Death on Taurus by J. M. Porup

Author:J. M. Porup [Porup, J. M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-04-22T14:29:27+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Three

Carlos sat unmoving for a long moment. He let his head fall forward. The cigar fell from his mouth into the vizzer’s blood pooling between his toes. So this was it. Death. The end of everything. After all these years they’d finally gone and done it. Blown themselves to smithereens.

Whose fault was it they were dead? His, and his alone. He had given them the planet killer. Taught them how to use it. Taught them how to build more. He used to tell himself that if he hadn’t invented the weapon, someone else would have. He was an agent of technological progress. That was all.

Every time he woke he scoured the latest research for some sign, a flash of brilliance, a new mind’s fabulous gropings, intellectual pursuit into the unknown, something to neutralize his terrible creation—but he found nothing. He realized, finally, that the creation of his weapon was not inevitable. He was not a force of progress or scientific advance; the only person to blame for the holocaust that had now consumed humanity was himself.

Meanwhile venal politicians had used his weapon as an excuse for tyranny: Strong Government in the Face of Annihilation. Bah. Bastards. At least they were gone too.

He reached up and rubbed his forehead. His eyes hurt. Forty-eight hundred years in the deep freeze gives you a big fornicating headache. At his age, too. It would be tendays before he felt better again. Assuming he was still alive in a few tendays. Which was doubtful.

A whistling sound trickled from his scarred lungs. He groaned against his will. They were all such morons. Sure. They deserved destruction. That didn’t make it any easier. The stoneless epitaph to humanity, engraved in the quantum of space, should read: “Here Lies A Suicidal Species, Aided By A Fool.”

“I told them and I told them and I told them,” he muttered. He stared at the Crosses, defiant and bleeding before him. “And did they listen? Huh?” He flung the last word at their feet, spat more blood on the floor. “No. They did not.” He shook his head. “Maybe we all get what we deserve.”

The funny-looking one with the beard cleared his throat. He didn’t even have hooves. What a joke of a priest. What the hell had been going on for the last five thousand years?

“Then what do you deserve for lying to us about who and what we are?” the hoofless one asked. “Did you really think we’d never find out?”

Carlos scooped up the whip from the floor. The tip still shimmered blue, curling in the dust. He really should vacuum. But what for? Death was on the menu for them all. The only course of action he could take. He was relieved, almost. There would be no more decisions. No more weighty dilemmas. But first he needed more information.

He turned to the console, tapped a series of keys with his free hand. Better not give the instructions to Baby out loud. The Crosses might be of use before he killed them.

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