The Hangman's Revolution (W.A.R.P. 2)

“It is a sign,” he said, eyes bright. “I am in your blood, Cadet Savano. I am in your soul. Would you be one who murders her savior? Would you be Judas?”

No, Lord, said the voice in Chevie’s head. Her own voice.

“Fire your weapon, Cadet!” thundered Box.

“I will not be that cadet ever again!” Chevie shouted and pulled the trigger for the third time, the bullet fizzing harmlessly into the water around her thighs.

“Three times you have denied me,” said Box advancing through the torrent. “But you can deny me no more. I am Clayton Box. Your lord and savior. The savior of the world.”

Chevie backed away, hefting the gun in two hands, but still it seemed so heavy.

“Your body betrays you, Cadet. It will not allow you to shoot me. You cannot harm me, because I am your life and the light of the world. No one gets to heaven but through me. On your knees and beg forgiveness.”

Chevie felt water lap at the small of her back.

“I will never kneel. Never.”

But Old Chevie dragged at her heart. Kneel. Oh, please kneel. Remember DeeDee.

DeeDee. Executed.

“Damn you!” screamed Chevie in a last burst of resistance, and pulled the trigger. The shot was a mile wide, shattering the glass on a framed world map.

I can’t shoot the Blessed Colonel, Chevie realized. Savior of the world. It is not in me.

In me.

In which me?

Who am I now?

I am fighting myself, Chevie realized. And one of me is losing. It’s the Traitor.

“On your knees, sinner!” shouted Box. He could have taken the gun easily, but he did not even try. “On your knees. My will be done.”

Chevie felt her eyes blur. It is the Blessed Colonel. I am in His presence. I have sinned.

Box was mere steps from her, and he seemed to radiate light. His tall frame filled Chevie’s mind and vision.

I have defied the colonel. God forgive me.

Chevie felt her knees bend and tears of frustration and sorrow flowed down her cheeks.

Do not kneel. Do. Not. Kneel.

Shoot. Kill him.

But she was sinking down, and the water swirled around her waist, then her chest, hugging her like a mother. As she dropped, her gun hand came up in a last-gasp defiance of Cadet Savano, who was in control now.

“At last she has seen the light,” said Box, raising his eyes to heaven. “The vessel of the Lord shall not be martyred this day.”

He pressed his chest against the gun barrel. “For the faithful are forever bound to me in this life or any other life and they shall not harm me.”

“My Lord,” mumbled Chevie. “My Lord Colonel.”

Box met her eyes. “There is no tomorrow but the one I bring forth unto the world. And those who would conspire against me must give up their secrets before giving up their lives.”

My dad, realized Chevie. He is talking about my dad.

But still she could not pull the trigger, and it was almost a relief when Box took the pistol from her trembling fingers.

It’s out of my hands now, she thought. I’ll just stay here on my knees, and very soon the waters will close over me.

“Praise God. There is rejoicing in heaven when the prodigal son returns to the fold.”

I bet there is no rejoicing on earth, said Traitor Chevie, who was on the way back to her cage.

“Sadly, here on earth,” confirmed Box, as though he had heard the thought, “in this valley of tears, the prodigal son or daughter must be severely chastised as an example to others.”

Yep, said Traitor Chevie. Severely chastised. That’s what you get for showing mercy.

Box took hold of Chevie’s collar and stalked across the chamber, dragging her facedown through the rising waters. She did not struggle or thrash and would probably have allowed herself to drown had not the colonel dumped her on his own desk, which had been floating until her weight pinned it down. Chevie lay on her back, feet dangling in the water, coughing rancid water from her lungs, salt tears on her cheeks.

Box dangled the gun by its trigger guard and held it out to his side.

“You. Dispatch this sinner to her just reward. I must gather my mother.”

He was talking to Vallicose, who was half-conscious now, recovering from her shocking, and had picked herself up from the pile of columns.

“Yes, Lord. Of course, Lord.”

Vallicose took the gun, but not with the enthusiasm she generally exhibited when handling weapons.

“I am sorry, Lord.”

“Sorry for allowing yourself to be incapacitated, I imagine, for putting my life in danger.”

“Yes,” said Vallicose. “But mostly for…”

Box scooped handfuls of ash into the urn’s broken base. “Mostly for what, soldier?”

“For losing faith, Lord. I was beginning to doubt.”

“Doubt? You doubted me?”

“Yes, Lord. Nothing is as we were told. Even this room is so vulgar. I had never even seen you pray, so I doubted you until right now, when I saw the divine spirit through you. It was blinding. I beg forgiveness.”

Box wiped the last specks of ash from his fingers. He had been saving his moment of anger for Savano, but he found himself suddenly furious with this insufferable idiot Vallicose. He had thought it mildly amusing that she consistently credited God with stratagems that he himself had planned out over months and sometimes years.

“Divinity is a tool,” he snapped, cradling the ashes in his arms. “Religion is a tonic for the troops.”

Vallicose was confused. “No, Lord. You are God, surely.”

Box turned on his disciple. “Clayton Box is nobody’s god. I am the prime instrument. All the great dictators, with few exceptions, have armed themselves with religion. It is convenient to do so. I have never spoken with the voice of God. I simply came from the future, like you. Are you so zealous that you cannot see the evidence? No God, just science.”

“So you don’t believe in yourself?”

Box angled his large head. “Do you really think, Vallicose, that, if there is a God, He wishes my master plan to succeed? God wishes us to obliterate an entire class of people? God approves of our intention to wipe out whole cities?”

“But those are foreigners. They are heathens.”

“Jesus would be a foreigner here, Vallicose. And Moses. Even Saint Paul. All foreigners. People will always follow a leader with God on his side, and so I decided to have God on my side. And from what you tell me, I decided to be God. Are you so dense that you cannot understand that?”

Vallicose was crumbling from the inside out. Her surroundings were completely forgotten.

“I followed you all my life. The things I have done in your name…”

“Exactly my point,” said Box. “Sheep will run straight over a cliff if they believe.”

Vallicose’s legs could barely hold her up. “I was blind.”

Box nodded pointedly at the gun. “But now you can see, soldier. You can see to shoot.”

Vallicose looked at the gun in her hand as though she did not know what it was. In fact, she didn’t seem certain what her hand was.

“Shoot?”

“Yes. Shoot the child.”