“Believe me, his death will not be on my conscience,” he replied. “Not because I am a monster or a psychopath, regardless of what the propagandists say. Johnathan Marx, as the head of Marx Amalgamated Concern, owes a debt that I have waited a long time to collect.”
Jack and Madeline looked at each other, confused. “Explain,” said Madeline finally.
“I want you to consider how the Onin War began and why,” explained Enoch. “We wanted the right to go our own way. That meant being able to make our own decisions about our technology, and our resources. We were no political threat to anyone, no military threat to anyone, despite what the alarmists and propagandists said. But we were aneconomicthreat to some very powerful business interests: interstellar corporations that call the shots with the Alliance’s most prominent politicians. For us, the war was about the freedom to follow our own path. For the corporations, it was all about money.”
“I’ve never thought about it that way,” admitted Jack.
“Who do you think was in the very thick of it? The largest corporate collective in the galaxy, of course: Marx Amalgamated Concern. Your father was at the forefront of the jackals howling for war against my people. His debt, long due, will finally be paid. So to me, Johnathan Marx is not a father, or even a man about to be murdered. To me, and the people of the Onin systems, Johnathan Marx is a war criminal who will finally face justice. I am not afraid to be the instrument of that justice. And I have no qualms about taking this man’s life.”
The other three found themselves nodding their heads.
“Do either of you want to say anything to him, before I do this?” asked Enoch.
Jack shook his head in the negative. “I said all I wanted to say to that man before he disowned me,” he replied.
Madeline got up. “I want to talk to him first.”
***
Madeline opened the door and passed through, stepping into both the room and the Faraday Cage. Her father sat on a bench that folded out from the wall, and he was cuffed at both the wrists and ankles. He was a tall man, and despite his age still possessed something of the broad chest and shoulders that had helped him be—according to family lore—a champion rower during his university days.
Johnathan Marx looked up as his daughter entered the room, his eyes moving quickly behind his glasses.Calculating, thought Madeline.Always calculating.
“Maddie,” he said, and she suddenly realized why she hated being called Maddie so much.Soon to be erased. Along with you.A wave of sadness passed through her.
“I have to say, well done,” observed her father. “I did not anticipate this move at all. A bold stroke. But then, you always were one for bold strokes, weren’t you?”
“It doesn’t matter,” replied Madeline sadly. “None of that matters. I’m not here to spar with you. There’s no angle to work on me, Father. I’m just here to say goodbye.”
Johnathan Marx paused. He blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Goodbye, Father. I’m sorry I didn’t understand who you really were sooner. I’ll try to do as much good as I can in this lifetime, and maybe that will help to balance out the things you’ve done.”
“What’s this religious nonsense you’re spouting?” he demanded irritably, but Madeline had already left. A larger figure entered the room.
Enoch Immanuel closed the door behind him, folded his arms across his chest, and stood there, silently regarding the head of Marx Amalgamated Concern.
Marx looked up him, raising an eyebrow. “So it is you,” he said. “There were rumors. You might think this kidnapping advances your cause, but I assure you it will not.”
“This is not a kidnapping,” replied Enoch. “This is an execution.”
Marx’s composure broke, only for a moment, before the man shook his head and observed, “Strong-arm tactics won’t help you here, Immanuel. If you come to your senses, I can work with you and we can see what we can do to minimize the damage.”
“You know,” offered Enoch, walking to stand in front of Marx, “for a very long time, all that I wanted was blood. Yours, and that of the corporate leaders like you, who looked at my people and saw only profit margins.”
“That kind of talk isn’t going to help—” Marx began but was cut off as Enoch brought a hand down on Marx’s shoulder and squeezed. The pain was written on Marx’s face.
“Shut up andlisten, you idiot,” continued Enoch calmly, letting up on the pressure. “Then I met Madeline. Your daughter. I realized, when I had time to think about it, that something good could come out of wretched evil after all. That might sound obvious, but it’s actually quite profound, if you think about it.”
Marx opened his mouth to speak again, but Enoch tightened his grip once more. The executive paled.
“Then you went and put your wonderful daughter at risk,” Enoch continued, “and for nothing more than a bottom line. And so I understood that evil, whatever good it may accidentally produce, is still evil. Some people manage to redeem themselves in this life, Johnathan Marx. But not you. You just keep doing the same things.”
Enoch placed his hands on either side of Johnathan Marx’s head. “So this is the end of the line for you, Mister Marx. This is for the dead and dispossessed of Onin.”
He twisted his hands, and there was a crack.
