A Wayward Ship, Reborn

His face held the bitter stoutness of a man whose tears were spent, whose throat was dry from screaming into the night, and whose days were numbered. He sat, perfectly still, on the patio of his small home, watching the brilliant orange sunset over fields of yellowed grass. Its beauty would have blinded any other man, but he had seen the ferocity of a thousand suns light up the night sky. In his left hand, he held a glass of ice cold lemonade, untouched. Every evening, his servant would bring him one, though he never asked for it. His right hand touched the nameplate on his left breast pocket - Nicolas Martin. He felt every letter of his name, yet avoided the title in front of it at all costs. Thin red lips trembled slightly on his pale face as a cold wind blew out of the south; if not for that movement, one might have mistaken him for a statue in his chair. He reflected on that thought with a wry smile - this statue of him would be so unlike that which stood at the capital that no one would recognize him. 

“Sir, I have a message for you,” said his wretched servant, a small, meek man with a permanently curved spine. “It’s from General-”

“I don’t care,” replied Nicolas, his old voice still as sharp as a razor’s edge. 

“But-”

“Shut up, Thomas… and leave me alone.”

“Sir.” He went with pursed lips back into the house. 

Nicolas was not one to mutter up a storm under his breath - even at his age he had the courage to be outright with his thoughts. “They sent a wretch to take care of a wretch,” he said sourly, “And who do I have to blame for being a wretch? Only myself…”

This was true, and Nicolas’ fist clenched around the glass as he recollected the strange events which had brought him to this little house in Montana. Ninety years ago, he’d been a student at one of the top Universities in the world, studying political science, economics, and ambitiously attempting a pre-law track. He remembered debating on the biggest stages in the world at the age of twenty, against some of the best minds of the day, and winning with ruthless and unrelenting logic. The following year, he began gaining a following, first on social media, and then in real life, with crowds of supporters chanting his name as he went up before Congress to beat them down to Earth. And he did just that. The next year, he went before the UN and petitioned his case against the Oracle project - an alliance which would effectively shut out all the countries outside the UN from trade. 

He had a choice, at twenty-two: go on to law school, or continue debating and pushing his schemes. And he chose the latter. He raised hell about inequality before every government he could find, chose to travel to the Middle East during the War on Terror, just to meet with the president of Iran. All of this he did in a daze.

At twenty-three, he was approached by a young man named George who was very much like himself - a man who saw the perishing of the world taking place, who saw the rot of corruption destroying every institution of power around the world, and who saw the end of democracy and the rise of totalitarianism in America. 

“You and I, Nicolas… we can change all of this… we can make it better,” he had said.

Nicolas, of course, believed him. Partially because he was tired of debating the same types of people over and over and over again, and partially because of a nagging voice in the back of his head, which forced the question on him: Why are you debating these fools like a Hamster running around its wheel, when you could be them? You could take what these old criminals have held for far too long… and you can do their jobs right! Why not… 

So he took this man up on the offer, and together they launched a campaign to take control of the world’s governments. Nicolas held some naive idea that they could do this simply through debate, but after a year’s worth of fruitless attempts, George convinced him to turn their rabid crowd to violence… 

“Thomas,” said Nicolas suddenly, “Thomas!”

“Yes, sir?” Thomas was used to being summoned simply to be dismissed seconds later, so he had a foot out of the door before Nicolas could even speak. 

“Let me tell you a story.” 

Thomas arched an eyebrow at the change in his master’s voice - gone was the razor, to be replaced by the frailty of an oak leaf hanging onto a tree at the end of autumn. He grabbed a chair from the other side of the patio and sat down besides Nicolas, who did not turn his gaze from the setting sun. 

“When we - George and I… were young, we thought the revolution could only come by force. I tried, for a long time, to do it through my words, but no matter how many debates I won, no one in power would change. He convinced me (why did I let him?), that we needed to arm ourselves and turn the tides of this country.”

“Sir, I-”

“We just wanted to fight inequality - to raise the standard of living for all those tens of millions of people suffering everyday… but when we armed ourselves we never thought - I never thought, that there would be such… violence. And I know that sounds stupid. How could I have been so naive? I don’t have an answer for that. I thought that when we showed some strength those old politicians would bend over backwards for us. Perhaps George had the same assumption, but I doubt it. I doubt it because when we did show force in Dallas he immediately pressed on to the next attack. He didn’t even wait for the response.”

“Should you be telling me all this, sir?”

“After I’m gone, who else will tell it? History was written by George and his most radical supporters… not by me. After George died, there are few left who could remember what really happened, if they wanted to. You’ll need to remember it.”

Thomas frowned and looked at the sagging face of a man whose statue he had long admired in the capital. He sat back and folded his arms on his lap.

“One day you’re debating the President on environmental rights, the next you’re in a plane dropping bombs on civilians.”

“You were in those planes?”

Nicolas nodded slowly. “George was the pilot… he made me come along on a few runs… the truth is… after a while, I got scared of him. I didn’t want to speak up. He was so… passionate, and so were his… our supporters… I was scared of what he’d do if I tried to stop him. I was a coward.”

“You’re a hero, sir.” Thomas averted his gaze to the now warm lemonade. 

“No I’m not!” said Nicolas with as much force as he could muster. “A hero doesn’t stand by while millions die! A hero doesn’t give speeches to rabid zealots with machine guns as they try to take down cities! A hero doesn’t let one man control him!” He was breathing heavily, and Thomas was almost frightened - he had never seen his master like this before. After a few minutes, Nicolas continued, “I’m sorry… This is just… I’ve never spoken to anyone of your generation about this - or to anyone at all. How did I just stand there with glassy eyes and toothy smiles while George paraded the heads of ‘our’ enemies - real heroes, around on the streets?”

“Sir, maybe you should-”

“Don’t tell me to go to bed! Don’t think I don’t know why George left you here to care for me, the old bastard. He knew how I felt, but he also knew it didn’t matter as long as I fulfilled my purpose.”

Thomas was silent. 

“When we finally got what we wanted - total control of this country, the dead almost outnumbered the living. We had to fight off other countries, and I remember flying over Italy after we bombed the hell out of it… and giving a speech on the Thames after we destroyed Parliament. All these governments we threw down… and for what?”

“For glory! For equality!”

“You don’t even hear the lies coming out of your mouth… what glory? A statue? Statues will crumble, Thomas… all of them. And what equality? A system with servants, slaves, and masters has no equality. A place with re-education camps and military policing is not a place of freedom. I wanted to push the world forwards to the twenty-second century, but I’ve just pushed it back to the 19th.”

“Sir, people are happy now… I’m happy to serve you-”

“Are you? Are you really? I refuse to believe that. I’ve given you every reason to slip cyanide into my lemonade these last few years. Why d’you think I don’t drink it? You’re telling me that you enjoy being at the end of my leash?”

“Of someone of your honor…” mumbled Thomas, but he knew he was defeated.

“My honor,” Nicolas chuckled spitefully, “I had no honor in life and I will have none in death. The world isn’t that far removed from how it was - people are still the same psychologically. I know you hate me and you hate serving me. I know you can’t stand every morning I wake up alive because it means another day in hell for you.”

Thomas didn’t rebut. 

“So I’m asking you - praying, in fact, that you don’t forget what I’m saying to you now. There’s a precious few places in the world where you can truly be free anymore. Try and find one of those places after I’m dead. See who lives there. Get people around you that you can trust, and then find a way to take down this new torment I put in place.”

“You take none of the credit but you accept all of the blame…”

“In this case, the credit is blameworthy in itself.” Nicolas shivered again as the wind picked up. “I can smell the factories working in the south… how we’ve abandoned our planet. I once gave a talk on the environment of the future… then I helped to push child labor and disgusting factory work on this country.”

“We’re more efficient than we’ve ever been, even when you look at the old days.” Thomas sounded like he was trying to convince himself. 

“That will only last while we have an enemy. Right now, it’s Brazil. Once we slaughter them… you’ll see. This productivity is just the hellish fever of a beguiled population. It’s like it was in World War 2… which you know nothing about, of course.”

“World War 2? When was that?” Thomas couldn’t hide the genuine concern in his face and voice now.

“It was a bloody, hateful war in the 20th century… it was quite similar to what happened in our war - the ‘War of Absolution’, or so they call it. The same propaganda… the same violence… millions dead… though in our case, Hitler was split amongst George and I… with he the militaristic, disgusting warlord and I the fervent speech giver - riling up a crowd for war.”

“Sir…”

They were silent for some time, watching the sun finally disappear under the western sky. The automatic patio lights clicked on, and still they sat under the stunning white light. To Thomas, it seemed to be a light bright with the new knowledge he held. To Nicolas, it was the harsh and omniscient gaze of a judge. 

“Thomas,” he said after nearly a quarter of an hour, “I’m a wretched man.” For once, Thomas did not disagree… his mind was still in turmoil thinking about World War 2. Nicolas continued gravely, “You remember the raid of Toronto? Do they still teach that in school?”

“Yes, sir.” Thomas’ face lit up as he said, “That was the turning point of the North American front, they say… Toronto was the enemy’s most powerful military stronghold, and you and George led an army of 100,000 soldiers, including aircraft, to take it down, and after a week of hard battle, you won!”

“That… is a lie.” Thomas’ face dropped, but Nicolas continued, “Toronto wasn’t a military stronghold… It was a civilian city. We destroyed it because George thought we needed to send a message to the ‘enemy’ - that we weren’t bound by the same weakness for principle. I hated the decision, but I didn’t speak up. No one expected a city of families to be razed to the ground, but that’s what we did. We bombed the hell out of it while keeping a loose ring of soldiers around the outside to catch and kill any escapees. Then we went in with the army and killed anyone who was left hiding in the rubble.”

“It can’t be-”

“So now you see that I am a wretched man… that all of those who hold power in today’s society… they’re not better, or perhaps they’re even worse, than the politicians of hypocrisy and inaction I debated against in my youth.” 

“Why are you telling me all of this?” Thomas sounded almost angry that he had been given the burden of this information. “And why only now?”

“I’m telling you because someone has to know. In a world of 8 billion people, there are probably only a handful of old men like me who remember how things were before the war. There are even fewer with the strength to resist this wicked regime. Do what you want with the information… I told you to find people you can trust in the remote places of this world, but do what you want…”

“But why now?”

“I’m 108 years old, Thomas… and I feel it every day. I’m going to die soon, and I don’t want the truth to die with me.” There was such harsh sincerity in his voice that Thomas was finally forced to accept what he’d said as fact. 

“Sir… I don’t know if I can do it. I can’t just abandon my job and run away to South America, or Africa, or-”

“Fine. Then don't go anywhere. But don’t let the information die with you. Now, if I’ve learned anything from George, it’s that an enemy is best defeated while it’s distracted. So now, while we fight the last resistance in India, find some people and strike back. You may never get a chance like this again.” 

Nicolas had no urgency in his voice - he was tired. Thomas just stared at him, half with hatred for putting this responsibility on him, and half in awe of his ancient master. 

“You know, Thomas,” said Nicolas unexpectedly, “When I close my eyes, I can still see the fires burning the women and children alive in Toronto. I can still feel the rubble, bone, and dust crunching sickeningly under my feet. I can hear the screams… I can hear the gunfire. I know now why I’ve lived so long. Hell is in my head, so where else can God send me?”

“Sir…”

“Go… go to the corners of Asia… go to northern Russia… find someone there who believes in you… but Thomas… don’t ever trust anyone fully. The only man I ever trusted fully turned the country - and the world, that I loved… into a ruined hellscape.”

There was hard determination in Thomas’ eyes as he said, “Yes, sir.”

Nicolas broke into the first genuine smile his servant had ever seen. “Good, now… it’s getting late. Take me to bed.”

Thomas nodded and picked his master up out of the chair more softly than he ever had before. As they went slowly inside the house, Thomas’ mind was already formulating a plan to follow Nicolas’ words. The truth would not die with him.