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FROM THE JOURNALS OF RICHARD B. BERNSTEIN, THE ACADEMIC DETECTIVE
My heart sank as I saw Wulfgar there, strapped into that...thing. The lunatic, this "First", had us in the least enviable of positions -- and for a bizarre plan that made no sense from ANY angle.
"This can't work", I said, trying to find some way to stall for time, to delay that which seemed to be inevitable, now, "why not just calm down, seek out a good therapist, and get the help that you really need so badly?"
"Professor", he replied, his voice dangerously soft, "have a care; YOU are not indispensible to my plans. Ms. Phan and Mr. Branagh, of course, MUST die; they have uncovered too much of my organization's operations. Then that bastard Wood shall fall-I've hated him for some time, AND I SHALL HAVE MY VENGEANCE-"
"Operations?" Branagh spoke casually, "Oh, you must mean the 'distillery' in Kildare that produces Sarin and Anthrax B, the 'lost' nuclear warheads from a Former Soviet base in Irkutsk that lie hidden in a cave in France, the replacement of key OPEC officials with programmed clones, and the same for Dubya Bush and Nader. Or is it-"
"You're letting me know what you've discovered? Not wise little man-"
"It's quite all right, Old Cock; with any luck, at this time the mess should be taken care of."
The First Clone snarled in Branagh's face, spittle flying; he received another dose of blue fluid from Mortem.
"Jefe, we can delay no longer-your adrenaline surges are burning up the synthetic hormones; it must be done NOW..."
"Very...well...", he growled through gritted teeth, his face contorted in a vicious rictus of hate, "...but...HE...shallll be the first that I kill after the procedure..."
"Si, si, si, Jefe; tell you what, you can clone him and kill him once a week..."
How to relate the blasphemous act that was carried out upon my friend and comrade Wulfgar? The mad clone was strapped into the apparatus next to him. Wulfgar spat out a curse that I didn't even know existed, one that made Philm Phan blanch. Switches were thrown, lights flared, wires hummed, chemicals bubbled-the sound was impossible to describe...or to forget.
I saw the look that crossed Wulfgar's face-it'll haunt me to the day that I go to the grave, should I live to be 1000 years old. His eyes fixed upon mine, and I heard him say (just above the roar of the machine) "I'll be seein' ye, Sword-Brother..." and then the light went out of his eyes. 'Monica' cursed, struggling feebly against the handcuffs, and Zero...Zero wept, great sobs of profound loss ripping themselves from his chest, a sound such as you'd imagine that broken bones rubbing together might make, as tears cut tracks through the dirt and grime on hid face, acquired in our forest sojourn.
Philm Phan mutely looked away, as Branagh muttered what sounded like a Gaelic prayer under his breath, his voice like that of a man who has swallowed a bag of broken glass. 0-1-0 lay on the floor, twitching as if in sympathy for his brother.
I felt as if I'd been gutshot.
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(To Be Concluded)
(So I lied-this isn't the penultimate episode...Deal.)
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