The next chapter should be up in about an hour, I just have to finish editing it
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Ok, here it is. The third and final chapter of Ender of Ages. Afterwards will follow a short epilogue, to be complete tomorrow.
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All that remains of Ronneburg now is dust and rock straddling the deep, cold fields of Omega 5. It is not the same for Freital and Vogtland—Iberia and Madrid now that the bases have fallen into the hands of the Corsairs without incident. The Hessians have passed away into nothingness, one hundred million screams echoing briefly as the flames and rock and ice of Corsair guns spelled out their sudden deaths. After years, decades,
centuries of war , we can finally claim victory.
Victory. The sweet word resounds between the steep mountains of desolate Crete, in the great city-asteroid of Cadiz, throughout the docks of Tripoli, within the rocky corridors of Leon. It rings throughout the borders of Sirius. From every corner of the Omicrons and Omegas the joyful word sounds again and again…
I, of course, am hailed as the single pilot responsible for this. It truly is I and no other who was responsible for the destruction of Ronneburg, it was I who prepared for the assault on Freital, I who organized the mass poisoning that took for us Vogtland. I am the saviour of my people.
Now my Titan flies through the orange dust that clouds Madrid from site. I feel a twinge of pride as the giant rock looms into view, overpowering in its magnificence.
It was, until only 5 days ago, the centre of the Hessian lifestyle, the very heart of the revolution, the best-defended base outside of Corsair territory, maybe even better defended and constructed than Ruiz or Cali. Ever since the capture of Freital, every Hessian in the Sirius sector would have been grouped at that base, waiting for the strike—not on patrol paths, not even in their ships. Every fighter was waiting, calmly, silently, inside that diabolic metropolis…waiting for the impending Corsair attack when they as one body, in a storm of fire, would break out of the base and come as a line of death towards the attacking armies. I can only imagine the poor hope these fools must have had as they waited for a battle that would never come. They knew full well that their equipment and ships were no match for the steeds of colossal force that the Corsairs had bred for centuries, so their only strength was in their ultimate superiority in numbers. If, if we had been stupid enough to fall for their trap…one can only think of what they knew would happen—the Corsair fleet decimated, our fighters retreating in shame, the destruction of everything we had worked for eight centuries to rebuild.
My plan was brilliant.
We knew that this would happen—of course we knew. It was my suggestion to the Elders that we…deal…with the inhabitants of Vogtland in another way besides force. A method that would deal away with any who oppose us for good.
Neuro-gas running through the ventilation shafts works remarkably well.
Cold-blooded? Perhaps. But I can never forgive the Hessians. They are monstrous, they are inhuman, they are barbarians. They deserved those last few hours of agony and torment, every man, woman, and child.
And now? The base is ours. We rule Omega 5, Omega 11, and are in position to overtake Dresden. We have prevailed.
I dock at the transformed Madrid, welcomed down to the landing pad by the warm light of victory.
As I exit the powerful ship, a young recruit—not even past his adult initiation—comes towards me, addressing me with fear and awe in his young eyes. He beckons towards me, asks me to follow him, and leads me to a building deep down below the landing pad. I follow, knowing what will come next. The Elders have promised me this honour.
Yes. It is the prison in which the Elders have kept the Hessian prisoners. The boy pushes open the brazen iron door of the cell, which clangs noisily upon the asteroid wall. I see the prisoners standing there, all men. Dressed in barren, torn, threadbare clothes, all of them shirtless, one can easily see the torture my leaders have put them through. Their ribs show through their paper-thin skin, their hair hangs weak and colourless around their shoulders, their faces are bearded and starved and pained. The worst is yet to come for them
Every one I see reminds me of my brother’s face.
In the eyes of one standing in that cell there shines one last dying glimmer of hope, of bravery, of beauty…one final glow of the ember of humanity.
These…these are the people who beat my brother down and hacked apart his murdered corpse. These are the barbarians who have killed and enslaved and tortured our people for centuries and now…one by one…they will suffer our final wrath. There will be no mercy for these inhuman monsters.
I choose one, the one in which the sparkling memory of his forgotten pride and beauty is left winking out in his eyes like a candle in the wind. Without pity, I kick him directly in the stomach and watch as he falls to the ground, writhing in pain. Walking up to him, I slowly slide my foot onto his groin. Increasing the pressure ever slowly but steadily, noticeably…waiting a minute before giving one final stomp from the heel of my boots on him.
He tries to pick himself up, his face a mask of agony. On his knees and hands now, he begins to cough and shake, writhing in the pain, red-spattered vomit spewing forth from his mouth like the blood of an angry god.
For another fleeting instant, I almost see Antonio in him.
Then the feeling is gone and I see only the Hessian, weak, rugged-faced, half-naked, sweat matting his hair and blood and vomit dripping from his gaping mouth.
I have finally avenged my brother’s death.
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here for the final addition to the story
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Edited by - [ACWilde on 12/22/2004 7:53:40 AM
Sun Dec 19, 2004 6:54 pm 
