[WP] Show me a hero and I’ll write you a tragedy

"What would you call yourself, Zeta-3?" The cockeyed grin barely hid the contempt of the question.

Rather than play into the man's hand, Durum decided to remain blunt and guileless. He grunted his response; "Durum."

The man grinned wider before he raised his copper cup up, tipped a sarcastic salute, and drained it in one deep drought. It met the polished steel bar-top with a clang as the man half turned on his stool toward Durum and said, "We both know that's the alias you chose, you daft tit. We also both know you scored just outside 3 standard deviations on your entrance exams, so you're not at all stupid enough to ignore the reality of my question."

"And I have to assume you barely managed to squeeze into the average bracket, since any idiot should know not to call a dead man by his lost call sign." Durum sipped the potent spiced wine from his own cup and glanced past his drinking companion. Somewhere in the room, he knew, would be someone who was not listening to their conversation.

'Someone who was not listening as hard as they could in this scum hole.' Durum just had to find that someone as soon as possible.

"Don't you know, I wasn't far behind you in that regard? But, that's neither here nor there." The man poured another draft of bubbling blue liquid into his copper cup, lifted it, then hesitated before he simply sipped from it. "Fine, Durum. Fine. I did it as a tactic. Put you on your toes. Or maybe your heels. But the fact of the matter is that my organization needs you. And we are more than willing to go to any lengths to get you, as I think I've proven."

"And who else wouldn't be, hm?" Durum glared sideways a moment before he continued his scan of the room, "Vicarius, you and your organization might be working against the Alphans, but how many do you think are working for them?"

"Well, we do have most of their personnel records, not to mention substantial classified rosters o-"

"Gerrah!" Durum snapped his thumb and forefinger right in front of the large man's face, "How did you even get this job, Vicarius?"

Vicarius huffed and puffed for a moment before he collected himself and sternly said, "I was the decurio primus pilus of the Fifth before the Accord put Terra on the fast-track to irrelevance. Fought to keep the Latins on top before they signed the Mars Agreement, then fought tooth and nail to toss the filthy Germans back into the inner bodies before the Latin-German Colonization Treaty went through, and then kicked every ass between Neptune and the Kepler before that shameful display was final."

By the way Vicarius swelled as he spoke, especially given the eyebrow flick at the end, Durum had a suspicion that the ass-kicking didn't stop for some time after the Accord of Terran Pillars was signed. But, Durum knew better than to ask.

"Besides all that, Durum, I got the job because my organization figured you'd better receive it from a soldier than some boot-licking bureaucrat." Vicarius sniffed back his contempt at the idea of such folks before he continued, "And I wasn't lying when I said I was a man of a particular business. It's a simple business, Durum. Very simple."

"How simple?" Durum smirked as he continued to let his eyes drift from person to person in the feted bar. He skipped over a group of Hadarians, the slight lavender hue of their skin grossly exaggerated as the black and blue lights shifted, before he let his eyes settle on a man not quite involved in a larger conversation.

"Simple in that we only want to unify a single planet. That's all, Durum. One. Tiny. Planet." Vicarius rapped his knuckles against the bar top to accentuate the last three words.

"Eh?" Durum sipped from his cup as he looked back at Vicarius, shrugged, then hunkered down a bit closer to the bar top. From the way he set his head against his right arm, he could just glance past Vicarius at the man he'd pegged as the likely listener. And, if he had correctly gauged the wild dance of agitation which Vicarius's eyebrows were doing, Durum would wager the listener would be none the wiser of being watched.

"Eh? Eh? Eh, indeed! You sloshed bummer, it's not a hard concept." Vicarius pinched at his chin for a moment before he continued, "The Accord, as well as a helluva lot that's been signed since the damned Council of Nations was put into place, was nothing but a shackle placed on Latins to keep them back! If it weren't for Latins being our own damned worst enemy, we'd have conquered every pathetic excuse for a nation those barbarians have! But we fought each other, Durum! Just like the Alphans when they knocked down the Prima Cents! Both holdovers from before the Accord! Latin colossi, and the only thing that can take down a colossus is another damned colossus! Terra is rightfully Latin, my boy!"

The listener perked up at that, and Durum knew he had guessed correctly. In this light, the man had black eyes embedded in a grey face which peeked out from beneath an intricately wrapped cloth about his head. A healthy black beard and mustache framed his lips, and a single white scar ran along the left side of his robust, hooked nose.

Those black eyes glared at Vicarius, who was all too unaware of having become the hunted. Like the eyes of a hawk, they bore into the back of the Latin as he continued on about the divine Latin right. Durum watched as the listener made to scratch at his ear, no doubt to adjust a listening device, and then deftly slid his hands to rest within either sleeve. It was subtle, but Durum swore he saw the man press something with his left hand against his right forearm.

"Pater's cock, Durum, haven't you heard a word?" Vicarius grabbed Durum by the shoulder and gave him a firm jostle, "Think of what you could accomplish with all that, Durum! For something so... simple. So easy, for the likes of you. So damned grand!"

"Hm." Durum shrugged, but the hand didn't leave his shoulder.

"There's no 'hm' about it, boy. Show me the hero you could have been. Show Terra the hero you are."

Durum looked down into his nearly empty cup and thought a moment.

"Come on, boy. What would Flaccus say?" Vicarius cocked an eyebrow as Durum flinched at the name. "What would Ahala?"

Durum flinched again. Too sober not to hear it, a ghost came screaming back from the past. Alarms blared in his fighter's cabin. A mess of voices, jumbled across the comms as they screamed orders or wailed for help, cried out in pain or were snuffed out by static, and the bark of his old centurion. Zeta-1.

'Flaccus!' Durum screamed into his helmet as a fire erupted fore of the cockpit and his instruments went grey. 'Flaccus, she can't take much more. I just lost the auxiliary power. I'm flying by feel!'

A dumb rocket zipped past his cockpit and burst into a fireball, most of the shrapnel pattering off the glass like fiery rain, but two metal chunks cut into it with sickening crunches.

'We've got you, Zeta-3. Just hang in-' The comm cut short in an explosion.

'Sons of Dis! Sons of Dis! Dis! Dis! Dis!' Another rocket zipped by, exploded, and rained fiery metal onto his cockpit. More shards embedded into the glass which was now spider-webbed with cracks.

Two fighters, neon green against the blue sky, dropped out from a cloud ahead of him and dashed straight past the cockpit as rockets rushed from their wings and the unmistakable torrent of shells rained from their rotary cannons.

'Gerrah, you sons of whores!' Durum recognized Flaccus's voice as the centurion soared past. Only moments later the two craft were alongside his own. His centurion's voice crackled over the comm again, 'How's the bird, lad?'

The controls shuddered beneath Durum's hands as he replied, 'She's seen better days, sir.'

'Put her down and try to find another one, boy. Ahala and I can handle ourselves until you're back in the air.'

'I can manage her, sir, I just need to find a way to get power back to my displays.' Durum began to reach blindly beneath his chair in hopes of a microkit.

'Don't try to be a hero, lad, we'll need you in good shape if we're gonna kick these Alphan mutts off our damned planet.'

'But I can help, sir, I-'

'Put her down, boy! That's an order!' Flaccus's bark was enough to know that he meant it.

'Aye, sir.' Durum began to peel away from his alæ and wrestled the controls as they shuttered.

'Remember; Zeta are never heroes!' Ahala's voice was as chipper as ever, despite the grave situation.

'Just temporarily not villains.' Flaccus finished the Zeta slogan.

"So, Durum?" Vicarius poked him in the ribs.

"What?" Durum shook his head, trying to shake out the screams which still drifted out from the ether.

"What would they say? Wouldn't they want you to be a hero?"

Durum drained his cup, slammed it against the bar, and pushed away with just enough force to knock his stool off two legs rather than slide. He crashed into Vicarius and they both fell to the ground, followed by the Hadarian wine.

As they struggled to rise Durum drew Vicarius's head close and whispered, "You were followed. Persian, nose scar, niner. We have to go."

After a couple seconds the pair was untangled and up, both with more than a little blue wine on them.

"Sons of Dis, man! Come on!" Vicarius wiped some of the wine from his face and flicked it to the ground.

"Sorry." Durum wiped a sleeve across his cheek.

"Damn it all," Vicarius sighed. "Damn it!"

"Come on, I'll buy you a replacement." Durum reached into his pocket, pulled out a wad of bills, and forced them into Vicarius's hand.

"No! No! I-" Vicarius's eyes bulged as he realized what was with the money. "Gerrah!" He swiped more wine from his face and flicked it before he walked away.

Durum swayed and looked around sheepishly, locked eyes with the listener, and shrugged before he drifted out of the bar in a drunken stagger.

His communicator pinged as he ducked into the first alley, and the name VICARIVS was followed by: HERO?

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