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Cry
to Heaven
(by Elton John, 1985)
He
threw his uniform jacket over the back of his chair. It was
late... It always got late when one of them got
wounded.
Durhardt, Quentin...
one of the Hypnotic-Mind-Controllers.
A
datapad – the physicians' assessment of Quentin's physical
state – lied on his desk.
Not
now...
He activated the
music player on the shelf behind him, inserted one of the old
disks which he found stuffed into a paper box when he took over
the office...
It doesn't
matter.
I
found a black beret
On the street today
It was lying in the
gutter all torn
There's a white flag flying
On a tall
building
But the kids just watch the storm
The
kids are the storm...
He
took the bottle out of his desk drawer and poured himself a glass
of brandy. Regulations forbade drinking while on
duty...
I've done things far
more against the rules than this.
He
took a deep sip and leaned back in his chair.
Their
dirty faces
Pressed on the windows
Shattered glass before
their eyes
There's a mad dog barking
In a burned out
subway
Where the sniper sleeps at night
He
remembered the cry when Durhardt was hit. Killbane fired.
Killbane always fired. Whether or not somebody was in the
way.
He'd be a too expensive
soldier... even in interstellar wars. But no one listened to me
when I explained it.
No
birthday songs to sing again
Just bricks and stones to give
them
Wrap them up in your father's flags
And let them cry
to heaven
He
took another deep sip of brandy as the pictures of Durhardt's
wounds flashed through his mind... the burned flesh and the
molten bone of his leg in the middle of it... The others jumped
over the wincing body and ran on. Shane left his group and
stayed.
He was the only one
who cared...
No
birthday songs to sing again
Just bricks and stones to give
them
Wrap them up in your father's flags
And let them cry
to heaven
No
one will ever sing for them... but no one will ever dare to throw
stones at them, either...
Another
sip. He had to refill the glass.
There
are many graves
By a cold lake
As the beds were when your
babies are born
And your rag doll sits
With
a permanent grin
But the kids just watch the storm
There
won't be any graves for those who lose in this.
He'd
seen the wounds of the other losses, remembered what they looked
alike. He didn't need to look into the physician's
file.
Quentin has no
chance.
He glanced at the
filing cabinet where the hard copies of prime orders were kept...
I
saw a black cat
Tease a white mouse
Until he killed it with
his claws
Seems a lot of countries
Do the same thing
Before
they go to war
...he
still knew the exact wording of the order, though it was more
than 17 years old – it dated from November 2066 –
"Abandoned and invalid objects must be transferred
immediately to Project Genomtoxin. The development of a battle
gas against genetically engineered soldiers is considered as
important as the development of the soldiers
themselves."
Black cat
and white mouse... I don't want to know who's who.
No
birthday songs to sing again
Just bricks and stones to give
them
Wrap them up in your father's flags
And let them cry
to heaven
He
saw in his mind's eye a different trooper collapsing to the
ground, dangerously wounded ...
I
don't have a flag to wrap him in...
In
a sudden attack of fury he threw the half emptied glass across
the room. It crashed against the wall next to the door, left tan
spots on the paint and sharp splinters on the carpet...
No
birthday songs to sing again
Just bricks and stones to give
them
Wrap them up in your father's flags
And let them cry
to heaven
I've
got to stop this!
He opened
the music player, fetched out the old disk and looked at the
label. It was published in 1985... 99 years ago... They hadn't
thought about genetic warfare in those times. They couldn't even
imagine it... He dropped the disk onto his desk and started the
terminal in front of him: "Object-ID: 1567236 - Durhardt,
Quentin - Date of Incept: 2066-01-21 - Date of Decant: 2066-09-22
- was deemed viable at 2068-10-02." He added the "L"
for loss behind the date in "Status" and wrote down the
date of today under "comments". Then he turned to the
"use" column and changed "STP"
into "GTP".
Let
them cry to heaven
Let them cry to heaven
There
would be no heaven for Quentin to cry to.
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