the nigh vertical cliff face, "you never know if he's not going to call some friends if I try to take it down."
As if to prove Cobb's point the anglerbird flapped its wings a few times, then sailed away from them and further down the mountain on the crossing winds. Maybe two hundred meters down from the, two more yellow pairs of wings joined it.
Marius felt a cold chill. The universe had lots of predators to offer, and to far too many of them humans came just in the right sizes for quick snacks in between.
"Are you certain don't need help, sire? You look mighty pale." Cobb's voice pulled him back.
The Marian leader frowned. Showing weakness was one of the things Marius had been trained from an early age on not to do. But here he was, sixty-two years old, hanging a couple thousand feet above ground on an alien planet, banged up and weary. This wasn't the snake pit of Alphard. Just Marius, the man, and someone charged with making sure he staid whole and healthy. As much as Marius let him. He sighed and held up his injured arm. It looked worse now than he had initially thought, and with the adrenalin waning the pain was making itself felt. "If the rope's good a couple minutes to recuperate don't sound too bad right about now."
Cobb shot a glance to the hooks he had driven into the rock. "That rope's not going to tear anytime soon, sir. Now let me take a look at that arm or yours, sir." With trained movements he lowered himself down to Marius. Before Caesar could say anything, his bodyguard had a small first aid kit out, coating the wounds on the arms with an antiseptic medigel. Far more gently than the older man expected he placed flexible tissue meshes over the larger injuries. "Open your mouth," he commanded, then peered into it when Marius obeyed. "Hold still. This'll burn, then it'll get really cold. You're still bleeding from where you bit on your cheeks." He shook a tiny spray can. "It'll freeze the wound and congeal the blood in sixty seconds."
Cobb hadn't lied. The little cloud of aerosol found every pore in his mouth like a far too hot chili. New pain shot through his head, only to almost immediately subside again and turn into an unnatural cold. Cobb watched him motionlessly go through the stages, then nodded to himself and pulled himself a few feet up the rope again, tying his part to another hook further up. He met Marius' questioning gaze and shrugged. "Can't really look after you when you're blocking half the view. Somehow I doubt the commander of the guard would be too thrilled to hear that you got eaten by a big bird because I didn't get a good shot off."
Despite the situation Marius had to smile. "No, I doubt she'd be too happy about that." He looked at his arm, then up again. "Thanks, Cobb."
The man just nodded and kept watch. Slowly, Marius' cramped muscles and aching limbs lost some of their tension and, trusting in his rope, he let himself hang, held only by his harness. Pulling in a straw tucked into his shoulder straps he began sipping on the custom-made mix of proteins, minerals and soda he carried in a fluid bag in his own little backpack. The first few sips washed down most of the blood from his gums, then the taste of strawberries replaced that of iron and copper.
Hanging freely from the rock shelter, the alien scented breeze slowly cooling the sweat off his face, with nothing but air beneath him and a mushroom forest reaching to the horizon and beyond, he felt strangely at peace. Away from the demands of court, of senate, of politics, he was not Caesar. Just Marius, the man, the father. The father. And what a great job he'd done at that, he thought with bitter sarcasm. A wave of regret washed over him, colder than any gust of wind that could reach him up here.
Damn it, Sean! Why did you have to betray my trust, again? He wished he didn't have to do what he had to do!
'For the good of the Hegemony'. Somehow that left an even more bitter taste in his mouth than his earlier thought.
He wished … well, what did he actually wish for? Something, anything different. Gods, where had it all gone so wrong, pitting father against son?
Above him, Cobb sat more in his rope harness than hanging in it, one hand on the handle of his blade, the other casually stroking the butt of his rifle. Marius found himself looking directly at the man. With a start he realized he had been holding his breath and exhaled with a deep sigh.
"Do you have children, Cobb?" Marius was startled to find he even had posed the question aloud. And even more aghast at how resigned and weak his voice sounded.
"Me?" Sextus' puzzlement at being asked just that could not have been more apparent. He pondered the question for a brief moment, his brows furrowed. "Nah. None that I know of, anyway. Haven't found the right person yet. Besides," he gestured vaguely at everything and nothing at the same time, "I'd have to be pretty damn irresponsible to keep a family waiting at home, doing all this here. Always on the move on short notice, never sure if I'll be coming back home alive or in one piece. Who'd do that to a kid, a partner?" Sensing that wasn't the answer Marius had hoped for he continued. "But my sister has three. Two girls, one boy, all below the age of ten. Bloody little rascals. They keep you on your feet, I can tell you that!" he chuckled and took a hefty bite out of a protein bar he'd unwrapped with just one hand.
Marius leaned back in his harness again and closed his eyes. "I don't know what I've done wrong, Cobb," he confessed. "Was there some fork in the road that I should've rather taken? Did I expect too much too soon? What could I've done differently?" He opened his eyes again and found Cobb Sextus looking at him without any of the superficial ease or joviality the man had worn on his sleeve the whole day so far. "I don't even know why I'm telling you that," he smiled wearily, not really expecting an answer. But Cobb surprised him.
"We're two men hanging on a tiny piece of rope thousands of feet in the air, sudden and guaranteed death just one misstep away. I'd say there's no place in the whole universe you can find a more impartial listener, sir," the square-jawed bodyguard told him quietly.
Marius let the words linger before he looked away, suddenly feeling both ashamed and vulnerable. "I don't know what to do about my son, Cobb," he admitted after a moment's silence. "I mean, I know what I have to do, but he's still my son. Demotion, charges, exile even maybe. The blood suckers in the Senate will be calling for their pound of flesh, too. Damn it, I know he's lied to me for years, stolen, bribed, gambled. But he's still my son!" He shook his head, ignoring the sudden bout of dizziness the harsh motion brought with it. "Where the hell did it all go wrong, Cobb? Bloody hell," his voice rose, "the boy had everything. Since he was little he was given the best tutors. My wife hand-picked caregivers from all over the nation. Nannies with tons of experience and the best résumés. Famed thinkers, the best-suited slaves to guide and teach him. Hell, I even dragged my good old Posca out of retirement," he chuckled mirthlessly. "What the hell could I've done better? Better than that! Different than that? Tell me, Cobb: what was it that my son's upbringing lacked?"
The bodyguard's face was a mask betraying none of his thoughts. When he finally spoke it was calm and deliberate.
"My brother in law owns a bakery. My sisters helps him, selling the goods, running a small café in their narrow house, right in front of the big stone oven. Both have long days, and him even short nights, but they always make time for my three nephews and nieces. They've got no slaves, no nannies, no tutors. Just the two of them, and all the support and love that parents can have for their children. Sitting down with them to go over their homework for school. Taking a little time to play ball. Comforting them when they're hurt." He tilted his head. "You said you did everything to make sure your son was taken care of, sir. But what if what he really needed was you to care, personally? Not someone you paid to do so. Not some loyal slave you trusted. But you. For the things, the knowledge, the morals only a father could know?"
"Bold words for someone without any children of their own," Marius replied bitterly, surprised at how much Cobb's statement stung, at how much he felt the need to justify himself to this pleb.
The bodyguard simply shrugged. "You asked, I answered, sir. All I know is that nothing may be more important than a mother or father simply proving to their kid that they do care. Family's something we take for granted, until it isn't, I s'ppose. Tutors, nannies, advisors – you think you've won all the battles, but that doesn't mean you also won the war. Your son needed you to be present – and seems you weren't."
Like a needle pricking a balloon Cobb's words deflated his rising ire. He wasn't wrong. Admitting as much felt like mentally climbing a mountain, arduous and unforgiving. But he wasn't wrong. With sudden dread he realized that he couldn't really remember a single time when he had played with his son, or feasted on Saturnalia, or simply been a father on Christmas. To both his children, really. "Keeping the senate in line, setting myself up as the perfect representation of a Marian patrician, as the pater patriae, kept me occupied, Cobb. I always told myself that if I did that it'd be the right thing, not just for me, but for Sean as well. Setting a solid foundation so that when the time was right he could take over," he explained himself wearily. Instead his solitary focus on matters of state had seen him alienated from his close family, including his sister. He shook his head. "And look where that has left us now. When we're back on Alphard I'll be naming his son heir," he looked back up at Cobb. "I wish I could do something, anything to close the gap between my son and I, Sextus. Things should've gone differently, it should never have come to this. Maybe I should've listened more to his ideas. Drawn him closer to me, treated him more as an heir than just an appendix to my rule, my values." He shook his head. "The boy's mother died too soon."
"The curse of the O'Reilly women?" Cobb offered. Caesar's wife had died years ago, and his own mother had not lived to see her son reach adulthood. And even his grandmother had left them before her time.
"Certainly feels like a curse sometimes," Marius conceded.
"Sean… Maybe just treating him more like your son would've been enough."
Cobb's voice held no accusation, only a certain finality, but Marius still looked away.
"I don't know. Maybe yes. I'd always hoped that there was a moment to explain to him, not just as a ruler but as his father, to explain to him what I hoped he would do. And tell him that I didn't want things to end the way they are now bound to play out. To do things differently. But I'm afraid it's too late for this," Caesar frowned.
"Yes, sir. It is too late." Cobb sounded strangely sad, but before he could ponder that the bodyguard continued. "You should know that your son also wishes there was another way. And that he's truly sorry. As am I, sir."
Puzzled, Marius looked up at his bodyguard again – and plunged. To shocked to even cry out, all he saw of Cobb Sextus was the razor-sharp blade of his monofilament knife reflecting the midday sunlight, then the man already shrunk to the size of a dot. Howling air rushed by. Flailing ineffectually, he started to tumble. His heart beat so loud it drowned the whistling air. Stretches of cliff face raced by. Panic gripped his mind, preventing him from thinking clearly. He fumbled for his radio – and found it dead.
Think, Marius! He tried to force himself to calm down. With conscious effort he heaved his body around, facing downwards. The wind whipped at his face. Flocks of birds passed him by, protesting his trespassing in alien chants. Focus! Slowly, with mechanical deliberation he reached for a cord tucked under the shoulders of his bagpack. After a moment of fumbling he found the round pin and triumphantly pulled it.
Nothing happened. And despite himself he laughed. Of course, his emergency chute didn't work. Sean had chosen competent killers. Weirdly enough, that was a soothing thought.
He let go of the cord and spread his arms. It'd slow his fall a bit, steady it. He felt his heartbeat normalize and the panicked fog in his mind clear. Oh Sean. His mind quickly jumped back to the conversation with Cobb. How he wished he could've done something different. So many things.
Falling ever faster he broke through the whispy cloud layer. Down below the rocky slopes and giant fungi grew larger and larger. Blood pounded in his ears, the wind cut into his eyes. Tears streamed down his cheeks. If they were from the wind, or from the deep sorrow he felt in his blank mind he could not say. Above all, he felt a strange peace. Warmer, more earthen smelling wind beat at his face now, and the world rushed in. A single last thought flashed through his head before he closed his eyes.
'Different'.
Then blackness encompassed him.
