Amateur Megalomania

Valen wanted to reach out and choke the life out of those around him.

He shuffled along, keeping his place in the line that snaked through the cramped corridor. Up ahead, he could see the checkpoint where the Crew worked, screening the healthy from the sick and deciding who would get work assignments today. A steady line of despair trickled back in the opposite direction; those that had been denied work, and by extension, a full food ration. Valen watched them shamble by, feeling nothing in the face of their misery.

Up ahead, toward the front of the line, he could see Maltby, nearly to the checkpoint. As he watched, Maltby glanced back in his direction, and Valen caught his eye and nodded. Maltby smiled before turning back and moving forward another step. Valen breathed a sigh of relief. Many lost their nerve, but he had chosen well in recruiting this one.

The man behind Valen bumped into him when the line stopped, and quickly muttered an apology. Valen turned and carefully presented a smile, shoving aside the apology with a word. Inside, he longed to smash the face of this traitor. Everyday, they lined up to support the very people who held them down, who persecuted them, starved them, and treated them like one of the meat cattle raised a few decks above this one. They simply accepted the Crew’s right, and by working for food, endorsed and prolonged the subjugation.

His people were barely worth saving.

But Valen would continue to work to that end, even if was no longer completely clear about which goal was more important; killing the Crew or freeing his people.

Up ahead, Maltby had reached the checkpoint and a Crewman stepped forward to check his papers. It was all Valen could do to force himself not to flinch in anticipation.

Maltby exploded.

The image of Maltby fragmenting remained visible, burned in a purplish imprint on Valen’s vision. The smoke covered the entire corridor, but he could see several more bodies strewn across the checkpoint, many of them in pieces. The roar of the blast washed over him, echoing through the cramped metal corridor and tearing at his ears, before his hearing gave way to the distant ringing that carried away the screams of the injured.

Valen allowed himself to be carried along with the fleeing mob, no longer minding the casual contact of those he had learned to hate. Their fear filled him with satisfaction, and he knew that the threat of more bombings would be enough to keep many away, at least for a while. Inside, the satisfaction filled the hole where he used to have feelings, but he knew that in time, the hole would return, demanding more.

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