Swan Song (Book Three of the Icarus Trilogy) by Kevin Kauffmann Page B

down his opponent.  Templeton was shaking with fury, but instead of backing down the revolutionary walked to the entrance and burst through the doors. 
    Jenkins watched him go, but then turned his gaze to everyone in the room.  They all expected something from him, but Ryan didn’t know what he had to offer.  At the projection screen, Thomas cleared his throat, causing everyone in the room to look at the teacher.  Ryan felt glad at no longer being the center of attention.
    “So, I guess this might be a good time to say that this is the last mission under my supervision.  Ryan Jenkins will be taking over, just as he was always supposed to.  I'll still be around, though, so don't worry.  Just don't be too hard on him,” he said as he motioned towards Ryan, who was still standing surrounded by men and women now looking to him for guidance.
    Ryan could only feel a tremendous weight on his chest, but he smiled anyway and then motioned for Thomas to continue.  He sat down as the collective gaze left him again, but the weight remained.  Ryan felt like it was becoming difficult to breathe, but he was interrupted by a nudge from his left.  He found Goldstein grinning and laughing in his own resigned way.
    “Good fucking luck, kid.  Wouldn’t trade you for the world.”
    -
     The world was fuzzy.  It would just not resolve itself into straight lines and complex lighting.  All that Eric could see was an afterglow of the night’s drinking and he thought that maybe he had overdone it.  His survivor’s guilt was doing hell to his nerves and he had decided to drown it in alcohol, but this night the rations were down and after a week of drinking the barkeep didn’t want to hand the celebrity any more alcohol, gin or otherwise. 
    So now Eric Jones was walking down the corridors of his prison.  It was supposed to be a bastion for freedom, but all that Eric could do in the EFI headquarters was walk around, maybe read a bit, maybe sleep, though Eric was finding that last one pretty much impossible.  Every time that he tried to close his eyes he saw the ruins of what Douglas had become.  Whenever he turned over in his cot, the image of Cody and Hakim being gunned-down in the War World studio replayed over and over again. And every time that he had a quiet moment he saw Jamie Caswell, but not the tyrant of the studio that most would remember.  He saw the gentle man without the slicked-back hair who had gone out drinking with Eric and Douglas two weeks before the broadcast.
    Eric Jones stumbled a bit and tried to regain his balance by leaning against the nearby wall.  The world was still fuzzy, but from this close he could see the little placard next to the door and saw that he was standing outside of the clinic.  He gulped, realizing that his subconscious had led him to the one place he didn’t want to be, but he realized that he had to do it.  Eric had to confront that little broken man.
    The celebrity gathered his courage and puffed up his chest, feeling his gut tense at the effort.  Eric had lost that perfect muscle tone while he was in the interrogation room and he couldn’t stop himself from being vain.  Another wave of depression and sorrow hit the celebrity as he realized that Douglas would never have that problem, but Eric tried to rid himself of the thought as he gathered his courage.
    He pushed through the doorway to see Douglas sitting on the medical table on the far end of the room.  There were about five or six tables set up for the injured revolutionaries, but luckily there was only one other occupant in the room.  Eric Jones could see that the man wouldn’t wake up any time soon; the nameless soldier was a victim of head trauma and likely wouldn’t overhear Eric's conversation with his former colleague.  Eric turned his gaze back to the announcer of War World and felt his heart sink.
    Douglas’ wounds had been cleaned and managed over the last week; the cuts and burns had been covered with