warning: not intended for munchkins. Adult situations, violence and nasty language follow, though not much in this chapter.

Chapter Seven: Surely Goodness And Mercy...

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.
--Psalm 23

Charles, later that day

They have taught me how to shoot.
Usually, they say, they give three month's worth of training before sending someone out on a mission.
I have a night.
We will have little for support, so I must learn to fend for myself. They're not short on manpower. They simply don't trust us.
I don't think I can blame them for that. The frail ties Leonardo and Donatello share with Meih are simply not enough; especially not in this world, where the line between slavery and freedom, between life and death, is razor-thin.
They are all a little frightened of Donatello; I can see them casting the suspicious glances we used to give him at the Colony.
We would lay down our lives for one another now, though there is still no love lost between us; not for our own sakes, but for our shared cause. And for Octavian.
It frightens me to see my friend so content with his choice. I know the danger his soul is in. I only pray I can turn him from his life of sin before it is too late.
But I am brooding, again, and it does me no good.
I turn my mind back to my training.
Don't waste bullets; they're too valuable. Gather up the casings; all you can find. We can re-use them, or at least try to.
You don't have to aim, or at least not very carefully. Your job will be to lay down covering fire at the front, stop them from moving.
I did not want to learn how to take life.
I don't want to take life.

Covering fire; it sounds so much nicer, doesn't it? They were kind, to give me that. If I'm lucky, I won't end up shooting anyone, much less killing them.
It was easier for the Israelites; they knew God was on their side. I have had no such sign.
But I cannot stand idly by and watch slavery and genocide. Though He will not part the seas for me, I have no doubt He fights at my side.
I suppose, though, it was much the same for the Israelites-- the ordinary ones, who saw no burning bush, who had only Moses' word and their faith in God to sustain them.
Sometimes I feel sympathy for the men at Sinai and their golden calf.
Donatello's health is worsening. I have noticed his weakening lately; things he would not have hesitated to do before-- earlier in our journey, or when he was Constance's mysterious friend at the Colony-- now cause him to step back, calculate, save his strength.
I am not sure if his brother is too deep in his own sorrow to see it, or refuses to see it, for fear it will discourage us all the more; but Octavian and I seem to be the only ones farsighted enough to encourage him to rest, to reconsider before he uses the cyborg skeleton. I know I should want him to live, to be well. In my darker moments, I wonder if it would be a blessing if he were lost, for Octavian to be free...
No brooding. It does no good. My anger helps no one but our enemies.
Instead, I think of the mission to come, of my hopes of finding Sally.
Meih says our odds decrease as time passes, that the odds are still good now of finding her alive; but she has been abused without doubt. Perhaps raped, as most of the slaves are.
Sal was the only one of them all I liked without hesitation. She was kind, and gentle, and knew Christian charity, even if she did not know it by that name.
And now I am learning to kill, for her sake.
For all of our sakes, I suppose.
Dear God...
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil...
I read somewhere once that some of the Old Testament prayers were not so much declarations as expressions of hope-- that the psalmist had meant that he didn't want to fear, so he said that he would not.

I used to read, so much. And I wrote. I wrote about music. I remember the little system we had worked out at my job to figure out which artists were addicted to what, looking for long sleeves and bloody noses. I remember how I gossiped and giggled with the rest of them, how I loved to see my bylines, how angry I would get when I was badly edited.
I wonder, sometimes, just who that man was.
A fool, if nothing else.
As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I take a look at my life and realize there's nothin' left; 'cuz I've been blastin' and laughin' so long that even my mama thinks that my mind is gone...
Coolio, and Lil' Kim, and Eminem and Dr. Dre... poster children for mental illness, most of them... I wonder if any of them are even still alive. The old East Coast-West Coast rivalry seems like a game compared to the struggles we are facing now, my own life just a shadow, intangible and unreal in my memory.

Tomorrow morning we will attempt to stop the slavers at the pass.
And I will be laying down covering fire, in the valley of the shadow of death.
I shall fear no evil.
I shall fear no evil...

Contents are the property of phishtar, with the exception of the Bible and Coolio quotes; and of course many of the characters are the intellectual property of these guys. If you try to profit from any of this, good luck...you're gonna need it. If you'd like to link to this story, please link to the main fiction page. If you'd like to reproduce this for any reason, email me and we'll talk. Your comments are welcome as well.
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