Ain't War Hell?
By: Maximillian von Fischgeist 

Chapter Thirteen
Green Thumb

    The man was called Destro. So Odem had learned a few days ago, when he'd been privy to an odd conversation between the silver-masked man and another man, ugly and wearing an eyepatch. The two had spoken hotly about something called a Cobra Commander, who apparently was the head of this whole vile organization. Neither Destro nor Bludd (whose name alternated on Destro's hidden and metal-sounding tongue with the title "Major") had any love for the Cobra Commander, each of them seeming to believe that they could do much better at playing leader. Certainly Destro appeared to have the talent for it. Bludd didn't seem to want control of the organization. He struck Odem as a man who didn't trust anyone as far as he could throw him. Yet, his visible eye glowed with nothing else if not desire for dominance of something.

    It had been six days since Odem submitted to Destro. He shared his theory, reluctantly at first. But the more he talked, the easier it had become, and after a while, it was almost thrilling to share what had before been the darkest of secrets. He felt like a lecturer addressing a fully-captivated audience, which Destro was, though his sober attitude always was firmly fixed (the mask, of course, had not the power to convey emotion). Now, six days later, he awaited Destro. Today, the antidote would be introduced to the test plants, which had recieved the poison five days before. Odem waited with a mix of horror (this would surely send his somewhat-checkered soul into Hell's sphere of influence) and excitement (years of work would finally see fruition!).

    Odem sat now in his cell, on the edge of a bed which had once been alien but now was the very definition of comfort. When not working, he was kept away from the tiny laboratory where what Destro termed as "our experiment" was located. When in the lab, Odem was always watched by both Destro and one of many nameless and faceless (he'd seen only one of these people's faces fully, and it was burned in his mind. She had been a pretty girl in her mid-twenties. And she'd killed mercilessly) guards. Presumably, he was not trusted not to kill himself. So much glass and so many poisons. Indeed, early on, the thought had crossed his mind, so Destro was not paranoid, simply practical.

    A sound: A key in the lock of his cell door. The door swung open and Odem watched as Destro entered, his midnight-black suit a polar contrast to that brilliant, sparkling mask.

    "Our experiment waits, doctor." Thus was Destro's greeting.

    Odem stood up quickly, internally cursing his boyish passion to prove that controlled famine was not the idle daydream of a demented quack. Idle, no, he thought. Daydream, no. Quack... probably not. But perhaps demented.

    As he followed Destro from the cell, they were joined by the ubiquitous guard (complete with ubiquitous face concealment and intimidating rifle; Odem wondered that if the guard was there to prevent his death, and there being no one around but himself wishing to cause his own death, what would be the use of such a weapon?). They walked silently and at a quick pace to the lab. Once inside, the guard closed the lab door, and the four of them were alone: Creator (Odem), Usurper (Destro), Guard (Guard), and Phoenix (Plant, which would soon rise from the ashes!).

    "We wait, Dr. Odem," came that powerful voice, seeping out from deep within the mystery that was his face. False or not, it was his face, Odem decided. Odem locked his eyes on the eyeholes in that face. Darkness glared back. Was each man's excitement at this moment equal? Was each man's empowerment at this moment equal?

    As it turned out, equality was eradicated by a new presence which sucked Destro and Odem into its vacuum of strange superiority. The lab door was thrown open and a man in a powder blue dress uniform (marked at the breast with the red Cobra insignia) glided into the center of attention. He was smaller than Destro, thinner, weaker (but, then, Destro was a fully-developed man, in body and mind, and who wasn't smaller, thinner, and weaker than he?). The new man's face was hidden (of course!) by a hood, not unlike that worn by an executioner, excepting its light blue color (to match the ornate uniform) instead of death black.

    Destro whirled to face the man, at first annoyed and then shocked. The hooded man froze (imperiously? Fearfully? Odem couldn't tell). "Cobra Commander," said Destro calmly, as if at once stamping out his own surprise and explaining to Odem the level of danger suddenly presented.

    The Cobra Commander (whose own personal guard was not five feet away from his master, also clad in the powder blue that was so much lighter and more distinguishable from the normal Cobra navy blue) brought a gloved hand to his sternum, echoing the famous Napoleonic gesture. "You have been busy, Dessstro." His voice was a jarring blend of paranoid timidity and fanatic bravado, all brought into perfect-yet-distressing balance by a serpentine lisp. While Destro was power-in-waiting, the Cobra Commander was power-in-practice. Unlike Destro, who was made all the more vibrant and monstrous by his unfulfilled desire for power, the Cobra Commander was made only monstrous, for his desires were all fulfilled. There was nowhere for him to go but down, and everyone, even Odem - who was only now, for the first time, meeting the man - knew it. But even Destro was subservient to the man's power. Power-in-practice is, after all, more dynamic than power-in-waiting.

    "We are confederates, Commander," Destro said. "When I am busy, it is for the good of Cobra."

    The hooded head leaned slightly to one side. "I ssee. Thiss iss Dr. Odem?"

    "Yes," Destro confirmed, a note of anger darkening the already-dark-enough melody of his voice. "You are just in time to witness the good doctor's theory of controlled famine become reality."

    The Commander crossed his arms and turned the hooded gaze to Odem. "I have sseen the greenhousse." Phase Two of the test. Once this one lab plant was revived, the revival of the various plant species contained in a greenhouse elsewhere in the complex - which had been poisoned at the same time as this one - would be the true triumph for Odem. "I am curiouss to ssee how you will bring to life thingss that are as dead as you will be if you've wassted my time." His time? It was Destro who had put in the time. And Odem.

    Odem felt a grim smile spread over his mouth. "I wish I had a stirring speech to mark this moment, but I don't." He picked up a small dropper filled with the antidote and held it over what had been, and soon would again be, a plant. It was dried and sickly brown. Brittle. Dead. But not for long. Odem emptied the dropper's contents into the center of the plant.

    "It'll take a minute," he whispered.

    He leaned over the plant and waited. His blood raced as the brown color slowly began to recede, replaced with a pale green. "Look," he said calmly, stepping aside to give Destro and the Commander room.

    They saw the unmistakable color change. The green of life had now taken a fragile hold of the plant. The withered leaves began to unfurl even as their color deepened with health.

    "Fantastic," whispered Destro. "You see now the awesome power at... our disposal, Commander?"

    "It iss very interessting," came the slithering reply. "Very interessting."

    The plants arms lifted from the soil and reached upward. To Heaven. To God. To Odem. In the space of two minutes, the decaying husk had regained complete vigor.

    The Commander straightened. "Very impresssive, doctor. You have hiss formulass, Desstro?"

    Destro nodded reluctantly.

    "I will ssee thiss done in the greenhousse before we carry out the plan," the Commander hissed. "We have no more use for the doctor. Kill him."

    Odem didn't flinch. This had been quite expected. Almost hoped-for, even. But he would've liked to see his greenhouse come to glorious life before he himself died. His throat grudgingly allowed a dry swallow.

    Destro came to his aid. "With all due respect, Commander, I don't think it wise to eliminate the doctor yet. If something should go wrong, we may need him."

    "You have hiss formulass," the Commander repeated.

    "Yes," Destro spat, "but only Odem has produced them. In a few days, we shall be ready to produce it ourselves, but for now, he is the only one I would trust to get it right."

    The Commander straightened. He spun and waved for the door to be opened. "Very well, Desstro. He shall live for the moment. We go now to the greenhousse. And then I'll want immediate action. I've waited long enough as it iss."

    The Commander disappeared, turning a corner outside the lab, followed by his guard. Destro's hands clenched into tense fists. Odem could imagine Destro's thought: He's waited? How long have I waited? Odem shared the idea, if indeed that was what Destro was thinking. He spoke. "Collect your things, doctor. Our glorious madman awaits."

    Odem would yet see his greenhouse become green again. He would watch his plants rise up in worship. He would hear their fanatical hail, "Odem! Odem! Odem!" As he snatched up the supplies he'd need, the chant in his mind melted, most disconcertingly, into a different one: "Cobra! Cobra! Cobra!"

    And he wondered if his fate (if he lived longer than the "few days" Destro had managed to get him) might somehow lie in a combination of the two: Odem and Cobra.

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Continued in Part Fourteen!
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